8B, 3M, and Tonight

8 years ago tonight I was shaking my booty to "Baby Got Back" with my groom at our beautiful wedding, surrounded by the people we love best.  It is the 3rd best night of my life.

3 months ago tonight I was sitting in a hotel room in Korea, watching my new son shake his booty to Korean music I couldn't understand, marveling at the fact that the three people I love most in the world were all finally together with me.  It is tied for the best night of my life.

Tonight I am sitting in my oldest son's room after missing him terribly for the last week while he was in Hawaii with his Daddy.  In the other room I can hear my younger son belting out a mash-up of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and "Happy Birthday" to my husband of 8 years, and because I am getting to know this little impish big star so well, I know he's got a couple more encores in him before the curtain is going to come down.

And although we weren't able to do our traditional fancy Jamaican dinner for our anniversary this year, I feel such a pleasure and triumph on this anniversary and don't consider it a letdown.  Life is just really sweet right now, and I am so happy to have three amazing people to call my own.

The Joy of Parenthood

There are some days where the joy of being a parent just wraps you up in warm fuzzy happiness.

Today was not that day for Appa and I.

Little Bro is teething some pretty major back teeth (3), and it turns out that when you add one passionate and dramatic Big Star and three back molars, you get something that resembles a tiny but fearsome Korean monster whose unnatural war cries can immobilize its enemy with burst ear drums. The puking is a pretty neat trick to protest the pain meds, too. And of course, pain anywhere is pain everywhere, so the act of wearing shoes was probably something the United Nations would agree was torture.

I will be honest when I say it almost came down to rock, paper, scissors to decide who got the....pleasure....of putting our smallest son to sleep tonight. As I am typing this from his room while he rolls around and glares at me for stopping singing time at 50 renditions of the Elephant Song, let it be known that I took one for the team.

Little Bug, our gentle giant of a child, must have watched some National Geographic show recently on toddlers because he suddenly realized that he can and should be directly defiant or oppositional to EVERYTHING his mother or father say, suggest, hypothesize, consider, mentally consider, or send via smoke signal. And when the ten+ time outs get annoying, he decided to kick it up a notch and throw something at his brother's head, resulting in a nasty looking bruise and a NEEDED Mommy timeout so things didn't go freaking nuclear.

I love my children fiercely, I really do, but as soon as both my heavily medicated life joys are snoring away, Appa and I are cracking open a bottle of wine and toasting to the joys of bedtime.

Get the Hell Outta There

When I got married, and then again when I had a child, one of the best pieces of advice I received was to get away from your family occasionally. I know this might not be good for some people, but it's been wonderful for me.

I take small weekend trips without Appa. I have awesome girls' weekends with my best friend (or sisters) where we gorge ourselves on book chatting and licorice. I come home with a stronger relationships and an absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder appreciation for my favorite man.

And now that I am a mom, I still take time away from that life to refocus on me for a bit. Usually this comes in the form of a hotel stay 20 minutes away with other mamas. We stay up late giggling and crying about life. We support each other. We revel in the break from diapers and potties and sippy cups....even if our conversations are dominated by them.

And when I come home, it's not with a pang of regret that I'm going back to responsibility; it's with a joyful heart that I am SO lucky to have my family AND my friends. I love on my baby like I haven't seen him for a month.

These mini me-breaks allow me to focus. I'm at my best as a wife and mother when I am balanced. Balance, for me, sometimes comes with a reset button that only "me time" can provide.

So when people ask me for advice on motherhood or marriage, my go-to advice is simply this: "Get the hell outta there sometimes." It makes all the time you are there so much better!

And, for the record, I firmly believe my son might have grown in the 18 hours I was away from him this weekend.

Unplugged

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unicorn Fluff

So this sleep book...the one about unicorns and kittens and rainbows and slumbering babes....it's still annoyingly upbeat and positive while our nights are not so much.

But it's actually really illuminating.

In the grand scheme of sleep issues, ours are minimal. To be frank, the reason I even started modifying the routine is because I want to be able to deal with the sleep-issues surrounding the upcoming (HA!) arrival of our second son without dealing with Little Bug, but I wanted to give myself months to deal with this transition to avoid having him just cry it out and keep me up more than he is. My selfish goal is to be able to have him go to sleep by himself and stay there all night long. I want that for him, of course, but even more, I don't want to be dealing with two crying babies on my own. I'd like to be able to deal with them at night in an orderly and smooth way.

Rainbows, unicorns, dancing fairies.

And as much as I like the warmth of my baby in my bed, my husband's chest is pretty warm the 3 nights a week I get to share a bed with him....and yeah.......I'd like that back, too.

Ahem.

So this sleep book. It claims that there is a certain amount of sleep most children inherently need each night. It states that if your child is getting wiggy around bedtime, instead of saying "Oh, poor Little Bug is starting to get tired" and going on with your evening, you should just put your kid to bed.

Kid is tired = parent should put kid to bed. No matter when the botanical garden closes.

Rocket . Science.

Sadly, this no brainer statement really hit home for me. Little Bug's 8 pm bedtime was arbitrarily chosen because it worked for my schedule and he seemed to do fine with it.....minus the 30 minutes beforehand when he would start sucking him thumb and whining. I just thought that was what kids did in the evening; it never connected with me that I might be keeping him up past the time his body inherently wanted to be up.

Another instance of "I'm a first time mama and have no idea what I am doing" with a healthy dose of "I'm being unintentionally selfish and inflexible."

Sigh. I hate you, book.

So this week I've been watching Little Bug in the evenings to monitor his mood and when he starts to go down. A few nights ago, when he started to get fussy and whiny, I just started his bedtime routine early and put him to bed.

He was deeply asleep 30 minutes before his "bedtime."

And mama is a believer.

It's going to be an adjustment for us all. As a working mama, my evenings are so precious with my son, and I am going to be giving some of that up. We've still not even attempted anything serious with the going to sleep alone or staying in bed during the night or the waking up during my morning showers and pounding on the door while sobbing "baf, Baf, BAFFFFFFFF" pieces of our life, but those will come. I also know that every kid is different and that what is working for my kid would never work for another kid, including Little Bro.

Kids are lame and awesome like that.

So although this book is just a big pile of unicorn fluff, it is giving me a new way to view my child and how much of his routine I can attempt to control, which has been very illuminating.

And possibly the stuff of unicorns, kitten, and rainbows....we shall see.

A Timeline for Perfection

2:45 pm: My bestie Ali(ce) is able to get online for the first time in a week, and we chat about my upcoming visit. I missed her.

3 pm: I begin to read about practical ways busy parents can build "sensory diets" for children with sensory processing issues....I have an "aHA" moment and feel recommitted and hopeful.

4:30 pm: Little Bug's PT tells me out of the blue she is putting in an order for arch support and graduating Little Bug from his bulky, cumbersome leg braces. We talk at length about foot muscles and how my kid is rocking them. Hello, totally unexpected and awesome upcoming quality-of-life upgrade!

5 pm: I call my mom because Appa is on a plane. I literally MUST tell someone this news. She is thrilled.

5:30 pm: I actually "cook" dinner at home. I pat myself on the back for being such a "with it" mama.

6 pm: Little Bug decides today would be a good day to walk up the stairs by himself (while holding onto the railing and shocking his mother speechless). We practice approx. 10 times with mama spotting, but not needing to actually help.

6:02 pm: We determine going down stairs is best saved for another day.

6:15-7:30 pm: Little Bug and I have such fun doing simple sensory activities like diving onto piles of pillows and racing our kitchen chairs around.

8:30 pm: A slumbering Little Bug wakes up when I leave his room to greet Appa home from his week long travels. Little Bug patters to the door, opens it, and is met with his beloved dada--his calm, joyful, content, surprised smile at seeing Appa standing at the door will forever be seared into my brain. Click.

8:35 pm: I open my e-mail to find one of the nicest love letters from my husband. Ever.

9:30 pm: My husband makes me Ramen because I forgot to eat dinner. I whisper "fighting!" and he looks at me like I am nuts. Wine is my friend.

9:50 pm: We fall asleep cuddling on the couch.

The One that Almost Got Away

Two years into our struggle with infertility, we found ourselves at a crossroad of sorts. Not a huge one, certainly by infertility standards, but we were beaten down and sad. Medications and side effects, more uncertainty, more morning temperature checks, more negative test lay ahead of us, and we knew it.

So Appa came home from work one day and made me a deal. If we didn't get pregnant within a year, he would take me back to our honeymoon resort in Jamaica. We would celebrate each other and our time as just a couple, because we both knew with conviction even then that we would one day have our lives turned upside down by a child.

A year past and we didn't get pregnant, but the following year we ended up spending a month in Hawaii, which made it impossible for us to take our special celebration trip. (I know, I KNOW; a month in Hawaii, what victims we were.) The following year we had to push off our celebration trip again; this time for a little jaunt over to Seoul, South Korea. Last year we chose to celebrate our family by sticking close together as a unit of three.

But for our anniversary last year Appa made it clear. 2010 was our year to celebrate, not just each other, but everything we've been through. The bad, the ugly, and all the REALLY good. We were booking this trip, damn it.

So we did, and soon we will be laying in the sun on the same beach we laid on 7 years ago as we sipped "dirty bananas" and imagined what our lives would be like 5 years from then.

I have to say: our visions for our 5-year plan didn't quite look like our reality now, but our reality now is so. much. better. than anything we had dreamed up.

So this time we'll lay on that beach and sip "dirty bananas" and imagine our future 5 years from now. We'll raise a mini-umbrella-embellished toast to the most perfect little boy back home being spoiled rotten by his doting grandparents and the sweet little boy back in Korea being spoiled rotten by his doting foster family.

We'll feel bad for being selfish and miss Little Bug acutely, but we won't forget the purpose of this trip: to celebrate us as a couple, not just as an omma and appa. I'm really looking forward to long serious talks with my partner and silly water antics with my best friend. I'm looking forward to returning home to hold my baby in my arms rejuvenated in mind, body, and marriage....and for the positive impact that will have on our home and on the decisions that will be weighing hard on our hearts.

Honestly, the timing of this trip, almost down to the day, is nothing short of miraculous. We need this. I need this. Right. Now.

I'm scared out of my mind to leave my baby behind, but that is for a different blournal entry. Instead I'll end with a different sort of confession.

I'm really looking forward to the "dirty bananas." Not gonna lie.

Pity Party, Table for 1

As much as I joke and as serious as those jokes actually are, I do think it is a serious bummer I will never be pregnant (read: ME have a kid in my belly, not MY KIDS be in my belly). I'm at a spot where it really doesn't bother me, and I actually consider it a "lucky break" in a lot of ways.

However, the selfish mama in me is still bummed about the silly parts of pregnancy, namely everyone (my husband) fawning over me. The constant growing reminder that we are growing our family, that we are already more than just three.

It's not like I would be able to wear one of those "Expecting from Korea" shirts every day for 12-18 months, and even if I could, I would never be caught dead in one (no offense, please, to those who like that sort of thing). The bottom line is that people don't treat me like an expectant mother, even though it's truly how I feel. My kid is growing out in the world, living, breathing, learning…my heart is expanding and my mind is preparing, but most don't know that. Who knows, maybe most people really don't really consider my situation similar to that of an expectant mother, and that is fine.

But it is a bummer when those that do don't validate it.

Appa doesn't read this blog, so this post is purely to calm my own soul. He is a good man, a very devoted and loving husband and father, and he is happy to be in the adoption process and will no doubt go goofy crazy in love over Little Bro.

For me, I love to think about our adoption. I am steeped in a community where it is in my face every day. I get REALLY excited thinking about our son, to the point of distraction sometimes. I'm a woman…I've been thinking about my babies since I was 3 years old. Like any expectant mother, I want to mull over names and nursery patterns and new gifts. Appa, for whatever reason, would prefer not to do any of that until we get really close to a referral (close being relative when we are a month or two away right now), and even then, his excitement is always so tempered. He is a stoic man, and I know that about him, so I tend to allow for that because I know how he will be when the baby comes home, but sometimes it hurts when I need to share my excitement with someone and the one person I want to share it with doesn't want to indulge me…like, seriously, hardly ever.

Unfortunately and somewhat uncharacteristically today Appa mentioned this emotional disconnect between our approaches to this next adoption in what was probably not the world's most perfect timing and it made me cry…at work...at my desk and has left a melancholy twinge in my heart since then.

Of course he certainly didn't intent for it to make me sad, but the bottom line is that sometimes in a marriage it's hard to be with someone with such a different temperament than your own. Add in something you feel passionate about and it is a recipe for some heartache. I know Appa is excited for Little Bro, but I guess sometimes I selfishly wish it was the same sort of excited that I am.

So, I have a few more hours to pout here at work before I think I need to get over this. It's nothing new, after all. I'm sure my husband will do something nice tonight like pour me a glass of wine or offer to take Battle Silverware for the night or give me kisses on my nose and a neck rub. He's that kind of guy. I'll remember that just as he can't expect me to change my emotional grids to match his, I can't expect him to conform to mine.

We will both be thrilled when we first see Little Bro's face, of that I am sure. He might not already have a name picked out, and we might not exactly know where we are going to relocate our guest bedroom or what we are going to put in his care package, but it will be love for both of us, and that's when the excitement will truly matter.

I still wish I had some chocolate right now, though.

Vomiting with love

Yesterday I woke up feeling gross. This feeling intensified throughout the morning, continued through a very thoughtful surprise lunch date with the hubby to our favorite Mexican joint, and culminated when I rushed to the bathroom at work and threw up twice in front of coworkers.

No, I'm not pregnant. Thanks for asking, small coworker audience, and yes, I did have nachos for lunch.

I honestly don't get truly sick very often. Headaches and upset stomach, sure, but incapacitatingly sick, not often. In fact, the only time this has happened in the 15 months I've been rocking the motherhood gig was after a scheduled surgery where Appa was able to plan for the extra responsibilities.

So, me coming home and continuing to puke my guts out and literally crawling back and forth from our bathroom to our bedroom (Ohh, and that joke about setting a bad example for our son by crawling and not walking was hilarious, Appa, just a riot; you should take that act on the road.) while Appa was in the midst of tiling the back splash in our kitchen and our son was in the mood to walk everywhere was not what we had planned for this week.

Who knew I was so needed by my boys on an everyday basis?

Luckily, my husband is pretty much the greatest man on the face of the planet. He took over parenting duties last night and then stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to finish the "must-be-done" parts of the tile job while I tried to sleep away the illness. He has been working nonstop for two days on this labor intensive tile job, taking care of me, and taking care of our son. Not once has he complained.

I love my husband.

You know it's love when....

...you take the long, traffic-clogged way home every day just so your child has more opportunities to see "choo choos."

...you buy your wife a bottle of champagne, just because you know she likes it.

...you take off work early to go home and snow blow the massive amount of snow and ice your very busy and stressed husband has not been able to get to, just so he can come home to a proper, stress free start to his much deserved and too short vacation.

...you buy your wife what she really needs for Christmas, not just random, meaningless stuff she might want.

...you buy your husband all the random, but not-quite-meaningless, stuff he wants for Christmas, but never ever treats himself to.

...you let your little boy sleep for the last hour of the morning in bed with you, against your better judgment (because you know it will come back to bite you in the butt) because you know how happy it makes him and because you love waking up to his warm little body cuddled next to you.

I could have written about that.

Over the long holiday weekend I had at least one moment a day where I thought "I need to blournal this...."

Of course, I didn't end up doing any of those posts.

I could have written about how I wept when I talked to my family who was gathered at home in Idaho on Thanksgiving. How I missed them so much my heart hurt.

I could have written about how much I enjoyed spending time with my husband's extended family on Thanksgiving, and how thankful I was to be surrounded by such wonderful people to call my extended family.

I could have written about the secret someone very dear shared with me, and how that secret made me feel. (Okay, I actually could not have written about that secret...yet.)

I could have written about how helpless I felt when Little Bug had a sore throat and was miserable.

I could have written about how this holiday season feels so much different and more magical than last year. I could have written about how excited I am to share the holidays with my son and husband and feel the magic that comes during this time of year.

I could have written about putting the poinsettias out as my first Christmas decoration in honor of my Grandma. I could have written about how much I miss her and how much she meant to me.

I could have written about my computerless-Saturday night spent watching Underworld: Something About the Lycans or whatever while snuggling with my husband. How something about the light in our front room and the smell of our pine candle made the whole evening feel like something more than just an old movie at home.

I could have written about watching The Blind Side and all the thankful emotions it brought out.

I could have written about how proud I was that Little Bug started standing up on his own and how fun it was to cheer him on, Appa and my feet touching to create a protective diamond around our hard-working son.

I could have written about how proud I am that I have done the dishes and picked up the house every night for a week.

I could have written about how I tried to be a domestic goddess and make some yummy apple cider out of things I already had in my kitchen, and how it turned out moderately successful.

I could have written about how frustrated I was when I realized all the prepackaged Korean food I have been serving to my family has MSG, and how I will now have to start making my own...and how scary and daunting that is to me.

I could have written about how it feels to have a moment of kindness where you allow yourself to admit that you are a pretty good wife and mom.

I could have written about a lot of things in the last week....
but instead I just lived them and let them hide away to be blournaled another day.

Heart-exploding love

This morning my heart is filled with love for my husband and my son. Even more than usual.

Yes, my husband broke out into possibly some of the dorkiest dance moves I have ever seen this morning while I was trying to get ready for work, and yes, my son has spent the last 2 days doing some unspeakable things in his diaper that got him sent home from school and keep him up at night.

Yet, I love them both all the more for it.

My Boys

Appa is the youngest of three kids. He has had relatively little experience with small children (before his own, of course). Appa didn't dislike kids...he just didn't really care about them one way or the other.

Me? Well, my hypothetical ovaries (because my real ones don't really play nice) were screaming "baby, baby, baby" since I pretty much was old enough to spell ovaries.

Anyway. Appa is a gentle, calm, and fair man, so I knew he would make a good father, but I often wondered if he would enjoy being a dad. Even after we got our referral, he was always so even about his excitement. I sometimes worried that maybe he would be one of those distant fathers who doles out punishments and considers teach a child to play a sport competitively quality time.

The came the first hours after we took custody of Little Bug....and Appa started HOGGING him. He couldn't keep his eyes and hands off him. He was using the word "son" constantly just because I think he liked the way it sounded. We spent the 13 hour flight home fighting over who got to change Little Bug's diaper and hold him as our arms fell asleep.

That has never changed. Appa and Little Bug have had a strong connection from that first moment. Appa is distraught if he can't see Little Bug before he goes to bed and tells him that he loves him about as much as a couple of teen sweethearts would.

Appa is in love. Little Bug is in love.

And I'm in love with them both.

One of the only things that comes close to the joy I feel when I see Little Bug's face light up in a smile is when that smile is being matched by my husband.

Absofreakinlutly

Today is our 6-year wedding anniversary (11.5 years together, but who is counting). We had a really lovely day as a little family and managed to sucker a friend into watching Little Bug for a few hours while we ate at a Jamaican restaurant we love.

People always say that you should make an effort to have couple time and individual time after you have kids.

Those people are absofreakinlutly right.

I think I am getting to a good place with the independent time, but Appa and I still struggle with the couples time. Our weekly date nights are now family-go-out-to-eat nights. The truth is finding a babysitter is a pain in the butt, especially when the babysitter needs to be skilled and poised enough to deal with the little things that come with Little Bug's special needs. A 12-year-old neighbor girl is not going to cut it for us.

I digress. My anniversary...it was great to spend a couple hours enjoying food, drink, and laughter with my husband. He truly is my best friend and the one person in this world I have chosen to spend everyday forever with....and that is a cool thing.