Let It Go

When we took custody of Little Moon, we laughed to ourselves how it wouldn't be long before this soft-spoken, whispering little child would be swinging from the lights and screaming just like his brothers, as hard as it was to imagine.

Two and a half months later, I am listening to a very loud duet of the Frozen soundtrack from that same tiny whispering child and his almost-as-tiny but way louder older brother.  This duet includes musical instrument that are likely cars they are banging on our table (or each other).  I'm confident that last verse will be belted out in a monster/super villain voice.  It's loud and uninhibited and filled with laughter.  It's making me smile and reach for the headache medicine.

I am trying to teach myself to roll with the level or noise and commotion a house of three boys brings.  I tend to reject the gender stereotype notions that say that boys have to be louder and and more brash and rough than their female peers.  But as I continue to parent my three boys, I am losing the battle to keep them meek and quiet and slow.  I'm teaching myself that it's OKAY for little kids (boys or girls) to be loud in appropriate places in appropriate ways.  And I am teaching myself that those appropriate places and ways for kids are more vast than I have or wanted to accept.

I pride myself on my boys' manners and behavior.  It's not perfect, but they don't act like they have been raised by wolves and they don't bother people in places that people shouldn't be bothered. They sit mostly quiet in church, movie theaters, and restaurants. But in our home or in the homes of our friends...yes, I am forcing myself to let them scream and jump and wrestle.  I believe I'd let a little girl do the same if she felt inclined.  In fact, as a family who infuses nearly every part of our day with some form of speech therapy, I encourage it.

So sing away, Elsa and Ana.  Fight the bag guy, Batman and Superman.  Let's have that parade, Badger Marching Band.  And if you are shushed, Mama will find you a different place to let your energy shine when you need it to.  Even when I'd much rather that we all cuddle quietly for some book time, I'm learning to let it go and let you explore your childhood bodies and minds however loud you want.

Distance

For once, my writing here in this space was not for any woe-is-me reasons.  Life is actually wonderful. Life with three boys, a dog, and a husband is incredibly fulfilling.  Easy, no, but happy. I'm finding a lot of new things in my own life and changing some things up.  It's good.

But I took intentional distance from this space because over the past few months I have realized that this space became my place to vent, lament, and provide my own comfort...especially with regards to Little Bug's needs.

For the record, I regret writing only one post here in the past four years, and that post was deleted very quickly.  Even the most painful of posts are precious to me because they capture a snapshot of a very real, very raw situation. I love reading the posts where I celebrate the milestones and triumphs of my children.

But in the last few months I took a break from this space because I've began to realize through some uncomfortable self reflection that my openness with Little Bug's needs (although written in the spirit of honesty or fierce pride for my son) has taken away his ability to just be Little Bug to the world. This blog isn't anonymous to a lot of readers, and that's something I have always been okay with, but that I know see in a different light as I think through the things that I have shared here over the years.

Little Bug is 6 years old now. He's in school and making friends and living a life crafted around hobbies and talents of his own making. He is the most loving child you will ever meet. He will always be excited to see you, meet you, become your friend, and learn your first and last name. He takes pride in his shirts, watches, and sun glass collections. He only wants to eat hot lunch at school because it's cool. He knows that he has to work hard, both physically and academically, and although that is a drag, he has amazing work ethic and will never give up. And he'll turn around and do it again for you with a smile, high five, and fist bump. He's a great big brother who coos comfort to his baby brother in Korean and helped potty train him. He has great hair, eyes that often literally twinkle, and a smile that can go from impish to mega-watt in a heart beat.  He is an unforgettable little boy who charms everyone he meets.

But I don't write or talk about that enough. Instead I spend my time talking about medication, therapy, IEPs, sensory, tics, etc. etc. etc. And that stuff is even more unique, so it makes sense that it will float to the forefront when people think of Little Bug. And in our quest to make life easier for our son, to help people understand him, and to share our incredible pride in his accomplishments, Appa and I have spent years perpetuating this.

That really sucked as a mother to realize. Because maybe I wasn't helping him by being so open...maybe it was actually just myself I was helping at the expense of his privacy.

So we've realized that at this stage in his life, what Little Bug needs is a very small Team Little Bug to worry about those parts of his life, and the rest of his world to focus on getting to know the Little Bug that is growing into a shining, engaging, hilarious, curious, kind boy. 

From now on, Appa and I have agreed not to share details of Little Bug's challenges with people. That includes my writing about them in this space.  After a lot of contemplation, I will continue to write here about all my boys, but simply be mindful of what they might want to be shared about their lives as they get older.  And I'll continue to share our special needs journey through MY eyes and MY challenges, but I'll never make it specific to Little Bug's needs again.  We aren't going to act like they don't exist, but by now, everyone who needs to know that Little Bug is different knows enough to be a valued part of his life.  And all the anonymous people who read this blog...you know enough, too.

I hope that no one takes this the wrong way.  This is a wrong that Appa and I take responsibility for and are seeking to fix before Little Bug gets any older.  We love our son, we are proud of our son, but most of all, he is simply that...our beloved son.

The Weight of Another 28 Pounds

Today I was pushing a cart full of kid out of Costco. It was bitterly cold. The kids were shivering. I forgot my gloves.

And yet, the answer to a question I hadn't even realized I was asking myself hit me in that moment. Despite having another child, a dog, a traveling husband, and cruddy weather, why was I so relaxed and simply happy?

It hit me that for the first time ever, really, I feel complete.  I've spent most of my life waiting for someone to come into my life. I've been with Appa for so long, but we waited a long time before getting married.  Then we waited a couple years before decided to start a family.  And then we waited a few more before actually starting a family.  Each time we brought a child into our home, in the back of my mind I was always already waiting for the next one.

But today, for the first time, I realized I am waiting for no one.  My family, the people who I will spend the rest of my life loving more than anything else in the world, are all in my arms now.

I can only describe that feeling as a weight lifting off my heart.

My mother once told me that she felt an emptiness inside her heart and she knew that someone in our family was missing. Once my youngest brother came along, she told me that feeling was finally gone.  I never really understood, but I do now.

I didn't realize how much I felt stifled by the never-ending waiting.  Every vacation, every family picture, every holiday for a very very very long time has been spent wishing for someone else to be with us. I just feel so blessedly happy to finally feel like I can move forward to enjoy each moment in completeness.

We'll never say never, because you never know what life will bring, but I know that my heart is finally telling me to breath and enjoy life.

So I shall.

Curtain Up

I gave myself some time over the last couple months to step away from writing.  I found that I write in my head in the absence of writing in earnest.  But as much as I wanted to, I wanted to break myself away from using any form of writing as a crutch for just living with my feelings.  That probably makes zero sense, but there you go.

The good news is my black out is over. My blournal is back to public since I no longer need to fear a judge could/would use my words against me. I have three little boys snoozing away upstairs and the world spread out before me.

And I intend to write about it.

The House Always Win

One year ago today we accepted Little Moon's referral. 

I didn't rmember that until just a little bit ago because I have spent the whole day in a haze of court date euphoria.

Appa said point blank it would be today.  And he was right.

The odds were in our favor today.

I'll Take Those Odds

One month.

Considering all the many, many, many months I have spent waiting for my children, 1 month shouldn't even register on my list of most trying.  And yet, this month, the last 30 days, will go down as some of the most memorable in all three adoptions.

In the past we waited for a travel call.  A given outcome that was the end result of a lot of paper pushing. And while the papers might be pushed a slower than I wanted, the outcome was predictably a travel call, which was then predictably followed by flying to Korea and bringing my child home as soon as I could.

Not so, this time.  This time there is little predictability in the process.  The court date we are waiting on is uncharted territory in waters we had expected to be old pros in.  Families with our same time frames are in Korea now or packing their bags while we are still RSVPing "Maybe, but I hope not" to anything in the next month.

But the most perplexing part of the last 30 days has been the fact that it has little to do with paper pushing.  This time, a judge is reviewing our home study...unquestionably the most invasive, raw documents ever written about us and something I wouldn't even be comfortable sharing with our family.  But some judge in Korea is reading it over, mulling over our merits as potential parents.  And although I am fairly confident what we present won't keep us from the honor of raising Little Moon, the predictability is compounded by the fact that the judge can issue our court date whenever and for whenever he or she wants to.

That means that if the judge has a vacation planned or is feeling under the weather or had a bad breakfast and is in a bad mood, those things could swing our notifications and dates by weeks or months at a time.

It's maddening to have something so important and time sensitive be completely at the whim of someone else with absolutely nothing we can do about it.

So every morning until lunch time I hold my breath and stalk my phone and check my e-mail every 2 minutes (I am not exaggerating) even though I know the phone call will come first (I think).  I'm crippled from giving full attention to anyone or anything that isn't on Facebook's adoption groups. And for 30 days, nothing has come except for one emotionally confusing day when half our group did get their court dates.

But there is an unexpected and welcome silver lining.  Appa and I are both invested and waiting together this time.  Appa's logic and trust helped him breeze through the other two waits, but this new unpredictable timeline seems to have thrown him for a loop.  So instead of only leaning on friends for sympathy and support, I have my best friend to live it with.  He even suggested we have a "pity party" last Friday night.  Pity is SO my emotion, so to have him suggest it was really pretty funny and ending up making our pity party a night of silly board games and drinks.  We've been sad together and happy together and I'll always think fondly of this period in that respect.

And each morning when Appa asks me with hope in his voice "Think today is our day?" he follows it up with "The odds are better today then they were yesterday."  And we get a little giddy and the anticipation of what they day could bring.  It's a fun feeling.

So these 30 days have been memorable for me, but not in a bad way.  Sure, it hasn't been fun and I want our court date TOMORROW PLEASE but I'll remember this time as a really uncomfortable and hard time frame that we managed to weather with positive attitudes fitting for our grinning guy.

We will not let this take the joy from our journey to our son.

5

Five.  It seems like such a big number, a milestone.  Yet 5 years has flown by in what seems like the blink of an eye.

Five years ago I became a mother.

Five years ago I woke up and ate breakfast slowly.  I did my hair and makeup in peace.  I laid down for a nap.  I rushed up and down escalators and from store to store searching for a little orange doll.  Five years ago I swore out loud whenever I wanted to. Five years ago my responsibilities stopped at me.

Five years ago someone handed me a baby.  It's all a haze of tears and watery smiles and then lots of real tears.  I remember everything about the back alleyway where a small child's life was literally placed in my arms for good.  I remember it hitting me sometime that evening that we were now parents.  Real parents.  The reality of the responsibility of parenthood is overwhelming to consider.

I remember singing "Row Row Row Your Boat" for 30 minutes straight while wearing a rut into the carpet in our hotel.  I remember falling so deeply in love that night with the father my husband instantly became.  I remember sleeping with my hand through the crib bars...just to be able to touch my child all night long.

There are many moments in my life that have defined me, but none so drastically, completely, and instantaneously as that day 5 years ago when I became someone's mom.

And not just a mom, but Little Bug's mom.  A title I am proud and honored and so, so, so grateful to wear.