First Day Blues

Oy.

Seriously, Oy.

Yesterday Little Bug said goodbye to the school he's been at for the last 3 years.  They have played a huge part in his life and therapy and helped built him up into a pretty confident boy.  I tried to write about it last night, but sobbed my brains out, so the letter I wrote them will have to suffice for his memory book.  That and the book the teachers wrote him, each page filled with a letter from someone special in his life.  They shared memories of his first step, his leg braces, his first slide, his first bike ride, his first sentences, etc.  The messages were filled with pride, love, and hope.  They were beautiful and heartfelt and I've sobbed every time I have gone through it.

Moving on as tears threaten...again.

Yesterday was also emotional because it was the open house for Little Bug's new school.  This school is specifically for children with significant special needs and it is full time.  (He'll be going half day to this school and half day to a developmental preschool elsewhere in our district.)  Appa and I fought against this school for the last 2 years, but we finally agreed to this half day program when it became clear that Little Bug needs this one-on-one ratio to really focus on his education goals.  Our eye is on Little Bug being in GenEd Kindergarden at least part time next year, and that just won't happen without this school.

So recap...this school is a good thing for him.

But it's very different than anything he's done before.  The classroom is pretty bare and drab since some of the students can't handle too much stimulation.  Most of his classmates can't talk and about half can't move without the aid of a wheelchair.  There isn't a lot of fluff...it's down and dirty life skills and learning.  I actually look at these things as good things.  He'll be making friends with kids who are different than the other kids he knows, and that is always a bonus to me. But it's different and a bit intense right now.

Yesterday as we walked into the school, Little Bug told me that his tummy hurt and he was feeling like throwing up.  Classic signs of his anxiety.  Seeing him experience and identify nervousness made my heart sad.  Scared is one thing, but nervousness just seems like such a grown up emotion that I wanted to shield my baby from, especially when it comes to school, which he normally loves.

The open house was intimidating, even though all the teachers and students seem awesome, and Little Bug latched onto me and refused to interact with anyone and was asking to leave...very NOT Little Bug behavior.  After about an hour he started crying and begging to leave.  He clutched my hand the whole way back to the car and kept saying "No go back to Ms. Dxxxxx school tomorrow."

I cried for the millionth time after dropping him back off at his beloved traditional preschool. 

And this morning he woke up sad because he knew he was going back to that school.  He acted out all morning and begged to go back to his traditional preschool.  I packed him a favorite lunch and decked him out in his favorite Thomas shirt and firetruck shoes.  I clapped and cheered and acted like school was going to be the coolest thing ever...because it will be soon.

And he stood stock still for 40+ "first day of school" photos with various shades of concerned and worried looks on his face.

The bus came and he bravely gave me kisses and waved goodbye.  Because THAT is the kid Little Bug is.  He's brave and strong and will do what he needs to do, even when he is nervous or sad.  And Little Bug is also the kid who falls in love hard and fast and would much rather smile than frown, and I have sincere hope that those qualities will help him find his groove at this new school soon.

This is a good thing, but man, it is hard to watch your baby battle through their fears.

THAT Mom

I'm THAT Mom.

I'm the one who passive aggressively makes comments and suggestions for months before breaking down and triple slamming you to the floor with a 180, complete with my own private therpist reports, research, and demands.

I'm THAT Mom.

I'm the one who puts on the cheery face and signs messages with "Have a great day!" when we both know my actual thoughts go more along the line of "I wouldn't be sad if you quit and someone else worked with my child."

I'm THAT Mom.

I'm the one who, despite not having any formal education in your field of expertise, is writing her own IEP goals, demanding and justifying doubling my child's services.  Who listens to what you say before dismissing it as incorrect and not fully-fleshed out.  I'm the one who is saying you are wrong.

I'm THAT Mom because I am HIS Mom.

It's not your job, or anyone else's job, to move hell and high water for my son.  It's not your job to fight for more and better and even more and even better for him.  It's not your job to know everything about him, including his strengths and weaknesses. It's not your job to focus on those strengths and weaknesses and find anyway possible to enhance them. And I get that.  I respect that.  I don't actually hope you quit......

But as HIS Mom, I have to fight for him.  I have to reach outside my comfort zone and challenge you when I know we're not on the same page. And as unpleasant as that might be for you, it is just as unpleasant for me.  I don't like conflict, I don't like looking an educated, respected woman in the eye and saying "You are not doing the right thing and I know better than you."  I don't relish calling you out, forcing you to justify yourself and your knowledge.

You see THAT Mom, but really, I am the Mom who spends hours agonizing over every word in those e-mails.  I am the Mom who lays in bed at night tossing and turning over whether or not to rock the boat.  I am the Mom who researches for hours just to make sure I can keep up with what I know you are already well versed in.  I am the Mom who feels totally inadequate and out of her league when it comes to therapies and goals.  I am the Mom who leaves those meetings and sits in her car and sobs....every.single.time.

I'm HIS Mom. 

I simply need the very best I can physically get to help him reach his potential.  I will spend any amount of my money and time and emotional capacity I need to in order to go to sleep at night knowing that today was a day that worked for him.  It's a lonely, isolating, slightly scary, and very uncomfortable place to be sometimes, but I will do whatever I have to for him.  That includes pushing you to give him the best and most accurate support that YOU can.

So yes, I am THAT Mom, and I won't apologize for it, but just so you know, it's harder on me than it is on you. 

It's also a million trillion times more rewarding.

12 Hours to Remind Me That I am Not Enough

Yesterday I spent the day at another adoption conference.  I admit that I find these things absolutely fascinating and soul-filling.  Not because it was one of those "Save the Orphan" happy hearts and tears conferences, because it wasn't.  This was an educational conference for adoption social workers, adoptive parents, and prospective adoptive parents. Half the sessions I attended were very bleak and frank discussions on racism and the burdens of being a transcultural family (especially a transcultural adoptee). Not happy topics, especially sitting in the room as a white, upper-middle class adoptive mother. The rest of the sessions were on parenting and advocating for your child with special needs...only a "touching and affirming" topic if you aren't actually parenting a child with special needs.  Because for me, it was depressing, overwhelming, but really, truly, incredibly informative and helpful. (As an aside, I'm glad the class wasn't some affirming, YOU CAN DO IT special needs class...all the affirmation I need that parenting a child with special needs is a blessing and not a curse is to come home and watch my son come running on his two little legs into my arms while yelling "Mama's home!")

Yet, I came home 12 hours later with my mind running a million different directions.  I got information I was immediately able to use, and I got information I needed (and still need) to mull over, research, and let percolate. The last 24 hours, and the upcoming days and weeks will be filled with some mental shifts or tweaks. 

And that is empowering. Attending conferences like this help me to be a better parent for my children.  They remind me that it's not okay for me to read a couple books in preparation to adopt, attend some Korean festivals and go to a Korea restaurant once a month, and call it good.  They remind me that racism isn't something that I can hear someone talk about once and have a grasp on it as a whole.  They remind me that pediatricians and schools might not have the knowledge or skills to look at my son's whole history to make the best decisions.  They remind me that I am the temporary gatekeeper to my child's world, but that the world that is inherently his is not mine.

I have so many things I'll be undoubtedly writing about as I work thought them in my head, but for now, I thought I would share the most memorable bit of info from yesterday (memorable as in the true sense of not having to go to my notes which are across the room).

I heard Kevin D. Hofmann speak yesterday and spent some time again today on his blog (which, if you read, know that some of the best discussions come from the dialogue in the comments, so don't pass those up).  He is a successful, well adjusted, seemingly happy man/son/brother/husband/father.  He is biracial and was adopted a very long time ago by a white family.  And although he seems happy with his life and clearly loves his family, he doesn't pull punches and try to sugarcoat the topic.  He made a lot of really excellent points, but two comments that drove into my heart are below:

1. "Culture isn't fried chicken, tacos, or spring rolls." Ouch. And he's so right.  Although I love the fact that my son is packing back kimchi when we go to a Korean restaurant, is any part of the experience actually allowing him to access his cultural heritage? No.  No more so then him becoming an honorary Italian any time we go to an Italian restaurant.  Looking at Korean art in our home?  Nope, not unless he knows what the words say or the symbols mean.  Wearing a hanbok?  Nope. Not unless he is actively participating in an event that Koreans would normally wear a hanbok at.  I don't think he was inferring that these things are wrong to do with our children, but rather, I think he means that it's not enough.  And I agree with him.  BUT, honestly, it's all I can give my children, since I am not Korean.  Even taking my children back to Korea again and again won't be enough, because they'll be experiencing it through the eyes of a foreigner. At some point, I have to admit that I cannot give my sons their Korean heritage.

Which brings me to the second point from Kevin D. Hofmann that hit home for me.

2. Just as you would, as a parent, move mountains and sacrifice for your child with special needs to get what he or she needed to reach their full potential, so should we consider living as a transcultural adoptee a type of "special need." They need to have access to their cultural heritage that can be given only by those who are part of that culture; they need to have a chance to understand that part of themselves and be able to reclaim it should they desire to; and they need to have parents who not only support that need, but are willing to sacrifice their own comfort for it.  Mr. Hofmann feels the best way to do this is to become the minority and allow your child the opportunity to be a majority in some small part of their lives. This one is harder for me, and something I am still trying to figure out how best to do, but it's a theme that comes up over and over from adults who were adopted transculurally, so as hard as it is for me to understand and want to admit and accept, my gut tells me it is the truth. 

Appa and I are not doing enough, that much I know.  And I am thankful for the reminder.  But for now, I've only gotten far enough to acknowledge the truth....figuring out what to do with that truth will take a little more time.

Fighting the Skeletons

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

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

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

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

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

It makes me feel so lucky to be his mom.

Happy Trails

Appa and I love to travel. We're not crazy travelers, by any means, but between having most of our family and friends live on the other side of the country, having a fondness for teal blue water, and having children born in a country across the world, we've developed into a couple who isn't afraid to book a flight and GO somewhere, even just for a weekend.

When Little Bug came home, I wondered how that part of our life would change. Ironically, for all our traveling, we NEVER travel for major holidays. It seems like most families with kid almost exclusively plan travel around those times. We decided that as hard as it would be, we would not limit ourselves to Turkey-Time in Spudland. Both Grandmas probably hate this about us.

And we've done it. Little Bug has dipped his toes in both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. He's seen mountains and plains. He's been kissed by showgirls and winked at by Lady Liberty. We've continued to spend time with family and friends and enabled our child to develop a healthy love for those people...and for traveling.

I want our children to grow up with an appreciation that memories matter, family matters, friends matter. I want them to see the world, even and including their country, and to be blunt, I want to keep living my life and making my own memories and cultivating my own relationships.

Does it suck teaching them this lesson at such a young age? Heck yes. It's a bitter pill to swallow when you pay full price for things your half-sized human will barely use (hello, second airline seat) and traveling with said half-sized humans is less fun than it is stressful. But it's so worth it when you are finally in the moment.

Today we booked a trip to the happiest place on earth for a couple months from now. It's a trip that is solely for Little Bug, with absolutely zero agenda for Appa and I. It was a spur of the moment thing, but I'm so looking forward to hoofing if around and around and around and around just for my little baby's enjoyment. It will, barring any major life events like weddings or funerals, be our last plane ride before we board the pretty teal one that will take us across the world.

I'm really excited to give this to our son, even if he won't remember much of it.

With that being said, we've been traveling a lot lately. Too much, in my opinion. We already canceled one trip this month and just canceled one for this weekend. Honestly, I am relieved. We need a weekend of pajamas and home-cooked food and lounging. The only traveling we'll be doing is to the video store.

Traveling is good, but home is good, too.

Praying For His Buddies

When we announced Little Bro's referral, I was shocked when FOUR people contacted me to tell me they had been "looking" at his profile and even a few of them has requested his information after we had. One friend, in particular, told me that she had been praying specifically for our son to have his family find him.

Well, whaddya know, we did.

Of course, we weren't actually looking for him. It just sort of happened that we looked randomly and were given the strong feeling that we needed to "explore" his information more. We had NO business exploring a waiting child. We were close to a referral. We had paid all our money. We had no plans to adopt an "older child." But in the end, we listened to that little feeling that prompted us to just consider it.

And we found our son. Little Bro, Big Star, Two of Two loves of our lives. Our perfect, healthy, son and his referral that was not nearly as scary as we thought accepting a waiting child would be.

And since then, I check that photo listing at least once a day to see the other little babies and toddlers and kids who have not found their families yet. The majority are thriving and carry the label of their "special need" only on their profile...not in their daily lives. Just like my friend, I pray for these little ones now. I KNOW how perfect they most likely are, but I also KNOW how scary the label "waiting child" is for parents. I literally get giddy when a profile is highlighted as "Matched."

And I swore I would not do this again, but I feel so strongly today that I should share this link to my friend's blog who is publicly advocating for the little boy her son lived with in Korea. A little boy whose picture I gaze at each day on that list. A little boy who has a family and life ahead of him. A little boy who is just like my Little Bro and every other little kid in the world. Perfectly imperfect.

I will forever be shocked at Appa and my choice to pursue our son's referral. We lost money, time, and perceived process security, but we gained a son that I feel to the bottom of my soul is the one meant to be in our lives forever.

All because we looked and thought about it and took a chance. My gut was leading me there, whether I knew it or not. If yours is, you should follow it. When it says stop, stop. When it says go, go.

I try not to write posts to people other than myself and my kids on this blog. But, I feel strongly today to share this link, so I'm going with it.

Maybe this is not a link you will feel compelled to click.

Maybe this is just going to be a blog that you end up enjoying.

Maybe this is going to open your eyes to waiting child adoption and lead you to the photo listings? Or maybe help you lead someone else there? Maybe that won't lead you anywhere but to increased awareness, or maybe, like her blog did for me, it will lead you ultimately to your child?

Or maybe this is your son?

All of these options are okay and right. But you never know until you at least think about it.

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.

Opening the Flood Gates

The last month has been very hard for my big mouth. I deal with my emotions best by writing them out, and this has been a very emotional month for me. The number of half written and completed entries is staggering. Some I will probably never publish (many just various forms of wailing), but the ones that I want Little Bro to one day have will be published as it feels right.

The last couple days have been divine. The referral high is different this time; instead of the jolt of excitement that came with Little Bug's surprise referral, Little Bro's referral has been a slow burn that has sometimes stung and has now settled into this really warm feeling right in the center of my chest. It's protecting me from what has become almost immediately bad news.

Little Bro isn't coming home for a LONG time. He's not going to be even remotely a baby when he steps into our home. We'll be waiting nearly and possibly entirely a year for him to come home.

A couple weeks ago this news might have been devastating. It might have even tried to worm enough doubt into our minds to sway our resolve to be brave and listen to our guts. We've never really considered an "older child" adoption. Yet here we are, not even 48 hours into our wait for our baby, and we find out he'll never be a baby to us.

And I am shocked to find I don't care. Obviously I care that he will have a harder transition and that we will miss so much, but the situation is not one that can be changed, no matter what anyone does. Somehow just the knowledge that Little Bro will come home is enough to make me dig in my heels, hire a Korean tutor, buy another Korean cookbook, reach out to other families with experience with older children transitions, and resolve to do whatever needs to be done. I would rather have him at 24 months than never at all. Hell, I'll wait as long as it takes.

Cheerfully explaining this to my surprised new social worker (who might think I have a hearing problem or a screw loose now) when she called the break the bad news reminded me of an entry I wrote on April 12 (which was a bad day all the way around). It essentially set the tone for our outlook on this new journey for our family (at least in my mind because I only recently shared some of these entries with Appa, who is definitely not a "write-it-out" sort of person).

April 12, 2010
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Little Bro. My big star. You are going to be a tenacious little thing, aren't you.

I don't know how else to put this…but it's would be so much easier to just pretend we never saw your face and move on with our "plan." You know, if we could forget you, which we can't, because you are 100% unforgettable. Even in this time of uncertainty, I write you notes and steal looks at your picture and get panic attacks when I think of any other child being my Little Bro. Because your mama is a huge geek, I have often come back to the popular phrase: "What is easy is not always right, and what is right is not always easy." Our sudden journey to you is not easy, but man, baby boy, does it feel right.

You're worth fighting for, and that is what your Appa and I are doing. Both in our own minds and hearts and with all the other external factors that stand in the way of getting you in our arms. We're being brave, having faith, but being realistic and careful because we only want what is best for you…and we know there might yet be a chance that we are not.

But we hope we are.