Two Secrets

Little Bug's medication has messed with his sleep, and although we are no longer a closet co-sleeping family, most nights lately I have ended up in his bed at some point in the night.  He isn't a cuddler in the traditional sense, but he always has to be touching me with his feet.  Sometimes it is just his tiny toes against my thighs, and sometimes he burrows both his feet as far in between my legs as he can.

Secret #1: I will sometimes move slightly away from his touch just to have the lovely heart-melty feeling when his feet immediately follow me for contact again.

Secret #2: I adore the nights when I get to cuddle with my sleepy baby boy.  Screw the sleep training.

In Between Doses

It's been over a month since I wrote in this space.

Honestly, I didn't have words.  To blournal the small things seemed wrong when the BIG things were looming.  But the BIG things felt too overwhelming to write about, and frankly, I just didn't want to vent and moan.

But the truth is, that little pill kicks some serious baby butt.  The first few weeks were filled with side effects--horrible, sad side effects that left my sweet boy in physical and emotional pain.  That, in turn, left Appa and I nearly bereft for him.  Once the side effects tapered off, it became apparent the dose was too low, so we had to increase the dose again, restarting the side effects.

Swallow, melt down, repeat.  Swallow, melt down, repeat.

The bad news is that I have a mother's intuition that this dose/particular medication isn't going to be the right fit either.  The good news is I have total faith in our doctor and appreciate the slow and conservative approach to medicating a child off label (due to age).

The best news is that Little Bug is still thriving and continuing to improve his knowledge and capability to help himself.  We've made some big decisions for his education this Fall that we hope will give him his very best shot at making the most of his last pre-K year.  Although we are very much in the present with him right now, we're serious about positioning him for his academic future, and I am excited to start taking advantages of the many unique resources we have available.

As an aside: giving up a master bathroom to get into a really good school district was one of the best decisions I ever made.  Way to go, me 6 years ago!

So, the thing is, I need to move on from this.  Swallow, melt down, repeat is going to continue for a while, and I can't just censor myself anymore while I wallow in the cycle with my baby love. I'm going to make a concerted effort to blournal more about the daily things like I used to.  Maybe I will blournal about Little Bug's new trick of taking his underoos off and peeing on the floor when he gets angry or about Little Bro's daily expository speeches.  Maybe I'll blournal about my baby sister moving the the freaking Philippines for an 18-month mission or how she and I wasted an hour and a half watching possibly the most pointless movie in the whole world simply because Adam Brody was in it (my choice).

And Lee Min Ho is filming a new drama.  Since Appa just bought me the complete Rosetta stone for Korean, I'm now officially on my way to becoming fluent in my children's' birth language.....right?

Or maybe I will blournal about the week we just spent on my Aunt's farm in Michigan.  How Little Bug and Little Bro had smiles mile wide on their faces from morning to night with attitudes to match.  How perfect it was.

And can be.

And is.

Intentional Mothering

I've written and rewritten this post four times over the last week.  I'm not sure why it is so hard for me to articulate what has been screaming inside my head.  So, I'm taking a stab at just winging it without framework.

I've been an unequal mother to my boys recently, or perhaps ever since Little Bro came home.  With Little Bug in school for most of the week, Little Bro gets full days of Mommy time.  Little Bug, however, comes home from school and has to share the time he does have with me with his little brother.  I mean, obviously brothers spend time together with their mom.  But Little Bug...that became all the time he got with me, shared time.

Our home life is such that evening schedules are critical and must be done together.  Little Bug needs an early bedtime, he can't occupy himself independently while I put his brother down to bed, and truly, he loves his brother so much that he doesn't want to be without him.  We even do Little Bug's home therapies as a group. Simply put, we function in nearly every moment between school and bedtime as a unit of three.

Before Little Bro came home, I would pick Little Bug up from school and take him out to dinner at least once a week.  There we would sit, just the two of us, watching trains go by and "talking" about our day.  I think back on those moments and realize how special they were, and how much I miss that with Little Bug (I still have it with Little Bro).

When Appa comes home for the weekends, we try to soak up every moment with him and consequently, do very little not as a family unit.  And although this is a good thing, it once again shafts Little Bug from quality one-on-one time.  One of us taking him to the grocery store to relieve the double duty is hardly quality time.

I guess I just realized that Little Bug needs and deserves a little time with his mama without having to share her with anyone else.  I'm shocked at how little of this precious time he has actually gotten in the last months.  It makes me feel really crummy, actually.

But I have two kids and only one me, and the truth is having more than one kid really does make it very hard to have quality time alone.  For me, the first step was realizing one of my kids was getting less and determining what I considered to be (and not to be) quality one-on-one time.  The next step is hardest: actually making the time.  Because for our family, it doesn't come organically.  Little Bro doesn't softly plod off to play some educational game in one room while Little Bug and I can snuggle and whisper secrets to each other or play a game on his terms at his speed.  I have to manufacture an activity for Little Bro and devise another activity removed from Little Bro's activity.  Then I have to sell them both to my kids.

How is that working?  Not super, but I am getting there.  I don't love turning "Jake" on the TV for my 2 year old simply so he will leave me alone for a while. But when I have managed to get Little Bug alone and give him my special attention, he had blossomed.  I attribute it in small part to some of his recent developmental successes, and I have definitely noticed an increase in his affection and desire to snuggle since I've made the effort to give him special time.

This matters.  I can see it in his smile and his eyes and his off-handed or deliberate kisses and hugs.  Having me matters to him.  Even just the five minutes a night where we play a puzzle or take silly pictures on my phone make a difference to him and make him happy.

Sometimes I forget that I am the most important person in my kids' lives.  It seems sort of pompous to go around thinking that you mean more to them than anyone else in the world, but really, it's true.  My five minutes are worth hours of other peoples' time to my sons, and I need to start valuing my time the way they do. Intentionally.

Perspective

Today I was dragging Little Big and Little Bro through a long hallway in a children's wing of a large hospital.  They had been woken from naps early and were tired, cold, and grumpy.  Even grumpier was me, their seriously sleep-deprived mama (my own fault for deciding on a whim this week to paint our kitchen after bedtime), who was pissed off that we had to add yet another weekly therapy session that required me to shlup both my grumpy kids around at a really inopportune time of day.  Classy and big girl, I know.

Bottom line, it was a three car frowny train barreling down that hallway about 7 minutes late.

A man and woman stood about 3/4 of the way down the hallway fussing in agitation over a large jogging stroller that was facing away from us.  They seemed stress and unhappy and resigned, just like me.  My thought as I approached them was literally "Man, I know how you feel.  My kids are being pains, too!"

Then I reached the point where I could see their child in the stroller.

A child probably 3-5 years old with a trachea tube whose fragile looking body was having what looked like a seizure as her parents tried to keep her safe and comfortable in the moment.


Dear Me:
Shut the hell up.  You have two healthy children who have every chance in the world to live out all the dreams you had hoped for them. Children whose needs are predictable and isolated and generally not impeding daily life. Get over yourself, hug your babies, be grateful, and send a prayer for quick peace for that family who just reminded you what real strength and challenge looks like.

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.

WWTD

It seems like a no-brainer: teach you kids by example.

But sometimes I forget that it extends past the basic "please and thank you" or sharing to those more abstract (and bigger) life lessons, like how to deal with stress or anger.

I am working--hard--on patience.  I used to think I had a ton of it, but since I started staying home, that patience has worn thin.  I'm still trying to process why this is, but the fact remains that I am more apt to raise my voice or immediately punish than I was a year ago.  Although I don't think there is anything wrong with raising your voice at a 4 or 2 year old who is beating on their brother, trying to ride their push car down the stairs, or continuously trying to unscrew a lite light bulb from a lamp, there are other times when I can tone it down, and I know it.

I'm trying to focus this week on thinking about how I want my SONS to react in situations of frustration and anger.  When their little buddy knocks down their block tower, do I want them to automatically scream "NO."  Do I want them to glare at someone who talks flippantly to them?

What Would THEY Do?

If I continue on my current status quo, what will my boys do when faced with similar emotional stimulants?  If they see their mother going for the "NO" or no-mercy time out right away, they are going to learn to behave that way themselves with their friends/family/future spouses.

And when I play back my behavior sometimes, it definitely isn't behavior I would wish to see come out of my precious, tender-hearted sons.

My mantra for the week: WWTD

Breakfast with Mama

 This morning was not a good breakfast morning...or maybe it was an awesome breakfast morning.  I'm not actually sure.

It started out with two little boys refusing to eat their bacon and eggs.  That refusal turned into defiance, which somehow turned into a hysterically funny food fight.  And the laugher coming from those two little boys while throwing food was so genuine and enjoyable that I just sat there with a dumb grin on my face watching the brotherly bond between my sons practically strengthen before my eyes.

Then I realized there was food everywhere.  And my kids were throwing it.  And watching me watch them in approval (and maybe even take some pictures with my phone).  And throwing more food.

And I wondered if in this moment I was the world's coolest mom or the world's most irresponsible mom for letting my kids bond over making a giant mess of our dining room table, floors, and walls.

I didn't have too long to ponder because someone committed the ultimate sin and threw a slice of bacon on the floor. The laughter turned to anguished wails.

And the moment was over.

I think next time I'll find slightly less socially inappropriate and disgusting ways to bond, but I don't regret this morning.

Forgiveness

There is no greater lesson than the forgiveness of your children.

Today was not a great mommy day for me.  All three of us woke up in bad moods, but I didn't do my duty to rise above the occasion and was short, distant, and even a bit loud.  Of course, I tried to salvage the day by spending almost all of it outside, taking a long bike ride to reduce stress, and even napping, but the evening ended with Mommy still not being her best.  As we read books in our jammies, I felt so horrible for being such a crummy mom to them today, and I imagined them both laying sadly in bed being angry with me after I turned out the lights and left their rooms.

But none of it mattered to them in the end.  They showered my scowling face with cuddles and kisses and murmurs of "i loube ooo"s.  They nestled their heads into my chest and shoulder and relaxed in my embrace.  They forgave me for today and let me still just be the mommy who loves them more than anything else, who makes them feel safe, and who is the one whose kisses are needed to fall asleep.

Surely I can find it in myself to forgive them just as quickly for things like willful disobedience and epic tantrums.  Their example of forgiveness is inspiring.

An Apology to My Little Bug

It's been a lonely couple of weeks for me.

Sometimes being a mom of a kid with special needs, especially behavioral special needs, just plain sucks.  It's stressful, emotionally draining, depressing, and scary, which leads some (me) into periods of isolation as I try to swing our family pendulum back into sync with some serious sleep and diet modifications and a super low-key environment.  Even as I took the boys on a 5-day vacation last week, I felt so off, a mirror to Little Bug's off mood (that was likely a bit of a cycle between the two of us by the end).

And that isolation extended to my writing, which I deliberately avoided, simply because the things I wanted to say were not things I actually wanted to say.

In fact, I just had about seven additional paragraphs to this post detailing my last couple weeks that I just deleted.  Because it wasn't what I wanted to say.

Instead, I want to write about how amazing my Little Bug is and how humbled I am tonight to be his mother.

Little Bug came to us as a sweet, beautiful 10-month-old infant.  He's always been so far behind in development that Appa and I just grew accustomed to parenting him at his delayed age.  He was our first child, and our parenting experience has been entirely built upon ignoring all conventional parenting methods and milestones. What we have given as compassion, acceptance, and avocation have in some instances been nothing more than enabling or selfishness.

That has now been put into blessed clarity for us.

Little Bug is a couple months away from turning 4.  Yet, he has never been formally sleep trained and has been cosleeping in a most unhealthy way since his first birthday.  Why have we never bitten the bullet and kicked this habit?  Oh, that would be because he couldn't be walk, then he couldn't stay in his big boy bed, then he couldn't fall asleep without us, then he needed his sleep and it was easier to put him to sleep in our bed, then we would be going on vacation, then he was getting a new room, then he got a new brother, then then then then then.

All excuses, every one of them.  The real reasons were that Appa and I loved having him cuddle in our bed with us and that we simply didn't have enough faith in him to be able to go to sleep on his own and cognitively follow the rules.

In the last four days, he's almost completely sleep trained.  We still have tears, but they are short.  And most importantly, he understands the expectations and accepts them.  Appa and I are ashamed to think of the YEARS of sleep deprivation we have imposed on our tough son simply because we underestimated him. 

And we started potty training him today, too.  Again, I didn't think this would work, at all.  If anything, I thought Little Bro would potty train and help eventually with Little Bug's training.  After only 4 hours, my son who has never peed on the potty in any intentional way was telling us, over and over during dinnertime, no less, that he needed to go potty.  He kept his big boy pants dry for hours as he motored back and forth to put his business where it needed to be.  (And he started taking the stairs without holding any railings.....another first for this super kid.)

In 3 days, I actually think he'll be potty trained.  Officially.  And it shocks me, to be honest.  Both Appa and I are pretty incredulous.

And we're both a bit humbled and ashamed to have underestimated our son in such huge ways.  In every challenge we've thrown his way, he's breezed through it.  Not even really struggled, but just breezed through it.  He's shown us time and time again that he's up for the challenge.

We just haven't been challenging him like we thought we were.

So although there are still a lot of challenges facing Little Bug that can't be fixed with a modified sleep training program or a 3-day miracle potty training program, there are a lot of little life lessons that Little Bug IS probably ready for.  And that is going to force us to change how we parent him a bit, which includes me cutting out some of our isolation therapy. Which is probably going to make us all happier.

I know every mother thinks this of their child, but I just really feel deeply that there is something special about Little Bug and what his future holds.  Of course I think Little Bro is very special, too, but I feel strongly that Little Bug was given his gifts of a fighting spirit, charming disposition, and joy of life to turn his challenges into something really amazing.  He's going to inspire people in some way, some day; I know it.  I know it.   And someday, when he reads this note from his mother in the midst of all my random musings, I hope he knows that I, more than anyone else in this world, have been blessed beyond measure by him simply being who he is.

Today I Lost My Kid

I had grand plans to post about how awesome, thought-provoking, and decadent my long weekend was, but instead I'll blournal about today....when I lost my kid.

I was in a play area in a mall I wasn't familiar with, chatting with two lovely ladies I don't usually see, and honestly, I was pretty proud of myself.  This helicopter mama was letting her 2-year-old Big Star have free roam of the enclosed play area (a tree with lots of tunnels and slides and secret rooms).  He would come check in with me and I would check in with him.  He was happy, I was happy--good times had by all. But as silly as it sounds, suddenly I just had a feeling, and went to check on my kid. And he wasn't to be found amongst the 20+ kids and adults in that enclosed area.


HOLY CRAP  HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP

Only in my head, and possibly out loud, I wasn't saying "crap."

And in that moment, I heard a woman from outside the play area yelling "does this child belong to someone?"

Turns out my Big Star had figured out how to open the only door in the play area and taken off down the mall.  Like, seriously down the mall.  A grandma had chased him down and was dragging him back as her daughter tried to figure out who the little Korean escape artist belonged to.

That would be me, the mortified mama who wasn't sure whether to scream or cry and was almost definitely in shock.

What would have happened had that grandma not made the call to chase my kid down (and he is a fast little sucker, especially in open spaces) and manhandle him back to the play area?  He was apparently almost to a corner and could have turned either way.  He is fast and fearless and tiny....and mine to keep safe.

I tried to play it cool since it was my fault ultimately for not keeping a closer eye on him and not parking my behind right next to the door, and we just moved to a position right near the door to better watch him as he continued to escape.  Which he did, over and over, with his little trademark smirk that melted my frustrated heart and made me sick to think of all the what ifs.

So that's my lesson.  In a blink of an eye your child could be gone, gone, gone.  So barricade those doors and practice your death glares before returning to the mall play area.

It's either that or the monkey leash.

Textbook Mistake

Last night we hosted a family birthday party for Little Bro.  As is tradition for us, our family parties are small, intimate affairs with around 10 people, some pizza (or in this case, Beebimbap), and a couple hours of family time.  Because Little Bro has been doing so well for so long, we felt that just days shy of 3 months home, it would be safe to have these important people in our home and interacting with him in a meaningful way.

Oh.My.God. What a nightmare, or rather, in Little Bro's case, night terror.

I blame us, totally.  We let it all slide last night with people holding him, playing with him, comforting him, and generally getting up in his face.  Our social butterfly ate it up happily, and everyone left an hour past his bedtime feeling like this was the beginning of a beautiful new chapter.

And almost immediately the meltdowns began.  It was initially a perfect storm of over-tired/over-stimulated, but morphed into the grieving night terrors we haven't seen in a long while.  He didn't want us near him at night, but sobbed and could not be comforted without us.  All night long.  Anger, fear, rage.

And I knew it was my fault for letting my guard down and piling extra stressors on him (lack of sleep, us being on the other side of the room, etc.)  As the hours ticked on throughout the night, I was once again humbled by how huge this trauma is that my kids carry within them.  Although each day snips a little of the hold it has on their heart, it is still there lurking silently, especially for my little one still so newly home in the grand scheme of things, ready to come to the surface in moments of stress.

So we regroup.  He woke up happy and "normal." We'll step up attachment activities and pull back on the social interaction for a while.  Because it's my job to make sure he is always in situations where he feels safe and secure, and I dropped the ball this time.

The Great Debate

What came first, the fussy children or the cranky mom?

I'd like to think that my mood over the last 3 days can be blamed on my sons.  They are both going through some "emotionally fragile" phases due to the fact that they are toddlers and can't regulate their emotions.

Unlike their 30-year-old mother, who certainly can, but has chosen not to.

My kids have been all sorts of naughty, loud, grumpy, defiant, and generally annoying as hell the last couple days, but what I realized is that my sour, cranky, tense mood could perhaps be exacerbating, if not causing the higher level of...passionate expression...in our home.  Kids can tap in and feed off emotions, especially those of their parents, and perhaps my mood isn't really due to my kids, but my choice to eat less healthy and get less sleep the last few days, thus causing my kids' moods to devolve into toddler nastiness.  When we wake up in the mornings, who is the first one to frown lately.

I'm betting it's been me.

So tonight I apologized to my sons for causing what has been a relatively unfun and stressful few days and promised to try harder tomorrow.  One said "I waaab ooo, mama" and the other gave me a silly grin from behind his bottle.

And tomorrow, I really will try harder.

Mama

Almost 2 months to the day he came home, Little Bro started calling me mama (and Appa, dada).  What was noted in Korea as a speech delay has turned out instead to be a mark of impressive and hardcore stubbornness and a fondness for pointing and grunting to get his way.

Not that we've been cracking a whip or anything, but yeah, that wasn't going to continue long-term here.

Within the first month home Little Bro had picked up a handful of words, and in the last month his vocab has exploded. Granted, his most consistent words are a bit random (cheese, turtle, hi, hawk), but he's actually got more words than I care to type out, many of them functional and appropriate for his day to day life, and he loves to repeat anything we say (when in the mood).  He's also a whiz at picking up baby sign language, to the point where I have to go back and review his DVDs to see what he is saying.  He strings together multiple signs and enjoys communicating wants and needs effectively.  He's even using please and thank you consistently.

Cute and polite.  Be still my heart. Did I mention he's got the swagger of the Beibs and the cheeks of a Gerber baby?

But mama, he would not say.  I knew he could say it, as it's so close to omma, a word I heard plenty in our first weeks together, although not in relation to me.  I admit, this last week has grated on me, and I am not proud of the fact that instead of pushing more functional words, I pushed him to use this word; pushed, begged, bribed, and threatened (okay, not really that one).

But that whole stubborn streak...I could see his little lips tightening in a epic battle of wills as he refused to let the sounds pass his lips. Impressive, and pretty freaking scary for me to imagine what sort of show downs Little Bro will be able to whip up when he's 16.

But yesterday after his nap, "Mama, mama" slipped out as I held him in my arms, rushing around to get ready to leave the house.  Before nap = not gonna happen; after nap = sure, your name is mama.  He knew what he was doing, too, as he immediately started clapping for himself. Since then he's being using it A LOT, which I love, although it's mainly when he is whining for something that he busts it out. 

I'll take it though.  Hearing him call me Mama and point to Appa over webchat and exclaim "dada, dada" over and over is another little slice of normal that has fallen into place.  And tonight, as I listened to both of my little sons call my name in their little voices, my heart felt very full (and good thing, too, as they were both actually whining in an attempt to avoid bedtime).

Brook the Bird

Today I took Little Bro to the fancy zoo for his first play date with kids other than his brother (who was in school and missed the fun). It was a nice time for him and a delight for me to chat with friends.

But too soon for me, Little Bro started nodding off in his friend's wagon, and I knew it was time to go. Of course, as soon as we were on the course for the car he woke up and was absolutely fascinated by all the exotic seagulls flying around. Despite the looming threat of a seagull shower, the moment was one I relished. As the oldest, I have no frame of reference for the plight of a second child, but the reality is that now whenever #2 gets something, #1 does, too. In the interest of fairness, there isn't a lot of time or opportunity or reason to spoil just the second child.

But as MY second child sleepily delighted in watching the birds with me, I knew I was going to seize the moment and spoil him and him alone.

I took him to one of the zoo gift shops and let him pick out a stuffed animal. I steered him toward the birds, since that nice memory was fresh in my mind. He doesn't seem like a stuffed-animal-loving kid, but he did take immediately to a weird looking stuffed penguin (a bird we did not see at the zoo) with over sized, weird cracked out TROLL eyes.

Whatever. My baby was getting this weird doll.

And to my satisfaction, he held it the whole way to the car, playing with the wings and laughing at it. He clutched it during nap and while watching SuperWhy. I started to think that maybe this special treat was going to be something that would mean something to both of us.

Of course tonight he took one look at it, realized it had creepy Chucky eyes, and promptly freaked out until I hid it from him.

Oh well, it's the thought and memory that counts....and I have a feeling Brook the Big-Eyed Birdie is going to be popping up again and again as I try to force my darling second son to love this silly little doll.

"It wouldn't hurt if you stopped playing with it."

Sometimes the words that so naturally and seriously come out of my mouth as a mother make me laugh....and cringe.  The conversations I have nowadays leave little sacred.

*Waves hi to 20-year-old Little Bug someday.* 

Fire Bus

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

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

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

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

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

It is an ambulance.

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

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

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

Hung with Care

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

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

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

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

But it has. And it will pass.

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.

The Perks

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

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

Motherhood is oh-so-fun sometimes!

More than Words

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

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

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

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

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

We wanted her to have something tangible to hold onto.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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