The Frame

In 2009, I bought a "Santa&Me" frame in my expectant mother glow.  The following Christmas, that empty frame broke the dam on some emotions I had bottled up, and it wasn't pretty. 

This year I filled that frame with an epic "Santa&Me" picture of Little Bro and his BFF.  I smiled so wide it nearly hurt every time I saw those two frames proudly displayed. And today, I smiled peacefully as I packed up the rest of my Christmas stuff, because I packed away not two, but three frames.

Little Miss needs a picture frame to match her oppas, naturally.

I don't know when that frame will make it out of the wrapping, but I can guarantee it won't be this coming year or even the next.  And that timing is what is ideal for our family, so the Christmas futures where that frame will be tucked safely away don't make me sad in the slightest.

But the fact is, Little Miss is in my heart in a way she has never been before. She's not just a dream anymore, but a real future, and we are looking for her, waiting for her, hoping for her.

With Little Bug and Little Bro, we (I) made big announcements all the time.  We (I) wrote blog posts about the smallest details and the most insignificant of steps.  This time around, due to a couple of factors, the biggest being the long and completely unpredictable time frame of referral and travel in our specific situation, we (not just I) have decided to keep Little Miss' process low key. Of course, me blournaling this is hardly keeping it secret, but that isn't our intention, and everyone that should know already does.  Rather, we've done the adoption-OMG!!!! thing for so long that it's time to just live our lives and celebrate the big things when they eventually come along.  I promised Appa I would be less crazytown this time, and I intend to hold to that.

However, I really just need to acknowledge the fact that we are on our way to our daughter, and that we are so very happy and excited about it.  And someday, when she reads this amidst the pages and pages devoted to her brothers, she will know that her adoption was just as special and just as exciting and joyful.

Buying that frame when I knew full well that it wouldn't be used for years was my attempt to put that out into the universe.  I won't have a closet filled with dresses and bows for quite some time, but in my crawl space a frame will be waiting to be filled.  When I packed it away, I packed it away with a smile and a wish in my heart.  It won't be filled for many years, and I am okay with that.  The fact that it will be filled is the most important thing.

Little Miss, when you someday read this, know that you've been loved and hoped for from the beginning...just more in our hearts.

Like a Diamond in the Sky

Little Bro and I are not cut from the same cloth. I am in uncharted waters when it comes to parenting him, not only because it is him uniquely, but because my experience with temperaments like his (namely my sister) haven't always been the easiest. I love this boy fiercely, but he has brought me to my knees daily in my quest to be a good mom for him.

I love rules. I love structure and routine and control. Little Bug spoiled me because he needs and wants all those things in a mother. And as uncool as it may seem at times, I really do think it's not a bad thing to teach and expect children early and often that following rules, even small ones, matter.

Little Bro loves independence and freedom. He loves to express emotions and explore and discover on his own terms. He also really likes control. As maddening as it can be for me at times, I also think it is very important to allow him to grow and learn in an environment that suites this level of independence and control he craves.

But what is a Mama to do when structured meets freedom, when logic meets passion, when because I said so meets screw you and your table manners, too?

Frankly, the blending isn't going as well as it should, and more evenings than not I lay in bed praying that tomorrow I'll manage to let it roll off me a little more, turn the other cheek just a little farther, whisper instead of raise my voice. Don't get me wrong, we're good, Little Bro and I, but I know I could be so much better for HIM. And I want to be.

Today I tried something new. I unruled him, in a way. Modifications to our routine and rules that I would normally never dream of allowing made their way into our day. Most notably, I gave him complete control in an area where he wants it most: food. Instead of sitting him in a chair and eventually fork feeding him every bite to get food in his belly, I let him run around our house playing while I followed him around forking bites into his mouth, ala Korean Halmoni style. And wouldn't you know, he loved it, asked for food, and ate a larger lunch than he has in a long time. From there, a day that was already going good went even better. For the first time in a long time, I can't think of a moment today where I wasn't in word and spirit the Mom I want to be.

Granted, this sort of thing can't and should not be sustained. Tomorrow he's eating lunch in his chair like he always does, but the experiment got me thinking about other ways I could modify my expectations to be a little more palatable to his desires. I expect him to meet me on my side most of the time, as it should be when a parent is teaching a child to live life, but I think I can find some instances where I can return the favor.

Little Bro is one of the coolest kids I know, and I want nothing more than to make him happy while giving him life tools. I am really grateful to have the chance to expand as a person as I grow to become the Mama he needs and deserves.

My baby Big Star...all the things I don't understand about him are the things I love the most.

A Pile of More

Once, back many years ago when Appa and I were dating, he mentioned that he thought it was a bit odd that my family literally dog piled on top of each other when watching movies or lounging around.  Although I had never stopped to see it that way, it was true that my family could be found on any Sunday evening watching a Disney movie while looking like some couch form of family Twister.  We'd just grown up cuddling each other (not in a creepy, call-the-cops sort of way, of course) and never stopped, and that extended to siblings.

Tonight, as I rested my head on Appa's lap while Little Bro cuddled into his lap and nestled his hands into my hair and Little Bug draped his whole body over mine and anchored himself by digging his feet under my legs, I thought of that comment Appa made so many years ago and it made me smile to see a bit of a circle start to form.

There are many things I wish for my family to be 10 years from now, but one of them is a family who will still pile on the couch to enjoy the Lion King and the comfort and love we give to each other without reservation.

Home

For me, although I love where I currently live, home is Idaho.

It's Fiesta Ole and Walkers off Broadway and the Greenbelt and 17th Street and Skyline and Pancheri Road and the Grand Tetons and the Snake River and the Rocky Mountains and my family and my friends.

It's not where I was born, but it's where I grew up and became me.  Living there has shaped who I am, how I see things, and how I react to things.  It's shaped my hobbies, talents, and likes and dislikes (expect country music...no thank you).

Tomorrow I am going home with my two babies and my husband (who also calls it home).  I am starting to feel this delicious curl of anticipation at my first glimpse of the mountains; my first breath of solid, clean mountain air; and my flood of memories waiting at each street corner.  I know this place somewhere deep inside me, no matter the 12 years I've not called it "home."

It makes me wonder where my sons' home will be.  Sentimentally, I would love for it to be Seoul, but the reality is there will be no memories lurking on the street corners for them when we return again, no senses reawakened.  I suspect home will live in their hearts here, in our large Midwest city.  And that's okay.  Seoul can be their history, or maybe one day even their physical home.  They can make new memories and it can grow in their hearts as it has grown in mine.

But just like home to me is eating a $0.99 soft bean burrito with no enchilada sauce with a side of ranch dressing from Fiesta Ole while staring up into the snow capped mountains instead of munching on a crisp apple while watching hydro-boats skim the tops of the Columbia River from my birthplace in Washington state, home to my boys might be a stuffed pizza and a poorly-played baseball game rather than kimchi and urban hiking. No matter where it is, going home is always a really special feeling.

Fiesta Ole.....yummmmmmm.

The '85 Bears Would be Proud

Tonight Little Bro danced a dance I have been waiting 3 months to see.

The day we took custody of our Big Star, his foster mother sent us home with a final CD filled with pictures they took on his last night in their home.  I cherish these pictures, but one video of Little Bro dancing this awesome high-kick, tap-dance, Super Bowl Shuffle type dance while grinning stuck out, initially because it was so cute.  Then it stuck out because while Little Bro likes to get his groove on, never once since he has come home has he busted out that particular dance.

And believe me, I've tried all sorts of things to get it out of him, right down to doing the dance myself.

I know it's not truly important and probably means nothing, but I still mourn the loss of the child we saw in pictures and videos from Korea, because my child laughs a little different, looks a little longer before jumping, and seems a bit more jaded.  It's understandable based on what he has gone through, but he's also just getting older and more mature (for a 2 year old, of course).  I thought that maybe the dance was this little lost moment I'd never get to see for myself.

But tonight, after 2 days of some serious attachment loving Mamma/Big Star while Appa and Little Bug learn to hula in Hawaii without us (I don't want to talk about it), as I was singing a ridiculous song about bath time, I saw it.

The shuffle/high kick/tap dance while grinning routine.  Over and over again while I continued to belt out "Let's go take a bath, let's go take a bathhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."  And it was just as cute as it was in the video, cuter even, since it was finally in a moment we were sharing together.

Brothers

Little Bug is so ready.

A year and a half ago Appa and I were concerned that we would need to “go on hold” due to Little Bug’s needs.  One year ago we knew Little Bug was closer to being ready and felt comfortable with the 6-8 month window we knew we had between Dong Sang’s referral and go time for Hyung. Of course, when 6-8 months stretched to 12-15 months total, the only bright spot was giving Little Bug a little more time as an only child.

And, at almost exactly a year later, our baby bug is no longer a baby and SO, SO, SO ready to be a big brother.  He’s blossomed so much in the last few months (and I know I always say that, but this kid, he is doing some mind blowing things lately).  His social habits have really evened out, and every morning and evening are filled with chatter about his friends.  Having a little brother will definitely be an adjustment, but I think Little Bug is at a place developmentally where he’ll feel more benefit and fun than jealousy and anger at having Little Bro home.

Except if Little Bro tries to take his raggies…..so Little Bro is on notice there.

But when I watch Little Bug at night, silly and happy and helpful and so aware, my heart just bursts with excited anticipation at the day when he realized that his hopefully-eventually-to-be best friend isn’t going anywhere.  It’s like this giant surprise that I can’t wait to see his reaction to.

Of course, we’re not adopting Little Bro to be a brother to Little Bug.  He has his own defined place in our family that has nothing to do with Little Bug.  We’re excited for him as a person, not for what he can bring to our older son.

But I hope that eventually Little Bro comes to see Little Bug as a really great surprise, too.

Because, mark my words, the moment these two connect will be a moment I will never, ever forget.  I hope this is the beginning of one of the most important relationships in the world for these two little boys.

For a mama who wanted sugar and spice and everything pink and nice, I can’t fathom being more excited about anything than I am about being the mama to little brothers.

Nature Versus Nurture

Adoption really brings the nature versus nurture debate to the forefront of your life. People always comment on how adorable Little Bug is, which I can take no credit for. But when it comes to things like his personality, some of that has to be a result of how we are raising him (ahem, spoiled) as well as a result of his innate personality, which I can again take no credit for.

Before I became a mom, I had lots of plans for my son, how he would act, what he would like, etc. Of course, children do and like whatever they want, so I learned quickly that my plans for my child were going to be less me and way more him.

Take, for example, books.

I love to read. I read and read and read. I love to talk about books. I love to think about books. The discipline on my degree actually say "Literature," and let me tell you, I thought I was pulling one over on everyone by getting a degree in reading Shakespeare. I've made a career out of reading (although, sadly, not reading Shakespeare). I assumed that my son would be a voracious reader.

And he wasn't. In fact, for the first couple years of his life, books that didn't pop up and sing the Wonder Pets song were of little to no use to him. It broke my heart, but I persisted. Each night we "read" a couple books. He wasn't interested.

Then one night a few months ago, he sat still through a book. Then another, and another, and another. Since that night, we read four books a night and tons throughout the day. My kid loves them. He has favorites. He requests "Night Night, Train" and "Moon" daily. He delights when he finds "Pop Hop Hop" or "Bee Bim Bop." The kid loves his books, and he loves the time we spend together reading them.

And seriously, so do I.

Yesterday after his nap, Little Bug didn't come out of his room. A rare occurrence for him. When we checked on him, we found him amongst a huge pile of books, happily thumbing through them.

I'm beginning to think I might have a book worm after all.

So was it always in his nature to like books, or have we nurtured it enough to help him develop a love? Or is it both? Like most debates, I don't have an answer. But who really needs an answer when there's "Good Night, Moon" to read three more times?

Boo!

Before I had a child there were certain recurring daydreams I would have. Some were big, like Christmas mornings or our family days. Others (and in some ways, more treasured) daydreams were more mundane, like reading my son a book while rocking him to sleep or taking him outside to play in the snow.

A major recurring daydream would come to me in the mornings as I was getting ready for work. At those moments, with the day not yet cluttered with meddling volunteer editors and meetings of various degrees of frustration, I would style my hair and apply my makeup quietly (a daydream of mine now) while imagining my little son running happily up and down our hallway, fresh with sleep and excitement for the day. I would imagine taking a minute to peek around the bathroom door to watch him dart in and out of the rooms, dragging some blanket behind him. I'd imagine him bringing some toy cars into the bathroom, vrooming them around my bare feet as I good-naturedly swatted them away.

I'd think of this nearly every morning. Long after my darling Little Bug came home and it became obvious that the hallway running wasn't happening right away. I knew it would happen someday.

And then I stopped daydreaming about it. Probably because all my brain power in the mornings is now focused on whether I can shower and dry my hair before Little Bug enters Threat Level Midnight and starts flushing things down the toilet.

But the last few days Appa has been home from travel, allowing me to blow dry my hair on consecutive days (gasp), and I've started noticing something.

Little Bug, running up and down our hall while his laughter echos into the bathroom. Little Bug, peeking around the corner of the door and yelling "BOO" before dissolving into fits of giggles. Little Bug, his hands full of ahzuhs and pillow (a new but beloved friend), along with a couple "choo choo trains," shuffling around my feet as I try to apply my makeup.

To be sure, it's a slight pain when I'm rushing to get ready and he keeps stealing my perfume out of my door or is using his toothbrush as a broom. But it's also one of those moments that I always dreamed about finally coming true. And when I realized that this morning, everything seemed fairly near perfect.

Unplugged

A major source of contention in my marriage is my "pluggedness." I use the internet to keep me company when my husband travels, connect and nourish friendships with people, write, and research things that are important to me.

Appa would prefer I did less of all that during our limited time together. Usually he has a point, and although he might not think so, I have been trying to be less plugged in when he is home.

This vacation I decided to try to unplug. Besides the occasional e-mail checking (I'm actually still waiting for an formal update on Little Bro--how greedy am I?), and one blog post that I had to get off my chest, I've been almost completely unplugged for 5 days.

And it was great....magical, even.

Appa and I fell asleep when our son did most nights. We watched fireworks from our hotel room and sports news. We chatted. We didn't read or get on the computer or do anything other than just stare at each other and laugh at our crazy child.

It was easy to get caught up in the family moments. Work and Facebook and blogs and e-mail (I had exactly 200 this morning when I checked) just didn't seem to hold a candle to spending time with my boys.

As happy as I am to be connected again, there is a part of me that wishes I could stay back behind those colorful gates that seem to keep the "real world" at bay while simultaneously reminding you what is truly, truly real in your life.

A Note to My Sons from Their No-Longer-a-Teenager-Mama

My friend Tiffany wrote a blog post a while back about what she wished she would have done differently in high school. She was sharing her list with her high school students and her own sons. She challenged others to do the same, and although I never do stuff like that on this blournal, this topic is one that I would like to preserve for my kids. Sitting down to think about it was pretty heavy, and if my sons can avoid even one of my "mistakes," I will consider it a victory.

What I wish I would have done differently in high school........

I wish I had been kinder to my younger sister. She was dealing with her own insecurities, and I just took mine out on her....for about 16 hellish years. People always told us that we would be close friends when we were adults and I absolutely thought they were full of crap....they were not.

I wish I would have volunteered in the community more.

I wish I would have been more honest with my parents.

I wish I would have said yes when J.J. asked me to senior homecoming (even though I declined nicely). Appa was up at college and wouldn't have minded if I went with this person as friends, and I know it took so much bravery for J.J. to ask me to that dance. He could never catch a break socially, and I so regret being one more instance of that...simply because I was too caught up in myself to be on his arm for a couple hours. Instead I sat at home and acted like an "I'm dating a college boy martyr" while J.J. sat at home because I said no.

I wish I could have found a way to compromise with my parents a bit more on the things that were really important to them. It wouldn't have hurt me, but it would have saved them a lot of hurt.

I wish I would have learned the value of money and how to use what you do (and don't) have responsibly.

I wish I would have backed up and kept the things I wrote, school papers, creative writing, etc. The papers would have come in handy in college and the creative writings would have been a treasure now.

I wish I would have learned to cook as my mother cooked for us each night.

I wish I would have spent more time getting to know my brothers.

I wish I hadn't thrown away the little gold unicorn earrings my dad gave me for my 8th birthday in honor of being able to get my ears pierced. As a teenager I thought the little gold earrings were silly, childlike things I would never wear again. As an adult I mourn the loss of this special gift my daddy had picked out just for his "little lady."

I wish I would have spent a little more time with my friends and a little less time with my boyfriend....even if I thought he was (and still is) the love of my life.

I wish I would have learned how to apply makeup.

I wish I would have cultivated a love for physical activity or learned a sport.

I wish I would have honored my commitments to church more, or at least been able to be brave enough to bow out when I could not longer honor those commitments.

I wish I would have learned the value of chores or the self-discipline of cleaning.

I wish I would have taken better care of the pictures I took, instead of strewing them about to be lost to the four corners of the earth.

I wish we went to more family counseling sessions instead of me canceling them as soon as I got what I wanted out of them.

I wish I had been more aware of how my actions were impacting my little siblings, how my teenage dramatics were scaring them and making them feel worried and sad about the state of their own family.

I wish I never would have dyed my whole head of hair using the spray on highlighter.

And, just for kicks, there are a couple things I am glad that I did in high school.....

I am glad that I was responsible and resourceful enough to get the items and information I needed to make safe choices in my life...despite not being able to share that with my parents.

I am glad that I chased that lone Sunday trick-or-treater down the street and gave him candy when everyone else in our neighborhood (including us) had their lights off in protest of a Sunday holiday, despite my parents' protests. (And in turn made an impression on them that my mother still brings up around Halloween each year.)

I'm glad I worked during the summer and after school....especially that I worked in fast food.

I'm glad I only applied to the colleges of my choice.

I'm glad that my running away consisted of simply running to Ali(ce)'s house and having her mom call my mom to let them know I was going to hang there for the night.

I'm glad I fought for Appa.

I'm glad I didn't say "I love you" until I meant it.

I'm glad that I never touched a cigarette, alcohol, or drugs.

I'm glad that I was open to change.....all the best things about my life now are things I never could have anticipated in high school.

Good Night, Bee Bim Bop

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

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

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

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

A Freaking Awesome Hyung

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Campaign for a Television-Enjoying Child

I think I might be the only parent in the world who is actively trying to teach my kid to watch television.

As part of some therapy, we've been asked to start trying to get Seth to sit still for periods of time. He doesn't have ADHD or anything like that, but after almost 3 years of a constant, almost-every-minute movement therapy-lifestyle, coupled with the fact that he is a toddler, Little Bug has a problem being able to sit and focus for periods of time. Television was suggested as a way to get him comfortable with just being still.

However, Little Bug has never shown a preference for the TV. He has a set of musical DVDs that he will watch religiously, and one 8-minute animated version of "Wheels on the Bus" that we had to hide for fear the DVD would break, but other than those programs and the 3-minute part of the Glee episode where they cover Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance", he's not really interested.

For a long time, that was okay, good even. He was sitting still and listening to music, which is his biggest sensory stimulator.

But he's not learning much.

So it was determined we needed to switch it up and add some shows that have....words...into the mix. We tried all sorts of things, but nothing seemed to stick.

Wiggles...so, so. Thomas the Train....only when the trains are moving and not talking. Everything else...totally not interested. Even the shows that have a high singing:talking ratio.

You're killing me, Little Bug. Stop being such a perfect, anti-TV child, already!

Little Bug's godmother recently bought him the Thomas movie, and we've been trying to add that into our evening once a week or so. The most we have managed is about 3-5 minutes...basically until the trains stop moving and the plot starts.

Last night we had a pretty ominous storm roll through. Ever since an admittedly scary camping storm incident, Little Bug gets very nervous when storm clouds roll in, scared when thunder hits, and petrified when lightning lights up the sky. Little Bug made it clear last night that he was planning on riding this one out from the safety of my lap with my arms locked around him, courtesy of his baby death grip.

I'm only mildly ashamed to admit I used his fear to my advantage.

Knowing he was more likely than normal to stay close to me, I turned on our new movie and hoped for the best.

1.5 hours later, Little Bug was clapping as the credits rolled.

Do I think this means he will sit angelically through a movie whenever I need to turn one on in a pinch? No. Do I recognize that the storm has a huge impact on his choice to sit still? Yes.

But he did stay engaged with the show the whole time, "choo chooing," "ohh ohhing," and clapping in all the right spots.

So I'm declaring a small step forward in our quest to commercialize our son.

Seeing Him

My sister and I had a long talk recently about seeing your children, the very physical idea that although we look at our kids all day long, we sometimes stop seeing them. I think a big problem I had with my attachment to Little Bug was that although my eyes would meet his, my mind was far away. I wasn't in the moment with him, and I think that although he got plenty of time looking into my eyes, what he probably saw was far away thoughts and not a mama's adoring love.

I've been really mindful of this lately. I make time each afternoon to gaze into my kid's eyes as we play on a bed or heap of pillows. I try to take a moment or two in the car after I buckle him in to look into his eyes and smile a really genuine smile. I make sure that I am talking to him, not at him.

I'm hoping to master this ability to see my child each day before Little Bro comes home. I want to be able to be more than just a mom for my children; I want to be a mom to them. I want Little Bug to know, even at his little toddler age, that what he has to say is important to me and that I love being in his presence.

It's not easy, especially when I am tired, bored, depressed, angry, busy, or any number of the other factors that shape my day. It's so much easier to look at him and talk at him without taking the time to shift my energy into him.

But he's the most important little person in my life, and I want him to grow up seeing that.

From the Desk of Your Bug-Bitten Mama

Dear Little Bug,

As you slumbered in your car seat while we drove home from a natural element-taxing weekend of camping, your daddy and I were nearly speechless with pride.

You've come so far.

This weekend you held yourself together through grueling heat and a nighttime storm that even had your parents on edge. You wore sandals instead of leg braces all weekend long and held your own. You busted out numerous new words. You ate at an adult-sized picnic table. You skipped your nap and were completely off schedule, and you handled it with 2-year-old grace. That is enough to get a gold star from your adoring parents.

Even more, you proved how much you have matured emotionally and developmentally. You played close with other little boys without hitting them in the face (although we did have some time outs, but those were for pretty normal 2-year-old behavior sort of things, so you get a "time served" in my mind). You played with your friends, not adjacent to them. You clearly enjoyed the interaction. You practiced sharing. You even held hands and tried to run with them.

It's always been a secret fear of mine that your social skills would be something you would struggle with for a long time. My heart would break at the thought of your bright spirit not having friends to share it with. You still have work to do, but all 2 year olds do.....you're in good company, my sweet boy.

To see your hard work pay off with the chance to play with little friends and enjoy their company was the VERY best part of a fun camping weekend for your parents. As your Appa said tonight,

"I love being his dad."

That's ditto for me.

A Backhanded Love Letter

Tonight Little Bug and I were sitting outside watching (or rather, feeling) the Midwest summer storm roll in. Little Bug has had a rough day (mainly because we were bad parents and kept him up way too late last night), and I was momentarily jealous of Appa's night of room service and hotel premium channels. My husband works long hours. LONG days. Usually far away. I'd be lying if I said this didn't cause me serious annoyance, frustration, sadness, etc. Most of the time I forget that when he is not here with his family, he isn't off doing something fun.

It hit me tonight that when he is away from us, he would probably cut off his left arm to spend the evening eating leftovers (actually, in the interest of truthiness, Little Bug and I had Arby's tonight) and sitting outside watching our child slowly melt down. He's working his butt off 90+ hours a week to provide a nice home for our family and let us live comfortably while creating a fufilling career.

So to the real place my head went tonight. I admire the hell out of my husband. He had the most impeccable work ethic in undergrad, always with his eye on the prize of a good grad school. He was devoted to his research in grad school, breaking ground in the field of stem-cell research. Although he could have gotten his PhD with just a publication or two and going through the motions for 5 years, he published at least five papers, filed three patents, and created a project that was robust enough to be passed along to another student. Beside work ethic, he just blew me away with how intelligent he truly was. I tease, but I found his lab rat persona pretty sexy.

So I was rocked to my core when he told me out of the blue that he was terribly unhappy with the lab life and wanted to pursue a career in business. This is a man who has spent 19 years in science-focused classes. But, when it was clear that he was serious, I watched him start auditing business classes and helped him go through case studies for interviews. Secretly, I couldn't imagine how all this could lead anywhere.

Wouldn't you know, he got the job. The job that he had absolutely no qualifications for other than just simply being his intelligent and articulate self. I still am surprised in some ways. I'm even more surprised that we agreed (and still do) that it was the right fit for our family. What I am not surprised about is how hard he has worked in the last few years to prove himself, gather necessary knowledge and experience, and just generally excel at an incredibly hard challenge that he had no business excelling at.

All this was swirling in my head while the clouds were stirring above me and my little boy tonight. Suddenly, instead of being annoyed that my husband is often absent and always having fabulous dinners and staying in swanky hotels, I had this fervent hope that somehow he will be able to teach our sons to live as fearlessly and completely as he subtly has. I'm Mrs. Status Quo, but Appa puts 110% into whatever he is doing and isn't afraid to make a change (sometimes HUGE changes) in order to seek happiness and something better for himself and the ones he loves (namely, me and our babies). It's grueling, but it seems to be worth it for him, which makes it worth it for me.

My mama's wish of the day: for my sons to be even half the fearless but realistic dreamer their Appa is.

A Working Mama's Whine

What came first? The (working) mom or the messy house?

I'm really trying to find balance in my homemaking role, and it's hard. I work full time, and my son works his little diaper-clad butt off each day in school (he uses up SO much energy just doing daily things, let alone his multiple therapy sessions). When we get home, it's time for dinner and then a few hours of together time. For me, this time is best spent with my child because I don't see him during the day.

But I'm tired. He's tired. We both just want to hang.

Sure, we go to the park or take a bike ride. We play outside. We work on colors or shapes. At least once a week we head over to the botanical gardens or a much cooler park. But the honest truth is that my son really just wants my complete attention while he winds down. This can be while watching his music show or while he is playing with kitchen utensils or walking backwards a la Michael Jackson. But the key is that he wants my attention.

I know my 2.5 year old should be more independent than he is. He's not crippled by needing me, but he certainly is attention-spoiled and would like to keep it that way. I like spending time with him, I like being wanted and needed.

But I don't like the fact that I can't easily even think about fold a load of laundry or do the dishes or mop the floor until after 8:30 pm.

Because I'll be honest, after working all day and being a bit on the lazy side, at that point I am not feeling it.

Being a working mama is hard. Not to say being a stay at home mom isn't just as hard, but being a mother in general seems to be a challenging position. However, from my working mom position, I try to spend all the limited time I have with my boy doing things that will be good for him and good for us. I'm trying very hard to make our time together more and more substantial now that he is getting older and more aware. Appa travels during the week, so it's not like I can tag team with anyone. It's all up to moi.

Once he goes to bed, I want MY time. I need my time to stay sane. To surf the web and connect with friends, to write and read, to do adoption paperwork, to veg. The last thing I want to do with my time is clean late at night, so I usually don't.

But shocker, no one else does it for me.

Having a messy house does weird things to my head. In the summer we can get out in the evening so I can pretend there isn't a large family of dust bunnies living in our corners and something sticky underneath my table. We all have clean underwear somewhere....right?

I'm actually hiring someone to do some light cleaning for us a couple times a month, but I need to get better about figuring out a way to convince Little Bug to play nicely long enough for me to do some housekeeping things during a time when I am actually motivated to do so.

I don't want to be supermom (well, I actually would love that), but I do want to get better about balancing all the aspects of motherhood and homemaker that I have taken on in our home. My poor husband works his butt off, and I feel horrible when he comes home after a long week to loads of dirty laundry and dishes...even though his son and wife are happy. I'd like to feel a bit more balanced.

How? No idea. That's why this was a whine......

Peri

Back when I thought I was going to "poof" and get pregnant (of course with a girl), I decided that her middle name would be "Peri," because in Greek it means "mountain dweller."

Although I am no longer stock piling little girl names and my kids already come with what will be the middle names, the name "Peri" had always stuck with me. I love the idea of my children being "mountain dwellers," not just nature lovers or weekend warriors.

I want my children to be comfortable putting a 50 lb pack on and hiking for days in the wilderness. I want them to experience packing a car filled with essentials spur of the moment and driving up into the mountains to find a random spot flat enough to pitch a little tent. I want them to know how to start a fire without a match (but be smart enough to always carry waterproof matches). I want them to know the best way to keep your clothes warm is to put them at the bottom of your mummy bag. I want them to brush their teeth with their fingers (with or without water) and know how to purify water. I want them to roast food on a stick they picked up off the ground and be grateful they have a roll of toilet paper and not just leaves to do their business out in the woods.

I want them to feel the cold morning dew on their fingertips from the inside of the tent. I want them to breath in the crisp, clean air that comes in the early morning hours of the mountains. I want them to taste the smokiness of a campfire dinner and sigh at the warmth of hot chocolate in the morning. I want them to start a marshmallow on fire and watch it burn...and I want them to know those are the gooey, best kind. I want them to hear the world at night and see the stars shining brightly.

I want them to want to get dirty. I want them to love to get dirty. I want them to know how to simultaneously enjoy and preserve nature. I want them to love nature for what it is....nature.

Appa and I were so lucky to be raised in families and an area of the country (beautiful Idaho) that afforded us the chance to enjoy nature early and often. My mama packed each of her five babies into camp sites. At age 13, I trained for months to carry a pack on my back for multiple days as I hiked (not scaled, mind you) one of the many mountains I've had the honor of standing on the top of. I've had the pleasure of sitting in a mountain valley filled with flowers that only a couple people would ever see before they died and taking a shower in a tiny stream waterfall. Appa's family took week long hikes to fish remote lakes, bear spray close at hand and banking on catching their food. Together we've gotten in our car and driven up into the mountains with our tent, some blankets, and a bottle of wine. We've even attend a wedding where the accommodations were tents after a meadow reception. It's normal to us.

My kids? My kids live in a huge metropolitan area. Camping is something you have to schedule...to book an actual camp site. Camp grounds have showers and game rooms and play grounds. The RVs that surround you blare the sounds of the video gaming system the kids would rather play. Appa and I can't always take our kids back West and give them the same exposure we had, and for that, I am very sad. But we are going to try with what we have here, and I am really excited about that.

A tent, a roll of toilet paper, matches, and some food. Hopefully by the time our boys are old to do some more rugged hiking and camping, we will have instilled in them enough of a love for nature that they will enjoy it as much as we will.

Maybe someday if they are blessed with a daughter, they might name her "Peri."

11:11

I'm now a believer. A true disciple of the clearly solid childhood myth.

I wrote a while back about my quirky habit of always wishing on an 11:11 when I see one on a clock. Today I looked at my computer clock just in time to see 11:11 and made a wish.

Then, at that very moment....

Ding.

That would be the ding of my e-mail...

Going Home Does Not Have To Be A Tragedy

This weekend I went with some girlfriends (who also have little boys who were adopted from Korea) to see a screening of a self-narrative film by a 21-year-old who was adopted from Korea and returned with the hope that he might be able to meet his birth family ("Going Home" by ThirdCat Productions). I think it is important for me to access different points of view from people who have essentially lived the life my son will live and learn from their perspectives with the hope I can be a better parent when/if my son encounters certain issues. With that being said, I didn't really leave the theater with any earth shattering parenting tips....because the movie was in no way made to "teach" or "educate" anyone, especially someone like me.

Instead, I left in tears and complete awe and respect for this young man, his birth family, his parents, and everyone around him.

Adoption is tragic. A child loses their birth family, a link that is inherent and unbreakable to us as breathing. A birth mother loses her child, a child she will spend every day thinking about and loving for the rest of her life. Brothers and sisters lose each other. This alone is tragic.

International adoption is tragic. On top of all the loss that comes with adoption, the child then loses his or her birth culture, their chance to be a majority anywhere, their language (which I just now am realizing is truly tragic), and their customs. They lose a connection to themselves.

Yes, the child gains a loving home, loving family, a warm bed, a good education, etc. That is not tragic; it's the best outcome for a tragic situation, but it doesn't change the fact that the situation is tragic to begin with.

This young man was able to meet with his birth mother and birth sister. Their reunion was a positive one and their relationships are starting to grow. But, it wasn't rainbows and kitten; his birth mother was ashamed and nervous; his birth sister was blindsided by the revelation that she had the younger brother she had always wanted but never knew she had who would only be in the country for 2 more days; and he found himself having to readjust his vision of what he presumed his identity was.

It was emotionally exhausting to watch for me; I cannot imagine what it was like to live through.

Yet, something his father said to him the day after the meeting with his birth mother has echoed in my ears since. He was musing why, after all the tears and sadness over the years for everyone involved, the meeting was emotional but not upsetting.

"It's not tragic anymore. There is finally closure and a chance to move forward."

I'll never forget the images in this movie: the way the young man cried as he heard his birth mother would not be able to see him initially, the way his mother brokenly thanked his birth mother for putting him up for adoption in the same breath as apologizing brokenheartedly for her having to give him up...the way his sister broke down in racking sobs in the middle of the airport as she embraced the brother she had only met once and who she could only communicate through pointing out the word "family" in a dictionary.

I'll also never forget the young man who stood before us in the Q&A, brave and proud of the story he openly shared and the hope and peace he clearly felt as his relationships with his birth family continues to grow.

His story is tragic...but his ending is not.

I can only hope for that for my son. I can only hope that if he wants to search for that part of his life he will be able to find some sort of closure. The reality is that he might not, but I can hope.

This film showed me that I cannot erase or compensate for the tragedy that brought my son into his lime green nursery and my waiting arms, but I can do whatever it take physically, financially, and especially emotionally to give him every chance he needs and wants to change how that tragedy ultimately plays out.

Just in case he ever needs to go home.