Two Years Ago

Big Star,

Right about now, 2 years ago, you were chasing your foster mother around the lobby of the Korean adoption agency.  People were milling about and there was a somber, tense feeling in the air, but you were oblivious to it.  You laughed and grinned and teased and chased.

And then, as if the gravity of the moment needed to somehow be pressed upon you, your foster mother, the only mother you had known for the last 2 years of your life, took you over to a large fish tank, bent down, and started whispering into your ear as the two of you watched the fish swim.

I don't know what she said to you, and it wasn't for my ears anyway.  I imagine it was something along the lines of love and sadness and hope.

Then she let you go, to a new life she didn't know if she would ever get to be a part of.

She sent your to the arms of another mother, one who also started whispering words of love, sadness, and hope in broken Korean and hesitant English.  A mother who had the honor of building a new life with you, and the pressure to make it worthy of the sacrifices so many had made for you already.

Today is your Family Day, my sweet Big Star.  Two years ago you became our family and we became yours.  It's a day of joy and sadness, a day to remember both the gift we have been given and the sacrifices others have made.  It is the day that you became not just Korean, but Korean American.  We could call it "Life Altering in Every Way Day," but Family Day rolls off the tongue so much better.

We celebrate with cupcakes and bulgogi and a big family adventure because we want to celebrate what a special part of our family you are, but as many a Family Day for you and your brother pass, I recognize that just as that day 2 years ago way, this anniversary will always be a bittersweet celebration.  I'm grateful to be able to send your sweet foster mother pictures today that will let her know that she is still definitely a part of your life.

And most of all, I am grateful for the last 2 years where I have been your mom.  I love you.

I Know You

To the mom at story time today:

I know you.  I recognized you right away.  I watched you direct your "calmer" child to the circle of children and then situate yourself and your more "active" daughter just outside the circle, allowing for a little room while still being part of the group.

I know your kids.  I know your daughter who was rolling on the ground and making strange noises after a couple minutes.  I know she couldn't help it and she wasn't just being a brat or intentionally disruptive.  I know your other daughter, too.  I immediately recognized the acceptance in her manner when you separated from her and the group to sit with her sister. 

I know the library worker.  The one who sheepishly but assertively whispered to you about 10 minutes into the story time that your daughter was being disruptive and needed to removed.  I saw the set of her jaw, the black or white in her eyes.

I know your story.  I didn't need to clearly hear your plea to let your daughter try to be apart of story time because I already knew what you were saying.  I know your desperation to give your daughter the normal experiences her sister and peers get to have every day.  I know your hope for sympathetic staff and accepting friends and parents.

I know that look.  The one of resignation and disappointment you wore as you and your daughter quietly exited the room.  The passing glance your other daughter threw back as you left, unsurprised and unfazed.  The uncomfortable look on the staffer's face.  The embarrassed or judgmental looks the other mothers leveled as you dragged your quietly moaning daughter out of that room.

I have no idea who you are, but I know you. And it broke my heart today to see you. 

Family Planning

I know they are thinking it.  I can see it in their surprised faces, faltering questions, and uncomfortable congratulations.  Some even make thinly veiled comments passively asserting their opinion.  Not everyone, of course, but a hell of a lot more than I would have ever imagined.

Yes, universe and teacher and doctor and therapist and whoever else, we're adopting a third child.  A boy. Close in age to our other children.  And we're thrilled about it.

What?  What's that you say?  I have a 5 year old with significant special needs that require a high degree of attention, resources, and energy?

You don't say.

As things with Little Moon begin to click into place, and our family begins to reshape our lives in preparation, we've started letting people in our far periphery circles into our plans.  And more times than I can count, it's been apparent that the fact we are bringing another child into our family is shocking to them.  It's seems like they can't imagine why we would make life "harder" or "more stressful" or "busy" when our lives are already so full.

It's been pissing me off lately, and I have started this post a number of times, only to cancel it once I couldn't find words that weren't swear words.  But yesterday the answer rolled off my tongue.  It was in response to the gentle surprise of a trusted member of Team Little Bug.

We've always wanted three kids.  We have the love and resources for a third child.  But ultimately, what matters most is that Little Bug is not a liability to our family.  He's not a reason to stop growing our family if we have the means, which we do.  I realized that is what was pissing me off. Little Bug will benefit from a little brother and Little Moon will be just as lucky to have the unique experience that having a sibling with special needs brings.  We have made the decision to adopt another child because we believe that it will be beneficial for both our children, accounting for our unusual challenges, at home and the new child.  Our family life might be framed differently than most, sure, but our lives go on, expand, get better, and continue to grow.

Do we have room or desire for four children? Five? Six?  No, probably not. But do we have room for Little Moon? Yes, we do.  And once we finish setting up the bunk beds, we'll have even more.

Down the Hill

Last weekend my Little Moon turned 2.5 years old.  Although I've seen pictures of him in the last month, I haven't gotten any sort of update on him since October.  This week we did get video from October, so I am really getting to know the October Little Moon...the 2-year-old Little Moon.

I think that might be why him turning 2.5 struck me as much as it did.  There's such a difference between a newly 2 year old and a child careening downhill to 3.  Just when I started to feel like I "knew" my youngest a bit, I was reminded that he's not that baby anymore. 

And the child that he is now, at 2.5, is a child I will never know either.  And while I made peace with that before I even became his mother, it still hurts a bit to know that 3 will come and go for us and, if the last week is any indication of the type of unpredictability and shiny new slow moving processes we could encounter, 3.5 might as well.

And that is my threshold right there, ladies and gentlemen.  I never imagined we'd celebrate 3 with him, but 3.5, yes, I absolutely expected him to be in a Valentine's day sugar coma with his brothers.

Then again, this is all speculation and me trying to protect my expectations from running wild with hopes of bumps in line and things clicking into place.  Because when I lay in bed at night, my heart flutters with thoughts of a surprise phone call from my agency telling me something is finally going Little Moon's way. 

So we are all careening down the hill now.  Little Moon to age 3 and all the sass and stubbornness that age brings (which will pair perfectly with intense grieving, culture shock, and communication barriers, non?) and us to a reality where things will potentially be harder, longer, and more emotionally complicated than we had expected. 

But I am surprisingly calm about these things.  I'd love to have days to get lost in Seoul, and Little Moon is being loved devotedly in his native country and language, things I hope will help shape him as he gets older.  Instead I choose to check my e-mail incessantly for days until the updated pictures come in of my precious little one posing cheekily for the camera (those can come any time now, thank you very much).  I take sadistic pleasure in cheating the gallon care package rule in any way I can.  And I drop some profanity here and there when discussing process changes with trusted friends who don't mind occasional F bombs.

So, umm...happy half birthday, Little Moon?

Always More Than a Number

There have been few IEP meetings as important as the today.  In preparation for Kindergarten, Little Bug's team (two special education teachers, two speech language pathologists, the occupational therapists, two physical therapists, one social worker, one child psychologist, and one nurse) all spent 3 months testing him daily on all aspects of life.  I was even asked to spend an hour filling out forms and rating scales and numerous other hours in interviews with various team members.

For better or for worse (and there was a lot of "worse" in the last 3 months), we all sat together today and talked all things Little Bug.  There were words like "learning disability," "delays," "failing expectations," and other words that always feel wrong branding your beautiful child with.  Words that feel wrong, but are always nothing to be ashamed of.

There were numbers.

But Little Bug is more than a number.  He is more than labels.

He is a complicated and beautiful puzzle of strengths and weaknesses.  Can he recognize letters or numbers? No.  But he can recall special details about each of his beloved friends.  Can he manipulate a glue bottle lid or pair of scissors?  No.  But he can do rep after rep of grueling physical work on balls and mats and treadmills with a smile and an "I love you, Ms. XOXO."  Can he sit still for a book at circle time? No.  But he he'd share any book from his shelf with anyone who asked, without batting an eye.  Can he speak words that everyone can understand? No.  But he tells a totally awesome "Why did the chicken cross the road" joke.

It's inevitable in life to be labeled and quantified.  Sometimes it is even necessary to help us help each other. It's not even a bad thing unless you let it be.  I will not let these things define my son when there are so many other parts of him to deserve equal attention.  Like all parts of him, I want to him to wear his weaknesses as a badge of pride.  They are things he overcomes daily and they make him a better, stronger person.

I'm proud of my boy.

To My Valentines

To my Valentine of 15 years: I love the fact this day is nothing special to us.  I don't need a day to force me to show you show much I love you, but I appreciate a day that reminds me that I need to show you how much I love you every day of the year.  Here's to doing nothing and buying nothing...we've already got everything we need and so much more, love.

To my Valentine of 6 years: The love you stir in my soul almost daily is fierce, overpowering, and a little overwhelming at times.  I'd do anything and sacrifice everything for you.  I cannot fathom a world without your smile every day.

To my Valentine of 2 years (it's funny how the months have fallen to make this only our second Valentine's Day together): You've taken my heart and woven into every fiber of it. You've given me the rare gift of being able to share with words just how much you love and need me, and that's been such a humbling experience.  I feel so lucky and so unworthy to be able to love you as your mother.  You teach me such exquisite lessons in love and forgiveness and loyalty.

To my Valentine across the world: My love for you is painful, in the best way possible.  I miss you, I need you, and my heart breaks, quite literally, each morning that I wake up without getting to touch your sweet cheeks. My love for you is forcing me to be brave, patient, and trusting.  And it's also showing me how powerful love is; to love someone with such devotion that you've never met and have no biological connection or claim on is kind of love in its purest form: hopeful and unselfish.  It feels so good, even when it hurts.

From Bother to Brother

A year ago, perhaps even 6 months ago, I would have admitted that my two sons simply were not the best of friends.  They never seemed to enjoy each others company in the way you would imagine two brothers would.  They didn't seem to be on the same wavelength, like the same things, or simply need each other.  My sister and I never got along growing up (and I mean we truly did.not.get.along.), and I pretty much chalked this one up to karma and hoped they would connect in their 20s like my sister and I did (who I now talk to every day on the phone).

But slowly, things have changed.  And the lucky part is I didn't have to wait another 15+ years!

I can't point to a moment, but slowly they started sharing interests, learning how to play together as a team, and enjoying the jokes and extra set of hands and decibels the other could provide.  I chalk some of this up to the miracle months Little Bug had where his medication was making social strides explode for him while Little Bro was getting some much needed humble pie at preschool.  They just clicked. 

Now there are moments where Appa and I will be in the kitchen while we listen to the sounds of laughter and imaginative play from the other room.  We just smile at each other in awe because we both wanted this so badly for our children and really thought it wasn't going to happen the way it has.  It's one of my favorite things about having two boys now, and it makes the anticipation for our Little Moon so much more delicious as I imagine him being so welcomed and loved by his united front of brothers.

And I am so grateful we had these moments bloom when they did.  Little Bug is having some really serious and new behavioral challenges due to us not being able to find the right medication for him after the terrible tics in November forced us to take him off his otherwise awesome meds.  These behaviors have made being friendly (or physically close) to Little Bug very hard and most of his friends have learned to steer clear.

But not his little brother.  Despite all that, Little Bro still sees Little Bug as his fun, always up for their favorite games, big brother.  Their relationship, unlike the others in Little Bug's life, isn't based on friendship, but on brotherhood.

And you don't give up on your brother.

I don't believe in fate, especially in adoption, but I do believe that love and family makes us grow into the right people for each other.  And I've watched these two little souls mold each other into better, more loving, and stronger individuals. They are better people because of each other, and together, they are a force to be reckoned with.

That makes me so happy.