The Question

We're a conspicuous family, and I've always fielded multiple questions a week from strangers regarding Little Bug and whether he was adopted or if I was just the devoted nanny.  Usually the questions were just varying degrees of "is he adopted?", but I realized today that ever since Little Bro came home, that question rarely comes up.

Now, the new, more subtle was of determining how I came to be wrangling two small Koreans is a different, seemingly innocent question that I literally get 2-3 times a week.

"Are they brothers?"

And although the snarky responses you read in all the adoption literature comes to mind, my go to answer falls in line with my general rule on these sorts of questions...simple and honest.

"Yes."

But the thing is, I know that isn't what they are asking.  I know they aren't using the word brothers the way I am.  I know they are asking about blood and biology and a single birth mother and some history or story that is bound to be interesting.  But, if that was all it was, me choosing to ignore the implications behind the question, that would be fine.  It's the follow-up comments that I have been shocked to discover nearly always follow my simple and honest answer.

In the last week alone, these are some of the comments I have received in response to my answer.

"How wonderful you were able to keep them together."
"I can tell.  Their eyes have the same shape."  [Really?!  Here is a news flash, nice lady handing out chocolate milk samples at Costco,  there are around 50 million other people in the world who have the same "shape" of eyes as my kids.  I am pretty sure they aren't all related.  If they were, Lee Min Ho would be having dinner at my place...like every night.]
"What a sad story with such a happy ending!"
"You can tell."
"I didn't know you could adopt siblings from Asia."
"They're twins, right?"

So here is my dilemma.  I really like my less-is-more approach in general because it works for my personality, but in this case, I am finding it increasingly important to offer up information speaking to the implication of this question.  It's not a huge deal right now with my boys understanding what is being said, but when they get older, I don't want to have to continue the conversation with these strangers in order to set the record straight when their assumptions become clear, nor do I want to lie or hide the fact that my children are not biological brothers, because it doesn't make them any less of brothers, and I want them to know that and own that.

I have started practicing with the answer "they are now," and that seems to get the point across, but also tends to fluster people and make them backpedal, which makes me feel bad.  Then again, it's not offensive, so perhaps I shouldn't care that I've made people who asked an awkward question feel awkward themselves.  But even that answer feels like it has a shelf life, as it might be a little odd to say "they are now" when they've been brothers for 10+ years or something.

It's the most interesting of transitions from going from one child to two, and I find it has made our family even more conspicuous, more interesting to strangers, and more vulnerable to prying questions.

But for the record, as far as I am concerned, the only answer that is really true is "yes."

They are brothers.

45 Minute Glimpse

Today started badly.  Bad sleep, two grumpy kids and one grumpy mom, and no daddy made for a unhappy morning.  I also decided today would be a good day to force some potty training for both kids.  That lasted about 30 minutes.

I was determined to rally and knew the day was going to go up or down based on how I reacted.  A couple silly songs later, I managed to convince both kids to sit at their kiddie table and busted out the craft box.

Usually this activity can net me some decent interaction time with Little Bro, but has never lasted more than 10 minutes with Little Bug.  In fact, sitting still and focusing on anything for longer than a minute or two is so challenging for Little Bug, it is written into his IEP as a goal.  So craft or art time isn't really a go-to activity when Little Bug is home.

But today, with moderate cueing from me as I sat next to him, he participated in scissor work (or rather, scissor practice), markers, stickers, crayons, and playdoh (without even eating any).  He and his brother happily sat and created and played and giggled and focused.

For 45 minutes.

To me, that is a huge accomplishment.  Never have I seen Little Bug sit and focus for that long, and I certainly didn't feel like he was needing more cueing than he would receive with his aide at his developmental preschool.

Bottom line.  It was a huge win for us.

And that has bolstered me all day, especially considering we had a disastrous nap, and he spent his entire $150-an-hour sensory therapy session refusing to get out of a tub of dried beans, and he had not one, but TWO of his new and very disconcerting "car rages."

Because that 45 minutes gave me a glimpse of what I know will one day be able to be our new normals, and that makes fighting through the rest of today a whole lot easier.

Crying Over Spilled Lemonade

A few evenings ago, if you happened to meander in a forgotten corner of our local botanic gardens as you were listening to a very cool concert fill the entire space, the mom you saw sobbing as she crouched down near two little boys in their stroller would have been me.

Little Bug's behavioral needs are changing or maturing or increasing or whatever the official term for it would be, but the reality is things are becoming harder for him to control while his life becomes increasingly in need of self-control.  As we try to expand his world and life responsibilities little by little, the blunt truth is that for a reason we might never get our hands fully around, he's just not capable of helping himself right now in the ways that he needs to at times.  The baseline he needs to exercise and understand self-control isn't there for him in some instances, and these missing instances often encompass critical education and social skills.

He CAN learn, he CAN control, he CAN do damn near anything he wants to.

But not right now because we haven't figured out how to get him to that baseline he needs.  And that is scary and frustrating and sad and is forcing us to go places we had hoped not to go.  But he needs to be able to eat a treasured and earned reward doughnut in his car seat instead of impulsively throwing it over and over on the floor, only to sob that it was on the floor.  He needs to be able to stand still for longer than 5 seconds to look at a color in his hand and match it to the color on the wall or sit for longer than 30 seconds at "circle time" at school or hold back from knocking down a friend's block tower any time he passes by, only to cry right along with his friend. He needs to be able to stand next to me in a parking lot or store without having his hand is a vice grip to stop him from dashing off with wild and often dangerous or unintentionally destructive abandon. He is almost 4; the time when others will start holding his accountable is coming soon.

And when we are enjoying a lovely evening in a forgotten corner of the botanic gardens while listening to a concert of bells and I buy him as a very special treat his very own bottled lemonade, he needs to be able to take a sip before reflexively throwing it like a water bomb all over myself and the ground.  Because he doesn't WANT to do any of those things, but simply can't help himself right now.

So we will help him.  Somehow.  Any way we can.  Even if it is a way that we didn't really want to help him.  Even if it means sacrificing other things that are deeply important to us.

I am scared for my baby.  I am scared that we won't be able to do enough for him and that we won't be able to help him reach the baseline he needs in order to start reaching his higher potential and enjoying life a little more stably.  Lately a heavy weight has settled on my heart as the path is becoming more and more clear and unfun for all of us. 

And it all came rushing to the surface a few evenings ago as I stood there in shock, soaked in what was meant to be a special treat for my special boy.  No reason to punish him....he knew what he did was wrong and seemed equally shocked at what had happened.  Instead I just bent down and sobbed over that spilled lemonade and the rough road ahead my little love must continue to tread.

And now that it is out of my system, we move on.

Esse Quam Videri

Lately I have been feeling like a bit of a fraud. Little Bug's behavior is getting more and more uncontrollable and impulsive, and we have started the process of making some big changes in his therapy, which has required me to take off the rose-colored glasses I wasn't aware that I was wearing. Little Bro is simply settling nicely into his rightful terrible twos, but his passionate nature have made him a perfect storm of noise and button pushing and mischief.

Oh, and my power went out after some giant big storms.....again.

So while people comment to me about how patient I am or well I do as a stay-at-home mom while my husband travels the majority if every week, the fact is, I put on a good show for people (most people, that is). But at home, when no one is around except the ones who matter most, I am lounder, shorter, less flexible and patient, and often less happy.

But what I recently realized is that it doesn't need to be that way. Clearly when others are around I can act more like the mom I want to be like, so why can't I do that without an audience?

I can. I just chose not to.

So this is my new mantra that I have been chanting this week: Esse Quam Videri (To be rather than to seem). I want to actually be more consistently the mom I seem like I am...I want to BE her.

And it has helped. Not 100%, but I do find myself chanting it in my head in that split second before I formulate a reaction to Little Bro throwing a cup of milk or Little Bug taking off his shoe and throwing it at my head in the car before melting down in a sadly now predictable cycle. More and more, I am responding how I would if someone was sitting next to me...other than my precious babies, of course. And that is progress!

My other recently acquired mantra is something I read off my new "Mommy's time out" wine glass, so I've got the post-bedtime covered, too.

Today I Lost My Kid

I had grand plans to post about how awesome, thought-provoking, and decadent my long weekend was, but instead I'll blournal about today....when I lost my kid.

I was in a play area in a mall I wasn't familiar with, chatting with two lovely ladies I don't usually see, and honestly, I was pretty proud of myself.  This helicopter mama was letting her 2-year-old Big Star have free roam of the enclosed play area (a tree with lots of tunnels and slides and secret rooms).  He would come check in with me and I would check in with him.  He was happy, I was happy--good times had by all. But as silly as it sounds, suddenly I just had a feeling, and went to check on my kid. And he wasn't to be found amongst the 20+ kids and adults in that enclosed area.


HOLY CRAP  HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP

Only in my head, and possibly out loud, I wasn't saying "crap."

And in that moment, I heard a woman from outside the play area yelling "does this child belong to someone?"

Turns out my Big Star had figured out how to open the only door in the play area and taken off down the mall.  Like, seriously down the mall.  A grandma had chased him down and was dragging him back as her daughter tried to figure out who the little Korean escape artist belonged to.

That would be me, the mortified mama who wasn't sure whether to scream or cry and was almost definitely in shock.

What would have happened had that grandma not made the call to chase my kid down (and he is a fast little sucker, especially in open spaces) and manhandle him back to the play area?  He was apparently almost to a corner and could have turned either way.  He is fast and fearless and tiny....and mine to keep safe.

I tried to play it cool since it was my fault ultimately for not keeping a closer eye on him and not parking my behind right next to the door, and we just moved to a position right near the door to better watch him as he continued to escape.  Which he did, over and over, with his little trademark smirk that melted my frustrated heart and made me sick to think of all the what ifs.

So that's my lesson.  In a blink of an eye your child could be gone, gone, gone.  So barricade those doors and practice your death glares before returning to the mall play area.

It's either that or the monkey leash.

Airplane 0, Mama 1.

I owned that airplane today.

I don't want to relive the meltdown that happened in the beautiful mountain-nestled major airport this morning as I tried to calm my shrieking 2 year old (who was pissed for no reason other than life was boring to him in that moment) while my 3 year old spent a full torturous 25 minutes loudly and violently throwing himself on the ground in fury that we could not board the white plane that had just pulled up to our gate.

And I certainly can't relive the horrific 45 minutes it took me to get my nap-deprived, stamina-challenged 3 year old from the end of our very big home Midwest airport through baggage claim and out to the passenger pick up.  I was this close to crying right along with my nap deprived, hot inexplicably screaming 2 year old as his older brother gave up and went limp and refused to walk anymore in the middle of terminal C during rush hour. Your baby laying on the floor in the middle of one of the largest airports in the country is seriously gross.

But on that airplane, I OWNED it.  Oh yes, I saw the cringing, dirty looks as the other passengers took their seats next to this poor little young mama with two toddler boys shooting energy out of their eyeballs.  I don't blame them....I fully believed those 2.5 hours would be hell on earth.  But I was determined to do my best to suck all that hell into myself and make things as easy as possible for my fellow doubters.  My voice is hoarse tonight from talking, singing, soothing, teasing, and scolding nonstop.  When I stopped talking, reading, singing, or playing my kids started entertaining themselves by dueling screams of fun, so I just kept right on talking and talking and talking.

I even successfully got us all to the bathroom for a diaper change.  That alone drew some impressed looks from some ladies.  I consider it one of my finer motherhood moments.

And I should mention that I hate flying VERY much and spent the whole time secretly thinking the plane was going to crash at any moment.  Making up songs about applesauce and poop (Little Bug's requests for the day) is not easy to do when your internal monologue is making peace with God before your plane goes down.

But as people passed us on their way off the plane, a number of men and women commented to me on how well-behaved my boys were and how impressed they were.  Although I was proud of the way my boys and I had handled the flight, it was validating that we did well enough for people to comment to us.

Sometimes that is the best praise a mama can get is that her kids are well behaved.

Home

For me, although I love where I currently live, home is Idaho.

It's Fiesta Ole and Walkers off Broadway and the Greenbelt and 17th Street and Skyline and Pancheri Road and the Grand Tetons and the Snake River and the Rocky Mountains and my family and my friends.

It's not where I was born, but it's where I grew up and became me.  Living there has shaped who I am, how I see things, and how I react to things.  It's shaped my hobbies, talents, and likes and dislikes (expect country music...no thank you).

Tomorrow I am going home with my two babies and my husband (who also calls it home).  I am starting to feel this delicious curl of anticipation at my first glimpse of the mountains; my first breath of solid, clean mountain air; and my flood of memories waiting at each street corner.  I know this place somewhere deep inside me, no matter the 12 years I've not called it "home."

It makes me wonder where my sons' home will be.  Sentimentally, I would love for it to be Seoul, but the reality is there will be no memories lurking on the street corners for them when we return again, no senses reawakened.  I suspect home will live in their hearts here, in our large Midwest city.  And that's okay.  Seoul can be their history, or maybe one day even their physical home.  They can make new memories and it can grow in their hearts as it has grown in mine.

But just like home to me is eating a $0.99 soft bean burrito with no enchilada sauce with a side of ranch dressing from Fiesta Ole while staring up into the snow capped mountains instead of munching on a crisp apple while watching hydro-boats skim the tops of the Columbia River from my birthplace in Washington state, home to my boys might be a stuffed pizza and a poorly-played baseball game rather than kimchi and urban hiking. No matter where it is, going home is always a really special feeling.

Fiesta Ole.....yummmmmmm.