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.
Showing posts with label get over it. Show all posts
Showing posts with label get over it. Show all posts
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
"Mommy, I'm TWO"
By the time I dragged him and his big brother (who is still doing really well with the oil therapy and was awesome today in class and was most definitely not that kid in class today), I was pulling out my hair trying to figure out what was going on with my littlest one.
Somewhere on the interstate, it hit me. Little Bro IS 2 years old. He has a right to act nuts in the middle of a class. He should be expected to be argumentative, naughty, loud, grumpy, disobedient, etc. And I'm not really supposed to get why. He's 2.
Surprisingly, this is kind of a new thing for me to focus on. Little Bro usually spends times with 3- and 4-year-olds, not 2 year olds, so I don't see a lot of the terrible 2s in action anymore. Even more deceiving, Little Bro has the soul of an 80-year-old man and a vocabulary to match. Quite simply, I forget he is only 2 because in so many ways he doesn't act like a 2 year old. And that isn't a bad thing, but it makes it harder for me to keep age-appropriate expectations for him sometimes. I'm proud of him for being so mature and living up to high expectations, but I shouldn't begrudge him his rite of passage in toddlerhood, either.
I am thinking about teaching him to say "Mommy, please give me a break, I'm only 2." Considering he managed to learn to count to 3 in Korean without any prompting or help after learning it in Korean class today while his head was spinning in circles, I think he could knock that sentence out no problem.
Monday, January 23, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, October 10, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, August 12, 2011
The Question
Now, the new, more subtle was of determining how I came to be wrangling two small Koreans is a different, seemingly innocent question that I literally get 2-3 times a week.
"Are they brothers?"
And although the snarky responses you read in all the adoption literature comes to mind, my go to answer falls in line with my general rule on these sorts of questions...simple and honest.
"Yes."
But the thing is, I know that isn't what they are asking. I know they aren't using the word brothers the way I am. I know they are asking about blood and biology and a single birth mother and some history or story that is bound to be interesting. But, if that was all it was, me choosing to ignore the implications behind the question, that would be fine. It's the follow-up comments that I have been shocked to discover nearly always follow my simple and honest answer.
In the last week alone, these are some of the comments I have received in response to my answer.
"How wonderful you were able to keep them together."
"I can tell. Their eyes have the same shape." [Really?! Here is a news flash, nice lady handing out chocolate milk samples at Costco, there are around 50 million other people in the world who have the same "shape" of eyes as my kids. I am pretty sure they aren't all related. If they were, Lee Min Ho would be having dinner at my place...like every night.]
"What a sad story with such a happy ending!"
"You can tell."
"I didn't know you could adopt siblings from Asia."
"They're twins, right?"
So here is my dilemma. I really like my less-is-more approach in general because it works for my personality, but in this case, I am finding it increasingly important to offer up information speaking to the implication of this question. It's not a huge deal right now with my boys understanding what is being said, but when they get older, I don't want to have to continue the conversation with these strangers in order to set the record straight when their assumptions become clear, nor do I want to lie or hide the fact that my children are not biological brothers, because it doesn't make them any less of brothers, and I want them to know that and own that.
I have started practicing with the answer "they are now," and that seems to get the point across, but also tends to fluster people and make them backpedal, which makes me feel bad. Then again, it's not offensive, so perhaps I shouldn't care that I've made people who asked an awkward question feel awkward themselves. But even that answer feels like it has a shelf life, as it might be a little odd to say "they are now" when they've been brothers for 10+ years or something.
It's the most interesting of transitions from going from one child to two, and I find it has made our family even more conspicuous, more interesting to strangers, and more vulnerable to prying questions.
But for the record, as far as I am concerned, the only answer that is really true is "yes."
They are brothers.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Brook the Bird
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.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The Pain
I'm talk, of course, about a bad hair cut on my baby.
This blow is particularly hard because I have been waiting for months past his usual hair cut time to grow it long. I wanted the long Korean sideburns and the sweeping hair. I pushed past the annoying frizz phase and have been basking in the glow of Asian hipster hair for a while now. I loved my kid's hair. And when a little boy is 3, what his mama thinks about his hair is the only thing that really matters.
I only wanted a touch off the back to reduce the mullet look and a little clean up. He was so close to having perfectly coiffed K-Drama hair. The stylists assured me that she understood, and I hovered over her, just in case.
But in the moment it took me to grab my kid a sucker, the damage was done. "Fixing it" only made it worse, and I was one of those passive mothers who decided to just smile and thank her to avoid her continuing to "fix it" rather than throw myself on the floor and wailing (which is what I wanted to do).
And now I am faced with my beautiful, adorable son who looks like he could be cast as the child version of a character from "Dumb and Dumber." My new goal is simply to have it looking decent by the time we go to Korea. It looks like extra vitamins are in order for him and a chill pill for me.
Oh, the pain.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Macho, Macho Man
A couple days ago Appa and I had the chance to pick Little Bug up from school together. Whenever Appa surprises Little Bug at school he gets *really* excited. Me, I'm no big thang, but Appa....it's like Christmas.
Little Bug was in the potty room when we walked in. The other little kids started chanting "Little Bug's Mommy and Daddy." THAT got his attention. His little head poked up over the swinging door and his eyes lit up.
"DadDDDDDDDDDDa!"
He kept chanting excitedly as his teacher tried to wrangle a diaper on him. He was chattering away to his teacher and would randomly yell "DadDDDa" in joy. Nothing could rain on this kid's joy parade.
Until he got a touch too excited and pushed the swinging door out too fast. In the blink of an eye, he was on his hands and knees as the door swung harmlessly away.
The moment suspended for a second until it became clear nothing had actually happened other than Little Bug clumsily falling as the door opened. He was fine.
He looked up from his hands and knees into the eyes of his friends and his teacher and his mama and dada.
And then he wailed.
His teachers were shocked. I was shocked. Little Bug was busting out his serious, I.AM.INJURED tears and lip quiver and wails. Not because he was hurt; he wasn't.
He was surprised, a little scared, and embarrassed. Emotions that are never fun to feel.
I've been noticing more and more of this lately, a social awareness, a desire not to be the object of laughter unless it is on his terms. It has been fascinating to watch develop. It's also very age appropriate, which is always a huge bonus in our book.
So when the tears dried and the hiccups stopped we gave him a chance to show off some of the new skills he is pretty proud of. He was back to feeling like a king in no time.
My little macho man.
Little Bug was in the potty room when we walked in. The other little kids started chanting "Little Bug's Mommy and Daddy." THAT got his attention. His little head poked up over the swinging door and his eyes lit up.
"DadDDDDDDDDDDa!"
He kept chanting excitedly as his teacher tried to wrangle a diaper on him. He was chattering away to his teacher and would randomly yell "DadDDDa" in joy. Nothing could rain on this kid's joy parade.
Until he got a touch too excited and pushed the swinging door out too fast. In the blink of an eye, he was on his hands and knees as the door swung harmlessly away.
The moment suspended for a second until it became clear nothing had actually happened other than Little Bug clumsily falling as the door opened. He was fine.
He looked up from his hands and knees into the eyes of his friends and his teacher and his mama and dada.
And then he wailed.
His teachers were shocked. I was shocked. Little Bug was busting out his serious, I.AM.INJURED tears and lip quiver and wails. Not because he was hurt; he wasn't.
He was surprised, a little scared, and embarrassed. Emotions that are never fun to feel.
I've been noticing more and more of this lately, a social awareness, a desire not to be the object of laughter unless it is on his terms. It has been fascinating to watch develop. It's also very age appropriate, which is always a huge bonus in our book.
So when the tears dried and the hiccups stopped we gave him a chance to show off some of the new skills he is pretty proud of. He was back to feeling like a king in no time.
My little macho man.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Here's a Tip
On Friday morning I got on a 6 am flight with my 2.5 year old son. I was running on about 3 hours of sleep, but I had my act together.
Snacks, check.
New toys to stagger as distractions, check.
Favorite books, check.
Extra seat, check.
But let me repeat, 6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child.
Little Bug was, I'll admit, whiny. BUT, in the grand scheme of aggravating baby/plane experiences, this was nothing. His whining was intermittent and not very loud. I was doing a diligent job keeping him from standing on the seats or bothering anyone else.
Apparently I do a crappy job.
About 30 minutes into the flight the woman behind me said, very loudly, "Excuse me, is he going to take a nap sometime soon? I was hoping to get some sleep on this flight."
I was blown away. Her tone was completely hostile and I was mortified, on top of already being frustrated with my kid on my own. I stammered an profuse and humble apology.
Apparently I do a crappy job at apologizing, too.
She went on to ask if I had any medication I could give him (I had heard her telling a stranger before the flight started that she always medicated her step kids and never once had them bother other people on the flight) and told me "he hasn't stopped talking since we stepped on board."
Let's recap.
6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child (in speech therapy).
Instead of the second, even more mortified apology, I should have said, "F You, lady."
But I didn't. Instead, I apologized a couple more times and turned around and burst into quiet tears. And I cried, on and off depending on Little Bug's volume level (which, for the record, was never really loud, but pretty consistent for the 4-hour flight). The mean woman drank three mini bottles of vodka (recap: 6 am flight) and made sure everyone knew it was because she was being driven to drink.
Here's the thing. I HATE imposing on others. I get that little kids can be annoying. I try my very hardest to make sure my family isn't causing other people discomfort. I was alone and trying SO hard. This woman's comments, especially so freaking early into the flight, terrified me. And truly, my kid wasn't that annoying to anyone but myself.
When the flight ended the woman told me "Honey, I'm sorry. I am just really tired. You're a great mom and didn't lose your cool the whole flight."
I just stared at her and gave a mumbled thanks. What did she expect me to do? Scream at him? Drink myself into a stupor. Give up and let him throw stuff at her (as tempting as that was).
Yes, I am a good mom, and I worked hard and did a really good job on that flight. It wasn't easy or fun, but I am proud of the way I handled it. I did not, however, need her to tell me that.
Little Bug wasn't the only one on that flight who needs to learn to keep their mouth shut.
Snacks, check.
New toys to stagger as distractions, check.
Favorite books, check.
Extra seat, check.
But let me repeat, 6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child.
Little Bug was, I'll admit, whiny. BUT, in the grand scheme of aggravating baby/plane experiences, this was nothing. His whining was intermittent and not very loud. I was doing a diligent job keeping him from standing on the seats or bothering anyone else.
Apparently I do a crappy job.
About 30 minutes into the flight the woman behind me said, very loudly, "Excuse me, is he going to take a nap sometime soon? I was hoping to get some sleep on this flight."
I was blown away. Her tone was completely hostile and I was mortified, on top of already being frustrated with my kid on my own. I stammered an profuse and humble apology.
Apparently I do a crappy job at apologizing, too.
She went on to ask if I had any medication I could give him (I had heard her telling a stranger before the flight started that she always medicated her step kids and never once had them bother other people on the flight) and told me "he hasn't stopped talking since we stepped on board."
Let's recap.
6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child (in speech therapy).
Instead of the second, even more mortified apology, I should have said, "F You, lady."
But I didn't. Instead, I apologized a couple more times and turned around and burst into quiet tears. And I cried, on and off depending on Little Bug's volume level (which, for the record, was never really loud, but pretty consistent for the 4-hour flight). The mean woman drank three mini bottles of vodka (recap: 6 am flight) and made sure everyone knew it was because she was being driven to drink.
Here's the thing. I HATE imposing on others. I get that little kids can be annoying. I try my very hardest to make sure my family isn't causing other people discomfort. I was alone and trying SO hard. This woman's comments, especially so freaking early into the flight, terrified me. And truly, my kid wasn't that annoying to anyone but myself.
When the flight ended the woman told me "Honey, I'm sorry. I am just really tired. You're a great mom and didn't lose your cool the whole flight."
I just stared at her and gave a mumbled thanks. What did she expect me to do? Scream at him? Drink myself into a stupor. Give up and let him throw stuff at her (as tempting as that was).
Yes, I am a good mom, and I worked hard and did a really good job on that flight. It wasn't easy or fun, but I am proud of the way I handled it. I did not, however, need her to tell me that.
Little Bug wasn't the only one on that flight who needs to learn to keep their mouth shut.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Bracing Myself
I'm not exactly sure if a recent realization makes me a monster or a saint....or perhaps just human, but the truth is, I'm slightly disappointed that Little Bug isn't going to be wearing leg braces anymore.He's been graduated out of them, which is an amazing accomplishment because our goal was to have him transition to smaller braces by kindergarten, so to have him transitioning (and skipping the mid-sized braces entirely for just a small insert into normal shoes) before age 3 is nothing short of a miracle.
I'm thrilled, of course. Proud, happy, relieved, etc. etc.
But honestly, there is a part of me that isn't all those things. I realized I have used those braces for a number of purposes.
1. I use them as a nonverbal cue to strangers that my kid has some special needs. People look at my kid all Forrest-Gumped-up and make allowances for him, allowances maybe they should or should not make. This used to annoy me, but now it honestly makes it easier when out in a larger group setting.
I'm not saying I'm all for kids who have special needs to have a label stamped on their forehead, but the reality is that it's easier to assimilate in a social setting if people know going in that there might be some extra care needed with my kid. Have the big braces do the introductions is a lot easier than me saying, "Hi, Little Bug has balance issues and might not play at the same level as your kid. Please make sure your child doesn't push mine over, because mine will hit yours in the face.....Nice to meet you." I'm pretty sure this isn't 100% morally okay to feel this way, but it's the truth.
2. I also realized that I look at Little Bug's braces as a badge of honor. I'm so tremendously proud of the hard work he endures daily to get where he is, and the braces are a visual manifestation of that. People can see that he has physical limitations, and yet, watch him chase after a goose or walk through the aisles of a store. I want people to be impressed with my kid, because I sure as hell am. I'm pretty sure that is not 100% okay, either.
Without the braces, I worry that strangers will see my big-for-his-age son and expect him to act like a normal 3 year old would. I worry they will make assumptions about him that I'm not comfortable with once they start interacting with him or see him wobble with his not-quite-all-there-yet balance. Even more, I worry about the reactions he'll get. The surprise or confusion on the face of a stranger playmate or parent at the children's museum or swimming pool when he trips over his own two feet or can't follow his new friend up a set of stairs. I worry about when he gets old enough to start feeling self conscious.
I know these concerns are contradictory, but the truth is Little Bug won't be the only one adjusting to a world without leg braces, and that makes me feel a little ridiculous. Or human.
I'm not sure.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Shut Up
Little Bug has taken a liking to the front seat of our car and the keys. Last weekend Appa let him play "pretend driver" in our car, and although this was not the first time he has played this game, Little Bug acted like he was some possessed kid on crack. It was so funny and so very odd after a solid 10 minutes of mania.
Since then, Little Bug has M-E-L-T-E-D D-O-W-N every time we go out to the car and his horrible mama forces him into his car seat. The keys in the ignition are basically the cruelest taunt to him, and he wails and signs "please" for at least the first 2 minutes of each car ride.
It's awesome.
Last night, after an afternoon of everything being a little off, I drove the 8 minutes drive home from the big box store with Little Bug yelling (not crying) the whole time about the blasted keys. I even had to use my loud, forceful voice, which I have only ever used a handful of times with him....to no avail other than making me feel worse. When I parked in our driveway and tried to get him out of his car seat instead of giving him the keys (yelling doesn't equal getting privileges, which he knows), he got right in my face and started screaming in my ear...about the stupid keys.
I whipped my head around and formed the words.......
"SHUT UP."
Yes, I was actually going to tell my 2.5-year-old to shut up. Forcefully. Right in his chubby baby face. With the lips that I kiss him goodnight with.
Thankfully, as the first sound began to come out of my mouth, I bit my tongue and took a deep breath. Saying that wouldn't have been appropriate, kind, loving, or a good example....all things I should be as a mother.
Instead, I told him (again) that his behavior was not appropriate, took him inside, and let him wail it out on his own until some stickers caught his eye and the keys were forgotten until this morning.
Even though I didn't actually say it, I felt bad that it even almost happened. What kind of mama tells her child to shut up?
Since then, Little Bug has M-E-L-T-E-D D-O-W-N every time we go out to the car and his horrible mama forces him into his car seat. The keys in the ignition are basically the cruelest taunt to him, and he wails and signs "please" for at least the first 2 minutes of each car ride.
It's awesome.
Last night, after an afternoon of everything being a little off, I drove the 8 minutes drive home from the big box store with Little Bug yelling (not crying) the whole time about the blasted keys. I even had to use my loud, forceful voice, which I have only ever used a handful of times with him....to no avail other than making me feel worse. When I parked in our driveway and tried to get him out of his car seat instead of giving him the keys (yelling doesn't equal getting privileges, which he knows), he got right in my face and started screaming in my ear...about the stupid keys.
I whipped my head around and formed the words.......
"SHUT UP."
Yes, I was actually going to tell my 2.5-year-old to shut up. Forcefully. Right in his chubby baby face. With the lips that I kiss him goodnight with.
Thankfully, as the first sound began to come out of my mouth, I bit my tongue and took a deep breath. Saying that wouldn't have been appropriate, kind, loving, or a good example....all things I should be as a mother.
Instead, I told him (again) that his behavior was not appropriate, took him inside, and let him wail it out on his own until some stickers caught his eye and the keys were forgotten until this morning.
Even though I didn't actually say it, I felt bad that it even almost happened. What kind of mama tells her child to shut up?
Friday, July 23, 2010
Time Out
Last night I gave myself a time out.
By yesterday afternoon, my attitude had deteriorated to a pretty low level, primarily because of my heartbreak at having to remove my sad, but resigned, baby from the awesome bubble juggler presentation. I was supposed to go out for a mom's night, but my heart just wasn't into it. My house was a mess, my head was a mess, my husband's travel plans to come home were a mess. I was crying for no reason.
So I gave myself a time out. Little Bug went to play with his prearranged babysitter, and I went home and did some cleaning while watching a little of a favorite Kdrama. I had a drink. I took some time to use some of my anxiety and depression tools I learned from the Midwest Center to break down why my mood was plummeting, which then allowed me to start making some modifications issue by issue. In the span of 2 hours, I was feeling a little better about things.
I'm still swearing in my head, and clearly I am blogging instead of doing my work right now, but I'm working on it and don't feel quite as overwhelmed as I have the last 4 days. Weeks like this creep up on lots of people, I think. Most just don't have blournals where they word vomit about it.
If only time outs worked as well on my toddler as they do on me......
By yesterday afternoon, my attitude had deteriorated to a pretty low level, primarily because of my heartbreak at having to remove my sad, but resigned, baby from the awesome bubble juggler presentation. I was supposed to go out for a mom's night, but my heart just wasn't into it. My house was a mess, my head was a mess, my husband's travel plans to come home were a mess. I was crying for no reason.
So I gave myself a time out. Little Bug went to play with his prearranged babysitter, and I went home and did some cleaning while watching a little of a favorite Kdrama. I had a drink. I took some time to use some of my anxiety and depression tools I learned from the Midwest Center to break down why my mood was plummeting, which then allowed me to start making some modifications issue by issue. In the span of 2 hours, I was feeling a little better about things.
I'm still swearing in my head, and clearly I am blogging instead of doing my work right now, but I'm working on it and don't feel quite as overwhelmed as I have the last 4 days. Weeks like this creep up on lots of people, I think. Most just don't have blournals where they word vomit about it.
If only time outs worked as well on my toddler as they do on me......
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Learn to Love Your Lawn
I've learned a valuable lesson recently:
The grass is never really greener on the other side.
Sure, it might seem more lush or whatever botanical word goes well with grass, but the fact remains that it's still grass, which means it can die, grown weeds, harbor biting bugs, and itch when stuck to your bare skin.
When we switched adoption agencies, I was sad because I liked our little spot of grass. Was it perfect? No way; but we were happy. However, secretly I was excited to work with a much larger agency. Surely the grass was a tiny bit greener on that side. And it is nice on this new side, don't get me wrong.
But not greener, really. Perhaps a different shade of green, but thorns still grow and bug still bite. Different types, but it still stings.
It doesn't mean it is bad, but it's not perfect. I don't regret making the switch, but it's definitely not as tremendously ideal as I thought it would be.....perhaps because nothing could possibly be perfect.
And I realized this little lesson probably applies to a lot of things in my life....if you keep thinking (or expecting) the grass to be greener, you're never going to be happy with where you are right then or happy with wherever you are going next.
The grass is never really greener on the other side.
Sure, it might seem more lush or whatever botanical word goes well with grass, but the fact remains that it's still grass, which means it can die, grown weeds, harbor biting bugs, and itch when stuck to your bare skin.
When we switched adoption agencies, I was sad because I liked our little spot of grass. Was it perfect? No way; but we were happy. However, secretly I was excited to work with a much larger agency. Surely the grass was a tiny bit greener on that side. And it is nice on this new side, don't get me wrong.
But not greener, really. Perhaps a different shade of green, but thorns still grow and bug still bite. Different types, but it still stings.
It doesn't mean it is bad, but it's not perfect. I don't regret making the switch, but it's definitely not as tremendously ideal as I thought it would be.....perhaps because nothing could possibly be perfect.
And I realized this little lesson probably applies to a lot of things in my life....if you keep thinking (or expecting) the grass to be greener, you're never going to be happy with where you are right then or happy with wherever you are going next.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Riding in Cars With One Boy
I think I have become a lot more laid back in my mothering in the last few years. Once over-vigilant to the point of obsession, I'm now more apt to let my kid go ahead and eat that cracker he found under the couch....if it has dust on it, he'll spit it out. I let him plop his butt in mud....shorts can be washed, usually with the hose like the rest of his body. I let him run sans clothes (but with diaper) in our backyard...I never quite figured out why I was so opposed to that one for so long.
But I'm still struggling with one area of unwavering resolve....leaving him in the car.
When I was little, I was left in the car while my mom popped into the gas station or pizza place. I'm confident that leaving the air conditioning on would protect my son from cooking inside out while I take 2 minutes to buy a DDP and a chocolate milk on our way to a park date or drop a library book off inside the library.
Yet, I cannot do it. I tell myself as I pull into the parking lot and gather my things while leaving the car running that he will be fine in plain view for a minute or two, but at the last minute, I chicken out and turn the car off, unbuckle my kid, and drag him into the gas station. Neither one of us is super thrilled with this decision.
I'm not sure if it is because my anxiety of the horror stories you hear of babies in extreme heat gets the better of me or if I am somehow envisioning someone stealing my car and my kid, or if my phobia of a car slipping out of park and into traffic is at play, but I cannot, despite my best attempts, leave my child unattended in the car for longer than it takes to run the video into the rental drop box or return a shopping cart.
Just a small look into the inner workings of a neurotic mama-in-progress.
But I'm still struggling with one area of unwavering resolve....leaving him in the car.
When I was little, I was left in the car while my mom popped into the gas station or pizza place. I'm confident that leaving the air conditioning on would protect my son from cooking inside out while I take 2 minutes to buy a DDP and a chocolate milk on our way to a park date or drop a library book off inside the library.
Yet, I cannot do it. I tell myself as I pull into the parking lot and gather my things while leaving the car running that he will be fine in plain view for a minute or two, but at the last minute, I chicken out and turn the car off, unbuckle my kid, and drag him into the gas station. Neither one of us is super thrilled with this decision.
I'm not sure if it is because my anxiety of the horror stories you hear of babies in extreme heat gets the better of me or if I am somehow envisioning someone stealing my car and my kid, or if my phobia of a car slipping out of park and into traffic is at play, but I cannot, despite my best attempts, leave my child unattended in the car for longer than it takes to run the video into the rental drop box or return a shopping cart.
Just a small look into the inner workings of a neurotic mama-in-progress.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
To the Batmobile
Appa and I have had a couple of days to wallow in self pity and stew in righteous indignation on behalf of our son, but after all that, we're still left with a whole lot of waiting. It's impossible for me to just stop everything until we get our approval, so we've come up with a plan that will work for our family to help us make it through the wait.
We're going to continue to create and send care packages over to Korea with videos and voice recordings and small tokens of appreciation. Little Bro's foster mother might not be able to get them yet, but when she does, she will see proof that we did not take these months of waiting lightly or that he was not being loved by his family. Who knows, maybe if we fill our Korean social worker's desk drawer so full of packages she will just slip some to the foster mother in an effort to get them out of her hair...
We're going to continue with our Korean lessons with a little extra vigor. Every time I recite the hard sounds of the Korean "alphabet," I'm mentally sticking it to a certain someone. That makes no sense, but I get such satisfaction out of the mental image.
Gi-yuk, ni-eun, di-guet, li-uel, mi-em, BI-UP!
(I'm picturing myself in some spandex superwoman outfit, complete with thigh high boots, a cape, and awesome high kick. Take THAT, M.D.)
Today marks 5 weeks of waiting for this approval. Next week, at the 6-week mark (and 3 weeks after we last went rounds asking for some advocacy), we will try again to see if we can even get a status check. Even though I can say with pride that all of my interactions with everyone involved have been polite and not crazy-mamaish, even in the worse of it, I think Appa might take this round of communications to give the tender relationships a little more breathing room.
We're going to revisit with our new agency the idea of traveling over early to visit Little Bro. Granted, we can't do this until we get approval, but it's been helpful to agree that this is something we are going to press for. It's doubtful we can make it work, since our new agency is against it always and the Korean agency has temporarily put a hold on the visits, but we are planning to shamelessly use his status as a "waiting child" to see what we can work out. Honestly, I only feel slightly guilty about label-dropping in this case.
And, most tangibly, because we've been through this process before and know what is expected of us, we are doing all the leg work we can ahead of time. We're getting our copies and letters and pictures together and filling out all the immigration forms. When that approval comes, my family will need only the time it takes to overnight something to the agency to be done on our end.
Does this whole situation suck? Hell yes, but we have to move on and can't continue to be sad and angry (me especially) all the time. Appa's sister is coming into town this weekend for a baby shower, and Little Bug is going to love performing for her. It's going to be super fun.
Light, sunshine, parties, paperwork, online shopping, ziplock bags, hangual, and first steps somewhere in Korea.....It's going to be a great weekend.
We're going to continue to create and send care packages over to Korea with videos and voice recordings and small tokens of appreciation. Little Bro's foster mother might not be able to get them yet, but when she does, she will see proof that we did not take these months of waiting lightly or that he was not being loved by his family. Who knows, maybe if we fill our Korean social worker's desk drawer so full of packages she will just slip some to the foster mother in an effort to get them out of her hair...
We're going to continue with our Korean lessons with a little extra vigor. Every time I recite the hard sounds of the Korean "alphabet," I'm mentally sticking it to a certain someone. That makes no sense, but I get such satisfaction out of the mental image.
Gi-yuk, ni-eun, di-guet, li-uel, mi-em, BI-UP!
(I'm picturing myself in some spandex superwoman outfit, complete with thigh high boots, a cape, and awesome high kick. Take THAT, M.D.)
Today marks 5 weeks of waiting for this approval. Next week, at the 6-week mark (and 3 weeks after we last went rounds asking for some advocacy), we will try again to see if we can even get a status check. Even though I can say with pride that all of my interactions with everyone involved have been polite and not crazy-mamaish, even in the worse of it, I think Appa might take this round of communications to give the tender relationships a little more breathing room.
We're going to revisit with our new agency the idea of traveling over early to visit Little Bro. Granted, we can't do this until we get approval, but it's been helpful to agree that this is something we are going to press for. It's doubtful we can make it work, since our new agency is against it always and the Korean agency has temporarily put a hold on the visits, but we are planning to shamelessly use his status as a "waiting child" to see what we can work out. Honestly, I only feel slightly guilty about label-dropping in this case.
And, most tangibly, because we've been through this process before and know what is expected of us, we are doing all the leg work we can ahead of time. We're getting our copies and letters and pictures together and filling out all the immigration forms. When that approval comes, my family will need only the time it takes to overnight something to the agency to be done on our end.
Does this whole situation suck? Hell yes, but we have to move on and can't continue to be sad and angry (me especially) all the time. Appa's sister is coming into town this weekend for a baby shower, and Little Bug is going to love performing for her. It's going to be super fun.
Light, sunshine, parties, paperwork, online shopping, ziplock bags, hangual, and first steps somewhere in Korea.....It's going to be a great weekend.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Putting on the Game Face
The last few days have been stressful for me. I'm slammed at work. Appa was out of town. I'm overly anxious for an expected update on Little Bro. Things are completely stalled with Little Bro's adoption paperwork and the implications of the stall (and the lack of support from those whose help we sought) are heartbreaking. Yesterday I sat at my desk and cried.
I'm not a crying at work sort of gal.
The one thing that keeps running through my head is to put on my game face. I don't really see any other choice.
I have to put on my game face at work. I can't ruin my reputation of being even-headed and calm and professional over personal stress. And yes, the amount of work that fell in my lap this week is unholy. But I can either turn it into an opportunity to show that I can handle the pressure or I can turn into the girl that cries at her desk when things get tough.
Game face.
I have to put on my game face for Little Bro. Amid my heartbreak and frustration and fear over the stall in his paperwork, and more recently, my hurt, confusion, and sadness over the growing fissure of a relationship I had counted on to advocate and support our family through this process, I have to stay calm and get my questions answered in respectful, yet satisfactory way. I owe it to my son to do whatever it takes to make sure he is not waiting longer than absolutely necessary. Tears and anger are not going to get me anywhere.
Game face.
Most of all, I have to put my game face on for Little Bug. He doesn't care about my work, nor does he care about his brother's paperwork. All he cares about is that his mama is there to play with him after being away all day. That she is there to laugh at his new dance moves, sing his favorite songs to him, and play our new favorite game, "silly eyes." Over the last few days, I've caught myself frowning as I mull over all the stressors I'm dealing with. I catch his eye and see him falter, confused as to why I'm unhappy with him. He's way too young to know anything of stress or to understand why I might be stressed. All he knows is what he senses and sees from me.
Game face.
I'm not a crying at work sort of gal.
The one thing that keeps running through my head is to put on my game face. I don't really see any other choice.
I have to put on my game face at work. I can't ruin my reputation of being even-headed and calm and professional over personal stress. And yes, the amount of work that fell in my lap this week is unholy. But I can either turn it into an opportunity to show that I can handle the pressure or I can turn into the girl that cries at her desk when things get tough.
Game face.
I have to put on my game face for Little Bro. Amid my heartbreak and frustration and fear over the stall in his paperwork, and more recently, my hurt, confusion, and sadness over the growing fissure of a relationship I had counted on to advocate and support our family through this process, I have to stay calm and get my questions answered in respectful, yet satisfactory way. I owe it to my son to do whatever it takes to make sure he is not waiting longer than absolutely necessary. Tears and anger are not going to get me anywhere.
Game face.
Most of all, I have to put my game face on for Little Bug. He doesn't care about my work, nor does he care about his brother's paperwork. All he cares about is that his mama is there to play with him after being away all day. That she is there to laugh at his new dance moves, sing his favorite songs to him, and play our new favorite game, "silly eyes." Over the last few days, I've caught myself frowning as I mull over all the stressors I'm dealing with. I catch his eye and see him falter, confused as to why I'm unhappy with him. He's way too young to know anything of stress or to understand why I might be stressed. All he knows is what he senses and sees from me.
Game face.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The Bob
This morning my kid woke up on the wrong side of the universe. Usually a delightful morning person, this morning he whined and grumped and insisted on being held....while I did my hair, while I brushed my teeth, while I got dressed. The thing was, when I was holding him, he was STILL being a pill.
The only thing that made him happy was wearing one of his bibs (or bob, as it is called in his world), specifically a dirty bib he found. I let him wear it around for a while and decided to allow him to wear it in the car on the way to school after his head almost exploded when I tried to take it off to put his coat on. He seemed mildly pleased to be wearing it in the car...until I tried to take it off him before we got out.
Long story short, he wore the bob into school.
I thought for sure I could get it off him at school while he was distracted. Instead, he took his little hands and held it close to his body, cooing "bob, bob, bob." Finally, because I was mortified that it was dirty, 15 minutes late for work, and rapidly being surrounded by other kids who wanted to wear bibs and eat food, I yanked it off him and promised he could wear another bib soon. I shoved it into my fist, kissed the top of his spinning head, and literally ran out the door.
He's probably still on the ground screaming.....
What was I to do? On one hand, I try to go with the flow. If he wants to wear a bib into school, heck, why not? On the other hand, it was dirty, and the other kids would have gone hysterical en-mass all wanting to wear bibs and eat. The teachers would have loved that. I think a compromise is reasonable.
Perhaps on a day when my bob-loving kid wakes up in his right mind, he will agree.
The only thing that made him happy was wearing one of his bibs (or bob, as it is called in his world), specifically a dirty bib he found. I let him wear it around for a while and decided to allow him to wear it in the car on the way to school after his head almost exploded when I tried to take it off to put his coat on. He seemed mildly pleased to be wearing it in the car...until I tried to take it off him before we got out.
Long story short, he wore the bob into school.
I thought for sure I could get it off him at school while he was distracted. Instead, he took his little hands and held it close to his body, cooing "bob, bob, bob." Finally, because I was mortified that it was dirty, 15 minutes late for work, and rapidly being surrounded by other kids who wanted to wear bibs and eat food, I yanked it off him and promised he could wear another bib soon. I shoved it into my fist, kissed the top of his spinning head, and literally ran out the door.
He's probably still on the ground screaming.....
What was I to do? On one hand, I try to go with the flow. If he wants to wear a bib into school, heck, why not? On the other hand, it was dirty, and the other kids would have gone hysterical en-mass all wanting to wear bibs and eat. The teachers would have loved that. I think a compromise is reasonable.
Perhaps on a day when my bob-loving kid wakes up in his right mind, he will agree.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Going With The Gut
I had the most fabulous, stress-free vacation of my life. It was filled with lazy contentment, warm air, good friends, and vibrant colors. I kept thinking that I would want to blournal the heck out of it, but I find now that I simply don't have the words and am okay with that. Jamaica, no problem, mon. I know I won't forget the way I felt, even without writing it down.
Instead, I want to publish a post I wrote a couple days before we left (there are quite a few that I have written but couldn't publish at the time). We headed out for our vacation still very much up in the air as to what my gut feeling was telling me regarding our "big decision."
I'll say this. In that place that will forever hold a special place in my heart, everything became as clear as the electric teal blue water. Gut feelings don't care about external factors like money or businesses or ease. Gut feelings only deal with the big things...the ones that matter. Once we has removed ourselves temporarily from reality, it was obvious to us that only one gut feeling remained.
So we went with it. The sense of peace when I think about those things that really matter is proof that we made the right choice.
I wish I could go back to April 12 and give myself a hug.
-----------------------------
April 12, 2010
I had a good cry last night about something a situation that turned out to be different that what I thought it was. As Appa comforted me, he kept asking why I was crying. In his mind, the situation was a bummer, but not anything more than that. Our most important goal was still attainable.
So why was I crying?
Besides anxiety (and perhaps because of it), I hate change. I use the word hate deliberately. As young as I can remember, when my mother would rearrange furniture in our living room I would lay on the floor sick to my stomach. (Needless to say, I don't rearrange furniture in my own home.) When we have moved from each apartment, I've been nauseous and weepy for days leading up to the move. Granted, I put on a good face and push through it and am fine in a few days, but change is something I will go out of my way to avoid, especially if it is something important. Part of the reason I am so loyal to things (big and small) is simply because I don't want to change my comfortable status quo. I wear the same clothes from the same stores and use the same services from the same companies because that is comforting to me. It takes an awful lot to get me to switch.
Lately we've been considering an decision that would result in some change. Not dramatic change to those around us or to those who know us, but dramatic change for us internally (to use a business term). My knee-jerk reaction to this is to avoid the change. Indeed, this would be the easy route and the one that logically makes sense. It causes me anxiety to think about making a change and I find myself subconsiouly trying to convince myself to huddle back into my warm status quo and just forget all about it.
But my gut is telling me to be brave and stay open to the possibility of change. So, I am trying to be brave, but it's making my nervous and making me second guess my gut feelings. Then I second guess my second guessing and get dizzy from my spinning, ridiculous mind.
I'm not always sure why I get the gut feelings I do. Some people would call it divine and some would call it coincidence and some would call it intuition. Me, I'm sitting on the fence and just calling it something I know I should be listening to. I certainly do know that it isn't always as clear cut as I think. A couple months ago I got a gut feeling to act on something that ended up causing Appa and I some heartache. I wondered later why I would have felt so strongly about something for such a short period of time, only to feel equally as strongly about it the other way later on. My answer came earlier this month when the things I learned about myself from the last situation clicked into place allow us to explore this new opportunity.
--------------------
That decision was to drop out of our agency and accept a referral for a little boy we found on a waiting child list. I cried this morning when I pushed send on the final e-mail that would remove us from what we had clung to for so long, but the sense of peace I feel reminds me that my love for the little boy who is going to be my son is much stronger than the love for my former agency.
Little Bro has arrived.
Instead, I want to publish a post I wrote a couple days before we left (there are quite a few that I have written but couldn't publish at the time). We headed out for our vacation still very much up in the air as to what my gut feeling was telling me regarding our "big decision."
I'll say this. In that place that will forever hold a special place in my heart, everything became as clear as the electric teal blue water. Gut feelings don't care about external factors like money or businesses or ease. Gut feelings only deal with the big things...the ones that matter. Once we has removed ourselves temporarily from reality, it was obvious to us that only one gut feeling remained.
So we went with it. The sense of peace when I think about those things that really matter is proof that we made the right choice.
I wish I could go back to April 12 and give myself a hug.
-----------------------------
April 12, 2010
I had a good cry last night about something a situation that turned out to be different that what I thought it was. As Appa comforted me, he kept asking why I was crying. In his mind, the situation was a bummer, but not anything more than that. Our most important goal was still attainable.
So why was I crying?
Besides anxiety (and perhaps because of it), I hate change. I use the word hate deliberately. As young as I can remember, when my mother would rearrange furniture in our living room I would lay on the floor sick to my stomach. (Needless to say, I don't rearrange furniture in my own home.) When we have moved from each apartment, I've been nauseous and weepy for days leading up to the move. Granted, I put on a good face and push through it and am fine in a few days, but change is something I will go out of my way to avoid, especially if it is something important. Part of the reason I am so loyal to things (big and small) is simply because I don't want to change my comfortable status quo. I wear the same clothes from the same stores and use the same services from the same companies because that is comforting to me. It takes an awful lot to get me to switch.
Lately we've been considering an decision that would result in some change. Not dramatic change to those around us or to those who know us, but dramatic change for us internally (to use a business term). My knee-jerk reaction to this is to avoid the change. Indeed, this would be the easy route and the one that logically makes sense. It causes me anxiety to think about making a change and I find myself subconsiouly trying to convince myself to huddle back into my warm status quo and just forget all about it.
But my gut is telling me to be brave and stay open to the possibility of change. So, I am trying to be brave, but it's making my nervous and making me second guess my gut feelings. Then I second guess my second guessing and get dizzy from my spinning, ridiculous mind.
I'm not always sure why I get the gut feelings I do. Some people would call it divine and some would call it coincidence and some would call it intuition. Me, I'm sitting on the fence and just calling it something I know I should be listening to. I certainly do know that it isn't always as clear cut as I think. A couple months ago I got a gut feeling to act on something that ended up causing Appa and I some heartache. I wondered later why I would have felt so strongly about something for such a short period of time, only to feel equally as strongly about it the other way later on. My answer came earlier this month when the things I learned about myself from the last situation clicked into place allow us to explore this new opportunity.
--------------------
That decision was to drop out of our agency and accept a referral for a little boy we found on a waiting child list. I cried this morning when I pushed send on the final e-mail that would remove us from what we had clung to for so long, but the sense of peace I feel reminds me that my love for the little boy who is going to be my son is much stronger than the love for my former agency.
Little Bro has arrived.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Expectations
One of my constant struggles is with expectations. Growing up I pretty much always had my expectations met. I had a comfortable home and stable family. I was a good student who always managed good grades. I even married my high school sweetheart.
Then my expectations started to deviate from reality. Maybe it was just because I was older and more aware, or maybe it was because my expectations became more mature and serious. In the span of less than a decade some of my most convicted expectations didn’t pan out like I expected them to.
I did not become a teacher, even though I hold a teaching degree and spent a half year in the classroom.
I did not give birth to a child. Or two.
My child was not a child prodigy who was more advanced than everyone else.
That's not to say the realities of these unmet expectations are negative. I love my job as an editor; I took some fantastic trips during the time I had expected to be on doctor's ordered no-fly list and found I could care less if my child had my nose or my husband's hairy feet; and my child, while not more advanced than all the other little kids, is by far the best little kid in the whole world.
Although it's pretty unrealistic to think that you can avoid placing expectations on people and things, I am finding that what I can and need to get better at doing is remembering that failed expectations do not automatically mean bad outcomes.
Sure, this might not be the path you intended to take, but the view might be so much better just past where you can see from that crossroad.
In fact, if you play smart and be kind and muster some bravery and have some faith, chances are those failed expectations will be the best things ever. I just need to keep remembering this.
Then my expectations started to deviate from reality. Maybe it was just because I was older and more aware, or maybe it was because my expectations became more mature and serious. In the span of less than a decade some of my most convicted expectations didn’t pan out like I expected them to.
I did not become a teacher, even though I hold a teaching degree and spent a half year in the classroom.
I did not give birth to a child. Or two.
My child was not a child prodigy who was more advanced than everyone else.
That's not to say the realities of these unmet expectations are negative. I love my job as an editor; I took some fantastic trips during the time I had expected to be on doctor's ordered no-fly list and found I could care less if my child had my nose or my husband's hairy feet; and my child, while not more advanced than all the other little kids, is by far the best little kid in the whole world.
Although it's pretty unrealistic to think that you can avoid placing expectations on people and things, I am finding that what I can and need to get better at doing is remembering that failed expectations do not automatically mean bad outcomes.
Sure, this might not be the path you intended to take, but the view might be so much better just past where you can see from that crossroad.
In fact, if you play smart and be kind and muster some bravery and have some faith, chances are those failed expectations will be the best things ever. I just need to keep remembering this.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)