Hiding

This blog has been a place for me to write about motherhood and all the many things that come with it.  Since the very first post, for the past 5 years, I have written about adoption, special needs, depression, anxiety, friendship, individuality, and expectations.  My audience for this blournal has always been my children, but obviously the more immediate audience has been the people who read it and sometimes comment.  I've received so many wonderful comments of support over the years, as I so appreciate them.  There is also something supremely cathartic about sharing some heavy stuff and "getting it off my chest."  I truly believe that sharing the hard things has made me a better and stronger woman and mother.

Ironically, it is those very hard things that I reached deep to share that need to be buried down deep.

As we reach the final stretch to Little Moon, the path is not free from obstacles.  Some are out of our control, but some are ones we can plan for and work around.  What I consider brave others will consider weak. 

And as Little Moon's mother, I have to make hard choices because I am not weak.  This blournal is one of those choices.  I will continue to post here, but it won't be public again until after he is sleeping in that room upstairs.  It's a very simple decision, but still one that makes me sad.

So if you are reading this in real time, hello.

To My Little Bug as He Ventures in the Kindergarten

Dear Little Bug,

Tonight after I put you to bed, I came down and stared at a picture of you from when you were 11 months old for a solid 5 minutes. It seem surreal to me that you were once such a tiny little thing with a smile wider than your face and this moment seemed so far away I couldn't even fathom it. And although you've been going to full day school and riding a bus for 3 years already, tomorrow seems different somehow. You're going to a new school and a new class and you have to make all new friends.  This is the beginning of an educational life that I hope will carry you through the next 16+ years and allow you to find and shape your future.  Yet, unlike many of the other kids who will be starting Kindergarten tomorrow, you can't yet write you own name or identify the alphabet or all your colors or stand on one foot.

But damn it if you probably aren't the hardest and most dedicated worker in the whole bunch.

So, my darling Little Bug, this is my wish for you tomorrow:

Smile that smile.  Get up when you fall down. Clap your hands and stomp your feet.  Ask everyone you meet if they want gum. Enjoy the yellow bus. Try just one more time. Take three deep breaths. Brave the slide. Show off your t-shirts. Sit still when you can. Soak in the praise. Learn from your mistakes. Always remember that "you.are.the.best."

Little Bug, you have been given many challenges to overcome, but I truly believe you were blessed with one of the brightest, most pure and dedicated souls I have ever encountered.  You will go far in life, and no matter where that is, as long as it makes you happy, I'm happy.  I suppose that is getting ahead of myself, but I took one more look at your 11-month-old self and recalled how I couldn't fathom tomorrow, and I know it's going to go so quick.  And you are going to amaze us all.

Have fun, Little Bug.  I love you.

Not Getting Off This Ride

Lately Appa and I have been participating more and more in our local special needs community.  Specifically, there is a special collaboration recreation district and education district that Little Bug qualifies for.  He'll be attending a special full day Kindergarten class this fall run through that district but housed in one our our local elementary schools. And their rec district offers free companions to attend any regular park district activity or class.  This allowed Little Bug to have a really positive and age appropriate swim season last Spring and will allow him to continue to enjoy swimming and TKD this fall with his peers. This summer, after summer school ended, he started attending a full day summer camp through their rec district.  It's a one-on-one camp that he has LOVED.  It has been the perfect segway into a camp experience for him. I'm so grateful for these programs as they open up so many opportunities for my little boy to be included in.

We've also started attending family functions.  Last weekend we were invited to attend a fairly large carnival/community event in the morning hours before it was opened to the general public.  The sign, as we entered, wished families with special needs a great morning.  Appa and I were not sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn't a fully running carnival with every ride empty and waiting for us to hop onto, every game complimentary and every participant a stuffed animal prize...or two, or three, or as many as they could "win."  Events like this are usually something that end in overstimulated meltdowns for our Little Bug, so to be able to enjoy every part of the experience without the large crowds or waiting in line was priceless.  Seriously, a charmed, unbelievable couple of hours.

When asked, Little Bug likes to say that his favorite part was riding the Dumbo ride..."a lot of times." That's an understatement. We rode ride after ride after ride and played games and won prizes. There was a carousel and roller coaster and boat and car and motorcycle and dump truck rides that we didn't have to get off if we didn't want to. We bumped our way through a glass and mirror house without worrying about people trying to push past us.  We were surrounded by families who all have lives very different from ours, but who all get us on a level many others can't.  Special needs cannot define our family, but it is a big part of who we are, together as a family and how we frame our lives.  Little Bug's needs directly impact his little brother, and I was happy that he could also have a little special treatment to make up for all the things we don't do fully. Perks shouldn't just be for the one with special needs.

Appa and I were so overwhelmed by the generosity and perfectly thought out details of the morning.  It put into sharp focus how lucky we are to live in an area with the means and commitment to serve families and people of all ages with all sorts of needs.   Even before Little Bug joined our family, I feel like we were directed to care about these sorts of possible services.  Having them to bless our family now feels like we've made the right choices all along to position our family in the perfect spot.

If only they could do something about those summer storms, life might be even a bit more perfect.

Moving On and Letting Go

Every aspect of the wait for your child is excruciating in a different sort of hellish way.  The beginning stages are filled with a seemingly endless black hole of time to wait for your child.  The middle parts are more of a quiet, almost apathetic abyss where things begin to seem endless and unmoving and unreal.  The last sprint towards homecoming is surrounded with minute counting, e-mail and phone jumping, and desperate heartache as each day and week come to a close without movement you know is just around the corner.

That's where we are at.  The final sprint where things are barreling ever closer towards this amazing and huge new life, while simultaneously trapping you in a constant state of living with your life on hold.  The entire summer we have been living for August.  Anything past August was unknown and therefore unschedulable.  That was okay. It was exciting. We lived Summer up as much as we could.

August is here now, and schedules can be made. But now I feel crippled for scheduling the Fall or Winter.  I held off planning for kids' extracurricular activities because I wasn't sure how Little Moon would do with them....should he happen to be here for them.

But this week I decided I could no longer force my family into a holding pattern.  My older childrens' lives are continuing despite the fact that each evening without news I go to sleep feeling for a brief moment like time has just stopped.

So schedules were made.  Epically, if I do say so myself.  I scheduled weekly therapy sessions, swim lessons, science classes, TKD lessons, farm outings, and enough bug and insect classes to fill up many of our nights and weekends. We're riding hay rides and train rides and hunting for spiders and owls and milking cows.We're going to magic shows and rock concerts and possibly even booking a guitar-playing robot for a birthday party. Turns out renting carousels is pretty darn expensive...

And I know, at some point, we're going to have to miss some of it to go to Korea and bring Little Moon home.  Oddly, that gives me a sense of satisfaction.  I might not be able to schedule my trip to him yet, but I know I've scheduled plans our trip to him will force us to break.

I'm also letting go of the dream of his birthday.  For a gal who went into this knowing I'd never see this milestone; I sure have thrown a fit about missing it lately.  I recently learned that we likely won't get pictures from this special day...at least not right away, if at all.  After drinking a lot of alcohol in the dark on my back porch and using some not nice words to people I could trust not to be offended, I am letting go of all expectations I have for his birthday.  I know he will be loved on that special day by those around him and by those who will love him from afar. I know he will have a birthday package waiting for him when he can get it.  And I know I'll have all the rest of his birthdays to come to never have to worry about pictures or updates or whether he is getting to blow out candles or have someone sing to him.  I cannot let my joy for him be sucked out by my disappointment. 

So I move on and let go and wait until I can move forward and grab hold of him.

J

Last year was hard.  I had to pull back from many things and people that took time and emotional energy in order to deal (or for a long period of time, NOT deal) with stuff that needed more of my attention.  From there, my anxiety got the best of me, and I felt a cycle of embarrassment take over, making things worse by hiding even further from people.  My absence hurt feelings, unintentionally but validly, and in some cases, I fear, irrevocably.  I'm learning to let that go and simply accept that sometimes what I can give is not enough or the right type of friendship people want.  And as an adult, I understand that's okay.  I don't have to be bosom buddies with everyone.

But a couple weeks ago a friend who I had not talked to in over a year reached out to me in the smallest of ways, and I jumped on it.  I told her the truth...I was avoiding her and most everyone else, and I was sorry and I missed her.  She forgave me immediately and without reserve, even though she had plenty of her own struggles that I was not there for.

We met up last week and fell back into an easy rapport.  We talked as we always did and laughed as we always did.  We had lots of catching up to do, but it was easy to do because the friendship was there.  She didn't hold it against me, and I didn't feel guilty about it anymore because we were still friends.

We talked openly about me going radio silent, and she gave me some great outlook and advice and compassion.  She told me we could go another year without talking and this would still feel this way when we met back up again.  And I believe her...but have no intention of waiting that long again!

I'm grateful, so grateful, for the incredible lesson in friendship she taught me.  I only hope I can be half the friend to her that she is to me.

Hooka Mooka

When my sister and I were very little, we lived in a house where one entire wall of the bathroom was mirror tiles.  As an adult, I think that is weird, but as a child, it was the perfect stage.  Before bath each night, my sister and I would strip down and dance in front of the mirror as wild as we could chanting "hooka mooka, hooka mooka."  It was our "thing" at a time when she and I had very few "things" in common.  I have very fond and vivid memories of those nightly dance parties.

My boys have a large mirror over a low dresser in their room.  I've often considered removing it as it was unused and wasting space I could put shelves. 

Then the "too ta, too ta" started.  I think Little Bro started it, chanting and spinning and wildly dancing in front of the mirror.  Little Bug joined in and the "too ta, too ta" was born.  Now, every morning and every evening they meet in front of the mirror (usually when I am trying to dress them) and chant and dance and laugh at each other with bright eyes and big smiles.

And it lets me relive a little slice of my own childhood.

Still My Baby

This weekend I had a bit of an epiphany while camping.  I was holding Little Bro in my arms as he slept while everyone else took a walk.  It was just me, my sleeping baby, and a campfire.  Basically the best thing ever.

As I gazed down at my sweet little boy, it hit me that he's only going to be my baby for a short time longer.  No matter how we slice or dice it, he'll no longer be a baby and things will change for him and for me.

We've prepare him in so many ways to be a big brother, but it dawned on me that we haven't done anything to prepare him to no longer be the baby.  He's going to struggle with that; I know he will.

So I let him sleep on me far longer than I should because these moments are slipping away faster and faster.  Soon it will be another warm body who will get first dibs on being rocked to sleep by mama.  But for now, he's my baby, and I am going to let us have these moments.

Amidst a weekend full of great moments, this hour with Little Bro was hands down my favorite.