Summer Lovin'

Joy. Relief. Hope.

That's what Appa and I have been feeling the last couple days.  Pure joy and relief and hope.  Our precious son has finally been able to shake the very disturbing emotional side effects from his latest dosage tweak, and in place of all that turmoil has come happiness. 

Little Bug's smile, literally one of my favorite things in the entire world, is back and wider than ever.  He is becoming more verbal, more creative, more confident, and more peaceful.  He is seeking out activities on his own and testing his comfort level away from me.  He is trying harder at challenges, instead of giving up and melting down (or not trying at all).  He is making up stories and pretending to be a cat and dog and chef and monster.  He is counting into his teens and singing songs from memory.

A couple days ago he hopped on the couch while I was in another room,  turned on his iPad, and played independently for over 15 minutes.  NOTHING about that last sentence is anything short of extraordinary for our status quo.

Last night he played, mainly alone, in our sandbox for over an hour.  ONE HOUR.  Never, other than sleeping, has he attended to a stationary activity for anywhere close to that amount of time.  And we had to bribe him out with food.  Which Appa and I were both loathe to do as we would have much rather continued to sit with stupid grins on our faces and watch him make "pumpkins" and laugh big belly laughs.

Is this all because of a pill?  Honestly, I think much of it is.

The pill isn't causing these changes in him, but it is giving his brain a little breathing room to really explore its potential and share that with us.  This child has been a super hero fighter from infancy, and my heart gets fluttery just thinking about how much more he is going to be able to accomplish in the coming months, and how proud and happy that will make him.

This dose we are currently crushing on probably isn't the right dose for him academically, but it's summer and he's only got one more week of hardcore summer school before we head off for a vacation filled with Grandmas and a summer of mainstream "fun" preschool.  Although Appa and I know he needs a higher dose, we've decided to let him enjoy his newfound happiness for the summer.

Little Bug deserves to have a summer filled with endless hours of sandboxes and bikes and laughter.  And I am so grateful that he's going to get the chance to have it.

Shh

Not that I want to tell anyone how to raise their kids, but....

When I was in high school, I took my baby brother (who would have been around 3 at the time) through the drive thru at Burger King.  The woman at the window had some pretty severe acne, and he very loudly started asking why she had chicken pox all over her face.  It was mortifying for her and me.  All I did was "shhh" him and tell him we'd talk about it later.  Anything to get him to stop talking in that moment.

But see, as an adult, I now realize that is usually not the best way to approach a situation like that.  I didn't stick up for that employee or educate my brother.  I just avoided the situation.

Maybe not exactly the same, but today as my little loves and I rode the elevator down from Little Bug's PT appointment, another little boy loudly and repeatedly called Little Bug "weird" as LB enthusiastically told the whole evaluator full of people about our plans to play with the hose at home.  This little boy and his very nice mommy likely didn't even understand what Little Bug was saying, but everyone there sure understood what the other boy was saying....including my son.

Weird.

And it hit me as his mom turned bright read and shh-ed him over and over that the correct response as a parent isn't always the easy one.  It's the right one.  And it's not the one where we get our kids to simply stop talking without explaining WHY they need to stop talking.

It should have been something along the lines of "he's not weird.......".  Because by just shh-ing him, she was (inadvertently, I am sure) validating the assertion that Little Bug was weird.  At age 4.5, it's not going to be really damaging to Little Bug's self esteem (which, if his constant declarations of being "handsome" are any indication, is pretty good), but as he gets older, having an adult validating those sorts of labels could really cut deep.

I'm trying to do this more in my own life, because I fall into this pattern all too often myself.  Subtle comments about adoption, special needs, intelligence, etc. are just so much easier to ignore, especially when said without any malice or intent.  But one day very soon, those subtle comments won't feel so subtle to my kids, and I need to be well versed in standing up for them in that moment, in front of everyone.  I don't want to be the one who validates with silence.

It doesn't have to be a big deal or aggressive.  I don't need to turn to that little boy and say "look kid, he's not weird and you're being rude for saying so" while crouching into mama bear position, ready to fight his mama for the honor of our sons.  But I can put on my happiest voice and say something like "he's not weird...he's just really excited about our plans this afternoon."

I guess my point is that I'm realizing it is important to push back on the little things in a positive way.  It's my job to nurture my sons' self images, to help them become confident and proud, and to make sure they feel loved, special, and unique. 

And sometimes that means tacking on the line that floats into your head but sticks behind the "shhh."

Operation Spray

This weekend we packed up our tent, children, fireman boots, and wine and went camping a couple hours away.  Appa and I are passionate about helping our children develop a love for nature, a taste for food cooked over a campfire, and a reverence for falling asleep to the sounds of nothing more than insects buzzing and animals rustling. However, on this particular camping trip, we had one very specific camping goal for Little Bug and Little Bro.

It was time for homeboys to learn how to really rough it....by peeing in the woods.

I assumed this would be way easy and way fun for them.  After all, isn't that sort of thing right up little boys' alleys?  But, unfortunately my recent gentle reminders to "OMG NEVER PEE ON ANYTHING OTHER THAN THE TOILET...ESPECIALLY NOT YOUR BEDROOM FREAKING FLOOR AND CARPET" were taken to heart because the first time we showed our kids how to find a secluded spot and drop trou to relieve themselves, they both looked confused, then scared, then horrified.  And they would not go.

The thing was, perhaps we wouldn't have pushed it, but the actual toilets in the campground were way worse than anything Mother Nature could offer, and I had zero interest in sitting my babies' butts on those spider hotel poop pits.  They could hold it and come home and pee on the bedroom floor before I wanted them using those toilets again.

So Operation "Spray," as Little Bro coined it, began.

It took Little Bro a couple attempts, but it was ultimately his recent fascination with waterfalls that got him over the hump.  From then on, he regularly asked to "spray in the grass," and I consider myself lucky that he still understood that one does not "spray in the grass" in front of other people or their food or tents or pets.  Because I know he secretly wanted to.

Little Bug was our hold out, but I'm really proud of him for getting past what was obviously a confusing thing for him.  Little Bro peer pressure sent him over the edge, and he got comfortable with the program after a while.  Comfortable enough that I caught him twice trying to drop trou and "pee in the grass" on his own....in front of our tent.  You win some, you lose some.

I can now proudly say that my boys are well on their way to becoming true campers.  Just wait until they find out what our next camping operation will be!

In Between Doses

It's been over a month since I wrote in this space.

Honestly, I didn't have words.  To blournal the small things seemed wrong when the BIG things were looming.  But the BIG things felt too overwhelming to write about, and frankly, I just didn't want to vent and moan.

But the truth is, that little pill kicks some serious baby butt.  The first few weeks were filled with side effects--horrible, sad side effects that left my sweet boy in physical and emotional pain.  That, in turn, left Appa and I nearly bereft for him.  Once the side effects tapered off, it became apparent the dose was too low, so we had to increase the dose again, restarting the side effects.

Swallow, melt down, repeat.  Swallow, melt down, repeat.

The bad news is that I have a mother's intuition that this dose/particular medication isn't going to be the right fit either.  The good news is I have total faith in our doctor and appreciate the slow and conservative approach to medicating a child off label (due to age).

The best news is that Little Bug is still thriving and continuing to improve his knowledge and capability to help himself.  We've made some big decisions for his education this Fall that we hope will give him his very best shot at making the most of his last pre-K year.  Although we are very much in the present with him right now, we're serious about positioning him for his academic future, and I am excited to start taking advantages of the many unique resources we have available.

As an aside: giving up a master bathroom to get into a really good school district was one of the best decisions I ever made.  Way to go, me 6 years ago!

So, the thing is, I need to move on from this.  Swallow, melt down, repeat is going to continue for a while, and I can't just censor myself anymore while I wallow in the cycle with my baby love. I'm going to make a concerted effort to blournal more about the daily things like I used to.  Maybe I will blournal about Little Bug's new trick of taking his underoos off and peeing on the floor when he gets angry or about Little Bro's daily expository speeches.  Maybe I'll blournal about my baby sister moving the the freaking Philippines for an 18-month mission or how she and I wasted an hour and a half watching possibly the most pointless movie in the whole world simply because Adam Brody was in it (my choice).

And Lee Min Ho is filming a new drama.  Since Appa just bought me the complete Rosetta stone for Korean, I'm now officially on my way to becoming fluent in my children's' birth language.....right?

Or maybe I will blournal about the week we just spent on my Aunt's farm in Michigan.  How Little Bug and Little Bro had smiles mile wide on their faces from morning to night with attitudes to match.  How perfect it was.

And can be.

And is.

The Little Pill

It's been an emotionally draining couple of week.  Between never-ending illness for all of us, external job stresses, some expected and unexpected diagnosis for Little Bug, and having to fight for and then embrace some pretty big changes in our therapy approaches for Little Bug (most of which we had hoped not to have to embrace), I've become crippled with my own anxiety and pulled away from a lot, including blogging.

But this morning, I felt the plug pull, and I feel like I can write again.  In fact, I see the other side so clearly now, and it's a bright, happy, calm place.  It's a place our family is going to get to.

This blournal has really focused on late with Little Bug's needs, and that is because for about 9 months we've been working so hard and getting so sad and frustrated to see little to no results of the behavior therapies we have tried.  Desperation and insecurity are things I have had permanently weighing on my heart.  As a mother, I simply haven't know what best to do for my baby, and that insecurity when making choices is a poisonous feeling.

This morning I woke up and the first thing I thought about was the little blue pill that I needed to give to Little Bug.  The pill that I am terrified will steal the light out of my boy whose Korean name has "bright" in it for a reason.  The pill that Appa and I have tip-toed around for close to 9 months now, circling ever closer, but always hoping we could somehow avoid.

But we couldn't.  Little Bug's brain needs this blue pill.  And we'll be damned if Little Bug doesn't get exactly what he needs.

When I let a tear roll yesterday as the doctor wrote out the prescription, he told me that the first pill would be hard for me to give, but that it would be worth it for Little Bug and it would be okay.

Sure enough, my hands shook as I broke the capsule and sprinkled it over a small spoonful of apple sauce.  My voice wavered as I called him over to take him new "yummy" medicine.  And when I put the spoonful into his mouth, I actually buried my head in his glossy black hair and shed a couple tears.

I was scared I was killing his bright light.  I was sad he had to struggle daily.  I was sorry I couldn't help him enough on my own.

But I was also really hopeful and it felt liberating.  Having a good doctor and a rock solid diagnosis that includes months and months (and months) of rating forms from home, doctor, and school and 9 months of failed behavior therapy behind us gives me the peace of mind to know that this absolutely, 100% is what he needs.

And to know, as a mother, that I am making the very best choice possible for my child is a powerful, wonderful thing. A conviction that I think doesn't come along every day.

In the grand scheme of life, medicating a child isn't the end of the world, and I know that. In a few short days I won't even think of it other than to deal with the side effects (if there are any on this low dose) and watch my child start learning to help himself be his best.

But it's the start of a huge new chapter in our son's life, and although he is too young to understand the risks and benefits, Appa and I are keenly feeling them for him today.  But that's what we keep circling back to, the benefits that outweigh the risks.  This feeling of hope we both have.

Today we did the right thing for our son.

Adoptivus: Family

One of the most profound experiences of the whole trip was to spend the evening in the home of Little Bug's foster family.  As the driver took us into the heart of Seoul, I tried to soak in the sights, imagining the streets and sounds and colors that made up my baby little bug's world.  I didn't even think to take pictures or video, although I'd give anything now for some.  (Next time.)

There's always a moment, even in the most exciting and right experiences, where you think "Holy crap, what am I doing?"  As our car turned down a tight alleyway and started to slow, that moment hit me.

We'd met these people twice for a grand total of 2 hours over 2 years ago.  We don't speak the same language, we don't have the same cultural customs, and our contact has been been completely over the internet.  Yet, without the safety net of our agency, we were going to their home for dinner and catching up.  In that final moment before the car stopped, I felt my stomach plunge at the thought of this all going very wrong.

Then the car stopped and I heard a booming, warm, joyful voice welcoming us by name in broken English.  I was barely out of the car before being enveloped in a hug from my son's foster father, and I suddenly felt at ease.

This was family, and we were all going to make it work.

I struggle with how to share about that night.  It's tucked in my heart as one of the most beautiful evenings of my entire life.  It's so special that I find myself protective of it.  I thought it would just be about Little Bug, and while he was definitely the star of the show, the night was really more about our two families cementing a bond that went past a shared history of raising this little boy.  We celebrated and got to know each other, and by the end of the night, we felt like extended family.

What I can share is how humbling it was to see my son's first home, see the toys he loved and the clothing he wore.  It was affirming to see the walls covered in pictures of my beloved child and the other children who have been blessed enough to call these people family, even though years have now passed.  I can write about the honor I felt at the beautiful table filled with every imaginable Korean dish, prepared for days by neighbors and family who all wanted simply to honor the little baby with the beautiful smile they remembered.  And I can recall the delight and surprise when I was presented with a delicious traditional birthday rice cake and everyone sang happy birthday to me in Korean.

But the moments that stand out the most are the snap shots in my memory.  The way Little Bug's Omma and Appa gazed at him and brushed back his hair as he sat between them, so intimately a parent/child moment.  The moment when I happened to glance into the kitchen and see Little Bug fork feeding his college-aged hyung from his baby plate.  The moment when his beloved noona rushed into the apartment to scoop him up in a hug, having stopped by on her way to the airport as she was leaving to complete with her Korean national sports team but couldn't pass up the chance to see him again.  The quick glimpses of neighbors popping their heads in the door to catch their own glimpse of Little Bug.  The moment when Little Bug rushed over to give halmoni a big hug, he delight etched all over her face.  And above all, the pealing sounds of laughter, his and theirs, as they doted on him all night long.

We all claimed each other as family that night, as weird as it sounds. But it's no longer just the love of Little Bug that binds us to each other now, and that, besides Little Bro himself, was the most important aspect of our entire journey back to Korea.

We are so blessed with family.

Adoptivus: What View of What If

Seoul Tower is awesome.  The panoramic views of Seoul are seriously unreal.  I simply could not get over how far skyscrapers stretched in every direction.  I looked out over Seoul and imagined where my son was, where his birth mother and birth father were, where my older son grew up, and where his birth parents were.  With views like those, it seemed completely uncomplicated to imagine a world where we could connect with those special people and places.

That is not the memory that sticks with me from Seoul Tower.

Instead it was all the children from the school field trip that giggled and pointed at us or yelled "HELLO" before blushing and ducking their heads in laughter that kept capturing my attention.  I stared so often I started worrying that I was being creepy, actually.

I watched them joke and laugh or snark and grump at each other as only 10 year olds can.  I saw the popular kids and the studious ones.  I saw the giddy girls and the awkward boys.  I heard Korean roll off their tongues and imagined the type of lives they must go home to at night.  What they eat, what their parents do for a living, how to get home, what they watch for fun.

This was the life my sons should have had, and I was fascinated and so very heartbroken to see it playing out before my eyes.

I have never believed my sons were meant to leave Korea and live in America.  I love them and am so thankful to be their mom, but adoption blows in a million ways for them and this is one of the big ones.  The entire time I was in Korea I keenly felt the loss of their rightful chance to live in Korea as a cultural majority.  To see all those children who didn't have to loss their Korean culture, language, and traditions broke my heart for my sons and their field trip to Seoul Tower they will never get to take.

It was this moment when it crystallized for me that I would do everything in my power to help them learn Korean and bring them back to Korea as often as we could.  I mean, everything and anything.  I can't give them back the life they should have had, but I will try my hardest to bridge that gap just a little bit.