Brae and Sienna-isms

1.  On Martin Luther King Jr. day, Brae didn't have school.  My mom was watching him and Sienna.  It was also the morning of the presidential inauguration.  My mom and Brae were watching it on t.v.  The following dialogue ensued:

Grandma: "Brae, do you know who that is on t.v.?"
Brae: "No.  Who?"
Grandma: "That's the President of the United States.  He's kind of an important guy."
(Long pause)
Brae: "Does that mean you have to ask his permission before you can go to the bathroom?"

***

2.  In yet another presidential moment, last Monday was President's Day.  Again, Brae and Sienna didn't have school.  My sister was watching them.  On their way to the park, this conversation ensued:

Tia (Spanish for Aunt): "Brae, do you know why you don't have school today?"
Brae: "No.  Why?"
Tia: "Because it's President's Day.  Do you know who our President is?"
Brae: "No.  Who?"
Tia: "His name is Barrack Obama.  He is our President.  Now, you remember that, and I'm going to ask you later in the day about this to see if you remember what we talked about."

(Several hours later)

Tia: "Brae, do you remember what day today is?"
(Long pause)
Brae: "It's Obama Day!"

(As an aside, it may not be hard to guess that my mom and sister are both Obama-supporters.  I make no comment or opinion about their judgment).

***

3.  Sienna is starting to speak more, and even string words together.  Her latest word is "sorry."  Except, it sounds like "saw-ee."  Brae thinks it is hilarious when she says it, so he likes to push her buttons to make her slap, hit, kick, spit, or bite him.  Then, he pretends to cry.  Then, like clockwork, she pats him on the head, says "saw-ee" and walks away.

The funniest thing about this is that she shows absolutely no empathy when she's apologizing to him.  Girl cracks me up.

***

4. And the ultimate example of the difference between boys and girls:

We have a life-sized teddy bear that I often use to play with the kids.  The other day, Brae was trying to play kung-fu with the teddy bear at the same time as Sienna was putting a blanket on him and kissing him good-night.


Love these little guys.

She found her.

You may remember a post I wrote several weeks back (if I was fancy like some of my other blogging friends, I'd put a link to that post right here, but I'm technologically challenged) where I wrote about my gorgeous hairdresser.  For ease, let's call her Natalie.  She does, in fact, look like Natalie Portman.

Natalie is 22 and she's adopted.  She was adopted as an infant.  It was a closed adoption.  She knew very little about her birthmom, or whether she had other siblings.  But, she wanted to know more.  She wanted to find them. 

A couple months ago, I encouraged Natalie to start looking.  She said she was afraid her birthmom wouldn't want to meet her.  I told her, based on my experience, her birthmom loves her.  Has never stopped.  And a single day has yet to go by where she has not thought of the daughter she placed for adoption.

I saw tears well in Natalie's eyes. She nodded. 

The next time I saw Natalie, she said she was going to start looking.  She said I had motivated her.

I saw Natalie again last night.  Taking the bare straws of what she did know about her birthfamily, and with a little luck from social networking, she has found her birthfamily.  She connected with a full brother she suspected she had, but didn't know for sure.  He is just a year older than she.  They have been texting daily and talking on the phone ever since.  He, and the whole birthfamily, live about 500 miles away.  They all plan to meet in May.  Natalie also has two half-siblings she did not know about.  Natalie said the birthfamily is very excited to meet her.  That was a relief to her.

Natalie also learned more about her birthmom.  She was 16 years old when she placed Natalie for adoption.  She had a 1-year-old child (Natalie's brother), and was on the run from her boyfriend (Natalie's birthfather).  She didn't feel she could safely protect two young children. 

Natalie's birthmom has been in and out of rehab, and it sounds like she and her family have had a hard life.  Natalie has yet to see a picture of her birthmom, and has yet to email or text with her.  Natalie said she wants to have everything happen in person. 

I asked Natalie what she would do when she finally saw her birthfamily, especially her birthmom.  She said she hoped they wouldn't think she was a "snob."  From talks with her brother, Natalie's birthmom and her family really struggled financially.  Natalie did not. 

She said she harbors no ill feelings, and just wants to thank her birthmom for giving her the life she did.  She knows it was a sacrifice, and she is grateful.  She hopes that one day, her birthmom and her mom can meet and form a relationship.  Be at her wedding one day.

I smiled, and told her that is the beauty of open adoption. She now has two sets of family that love and support her.  And, you can never have too much of that.

I asked her, as an adoptive mother myself, what advice could she give me about raising my two children?  She thought for a while.  And then she said, "Be honest with them.  Tell them everything they ever want to know about their adoption.  Hold nothing back."

I asked her if she ever ran across negative comments from others when she was growing up, about being adopted.  She said, "Not really.  Sometimes, people would apologize and tell me they were sorry.  I never understood that.  Why should they be sorry?  I have a great life.  Some people would also say it was too bad I couldn't be with my 'real' family.  I told them my 'real' parents are the ones who changed my poopy diapers, who held my hair back when I threw up, who took me to buy school supplies, who stroked my hair as I fell asleep, and who wiped away my tears after my boyfriend broke up with me.  Those are my 'real' parents, and those are the parents I live with."

Adoption is a really hard journey.  For all involved.  But, it's in moments like these that I am humbled and honored that God chose me to walk this path.  I am a face of adoption.

***

Regarding my last post about the clinical trial, several friends have asked me if I will still do the trial anyway, or if the fact that I know that I ovulate changes anything for me.

I am not going to do the trial.  And no, nothing has changed. 

I am not going to do the trial because if I do have endometriosis, it does not bother me physically.  I am not in pain.  The clinical trial is only open to 10 participants in the state.  I don't want to take the spot of someone who really needs relief.

And no, nothing has changed.  Sure, I may ovulate, but in the 7 years since I got off birth control, we have had only one spontaneous pregnancy, which resulted in a miscarriage.  The chances of us getting pregnant, on our own or with assistance, is still very slim. 

I still pray for a miracle pregnancy, because I will never give up hope.  I'm just not wired that way.

And, we have decided to move forward with our next adoption.  It's a long and discouraging process, but I feel God telling me to "stay the course."  And, so we will.

Clinical Trial

I've gone back and forth trying to decide whether to actually write anything about this.  I generally try to write things that may be of some encouragement to someone else, maybe give someone a little giggle, update friends and family on happenings in our adoption journeys, etc. 

You know, something of some small value to others. 

This post does none of that.  This post is really just to make me feel better. 

Feel free to stop reading if you want.  I won't be insulted.

__________________________________________________________________________________

This post is to make me feel a little "normal."  Please take it in the spirit in which it is intended, which is not to make anyone else who has walked the journey we have feel that they are not normal.  You are.  We all are, in that we are all humans struggling with the human condition.  This post is just to re-affirm that for me.

Ok.  Enough throat clearing.

A couple weeks ago, I received a letter from our local research hospital.  They were asking me to participate in a clinical trial for the treatment (reduction) of endometriosis.  They apparently got my name because they were looking for patients who had a surgical diagnosis of moderate-severe endometriosis.  I had a laparoscopy back in 2009 that revealed some endometriosis.  Isn't that a HIPAA violation or something for my other doctor to release my name to this researcher?

Anyhoo, the letter sat on my desk for many days.  I didn't know whether I wanted to respond to it. 

I finally did.  I received all of the information about it.  Investigational study.  A pill. Six month treatment cycle followed by another 12-18 months of monthly monitoring.  Stipend of $2300. 

But, buried in the disclosures, something caught my eye.  This medicine could stop ovulation while taking the pill.

Last summer, my ob/gyn put me on Clomid to determine if I ovulate.  He determined I didn't.  It was a surprising (and upsetting) diagnosis to me, but I grew to at least tolerate it.

But, something caused me to wander into my doctor's office last week to get a blood test.  It just so happened that I was at a place in my cycle where it would be ideal to get a blood test to determine if I do actually ovulate.  If I don't ovulate, I told myself, I'll do the clinical trial.  If I do, I won't.

Sure, we have only like a 1% chance (seriously, we've been told that figure) of getting pregnant on our own.  Yes, we are happily pursuing adoption through the state.  But, getting these results was not really about any of those things.  It wasn't really about the hopes of a pregnancy (although that's definitely still there), and it wasn't about veering off course from our adoption pursuits (we are still doing that). 

It was about trying to feel like a "normal" (non-infertile) woman.  Or, at least moving more into the acceptance that maybe if I wasn't "normal" in that way, I was still "normal" in many other ways, and blessed beyond belief.

If I ovulate, I told myself, then I will feel more "normal."  That's it.  It doesn't increase our chance of pregnancy (still 1%), and it doesn't change our path to our next child.  It just makes me feel better.  If I don't ovulate, I told myself, then okay, the chance of us ever getting pregnant pretty much closes, and perhaps I can stop daydreaming that it will ever happen, and take the next step toward accepting how God will build our family. 

I got the test results back the next day.

I do, it turns out, ovulate.  Regularly.  On schedule.  Just fine.

A brief moment of normalcy after 7 years of feeling abnormal.

It's kind of nice.

Adoption Update

Just a quick update about our adoption status.  As you may know, we are proceeding to adopt a little one(s) through our state's foster care system.  It's an incredibly long process that we started last September. 

We have completed all the required classes, submitted all the required paperwork, gone to all the required medical appointments, and are now waiting in line to begin our homestudy.

The caseworker assigned to us only works part-time (budget cuts).  But, she is also supposed to have a smaller caseload.  When we got on the list, there were 3 families ahead of us. Now, there are 2. 

At one point, we had hoped to be on the wait list by Sienna's 2nd birthday in June.  Now, I think we will be lucky to have started our homestudy by then.

It's very hard waiting to wait.

I'm just praying that the little one(s) that God has for us are not suffering right now, that they are with a loving foster family, and that God is impressing a picture of us on their little hearts so that when we meet, they will know we are their forever family.

Mortified.

That pretty much summed up my first gut reaction a week ago today.  Since that time, that feeling has morphed into frustration, anger, confusion, sadness, and heartbreak.

Every Sunday after church, for about the past year, Tygh and I have taken the kids to Gymboree.  For those of you who don't know, Gymboree is like a gym for little kids.  We go to the "Family" class, where kids from birth to age 5 can run around, jump, climb, and just get some energy out.  The parents are on the floor with the kids, and our kids love it.

For the longest time, it was just Brae and Sienna in the class.  Recently, the class has started to fill up with several more parents and their kids, all who are much younger than Brae. 

Last week, I received a phone call from the owner of our local Gymboree.  He said another parent had complained that she felt her child was "unsafe" in the class with Brae. 

Mortified. 

I talked to the owner for an hour, and all I learned was that this parent wanted to remain anonymous, and she thought that Brae was too rough in the class, and that he "hits" other kids.

We have never seen Brae hit any other kids.  Apart from his sister.  And, "hit" is really not the right word for his interaction with his sister.  It's more like tackle.  He loves his baby sister, and he loves to get rough n' ready with her on the floor.  Little Miss can hold her own, and while there may be an occasional cry if she gets tackled too hard, she generally growls at him, hits him, or bites him back.  (I'm not saying any of her behavior is acceptable - just that she's used to big brother's antics and she fights back).  And, growing up in a family of 5 kids, and 3 older brothers who used to pin my sister and me down and fart in our faces, this behavior is not completely surprising to me.

After I hung up the phone with the owner, I cried.  It broke my heart that anyone would ever think that Brae was dangerous or unsafe to be around.  And then, I got angry.  How can a parent level such an accusation, and then refuse to give her name?  Schools no longer allow parents to lodge complaints about another child without giving their name.  It cuts down on false complaints.  And, credibility evaporates if you aren't willing to stand behind your claim.

But, we went to the gym the following Sunday, determined to not let this mother get the best of me.  Brae and I had a "serious" talk before walking into class, and I told him that there were lots of little kids in the class, to keep his hands to himself, and to not play with anyone but his sister.

The class went fine.  As suspected, the object of Brae's affection is his sister. 

Relieved. 

And, then came the second call.

A few days after this class, the owner called me again, at work.  He said that there was another complaint about Brae's behavior this last week.  The concern this time was that when another little boy wanted to play with Brae and approached him, Brae shouted at him to get away from him because he's not his sister.

I was there when that incident occurred.  Brae didn't hit the boy, or even touch him.  This little boy's mom gently ushered her son away, and I told Brae that it was okay, this little boy just wanted to play with him.  I also smiled, on the inside, because I know Brae was just trying to be obedient in response to our earlier conversation to not play with anyone but his sister (in response to the complaint the prior week).

Infuriated. 

This time, when talking to the owner, I respectfully gave him a piece of my mind.  Things had gone too far.  Gymboree is supposed to be a place where kids can learn, in a safe and nonjudgmental environment, how to interact with others and socialize.  To be attacked anonymously while in that learning process seems unfair.  Brae just turned 4, and there need to be reasonable expectations about what behavior is appropriate for a 4-year-old boy. 

If Brae really was hitting children (again, we've never seen that), that's a valid complaint.  However, I expect that before I'm called at work about this complaint, there are details confirmed from the parent about what happened, when, where was I, etc., and I expect the owner to have personally substantiated the concern with a visit to the class, witnessing Brae's behavior.   I also expect to have the opportunity to talk to the other parent, in a respectful and adult manner, about her concerns. 

As for this second complaint, I told him that it should have been nipped in the bud without ever feeling the need to call me.  Sure, I wish Brae had been more polite and asked the little boy to please leave him be, but quite frankly, that level of social maturity is a feat many adults have not mastered. 

Brae is learning to navigate social norms, and we are there to help and guide him, but I do not expect perfection from him.  He's going to say and do things that bother me and others, and I simply ask that grace be extended to us during that process.

But, I felt I owed it to these other parents, and to my son, to vet these concerns with his teachers at preschool.  These teachers see Brae in and out every day, and they have a lot of experience with kids Brae's age.

These teachers eased my mind, and provided salve to my hurting heart.  They confirmed our suspicions that Brae is an active, physical, social boy.  He loves to play with his friends, and yes, sometimes he gets a little carried away with his physicality.  And, yes, sometimes he misbehaves and he goes to timeout.  But, he is a normal 4-year-old boy.

To hear those words was like music to my ears.

It's been a really hard week.  But, for now, I'm

Satisfied.  

Is it any wonder?

Given Sienna's background, is it any wonder:

1) The girl loves the cold.  I mean, prefers the cold over any other temperature.  She would happily frolic all day long in the snow. 

2) Popsicles are her singular favorite dessert.

3) She's extremely independent.  In fact, that's the adjective we receive most often from strangers in describing her. 

4) But, at the same time, you can tell that she was just meant to have other siblings.  She loves being a little sister and, although Brae probably poses the greatest threat to her safety, she adores him.

5) She's a very patient little girl.  She understands what it means to wait her turn, and to allow others go before her.  She must know that the wait is generally worth it. 

We sure know that.

The Twins: How they changed my perspective

My friend is pregnant with twin girls.  Through IVF.

These are her first children.

A couple weeks ago, she asked me to go with her to do some baby registry shopping.  I was honored and humbled.  And, a little apprehensive.

As someone who longs for another child (miracle pregnancy or otherwise), I thought the idea of roaming around Babies R Us with a scanner gun and a noticeably pregnant woman may be too much to bear for my sensitive psyche.

But, I cleared my throat, and said I'd be happy to join her.

And, somewhere between the aromatherapy pillows and the zip-up nightgowns, I had a revelation.

I've been here before.  I've done this stage.  It was really fun and amazing while it lasted, but I've moved on. 

As I was driving home after the excursion, I explored this revelation a little more. 

Yes, I really want to be pregnant again.  Yes, I really want another child - in whichever way God allows.  And it may not be an infant.  I may never again be pregnant.  I may never again have an infant in my house to care for.  And while that is really sad to me, I also rejoice and am thankful for the times that I had a baby in my belly, and an infant in my house. 

And I'm really excited for things to come: kindergarten, soccer games, homework, boyfriends/girlfriends, Disneyland.

So while I can't say that I've settled into the House of Complete Contentment, at least as of today, I've walked over the threshold.

And, it's a beautiful house.

Brae (and Sienna!) - isms

Brae:

1) On a random Saturday afternoon, I was driving the kids home from a playdate, when this dialogue ensued:

Brae: "Mommy, I want to go on a bear hunt."

Me: "Ok."

Brae: (increasing in intensity) "Tomorrow."

Me: "Ok."

Brae: (now a little agitated by my apparent lack of resistance): "By m.y.s.e.l.f."

Me: "Ok."

(Long pause)

Brae: (now apparently resigned).  "But," he started, "I may need you to drive me."

***

2) I picked Brae up from school the other day.  While I was tending to Sienna, one of Brae's friends classmates (let's just call him Bully), came up from behind and shoved Brae into the front door.  When I came to see the commotion, Bully's mom was trying to discipline him and get him to apologize to Brae.  Bully refused.  So, sensing the increasing awkardness of the situation, I directed the kids out to the car.  On the way home, this dialogue ensued:

Me: "Brae, I'm very proud of you that you didn't push or hit Bully back.  That was the right thing to do.  That's what Jesus would have done." 

(Long pause)

Brae: "Yeah.  Bully doesn't listen to God."

***

3) Say what you will about kids and Santa Claus, but I had a lot of fun this year with Brae and Ole' St. Nick.  When I was growing up, there were no presents under the tree on Christmas Eve.  Then, on Christmas morning, my sister and I would run out to see all the presents under the tree.  It was magic. 

Carrying on that same tradition in our home, I had to find a place to hide all the presents before Christmas morning.  I finally decided to hide them in a guest room, and lock the door.  When Brae asked why he couldn't go in the guest room, I stammered, and told him that was Santa's workshop.  That's where Mommy and Santa Claus pow-wowed.  He seemed to accept that.

One night, as I was wrapping gifts in the guest room (which is me simply throwing gifts in old "Happy birthday" and "It's a girl!" gift bags), I heard Brae tip toe up to the closed door.  He was supposed to be in bed.  I could hear him breathing on the other side of the door.  I decided to have a little fun.

Me (to the empty room): "Now, Santa, I'm not sure if Brae has been a good boy today.  I'm not sure if he should get that present."

Me (now in my best elderly, stout, male voice): "Ho, ho, ho!"

Me (again to the empty room): "Mrs. Claus, you really need to teach Mr. Claus better manners."

And on went my faux dialogue with these two characters.

When I was sufficiently pleased with myself, I turned off the light, and opened the door.  Brae was standing in the hallway, bug-eyed. 

"Mommy?!" he managed, "Who were you talking to in there?"

***

Sienna:

1) Little Miss is fascinated with the toilet.  She wants to watch everyone in the house going potty.  And she wants to be the first to flush the toilet.  In fact, she often flushes the toilet when there is nothing in it.

The other day, I watched as she meandered into the bathroom by herself.  I started to get a little excited.  Maybe she was going to try to go potty herself. 

As I poked my head around the corner into the bathroom, I saw her stand over the toilet, lift up the first lid, then lift up the second lid.  She then proceeded to pull down her pants and pull up her shirt.  She stood over the toilet.  And waited.  She was trying to pee like Daddy and Brae.  When nothing happened, she sighed.  She pulled up her pants.  She let her shirt drop, and she closed both lids.  Then, she flushed the toilet.  And she left.

2) This is really a Brae and Sienna story, but because I suspect that Little Miss's curiousity started the whole ordeal, she should take credit.

I was out with my family one afternoon.  Tygh was "watching" the kids.  I came home to find the guest room's toilet clogged.  Not a huge surprise. In the last 2 years, we've made friends with Mr. Rooter.  I expected Brae had just put too much toilet paper in the toilet when trying to clean himself up.

For the next week, Tygh and I alternated trying to unclog the toilet.  No luck.

Tygh finally admitted that when he had been watching the kids, Sienna had come out into the living room soaking wet.  And with a long wooden spoon.  That's when Tygh had gone into the bathroom to find Brae standing over the toilet, also holding a long wooden spoon.  But nothing seemed to be in the toilet. 

After a week of no success unclogging the toilet, I caved and called Mr. Rooter.  Again. 

Long story short.  I bet you've never had a plumber pull 11 bath toys out of your toilet before.

Adoption Tax Credit Renewed - Permanently

Coming through from a variety of sources, the federal adoption tax credit has been permanently renewed as a result of HR 8 (the "Fiscal Cliff" bill).  Check out for yourself:

1) http://www.gop.gov/bill/113/1/hr8senateamendments 

2) http://adoptiontaxcredit.org/

3) http://www.domesticpartnershipflorida.com/adoption-tax-credit-permanent-2013/

4) http://holtinternational.org/blog/2013/01/great-news-adoption-tax-credit-made-permanent/

5) http://childrensmonitor.wordpress.com/2013/01/02/adoption-tax-credit-included-in-budget-deal/

A Christmas in Pictures

Sienna pondering the meaning of Christmas at Christmas Eve service.

 

Christmas morning.

Christmas at Grammy and Guapo's house.  Brae keeping Canon from blowing out the Advent wreath candles too soon.

 

The story of Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus in a friendly kid format.

 

Finally!

 

We had too much fun this year!

 

Merry CHRISTmas and Happy New Year!

First came the letter, and then came the call

A couple weeks ago, we received the letter from the State of Oregon, Department of Human Services, stating that our paperwork was complete and we were now assigned a case worker.

Finally. Ok, so it hasn't really been that long (maybe a few months), but after the State initially losing all of our paperwork, it's a relief to just have it done with.


I  was so excited, I immediately called the name and number listed on the letter.  After a few voicemail exchanges, I finally connected with our case worker.  She said there are 2 families ahead of us in the homestudy process, and another family that may/may not make it all the way through.

Our goal has long been that we be "on the wait list" by the time Sienna turns 2 in June.  Our case worker said that seemed reasonable.

I know the journey to #3 will likely feel like the longest, and most winding road so far.  Adopting through the state is not for the faint of heart.  It's a brutal, agonizing process.  It's long.  It's a bureaucracy.  These children are waiting for a forever family, and yet there are so many hoops for a forever family to jump through.

But, we do trust God's timing, and will wait patiently (or, at times, maybe not that patiently) for the next child to come.

Although I still long for (and pray for) a spontaneous miracle pregnancy (and probably always will), I am really excited about this process, and hopeful for the child(ren!) God has for us.

As Tygh and I were driving to his company's Christmas party this last weekend, I mentioned, with some sadness, that we wouldn't be able to name our next child.  Our next child will already come with a name.  I remarked that I hoped we at least liked the name. 

Tygh quickly put me in my place with this, "We will love their name.  Whatever it is.  It will be the most beautiful name we've ever heard."

And, he's right.

And with that, some levity following a heavy-hearted week:

Sienna: 18 month stats

Little Miss continues to enjoy the larger side of life (I say that with the utmost affection).  I'm starting to think basketball, volleyball, modeling (!) may be in her future.  I've long since known I would be the shortest of the bunch.  However, now it seems that Brae may be joining me there (sorry, buddy). 

There is an old wives' tale that for boys, you double their height at age 2.5 to see how tall they will be as an adult.  Brae is "supposed" to be 5'10".  Not super tall, but not short, either.  Right smack at average. 

For girls, you are supposed to double it at age 2, because they grow faster than boys.  Little Miss just needs a little over an inch to grow in the next six months before she will be 3 feet tall, and thus, 6 feet tall as an adult.  Seeing as how she grew more than an inch just in the last three months, I think it could be a safe bet she will be at least 3 feet tall by her second birthday.  (She has always been at least 2 inches taller than Brae at his same milestone). 


Here's her stats:

1) Height: 34 5/8 inches.  Off the charts.  Again.

2) Weight: 27.2 lbs.  Scaled down to the 80th percentile.

Doctor reported that her 18 month checkup showed no signs of autism.  She is generally growing and functioning at a typical age/rate.  She is feisty and fearless.

And I love her.

Brae's 4 year stats, and some -isms

Brae's 4 year stats:

1) He weights 37 lbs; 8 oz.  60th percentile.

2) He is 3 feet, 4 3/4 inches tall.  50th percentile.

Both of these are shifts for him.  He's always, up to this point, been below 50% for weight, and above 70% for height.  Guess he's evening out!

3) Doctor said that he is physically developing on track.  He did give me some pointers on getting him to eat better at home.  We tried one last night, which included he has to eat what the family eats for dinner, and has to sit at the table with us.  When he cried and refused, we just put the dinner on the table, and he eventually came over and ate it. 

4) Doctor said he was very impresed at how smart he is, and that he is intellectually ahead of the curve.  (Warmed the cockles of my heart).

And with that, here are some frequently confounding, but always amusing, Brae-isms:

• In the car, after just picking Brae up from preschool, he announced: "Mommy, my friend Captain bonked his head on a chair today at escuela (school)." 

          "Ouch," I said.  "Is Captain okay? Was he hurt?"

          "No," Brae said, matter-of-factly.  "But the chair sure was hurt." 
***

• A couple weeks ago, I stayed home from work with Brae because he was sick.  He'd been throwing up frequently.  Finally, at the end of the 2-day stint, I put him in the stroller and we went for a nice brisk walk.  It was a beautiful fall afternoon, and I was feeling particularly affectionate toward my little boy, so sickened by this little bug.

         "Brae," I said, "I love you," as I pushed him in the stroller.

          Silence.

          "Brae, did you hear me? I said I love you." 

           More silence.

           Different tact.  "Brae, do you love Mommy? Can you say, 'I love you, too'?"

           At that, he spoke.  "No, Mommy.  I can't say that.  If I said that, it would make me sick again."

***

•     While watching football on TV the other night, Brae asked, "Mommy, why do all the football players line up to scratch the grass?"

***

• Brae's preschool was closed a couple weeks ago in observance of Veteran's Day.  So, he and Sienna were with my parents.  Apparently, during a conversation with Brae's grandma about why Mommy and Daddy have to work, Brae commented: "I know that both Mommy and Daddy work.  But only Daddy makes money.  Mommy just rides a bus."

Love you, Brae.  Thanks for always keeping me laughing. 

Not an itchy birthday

Seven years ago today, I married.  It was the day before my 26th birthday. 

They say that in the 7th year of marriage, people get "itchy."  They get restless.  They start looking for a way out.  They get divorced.

The U.S. census in 2011 cites the average length of marriage is 8 years.  Couples seem to file for divorce around the 7 year mark, and then complete their divorce in the 8th year. 

Why?

Statistics say that around 7 years is when people are burnt out on caring for young children, there are burgeoning financial pressures, and there is an accumulation of negative experiences or incidences that come to a boiling point. 

People who are unhappy in their marriages generally know that within the first few years, and then take a few more years to get to the state of divorcing. 

I am the product of divorce.  I know how painful it is.  Divorce is an epidemic in my family.  Each of my grandmothers was married three times. 

My parents survived the 7 year itch, only to get divorced at the 10 year mark.  But, they each re-married and have been remarried for over 20 years.  I have great stepparents as a result.

Tygh's parents have been married for over 35 years. 

I have no shame in saying that Tygh and I do not have a perfect marriage.  But, we have a very good marriage.  We are teammates.  We genuinely enjoy one another.  We "get" each other. 

So, on this milestone anniversary, and the day before my 33rd birthday, Tygh, I salute you:

      "You are my rock.  You are my touchstone.  You keep me grounded.  You support me.  You love me, and all my idiosyncricies.  It's been quite a journey to get where we are now, and I'm genuinely very excited for what lies ahead.  We have been so blessed.  We have two amazing, beautiful children.  We have a roof over our head, food on the table, and careers we enjoy.  We have family that love us, and friends that stand beside us.  

       I love you." 

This is what she said.

Saturday, November 17 was National Adoption Day.

I had forgotten.

Brae's birthmom had not.  This is the text message she sent me that morning:

"Happy National Adoption Day.  I thank God daily that in one of the darkest seasons I've had yet in my life, He loved me enough to bless me by sending you guys.  You two have been a light in my life since I first saw your picture on the Bethany website.  I have been unselfishly loved and supported by you both and your families.  I'll never be able to explain the gratitude I have for the both of you.  Thank you so much.  I love you."

Wow.

Is it any wonder that National Adoption Day is less than a week away from Thanksgiving?

I think not.

Thank you, God, for adoption and blessing me with my two kiddos through the miracle of adoption.

Infertility: I just punched you in the face. 

And in that spirit, here are some token photos from Tygh's family's pre-Thanksgiving at Black Butte Ranch this weekend.

P.S., there are now 4 grandkids in the Colton family.  And not one is genetically related.  How many families get to say that? Very cool.  Proof that blood does not make a family. 

Watch Sienna's face through this progression...

There's my baby cousin! Yay. Now, I'm happy.

Making a volcano

Colton grandparents with their 4 grandkids and their hand-made Thanksgiving shirts.  Yes, Tygh's mom is Martha Stewart.

Carving the turkey.

Making Oreo, Candy Corn turkeys.  Yummy.

My hairdresser...

... is gorgeous.  Kind of a cross between Natalie Portman and Amanda Seyfried.  You get it.  Gorgeous.

But that is beside the point.  At least of this post.

At my last visit to her, somewhere between the blowout and the trimming of the bangs, my hairdresser mentioned that she is adopted.  She doesn't know her birthmom.  She doesn't even know if she's still alive.  She thinks her birthmom was a teenager when she got pregnant with her, and connected with her parents through mutual friends at church.

She thinks, through a series of third-hand information, that she has a couple of siblings.  She is very interested in finding her siblings.

I told her that there are websites out there that can help adoptees locate their birthfamilies.  I also said that, in my experience, she should know that not a day has gone by that her birthmom hasn't thought of her.  And, that her birthmom loves her. 

In the mirror, I saw tears well up in her eyes as she brushed my hair.  She nodded. 

If, she said, she did meet her birthmom, she has some things she would like to say to her.  She has no hard feelings toward her.  She loves her parents.  She had a great childhood.  She may have a couple lingering questions of "why?," but mostly, according to my stunning hairdresser, who also happens to be adopted, this is what she wants to tell her birthmom:

"Thank you.  Thank you for choosing life for me.  Thank you for giving me a great life. Thank you."

Adoption is a beautifully painful thing. 

It's beautifully painful because even though a child leaves your arms, they never leave your heart.

It's beautifully painful because a child doesn't need to come from you, to belong to you.

Sometimes I tell, and Sometimes I don't

Daughter, 

How you came to be our daughter is a complete miracle.  Your origins are unique and sacred.  I will do everything I possibly can to honor them, treasure them, and not exploit them.  

I want you to know everything you would ever want to know about how you came to be ours.  Please, ask any and every question your little heart desires.  I will withhold nothing.  

You are nothing to be ashamed of.  

You are everything to be esteemed.  

But, dearest daughter, I want you to know something.  Because of everything I just mentioned, you may notice that I don't always freely tell others about your precious journey to us.  Certainly, those who matter know.  But, when some sweet old lady at the grocery store comments on how you must have inherited your Mommy's blond hair (hello! I was simply born to be a blond), or where did you get your sky blue eyes, or don't you and your brother look so much alike, sometimes I just smile and nod. 

Sometimes, daughter, I don't share.  

And I want you to know that it is not because of any  other reason than that I simply want to employ my mother bear instincts and protect you from puzzled looks, awkward facial reactions, or uncomfortable pauses. 

The sweet old ladies of the world can continue to believe you to be mine, genetically, and I will leave it to the embryo adoption ambassadors of the world to preach your message to the masses. 

Love, 

Mommy