Shh

Not that I want to tell anyone how to raise their kids, but....

When I was in high school, I took my baby brother (who would have been around 3 at the time) through the drive thru at Burger King.  The woman at the window had some pretty severe acne, and he very loudly started asking why she had chicken pox all over her face.  It was mortifying for her and me.  All I did was "shhh" him and tell him we'd talk about it later.  Anything to get him to stop talking in that moment.

But see, as an adult, I now realize that is usually not the best way to approach a situation like that.  I didn't stick up for that employee or educate my brother.  I just avoided the situation.

Maybe not exactly the same, but today as my little loves and I rode the elevator down from Little Bug's PT appointment, another little boy loudly and repeatedly called Little Bug "weird" as LB enthusiastically told the whole evaluator full of people about our plans to play with the hose at home.  This little boy and his very nice mommy likely didn't even understand what Little Bug was saying, but everyone there sure understood what the other boy was saying....including my son.

Weird.

And it hit me as his mom turned bright read and shh-ed him over and over that the correct response as a parent isn't always the easy one.  It's the right one.  And it's not the one where we get our kids to simply stop talking without explaining WHY they need to stop talking.

It should have been something along the lines of "he's not weird.......".  Because by just shh-ing him, she was (inadvertently, I am sure) validating the assertion that Little Bug was weird.  At age 4.5, it's not going to be really damaging to Little Bug's self esteem (which, if his constant declarations of being "handsome" are any indication, is pretty good), but as he gets older, having an adult validating those sorts of labels could really cut deep.

I'm trying to do this more in my own life, because I fall into this pattern all too often myself.  Subtle comments about adoption, special needs, intelligence, etc. are just so much easier to ignore, especially when said without any malice or intent.  But one day very soon, those subtle comments won't feel so subtle to my kids, and I need to be well versed in standing up for them in that moment, in front of everyone.  I don't want to be the one who validates with silence.

It doesn't have to be a big deal or aggressive.  I don't need to turn to that little boy and say "look kid, he's not weird and you're being rude for saying so" while crouching into mama bear position, ready to fight his mama for the honor of our sons.  But I can put on my happiest voice and say something like "he's not weird...he's just really excited about our plans this afternoon."

I guess my point is that I'm realizing it is important to push back on the little things in a positive way.  It's my job to nurture my sons' self images, to help them become confident and proud, and to make sure they feel loved, special, and unique. 

And sometimes that means tacking on the line that floats into your head but sticks behind the "shhh."

11

Dear Little Bro,

Yesterday as you and I laid quietly in your warm bed as you were waking up from nap, we started counting.  You can count to 10 in a million different ways (fast, slow, monster voice, scream, whisper, etc.), but 10 was your cap.

So I told you the next number after 10 was 11.

You rolled the number around on your tongue, tried it out in sing-song and loud variations, and then let it loose with a super fast 12345678910......11!

And just like that, you learned something new.  Something you will never, ever forget. I find that fascinating. One thing I have learned over the past few years is to never take the miracle of learning for granted. So to watch it happen, something so memorable as a number, was neat for me.  It's one of my favorite parts of being a mom, and your zest for learning is so exciting to experience.

Just wait until I let you in on the mind-blowing news about a certain number 12!

WWTD

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

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

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

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

What Would THEY Do?

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

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

My mantra for the week: WWTD

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.

THAT Mom

I'm THAT Mom.

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

I'm THAT Mom.

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

I'm THAT Mom.

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

I'm THAT Mom because I am HIS Mom.

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

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

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

I'm HIS Mom. 

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

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

It's also a million trillion times more rewarding.

Airplane 0, Mama 1.

I owned that airplane today.

I don't want to relive the meltdown that happened in the beautiful mountain-nestled major airport this morning as I tried to calm my shrieking 2 year old (who was pissed for no reason other than life was boring to him in that moment) while my 3 year old spent a full torturous 25 minutes loudly and violently throwing himself on the ground in fury that we could not board the white plane that had just pulled up to our gate.

And I certainly can't relive the horrific 45 minutes it took me to get my nap-deprived, stamina-challenged 3 year old from the end of our very big home Midwest airport through baggage claim and out to the passenger pick up.  I was this close to crying right along with my nap deprived, hot inexplicably screaming 2 year old as his older brother gave up and went limp and refused to walk anymore in the middle of terminal C during rush hour. Your baby laying on the floor in the middle of one of the largest airports in the country is seriously gross.

But on that airplane, I OWNED it.  Oh yes, I saw the cringing, dirty looks as the other passengers took their seats next to this poor little young mama with two toddler boys shooting energy out of their eyeballs.  I don't blame them....I fully believed those 2.5 hours would be hell on earth.  But I was determined to do my best to suck all that hell into myself and make things as easy as possible for my fellow doubters.  My voice is hoarse tonight from talking, singing, soothing, teasing, and scolding nonstop.  When I stopped talking, reading, singing, or playing my kids started entertaining themselves by dueling screams of fun, so I just kept right on talking and talking and talking.

I even successfully got us all to the bathroom for a diaper change.  That alone drew some impressed looks from some ladies.  I consider it one of my finer motherhood moments.

And I should mention that I hate flying VERY much and spent the whole time secretly thinking the plane was going to crash at any moment.  Making up songs about applesauce and poop (Little Bug's requests for the day) is not easy to do when your internal monologue is making peace with God before your plane goes down.

But as people passed us on their way off the plane, a number of men and women commented to me on how well-behaved my boys were and how impressed they were.  Although I was proud of the way my boys and I had handled the flight, it was validating that we did well enough for people to comment to us.

Sometimes that is the best praise a mama can get is that her kids are well behaved.

The Great Debate

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

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

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

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

I'm betting it's been me.

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

And tomorrow, I really will try harder.

The Name's Mama, Their Mama

My hair is a mess, strands of my ponytail out and frizzy.  I'm so terribly tired, physically a bit sick, and sore.  My feet and fingernails are dirty, and I am pretty sure I smell.

Yet, I can sit here in this stolen moment (and it truly is practically just a moment) and know without a shadow of a doubt that I was one bad a$$ mother today.  I rocked it hard from my rare 4:45 am wake-up call to the skipped nap to bedtime.

My kids got to see trains, jump in puddles, help bake super healthy veggie muffins, have a very long and physical music parade, read books, sing songs, help me tidy up our house, learn numbers, look at birds, play in a public fountain, get new Cars shoes that light up, and eat a decent meal outside.  It was just a charmed day, despite the fatigue, constant rain, and slightly messy house.  And I made it happen for them.

And everyday...heck, most days, won't be like this.  But today, I declare that I was a really great mama, and that is a nice ego boost.

Brook the Bird

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

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

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

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

Whatever. My baby was getting this weird doll.

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

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

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

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.

Baby Bird

When I am sleepy I either get sassy or sappy. Last night it was sappy.

As I laid in bed last night with Little Bug (after he had ended up back in our bed) nestled in between Appa and I, I got to thinking about nests.

Yes, like a bird's nest. Because when I am sleepy and sassy or sappy, I am also mildly delusional.

Little Bug is the sweetest, most horrible bed mate. He flips and turns and burrows into you. He wants nothing more than to be cuddled up against you and will usually push Appa off the bed at night from attempting to get closer and closer to him. Last night, though, he seemed pretty peaceful in his little dinosaur jammies. He alternated between spooning me while his hand rested on his dada and resting his head in the crook of Appa's arm while his little toes burrowed into my side.

In my sleepy/sappy state I imagined him protected safely in a little nest we had made for him, protected from cold and monsters and everything else in the world. Then I started thinking about all the other times I make a "nest" for him. The way I wrap my arms around him as he sits in my lap, the way his beloved raggies nest around him each night as he sleeps, each one touching some part of his face or hands or feet. The whole thing seemed so warm and cozy and idealic. Such a lovely thing for a child to experience.

Such a lovely thing for me to experience him experiencing.

I love being a mama bird.

Fighting the Skeletons

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

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

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

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

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

It makes me feel so lucky to be his mom.

Love is

Love is doing something you hate for hours and hours and hours to bring joy to your 3 year old's face.

Love is also proving your husband wrong.

Poop: The Interlude

Scene: Very fancy and expensive restaurant at Downtown Disney.

Shortly after we ordered at our one super fancy meal of our trip, I noticed that Little Bug was smelling a bit off. A casual look revealed that HOLY CRAP, he was the the midst of a blow out.

Never fear; I am a prepared and capable mother. I calmly asked Appa to hand me a diaper and some wipes, figuring I could salvage things enough to finish dinner, but as the words left my mouth, I realized a horrible truth.

I had left the diaper bag back at the hotel.

Sh*t. In every sense of the word.

After staring at each other for about 30 seconds of serious horror, I got up and ran walked briskly out of the restaurant and toward the first place that I saw that sold kid's clothing.

The upside is at Downtown Disney, those places are every few feet. The downside is that the selection of boy's toddler wear is pretty limited and overpriced.

But my son was currently sitting in a fancy restaurant erupting unspeakable things from his pants, so I grabbed a pair of gray sweat pants with a red racing stripe on the side and Mickey Mouse embroidered, paid about seven times what I would ever pay for sweat pants (more than that if you factor in my hatred for sweat pants), and then turned to the more pressing matter.

A diaper.

I took out all the cash I had ($3) and spotted the first kindly looking family with kids and begged them for a diaper. Offered them my $3 for a diaper. In the middle of a giant Disney store in front of a life-sized version of Sleeping Beauty. They gave me the diaper, let me keep my $3, and wished me luck as I sprinted out of the store and back to the restaurant.

You'd think the story would get boring from here.

When I got back to our table Appa told me that things had gotten worse, almost to the point of having to leave (I don't know where we would go though). Without a word I whisked Little Bug up and into the women's restroom...probably the only one in a 50 mile radius without a kid's changing area.

In a tiny stall, with my son's salvaged shirt over his head and his hands being held like handcuffs, I used my free hand to strip him, methodically clean him off using paper towels and my antibacterial wipes, and then clean up the mess we made. His naked body was on the bathroom floor, not to mention me sitting cross legged facing the toilet.

It was so gross; I seriously felt a bit traumatized.

So the story should end here....

As we were working, I could hear people commenting on the smell. I understood; something was seriously foul in my son's diaper. As I figured the restaurant would not want me to carry a super pungent diaper next to all the diners, I wrapped it up and shoved it in the bottom of a garbage can in the bathroom.

However, we were seating directly next to the bathroom and for the next 2 minutes I could see people coming out with their noses still pinched. Talking about the smell. Looking ill.

Oh my God; we were ruining people's meals.

So I had to find the manager and tell him what had happened and suggest they use some room spray and remove the garbage. He was very gracious, but I saw two people complain to him right after that, so I assume he wasn't super stoked.

Nor were the two female employees who we had to watch go in and out as they were "taking care of it."

We finished our fancy meal; me a bit quiet due to disgust and mortification, and left to find me a caramel apple to make up for the night. I'm trying to stay unplugged for this trip, but I had to get this one out, in the hopes it will seem funnier and less horrible.

The biggest irony: Little Bug is having a hard time falling asleep tonight, and I needed to do some research in preparation for tomorrow, so I had to bring the computer into another room. So this entry is being typed from our hotel room bathroom, as I sit cross legged on the floor with the computer propped up on the toilet.

It's how we roll.

A Note to My Sons from Their No-Longer-a-Teenager-Mama

My friend Tiffany wrote a blog post a while back about what she wished she would have done differently in high school. She was sharing her list with her high school students and her own sons. She challenged others to do the same, and although I never do stuff like that on this blournal, this topic is one that I would like to preserve for my kids. Sitting down to think about it was pretty heavy, and if my sons can avoid even one of my "mistakes," I will consider it a victory.

What I wish I would have done differently in high school........

I wish I had been kinder to my younger sister. She was dealing with her own insecurities, and I just took mine out on her....for about 16 hellish years. People always told us that we would be close friends when we were adults and I absolutely thought they were full of crap....they were not.

I wish I would have volunteered in the community more.

I wish I would have been more honest with my parents.

I wish I would have said yes when J.J. asked me to senior homecoming (even though I declined nicely). Appa was up at college and wouldn't have minded if I went with this person as friends, and I know it took so much bravery for J.J. to ask me to that dance. He could never catch a break socially, and I so regret being one more instance of that...simply because I was too caught up in myself to be on his arm for a couple hours. Instead I sat at home and acted like an "I'm dating a college boy martyr" while J.J. sat at home because I said no.

I wish I could have found a way to compromise with my parents a bit more on the things that were really important to them. It wouldn't have hurt me, but it would have saved them a lot of hurt.

I wish I would have learned the value of money and how to use what you do (and don't) have responsibly.

I wish I would have backed up and kept the things I wrote, school papers, creative writing, etc. The papers would have come in handy in college and the creative writings would have been a treasure now.

I wish I would have learned to cook as my mother cooked for us each night.

I wish I would have spent more time getting to know my brothers.

I wish I hadn't thrown away the little gold unicorn earrings my dad gave me for my 8th birthday in honor of being able to get my ears pierced. As a teenager I thought the little gold earrings were silly, childlike things I would never wear again. As an adult I mourn the loss of this special gift my daddy had picked out just for his "little lady."

I wish I would have spent a little more time with my friends and a little less time with my boyfriend....even if I thought he was (and still is) the love of my life.

I wish I would have learned how to apply makeup.

I wish I would have cultivated a love for physical activity or learned a sport.

I wish I would have honored my commitments to church more, or at least been able to be brave enough to bow out when I could not longer honor those commitments.

I wish I would have learned the value of chores or the self-discipline of cleaning.

I wish I would have taken better care of the pictures I took, instead of strewing them about to be lost to the four corners of the earth.

I wish we went to more family counseling sessions instead of me canceling them as soon as I got what I wanted out of them.

I wish I had been more aware of how my actions were impacting my little siblings, how my teenage dramatics were scaring them and making them feel worried and sad about the state of their own family.

I wish I never would have dyed my whole head of hair using the spray on highlighter.

And, just for kicks, there are a couple things I am glad that I did in high school.....

I am glad that I was responsible and resourceful enough to get the items and information I needed to make safe choices in my life...despite not being able to share that with my parents.

I am glad that I chased that lone Sunday trick-or-treater down the street and gave him candy when everyone else in our neighborhood (including us) had their lights off in protest of a Sunday holiday, despite my parents' protests. (And in turn made an impression on them that my mother still brings up around Halloween each year.)

I'm glad I worked during the summer and after school....especially that I worked in fast food.

I'm glad I only applied to the colleges of my choice.

I'm glad that my running away consisted of simply running to Ali(ce)'s house and having her mom call my mom to let them know I was going to hang there for the night.

I'm glad I fought for Appa.

I'm glad I didn't say "I love you" until I meant it.

I'm glad that I never touched a cigarette, alcohol, or drugs.

I'm glad that I was open to change.....all the best things about my life now are things I never could have anticipated in high school.

Eye of the Tiger

Today is a day I have been dreading and preparing for during the last 2 years. Little Bug is set to lose all his therapists when he turns 3 next month and will be getting his services from our local school district (and we're lucky we had the foresight to move into a good district). I'm completely freaked about him losing his excellent ST and PT, but that is for a different day.

Today he gets evaluated by the schools for what services he qualifies for. Our hope and belief is that he should qualify for the excellent half day, language intensive preschool program where an ST and PT will see him during his time there. It's a good school, perfect for almost all his needs (minus the smaller focus on PT), and it fits with our schedule. He can do mornings there and they will bus him directly to his normal school for the afternoon.

However, based on his PT evaluation of 15-18 months (Little Bug is almost 3), as misleading as it is, they want to put him in this really intense one-on-one program for severely disabled children. I'm against that because I don't think that is what he needs, nor do I think removing his social and independent components would be beneficial. Plus, with the full day schedule (full school day, not full work day), we would have to pull him out completely from his normal school...and I would have to quit my job to be there in the mornings and afternoons.

If this is what he needed, I would be on board in a heartbeat. But as his mother, I know it is not. Last time I checked, the only one who has a PhD in Little Bug was me.

I've been going round and round with them because they only see this one number on his paperwork, not HIM. If they saw him, I know they would see he is not a child who needs these wonderful, but inappropriate resources. To help this process, Appa and I decided to set Little Bug up for complete success. We scheduled an early bedtime and canceled all his therapy today.

Because, did I mention, they scheduled the eval for smack dab in the middle of my schedule-oriented, sleep-loving child's nap time?

Of course, the best laid plans always go to hell. Little Bug was up from 11:30 pm to 3:30 am this morning. He spent most of it showing off his first real tune full song mastery ("Skip to My Lou"), but the fall out is he is going to this important eval with less than half the sleep he needs to function well and without a nap.

I did what I could to minimize the fall out. He is wearing his favorite train shirt and I have an entire bag of M&Ms to bribe him out of sleep and into some semblance of a decent mood. But the reality is that he doesn't do well on no sleep and this evaluation will not be his best foot forward.

Which is fine. I spoke to some of his trusted therapists today and they gave me some ammo to use if things start going in a direction we all know they shouldn't go. I'm prepared to get a little feisty if they take his sleepiness for apathy or inability.

They willingly tell you that their interest in therapy is focused on making sure the child can function in public school....not in life or society or in his best self. That's fine, too.

But my interest in therapy, my focus, is broader than that. This is my kid's life, the future of his therapy. Perhaps I won't have to advocate at all for Little Bug today. That would be awesome.

But I am preparing to, just in case. And they should prepare to because a mama bear hopped up on 2.5 bottles of DDP is nothing to shake a stick at.

Seeing Him

My sister and I had a long talk recently about seeing your children, the very physical idea that although we look at our kids all day long, we sometimes stop seeing them. I think a big problem I had with my attachment to Little Bug was that although my eyes would meet his, my mind was far away. I wasn't in the moment with him, and I think that although he got plenty of time looking into my eyes, what he probably saw was far away thoughts and not a mama's adoring love.

I've been really mindful of this lately. I make time each afternoon to gaze into my kid's eyes as we play on a bed or heap of pillows. I try to take a moment or two in the car after I buckle him in to look into his eyes and smile a really genuine smile. I make sure that I am talking to him, not at him.

I'm hoping to master this ability to see my child each day before Little Bro comes home. I want to be able to be more than just a mom for my children; I want to be a mom to them. I want Little Bug to know, even at his little toddler age, that what he has to say is important to me and that I love being in his presence.

It's not easy, especially when I am tired, bored, depressed, angry, busy, or any number of the other factors that shape my day. It's so much easier to look at him and talk at him without taking the time to shift my energy into him.

But he's the most important little person in my life, and I want him to grow up seeing that.

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.

WWSD

Today, as I finished loading the ice cream into the hot car and buckling Little Bug into his car seat, I noticed that a CD I had meant to purchase had been wedged down the side of the cart. A quick look at the receipt verified that it had not been paid for.

I am ashamed to admit that I stood there for a full minute with that unintentionally stolen CD trying to decide if and how I was going to remedy the situation. The truth of the matter is that it seemed easiest to just hop in the car and drive away. I certainly wasn't going to be chased down by the police.

The little angel on my shoulder kept arguing that I'd never be able to enjoy that CD and I wouldn't be able to sleep for my guilt, but the little devil on my shoulder complained that it was dinner time, hot enough to already be melting my ice cream, and a huge pain in the butt to have to unbuckle my kid and drag him back into the store.

Like I said, a full minute passed as I stood there in the parking lot looking at this CD. I am not proud of that.

Suddenly it hit me. WWLBD? What would Little Bug do? Or rather, what would I want Little Bug to do? As his parent, my morals and example are what will shape who he will become. If I stole that CD, even if it wasn't premeditated, I would be less of a person than I want my son to be, and I couldn't stand for that.

So Little Bug was dragged out of the car, the ice cream melted, and the young girl at customer service looked at me like I was crazy, but I paid for that CD and enjoyed it the whole way home.

Little Bug, someday when you are faced with a decision that might not be easy but is definitely right, I hope you will be able to think WWMD and make the right choice.

I Don't Know What the Crap I am Doing

Tonight I momentarily wowed some friends with my attempts to potty train Little Bug (and by attempt, I mean sit his freshly scrubbed, post-diaper change butt on his kiddy potty in exchange for three small discs of chocolate and a ton of fake clapping). When they asked me how it was going, I gave them the truth.

I don't know what the crap I am doing.

Seriously, beyond potty training, which I have absolutely no clue about other than the desired end result, that could be my mantra for motherhood. I don't know what the crap I am doing; I'm reading books and getting advice, but totally winging it. I haven't found the How to Raise Little Bug book yet...probably because I am writing it.

There is an incredible blog that I read, Uncharted Parent, and the author's tag line is "Because every parent goes where no parent has gone before." It's literally one of the most practical, logical, and beautiful ways of putting parenthood that I have ever encountered. (You have no idea how much I wish that phrase had come out of my head. I covet.)

I can't know what I am doing raising Little Bug because no one in the world has ever raised this child at this age. All I can do is my very best, learn from my mistakes, and focus on this child at this time. It doesn't matter what anyone else is doing because they have not already walked in these footsteps.

That takes a whole lot of pressure off us mamas, no?