The Weight of Another 28 Pounds

Today I was pushing a cart full of kid out of Costco. It was bitterly cold. The kids were shivering. I forgot my gloves.

And yet, the answer to a question I hadn't even realized I was asking myself hit me in that moment. Despite having another child, a dog, a traveling husband, and cruddy weather, why was I so relaxed and simply happy?

It hit me that for the first time ever, really, I feel complete.  I've spent most of my life waiting for someone to come into my life. I've been with Appa for so long, but we waited a long time before getting married.  Then we waited a couple years before decided to start a family.  And then we waited a few more before actually starting a family.  Each time we brought a child into our home, in the back of my mind I was always already waiting for the next one.

But today, for the first time, I realized I am waiting for no one.  My family, the people who I will spend the rest of my life loving more than anything else in the world, are all in my arms now.

I can only describe that feeling as a weight lifting off my heart.

My mother once told me that she felt an emptiness inside her heart and she knew that someone in our family was missing. Once my youngest brother came along, she told me that feeling was finally gone.  I never really understood, but I do now.

I didn't realize how much I felt stifled by the never-ending waiting.  Every vacation, every family picture, every holiday for a very very very long time has been spent wishing for someone else to be with us. I just feel so blessedly happy to finally feel like I can move forward to enjoy each moment in completeness.

We'll never say never, because you never know what life will bring, but I know that my heart is finally telling me to breath and enjoy life.

So I shall.

Curtain Up

I gave myself some time over the last couple months to step away from writing.  I found that I write in my head in the absence of writing in earnest.  But as much as I wanted to, I wanted to break myself away from using any form of writing as a crutch for just living with my feelings.  That probably makes zero sense, but there you go.

The good news is my black out is over. My blournal is back to public since I no longer need to fear a judge could/would use my words against me. I have three little boys snoozing away upstairs and the world spread out before me.

And I intend to write about it.

The House Always Win

One year ago today we accepted Little Moon's referral. 

I didn't rmember that until just a little bit ago because I have spent the whole day in a haze of court date euphoria.

Appa said point blank it would be today.  And he was right.

The odds were in our favor today.

I'll Take Those Odds

One month.

Considering all the many, many, many months I have spent waiting for my children, 1 month shouldn't even register on my list of most trying.  And yet, this month, the last 30 days, will go down as some of the most memorable in all three adoptions.

In the past we waited for a travel call.  A given outcome that was the end result of a lot of paper pushing. And while the papers might be pushed a slower than I wanted, the outcome was predictably a travel call, which was then predictably followed by flying to Korea and bringing my child home as soon as I could.

Not so, this time.  This time there is little predictability in the process.  The court date we are waiting on is uncharted territory in waters we had expected to be old pros in.  Families with our same time frames are in Korea now or packing their bags while we are still RSVPing "Maybe, but I hope not" to anything in the next month.

But the most perplexing part of the last 30 days has been the fact that it has little to do with paper pushing.  This time, a judge is reviewing our home study...unquestionably the most invasive, raw documents ever written about us and something I wouldn't even be comfortable sharing with our family.  But some judge in Korea is reading it over, mulling over our merits as potential parents.  And although I am fairly confident what we present won't keep us from the honor of raising Little Moon, the predictability is compounded by the fact that the judge can issue our court date whenever and for whenever he or she wants to.

That means that if the judge has a vacation planned or is feeling under the weather or had a bad breakfast and is in a bad mood, those things could swing our notifications and dates by weeks or months at a time.

It's maddening to have something so important and time sensitive be completely at the whim of someone else with absolutely nothing we can do about it.

So every morning until lunch time I hold my breath and stalk my phone and check my e-mail every 2 minutes (I am not exaggerating) even though I know the phone call will come first (I think).  I'm crippled from giving full attention to anyone or anything that isn't on Facebook's adoption groups. And for 30 days, nothing has come except for one emotionally confusing day when half our group did get their court dates.

But there is an unexpected and welcome silver lining.  Appa and I are both invested and waiting together this time.  Appa's logic and trust helped him breeze through the other two waits, but this new unpredictable timeline seems to have thrown him for a loop.  So instead of only leaning on friends for sympathy and support, I have my best friend to live it with.  He even suggested we have a "pity party" last Friday night.  Pity is SO my emotion, so to have him suggest it was really pretty funny and ending up making our pity party a night of silly board games and drinks.  We've been sad together and happy together and I'll always think fondly of this period in that respect.

And each morning when Appa asks me with hope in his voice "Think today is our day?" he follows it up with "The odds are better today then they were yesterday."  And we get a little giddy and the anticipation of what they day could bring.  It's a fun feeling.

So these 30 days have been memorable for me, but not in a bad way.  Sure, it hasn't been fun and I want our court date TOMORROW PLEASE but I'll remember this time as a really uncomfortable and hard time frame that we managed to weather with positive attitudes fitting for our grinning guy.

We will not let this take the joy from our journey to our son.

5

Five.  It seems like such a big number, a milestone.  Yet 5 years has flown by in what seems like the blink of an eye.

Five years ago I became a mother.

Five years ago I woke up and ate breakfast slowly.  I did my hair and makeup in peace.  I laid down for a nap.  I rushed up and down escalators and from store to store searching for a little orange doll.  Five years ago I swore out loud whenever I wanted to. Five years ago my responsibilities stopped at me.

Five years ago someone handed me a baby.  It's all a haze of tears and watery smiles and then lots of real tears.  I remember everything about the back alleyway where a small child's life was literally placed in my arms for good.  I remember it hitting me sometime that evening that we were now parents.  Real parents.  The reality of the responsibility of parenthood is overwhelming to consider.

I remember singing "Row Row Row Your Boat" for 30 minutes straight while wearing a rut into the carpet in our hotel.  I remember falling so deeply in love that night with the father my husband instantly became.  I remember sleeping with my hand through the crib bars...just to be able to touch my child all night long.

There are many moments in my life that have defined me, but none so drastically, completely, and instantaneously as that day 5 years ago when I became someone's mom.

And not just a mom, but Little Bug's mom.  A title I am proud and honored and so, so, so grateful to wear.

Birthday Boy

Dear Little Moon,

Happy 3rd birthday, my sweet son.  I wish we could have been with you on your special day, but I know you spent it with the people who love you and who you consider your family.  All I wish for you is a day where you feel extra special and can enjoy all the things and people you love most.

Little Moon, I've been overly lucky to only miss one of your brothers' birthdays, but with you, I've missed three.  Your first two were before I really knew you, so this one if the first where I have actively missed you.

We had honestly always expected you to be 3 when we could bring you home, but I have been surprised at how sad missing every day of your second year has made me.  Turning 3 seems SO big boy. I can't wait to get to know this 3-year-old you and celebrate next year with you.

I've never been outwardly emotional about this kind of thing. I don't plan and throw parties or spent the day weeping.  But yesterday, as the clock ticked down the minutes until it was Midnight in Seoul, I wept alone in our hotel room.  I tried to channel all my love and energy into celebrating you.  I sat alone in our hotel room and kept vigil over the clock as your last moments of 2 wound down.  I wept a bit as I watched the clock turnover to Sept 2 in Seoul, and I wished you a happy birthday and rejoiced for you being in the world.

We celebrated a day early here, something we don't normally do.  But I really wanted to be "with" you on your birthday and celebrating with you in real time, so we celebrated while you would have been celebrating in Korea.  It was just the smallest of things we could do to feel closer to you.

The time is coming soon, sweet Little Moon, when we will be able to celebrate all the many coming birthdays with you.  I love you, and I can't wait.

Willa

Two weeks ago and one day ago we had no intention of getting a dog for a couple more years although we'd been researching a very specific hypoallergenic brand for over a year.

Two weeks ago today I went to bed consumed by thoughts of a little white and black ball of silky fluff sleeping on a cage floor that I had no intention of meeting earlier in the day.  As insane as the idea was, I knew she was ours and I hated that she was spending another night alone.  Just had to convince Appa that getting a puppy at this stage in our lives was a great idea.

The next day the decision was made that she'd be coming home with us mid-week. We needed to prepare, since, you know, we had zero intentions of getting a dog just 12 hours earlier and I've never had a dog before, much less a puppy.  And Appa was out of town for two more days.

Two hours later she was in a new crate in the back of our van rocking out to Robot Tim and Human Tim with the boys because I simply couldn't leave her there.  So clearly nothing about this was going according the plan.

It could have gone terribly wrong.

But Willa (a feminine nod to William Shakespeare) is puppy perfection.  Sure, she nips.  Sure, she poops and pees on the floor.  Sure, she puts anything she can find in her mouth.  If I wasn't okay with that stuff, I would be childless right now. Frankly, I wish there was a child whisperer I could find as easily as I found a puppy trainer.

She's also friendly, quiet, cuddly, patient, loyal, and so very very very soft.  I knew I would enjoy having a dog, but I had no idea how quickly and deeply I would grow to enjoy having her in our home.  I didn't realize how lonely the nights are when Appa travels until I had a cuddly warm body curdled up next to me on the couch to fill the silence with contentment. I had no idea how much I would enjoy a little one who would be grateful for little things like providing food and shelter and love without flying into a rage because someone else got the orange plate or spitting their milk out in a "Milk RAIN STORM."  She even laid on my lap and enjoyed a bad chick flick tonight with me.  You couldn't pay another member of my household to do that.

But most of all, Willa has just given me one more blessing in my life to love. It takes a lot of work to help her grow and learn, but I'm learning that Appa and I are actually game for a little hard work because we know the rewards. Stepping out to seize the moment for her felt very exciting and brave, and I am proud we did it for our family.  I feel elated when she listens and behaves and simply proud to be her "family mommy".  (The bonus of having adoption already a big part of our family conversation is that the boys are all about her having a doggy birth mommy and a human family mommy. Nothing confusing here.)

She's cute as can be, for sure, but beneath the fluff is a dog that perfectly fits our family.  The last two weeks have been simply delightful with her in our home.

We also got our EP for Little Moon.  I think that was the universe's way of getting the hint.  Sure hope Little Moon likes "mung mungs."

Hiding

This blog has been a place for me to write about motherhood and all the many things that come with it.  Since the very first post, for the past 5 years, I have written about adoption, special needs, depression, anxiety, friendship, individuality, and expectations.  My audience for this blournal has always been my children, but obviously the more immediate audience has been the people who read it and sometimes comment.  I've received so many wonderful comments of support over the years, as I so appreciate them.  There is also something supremely cathartic about sharing some heavy stuff and "getting it off my chest."  I truly believe that sharing the hard things has made me a better and stronger woman and mother.

Ironically, it is those very hard things that I reached deep to share that need to be buried down deep.

As we reach the final stretch to Little Moon, the path is not free from obstacles.  Some are out of our control, but some are ones we can plan for and work around.  What I consider brave others will consider weak. 

And as Little Moon's mother, I have to make hard choices because I am not weak.  This blournal is one of those choices.  I will continue to post here, but it won't be public again until after he is sleeping in that room upstairs.  It's a very simple decision, but still one that makes me sad.

So if you are reading this in real time, hello.

To My Little Bug as He Ventures in the Kindergarten

Dear Little Bug,

Tonight after I put you to bed, I came down and stared at a picture of you from when you were 11 months old for a solid 5 minutes. It seem surreal to me that you were once such a tiny little thing with a smile wider than your face and this moment seemed so far away I couldn't even fathom it. And although you've been going to full day school and riding a bus for 3 years already, tomorrow seems different somehow. You're going to a new school and a new class and you have to make all new friends.  This is the beginning of an educational life that I hope will carry you through the next 16+ years and allow you to find and shape your future.  Yet, unlike many of the other kids who will be starting Kindergarten tomorrow, you can't yet write you own name or identify the alphabet or all your colors or stand on one foot.

But damn it if you probably aren't the hardest and most dedicated worker in the whole bunch.

So, my darling Little Bug, this is my wish for you tomorrow:

Smile that smile.  Get up when you fall down. Clap your hands and stomp your feet.  Ask everyone you meet if they want gum. Enjoy the yellow bus. Try just one more time. Take three deep breaths. Brave the slide. Show off your t-shirts. Sit still when you can. Soak in the praise. Learn from your mistakes. Always remember that "you.are.the.best."

Little Bug, you have been given many challenges to overcome, but I truly believe you were blessed with one of the brightest, most pure and dedicated souls I have ever encountered.  You will go far in life, and no matter where that is, as long as it makes you happy, I'm happy.  I suppose that is getting ahead of myself, but I took one more look at your 11-month-old self and recalled how I couldn't fathom tomorrow, and I know it's going to go so quick.  And you are going to amaze us all.

Have fun, Little Bug.  I love you.

Not Getting Off This Ride

Lately Appa and I have been participating more and more in our local special needs community.  Specifically, there is a special collaboration recreation district and education district that Little Bug qualifies for.  He'll be attending a special full day Kindergarten class this fall run through that district but housed in one our our local elementary schools. And their rec district offers free companions to attend any regular park district activity or class.  This allowed Little Bug to have a really positive and age appropriate swim season last Spring and will allow him to continue to enjoy swimming and TKD this fall with his peers. This summer, after summer school ended, he started attending a full day summer camp through their rec district.  It's a one-on-one camp that he has LOVED.  It has been the perfect segway into a camp experience for him. I'm so grateful for these programs as they open up so many opportunities for my little boy to be included in.

We've also started attending family functions.  Last weekend we were invited to attend a fairly large carnival/community event in the morning hours before it was opened to the general public.  The sign, as we entered, wished families with special needs a great morning.  Appa and I were not sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn't a fully running carnival with every ride empty and waiting for us to hop onto, every game complimentary and every participant a stuffed animal prize...or two, or three, or as many as they could "win."  Events like this are usually something that end in overstimulated meltdowns for our Little Bug, so to be able to enjoy every part of the experience without the large crowds or waiting in line was priceless.  Seriously, a charmed, unbelievable couple of hours.

When asked, Little Bug likes to say that his favorite part was riding the Dumbo ride..."a lot of times." That's an understatement. We rode ride after ride after ride and played games and won prizes. There was a carousel and roller coaster and boat and car and motorcycle and dump truck rides that we didn't have to get off if we didn't want to. We bumped our way through a glass and mirror house without worrying about people trying to push past us.  We were surrounded by families who all have lives very different from ours, but who all get us on a level many others can't.  Special needs cannot define our family, but it is a big part of who we are, together as a family and how we frame our lives.  Little Bug's needs directly impact his little brother, and I was happy that he could also have a little special treatment to make up for all the things we don't do fully. Perks shouldn't just be for the one with special needs.

Appa and I were so overwhelmed by the generosity and perfectly thought out details of the morning.  It put into sharp focus how lucky we are to live in an area with the means and commitment to serve families and people of all ages with all sorts of needs.   Even before Little Bug joined our family, I feel like we were directed to care about these sorts of possible services.  Having them to bless our family now feels like we've made the right choices all along to position our family in the perfect spot.

If only they could do something about those summer storms, life might be even a bit more perfect.

Moving On and Letting Go

Every aspect of the wait for your child is excruciating in a different sort of hellish way.  The beginning stages are filled with a seemingly endless black hole of time to wait for your child.  The middle parts are more of a quiet, almost apathetic abyss where things begin to seem endless and unmoving and unreal.  The last sprint towards homecoming is surrounded with minute counting, e-mail and phone jumping, and desperate heartache as each day and week come to a close without movement you know is just around the corner.

That's where we are at.  The final sprint where things are barreling ever closer towards this amazing and huge new life, while simultaneously trapping you in a constant state of living with your life on hold.  The entire summer we have been living for August.  Anything past August was unknown and therefore unschedulable.  That was okay. It was exciting. We lived Summer up as much as we could.

August is here now, and schedules can be made. But now I feel crippled for scheduling the Fall or Winter.  I held off planning for kids' extracurricular activities because I wasn't sure how Little Moon would do with them....should he happen to be here for them.

But this week I decided I could no longer force my family into a holding pattern.  My older childrens' lives are continuing despite the fact that each evening without news I go to sleep feeling for a brief moment like time has just stopped.

So schedules were made.  Epically, if I do say so myself.  I scheduled weekly therapy sessions, swim lessons, science classes, TKD lessons, farm outings, and enough bug and insect classes to fill up many of our nights and weekends. We're riding hay rides and train rides and hunting for spiders and owls and milking cows.We're going to magic shows and rock concerts and possibly even booking a guitar-playing robot for a birthday party. Turns out renting carousels is pretty darn expensive...

And I know, at some point, we're going to have to miss some of it to go to Korea and bring Little Moon home.  Oddly, that gives me a sense of satisfaction.  I might not be able to schedule my trip to him yet, but I know I've scheduled plans our trip to him will force us to break.

I'm also letting go of the dream of his birthday.  For a gal who went into this knowing I'd never see this milestone; I sure have thrown a fit about missing it lately.  I recently learned that we likely won't get pictures from this special day...at least not right away, if at all.  After drinking a lot of alcohol in the dark on my back porch and using some not nice words to people I could trust not to be offended, I am letting go of all expectations I have for his birthday.  I know he will be loved on that special day by those around him and by those who will love him from afar. I know he will have a birthday package waiting for him when he can get it.  And I know I'll have all the rest of his birthdays to come to never have to worry about pictures or updates or whether he is getting to blow out candles or have someone sing to him.  I cannot let my joy for him be sucked out by my disappointment. 

So I move on and let go and wait until I can move forward and grab hold of him.

J

Last year was hard.  I had to pull back from many things and people that took time and emotional energy in order to deal (or for a long period of time, NOT deal) with stuff that needed more of my attention.  From there, my anxiety got the best of me, and I felt a cycle of embarrassment take over, making things worse by hiding even further from people.  My absence hurt feelings, unintentionally but validly, and in some cases, I fear, irrevocably.  I'm learning to let that go and simply accept that sometimes what I can give is not enough or the right type of friendship people want.  And as an adult, I understand that's okay.  I don't have to be bosom buddies with everyone.

But a couple weeks ago a friend who I had not talked to in over a year reached out to me in the smallest of ways, and I jumped on it.  I told her the truth...I was avoiding her and most everyone else, and I was sorry and I missed her.  She forgave me immediately and without reserve, even though she had plenty of her own struggles that I was not there for.

We met up last week and fell back into an easy rapport.  We talked as we always did and laughed as we always did.  We had lots of catching up to do, but it was easy to do because the friendship was there.  She didn't hold it against me, and I didn't feel guilty about it anymore because we were still friends.

We talked openly about me going radio silent, and she gave me some great outlook and advice and compassion.  She told me we could go another year without talking and this would still feel this way when we met back up again.  And I believe her...but have no intention of waiting that long again!

I'm grateful, so grateful, for the incredible lesson in friendship she taught me.  I only hope I can be half the friend to her that she is to me.

Hooka Mooka

When my sister and I were very little, we lived in a house where one entire wall of the bathroom was mirror tiles.  As an adult, I think that is weird, but as a child, it was the perfect stage.  Before bath each night, my sister and I would strip down and dance in front of the mirror as wild as we could chanting "hooka mooka, hooka mooka."  It was our "thing" at a time when she and I had very few "things" in common.  I have very fond and vivid memories of those nightly dance parties.

My boys have a large mirror over a low dresser in their room.  I've often considered removing it as it was unused and wasting space I could put shelves. 

Then the "too ta, too ta" started.  I think Little Bro started it, chanting and spinning and wildly dancing in front of the mirror.  Little Bug joined in and the "too ta, too ta" was born.  Now, every morning and every evening they meet in front of the mirror (usually when I am trying to dress them) and chant and dance and laugh at each other with bright eyes and big smiles.

And it lets me relive a little slice of my own childhood.

Still My Baby

This weekend I had a bit of an epiphany while camping.  I was holding Little Bro in my arms as he slept while everyone else took a walk.  It was just me, my sleeping baby, and a campfire.  Basically the best thing ever.

As I gazed down at my sweet little boy, it hit me that he's only going to be my baby for a short time longer.  No matter how we slice or dice it, he'll no longer be a baby and things will change for him and for me.

We've prepare him in so many ways to be a big brother, but it dawned on me that we haven't done anything to prepare him to no longer be the baby.  He's going to struggle with that; I know he will.

So I let him sleep on me far longer than I should because these moments are slipping away faster and faster.  Soon it will be another warm body who will get first dibs on being rocked to sleep by mama.  But for now, he's my baby, and I am going to let us have these moments.

Amidst a weekend full of great moments, this hour with Little Bro was hands down my favorite.

Brother Bully

Little Bro, who attends Little Bug's old school with many children who spent years with Little Bug, told me today that a friend was telling him that his brother Little Bug was "weird."

I asked Little Bro what he said to that friend, and he replied "I said he wasn't weird, he was the best brother in the whole world."

Suck it, friend.  Little Bro isn't going to take anyone messing with his brother.  And I'm damn proud of him for it.

Dear Universe

*Edited to add: this is written in a moment of weariness.  It's not directed at any one person or group of people.  It's just a collection of things that have become too much for me in a time where I really want to be feeling excited and not have people feeding into my natural anxiety over bringing another child into our home.  Apologies if people feel this is too snarky or just plain rude.*

Respectfully, to the universe and all the many well-intentioned people I come in contact with, here is what I don't need right now:

People telling me my son won't grieve.  He will.  My other two sons' grieving wasn't based on anything else than the supreme trauma of being ripped from everything they know and love and neither will Little Moon's.  This is going to be horrific for him. It's insulting to so many people, least of all my son, to suggest anything else.

People telling me Little Moon (or our whole family) will need therapy.  Maybe he will, and we have resources already identified and in place should he need that.  But it's not a guarantee, and I don't need people saddling my son with issues he may or may not need professional help for.  Unless you are an expert in the field of international closed toddler adoption and have written the 10+ books I have read multiple times on the subject, you are not more informed in this particular issue than I am.

Talking about how your kid would "never survive" something like this.  New flash: they would; they are just lucky enough not to have been dealt a lot in life where it became necessary. If your kid was ripped from your arms and given to a loving Korean family, they would grieve and then eventually learn Korean and live a happy life.  They would. So please don't act like your kid is any different than mine...the only thing different is that your kid doesn't have to survive a life trauma and mine does.

Expressing shock and trepidation over three kids so close in age.  Please people, we're doing this, our family is going to look this way, please deal with it and stop bringing it up to me like my answer is going to magically change to "OMG, you're right.  Three kids IS going to be way too much to handle.  I'll call Korea right now and tell them Little Moon can go live in an orphanage instead.  Thanks so much for bringing it to my attention."

Telling me I won't be able to do it alone with three kids. Bringing up Little Bug's special needs over and over. Suggesting all sorts of scenarios that seem impossible to accomplish successfully alone with three kids. Listen, I spend hours every day thinking through bedtime routines and cosleeping with Little Moon while supporting my two older kids and their sleep issues. And no, it's not going to be pretty and I will get hooked on Diet Dr Pepper again.  I think through how to navigate Little Bug's quiet time needs with two other child who can't be left unattended.  I look at my schedule and imagine how I'll never see a friend again once we add therapies in for TWO of our children.  There is nothing you can shockingly suggest to me that I haven't already through through and worried about.  And the honest truth is a lot of these things are going to be messy and hard at first.  But no matter what it looks like, make no mistake: I WILL DO IT. It's also fairly insulting to me and to my husband to suggest we didn't think about this sort of stuff when we decided to adopt a 3 year old child. 

What I do need:

People to offer acceptance.  Little Moon is going to come home with some special needs, some of which we don't quite know the extent of yet.  Add that the grief regression, and he's not going to look like a "typical" 3 year old.  I need people to love him and accept him for that instead of focusing on how he can "get better or get help."  I've got that under control.  I just need you to love him without judgement.

People to understand that we are choosing to adopt a child with special needs, but it doesn't mean we still can't be scared or intimidated or overwhelmed. Tell us we can do it because we are already well versed in managing expectations, embracing a new normal, advocating for our children, and accepting a child for who they are.  I need people to see our children for all the amazing parts of who they are, not the fact they were on a waiting child list.

People to let me be the expert. Instead of offering your opinion based on someone you know who adopted once or your own parenting experience with your biological child, please ask me what WE expect and listen and accept the education we have gathered from classes, books, people who have BTDT in situations very similar to ours, and experts from conferences, webinars, and private consultations, and two previous adoptions. It would mean so much to me if I could be the expert on my own uniquely formed family.

People to accept not seeing Little Moon (and me) for a while.  I need people to understand that right now, my priority is going to be on my sons and husband.  No one else.  I need people to love us from afar and not be offended that they don't get to be a part of however long we need to get to know each other.  I need people to be patient and trust that their part in our lives is still important, but just secondary in this situation.  And I need people to understand that the best way to show love for Little Moon in his first days home is to let him adjust to his new life in a small of increments as possible.

And most of all, People to simply tell me "Everything will be okay. It's going to be hard, but it's going to be fun and exciting and get better every day. You and your family will be okay...you'll eventually be great. You'll do whatever you need to make sure your family is healthy and happy."  Please, someone just tell me that....and mean it.

The Little Boy in the Striped Cardigan

There is a little boy on the waiting list.  He turns 3 years old next week.  His picture has probably elicited gasps from hundreds of people.  He's so very, very handsome.  I mean, he is just unbelievably cute in his striped cardigan. They have probably clicked on his profile and eagerly read on to find out how they could make him part of their family, only to stop midway through. He is cute, for sure.

He's is also now blind.

He didn't used to be. A disorder has taken his sight over the past few years.  I could speculate how he ended up on the waiting child list a couple months after turning 2, but instead I will just focus on that fact that he is waiting. He waited with my Little Moon for a while, their little profile pictures lining up next to each other in dueling cutest-kid-ever contests.

Appa and I have been drawn to him ever since he showed up on the list last Fall.  Not in a "he's our son" way, but in a heartbreaking need to see him be okay way. We both know how the clock ticks for the children who wait on that list and what happens when they wait too long. We both know that the full and happy life a blind person can lead with the support and love of a well-equipped family is light years away from the life this little boy will live if he is taken from his foster family who have been fierce advocates for his blindness and placed in an orphanage with resources spread too thin for kids who can see and take care of themselves, let alone for a blind child.

It weighs on my soul that this little boy literally has months left before a life-altering path with be chosen for him. Weighs.on.my.soul.

Appa and I have talked about how we can change the lives of children who wait, specifically this little boy. We can't adopt him. We've considering providing a private donation grant to spur someone to take a second look, but legalities prevent it while still in process for Little Moon.  I've tried to advocate for him, but my reach doesn't extend very far; and I certainly don't personally know anyone who is willing to adopt a blind child into their home.

But those people ARE out there.  Lots of them, I imagine. There ARE families who could be the right parents for this charming, spunky, silly little boy.  There ARE families who are well equipped to provide a blind child with a vibrant life.  They ARE out there.

Do you know someone who might be able to give this beautiful (BEAUTIFUL) child a life before his chance has passed? Someone who perhaps is thinking of a different country or different route to parenthood? Someone who already knows the ropes of blindness?  If so, have them contact me, and I can point you to the two agencies that are both listing him on their waiting child page and you can receive more information from them.

Teaching Them to See

When we were little, my mom used to tell us that "you always give people what they need."  My parents were examples by action of charity and generosity.  I watched them buy bus tickets for strangers, give homeless people jackets off their backs, and regularly gave to those holding signs on the side of the road.  They taught me not to avert my eyes and that lesson is one I cherish.

We grew up in an area of the West where a lot of transient people were coming through.  They would hold signs saying they were hungry.  I saw people like that weekly, if not daily.  And my mom always made sure we saw them.  She'd take us through the aisles of the grocery store explaining that giving a hungry person money would only be a fix of a few hours as they would likely spend it on some overpriced value meal (or something even more destructive, as I realized as I got older).  "We give them what they need...food," my mom would drill into us.  Into the cart would go a jug of water, packets of Crystal Light, peanut butter, a loaf of bread, fruit, carrots, and a box of crackers. We'd often pick up fried chicken or something hot from the deli to add. But mostly, she'd make us think about food that would stretch into multiple meals, food that would give weak people energy, food that would hydrate people, and food that wouldn't spoil in heat.  And above all else, she made us think about how it felt to be hungry and scared that you couldn't put food in your body.

But she didn't stop there.  It wasn't enough for her to teach us about these people; we needed to know them.  So as young as I can remember, she would get us out of the car with her to deliver our bags of food.  When we got to be elementary age, she'd have us get out of the car alone.  I vividly remember being mortified by this and one time even laying on the floor of the car in an attempt not to have to get out.  I fought it, but she led by example when I refused to follow.

And her lesson stuck.  If I see a sign that says they are hungry, I try my hardest to get them some food. I think of my mom every time. And I see people now.  I will always be thankful for her gift.

As a mother myself, it has been important for me to instill this same lesson in my own sons.  But Toys for Tots and Secret Santa and food bank drives at the grocery store don't put a face to the issue, or really even teach children about the issue.  In an effort to increase our children's awareness, we decided to start asking for a food donation instead of birthday gifts.  We started talking to Little Bug and Little Bro about hunger and they quickly got the concept of people being hungry and sad and not being able to get food at the store. From there, it was a natural progression in their thinking that they could share food.  We have been going over this for a couple weeks, and when Little Bro's birthday rolled around last weekend, he didn't even bat an eye at the lack of gifts from his friends.

Today we took over a box filled with boxes of Cheerios into our local food bank....a small room in a business building.  My kids proudly gave them to the volunteer workers and I got a lump in my throat when they told her they would be back with more food when "the people get sad and hungry again."

On the way home, Little Bro told me that making people who were sad and hungry made him happy.  He told me he wanted to go to the store and get the hungry people ramen. And I realized he is getting it, as much as a 4 year old can.  And I'm thinking we might make this a monthly activity with shopping for food bank items and delivering them.

We don't give kids enough credit for being able to handle the hard stuff.  Hungry is an uncomfortable concept to expose children to, but it is also one that they can very easily be a part of.  I want to give my kids what my mom gave me...eyes to see and the drive to help.

A Short Story on the Importance of Signs and Pants

All you need to know is that for a variety of boring and silly reasons, I was distracted.  So when Little Bug pulled me into a bathroom in an unfamiliar location chanting about needing to go, I didn't resist for a single second.

I stood inside near the door of the public restroom while Little Bug went into the stall by himself, a recent feat that still requires a bit of coaching and inching away bit by bit.  In the midst of trying to focus on talking to him with calming enforcement and thinking about all the other things going, I vaguely noted a urinal backing on the wall leading to a drain on the floor.  I had just finished grimacing with disgusted at what was clearly the grossest bathroom ever for having a pee drain right in the floor when an older gentleman walked into the restroom and stopped short staring at me before asking a moment later, "Are you in the wrong place?"

And in an instant, it all clicked into place.  The memory of seeing a"boys" sign outside the door.  The obvious urinal I had been contemplating as if it were something novel.  I had, for the first time in my life, accidentally went into a men's bathroom.

In retrospect, it is a good thing that I hadn't needed to use the bathroom as well, or that I wasn't bunched into the stall with Little Bug when this man walked in and likely started doing his designated-location business.  Instead, I was able to mutter an apology and high tail it right outside the door.

Of course, this went over about as well as a load of No2 bricks, and my little one was out of the stall and out of the bathroom in a blink of an eye, calling out my name in panic loud enough for everyone in either side of the hallway to hear.

And he was naked from the waist down.

The End.

He is Ready

Today a therapist related a story to me that made a big impression on her.  And in turn, it's made a big impression on me.

Little Bug's morning pre-K school is a special blend of students.  It's a class room for kids who need a lot of extra support, but that support looks very different for each child.  I think some a-holes would look at the class and think it's where all the "disabled" kids are "dumped" to fulfill school requirements because it's such a mix of strengths and needs, but in reality, the minimally decorated classroom is a calm, safe, and incredibly fulfilling environment filled with enough teachers, therapists, and associates that each child gets not just an education, but the education they each individually need to reach their potential.  I was initially hesitant about this classroom, but it's been an incredible environment for Little Bug to get the extra help he needed to really prepare for the big K.

With that being said, many of the children in the classroom have needs that are very different from Little Bug and they are cherished friends of his.  To him, only being able to move you head isn't weird...it just means he gets to help push their chairs when they need to move.  To him, some kids eat from a lunch box and some eat from a feeding tube.  To him, some kids talk with their voices and some talk with machines, picture boxes, or sign language.  To Little Bug, everyone is a friend, no matter how different they might be from others.

It's a gift to be able to view everyone and no one as different.  One that I think Little Bug will always keep with him, and one that I hope those special friends who encounter him throughout his life will also possess.

Today the therapist told me that one friend, who sits next to Little Bug during circle time each day, has trouble controlling limb movement, something they work on during this time.  However, this often leads to Little Bug being accidentally tapped repeatedly.  The therapist said it often "annoyed" Little Bug. (Which is ironic given that, for different reasons, was also something Little Big himself struggled with for a very long time.)  Apparently Little Bug would often whine or push the hand away.

Except today.  When instead of saying a word, instead of pushing the friend's hand away, Little Bug simply grabbed the flapping hand and held it in his own.  The entire circle time Little Bug and his friend quietly held hands.

The image of my son doing this, giving comfort to another friend by holding hands, brings me nearly to tears.  So many times, so very many times, my son has been the one to need the support of a friendly hand.  In fact, hand holding is a love language and safety language for my little one.  For him to intentionally give this to someone else, without drawing attention to it or looking for comfort himself shows how much he has matured in the last year.  He's able to reciprocate with peers in an empathetic and intentionally supportive way.

All that to say, he's ready to move on.

The therapist told me this at the start of the big kahuna IEP meeting today.  This was the transition meeting where the therapists and teachers and social workers from his two pre-K schools formally turn him over to his new therapists and teachers.  The kindergarten option we've chosen for him as a team is a unique one.  It's not something I would have envisioned, but we felt good about the decision.  After starting off the meeting with this story, everyone agreed that the Little Bug on paper isn't exactly the Little Bug who is blooming bigger and brighter every day in the classroom and at home.

He's ready.  Our goal was always simply to give him everything he needed to be in the best possible position for kindergarten, and I feel in my heart we did.  But more than anything we did, Little Bug fought through some truly horrible things this year.  For him to come out on the other side like this...blowing through goals and marching right off plateaus and making mature connections with peers on his own...that's a testament to him more than any of us.

Little Bug, the hardest worker and bravest kid I know...I am so proud of you. You're going to love kindergarten, and kindergarten is going to love you.

Ten Things I Love About Being a Mom

Today was not my finest parenting day.  To be sure, it was no where in the threat level midnight zone, but it was one of those days where I had to apologize to my kids a couple times for raising my voice and it's bumming me out.

I even web searched "don't like being a mom"  tonight to look for some motivation for tomorrow; then I realized lot of people really don't like being a mom, and I'm not one of them.

So in honor of that being the wrong web search for me, here are ten things I love about being a mom, in no particular order.

1. I love the way my kids' feet, head, arms, fingers, sides, cheeks, etc. feel as they are pressed against me in moments of comfort and happiness.  I love the memory of baby Little Bug feeling like a loaf of warm bread when I would pick him up out of his crib and the lightweight, yet somehow solid, way Little Bro felt as he monkey clung to me as a toddler.
2. I love the sounds of my kids' laughter.  Not just because it's cute, but because seeing them so genuinely happy brings this bloom of warm, fuzzy joy in my own chest.  More than anything in the world, I love seeing my kids deliriously happy. 
3. I love the moment when they learn something new or accomplish something special.  I love the way I can't help but scream and start jumping up and down while shaking their shoulders, and I love the way they grin hugely and their eyes go wide with excitement.  We feed off each other.  It's a total, genuine high.
4. I love dance parties.  Big ones with instruments and little ones in the hallway.  And straight up, I love riding freaking carousels.
5. I love that they call out for me in the night.  Granted, during the night I never feel this way, but in the daytime hours I can think clearly and know how much it means to me that I'm the first thing that pops into their heads when they need help.
6. I love showing the world to my children and seeing it through their eyes.  I love the introspective challenge I get in realizing I have to explain, on the fly, the random details of life like military heroes, personal clothing style choices, cloud patterns, the tooth fairy, and the hygiene issues surrounding kissing dirty school buses. And that was just this week. It may sounds simple, but it's not when everything is met with "why?"
7. I love how hilarious being a mom is.  The ridiculousness of it all.  The bodily fluids I wipe with hands without batting an eye.  The serious conversations you have about hypothetical stuffed animal sword fights and their feelings and motivations.  The intense thought put into whether or not to get bug tattoos with or without butterflies included in the lot (still on the fence).  The anger I feel at the old Thomas story lines, and the begrudging respect for the new Thomas story lines.  The spur-of-the-moment superhero cap your son wants that you fashion out of an old pillow case (and it looks like something your 3 year old made himself with training scissors, but he adores it). When I really stop and break it down, half my day is spent doing something slightly bizarre or ridiculous.  And that's fun.
8. The "shake and blow." The "no big deal." The "it's okay, it happens."  The "I'm mad" instead of screaming. I love watching my kids learning to be tougher and roll with the punches.  I'm trying to raise kids who express emotions with words, and it makes me proud when they can do that.  One of my proudest moments is when my boys stop and take three deep breaths to calm themselves down.  They both do it, daily, on their own without my prompting.  My heart soars to know I gave them that critical emotional tool and to see it helping them in their lives already.
9. I love the moments when the sun is a muted yellow through our windows and we're cuddled up in a pile together watching a movie or reading a book.  I love the feeling of arms and legs and a family mass and knowing my family is a family who loves physically without reserve.  Who needs their "own" seat anyway?  I love saying "I love you" a million times a day and hearing it back every time.
10. I love the way Little Bro's tiny but impossibly strong arms lock around my neck as he pulls me in for a tight, tight hug and how his face scrunches right before he kisses me.  I love the way Little Bug gives his side hugs and bear hugs just a little longer for me, and his impromptu kisses and arm caresses.  I love the way his hand always has to be in mine.  And I love running my fingers through their hair at night and whispering to their drooping eyes "I love you, saranghae, nose kiss, bear hug" and knowing that these amazing kids are mine to love and love and love.

Laying on the floor with a stomach ache

I don't like change.  I don't do well with change.  I dislike change.  I always have.  I used to lay on the ground just being with an upset stomach after my mother would rearrange furniture.  I would sob myself ill every time I moved dorm rooms or apartments.

Suffice to say, I do not move my own furniture around much.

So today when I saw that my blog background in this space was no longer supported, I stared long and hard before feeling that pit come back in my stomach.  I liked my flowers and brown theme.  It felt very me for this space and it's been with me for many a year.

So all this to say that the new look of this blournal is not by choice.  And I'll figure out a way to get it back to what feels right after I can drag myself off the floor and calm my tummy.

Aloha, Little Moon

Dear Little Moon,

Turns out, when your mama wants something special to happen, she needs to go on a tropical vacation with your Appa.  The last time we did sun sans child we accepted Little Bro's referral. But I never imagined this morning when I woke up to Hawaiian surf that I'd be celebrating something special for you, too.

Today your Appa and I were driving along a beautiful road in Hawaii.  The ocean was shocking blue on one side and the green mountains towered on the other.  The road was winding a bit, which I don't do well with, so I absently grabbed my phone to check my e-mail.  Since I am on vacation, my inbox has piled into the hundreds.  So when I was skimming and expecting nothing important and caught out adoption agency director's name on an e-mail with the subject line "Urgent and Important Communication Regarding Your Current Adoption Process" my mind couldn't quite keep up.  I went from thinking it was junk mail regarding the webinar I wasn't calling into to thinking it was something very, very bad.  But it was seeing our name in the salutation that set me nerves tingling.

It was there, on the winding and beautiful road to Secret Beach that I read aloud in a stilted, shaking, and incredulous voice to a confused Appa that you were coming home so.much.sooner. than I have ever dared let myself hope.

Appa kept driving, but his eyes kept darting to me, he kept questioning me, the smile that has been on his face for the past few days just got bigger and bigger.  Our wildest dream, so wild we've never even dreamed it, is coming true.  You are coming home.  Soon.  So soon.

When we had hiked down to Secret Beach, I wrote your name in the sand, just as I did your brother's in Jamaica.  I'll buy you a stupid looking shirt to commemorate the role this place "played" in our journey to you.

And for the rest of time, when I think of this spectacular vacation your Appa and I are lucky enough to be enjoying, the moment that e-mail sunk in will always be one of the first things I recall.  That moment will be one of my favorite moments, ever.  Better than any beach or sunset or breathtaking canyon hike, knowing you are coming home is the highlight of this trip.

Little Moon, this didn't happen by chance.  There are people, LOTS of people, who care about you enough to bend the rules, see the gray, take a stand.  They want you to stop waiting, and start living your life as a little brother and son.  I hope I can always impress upon you how much today is a testament to the fact that you have been  loved and cared for and your best interests have been looked out for all the days of your life.

You are loved. You are cared for.  You are rooted for.  You are wanted. You are needed.  And as soon as we can, Appa, Little Bro, Little Bug, so many friends and family, and I will be there to love you every day for the rest of your life.  Soon.  So soon.

Ua ola loko i ke aloha.

Perspective {just mine}

This has been a hard week.  I've had a pit in my stomach for days over the sheer sadness and pain and fear people are experiencing right now.  I've not really known how to move on from these feelings.

Then I saw a video of the national anthem at the Boston Bruins game.  The entire audience belted that tune out in a moving show of unity and strength and resilience. 

And it clicked for me.

The best, the ONLY, thing we can do is chose hope and reject fear and anger.  Anything less and we've let them win, let something be taken from us. Let our lives be minimized in some way.

This isn't just about the bombing, the plant explosion, the flooding and sink holes for me, because the pain in my heart for those horrors and the people who are living them is still raw.  I have no real words for that. For them.  Just sadness and solidarity.

But this is about my life in general, too.  My outlook on adoption and the adoption communities I follow.  My complacency to let others who can or will only respond with negativity drive MY adoption process, affect MY life and emotions.

I refuse to let them be my voice anymore.

No news?  Long waits? No updates?  Yes, all those things suck.  A lot.  But instead of wallowing about it, fighting about it, refusing to accept it, we should try to help where we can in a positive way, and above all else, join hands and sing. Loud. Proud. Defiant. HOPEFUL.  Because at the end of the day, it's going to be okay.

Our kids will come home.  Older, yes, but don't fall into the hype that the transition will be SO much harder at 3 than it will be at 2.5.  They are not being harmed.  Not in the sense of the word that really counts. Our kids will come home, and we will live our lives filled with joy, watching milestones and taking all the pictures we want.  Many people don't have that chance anymore.

I choose hope. I choose kindness.  I choose faith.

Safe

We've been working really hard with our sons on feeling confident and safe in expressing emotions verbally.  We've also been working on our sons learning to rely on each other a bit more for comfort or support or help, instead of only needing Mom or Dad.

Tonight Little Bug and Little Bro had to share Little Bro's bed, although bed sharing has never been a strong point for either of our sons.  Little Bug's anxiety has been at a high level all week after some lightning storms shook his nighttime confidence.  So throwing in a different bed, in combination with the fact that his bed wasn't even in his room as a fall back, was causing him some apparent angst.

After getting out of bed a couple times, Little Big finally expressed what he was feeling.

Little Bug: "I'm nervous."
Little Bro: "I'll keep you safe, Little Bug."

And with that promise, our notoriously anxious and often inconsolable Little Bug crawled back in bed, spooned his little brother, and together, heads touching, they both fell into a deeper sleep than we have seen all week.

Brotherhood, man.  It blows my mind sometimes.

Two Years Ago

Big Star,

Right about now, 2 years ago, you were chasing your foster mother around the lobby of the Korean adoption agency.  People were milling about and there was a somber, tense feeling in the air, but you were oblivious to it.  You laughed and grinned and teased and chased.

And then, as if the gravity of the moment needed to somehow be pressed upon you, your foster mother, the only mother you had known for the last 2 years of your life, took you over to a large fish tank, bent down, and started whispering into your ear as the two of you watched the fish swim.

I don't know what she said to you, and it wasn't for my ears anyway.  I imagine it was something along the lines of love and sadness and hope.

Then she let you go, to a new life she didn't know if she would ever get to be a part of.

She sent your to the arms of another mother, one who also started whispering words of love, sadness, and hope in broken Korean and hesitant English.  A mother who had the honor of building a new life with you, and the pressure to make it worthy of the sacrifices so many had made for you already.

Today is your Family Day, my sweet Big Star.  Two years ago you became our family and we became yours.  It's a day of joy and sadness, a day to remember both the gift we have been given and the sacrifices others have made.  It is the day that you became not just Korean, but Korean American.  We could call it "Life Altering in Every Way Day," but Family Day rolls off the tongue so much better.

We celebrate with cupcakes and bulgogi and a big family adventure because we want to celebrate what a special part of our family you are, but as many a Family Day for you and your brother pass, I recognize that just as that day 2 years ago way, this anniversary will always be a bittersweet celebration.  I'm grateful to be able to send your sweet foster mother pictures today that will let her know that she is still definitely a part of your life.

And most of all, I am grateful for the last 2 years where I have been your mom.  I love you.

I Know You

To the mom at story time today:

I know you.  I recognized you right away.  I watched you direct your "calmer" child to the circle of children and then situate yourself and your more "active" daughter just outside the circle, allowing for a little room while still being part of the group.

I know your kids.  I know your daughter who was rolling on the ground and making strange noises after a couple minutes.  I know she couldn't help it and she wasn't just being a brat or intentionally disruptive.  I know your other daughter, too.  I immediately recognized the acceptance in her manner when you separated from her and the group to sit with her sister. 

I know the library worker.  The one who sheepishly but assertively whispered to you about 10 minutes into the story time that your daughter was being disruptive and needed to removed.  I saw the set of her jaw, the black or white in her eyes.

I know your story.  I didn't need to clearly hear your plea to let your daughter try to be apart of story time because I already knew what you were saying.  I know your desperation to give your daughter the normal experiences her sister and peers get to have every day.  I know your hope for sympathetic staff and accepting friends and parents.

I know that look.  The one of resignation and disappointment you wore as you and your daughter quietly exited the room.  The passing glance your other daughter threw back as you left, unsurprised and unfazed.  The uncomfortable look on the staffer's face.  The embarrassed or judgmental looks the other mothers leveled as you dragged your quietly moaning daughter out of that room.

I have no idea who you are, but I know you. And it broke my heart today to see you. 

Family Planning

I know they are thinking it.  I can see it in their surprised faces, faltering questions, and uncomfortable congratulations.  Some even make thinly veiled comments passively asserting their opinion.  Not everyone, of course, but a hell of a lot more than I would have ever imagined.

Yes, universe and teacher and doctor and therapist and whoever else, we're adopting a third child.  A boy. Close in age to our other children.  And we're thrilled about it.

What?  What's that you say?  I have a 5 year old with significant special needs that require a high degree of attention, resources, and energy?

You don't say.

As things with Little Moon begin to click into place, and our family begins to reshape our lives in preparation, we've started letting people in our far periphery circles into our plans.  And more times than I can count, it's been apparent that the fact we are bringing another child into our family is shocking to them.  It's seems like they can't imagine why we would make life "harder" or "more stressful" or "busy" when our lives are already so full.

It's been pissing me off lately, and I have started this post a number of times, only to cancel it once I couldn't find words that weren't swear words.  But yesterday the answer rolled off my tongue.  It was in response to the gentle surprise of a trusted member of Team Little Bug.

We've always wanted three kids.  We have the love and resources for a third child.  But ultimately, what matters most is that Little Bug is not a liability to our family.  He's not a reason to stop growing our family if we have the means, which we do.  I realized that is what was pissing me off. Little Bug will benefit from a little brother and Little Moon will be just as lucky to have the unique experience that having a sibling with special needs brings.  We have made the decision to adopt another child because we believe that it will be beneficial for both our children, accounting for our unusual challenges, at home and the new child.  Our family life might be framed differently than most, sure, but our lives go on, expand, get better, and continue to grow.

Do we have room or desire for four children? Five? Six?  No, probably not. But do we have room for Little Moon? Yes, we do.  And once we finish setting up the bunk beds, we'll have even more.

Down the Hill

Last weekend my Little Moon turned 2.5 years old.  Although I've seen pictures of him in the last month, I haven't gotten any sort of update on him since October.  This week we did get video from October, so I am really getting to know the October Little Moon...the 2-year-old Little Moon.

I think that might be why him turning 2.5 struck me as much as it did.  There's such a difference between a newly 2 year old and a child careening downhill to 3.  Just when I started to feel like I "knew" my youngest a bit, I was reminded that he's not that baby anymore. 

And the child that he is now, at 2.5, is a child I will never know either.  And while I made peace with that before I even became his mother, it still hurts a bit to know that 3 will come and go for us and, if the last week is any indication of the type of unpredictability and shiny new slow moving processes we could encounter, 3.5 might as well.

And that is my threshold right there, ladies and gentlemen.  I never imagined we'd celebrate 3 with him, but 3.5, yes, I absolutely expected him to be in a Valentine's day sugar coma with his brothers.

Then again, this is all speculation and me trying to protect my expectations from running wild with hopes of bumps in line and things clicking into place.  Because when I lay in bed at night, my heart flutters with thoughts of a surprise phone call from my agency telling me something is finally going Little Moon's way. 

So we are all careening down the hill now.  Little Moon to age 3 and all the sass and stubbornness that age brings (which will pair perfectly with intense grieving, culture shock, and communication barriers, non?) and us to a reality where things will potentially be harder, longer, and more emotionally complicated than we had expected. 

But I am surprisingly calm about these things.  I'd love to have days to get lost in Seoul, and Little Moon is being loved devotedly in his native country and language, things I hope will help shape him as he gets older.  Instead I choose to check my e-mail incessantly for days until the updated pictures come in of my precious little one posing cheekily for the camera (those can come any time now, thank you very much).  I take sadistic pleasure in cheating the gallon care package rule in any way I can.  And I drop some profanity here and there when discussing process changes with trusted friends who don't mind occasional F bombs.

So, umm...happy half birthday, Little Moon?

Always More Than a Number

There have been few IEP meetings as important as the today.  In preparation for Kindergarten, Little Bug's team (two special education teachers, two speech language pathologists, the occupational therapists, two physical therapists, one social worker, one child psychologist, and one nurse) all spent 3 months testing him daily on all aspects of life.  I was even asked to spend an hour filling out forms and rating scales and numerous other hours in interviews with various team members.

For better or for worse (and there was a lot of "worse" in the last 3 months), we all sat together today and talked all things Little Bug.  There were words like "learning disability," "delays," "failing expectations," and other words that always feel wrong branding your beautiful child with.  Words that feel wrong, but are always nothing to be ashamed of.

There were numbers.

But Little Bug is more than a number.  He is more than labels.

He is a complicated and beautiful puzzle of strengths and weaknesses.  Can he recognize letters or numbers? No.  But he can recall special details about each of his beloved friends.  Can he manipulate a glue bottle lid or pair of scissors?  No.  But he can do rep after rep of grueling physical work on balls and mats and treadmills with a smile and an "I love you, Ms. XOXO."  Can he sit still for a book at circle time? No.  But he he'd share any book from his shelf with anyone who asked, without batting an eye.  Can he speak words that everyone can understand? No.  But he tells a totally awesome "Why did the chicken cross the road" joke.

It's inevitable in life to be labeled and quantified.  Sometimes it is even necessary to help us help each other. It's not even a bad thing unless you let it be.  I will not let these things define my son when there are so many other parts of him to deserve equal attention.  Like all parts of him, I want to him to wear his weaknesses as a badge of pride.  They are things he overcomes daily and they make him a better, stronger person.

I'm proud of my boy.

To My Valentines

To my Valentine of 15 years: I love the fact this day is nothing special to us.  I don't need a day to force me to show you show much I love you, but I appreciate a day that reminds me that I need to show you how much I love you every day of the year.  Here's to doing nothing and buying nothing...we've already got everything we need and so much more, love.

To my Valentine of 6 years: The love you stir in my soul almost daily is fierce, overpowering, and a little overwhelming at times.  I'd do anything and sacrifice everything for you.  I cannot fathom a world without your smile every day.

To my Valentine of 2 years (it's funny how the months have fallen to make this only our second Valentine's Day together): You've taken my heart and woven into every fiber of it. You've given me the rare gift of being able to share with words just how much you love and need me, and that's been such a humbling experience.  I feel so lucky and so unworthy to be able to love you as your mother.  You teach me such exquisite lessons in love and forgiveness and loyalty.

To my Valentine across the world: My love for you is painful, in the best way possible.  I miss you, I need you, and my heart breaks, quite literally, each morning that I wake up without getting to touch your sweet cheeks. My love for you is forcing me to be brave, patient, and trusting.  And it's also showing me how powerful love is; to love someone with such devotion that you've never met and have no biological connection or claim on is kind of love in its purest form: hopeful and unselfish.  It feels so good, even when it hurts.

From Bother to Brother

A year ago, perhaps even 6 months ago, I would have admitted that my two sons simply were not the best of friends.  They never seemed to enjoy each others company in the way you would imagine two brothers would.  They didn't seem to be on the same wavelength, like the same things, or simply need each other.  My sister and I never got along growing up (and I mean we truly did.not.get.along.), and I pretty much chalked this one up to karma and hoped they would connect in their 20s like my sister and I did (who I now talk to every day on the phone).

But slowly, things have changed.  And the lucky part is I didn't have to wait another 15+ years!

I can't point to a moment, but slowly they started sharing interests, learning how to play together as a team, and enjoying the jokes and extra set of hands and decibels the other could provide.  I chalk some of this up to the miracle months Little Bug had where his medication was making social strides explode for him while Little Bro was getting some much needed humble pie at preschool.  They just clicked. 

Now there are moments where Appa and I will be in the kitchen while we listen to the sounds of laughter and imaginative play from the other room.  We just smile at each other in awe because we both wanted this so badly for our children and really thought it wasn't going to happen the way it has.  It's one of my favorite things about having two boys now, and it makes the anticipation for our Little Moon so much more delicious as I imagine him being so welcomed and loved by his united front of brothers.

And I am so grateful we had these moments bloom when they did.  Little Bug is having some really serious and new behavioral challenges due to us not being able to find the right medication for him after the terrible tics in November forced us to take him off his otherwise awesome meds.  These behaviors have made being friendly (or physically close) to Little Bug very hard and most of his friends have learned to steer clear.

But not his little brother.  Despite all that, Little Bro still sees Little Bug as his fun, always up for their favorite games, big brother.  Their relationship, unlike the others in Little Bug's life, isn't based on friendship, but on brotherhood.

And you don't give up on your brother.

I don't believe in fate, especially in adoption, but I do believe that love and family makes us grow into the right people for each other.  And I've watched these two little souls mold each other into better, more loving, and stronger individuals. They are better people because of each other, and together, they are a force to be reckoned with.

That makes me so happy.

New Teef

My 3 year old likes to ask random strangers if they like his new teeth.  He got a bridge recently to replace his missing front four teeth, and after a day of refusing to believe a reality existed where his tongue was so trapped, he fell in love with his new pearly whites and their magical ability to bite food in half.

He's still missing two teeth on the bottom, mind you, so he's still got his playground cred if anyone gets too close to his toys.  He regularly confirms that the dentist won't give him anymore teeth as he lovingly caresses his phantom bottom teeth.

My life is weird sometimes.

Support Group Feels

Tonight I went out of my comfort zone (both socially and temperature wise....BURRR) and went to a support group for parents of children with special needs put on by one of Little Bug's private therapy clinics.  I didn't particularly want to go because it seemed like a real downer of an evening to sit in a circle while everyone cried about how hard it is to have a special needs child.  I'd rather just have a pity party on my couch with a glass of wine and reruns of Once Upon a Time while willing time to stop until morning.

But my resolution word for the year is "move" and one of my biggest goals is to make friends with people in my immediate area who understand what it is like to wade through IEPs and schedule life around therapies and how awesome the little victories can be.  I've been realizing that while I can do this whole special needs mama gig on my own island, I don't NEED to.  I can find and build a support system.  But it won't come to me.  I will have to build it myself.

So I put on my favorite warm boots and off I went to to what I thought was a glorified special needs parenting speed dating session.

Turns out, it was just too cold for people to get off their bums, and me and one other mom ended up outnumbered by therapists and counselors and cookies.

But that hour long session went almost 2 hours as the five of us had a refreshing disucssion about the challenges of raising a child with special needs, the blessings that come with raising a child with special needs, and how we could take this "support group" and turn it into something so much more than a circle of wah.  We brainstormed topics to have the clinic bring in experts for educational sessions before the support group portion of the night.  We shared tips and resources.  We exchanged numbers and talked diagnoses and IEPs and yoga and our secret hatred of bath time.  We ate cookies.

I left feeling somehow refreshed, recharged, and yes, supported.  And I'll brave the cold next month to go back again.

Toasty Warm Feelings

Dear Little Moon,

For 3 months now, I've been consumed with the idea of being yours.  You've lost so many times already in your life, and although some of those losses you might not feel now, they have spurred me on even wilder to finally, officially make us the family you can claim as yours.

Even more than I want to claim you, I want you to be able to claim us.  I want the people who care about you (and there are so many) to feel secure knowing that you have a Mommy, Daddy, and two brothers who are committed to you, no matter what. I want them to know that 5 years from now, you'll have someone to tuck you in at night and make you feel like the most special child in the world. That is what has kept me up at night, the worry that we might not be real, that we might be just another fleeting potential path in your life.

I can wait a year for you.  I can spend crazy sums of money to send piles of papers to anyone who needs them.  I can live off blurry pictures. I can shove love into gallon ziplock bags a month at a time. I can schedule my life out a month at a time, rather than a season. I'm happy, honored even, to be able to do that for the chance to be your Mom.

What I found I couldn't deal with was not being connected to you "officially."  I need my name next to yours.  And now that it finally is, I'm finding that is enough for me, for now.

And on the day when those papers making us yours were finally stamped official, you were in an office half a world away, posing for pictures that, for the first time, everyone knew for sure were for your parents.

I want to know what the giggle that accompanies your trademark grin sounds life.  I want to smooth back your wispy hair and count your little fingers, one by one.  I want to hug you and tell you that this time, it's for real.

I'm also terrified for the day when I get to do that, but that's for a different note.  Today I'm just happy that we're connected and that you're warm and happy.

That's enough for me.