To My Little Moon

Written on Sept. 21, 2012

To my Little Moon,

I didn't expect to be writing this to you...ever really.  I really thought this letter would start out "Dear Little Miss," but it isn't and I find myself grinning widely at the thought.

Just like your brothers before you, your appearance in my life was sudden, unexpected, and filled with a deep sense of peace.  And just like your big brother Little Bro, I have to apologize for the months I have spent pouring over your bio on the waiting child list, praying for a family to find you.  I kept coming back to you, daily; I even started showing you to Appa regularly with a tut tut why can't a family see what an amazing child this is?

Why indeed could I not see, could I not listen to my heart that kept drawing me to you?

Unlike your brother, I didn't wake up one morning with the conviction of a mother than you were mine. Honestly, I didn't even ask for your file.  But life/fate/divinity/karma helped push a bit and a week ago today your file was in my inbox.  I gasped at your cuteness (oh the cuteness!) and tried to imagine life with three boys close in age.  And although I didn't get a "no," I didn't get a "YES" either.

But I knew you were special, and so Appa and I were careful.  We were careful to make sure we could be the family you deserved.  Careful to make sure we could still be the parents Little Bug and Little Bro deserved.  Careful to make sure the dream of Little Miss was one we could let go of.

When I realized I could let go of that dream easily and with finality, that's when I started to believe I could really be so lucky as to be your mama.

And in the last 36 hours I have felt my heart expand.  You went from a sweet little boy to my sweet little boy. I started missing you.

I woke up this morning and I knew.  I knew you were going to be my son.  And so when Appa agreed this evening, I knew this wasn't just a "next step" step but the pivotal step towards you.  We're still months away from sending an acceptance to Korea, and yet tonight I feel like I just did.

From this moment on, no matter the status of our paperwork, I have three sons in my heart.  And I know that someday I'll look back on this night and find it hard to imagine a life without my Little Moon.

Trick-or-Treat

Tonight, after the sugar rush (the pavement pounding one....not the one that was percolating in my little kids' bodies), my kids sat at the table eating dinner while watching the trick-or-treaters come to our door.

As I handed out candy to a group of princesses and ninjas, one of the older princesses (maybe 10?) looked past me to my frantically waving and seriously adorable sons. In a very conversational tone she asked me "Are you babysitting tonight?"

Seriously, well-meaning 10-year-old girl?  Are you freaking kidding me?  In our own home?

I get mistaken for the nanny about once a month, but usually it is an understandable mistake.  I live in an area with a lot of nannies and a lot of Korean families.  I have learned to be quick and cheerful and totally non-awkward when it happens because I get it.

But in my own home?  Our safe place?

My response was my trusty "Nope, they're my babies" served up with a smile and mirthful eyes.

"They don't look like you."
"Nope, I don't look like them."

Then the moment was over as the princesses and their ninjas had other homes to conquer, but it left me feeling a bit out-of-sorts.  Because it reminded me that no matter where we are, how we see ourselves is not how others see us.  Even in our own home, the place that wraps all our family magic up and keeps us safe from the world.

And I can accept that.  It's part of being special...standing out.  I just need to make sure I never lose sight of my responsibility to teach my kids that no matter where we (or more importantly, they) are singled out, our truths and reactions should be the same.

I did give that princess the crappy gobstoppers though...I won't lie.

The Question

We're a conspicuous family, and I've always fielded multiple questions a week from strangers regarding Little Bug and whether he was adopted or if I was just the devoted nanny.  Usually the questions were just varying degrees of "is he adopted?", but I realized today that ever since Little Bro came home, that question rarely comes up.

Now, the new, more subtle was of determining how I came to be wrangling two small Koreans is a different, seemingly innocent question that I literally get 2-3 times a week.

"Are they brothers?"

And although the snarky responses you read in all the adoption literature comes to mind, my go to answer falls in line with my general rule on these sorts of questions...simple and honest.

"Yes."

But the thing is, I know that isn't what they are asking.  I know they aren't using the word brothers the way I am.  I know they are asking about blood and biology and a single birth mother and some history or story that is bound to be interesting.  But, if that was all it was, me choosing to ignore the implications behind the question, that would be fine.  It's the follow-up comments that I have been shocked to discover nearly always follow my simple and honest answer.

In the last week alone, these are some of the comments I have received in response to my answer.

"How wonderful you were able to keep them together."
"I can tell.  Their eyes have the same shape."  [Really?!  Here is a news flash, nice lady handing out chocolate milk samples at Costco,  there are around 50 million other people in the world who have the same "shape" of eyes as my kids.  I am pretty sure they aren't all related.  If they were, Lee Min Ho would be having dinner at my place...like every night.]
"What a sad story with such a happy ending!"
"You can tell."
"I didn't know you could adopt siblings from Asia."
"They're twins, right?"

So here is my dilemma.  I really like my less-is-more approach in general because it works for my personality, but in this case, I am finding it increasingly important to offer up information speaking to the implication of this question.  It's not a huge deal right now with my boys understanding what is being said, but when they get older, I don't want to have to continue the conversation with these strangers in order to set the record straight when their assumptions become clear, nor do I want to lie or hide the fact that my children are not biological brothers, because it doesn't make them any less of brothers, and I want them to know that and own that.

I have started practicing with the answer "they are now," and that seems to get the point across, but also tends to fluster people and make them backpedal, which makes me feel bad.  Then again, it's not offensive, so perhaps I shouldn't care that I've made people who asked an awkward question feel awkward themselves.  But even that answer feels like it has a shelf life, as it might be a little odd to say "they are now" when they've been brothers for 10+ years or something.

It's the most interesting of transitions from going from one child to two, and I find it has made our family even more conspicuous, more interesting to strangers, and more vulnerable to prying questions.

But for the record, as far as I am concerned, the only answer that is really true is "yes."

They are brothers.

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.

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.

Window Shopping

Little Bug,

You've been home for 2.5 years now.  You know who your mama is.  So I'm cool with you calling any females who look between the ages of 16-50 "mama," because I know it's just the only name you know how to associate with adult women.  Besides I love being your "my mama."

However, when the new little girl in your class has her Korean mother there, it's slightly mortifying for your "my mama" when you run into the Korean mama's arms and refuse to leave.  I get that you were playing with her, but she looked at me like some horrific thing was happening, and she actually asked me if you were confused who your mama was because she was Korean.  I couldn't even be mad at her for asking, not as I was watching the bizarre love fest you had going on.  Granted, it got better when you moved on to your white teacher and did the same thing and she could see it had nothing to do with the way she looked or the accent she had.

You just didn't want to go home last night.  That's okay.  School looks a heck of a lot more fun some days than a healthy dinner, home therapy, and an early bedtime.  So I'll jazz it up if you promise to go easy on the pseudo window shopping. 

Love,
Your My Mama

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.

Grateful

Sometimes I am so grateful I want to cry. I want to give someone a hug. I want to be able to show my appreciation in some way. Right that moment, as I feel my heart constricting in that pleasant and almost painful way.

This time, I can't. Not yet, anyway.

Little Bro's Korean social worker sent us a CD yesterday. On the disc entitled "my disc" in Hangul, was a 2-minute clip of our son running around the back offices of our Korean agency. Our social worker can be heard trying to bait big star over and over to perform some tricks or bits of cuteness he is clearly famous for. She snapped the video during the ending of what seemed to be a very casual and friendly visit and dropped in unceremoniously onto a disc that she sent to our U.S. agency.

Not something that is usually done. People just aren't lucky enough to get videos snapped by their social workers dropped in the mail to them.

Although we've already been spoiled beyond belief with three separate instances of video, this video was remarkable to us. To see him running and coping some toddler attitude. To hear the affection in her voice and watch his bond with his foster brother and foster mother in action. It's been a very bright spot in a very rough week.

And I can't even say thank you. I can't let our social worker know how much her thoughtful gesture means to us. To most, this was just a little video, but she knew it would be so much more to us.

Other families still wait, with few pictures and zero hopes of ever seeing a video of their child ahead of time. I hope more families can get gifts like this. Perhaps when we do meet her in a few months and express to her just how much her videos and pictures meant to us, more families will start getting updates like this.

But I so wish I could tell her today, while my heart is about ready to burst, how grateful I am that she has my son and both his families in her heart.

Dear Little Boy,

Dear Little Boy on the waiting list with the tears in his eyes and rosy cheeks,

I've been watching you for months. Praying over you in the mornings here at my desk. Hoping a family would see your picture and really see you. This morning, when I saw the matched box over your picture, I gasped out loud with delight. I have no idea who your family is and doubt I ever will, but I'm happy, so VERY happy, that you're getting the chance to be the awesome son I imagined you would be and that I won't be seeing another updated picture of your adorable face.

I secretly imagine you in a brotherhood with my big star, and I image Little Bro high fiving all his friends as they suit up to move on to their new families or get that first care package from the families who have suited up for a long, but totally worth it, wait.

I wonder how many people felt that way about my big star when his matched box went up? If they still think about him, I hope they know he's in for as much love as a family can possibly give him. Knowing how supremely happy my family was when Little Bro "joined" our family makes me rejoice for your unknown family today.

My heart will forever be with you and the rest of your friends on that list.

A Fact of My Life

Scene: Mommy/son dinner.

Very nice 30-something waitress who had been flirting with Little Bug all evening: "He's simply adorable. Are you babysitting?"

Me, without a second of hesitation or annoyance: "Nope, he's mine!"

End scene.

The fact of the matter is I'll always get this question. And the fact of the matter is it no longer bothers me or trips me up.

He's mine. I'm his. And I don't mind who asks.

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.

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.

The Best Part of Adoption is _________

The best thing about my adoption journey: my sons.
The second best thing about my adoption journey: the friends I've made.

When I brought my son home for Korea, I thought my little Korean cupcake was going to be the only real "addition" to my life. I had no idea that the other mothers I would meet through adoption would becomes such a special, important part of my life.

I'm grateful that the biggest blessing in my life has ushered in so many others.

The Reality and My Reality

This topic makes me cringe. I'm hoping by writing some of it down I can get it to stop rattling around in my head.

Lately I've been doing a lot of reading on adoption issues, specifically the idea that adoption is morally reprehensible because women are trapped in low economic or social situations with no way out except to relinquish their children to people of higher economic or social situations.

This situation isn't an opinion. This is a fact. I look to the women in Korea, women who are stigmatized and shunned for having a child. I would venture that many, many, many of these women want desperately to be able to parent their babes, and yet, their societies offers them no support. Their children are practically forced out of their hands.

That is a fact.

It's like that in countries all over the world. The majority of children who are available to be adopted around the world are victims of economic and social problems, not a lack of love or caring arms.

To a slightly different extent, it is that way in this country, too.

I don't like reading about it, to be honest, but I am compelled to. I've been lurking on some first mother sites and some adoptee sites. I've read in depth some of the advocates who consider adoptive parents to be akin to kidnappers, and I've read some pretty close minded stuff from advocates who think adoptive parents are the heroes of the world. Both leave my stomach turning.

Then I sit in the middle ground and look up at the nursery door and wonder if I'm part of the problem or the solution. Or either.

Both my children were not able to live with their birth family for reasons FAR from a lack of love. Both my children have mothers in Korea who expressed sadness at not being able to keep them.

That is how my children came to my waiting arms. Not because I could love them more or better, but because I am randomly luckier than their birth mothers in my circumstances.

And that makes me uncomfortable.

But where does that leave me? Where does that leave my children? How can I fix a problem so global?

The reality is that both my children were relinquished and needed homes. They were unable to have a home found for them in Korea. I'm the 3rd best option, and I understand that. But some would argue by being an option at all, I'm still perpetrating the problem.

This is where I struggle. By adopting my sons, I am participating in a cycle that is clearly destructive to mothers and children. But then again, these two children are not hypothetical spokes in this cycle, they are living, breathing children who need and deserve a family....and there was no family in Korea for them at the time when they needed one. I don't believe they would have been better off in an orphanage. I want to think by raising them with as much exposure to their Korean culture and an openness for any type of communication with their birth families that the might possibly have, coupled with a loving home, will be enough to make this 3rd best option better than an orphanage. My sons might some day feel differently...I hope not, though.

But how do I become part of the solution for these yet-to-be-born babies and their mothers? It seems from my research that no one is exactly sure of that. Extremes seem so....extreme, and yet, it stands to reason that only an extreme will force any sort of change.

This isn't about me. Of that, I am sure. I don't have a right to be a mother. I can't give birth to a child, but that does not give me a right to parent someone elses.

But at some point, children will suffer from lack of families if adoption is ended. There will be a gap between the problem and the solution, and children will be caught in the middle. How do we determine which children get the be the martyrs for the future?

That's what I can't riddle out. How can we solve a problem by hurting the very people we are trying to save? But how can we continue to happily pretend that women all over the world have babies and choose to give them up for completely personal reasons and are happier for their choices? How can we pretend that the competent, loving (albeit perhaps poor and young) birth mother and the child's lives are best served by allowing or even encouraging a separation?

I don't know.

I don't know if this even makes sense. I doubt it does. I lay in bed at night and my head does circles as I think about my children and their mothers and myself and how we all fit together.

Ultimately, this is where I am at.

I can't change the past. I can't and won't contact my Little Bug's birth mother and apologize and offer to let her parent Little Bug while I pay her the money I would have spent parenting him myself (which isn't a legal option anyway, no matter what some advocates suggest). It is selfish, but I love my sons and I am glad to be their mother. That's a reality, too.

And until something happens on a larger scale, there will still be children, especially children with special needs, that will need a home. Our wished for Little Sis will, mark my words, be one of those little children. I don't believe us choosing not to adopt again would make any different in the current climate, except to deny a child who legitimately needs a home a family. Individual boycotts are not nearly as effective as other methods of change.

I can't change a global climate. I can't change the way a country supports unwed mothers or their children. I can help by supporting causes and organizations that are working on a bigger scale to make change. One of our new annual donations this year is to an organization that supports unwed mother's rights in Korea. We make our donation in honor of Little Bug's mother.

I can help by continuing to be aware of issues and talking about them. I can help by not putting on my rose colored glasses and reading books about how baby, we were meant for each other, as if everything and everyone beforehand was only a means to our end.

I love my sons. I love my family. I love the way our family bonds are created. I don't love the reason for adoption to be necessary. I don't love the hurt of two families that has resulted from it. I don't love the gaping hole in my sons' hearts that I will never be able to fill.

But even after it all, I come back to the thought that I am grateful for my children. I am grateful for my reality. God, I love Little Bug so painfully much. I know I will feel the same about Little Bro.

I owe it to everyone involved to try to make our blessings count, to pay it forward. I think that starts with having some hard conversations with myself and using my lucky circumstances to advocate for those who have less resources.

Adoptivus: The Prayer

My son was honored to have the founder of his Korean agency and one of the most amazing souls ever to grace this planet privately pray over him before he joined our family and left the only family and culture he had ever known.

"Precious lives, our angels, we send away these lives to foreign countries, with scarred memories of their homeland.

Please forgive our sins and allow Korea to be a better country, so that we will be adopting children from other countries, instead of us always sending ours away.

We send them for care. So please protect these lives and help them lead a happy life in their new homes. Always provide them with grace and intelligence, lead them to live by the rules of Jesus Christ, to have luck, to help benefit others, and to return the glory to our Lord.

It is our sincere wish that these lives will not forget their home country and the love of the people who took care of them.

Father, please remember the foster families who worked hard whether it is favorable or unfavorable conditions to protect these lives, and give them blessings for the benefits they provided with. By your blessings, these adoptive families will be full of love and be under your protection.

Now the children are leaving: Please make their way as easy as possible, lead them to the most pleasant life.

In the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen. "

I wonder if Dr. Kim knows just how much his own humble life has changed the course of so many others' lives forever.

Like mine.

감사함니다, Dr. Kim, for loving my son.

Adoptivus: Little Bug

Before we met Little Bug, we used to refer to him as a monkey (because all children must have an animal moniker, of course). Two years ago today, on the most intense day of my life that is too sacred and private to blog about in any meaningful way, I finally got the chance to begin to get to know my son.

Two things we immediately apparent as we began to parent this small child.
1. He was not going to be climbing about "monkey-style" anytime soon.
2. The kid was a serious cuddler.

During the 30 minute drive from our agency to our hotel, Little Bug fell asleep on me after looking around confused for a while. He nestled in and was so warm and darling. His foster mother had told us he liked close contact, and that was clearly obvious. As Appa and I were marveling over his sleeping form, I mused that he was a "little cuddle bug."

Besides a very sad 20 minute freak out, Little Bug earned that reputation throughout our first night together, allowing us (or more like allowing Baby-Hog Appa) constant cuddling opportunities. It was a night that went better and more joyful that we ever could have imagined (although the nights would soon turn more grim).

Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean the word "cuddle" was dropped, and by the time we hit American soil he was just a little bug. Over the next few weeks that turned into a nickname. Now, not a day goes by that our son isn't called "Little Bug" or "Bugs" or "Buggy" to his face.

And that is how, in a hotel room in Seoul on the day our son became our son, he also became Little Bug.

Adoptivus: The Hills

2 years ago today we set out on a mini adventure (complete with hijinks) to the city of Suwon, an hour or two outside Seoul. I've written a lot about our escapades on the bus ride and the history and freedom we enjoyed in the fortress. I've written about how we got back to Seoul courtesy of my handy flash cards.

But I've not written about the in between.

Once we got out of Seoul and before we started panicking about how we would get off the bus, Appa and I sat in total silence and watched the scenery change outside the window. It went from busy, trendy Seoul to very industrial areas. For some reason, this is what I expected the outside of Seoul to look like.

Eventually the landscape turned greener, softer, prettier. We passed through what seemed like valleys filled with meadows and streams. We passed a bright blue lake right off the side of the road, and I remember having the intense urge to go camping there. Surrounding us were what my Midwest head called "mountains" and my Western heart called "hills." Either way, they were covered in trees and moss. They were absolutely lovely and calming and natural and wild.

As I visualize it in my head now, everything has this hazy, soft blur to it, like a picture over treated. It was such a departure from everything else we saw on our trip, and coming after the day when we met Little Bug, my heart and head were in a happy place.

Seoul is amazingly advanced and sexy, and Suwon is a historical wonder, but the wild in between is worth remembering, too.

Adoptivus: The Smile

September 16, 2008. The day we met our son. I could not pick which memory to preserve, so I chose three.

Appa is a pretty reserved man, and the honest truth is that he doesn't love kids, at least other people's kids. I knew he would love our son, but there was a part of me that worried that he would be an unintentionally distant parent.

Somehow in the midst of loving on my baby for the first time, I knew that I needed to offer Appa a chance to hold his son. When I asked him if he wanted a turn, the sureness and excitement in his voice caught me off guard.

When I handed him our son, Appa flashed the most brilliant, authentic smile I have ever (and I mean that sincerely) seen on his face. I knew, without a doubt, that I was witnessing him fall head-over-heels in love with Little Bug. His eyes glazed over and it seemed he would now forever be at this child's whim (and he is).

That made me fall in love with Appa on a whole new level. To watch him claim, instantaneously, this child as his own and show him such tender and true love was one of the most moving moments of my entire trip and a memory I will always hold very dear in my heart.

Adoptivus: "Hi"

For months I had fantasied about the first moment holding my son, what I would say, what I would do, and how he would react. It all boiled down to the same phrase, "there you are." I was sure, practically insistent that I would utter it to him.

But when his beautiful foster mother handed him to me, I couldn't find any words for a moment. I had thought all along that I was looking for him...that I would recognize him in some way on some emotional level.

But I didn't. This child was a stranger to me....in the best way possible. He was not the child of my imagination; he was so much better.

She placed him in my arms and he stared directly into my eyes. His deep, impossibly big and thoughtful (and slightly sleepy) eyes studied me, waiting for me to make the first move. To introduce myself to him, because he was most definitely not thinking "there you are."

"Hi."

That, out of all the eloquent (or Korean) things I could of said, was how I chose to start our lives together.

But it worked for us. Little Bug studied me for a bit more and then tentatively reached out to touch my colorful earring that I had worn especially in the hopes he might find it interesting.

I know what I said after that; the whole thing is on video. I cooed and tried to make him say hi to the camera and asked about teeth. All completely pointless things because I was actually just making my lips move.

Inside my mind was going a mile a minute. I was thinking about how heavy and floppy he was and trying to determine what that meant. I was thinking about how hard it was going to be to be gracious and offer Jeff a chance to hold him....like, EVER. And most of all, I was blown away by his beauty, how my heart suddenly knew without a doubt that he was the most beautiful child I had ever seen.

I distinctly remember thinking to myself that we had made the right choice to get on the plane, that no matter what lay ahead of us, I was sure that this would be the child would be the best part of each day of the rest of our lives.

And then I did it, in my head, at least. I thought to myself as I felt my role as a mother start to take form,"there you are."

The road has not been easy, but Little Bug, you had me at hello.