"Wear my socks in the bathtub."
[Cue laugh track]
Three nights ago Little Bug made what I have deemed to be his first official joke. Sure, he's teased before, but he has never intentionally verbalized something he knew to be nonsensical with the expectation of getting a big reaction.
But 3 nights ago, as he was sitting on the toilet, naked but for his beloved electric green reindeer socks, he looked me in the eye, got this sneaky twisted smirk on his face, and told me he was going to wear his socks in the bathtub.
Of course, I acted MORTIFIED and then laughed and laughed.
And thus began Little Bug's new life as a comedian.
Nearly every hour of every day he gets that same smirk on his face and busts a line. Because he is a 4-year-old boy, his favorite jokes all have to do with poop and pee pee. Naturally.
"I pee pee in the bathtub"
"I pee pee in Little Bro's bed."
"I poo poo in Daddy's car."
"I poo poo in my underwear."
Why bother with new material when your routine works?
Every time he looks for it, the big reaction from us. And we laugh and laugh and laugh, and it is clear that he feels like the smartest, most clever kid around.
I'm not a stand up comedy sort of gal, but I'll buy tickets to this show anytime.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
The Frame
This year I filled that frame with an epic "Santa&Me" picture of Little Bro and his BFF. I smiled so wide it nearly hurt every time I saw those two frames proudly displayed. And today, I smiled peacefully as I packed up the rest of my Christmas stuff, because I packed away not two, but three frames.
Little Miss needs a picture frame to match her oppas, naturally.
I don't know when that frame will make it out of the wrapping, but I can guarantee it won't be this coming year or even the next. And that timing is what is ideal for our family, so the Christmas futures where that frame will be tucked safely away don't make me sad in the slightest.
But the fact is, Little Miss is in my heart in a way she has never been before. She's not just a dream anymore, but a real future, and we are looking for her, waiting for her, hoping for her.
With Little Bug and Little Bro, we (I) made big announcements all the time. We (I) wrote blog posts about the smallest details and the most insignificant of steps. This time around, due to a couple of factors, the biggest being the long and completely unpredictable time frame of referral and travel in our specific situation, we (not just I) have decided to keep Little Miss' process low key. Of course, me blournaling this is hardly keeping it secret, but that isn't our intention, and everyone that should know already does. Rather, we've done the adoption-OMG!!!! thing for so long that it's time to just live our lives and celebrate the big things when they eventually come along. I promised Appa I would be less crazytown this time, and I intend to hold to that.
However, I really just need to acknowledge the fact that we are on our way to our daughter, and that we are so very happy and excited about it. And someday, when she reads this amidst the pages and pages devoted to her brothers, she will know that her adoption was just as special and just as exciting and joyful.
Buying that frame when I knew full well that it wouldn't be used for years was my attempt to put that out into the universe. I won't have a closet filled with dresses and bows for quite some time, but in my crawl space a frame will be waiting to be filled. When I packed it away, I packed it away with a smile and a wish in my heart. It won't be filled for many years, and I am okay with that. The fact that it will be filled is the most important thing.
Little Miss, when you someday read this, know that you've been loved and hoped for from the beginning...just more in our hearts.
Monday, December 19, 2011
The Evolution of a Number
A little over 3 years ago I sat in a cold therapy clinic with my precious Little Bug and was handed a number that was meant to define him. And in a lot of ways, it defined both of us for a long time. That first number really cut deeply, and that experience has always stuck with me as one of the lowest points in my journey as a special needs mama.
Over a year ago I got another number for Little Bug. There must have been more in between these two, but these are the two numbers that I remember. Again, it cut deeply. But unlike the first number, I didn't let it define me as much; in fact, I think it actually spurred me into bigger, bolder action.
Today I clutched my Little Bug's hand as we marched back into that first clinic room for a new number. I admit, my eyes went immediately to that mat where we first started this number game and I got a bit panicky. I didn't want my amazing son in this room. I didn't want this to be the place his development and progress would depend on. I didn't want to have this woman (who I can't be sure, but very possibly was the same woman who evaluated him 3 years ago) look me in the eye and give me a number meant to define my son.
But if my son has taught me anything over the last 3 years, it's to be brave, suck it up, and jump into the hard stuff with a smile. So I did. And he brought me to near tears over and over today as she put him through the physical evaluation because he ROCKED it. Every skill he had was busted out in fine form and at the end of our eval, I knew no matter what number she gave me, it wouldn't matter.
This kid is a fighter. And no matter what number she threw at us, the knowledge that he was going to continue to progress and make strides and hit milestones was going to be way more important than the number on his assessment.
For the record, it was 30 months. Little Bug is 49 months old.
She gave me the number and paused, waiting perhaps for some sort of reaction that she didn't get.
"This isn't anything new to you, is it?"
No. It isn't. But unlike the last couple numbers, this one didn't cut deeply. It stung for a moment, but then rolled right off. Because this time, the number isn't going to define anything about any of us. Little Bug has proven that he won't let anything stop him, and I have total faith in him.
I have faith in him. Something that only recently I have come to see is a huge part of this journey for all of us.
I don't see a child 18 months delayed. I see a child who battled his way up ladders until it became easy for him. I see a child who regularly threw up on himself and then with tears in his eyes went back for more sit ups. I see a child who trips over his own feet a couple times an hour and always, ALWAYS gets right back up and starts running again. I see a child who wasn't strong enough to grasp a toy in his hand who climbed up a tube slide today before scaling a rock wall.
The number has evolved for me. It's really no longer relevant. They can write 30 months on paper and throw it around in meetings all they want, but for Appa and I, it's clear the number game has changed.
Thirty months means nothing to me. I have a 4 year old, and he is a strong, positive kid who is working hard at reaching his max potential.
Tonight, I am proud.
Over a year ago I got another number for Little Bug. There must have been more in between these two, but these are the two numbers that I remember. Again, it cut deeply. But unlike the first number, I didn't let it define me as much; in fact, I think it actually spurred me into bigger, bolder action.
Today I clutched my Little Bug's hand as we marched back into that first clinic room for a new number. I admit, my eyes went immediately to that mat where we first started this number game and I got a bit panicky. I didn't want my amazing son in this room. I didn't want this to be the place his development and progress would depend on. I didn't want to have this woman (who I can't be sure, but very possibly was the same woman who evaluated him 3 years ago) look me in the eye and give me a number meant to define my son.
But if my son has taught me anything over the last 3 years, it's to be brave, suck it up, and jump into the hard stuff with a smile. So I did. And he brought me to near tears over and over today as she put him through the physical evaluation because he ROCKED it. Every skill he had was busted out in fine form and at the end of our eval, I knew no matter what number she gave me, it wouldn't matter.
This kid is a fighter. And no matter what number she threw at us, the knowledge that he was going to continue to progress and make strides and hit milestones was going to be way more important than the number on his assessment.
For the record, it was 30 months. Little Bug is 49 months old.
She gave me the number and paused, waiting perhaps for some sort of reaction that she didn't get.
"This isn't anything new to you, is it?"
No. It isn't. But unlike the last couple numbers, this one didn't cut deeply. It stung for a moment, but then rolled right off. Because this time, the number isn't going to define anything about any of us. Little Bug has proven that he won't let anything stop him, and I have total faith in him.
I have faith in him. Something that only recently I have come to see is a huge part of this journey for all of us.
I don't see a child 18 months delayed. I see a child who battled his way up ladders until it became easy for him. I see a child who regularly threw up on himself and then with tears in his eyes went back for more sit ups. I see a child who trips over his own feet a couple times an hour and always, ALWAYS gets right back up and starts running again. I see a child who wasn't strong enough to grasp a toy in his hand who climbed up a tube slide today before scaling a rock wall.
The number has evolved for me. It's really no longer relevant. They can write 30 months on paper and throw it around in meetings all they want, but for Appa and I, it's clear the number game has changed.
Thirty months means nothing to me. I have a 4 year old, and he is a strong, positive kid who is working hard at reaching his max potential.
Tonight, I am proud.
Monday, December 12, 2011
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
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
Friday, December 2, 2011
Breakfast with Mama
It started out with two little boys refusing to eat their bacon and eggs. That refusal turned into defiance, which somehow turned into a hysterically funny food fight. And the laugher coming from those two little boys while throwing food was so genuine and enjoyable that I just sat there with a dumb grin on my face watching the brotherly bond between my sons practically strengthen before my eyes.
Then I realized there was food everywhere. And my kids were throwing it. And watching me watch them in approval (and maybe even take some pictures with my phone). And throwing more food.
And I wondered if in this moment I was the world's coolest mom or the world's most irresponsible mom for letting my kids bond over making a giant mess of our dining room table, floors, and walls.
I didn't have too long to ponder because someone committed the ultimate sin and threw a slice of bacon on the floor. The laughter turned to anguished wails.
And the moment was over.
I think next time I'll find slightly less socially inappropriate and disgusting ways to bond, but I don't regret this morning.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Thanksgiving
Four years ago it was Thanksgiving Day.
And I was thankful.
I was thankful that my sister's first son was born, a thanksgiving baby whose traumatic but triumphant entrance into this world left us all with much to be thankful for.
I was thankful for our first home, which we had closed on just the day before. A home whose bare walls whispered promises of the most important moments of my life I knew it would usher in.
I was thankful for family, health, love, and friendship.
I was so very thankful.
But what I didn't know, as I stood in the dark basement, phone in hand after just sharing in the raw and beautiful first moments of my sister's motherhood glory, overcome with tears of thankfulness at the fullness and beauty of life, was that there was so much more for me to be thankful for.
Like the little baby, just a few hours old, also born on my Thanksgiving just a world away, who would be one of the brightest lights of my life.
I didn't know it yet, but I was thankful for the young woman who was selfless enough to put her baby ahead of herself for 9 long months. I was thankful for the foster family who would shortly take that baby into their home and raise him to know love and comfort and family. I was thankful for the agency who would provide for that baby until offering us the biggest honor of our lives....to be his parents.
But most of all, I was thankful for that boy. That tiny, soft bundle of life whose spirit could not be contained by body or mind. He's left a mark on everyone he meets. He's made the world a better place in his 4 short years on this earth, but in my world, in my life, he's rocked it to the core. He is, quite simply, perfection, vintage 2007. And I get the honor of being a part of that, of loving him as only a mama can.
So although his birthday doesn't always fall on Thanksgiving Day, in my heart, it will always be a day of true thanksgiving.
So very blessed. So very thankful.
I love you, Little Bug. Happy birthday.
And I was thankful.
I was thankful that my sister's first son was born, a thanksgiving baby whose traumatic but triumphant entrance into this world left us all with much to be thankful for.
I was thankful for our first home, which we had closed on just the day before. A home whose bare walls whispered promises of the most important moments of my life I knew it would usher in.
I was thankful for family, health, love, and friendship.
I was so very thankful.
But what I didn't know, as I stood in the dark basement, phone in hand after just sharing in the raw and beautiful first moments of my sister's motherhood glory, overcome with tears of thankfulness at the fullness and beauty of life, was that there was so much more for me to be thankful for.
Like the little baby, just a few hours old, also born on my Thanksgiving just a world away, who would be one of the brightest lights of my life.
I didn't know it yet, but I was thankful for the young woman who was selfless enough to put her baby ahead of herself for 9 long months. I was thankful for the foster family who would shortly take that baby into their home and raise him to know love and comfort and family. I was thankful for the agency who would provide for that baby until offering us the biggest honor of our lives....to be his parents.
But most of all, I was thankful for that boy. That tiny, soft bundle of life whose spirit could not be contained by body or mind. He's left a mark on everyone he meets. He's made the world a better place in his 4 short years on this earth, but in my world, in my life, he's rocked it to the core. He is, quite simply, perfection, vintage 2007. And I get the honor of being a part of that, of loving him as only a mama can.
So although his birthday doesn't always fall on Thanksgiving Day, in my heart, it will always be a day of true thanksgiving.
So very blessed. So very thankful.
I love you, Little Bug. Happy birthday.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Puppy Love
A couple nights ago a package with two wrapped gifts came for our soon-to-be 4 year old. He and his little brother crouched excitedly on the ground as he opened the first gift, an animatronic puppy. Because their mama is super allergic to animals, this puppy (which was aptly named "Brendan" after a friend, the first time Little Bug has ever independently named a toy) is the closest thing either will get to a pet.
I moved to give Little Bug his second gift, but he refused it, over and over again. Not because he only has eyes for Brendan, but because he insisted that the second gift was Little Bro's puppy. No matter how I explained the concept of birthday presents, Little Bug adamantly believed the other box was a puppy to bring joy to his brother.
Luckily, it was smaller animatronic animal, and although slightly confused and bummed that Little Bro didn't have a puppy like Brendan, they were both thrilled with the arrangement.
So although the second gift was intended to bring Little Bug joy, it turned out that the greatest joy for him was being able to share with his little brother.
There is nothing more amazing than watching the childlike love of two little brothers.
I moved to give Little Bug his second gift, but he refused it, over and over again. Not because he only has eyes for Brendan, but because he insisted that the second gift was Little Bro's puppy. No matter how I explained the concept of birthday presents, Little Bug adamantly believed the other box was a puppy to bring joy to his brother.
Luckily, it was smaller animatronic animal, and although slightly confused and bummed that Little Bro didn't have a puppy like Brendan, they were both thrilled with the arrangement.
So although the second gift was intended to bring Little Bug joy, it turned out that the greatest joy for him was being able to share with his little brother.
There is nothing more amazing than watching the childlike love of two little brothers.
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