It’s what’s for lunch

I made it two full weeks on the same grocery cart of groceries and aside from a few lunches in my employer’s café we ate all our meals at home. I still have a few soups that I didn’t get around to making, but I’ll be honest, some days I don’t feel much like cooking. So, I fell back on some old favorites

Grilled cheese!

Growing up I watched my mom butter both sides of the bread before putting it in the pan. Since I’ve been experimenting more in the kitchen lately I decided to mix it up a bit.

I melt a little bit of butter in a pan and throw freshly sliced bread (slightly stale bread is even more awesome) in the butter. I’ve found that I actually use less butter using this method.

Sorry for the high contrast…most of my kitchen is white, especially the stove!

I’m looking forward to summer when I can add some fresh-from-the-garden basil and tomatoes to the mozzarella. My own caprese sandwich, if you will.

This is the finished product, and yes, that is Duc behind the sandwich protecting it. I think he was afraid I was going to steal it!

Resolute

Happy Belated New Year!

Did you make any resolutions this year? I normally don’t because the same items seem to make the list each year which seems like irrefutable proof that I have NO desire or plan to actually implement them. So, I thought of things that I have missed, things that I used to enjoy but either because of having a child, work (over work) or lack of energy have kept me from doing. I’m one month in and my resolutions are going strong and have actually taken on a deeper meaning than I originally meant.

1. Bake. I cook a lot, but I rarely bake. I thought of the items that we buy that I might be able to bake instead. I like really filling, nutty bread, but the good stuff at the grocery costs $4/loaf. So I decided to bake a few loaves. And then a few more and now I realize I really enjoy it. I’ve tried some knead free recipes, but I have to admit—I like to knead! It’s good therapy for over tired fingers that have spent the day glued to a keyboard. Plus, I relieve my stress on that dough. Yesterday I took it a step further and bought a book devoted just to bread. What a lovely read!
2. Crochet. I started an afghan for Duc around the time he was born and was 3/4ths finished by the time I traveled…and I didn’t pick it up again until January. A friend of mother taught me to crochet when I was in college and really stressed out. It’s funny to look back at my stitches—the tighter they were the more stressed I was. I’ve made and given away probably 20 afghans in my life and I’ve only kept 2 of what I’ve made. It’s therapeutic, there was no reason to hold on to them. Now that I’ve finally finished Duc’s afghan I’m making one for myself. I need to something to brighten up my bedroom after I neutralized it last year. Now, when Duc is acting up and I need to keep my mouth shut I pick up my yarn and hook. I’ve noticed it has also cut back on my stress eating in the evening.
3. Clean out closets. I’m reading my list and realized I kind forgot about this one. I did manage to create order in the hall closet with the out of control wrapping paper and gift boxes. Still a lot more to go though!
4. Wear retainer. No kidding. I got braces as an adult due to TMJ (the teeth, fortunately, were pretty straight in the front, but my bite was off). I started strong. Four times a week just to get my mouth readjusted and now I’m doing twice a week which is what the orthodontist had originally recommended. I bet I’ve worn it less than a handful of times in the last two years. Woops. Considering I paid for my own treatments out of pocket I don’t really want to do that again.
5. Build. It’s too cold to drag my saw outside and build (I don’t have a garage or shed) so instead I have written out what I need/want. I’m going to build some open cabinets for the kitchen because I need the storage for all my baking. I’m also thinking of building a cabinet behind a door for additional storage since I don’t have a pantry. During the holidays I decided to redecorate my living room. I painted all the walls gray, bought a flat screen TV (first TV I’ve bought in 17 years—yay!) and had it mounted over the unused fireplace. I say unused because Duc + fire= disaster. At least I’m guessing it would be a disaster. I have no intention of letting him prove me right. I’m selling both couches in my living room to make room for my new midcentury modern couch (think Mad Men-esque). I’m going to build a new media cabinet and a combo filing cabinet and book shelf. If you haven’t realized it already it is a SMALL house with little storage capacity so you have to fake it out. Once that is done I’m going to build a dining room table and benches (both freestanding and built in like this:
   
   contemporary kitchen design by little rock interior designer Tobi Fairley

And a table like this:

I figure the built in bench should give us some additional storage space for toys, games and craft supplies.

Can you see it now? I figure if I build it myself, even if I have to wait, it will save at least 3/4 of the cost of buying or having someone else do it for me. Plus, there is always the satisfaction of doing it myself.

7. Clean out my someday daughter’s room. It started out promising and has become the land spot for all things I haven’t had the time to get rid of or am unsure of what to do with. Duc’s old clothes that I was holding? Yep, in there. The futon that was in his bedroom before I built him a bed? Check. All her nursery furniture and some books and toys? Check, those are there too. And the sweeper. Go figure.

The final item never made it on my list, but has kind of grown out of #1. I like to cook. I like to create and imagine and be surprised when things come out correctly so I’ve started making most of our foods except for cereals, salsa and corn chips but hopefully that will change when I garden and learn to can this summer.

There are other things I am thinking of writing about, but for the sake of Duc’s privacy (as well as my own) I may be writing that on a password protected blog. I’m still debating that, but if interested in reading just let me know.

Morning

I love a good sunrise. there is something magical and fresh about them. A reminder to let bygones be bygones and to start anew. Unfortunately with winter I only see 2 sunrises a week and only if the weekend mornings are clear and only if Duc sleeps in past 8 am (this is rare).

Today, a Monday, is a special gift. I have a rare day off, the sun is up and Duc is strangely still in bed. I can watch the light filter through my sheers and dance across my freshly painted walls changing the color as they move. I love the absolute quiet in the house where the only sound is off my keyboard as my fingers clack across the keys.

Yes, today is a special day. It is mine to spend as I wish, to shake off yesterday, and begin again.

Gold

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Robert Frost

I love Saturdays and not for the obvious don’t-have-to-work reason because I am working. I love Saturdays because I get to see the beautiful gold light that streams through my living room the first hour of the morning. Gorgeous. I love it because Duc and I stay in our jammies and hang out. I love the rhythm. I like baking and relaxing and feeding my child with food that I have made.

(I love the way you can see the light actually streaming across)

Some families go to the pumpkin patch…

Some families go to the pumpkin patch, our family goes to a wild cat rescue center.

Michael had taken me here several years ago for a birthday, but we haven’t been back since Duc was born. Since he is nearly 3.5 and his lovey is beanie tiger it seemed appropriate it for us to visit.

When we got there and paid our entrance fee the guy sized us up quietly before saying, “make sure you hold his hand at all times. The tigers will be very interested in him…”.

Ok. How does one respond to that???

Michael kept a good grip on Duc.

The first few weren’t too scary.

But the first guy was right…the tigers were interested in Duc.

The guide lead us down a narrow path through the woods into a low valley. We had lions to the left of us and tigers to the right and our path was only 3-5 feet wide between the two enclosures. As soon as we walked down there the tigers, who had been separate, formed a line and began pacing the fence where we were walking through. Most of them were growling quietly. The only reason I was able to get these pictures is because Michael was holding on to Duc.

Do you remember the scene in Jurassic Park when the visitors realized the fences weren’t working? Yeah, that’s how this felt. Unlike a zoo where there are metal bars, this one relies on a wire/chain link fence…similar to what you might have in your back yard. In the 20 years since it opened, only two animals have escaped and thankfully they weren’t tigers or lions!

Once we got into the valley some of the volunteer staff came through to clean the bones from the cages. Unfortunately, the animals thought they were getting fed so they started getting very busy. And then another 20 people joined our small little tour group of 5 in the small, low valley in the forest. Yeah, the animals noticed this too.

One heavily scented woman (perfume, cigarette smoke, etc—why would you wear that around feral animals???) got too close to the lion’s cage.

King (the lion) was on his feet and had his front paws against the fence in less than a second. I’ve never seen anything so big move so quickly.

There was a lot of this too:

At this point I told Michael to pick Duc up and walk back up the path slowly and quietly (less than 3 feet between these enclosures, remember? You could feel the heat from their breath). Shortly after that some of the rest of our tour group began to stampede and I got knocked over by a junior high student bigger than me.

Thankfully none of us became this:

Despite my slight freak out (Jurassic Park, remember?) the boys LOVED it. Duc wasn’t scared at all and we had a really great day.

I’m Back!

Hello, friends, I’m back I didn’t intend to take a nearly 6 month break, as the days passed it got easier and easier. There were still a lot of days when I would think “I need to write about this. I need to process this some more”, but ultimately decided not to. Truth is, I shut down.

The last 6 months at work have been a challenge. My workplace has been a stressful place from the beginning because we truly worked for a crazy woman. I never knew when or where the attacks would come from and after four years of being victimized by that woman she was finally fired. With that came a new director and manager, both are good but there is still stress as we navigate our relationships and the new rules that come with new people. My project load increased substantially and I began working 10-14 hours every day. Some days are even worse—I recently worked all day (10 hours), had 6 hours off and came in worked 7 hours through the night. I’m exhausted beyond exhausted and poor Duc is beginning to act out. I’m sure you can imagine why. And through all this I stopped writing. I stopped writing the blog, I stopped writing in my personal journal. I just stopped. I was too physicially and emotionally bankrupt by the end of the day to do anything besides fall asleep on the couch in the evening.

I suspect this may not have been the best response. I miss writing. I don’t like shutting down and just waiting things out. Sometimes it is easier to try to get through something than process my feelings or the fallout from things.

So, I said all that to say this: I’m back. I’m not sure for how long, but I do want to try to blog at least once or twice a week. I’m thinking the content is going to change somewhat. While I love writing about my son, taking pictures of him and writing about our joys and struggles I am interested in a lot more than just adoption. I will still write about some of the things we are working through (birthmom interest, anyone?) because we live and struggle with things related to adoption everyday, but my son opened my eyes to lot more. I became very involved with photography because I didn’t want to forget these moments. I began to DIY and make things because I’ve always been curious about the process, but now I can’t afford those things unless I do it myself. I’ve never been an outdoor person, but for the second year in a row I have gardened. Why? Because I like knowing where my food is coming from, I like introducing my son to an activity we can do together and I like the self sustainability of it all.

I hope you will stop by for a visit soon.

Peace.

11:33 PM

{11:33 pm—an untouched photo}

In motherhood I have struggled to find myself in it at times. Not that I lost myself, exactly, I am the same stubborn, life-loving, first-to-laugh, homebody that I ever was. In some ways these traits are even large—I laugh longer and deeper, I argue passionate and I look for a laugh where ever I can find it. I long to stay in my jammies all day one day a week and not leave the house. These things haven’t changed.

But I lost my time and I miss that the most at times. I’ve always felt fulfilled alone. I’m recharged in my solitude and quiet time. I love having a few hours to get lost in my own head and dream. I love to dream.

Now that Duc is older he doesn’t need to sleep as much and my time is being encroached upon. Someday I will wake up and he won’t be there and I will long to hear his voice calling my name in the night, telling me stories and singing me songs at 3:14 AM. I won’t hear his bounding feet echo through the house. I know I will miss it.

But for now I miss my time. I steal it where I can and like every mother I have learned to juggle a number of tasks at once. Now, I find my time in a mindless sink of soapy dishes, jamming to Kings of Leon on the iPod and thinking slightly dirty thoughts. Yes, this is my time.

Racism at home and in the wake of Japan's disaster

As a white middle-class mom I won’t see racism the same way my son sees it. No one will ever make “chink eyes” at me (oh, I take that back, someone did) or say an offensive joke about white, single middle-class moms. No one will talk slower and louder to me or ask if I speak English. No one is going to ask to see my birth certificate or proof of citizenship. But I am a not so silent witness to what is happening. Our nation has a long history of ostracizing various ethnic and minority groups. In my parent’s lifetime it was the 1960’s civil rights moment that finally gave rights to African Americans. In my lifetime it was letting gays and lesbians out of the proverbial closet. Maybe in my son’s lifetime any person of any skin color will be able to walk down the street and not worry about the police stopping and asking for proof of citizenship.

In my state, in the very state of my birth and the state that signed my son’s birth certificate, a new bill is being presented to the Indiana Congress that would allow police to detain anyone they suspect is an illegal immigrant. What does an illegal immigrant look like?

Does this guy look like an American? He’s not, but his parents were. He served in WWII and has lived here for nearly 100 years. Now he is facing deportation and a loss of his Social Security benefits.

Is this the face of an American?

(yes, I realize eating junk food does not make you an American, but honestly, how cute is this picture from the Holidays?)

This immigration bill frightens me. Please check out this website for more information: http://indianacompact.com/ I don’t want to have to hold my son’s hand tighter each time I see a police car go by. I don’t want to lecture him about the dangers of drinking AND being outside while Asian. I don’t want to have to worry about all the rednecks that are out there that might call the police if they don’t like the way he looks.

The dual tragedies in Japan has brought out a new face of racism, but unlike previous disasters people of all walks of life, even famous people that should know better, have piped up to say this is punishment for Pearl Harbor and other war related atrocities. Really? I really thought we got them back when we bombed the hell out of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The fact that they have been strong allies and have not committed any further atrocities speaks to their commitment to peace.

Please check out this post over at Disgrasian and don’t forget to listen to the audio clips. It’s mind blowing what people feel comfortable saying in front of a microphone or in 140 word tweets.

But this little goody may just be my favorite:

And this awesome response:

Alternate Universe

Before I became a mother every one would very knowingly say, “your life is going change” to which I internally responded with ‘well, duh”.

I expected a certain amount of transition—how could I not? I was going from SWF to table for one and a half. Some of the changes were sudden and some were gradual. The first thing I noticed was a fatigue that settled deep into my bones that was not relieved with any amount of sleep. I didn’t really recognize it for what it was until talking to another new adoptive parent who complained she was tired all the time despite the fact that her daughter slept beautifully all night long. It was responsibility. It was knowing that I was the ONLY parent for this child and that my life suddenly had a bigger meaning. My life no longer belonged to just me. While our parents teach us to fly a child ties us to this world. I had never felt so deeply rooted in this world, to this life. Before Duc there was always the chance of escape. Always the wanderer, anytime life felt boring, overwhelming, whatever, I knew I could run. I could pack up my few belongings and hit the road. To be honest, it was that probability that got me through many difficult days at work. I feel tied, but not necessarily tied down. Now, when I picture my escape I see Duc and I sitting on a beach watching the sun set on the Pacific (but to be honest I rarely ever think of escape anymore).

Certain things that I had once enjoyed no longer interested me. Hot new guy on TV or on the street—nothing. Barely even a pitter patter. There was a time I deeply longed to be married, but I now find myself at peace and sometimes even grateful for being single. Duc keeps me so busy that the only time I wish I had a husband is when I am sick or exhausted or days when he just wears me out through his sheer physicality.

I haven’t worn a dress or high heels since I became a mother. I am more interested in comfortable shoes that allow me to dart after him and breathable cotton that won’t make me hot when he falls asleep on me or when I have to carry his 30+ lbs. through a mall because he won’t walk. Dry clean only clothes are a waste of time. It has only been the last few months that I have made it to work without snot or cereal smeared across one or both or my breasts.

I can’t stand watching shows or movies that show acts of violence against women or children (sorry, men). I nearly vomited the last time I tried watching “Criminal Intent”. it’s too close to home. I can remember trying to watch the Liam Neeson film “Taken” shortly after Duc came home. I was so anxious I paced the floors and had to keep pausing the movie so my heart would stop racing (yeah, I could have turned it off, but that goes against my nature to finish everything I start).

And where these desires waned, new ones took root.

Before Duc I didn’t spend much time at home. Now I am home every night by 7 pm (6 pm is the witching hour where tantrums are more likely to occur). I’ve had a chance to evaluate my surroundings and realized it no longer matched our lifestyle. I’m obsessed with HGTV and all things relating to home decorating or renovating. I have little money, time or energy to take on new projects, but I have.

I’ve started building.

This…

Became this…

(just to clarify, that is only dust and cat hair on the edge of the bed from being moved from the living room to his bedroom—I wiped it off right after I noticed it on the picture!).

After two years of sleeping in a pack ‘n play my baby now sleeps on a bed with a mattress—and no rails! He has had his bed for exactly one month today and everyday he shouts “I like my new BED!”. We store toys, books, out of season clothes in the cubbies below the mattress. For a small house it has really worked out well.

When I shared the photos with my boss the only thing she said is “why would you want to do that (build the bed)?”.

Honestly, I don’t have a great answer other than wanting to pass on something tangible to my son. Something that that his son or daughter will some day sleep in. For two months he has bragged to people that “mommy built my bed!” and I hope he will always feel that way. My dad built me a bookshelf when I wasn’t much older than Duc and even though it is a rather odd looking bookshelf (sorry Dad!) I won’t part with it. It is now in Duc’s room.

As a single parent I think more about sustainability than I did when it was just me. I want to know how to build my own furniture (please see http://ana-white.com/ for easy to follow plans—they are amazing). I am more interested in growing our own food and even if I am not as concerned about what I am consuming, I want the food he eats to make his body healthy and strong. Last weekend Duc assisted with building another raised bed for a cold garden (spring veg). He is going to have his own raised bed and has already chosen pumpkins and watermelons as his crop for the summer.

As we are entering Spring I will probably try to tackle new projects around the house and I will also try to document the process to share with all of you (that being the 7 people that still read this blog).

If you are curious about anything please feel free to ask.

Blessed

I know I often talk about the struggles that we face. Let’s face it, being a single parent is hard work. Being a single parent to an active boy is even harder. While he is used to my work schedule if I pick him up even 30 minutes later from daycare it will be a rough evening and even a rough night on some occasions. I admit, I struggle with this sometimes. I really like my “me” time. I crave it actually and I need several hours each night or I struggle to sleep. I like the quietness of the house and I like to be able to sit on the couch and pet my cat (which I never see during Duc hours).

But sometimes there are blessings where you don’t see them. I have a child that wants to be with me all the time. I have a son that thinks I’m awesome and he tells strangers that “my mama is funny!”. I have a son that still wants to cuddle despite the distractions of toys and Thomas the Train on the brain. I have a child that enjoys not only picking out his own clothes each morning, but picking mine out as well (yes, the boy has good taste, but he seems particularly driven to my boobylicious shirts. In his own words, “I like boobies”).

Today I had a shit-tastic day at work…after several already this week. I’m physically and emotionally spent. When we got home tonight, we took our shoes and coats off and I fell into the closest seat. Duc climbed up in my lap and began looking at our videos on my iPod. And for 30 blissful minutes I slept and held my baby while listening to the sounds of his laughter on the video. Even after dinner he didn’t insist on rough housing or throwing a ball through the house or beg me to build his train set once again. He laid down next to me and we watched a little TV together. I marveled at the sweetest of this child next to me and understood why people refer to him as an “old soul”. I love that he has a naughty little grin and he will do something over and over again if it made me laugh just one time. And even if he won’t sleep in the twin bed I built him, he lays in it every night while we hold hands in the dark and talk.

I love that he loves Vietnam and that every time he sees a palm tree he excitedly yells “VIETNAM!”. While I don’t love that he goes though the trash cans, I love that I find surprises. Sometimes in my purse (which explains why it weighs 15 lbs.) or coat pocket or other places. Today I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out this:

Yes, that is a bottle top from Seagrams wine cooler I drank last night. He found it this morning and begged to be able to take it to daycare. When I refused he must have snuck it into my pocket because it was a treasure worth keeping.

I love that he has become such a little man. He holds doors open for people, is so sweet and delicate with little girls and asks me when he will finally have a sister.

Yes, yes, yes I love this boy.

Hello, my name is…

Despite my apparent inability to blog, I think about it often. I find writing is cathartic for my soul even if no one reads and no one responds (although it is always good to have feedback!).

From my previous posts you know life has been challenging lately. I feel a bit bad for not updating you on Duc’s nee-nee/sleep situation, but I am happy to say it has improved. I think I needed to get far enough distance between living it and writing about it. Despite my assertions that I am not superstitious, I still find myself crossing my fingers and trying not to jinx myself.

The night following my last post I talked to Mom. Every woman wants to believe she will be a better mother than her’s was. You think you will find the patience that your mother lacked. You promise yourself you will never say “because I said so” and especially as adoptive parents you think you will never get tired of hearing your child chant “MOM!” at high volume. You tell yourself that you know everything about your child—more than any other living soul on this planet (a fact that saddens me and empowers me to make better decisions). As an adoptive parent you educate yourself on attachment issues and can spot those times when your child struggles.

I’ll be honest, hearing Duc scream and cry for hours on end simultaneously tears my heart out and makes me want to scream at him in frustration. I finally shared this with my mother. I didn’t want to admit that I was failing. Failing him and failing my sanity. I didn’t want to admit I was over my head, at the end of my rope and feeling up a creek sans paddle. She gently reminded me that I always have Duc’s abandonment issues in mind and that whether or not it was intentional, Duc was playing me. She couldn’t be right, could she? I excused him and explained “you don’t understand. you don’t hear his panicked cries or see she tear soaked face. His anxiety is real”

But my mother has been a mother for 30 some years. She has counseled hundreds of children in the last 15 years of her career and most recently began working with children and families in the foster care system (among other things). I couldn’t deny the fact that she knows children and their psychology.

That night I tucked Duc into my bed with my mom’s instructions rolling through my head. I assured Duc that I wasn’t going anywhere. I told him I would hold his hand for a few minutes and then I would return to the living room to work on laundry. I told him that I would not be returning to the room no matter how much he screamed and that I would only come back when I went to bed. His response made me cry later:

D: Mommy, go to work?

M: I’m not going to work. I’m going to work on laundry just down the hall.

D: You not going bye-bye?

M: No, honey, I’m not going bye-bye. Did you think I was going to work and leaving you alone?

D: Yeah, mommy. I thought you leave me.

Wow, I had no idea. Once I assured him that I was most definitely NOT leaving he quieted down and slept fine.

We still struggle from time to time with sleep now that he doesn’t have his nee-nee to pacify him. He has had to learn to rely more on me for comfort and to learn how to self soothe. And at times I realize he is trying to manipulate me—maybe not intentionally, and maybe not related to adoption. Every person was born with the ability to manipulate. It is what carries on our species and what drives our self preservation—whether it is our corporeal being or our mental being. We are given the tools from birth that allow us to get our needs met.

I’m just glad to have my happy boy back (and to be able to sleep in my bed alone).

Blue Nee-Nee II

B so nicely inquired this week about how things have been since the blue nee-nee went bye-bye. In short, it sucks. The actual weaning process was surprisingly easily and fast. Nee-nee disappeared on Christmas Day after Duc hadn’t used it all day (no nap=no nee-nee). He fell asleep in the car shortly after leaving my parent’s house and he didn’t miss it. Or so I thought. At 1:30 AM he woke up screaming and crying. He was inconsolable and nothing I did helped. Finally around 6 am he dozed for a while before getting up around 7:30. For the next few days he inquired about blue nee-nee and asked that I search for it. Ever the dutiful mother I promised to do my best.

What I didn’t realize at the time was the extent that he relied on his pacifier. That was his comfort when even I could not help. Friends used to marvel at the ease in which I was able to get him to bed. Essentially I held him and rocked him for a few minutes with the pacifier, put him down and didn’t hear a peep out of him. Now it feels like January 2009 when we first arrived home from Vietnam. Weekend naps are almost non-existent. It is nothing for him to scream and whine and cry during his two hour nap period. Duc is the kind of child that REALLY needs a nap—sometimes two. Without naps he becomes destructive and more than a little mean and at his size he is force to be reckoned with.

It’s been three weeks today since I took nee-nee away and still we struggle. In the last two nights I have slept about three hours per night because Duc is sleeping in my bed. He sleeps in my bed even when I am not in bed with him. We have never been a co-sleeping family so this is a struggle for me.

I will be the first to admit that I don’t like change. I think because I am at an age in my life that so little changes it always astounds me that he is changing each and every day. How is that possible? I am struggling to learn that my parenting has to change to match his physical and emotional growth. I think I deluded myself into thinking that because he has been so advanced in his physical development and what he can do that his emotional growth would be slower. I have found that isn’t the case. On Christmas Eve we were driving to my parent’s house and he started wailing in the back seat. I asked him what was wrong and he replied, “I’m mad at you, Mommy”.

“Why are you mad at me, Duc?”

“Because.”

“Honey, ‘because’ is not a good enough reason. If you are mad at me you need to tell me why.”

“Because you won’t pick up my toy and give it to me.”

He tells me when he is happy, when is mad and when he is sad. Sometimes he isn’t able to verbalize why he feels these emotions, only that he feels them.

And so my parenting is adjusting. He needs me more now that he can’t rely on nee-nee. More time. More hugs and kisses. More time sitting next to him while he plays with his choo choos. More me. But I’ll be honest with you, I’m exhausted.

Blue Nee-Nee

This is Duc’s nee-nee, or as he calls it, “The Blue Nee-Nee”. I purchased a package of mutlcolored nee-nees at the beginning of the year and swore to myself that I wouldn’t buy another. Not for this child at least.

As this year marched forward I began to feel pressure from other mommies, family, the internet, parenting magazines to wean him from the nee-nee. At times he shows readiness. We stopped using it during the day. Daycare doesn’t give it to him during naptime so he is used to napping without it (although I always gave it to him at home since I just realized recently that the nee-nee in his cubby at daycare is dust covered {yes, I am that kind of observant parent}). He began forgetting it for car trips where I often held it ‘just in case’. Yesterday he was so excited about all the great gifts he got he forgot to eat, forgot to nap and even forgot about nee-nee. He fell asleep in the first mile after I left my parent’s house and nee-nee fell from his grasp. When I carried him into bed from the car last night he quietly cried out for nee-nee, but quickly rolled over and forgot about it.

This was my chance. I hid it. I even placed his nee-nee someplace hard for me to remember and difficult for me reach.

As I crawling into bed last night I realized one thing.

I’m not ready.

I’m not ready for Duc to be a big boy. I’m not ready to take away his off switch—the one thing that quiets him down when we are in the grocery store and he starts wailing half way through our shopping. I’m not ready to take away the one thing that puts him into sleepyland within minutes. When I see his nee-nee I think of our first days together. I offered him his first nee-nee on the short trip from the orphanage to the location of his G&R. It was love at first sight.

Within the next few weeks Duc will be sleeping in a big boy bed. His very own twin size bed. Potty training is surely not far behind. I’m just not ready for him to be a big boy. But he is. I’ve watched him grow—first in photos and then every day with my own eyes. He is no longer my baby. He is a big boy that doesn’t need to rely on a nee-nee.

So long, nee-nee, and thanks for the memories. We will both miss you.

Christmas 2010

Four years ago I sat across from my mother at a restaurant and as she caught a glimpse of me looking at the menu with my bangs pinned away with a barrette she said, “Wow, you look so much like my mother right now.”

I’m not sure I can adequately express how that comment made me feel. In one sense I was happy to know that I resembled my beloved grandmother and that something of her lives on, but the prevailing thought I had is “I will never look at my children and be able to say that.”. It was such a sad, bittersweet moment for me and I realized at that time I had to grieve that loss. I told myself that my child(ren) would have other other traits. Perhaps s/he would be musical like my mother and sister. Maybe s/he would would be able to draw like my mother or command a room’s attention like my father. I let go of ever thinking my children would look like my family.

Today my mom was flipping through the photo calendar that I made for my dad. She came to the photo below (taken nearly a year ago) and said, “Wow, he looks so much like my mother in this photo.” And there is was—the memory of that meal my mother and I shared four years ago. And she was right—he certainly looked like her. The way he is holding his mouth, the impish little smile—my much loved grandma.

Long before Duc entered my life I let go of hoping my children would resemble me. In the two years since he entered my life people have commented how much he looked like me (and most times I think it is crap that non-APs tell APs to help legitimize adoption in their eyes). But along the way there have been little things that made me sit back and laugh at God’s sense of humor. But for this day I was just happy to know that something of my grandma lived on.

December 16, 2008

This time of year is always special for me since it is the time I met and adopted Duc. I know it was difficult for my mother to be away from family for the Holidays, but I have to admit, I wouldn’t have it any other way. For me, I finally had a family and it didn’t matter to me where I was as long as we were together.

My maternity leave started on Monday, December 15th and like this December 15th a winter storm moved in. Michael picked me up and drove me to my sister’s house since she lived closest to the airport. The roads were slick and I wasn’t sure what I was more nervous about—the drive, the massive change that was occurring in my life, or worrying that the weather would keep us from leaving for Vietnam.

I slept on my sister’s couch that night. Well, I attempted to sleep. I was checking my watch every 30 minutes waiting to get up and finally gave up around 3:30 am. The photo above was taken while we waited to board our flight. I cried as I hugged my sister which mirrored our return as well. I had no sleep, but I was downright giddy.

Two years ago at this time I was somewhere over the ocean en route to S. Korea. I still remember the excitement as we landed in Seoul knowing we were that much closer. I remember the most minute detail. I remember how well I slept—nearly the entire trip between home and Vietnam. For the first time in two years I slept soundly. The end of the wait was almost over.

Even now it seems unfathomable that two years have passed. I remember so acutely the stress of waiting. The anguish as I learned we were delayed. How worried I was for Duc. And here I am. A mom for two years. Where did the time go?

One of these is not like the others

Duc helped Oma redecorate the Nativity. I didn’t bother correcting it because I kind of like it. What do you think?

Resilient

Definition of RESILIENT

: characterized or marked by resilience: as a : capable of withstanding shock without permanent deformation or rupture b : tending to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change

Last week a licensed, trained and paid-to-know-better person told me “children are resilient. Your son will adjust to any decisions you make for your life”.

To be honest, that statement angered and hurt me. I quickly told her, “you don’t understand. You don’t know what he has experienced. You didn’t see him in May when our time was limited to 15 minutes a day. You didn’t see how he pushed me away at bedtime and continued to push me away until just two weeks ago. You didn’t hear him as he cried and howled in anger and pain for hours after going to bed. It has been six months since I heard my son say ‘I love you, Mommy’.” At this point I cried and I told her, “every day for six months when I have told my son I loved him he shook his head vehemently and said ‘no, Mommy, I don’t want it’”.

Over the weekend I watched my son chase, and catch, a ginormous chicken. I watched with a mix of amazement and fear as he turned to me and yelled “Mommy, I caught it!”. After he safely put it down and walked back towards me I couldn’t help but think of how tough he is.

I started thinking about what it means to be tough or resilient. If Duc had gotten scratched and pecked would I still have thought he was tough for catching that chicken? No. Chances are I would have forgotten the fact that he caught the chicken, I would only remember the visit to the Emergency Room. I would have remembered his cries of fear and pain and not the momentary awe of doing the unthinkable.

And what of resiliency? Isn’t being resilient just another way of saying survivor? And isn’t that just another way of saying something didn’t kill you? I have to be honest, I want more for my son. I want him to be able to say he did more than live through something.

Chance

I don’t believe in the fortunes found in Chinese cookies, but you will still find them all over my house. Inspiration, at times, in a slip of paper. This one is wedged in the medicine cabinet in my master bathroom. I see it every morning when I wash my face and brush my teeth and it is the last thing I see before I go to bed. Sometimes in my rush I gloss over it. And over time it has a way of slipping into the background the way wallpaper does. But I notice when it is missing.

This reminds me to live in this moment. That every moment I have a choice. Turn left or right. Maybe even go back. Stillness is as much a choice as motion.

it is a reminder that my life is not yet set. I am still living and my circumstances don’t cage the desires of my heart and the choices it makes.

It is a reminder that amazing and beautiful things come from choices—and chances—sometimes I see exactly what I want and other times I see exactly what I need to see.

It is a reminder that every once in a while I need to have faith, take a step, however small, and take a chance.

My Favorite Boys

My two favorite boys. I love to see the way they interact with each other. The way they look at each other. The devilish grins they exchange. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked over and caught my dad teaching D something he shouldn’t know. I love the expression on my dad’s face when I catch him. I’m glad that I have had the opportunity to see my dad like this.

One of my favorite photos of my dad and grandfather was taken when my dad was about 10 years-old. The boys are looking at each other from the corner of their eyes. I found out later that Grandpa was actually tickling or scratching at the back of the head hence the sideways expression. I’ve caught Duc doing the same sideways look a number of times over the last month. And one of these days I will capture that image as my grandma caught it with her “boys”.

‘I will always come back for you’

Over the last two years I have found myself re-writing my son’s birth and relinquishment story.  There was a part of me, I am ashamed to admit, that hoped that I was one of the families that had doctored papers.  I wanted to believe that my son’s mother walked into the orphanage, kissed his forehead and signed the appropriate paperwork relinquishing her parental duties.  I wanted to believe that she was strong enough and loved him enough to make sure that he was never alone—that he went from her arms to the arms of the orphanage staff.  I wanted to believe that he felt safe and never felt alone.  That he never felt abandoned.

  

The more time that passes the more I realize that his paperwork was most likely very accurate.  The truth is, at some point he felt alone and he felt abandoned.  He felt scared and he wailed a panicked cry.  Perhaps it was that cry that drew the orphanage staff to his location.  I can only hope that his mother waited outside the gates in the dark until someone saw him and carried him inside.  If so, I can only imagine how she handled the anguished cry of her newborn.   Perhaps it wasn’t her that brought him to the orphanage.  Maybe it was a relative or a friend.  Either way, my son carries the scars from that time. 

 

Even after seeing how he gets upset when I leave him, I still can’t find it myself to feel anger towards his mother.  She made the best decision she could for her and her family at the time.  It frustrates me that I will likely never learn her identity because of the choices she made, but I also realize that if she had done things differently I would have never known him. 

This week a gentleman shared that he and his wife were planning on adopting once her body was no longer able to handle repeated pregnancies and c-sections.  They were interested in international adoption.  I told him what I knew.  That adopted children are NOT the same as bio children and they react to the same situations differently.  People view my son as a poster child for adoption since he is so well adjusted, friendly, loving, and happy.  But no child gets through their childhood unscathed—adopted or not.  And for my son the panicked cry every time I leave him, even if only for a few minutes, is not a ‘stage’ as most parents try to reassure me.  This is him.  Dealing with feeling abandoned.  It is me feeling frustrated and scared that I can’t make it better.