Adoptivus: What View of What If

Seoul Tower is awesome.  The panoramic views of Seoul are seriously unreal.  I simply could not get over how far skyscrapers stretched in every direction.  I looked out over Seoul and imagined where my son was, where his birth mother and birth father were, where my older son grew up, and where his birth parents were.  With views like those, it seemed completely uncomplicated to imagine a world where we could connect with those special people and places.

That is not the memory that sticks with me from Seoul Tower.

Instead it was all the children from the school field trip that giggled and pointed at us or yelled "HELLO" before blushing and ducking their heads in laughter that kept capturing my attention.  I stared so often I started worrying that I was being creepy, actually.

I watched them joke and laugh or snark and grump at each other as only 10 year olds can.  I saw the popular kids and the studious ones.  I saw the giddy girls and the awkward boys.  I heard Korean roll off their tongues and imagined the type of lives they must go home to at night.  What they eat, what their parents do for a living, how to get home, what they watch for fun.

This was the life my sons should have had, and I was fascinated and so very heartbroken to see it playing out before my eyes.

I have never believed my sons were meant to leave Korea and live in America.  I love them and am so thankful to be their mom, but adoption blows in a million ways for them and this is one of the big ones.  The entire time I was in Korea I keenly felt the loss of their rightful chance to live in Korea as a cultural majority.  To see all those children who didn't have to loss their Korean culture, language, and traditions broke my heart for my sons and their field trip to Seoul Tower they will never get to take.

It was this moment when it crystallized for me that I would do everything in my power to help them learn Korean and bring them back to Korea as often as we could.  I mean, everything and anything.  I can't give them back the life they should have had, but I will try my hardest to bridge that gap just a little bit.

Catching the Distance

There are moments when it comes back, that distant look or tension, the subtle (or not so subtle) inching away from my body or attention. The eyes that close for just a little too long or the nervous gnawing on a favorite blanket from the past.

It's easy to forget, amidst the smiles and cuddles and games and laughter, that everything isn't "normal" yet for my little one. But there are moments, more and more now as we try to pick our battles and introduce some boundaries, where it is obvious at Little Bro isn't convinced we're the ones.

Which is totally normal. One of the most poignant things I took away from adoption training was the difference between bonding and attachment. Bonding is a connection, a relationship built on shallow but pleasant ground. It is what makes most first time adoptive parents crow confidently after 1 month that their child is attached and loves them totally (Appa and I included), and it is what makes BTDT adoptive parents wary of celebrating too much after 1 month, knowing the grieving relapses are bound to come and the true attachment takes time....truly. You bond with a friend, and that is where we are at right now with Little Bro. He trusts us, he likes us, he maybe even loves us, but if we left tomorrow and he was back with his foster family, he'd mourn our loss minimally. That's what attachment is, the emotional connection that can only be broken by trauma. It's the kind of relationship you have with only a few people in the world.

And we'll get there eventually. I know that even 15 years from now I'll tell Little Bro "no" and he'll turn away and make it clear he hates me in that moment. But the difference between then and right now is that neither of us will feel the fear that hides underneath the pain or anger right now because we'll be attached to each other in a way that can't be broken.

So, as I have caught that distance in my little son lately, I keep reminding myself that if I stick with him, keep building tear by tear and smile by smile, our foundation will be rock solid someday.

You, Me, and Us

 

We've all spent the last week changing.  Each one of the members of my family has had quite a week as we noticeably have started falling into our new normal.  With that new normal comes some inherent changes in each of us.

Little Bro and Little Bug are no longer only children.  For the first 2 weeks, they both, in their own way, resisted this change.  But in the last week, both boys have started embracing their roles as brothers.  Little Bug is becoming more tolerant (and even, dare I say it, empathetic) to Little Bro's transition and normal demands on our time and attention.  He is learning to give him space when he needs it.  He is beginning to accept that we can't always read his favorite book at night first or watch Yo Gabba Gabba's Train episode all the time.  He is beginning to explore this whole "big boy versus little boy" idea, which is helping him with some independent play skills.  Hopefully it will also one day help him stop from trying to "sit on Little Bo" because the reality is we really do have one BIG boy and one LITTLE boy.

Little Bro came out of his personal hell stronger and braver than I could have imagined.  It humbles me when I think of the strength and resilience my sons have already had to dig deep for in their little lives.  Although they won't remember it, the lingering effects, both good and bad, will always be with them.  I truly believe that.

Little Bro is embracing us as people he likes, trusts, and wants to be with.  As is normal, sometimes he pulls back, but in general, this week we've seen more of the real Little Bro, the fiery, fast, funny, and curious child we met in Seoul.  He has started giving all of us (including his big brother) unprompted hugs, and he and I are developing a pretty tender and intimate sleep routine that fosters a lot of attachment.  Things that were too intimate for him before (like brushing teeth, changing clothes or diapers, giving medicine) are now less trauma and more just a typical toddler affront to life.  He's started throwing tantrums again, as opposed to grieving, which is oddly encouraging.  In the biggest hallelujah, he's started eating solids for us.  That alone is a HUGE step. Just in general, he seems happier, more comfortable, and less like he is desperately wishing for something he won't be able to have again.

Appa is, not surprisingly, doing best of us all.  He's an emotions-close-to-the-vest kind of guy, but watching Little Bro literally loss his will to exist last weekend was an eye-opening experience for him, I think.  Even then, he was the rock who spread himself thin so that he could focus on Little Bug while still taking care of me while I focused on Little Bro.  At one point, during a dark day, I looked over at him and thought "Thank God this is the man who I picked to be the father to my babies."  He's a keeper, my Appa.

And me....I'm doing better than I expected, with everything but blogging, that is.  Living life is getting easier and more normal, but writing about it is still a bit tedious.  After my serious bout with post-adoption depression last time, I've been watching and examining myself for any indications of those feelings so I could deal with them immediately.  Surprisingly, other than the very normal, sleep deprived "THIS IS THE WORST MOMENT OF MY LIFE"  feelings during the late nights while watching my sweet son shatter into a million sad pieces, I haven't felt the feelings I did last time.  I think a large part of it is due to already being a mother, so the jolting loss of freedom isn't there this time.  I think is also helps that Little Bro is older and more engaging.  In short, bringing home a baby was slightly boring and gave me more time to stew in depression, while this time Little Bro, at 22 months, is able to immediately interact in a more meaningful and fun way (although as I write this he is zoning out to Phung Phungie).  

With Little Bro's grief aside, the hardest thing has been trying to find balance.  I have found that my identity now is not the mother of two little boys, but rather, as Little Bug's mother and Little Bro's mother and Appa's wife and myself...each role needing its own attention and not a simple lump together.  The reality is that two-child shopping cart I have been eying out  for the last year is actually really cumbersome to push.  You can't easily go one way on a whim, instead you have to position the whole darn thing and slowly make your turns. 

And that is my life right now...slowly making the turns that lead my whole family in a new direction. But that's not a bad thing.

Your Right

When Little Bug came home, he was developmentally at an age where he didn't get it totally, and thus, coupled with his chill disposition, made for a pretty trauma-free transition.

For my tiny Big Star, with his passionate spirit and deep affection and love for his family in Korea, the transition has gone from amazing to bumpy to hard to a downright hell.

His hell. Let me make that clear. For as much as it scares me to watch him physically and emotionally lose control in a fit of fear and rage over what seems like nothing and as tired and frustrated I am at having my own life so transitional and hard, my pain is NOTHING compared to what is going on with him.

Tonight, after two truly horrible days, as he sat on my lap facing me and shook his head violently while screaming no in Korean while hitting my chest, I focused on that....his pain.

You can read every attachment book in the world and talk to every parent who has ever gone through it, but all they can do is prepare you for some unidentifiable pain. They cannot prepare you for your child's pain.

My Big Star is in pain. It's a slow burning pain that has gained steam in the last week. After a week home, he is farther from a good place than he was a week ago. I know, for as long as I live, I will never forget the look in his eyes tonight, the strength with which his body thrashed, and the unnatural pitch of his scream.

E, someday when you read this and try in vain to remember this intense pain you experiencing right now, please know that I'm not minimizing your loss by trying to force you to get past it. I will not ask you to love me; rather, I will be here for every scream, every hit, every painful bottle and bath and mealtime, and no matter how it makes me feel, I will keep my face calm and pat your back and sooth you in my broken Korean. I will earn your love because you don't owe me any middle ground, any compromise. You have a right to every emotion, and I am the one that owes you the middle ground. Always.

Heartache

Our travel call for Little Bro is imminent.  Maybe not tomorrow or even this month, but I can probably count it down on my fingers and toes now.

And truly, I am having a hard time getting excited about it.  In fact, my biggest emotion lately is heartache.

Through a couple of ways, I've ended up feeling quite close to Little Bro's foster family, even though I have never had any direct contact with them.  But I know that the four of them love that little boy like a son and brother, and I know down to the pit of my stomach that driving him to the agency, handing him over to strangers, and then driving home alone is going to kill them.....all of them.

I know that for every day I tick off a calendar towards our Family Day, they are ticking a day off theirs, too. And when I think of it, it makes it hard for me to celebrate that tick.

It can be said that this is the way things happen, that they knew this when they signed up, and that they will be happy he is going to live with a family who will love him just as much as they do, but none of those things really bring me any solace, because I am sure they don't ease the heartbreak this family is feeling at all.

I am frantic to write my letter to them just right, to somehow convey the words I don't have, the guilt and sadness and horror and love and gratitude and respect I feel.  But the cursor had been blinking at me for the last 2 weeks, hammering home the reminder that there is nothing I can do to stop so much pain and loss from continuing to wrap itself around my sweet little boy.

Having been through this once before with Little Bug, I think it's made it easier and more important for me to consider the foster family's needs in this transition.  Little Bug was with his family for 9 months and the transition was traumatic for them; Little Bro is his family's first foster child and will have been with them for 20 months.

There is a time for joy, and has come and will again.  But right now I can't revel in my joy, my gain.  Not when I know how much pain is and will surround people who I already love.

12 Hours to Remind Me That I am Not Enough

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Selfless Love

Little Bug's foster family has always been a big presence in our lives. We got the unique chance to spend a significant amount of time with them while we were in Korea, not just interacting with Little Bug, but together as adults. I'll never forget sitting on the floor as our social worker translated all the things the foster family had brought and made for our son, sobbing as she pulled out a little white baby gown, mits, and socks tied with a green bow that she told us was the outfit he had come to them in, lovingly preserved. A tangible symbol of how much he was loved and cherished from the moment he entered their home. Little Bug's foster mother gave me (another) tissue and grabbed my hand, holding it tightly as our hearts both broke and rejoiced. That was the moment when I knew this woman and her family were going to be part of our lives forever.

Since then we have shared pictures and e-mails and gifts and messages. They've cheered Little Bug on through all this therapy, sending messages of encouragement and pride. They've even met Little Bro (in passing at the agency)! We've had a chance to see and share the joys their family has continued to experience.

They are, in every way but blood (and that seems so insignificant anyway), family to us.

Last weekend they sent us a video that was aired on Korean television promoting fostering. It was a "Day in the Life" video of their family. Appa, Little Bug, and I excitedly watched it over breakfast.

Within the first 2 minutes tears were rolling down my face. It was so overwhelming to see Little Bug's first home "in action" instead of just in pictures. To recognize the toys and clothes and pillows and couches and green tub from his pictures. To see the outside of the building I have always wondered about.

Within 5 minutes I was openly crying. Pictures of Little Bug were popping up all over the place, both as a focus and in the background. It was clear that his family still had pictures of him (and their other babies) all over their home. Especially touching were the number of pictures from our home...proving that their love and interest didn't end the day he left them.

Within 7 minutes, around the point where the video showed a picture book I had sent as a gift, I was trying hard to stifle the sobs that were threatening. Little Bug was starting to look at me oddly.

At 10 minutes, when the video ended, I excused myself and went and sat on my bathroom floor and sobbed, racking sobs that shook my body. It was overwhelming to see the places and people that made up so much of the first year of my son's life, but to see the continued heartbreak these people who I love face willingly, over and over, was too much for me to bear that morning.

It was inspiring and terribly sad and an amazing gift.

It also opened up a raw nerve that has been tingling for months, ever since Little Bro's foster family send us their gift of pictures. I've poured over those pictures and videos, and while I love the ones of Little Bro, the ones that speak most to me are the (hundreds) family candids. The love Little Bro's foster family feels for him as a son is evident....and very reminiscent of Little Bug's foster family. Watching this video, I saw Little Bro's foster mother's daily life, her commitment and total devotion to this little boy she knows she has to say good bye to. And she does it anyway.

And it kills me to know what's coming for her. Not only the moment of the goodbye, but the weeks and months after. It's been making me ill for months when I think about it.

There's nothing I can do about it, really. I can't stop the pain from coming, but I can make sure she never has to feel the pain of the unknown once he leaves her. This quote from Little Bug's foster mother comes to mind:

"I always speak with my husband that being a foster mom is a blessing to me. ...One day i hope that I can meet these children again. Because I want to say to them, "Thank you for growing up well.""

In just a few+ months, she will finally get her first chance to see one of her babies again when we bring Little Bug back to Korea. I'm so excited about that. Although continuing a relationship with my sons' foster families is important for them, it's equally as important as a way to honor these families and the sacrifice they have made.

And, quite simply, I love them, and I want them to know that.

Their Day

Today is my son's 3rd birthday. I'm so happy to be able to celebrate this milestone with him, proud to my core of the accomplishments he has made in the last year(s), and awed by the sweet soul he has become. It's his day, and I am blessed and humbled to be able to celebrate it with him.

But it's also her day. His birth mother, first mother, or, as I have taken to calling her in my head, just his mother, a title I can share with her without fear or guilt.

Today, 3 years ago, she gave birth to a baby boy who she carried in her body for 9 months. A baby she bonded with, loved, and cared for as he grew within her. A baby she was committed to protecting from as much of the ugly in the world as she could, even at her own expense. A baby that she loved.

For me, celebrating Little Bug's birthday is about celebrating his life, his growth, his spirit. For her, today is about the one day she had with her child, this unchanging moment in time. Only she knows what it felt like to bring him into the world, to hear the first breaths and cries of this amazing boy. The memories of his first moments are hers alone; his foster mother and I will never have those, can never share those.

Today is her and Little Bug's day.

I'm sure the loss she endures daily is more painful on this day, more raw, more heartbreaking, but I hope that she can find some peace. Peace that, although she might not know the particulars right now, her son is happy and healthy and loved. I hope that although she might not publicly share her observance of this day, someone will do something kind for her, brighten her day in some way. I hope she can be happy on this day.

So today, as I wish our son a happy birthday, I'm also wishing her a happy birth day.

1,000 Ways to Love You

Little Bro,

Today we received close to 1,000 pictures and video of you. Pictures from when you were just 8 weeks old to pictures of you crawling and walking and now running.

Even though I am blessed to have many of these same pictures of your older brother, seeing your pictures now, before I have met you, has allowed me to feel like I know you in some way. I know what you look like smiling and sleeping and snotty and drooly and angry and tired and bored and amused and curious. I know how sure of your feet you are now, and how tentative you used to be. I know what your first baby smile looked like and how your voice sounded just as you were finding it. I know what you chose on your Tol, and I know how you only chose your item after a melt down, cuddles from Omma and Appa, and a bottle break.

I'll never be the same.

This wait is awful, and I think it was/is bound to get worse, but being able to share this history with you...having more pictures than day left waiting....it makes it so much more bearable, makes you so much more real. It makes the wait more unreal than you.

I feel so guilty that I got this blessing and others have not. I can't wrap my mind around how randomly lucky I am.

Seeing these pictures today also made me very sad. Not that I was missing these moments with you, but that these beautiful moments are temporary for this family who clearly loves you as a son with a passion that oozes from every film cell. It makes my heart hurt in a way I won't be able to sooth for the rest of my life.

Because I feel like I know them now, too.

As I sit here tonight with your big brother curled up against me, my heart is filled with thoughts of you and him and your families in Korea.

And my heart is so very full tonight.

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.

More

Yesterday was Little Bro's 14 month birthday. Overall, I am really proud of how we've handled the wait thus far (because as far as we are concerned, we've been waiting 4 months, not 2, thank you very much unhelpful state employee). Not just publicly, but truly, in our everyday lives. Appa and I find ourselves at the oddest times talking about Little Bro, wistful and bummed that it will be so much longer until he can come home, but honestly, I'm not falling apart over it. It is what it is. My mantra of patience is finally starting to work.

Now I am just selfish.

I have close to 50 unique pictures of my son and close to 15 minutes of video. That's more than I ever in my wildest dreams would have hoped for. It's a blessing, and I am trying really hard to remember that.

Because I want more.

Our agency recently stated that each child got pictures taken on their 1st birthday and that we could expect to get those within 6 weeks. At 8 weeks out, I started to feel cheated. You know, because it wasn't like personal friends of ours actually met with him on his birthday and took amazing pictures that grace frames all over our house and a video I watch nearly every day. Yet, I still have had the audacity this week to feel bad for myself that I didn't get any other pictures from the agency.

Some friends recently received pictures that the foster families had taken and brought in to be sent over. So me, of course, I start wanting this, too. Greedy, greedy me.

Little Bro isn't even going in for a check up again until next month, but already I can tell that I will be slightly on edge for weeks after in the hopes of getting new pictures. Pictures that may or may not come because we're saving our allotted update requests for the months closer to his arrival.

All I want is a picture of him in his "Little Brother" shirt.....okay, that's not all I want.

This is just pure greed on my part, and I know it. I can publish this entry and go spend a significant amount of time studying the many, many faces my adorable son has. In fact, I plan on doing just that. Many parents can't do that...get nothing during their wait. I know that if I don't see or hear another stitch of Little Bro until we meet face to face, I am still going to be considered abnormally lucky in all of this.

Which is why I try to keep this green-eyed monster under wraps.

But Little Bro, I want you to know that although I am trying to handle the long and arduous wait for you with grace I hope you are one day proud of, you're always on my mind and in my heart. My lack of whining is not because I don't care.

It's because I care way too much.

From the Mouth of Someone's Babe

Tonight Appa and I took Little Bug to our local neighborhood park. Little Bug inevitably veered toward the sand area where two little girls were playing. After dumping sand on himself for a while, he noticed one of the girls, who I assumed was Korean and about 10 years old, was making mud with water from an old bubble container.

He went into the zone, chanting "bubbas, babbas, bubbas" as he went in for the steal. Me, being the responsible mama that I am, cut him off at the pass and tried to modify his plans to simply saying "hello."

The girl was sweet, but the following conversation threw me for a mini loop.

Her: "Is he Korean?"
Me: "Yes, he was born in Korea."
Her: "He must be stupid."
Me: "What?"
Her: "He must be stupid."
Me: "What? No, he's smart."
Her: "Stupid. 'Bubba' is Korean for stupid."
Me: "Oh, no. He doesn't know that Korean word....he wants your bubbles."

At this point, I am feeling a bit silly. Clearly I misheard her. I also deep down wish that I had known enough Korean to know what that word sounded like to her.

Her (contemplative, as if I have somehow confirmed something for her): "Are you his mom?"
Me: "Yes."
Her: "Oh....you don't look like him."
Me: "No, I don't. We adopted him from Korea."

Side note: I think it is silly when parents take offense to this question and having to say the word "adoption." Adoption isn't a four-letter word. I'm proud of it, and if asked in a respectful way, I have no problem confirming what is clearly obvious.

Her: "Was he abandoned?"

Whoa. I was not expecting the conversation to go there with this little girl. I consider myself pretty cool under pressure when I get probing or intrusive comments from adults, but looking at this young girl, with nothing but childlike curiosity in her question, I was left tongue-tied. I wanted so much to say something I would be proud for Little Bug to hear, even if he is too young now to understand my words and their implications. I saw no reason to brush this little girl off as I delicately answered the question.

Me: "No. His birth mom just could not take care of a baby. So we adopted him and are his mommy and daddy."
Her: "Why couldn't she take care of him? Did she not have enough money?"

Seriously, who is teaching this young lady critical thinking? If this was an adult who was still needling me, I would finally be telling her to politely shove it, but I couldn't do that to this young lady. How to explain the injustice of adoption while protecting my son's privacy while using age and socially appropriate words for a 10-year-old stranger making mud patties in the bocce ball court?

Me: "She just could not take care of a baby. So we are taking care of him now and are his parents. We love him very much."

With that, she simply nodded and unceremoniously got up and went to fill her bubble container with more water, and Little Bug wandered off to the swings.

And I'm left now mulling it over.

Because I have been preparing for years for these questions. I've fielded tons of them, quite literally from the moment we stepped on our front porch with Little Bug in our arms. I've defended and deflected and shared. And it always works out because ultimately, people know when to back off, and if they don't, I can write them off. Adults see and accept shades of gray in the world.

But children, their honesty and black and white lenses they view the world with is what Little Bug will face. The "why" is hard for me to answer....how will I even prepare him to answer it for himself when I'm not in the bocce ball court with him? When he hasn't had years to practice and can't even spell the words he's expected to say.

Maybe that's not even what has my heart constricting tonight. I feel like I can prepare him to the best of my ability. What I really am sad about is that ultimately, his own childlike curiosity won't be satisfied either. There is no answer good enough. I know how that lack of answer made me feel tonight, so I can't begin to imagine how it will one day make him feel.

When his heart is also asking "why?"

I Wanted to Write About....

The great thing about this blournal is that I allow myself complete control (or lack of) when it comes to consistency. If I make multiple entries a day, that's okay with me. If I don't have anything to say for a week, that is okay, too.

The last few days have been awesome, but as I sat down to write about them, the words were stilted. Too much and too little, all at once.

I wanted to write about how hard and lonely and just off it felt to have Appa away for 2 long weeks and how proud I was of myself for not only surviving, but actually creating a great few weeks for both myself and my boy. I actually enjoyed myself.

I wanted to write about wine and girlfriends and how thankful I am for both.

I wanted to write about leaving my boys at 4 am, just hours after Appa got home. The conflicting emotions that ran through my heart as Little Bug woke up and wailed for me, rejecting his beloved Appa over and over. That's never happened before, and I'd be lying if said I didn't replay the scene over and over again with some measure of joy that my role as mama was finally meaning something special and exclusive to Little Bug.

I wanted to write about how special it is to have a best friend like Ali(ce). Spending time with her is like stepping back into my past, only as my present self. It is comfortable and fun and leaves me happy. Just really, truly happy. Even just a few hours. And how she bought Little Bro a crinkle lion lovie to send in a care package, only to exchange it for something else when she saw my latest care package post with the same crinkle lion already included that I had purchased without knowing she had bought him one. Ha.

I wanted to write about holding my infant nephew in my arms and being absolutely terrified. I'm the oldest of five and have held more than my fair share of babies, but now that I am a mother, the fragile nature of an infant terrified me.

I wanted to write about how kissing his head felt like warm peaches.

I wanted to write about laying on the couch for hours while Itty Bitty slept on my chest. How is felt so wonderful, and yet, it didn't make me wish for that moment with my own babies. In fact, the limiting nature of providing for an infant actually made me secretly glad that I didn't have to go through that…although it made me feel about a million times more grateful when I thought about my sons' foster mothers putting in all the time and effort and sacrifice for children they knew they might never see grow up. That makes me so sad and so grateful.

I lied. There was a part of me that wanted to know if kissing Little Bug and Little Bro's heads felt like warm peaches. I hope their birth mothers were able to have that experience for themselves.

I wanted to write about my long, honest, candid talks with my sister….the one who was never supposed to be my confidant. The relief that comes with knowing one other person in the world who is dealing with many of the exact same issues as you are…What a wonderful life surprise.

I wanted to write about getting my nephew addicted to Pororo and my little sister addicted to Kdramas. I'm not sure why that brings me such amusement.

I wanted to write about family and love and friendship and life, but I just don't have the words.

Perhaps my kid needs to puke again to break this writer's block.

A Bittersweet Dawn

My younger son's first birthday has dawned over him in Korea. Although it's not technically his birthday here, there, where HE is, it is very much his birthday. According to his report he is probably already up and accepting birthday well wishes from his adoring foster family.

I never expected to be with him on his birthday, so I don't feel a profound sense of heartbreak. I'm glad he is with a loving family. I'm glad he'll get a proper Tol as opposed to the bizarre one we threw for Little Bug. Am I sad to be missing this important milestone in his life...yes, but it's not because I feel like he is lacking in anything today.

Any sadness I feel is just for my own selfish wishes (and make no mistake, when the clock struck 12 am in Korea, I spontaneously cried, much to Appa's confusion). Even in my own selfishness, I know I am lucky. A friend is in Korea right now, and in a wonderful twist of fate/luck/generosity, she and her husband are going to meet Little Bro today...on his birthday. Tomorrow, when it is technically his birthday here, we'll have pictures of the birthday boy himself. It will be like we were there with him. Space and time is funny when it can bend like that.

But the soothing relief of the promise of new pictures reminded me of the one woman who is also crying today, and how she is not going to be comforted by new pictures or promises of birthdays to come.

It's hard to feel bad for myself when I think of Little Bro's birth mother. Even though I won't be with him, he'll be able to cuddle into my arms as I one day tell him about the Korean feast we had in his honor, about the birthday cake we ordered, the candle we blew out and the song we sang. We'll be able to prove to him how much we loved him. We'll show him pictures of his Tol and tell him the story of his Toljabee and his meeting with our friends. He'll see the proof of his foster family's love for him.

His birth mother won't get the chance to prove her observance of this day, and THAT absence breaks my heart. I feel like I don't have a right to be sad for my loss when I think of hers.

I know she loves him, and I know she is thinking about him today, praying for him, hoping for him, wondering about him. I am sure she and her family are doing something to commemorate his birthday. I am sure she is dying to know what he is doing today, wearing today, eating today, receiving today, etc. I can't fix that for her, and it makes my heart so sad.

When Little Bug turned 2 I wrote

Today we are celebrating our son's birthday. The day that he came into the world and changed both our lives forever. We might never meet, but on this day, more than any other day, we are so much more than a "birth mother" and an "adoptive mother."

I feel this again today on Little Bro's birthday, but in a more acute away. I feel my sadness and loss at missing this moment in his life, and I know that it must be a 100 times worse for her...and something she will endure year after year. It has clarified further for me that I will never be able to fully understand or do justice to the love and selflessness and bravery my sons' birth mothers exhibited when they made the choice they made. I wish that today I could somehow give her what joy I have.

All I can do is hold Little Bro tight and remind him in the midst of pictures of celebrations from a far and Tol tables and birthday cakes that there is another family who is not pictured, but not forgotten and still celebrating.

And my birthday promise to her, omma to mama: I will personally make sure the pictures my friend is sending today will eventually be in his file for her to one day have if she so chooses. I want nothing more than to share those special glimpses into the day we both missed with her.

Every Night

Every night, when I cuddle into his body after he insists on me being "in, in" his bed and lay my hand gently on his silky hair to comfort him as he falls asleep, I think of you.

I wonder if you imagine what his body feels like pressed against yours, how his breath sounds as it evens into a deep sleep, how his fine hair feels when you run it carefully through you fingers. I wonder if you imagine what it would be like to convince a 2.5 year old to go to sleep at night. I wonder if you imagine what kind of comfort item he might want. I wonder if you imagined yourself lulling him into sleep after getting the supreme honor of spending the whole day hearing him call you his mama.

I want you to know that I think of you every night, that I wonder these things and so many other things about you (are you happy, are you healthy, are you loved) without fail. Most of all, each night in those minutes after he falls asleep and I sit watching him, lightly petting his hair and soaking in every detail of him, I think of you and feel such sadness that you couldn't be here to experience this.

Each night I remember that my greatest joy in life is inextricably linked to one of my greatest sorrows. Your sacrifice, your heartache, your love for him....I want you to know I will honor that every night for the rest of my life.

Kimchi, putakhamnida

Last night Appa and I went to dinner at a local Korean place. Little Bug LOVES Korean food, as do we. We usually order some favorites, but this time we went for the all-you-can-eat barbecue. It's entirely too much food for our little family, but makes sense when you see Little Bug.

Because Little Bug packs . it . back.

It helps that he is cheered on by a small army of Korean waitresses who absolutely adore him, stroking his hair and clapping as he gives them silly smiles. He had no less than 5 women watching him as he single-handedly ate an entire dish of kimchi by himself, pausing occasionally to flash them a silly smile and say "yummmmm" in this ridiculous deep, right-from-the-belly voice.

They cooed when he pointed to me and said "omma" and pointed to his dad and said "appa." When he asked for "bop" (the Korean word for rice), they lost it. They brought me soup and showed me how to mix it with the rice and kimchi to make a dish traditionally served to small children...then they went ahead and worked on battle silverware and helped him eat it while Appa and I sat by and watched.

Here is the thing, normally a woman putting her hands all over my child, taking over and starting to actually feed my child, and just generally being all up in his business would take me over the edge in an unhappy way.

Instead she got a 30% tip and the promise that we will be back soon.

I can't give me son an authentic Korean home or even much of anything authentically Korean, but I am proud of the fact that he will grow up eating kimchi and calling rice "bop" and getting loved on by people whispering Korean in his ear. It is the very least I can do for him.

Our family loves stuffed pizza and brats and casseroles and potatoes, but we're also a family who loves kimchi and bee bim bop and jap chae and huo dduk.

I am super proud of my son for packing back the kimchi like a champ. That kid has one hell of a palate.

Mother's Day

There are many mothers in my life who I care deeply for, but lately, there is one particular mother who is often on my mind.

Little Bro's foster mother.

This woman brought Little Bro into her home when he was 8 weeks old. She'd never fostered a child before. She has changed his most epic diapers, feed him in the wee hours of the morning, sang to him when he is upset or scared, taught him to crawl and walk, clothed him, sheltered him....and taught him how to love and trust. She has built her every moment around him for the last 8 months.

And she'll be doing it for 11 more.

I look at their hands together and I can tell these two are a team. She's not just taking care of my baby until we can bring him home, no, she's molding him and shaping him into a personality and individual he will forever become as he leaves babyhood and enters toddlerhood; a point in his life that will shape who he continues to become as he moves into childhood and adulthood.

She is raising MY child. For him. For me. For everyone but herself.

Honestly, I would never be selfless enough to do such a thing. Not for the 9 months Little Bug's wonderful foster mother did it and definitely not for the 19 months Little Bro's foster mother is going to be doing it. I don't have words for how much I cannot understand why she would do such a thing. Little Bug hasn't even been with us for 2 years...when I think about giving him up now, the idea is unfathomable.

This week we were able to send over a little gift for her with a letter that could never really begin to thank her. As reality sets in, we realize that not only is she emotionally investing herself in our son, but financially she is investing in him as well. She must buy bigger clothes and more age appropriate toys for him with her own money. I'm pretty positive no one told her to expect to be fostering a child for 2 years. We're committed to helping her in the limited capacity we have, but it's not enough, nor will it ever be.

So on this Mother's Day weekend, my thoughts are almost solely trained on her, the woman whose hands are holding my son in his infancy and will be leading him into his toddlerhood. The woman who I cannot begrudge all the moments I am missing because I am so overwhelmed with gratitude and respect for the fact that she is willing to take my place in the interim...

...to stick her pinky finger out and let my son hold on tight.

The Complex

This morning Little Bug woke up happily and turned on his music. He sat contently in his crib for I don't know how long until I opened his door. He jumped up happily to greet me, smiling and bright eyed. That hasn't happened in a long time.

Thanks for the lovely send off, baby boy.

For the past few months I have barely allowed myself to think about my trip. I'm crippled with anxiety over leaving Little Bug with his grandparents. Of course I trust them implicitly, but I have a bit of a control problem and letting someone else care for my kid is something that I've never been very good at.

The underlying issue is, of course, the adoption complex. A little under 2 years ago Little Bug was suddenly taken from the only parents he had ever known. He rallied better than a lot of kids, but grieved none the less. I don't like to really dwell on this because I feel at some point our children heal enough to not have everything they experience framed within their adoption traumas, but I have to be honest when I say that I worry something will bubble up inside Little Bug after a day or two of not seeing Appa and I. I don't think he remembers his separation from his foster parents, but I am positive that pain is still lurking and has framed certain parts of his personality.

I consider myself well educated and serious about attachment, and if I thought our vacation would harm my son, there is no way I would have agreed to it. There are a lot of difference between this trip and his first days with us. He's older, and has been with us for much longer. He understands the concept of leaving and coming back. He'll be with people he already knows and has a relationship with, a relationship built within the safety of Appa and I's presence. He'll be in his own school on a daily basis with people he loves and a routine that is familiar to him. He'll be in his own bed, with his own toys, with familiar smells and sounds and tastes. He'll see us every night via video chat.

I'm typing this out to make myself feel better because the adoption complex isn't something that Little Bug alone deals with.

There is a high chance Little Bug will be completely nonplussed about this whole thing. Sure, he'll cry because he misses his parents and he might act out a bit or have trouble sleeping, but that's normal 2-year-old behavior in these circumstances. I think the focus on the abandonment idea is something I will deal with much more than he will. I have the adoption complex.

I've talked about this with friends before, this questions of how and when and what should or should not be blamed or filtered through the lenses of adoption trauma. It's not clear cut and depends on the child, of course, but I do think that at some point the fact our children are just children, and not just children who were adopted, needs to carry equal, if not more weight. Is that time for Little Bug now?

I don't know. I hope so.

This morning when my little family cuddled in bed I cried behind Little Bug's back. I gave him extra kisses before work. I'm near tears now just thinking about singing one last chorus of "5 Little Monkeys" before we leave. I will, mark my words, be a complete and total mess the minute our car pulls out of the driveway. I will cry after we sign off every video chat.

None of those things are because my son was adopted...they are because my son is my son and I miss him when we are not together.

Leaving him is so hard it literally hurts, but I know it will be okay, even a good thing, for all of us. I'm just a sappy mama leaving her baby for the first "big" time.

That's called The Mama Complex.

Going Home Does Not Have To Be A Tragedy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just in case he ever needs to go home.

Safe

After some space from yesterday, I'm in a better place and not even really thinking about what is happening "behind the scenes." As I was rocking Little Bug to bed last night, I was thinking about how much we would lose if the worst were to happen, and I realized it was very little.

A significant amount of money, maybe. An entire year waiting, yes. An expected and anticipated family plan, sort of.

Little Bro, no.

The fact of the matter is, Little Bro is meant to come to our family in his own time. Perhaps that time is not now. If that is the case, I will have to accept that the factors that dictated that were what needed to happen for our family to form the way it was meant to. I won't like it, but I will accept it.

I also realized that the most important things in my life are not affected by this situation, either way it shakes out. Little Bug is still my son. Nothing in the world can take him from my arms. Nothing. Appa is still my husband and the father of my son. He will be my partner in replanning our family if it comes to that.

My family is safe. Little Bro and Little Sis are safe in my heart until the time is right.

With all that being said, my gut is telling me things will be okay. My gut is telling me Little Bro is almost ready to say hello. My gut is telling me things will work out for everyone. If it doesn't, it doesn't, but I think that it will.