Learn to Love Your Lawn

I've learned a valuable lesson recently:

The grass is never really greener on the other side.

Sure, it might seem more lush or whatever botanical word goes well with grass, but the fact remains that it's still grass, which means it can die, grown weeds, harbor biting bugs, and itch when stuck to your bare skin.

When we switched adoption agencies, I was sad because I liked our little spot of grass. Was it perfect? No way; but we were happy. However, secretly I was excited to work with a much larger agency. Surely the grass was a tiny bit greener on that side. And it is nice on this new side, don't get me wrong.

But not greener, really. Perhaps a different shade of green, but thorns still grow and bug still bite. Different types, but it still stings.

It doesn't mean it is bad, but it's not perfect. I don't regret making the switch, but it's definitely not as tremendously ideal as I thought it would be.....perhaps because nothing could possibly be perfect.

And I realized this little lesson probably applies to a lot of things in my life....if you keep thinking (or expecting) the grass to be greener, you're never going to be happy with where you are right then or happy with wherever you are going next.

Praying For His Buddies

When we announced Little Bro's referral, I was shocked when FOUR people contacted me to tell me they had been "looking" at his profile and even a few of them has requested his information after we had. One friend, in particular, told me that she had been praying specifically for our son to have his family find him.

Well, whaddya know, we did.

Of course, we weren't actually looking for him. It just sort of happened that we looked randomly and were given the strong feeling that we needed to "explore" his information more. We had NO business exploring a waiting child. We were close to a referral. We had paid all our money. We had no plans to adopt an "older child." But in the end, we listened to that little feeling that prompted us to just consider it.

And we found our son. Little Bro, Big Star, Two of Two loves of our lives. Our perfect, healthy, son and his referral that was not nearly as scary as we thought accepting a waiting child would be.

And since then, I check that photo listing at least once a day to see the other little babies and toddlers and kids who have not found their families yet. The majority are thriving and carry the label of their "special need" only on their profile...not in their daily lives. Just like my friend, I pray for these little ones now. I KNOW how perfect they most likely are, but I also KNOW how scary the label "waiting child" is for parents. I literally get giddy when a profile is highlighted as "Matched."

And I swore I would not do this again, but I feel so strongly today that I should share this link to my friend's blog who is publicly advocating for the little boy her son lived with in Korea. A little boy whose picture I gaze at each day on that list. A little boy who has a family and life ahead of him. A little boy who is just like my Little Bro and every other little kid in the world. Perfectly imperfect.

I will forever be shocked at Appa and my choice to pursue our son's referral. We lost money, time, and perceived process security, but we gained a son that I feel to the bottom of my soul is the one meant to be in our lives forever.

All because we looked and thought about it and took a chance. My gut was leading me there, whether I knew it or not. If yours is, you should follow it. When it says stop, stop. When it says go, go.

I try not to write posts to people other than myself and my kids on this blog. But, I feel strongly today to share this link, so I'm going with it.

Maybe this is not a link you will feel compelled to click.

Maybe this is just going to be a blog that you end up enjoying.

Maybe this is going to open your eyes to waiting child adoption and lead you to the photo listings? Or maybe help you lead someone else there? Maybe that won't lead you anywhere but to increased awareness, or maybe, like her blog did for me, it will lead you ultimately to your child?

Or maybe this is your son?

All of these options are okay and right. But you never know until you at least think about it.

Card Carrying Member

When I drop Little Bug off each morning at his fancy-dancy "early learning center" (yes, it's snooty and we call it school), I enjoy seeing my fellow members of the unspoken club we all belong to:

The Professional Parent.

20 minutes earlier we had curlers in our hair and a toothbrush hanging out of our mouths while we were begging our half-naked children to show us where they hid their other socks, some obnoxious cartoon blaring in the background.

20 minutes later we will be the consummate professional, taking meetings, making deals, manipulating spreadsheets, or saving lives. Or something like that.

But at this moment, the moment we come together to drop our kids off at school, I find a lot of amusement (and fellowship). The business man who is going to broker million dollar deals has his tie slung over one shoulder and his 2-year-old son slug over the other, his hands filled with diapers, a sippy cup, and a little model train. The woman in awesome designer heels who will be restructuring a human resource department today is bent down trying to dig a booger out of her 3-year-old daughter's nose. The nurse who is singing "Wheels on the Bus" as he slowly backs toward the door. The accountant who is giving a detailed account of his child's bowel movements for the last 24 hours. The editor who stands patiently in the lobby as her little bug delights in a very loud voice over and over that the ceiling fan is "ON!"

I often feel like I am living dual lives. My life as a wife and mother, and my life as a professional. I sometimes shake my head as I am doing a "poop check" and think, how did I go from doing this to editing the writing of a triple PhD? I sometimes sit at work and can't believe I am editing some dry bit of textbook when somewhere my adorable son is learning how to jump.

It's the moments in the mornings, when I see all the other parents who are doing their best to navigate between their dual lives where I feel more normal. Those 5 minutes of half parent/half professional make the transition to my desk each morning a little easier.

That and I rarely find poop during the "poop checks."

Riding in Cars With One Boy

I think I have become a lot more laid back in my mothering in the last few years. Once over-vigilant to the point of obsession, I'm now more apt to let my kid go ahead and eat that cracker he found under the couch....if it has dust on it, he'll spit it out. I let him plop his butt in mud....shorts can be washed, usually with the hose like the rest of his body. I let him run sans clothes (but with diaper) in our backyard...I never quite figured out why I was so opposed to that one for so long.

But I'm still struggling with one area of unwavering resolve....leaving him in the car.

When I was little, I was left in the car while my mom popped into the gas station or pizza place. I'm confident that leaving the air conditioning on would protect my son from cooking inside out while I take 2 minutes to buy a DDP and a chocolate milk on our way to a park date or drop a library book off inside the library.

Yet, I cannot do it. I tell myself as I pull into the parking lot and gather my things while leaving the car running that he will be fine in plain view for a minute or two, but at the last minute, I chicken out and turn the car off, unbuckle my kid, and drag him into the gas station. Neither one of us is super thrilled with this decision.

I'm not sure if it is because my anxiety of the horror stories you hear of babies in extreme heat gets the better of me or if I am somehow envisioning someone stealing my car and my kid, or if my phobia of a car slipping out of park and into traffic is at play, but I cannot, despite my best attempts, leave my child unattended in the car for longer than it takes to run the video into the rental drop box or return a shopping cart.

Just a small look into the inner workings of a neurotic mama-in-progress.

Motherhood is an Art

I rarely feel like I have a very good handle on the creative side of motherhood. I stress over the fact that my kid isn't being creatively stimulated enough at home. I have a feeling most mothers do. For me, I at least know that he is doing clever projects at school each day. It's almost like I get a free pass in the evenings to be the lame part of his day.

Where is the fun in that?

It took me a long time, but I am finally realizing that kids need to get messy sometimes in order to explore their creative side. I can either let him color with markers and learn how to color on the paper at age 2.5, or I can withhold markers until he is 16 and I can take away his driving privileges for coloring on his shirt or trying to eat the marker.

So, I have been trying really hard to add some mess into our lives lately.

Last night was...ominous music...paint.

My planning ahead consisted of buying nontoxic and washable paint and some canvas when it was on sale and saving it for a nonrainy day when I was feeling brave. That was the extent of the planning.

When I resolved to take a stab at the painting last night, I just stripped my kid down to his diaper; took him outside; gave him a paintbrush, canvas, and bucket of paints; and let him pick a color out (one by one to preserve some semblance of color) and have at it.

An hour later we had two very fun painted canvases, and Little Bug was covered head to toe in paint he had lovingly applied to his body with his brush. I busted out the hose and washed my kid and his slide (which was also painted) down...the best way to end a very fun and muggy tonight.

It wasn't until much later that I noticed my face was streaked with teal blue from the huge, unprompted kiss Little Bug gave me in the midst of his work.

Motherhood is an art. A messy, colorful, sticky, beautiful art.

A Backhanded Love Letter

Tonight Little Bug and I were sitting outside watching (or rather, feeling) the Midwest summer storm roll in. Little Bug has had a rough day (mainly because we were bad parents and kept him up way too late last night), and I was momentarily jealous of Appa's night of room service and hotel premium channels. My husband works long hours. LONG days. Usually far away. I'd be lying if I said this didn't cause me serious annoyance, frustration, sadness, etc. Most of the time I forget that when he is not here with his family, he isn't off doing something fun.

It hit me tonight that when he is away from us, he would probably cut off his left arm to spend the evening eating leftovers (actually, in the interest of truthiness, Little Bug and I had Arby's tonight) and sitting outside watching our child slowly melt down. He's working his butt off 90+ hours a week to provide a nice home for our family and let us live comfortably while creating a fufilling career.

So to the real place my head went tonight. I admire the hell out of my husband. He had the most impeccable work ethic in undergrad, always with his eye on the prize of a good grad school. He was devoted to his research in grad school, breaking ground in the field of stem-cell research. Although he could have gotten his PhD with just a publication or two and going through the motions for 5 years, he published at least five papers, filed three patents, and created a project that was robust enough to be passed along to another student. Beside work ethic, he just blew me away with how intelligent he truly was. I tease, but I found his lab rat persona pretty sexy.

So I was rocked to my core when he told me out of the blue that he was terribly unhappy with the lab life and wanted to pursue a career in business. This is a man who has spent 19 years in science-focused classes. But, when it was clear that he was serious, I watched him start auditing business classes and helped him go through case studies for interviews. Secretly, I couldn't imagine how all this could lead anywhere.

Wouldn't you know, he got the job. The job that he had absolutely no qualifications for other than just simply being his intelligent and articulate self. I still am surprised in some ways. I'm even more surprised that we agreed (and still do) that it was the right fit for our family. What I am not surprised about is how hard he has worked in the last few years to prove himself, gather necessary knowledge and experience, and just generally excel at an incredibly hard challenge that he had no business excelling at.

All this was swirling in my head while the clouds were stirring above me and my little boy tonight. Suddenly, instead of being annoyed that my husband is often absent and always having fabulous dinners and staying in swanky hotels, I had this fervent hope that somehow he will be able to teach our sons to live as fearlessly and completely as he subtly has. I'm Mrs. Status Quo, but Appa puts 110% into whatever he is doing and isn't afraid to make a change (sometimes HUGE changes) in order to seek happiness and something better for himself and the ones he loves (namely, me and our babies). It's grueling, but it seems to be worth it for him, which makes it worth it for me.

My mama's wish of the day: for my sons to be even half the fearless but realistic dreamer their Appa is.

A Working Mama's Whine

What came first? The (working) mom or the messy house?

I'm really trying to find balance in my homemaking role, and it's hard. I work full time, and my son works his little diaper-clad butt off each day in school (he uses up SO much energy just doing daily things, let alone his multiple therapy sessions). When we get home, it's time for dinner and then a few hours of together time. For me, this time is best spent with my child because I don't see him during the day.

But I'm tired. He's tired. We both just want to hang.

Sure, we go to the park or take a bike ride. We play outside. We work on colors or shapes. At least once a week we head over to the botanical gardens or a much cooler park. But the honest truth is that my son really just wants my complete attention while he winds down. This can be while watching his music show or while he is playing with kitchen utensils or walking backwards a la Michael Jackson. But the key is that he wants my attention.

I know my 2.5 year old should be more independent than he is. He's not crippled by needing me, but he certainly is attention-spoiled and would like to keep it that way. I like spending time with him, I like being wanted and needed.

But I don't like the fact that I can't easily even think about fold a load of laundry or do the dishes or mop the floor until after 8:30 pm.

Because I'll be honest, after working all day and being a bit on the lazy side, at that point I am not feeling it.

Being a working mama is hard. Not to say being a stay at home mom isn't just as hard, but being a mother in general seems to be a challenging position. However, from my working mom position, I try to spend all the limited time I have with my boy doing things that will be good for him and good for us. I'm trying very hard to make our time together more and more substantial now that he is getting older and more aware. Appa travels during the week, so it's not like I can tag team with anyone. It's all up to moi.

Once he goes to bed, I want MY time. I need my time to stay sane. To surf the web and connect with friends, to write and read, to do adoption paperwork, to veg. The last thing I want to do with my time is clean late at night, so I usually don't.

But shocker, no one else does it for me.

Having a messy house does weird things to my head. In the summer we can get out in the evening so I can pretend there isn't a large family of dust bunnies living in our corners and something sticky underneath my table. We all have clean underwear somewhere....right?

I'm actually hiring someone to do some light cleaning for us a couple times a month, but I need to get better about figuring out a way to convince Little Bug to play nicely long enough for me to do some housekeeping things during a time when I am actually motivated to do so.

I don't want to be supermom (well, I actually would love that), but I do want to get better about balancing all the aspects of motherhood and homemaker that I have taken on in our home. My poor husband works his butt off, and I feel horrible when he comes home after a long week to loads of dirty laundry and dishes...even though his son and wife are happy. I'd like to feel a bit more balanced.

How? No idea. That's why this was a whine......