My Mommy Voted for Obama

Little Bug is exploding with language. It's so fun to listen to him explore using words to share his thoughts. As his mama, I think I, better than anyone else in the world, can speak Little Bugese. Many of his words are the same grouping of sounds with just slight differences. We often run into situations where Little Bug tries talk to someone less familiar with his words and I need to act as a translator.

This weekend, I was tempted to just let people go it alone, just for giggles.

Little Bug's newest word is "grandma." He started mimicking it on Friday afternoon with a garbled "abamama," but soon found his groove and settled into a very defined version:

"Obama."

I can honestly see how "grandma" sounds like "obama" to a little child. It's definitely not as big of a stretch as "uhduh" is for "balloon" or "uhzuh" is for "raggie." To us, it was just a really great (and cute) execution of a long word.

To the people at the botanical gardens and the store who watched my son scream "OBAMA" with joy and wail "OBAMA" with sadness (depending on the situation and the crazy mood swings of a 2 year old), it was probably a little surprising to see this small child so passionate about our president.

Don't get me wrong, I'll go on record saying I was *this close* to buying a "Babies for Obama" shirt for Little Bug during the election. He actually owned and wore a shirt to his first voting experience with a donkey on it. A while ago, when I thought it was cute and funny to use kids as billboards for their parents, I would have been all over teaching him to chant "Obama" and busting it out as a party trick.

But I wised up over the last 2 years and realized it doesn't do Little Bug any good to be the vehicle for his mama's causes. He's got about 14-16 years before he needs to start thinking politics.

Anyway....

When people were doing double takes and giving us stink eyes or winks and nods as Little Bug chanted "obama, obama, obama" over and over, I didn't feel amused as much as I felt a little weird. (One woman gave me a scathing look and harrumphed her kids away from Little Bug...) Even though he wasn't actually saying anything political, I felt this urge to scream out

"I'm not stealing my kid's childhood by forcing him to be a political puppet!"

Because the truth is, I'd probably judge someone else a tiny bit, too, no matter how cute it was.

On the other hand, I'm so stoked that Little Bug conquered another word. He's perfected his version of it and has started pairing it with other words to make simple sentences. He's got another word to add to his growing arsenal. To me, it's cute and awesome and worth every ounce of pride I have.

Yes. He. Can.

For Every Few Jacobs, There is a Sasha

The chanting of "No, Little Buggie, No" in the morning hasn't stopped completely. Some days the three boys just ignore Little Bug by enthusiastically welcoming every child except Little Bug. Little Bug's excellent teacher has total control of the situation, but it still makes my heart very sad to know and see that Little Bug is being actively shunned. There is nothing more as a mother that I can do.

It's up to the "Sashas" of the world, now.

Little Bug's special friend aged into the 3-year-old room a couple months ago. Although they rarely see each other now, Little Bug still talks about Sasha and keeps a special place in his heart for his first best friend. Yesterday as Little Bug and I were walking past the 3-year-old class, Andrew, a little boy who never showed preference toward Little Bug one way or the other but always followed Sasha's lead, spotted Little Bug walking by. Andrew, completely unprovoked, ran to the window and started banging on it, screaming "Hi, Little Bug; hi, Little Bug!"

My son got a big smile on his face and got right up against the window. The two of them stood like that, pointing and waving and yelling hi, for about 2 minutes. I finally dragged Little Bug away and out to the car, only to see Andrew pounding on the outside window to continue to say good bye to my boy.

The smile on my son's face was mega watt; I am sure mine matched.

The chanting Jacobs of the world are always going to be there. They are probably going to be, in some form, the norm rather than the exception. But, for every few chanting Jacobs there will be a Sasha or Andrew.

And the Sashas and Andrews of the world are worth a million of the chanting Jacobs.

Macho, Macho Man

A couple days ago Appa and I had the chance to pick Little Bug up from school together. Whenever Appa surprises Little Bug at school he gets *really* excited. Me, I'm no big thang, but Appa....it's like Christmas.

Little Bug was in the potty room when we walked in. The other little kids started chanting "Little Bug's Mommy and Daddy." THAT got his attention. His little head poked up over the swinging door and his eyes lit up.

"DadDDDDDDDDDDa!"

He kept chanting excitedly as his teacher tried to wrangle a diaper on him. He was chattering away to his teacher and would randomly yell "DadDDDa" in joy. Nothing could rain on this kid's joy parade.

Until he got a touch too excited and pushed the swinging door out too fast. In the blink of an eye, he was on his hands and knees as the door swung harmlessly away.

The moment suspended for a second until it became clear nothing had actually happened other than Little Bug clumsily falling as the door opened. He was fine.

He looked up from his hands and knees into the eyes of his friends and his teacher and his mama and dada.

And then he wailed.

His teachers were shocked. I was shocked. Little Bug was busting out his serious, I.AM.INJURED tears and lip quiver and wails. Not because he was hurt; he wasn't.

He was surprised, a little scared, and embarrassed. Emotions that are never fun to feel.

I've been noticing more and more of this lately, a social awareness, a desire not to be the object of laughter unless it is on his terms. It has been fascinating to watch develop. It's also very age appropriate, which is always a huge bonus in our book.

So when the tears dried and the hiccups stopped we gave him a chance to show off some of the new skills he is pretty proud of. He was back to feeling like a king in no time.

My little macho man.

Hope

Hope is a funny thing. As a mother, I feel like it is my job to have hope and optimism for my child and my family. However, as a person, I worry that hope will ultimately lead to having my heart crushed.

It's happened before. Infertility makes hope a pretty dirty word. I still cringe when I hear it.

Faith is different. I am getting pretty good at keeping faith for my family. I have faith that Little Bug will continue to grow and develop and be the best he can be. I have faith our family will weather whatever storms we face (not that we are currently really facing any). I have faith in Appa and I as parents. I have faith in our choice to adopt Little Bro.

But hope....hope scares me. I don't have total faith in hope.

Hope can buffer your heart from so much pain and sadness, but that buffer isn't based on anything other than abstract hope. There will come a time when the thing that is hoped for either does or doesn't materialize, and when that time comes, if it doesn't swing hope's way, the blow is devastating.

I never want to feel it again if I can help it.

Adoption is all about faith and hope. I'm really good at one and really crappy at the other. I've found myself feeling alienated by those who chose to hope for the impossible. I find myself unable to even entertain the idea of hope, even when it is dangled before me in a precarious half-official way.

I'm not better off for it, but it's the only way my mind works now.

So I struggle to pair my faith that things will work out, even if I don't like the way they go about working out, with my lack of hope in anything extraordinary. I try to remember that many of the extraordinary things I chose not to hope for actually DO happen. Hope would have been rewarded.

I want to raise my children to have faith and hope. I can only do that through example.

So today I am trying something new. A teeny bit of hope has sprouted in my heart. Hope that something extraordinary could possibly, just maybe happen. I'll only share this secret hope with Appa, and he can nurture it to.

And we'll see....

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.

A Freaking Awesome Hyung

Someone very wise reminded me last night, somewhat out of the blue, that less than a year ago Little Bug was still almost 2 months away from even being able to stand up by himself. She reminded me that he's only been walking independently for 9 months.

IN FACT, 8 days from today will be the anniversary of his first step ever.

I've been thinking a lot lately about having two little boys and a part-time gig as a "single mother". I get a little nervous when I think about some of the challenges it will bring, especially with Little Bug's needs.

And then, thanks to someone wise, I remember that we still have a while yet before that time comes. A while that will see all of us growing and changing.

In my heart, I don't believe we'll meet Little Bro in less than 7-8 months from now. I just truly don't see it being possible.

So I look to how much has changed with Little Bug in less than a year and I know the big brother who will welcome Little Bro home in May or June will be leaps and bounds more amazing than he is now.

And he's pretty freaking amazing right now, so I'm thinking I don't have much to worry about on that front.

My Favorite Stress Reliever

Yesterday was a bad day.

I was home, not feeling well, dealing with work stuff, pushed publish on that adoption manifesto, and was having these crazy panic attacks all day long. I haven't had panic attacks like that in years.

Of course, like most anxiety, it was over very little.

But it was consuming me, making me ill, freaking me out.

When it came time to get Little Bug from school, I spent the whole drive over swearing that I would not let our evening be consumed by my distraction. I didn't want Little Bug to feel my stress. Honestly, I wasn't sure I could actually do it, but I wanted to try for him.

As super cheesy as it sounds, seeing him was like a balm to me. His smile and laughter over the flute section of "Hello, Everybody" as it played in the car CD player broke something in me that was wound really tight. We ended up having a fabulous box-cooked and steamed veggies meal and enjoyed spending time outside on a glorious Fall evening.

Occasionally it would creep back into my thoughts, this anxiety I was feeling, but it was surprisingly easy to fall right back into step with my boy.

We rounded out the evening by cuddling together and reading four books (something that hasn't happened in a while) and a charmed and unicorn/kitten/rainbow early bedtime. I even allowed myself to drop the sleep training nazi hat and cuddle him all the way to sleep.

I needed him last night.

Being a mama is stressful. We give and give and give, but I usually forget how much Little Bug gives, too. His toddler antics might increase my anxiety sometimes, but his toddler adoration is also one of my biggest stress relievers.

My baby woke up in a fantastic mood this morning, and I agreed to his request of "up on Mama." We watched cartoons for a couple minutes together, my hair dripping wet as my brain wound up for today. I found that, although so many of the stressors were still there, I'd pushed passed the silly panic portion and gotten a handle on things. Thanks in no small part to my awesome son.

Today has actually been a stressful, but pleasant day.

Suck on that, anxiety.