Together

Sunday is family day.  It is the one day a week that we all spend together, no matter what.  Usually we do something, a visit to the museum or the zoo.  Sometimes we do nothing.  We hang out at home playing games, making crafts or whatever.  It doesn't matter what as long as we are together.

Today the plan is to go ice skating at the Pettit Center.  It will be a fun experiment.  The kids have never skated and I haven't hit the ice in, well I'm not quite sure when it was.

Afternoon trips are tricky.  Lion still naps.  He needs it.  Without a nap, we don't know what child we will have.  It could be nice Lion, fun Lion or crazy Lion.  So he naps and we wait.

Bunny and I snuggled down on the couch, me with my laptop and her with my phone.  We sit side by side engrossed in our own little media worlds.  I show her pictures of family and friends from Facebook.  She reads over my shoulder, carefully sounding out each word.  She shows me the contraptions she is building on Bad Piggies.  We laugh and giggle when it falls apart and cheer when it makes it through.

Frink comes in carrying a tired Lion.  He can't sleep laying down, the cough he's been battling won't allow it.  Frink settles in on the couch next to us with Lion.  Finger in mouth and more comfortable in an upright position, Lion drifts off.

The four of us together on our big red couch.  It's what family day is all about.

Memory Keeping

The kids changing everyday. It's hard to keep track sometimes.

Lion's language has just exploded. He is always telling stories and singing songs. Bunny is a kindergartener now. She is in school full days. She belongs to another world now, a world I'm not always included in.

I try to mark the important things. I try to write down funny stories, to share drawings and pictures. Facebook and Twitter help but they don't always do justice to the moment. I think to much about what I write (or don't write) here. I put too much pressure on being brilliant, so I don't chronicle the memory.

But I don't want it to get lost. I need to say this happened and it meant something to me:

My brother and his wonderful girlfriend were married (my dad performed the ceremony).

We had fun on and near the water.

We spent time with friends.

We hung out with daddy.

And Bunny started kindergarten (she is such a big girl now).

And Back Home

I'm ready to leave. I sit on the floor struggling with the buckle on my sandal. I say my good byes to the children. I love you Lion.

"Damoo momma".

What sweetie?

"Damoo momma".

He clearly is waiting for a response but I have no idea what he is saying. I love you too buddy.

"No! Damoo momma."

He is frustrated I cannot understand what he believes he has so clearly stated. He tries so hard, but still, after a year, I cannot make out most words.

Boys talk later than girls. He's still so young. It will come. I know that. I have been assured by a therapist that there is no delay. I know it will come but there are times it is not fast enough for either of us.

"Damoo momma!!" his frustration growing.

English is his third language. I imagine at times he is speaking Kembatinga or Amharic, languages that live in his memory, in his soul.

The first words he heard were uttered softly in Kembatinga. I love you, my son, a voice so familiar he thinks it could be his own. He heard children singing and telling stories as children often do. Stories of his people, the Kembata, were music to his ears.

He heard a quiet man choked with grief say I am sorry, she is gone. The man struggled to explain the unexplainable. I love you. I will miss you. Remember that.

"Damoo momma."

He heard women's voices trying to soothe his fears and quiet his cries. It will be all right. Voices trying to explain the unexplainable. I am sorry. He is gone but he will always be with you. These voices gave good news too. You have a family. They are coming for you. You are loved. He heard children's voices singing and telling stories as children often do. He heard stories of hope.

"Damoo momma."

Another city, another language. This time women's voices spoke in an unfamiliar tounge, Amharic. Welcome. We will care for you. It will be alright. A special voice sang to him. It was her voice he sought out when he was scared. Ishi ishi. It will be alright. Your family is coming. You are loved. He heard children singing and telling stories as children often do. He heard stories of family.

"Damoo momma."

Strangers came. They spoke a strange, unfamiliar language. Words of comfort offered none. They spoke of love, of home, of family. It will be alright. We are together now. He came home, to his new home, filled with these unfamiliar voices and unfamiliar language. He heard children singing and telling stories as children often do. He heard stories of home.

"Damoo momma!!"

Slowly these voices grew familiar. He understood. He knew about hope, about family, about home. He yearned to add his voice to the chorus.

"DAMOO MOMMA!"

I struggled. I turned to my husband for help. He is saying he loves you to the moon. Oh, of course, how could I not know that.

To the moon buddy?

He curled into me, finger in mouth, hand stroking my ear. "Damoo momma".

I love you to the moon buddy.

"Abahome"

And back home.

Knowing he had been heard, he untangled himself and ran to the living room. There he joined his sister, singing and telling stories as children often do. They told stories of love.

Three Little Words

I still remember the first time I said those words to him. I was nervous. I thought I knew what his reaction would be but I could not be sure. But I had to say it. I felt it so deeply, I thought I would burst if I did not say those words out loud.

We were sitting on the couch in his apartment. I couldn't look at him. I just blurted it out. "I love you". My first instinct was to run away. But I didn't. I stayed to hear his response, "I love you too".

It at that moment that the life we have began. It was built on those three little words. Our love grew and our life did too.

Life began to get complicated, as life always does. There was happiness and joy. But it was tempered with pain and struggle. The struggle of building our family, the realities of being parents, the house, work, life, all of this changed us. We were no longer the boy and the girl on the couch. We had to work to find out who we were and who we wanted to be.

There were times when the words were not said out loud. There was always something else that got in the way. Kids, work, life weighed heavily on our shoulders. We each went to our separate corners to decompress. Or we would wearily tumble into bed, sleep coming as our heads hit the pillow. Another opportunity missed to say the words that mean so much.

There were other times that the words were said in such a way that they lost their meaning. Love You became synonymous with Bye or Have a Good Day. The words were thrown out as he is rushing off to work and I am wrangling the kids. "Love You" I say, my hand fluttering a good bye wave barely conscious of his exit as I try and impress on a two year old the importance of wearing pants or something. Another opportunity missed to mean the words that mean so much.

Those words do mean something now just as they did then. I need to think back to that ugly couch in that rundown apartment. I need to remember how he made me feel, how he still makes me feel. He is the one I have chosen. We have built a life together based on those three words. I love the life we have, the family we have created. I loved him then. I love him now.

Those words need to be said. Those words need to be meant. With a touch on the face, a look in to his eyes, I need to say "I love you". Then there is no mistake, he will know how I feel.

And so I say to him today, just as I did 13 years ago in front of God, our family and friends, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

Faith

I recently read a beautiful post by Stacey at Is There Any Mommy Out There. It got me reflecting on my beliefs, on what I would want my children to believe.

For a long time I accepted the existence of something, a power greater than myself, but I did not believe. I did not have faith.

I wondered how could god allow terrible things to happen; war, disease, death and destruction. How could god allow people to kill others in his name. How could god allow others to hate in his name. I could not, I would not accept that god would want that. I did not believe. I did not have faith.

The world was in chaos. We were alone. I did not believe. I did not have faith.

I also wondered why god had not shown himself in my life. How could I be alone and lost? How could I be struggling and in so much pain? I prayed the prayers I was taught. I asked for help. No help came. I did not believe. I did not have faith.

I was in chaos. I was alone. I did not believe. I did not have faith.

Then something wonderful happened. I was lost, struggling and in pain and help came. I found people who had a calm and a peace that I wanted. I asked them how this was possible. I wanted to know their secret. Their answer was simple. They had belief. They had faith.

But how can you believe in a god that is vengeful? How can you believe in a god that allows atrocities to be committed in his name? How can you believe when, in god's name, people will tell you what to do and who to love? In the face of all of this, how can you believe? How can you have faith?

Again their answer was simple. If your God does not do these things, what does your God do? What type of God would you believe in?

I would believe in a God of love. My God believes in equality and the goodness of everyone. My God would want us to work for justice, to help those less fortunate. My God is a God of peace and understanding.

Good, they answered. Place your belief and faith in that God. If you truly accept and believe, you will not struggle. You will find peace.

So I did what they suggested. I placed my belief in the God of my understanding. I found peace. I found hope. I found belief. I found faith.

I will teach my children, despite what people say and do in the name of god, there is a God of love and peace. They can believe. They can have faith.

Two

Two years ago today in a land 7900 miles away, a little Lion cub was born.

This Lion cub endured unimaginable heartbreak and loss which would have broken even the strongest person. But he was not broken. He is strong. He is resilient. He is a survivor. We, who are lucky enough to be a part of his life, are touched and made stronger by his spirit, his enthusiasm and his love.



Today at two, he is the epitome of boy. He jumps. He runs. He throws his body around with reckless abandon just because he can. He loves cars and trains. Oh how he loves trains. He worships the ground his sister walks on and often he tries to tackle her to that ground.


Today, I think about how lucky I am to be his mother. He is just so full of life, so full of love. I am truly so blessed to have him place his hand on my face and call me momma. I want to savor this moment forever, to keep him just the way his right now. But I also cannot wait to meet the boy and man he is to become. I cannot wait for him to finally learn more words so I can hear what is on his mind and in his heart. I cannot wait to be present for all of his discoveries, all of his firsts.


Today I also remember. I remember the birthdays I missed. I remember a man, quiet and proud. I remember a man whose heart was broken with loss. I remember a man who loved so deeply. I remember a man who trusted us to raise his son. I love that man with all of my heart. I want thank him and let him know that Lion is a fine and wonderful little boy. I will make sure that he always remembers you.



I also remember a woman and a boy I never met. A woman and a little boy who didn't get the chance to be here today. I carry them with me in my heart and know that they are looking down on Lion today. To the woman, I say thank you. I say I love you. I say hug the little boy you have with you and know that I will do the same to the little boy I have with me. To the little boy, I say I would have loved the chance to know you, to be your mom. I will make sure that Lion always remembers the both of you.

My Lion, your Lion is two today.

Skin

It's his comfort, his security. He climbs up on my lap, puts a finger in his mouth and reaches out his other hand to stroke my face and neck. The touch of my skin to his calms him. He nuzzles his face into my neck or places his forehead against my cheek.

He can only fall asleep when he is touching my skin. As he dozes off, his fingers dance over my face touching my eyes, nose or cheek. I can tell he is asleep when his hand lazily brushes past my neck before resting on his chest.

He pokes my belly and then his. Laughing at the similarities, the roundness, the softness. His eyes light up when he realizes our belly buttons are the same. Poke momma. Poke Lion.

My skin also bears the signs of his love. Bruises from excited or frustrated bites. The caresses of my face can turn into slaps or pinches. "No, no. Be gentle", I tell him. "Show momma love." The hits turn back to touches. The finger returns to the mouth. Calmness returns.

My skin is his comfort, his security. His skin and my skin are one and the same. It's what he needs now to feel safe.

There will come a time when he places his hand on my arm and he notices the differences. Dark cocoa brown and light peach are not the same. My skin will bear the wrinkles of time, his the softness of youth. How will I explain?

I will take his hand and touch it to my face. I will remind him of this time. I will remind him of the comfort and security he found. I will remind him that the touch of my skin to his was how we bonded, how we came to love and trust each other.

Indescribeable

How can you describe the indescribeable?



How can you capture a life changing event?


How can you put into words, the feelings and emotions of meeting your child for the first time?


How can you? How can you, when you don't even understand the power, the beauty, the love that you felt.



You can not name the feelings you have for the people who have loved your child before you. Love. Gratitude. Those words are not enough to describe what you feel for these people. They have become a part of your family. You will keep them in your prayers. You will repeat their names to your son so that he will know. He will know how truly blessed he is to have had them in his life even for a short time. He is blessed because of them. You are blessed because of them.


You can not put into words how the country of his birth has captured your heart. The beauty and the ugliness tug at you. You have touched the earth. The soul of the country has seeped into your bones, wrapping itself tightly around your heart. A part of you belongs to Ethiopia. You would not have been complete if you had not gone there. You would not have known who you are and what you were meant to do. You ache for the land, for the people of his country. You yearn to go back to help, to be helped. You will tell your son what his country means to you. You will help him understand that he is blessed to have come from such a place, such a people. You are blessed because of Ethiopia.




You can not describe the joy you feel because of your son. Your heart leapt out of your body when you saw the face you had only seen in pictures. His face. The feel of his body in your arms was the most beautiful feeling ever. Even as he cried and pushed you away, you knew that this boy was meant to be yours. You saw glimpses of it in his eyes. You waited patiently, knowing that he would understand. You knew that he would feel it to. The moment he first smiled at you, the moment he touched your face, the moment he fell asleep in your arms, the moment he began to trust you. These moments are what you had longed for. These moments made the months of agony, of waiting, disappear. These moments made you a family. You are blessed because of them.



You can not say exactly how you found something that you thought was lost forever. You found faith. You found belief. You felt the faith in the families you were traveling with. You saw the nannies' belief that they were fulfilling a calling by caring for our children. In all that you saw and all that you experienced, you understood and you believed.

The only thing that you can say is that you are not done with the adoption journey. The moment you saw the children in the Durame care center, something that had been gnawing at you for the entire trip became clear. You are meant to do this again. You are meant to love another child. You are meant to go through this experience again.

Reminders

Part of my anxiety over this trip to Ethiopia to bring Lion home is leaving Bunny. She is my first baby. She is my heart. She is the only child that I have held in my arms. Its going to be difficult to leave her. I will miss her.

I think she is experiencing those same feelings. As much as she loves Ama and Baca and loves staying at their house, she will miss us. She is scared of us leaving her for such a long period of time. She is scared of the unknown that a new brother will mean in her world.

So we are both anxious.

For a long time, I have carried a small rock in my pocket. Its a reminder to keep myself centered. Its a reminder of the important things. Its a reminder just to breathe in and out, to just be.

Whenever we go to the beach I look for new rocks, small and smooth. I like these new rocks because they remind me of the day we spent together as a family collecting them. When we took our trip to Door County last month I enlisted Bunny to help me search for new rocks.

"Why do you want rocks, Momma?"

"To remind me, honey."

"Remind you of what, Momma?"

"Of today. Of our family."

We found several perfect rocks. I placed them in a pile on my dresser, waiting for the right moment to use them.

Today was that moment. I selected a smooth, perfect rock. I got out a sharpie and wrote "Mommy" on one side and "Daddy" on the other. I gave that rock to Bunny and told her she could take it with her to Ama and Baca's house. Whenever she started to miss us, she could look at that rock and know that we loved her and were thinking of her.

Then I let her choose a rock for Frink and myself. We wrote her name on our rocks and placed them in our pockets. We told her that we would carry those rocks with us while we were gone to remind us of her.

We may be separated for a few days but these rocks will always remind us that we are a family.

Once Upon A Time

Once Upon A Time, there was a family of three. There was a momma, a daddy and a little girl. The family loved each other very much.

Every year they would take a trip together to celebrate their being a family. The family lived in a state shaped like a hand. They would take their trip to the thumb of the hand and it was good.

Every year they did the same thing. They stayed at the same hotel. They went to the same parade

and they went to the same restaurant where a train brought your food

and it was good.

They also took the same bike ride through the same park


and it was not good. Although the park had many beaches to explore, the little girl would have rather played with her legos in the hotel room or swam in the pool. She voiced her displeasure with the bike ride very vociferously "I'm the little girl", she cried. "You are the parents and you have to do what I say."

The parents tried to tell the little girl that was not the case, but she would not listen. The bike ride was ruined and the parents resolved never to do that again.

However, peace was restored in the land for the hotel had a pool. The little girl loved the pool and all was right with the world.

The little girl also loved animals so the parents took her to a farm. At the farm she was free to interact with all number of creatures. There were goats

and kittens.

And it was good.

The family loved their vacation.

They promised to take another vacation next year with Lion, their newest member. The little girl promised not to feed her brother to the cows and all was good.

Three Years Ago

Three years ago. It seems like it was only yesterday. I can remember the sights, the smells, the sounds of that moment. I can even remember what it felt like to touch you.

Three years ago. It seems like forever. I cannot remember what it was like before. It is as if things have always been this way.

Three years ago, everything changed.

Three years ago, I became the person I was meant to be. The person that nineteen years of education and thirty seven years of living had not prepared me for.

Three years ago, I became a mother.

Three years ago, we became a family.

Three years ago, we traveled half way around the world to meet you.

Three years ago, one journey ended and another one began.

Three years ago, there was you.



Three years ago, there was us.



Three years ago, there was forever.

The Ship of Friends

There are many different kinds of people on this ship. Some are those you just wave and smile at when you see them. There are some you stop and chat with. Still others you call when you want to have coffee or go to the movies. There are those you call when you need a friendly ear or a shoulder to cry on.

And if you are lucky, really lucky, you will find a true friend on this ship. You will find someone who is willing to ignore all of your crazy issues, the fact that you never call or that you forget birthdays. They will embrace you when you are down, laugh when you are happy, and give you a kick in the ass when you need it. They will drag you kicking and screaming to the park for a run because they know you are training for a triathalon, even when they know you'd rather sit and have a beer.

They will throw parties and invite a cute boy, a boy who would later become your husband. You will return the favor by getting married and having her stand up with you, dressed in a purple dress. Okay maybe the dress isn't the good part. Maybe the favor is returned when your cute boy asks his cute friend to be his best man, a cute friend who would later become her friend.

You will return the favor when on one drunken evening you will ask why they haven't kissed. You will demand to know why they are not together when they are so perfect for each other. You will give her a kick in the ass when she needs it.

You will fly to Mexico with your boy to watch her marry her boy. You will be filled with happiness because your best friend married your husband's best friend. You will be forever linked because you had a hand (or a kick) in each other's happiness.

You will adopt a beautiful girl right after she gives birth to a beautiful girl. You cannot believe the luck, two girls so close in age. It was meant to be. Your girls were destined to be friends.

Despite the geographical distance between you, you will remain close. You will fly with your boy and your daughter to visit her and her boy and her daughter (well daughters, you can't be equal in all things). They will let you stay in their apartment, sharing their lives with you. Your boys will play video games. Your daughters will play with dinosaurs (one who loves them, one who cooks them) and read books. You will run and shop and chat.

If you can find this, you will be so lucky.

Grieving and Letting Go

I've come to a realization. It is time for me to come to grips with something I've known in my heart for so long.

We are in the process of bringing another child into our family. It is a child that I want more than anything else in this world. A child I love with all of my heart even though I have never met him.

We began the adoption process last fall and we have not progressed very far. I have been dragging my feet on getting our paperwork done. And I wondered why I wasn't doing what I needed to get done. The faster I moved, the sooner our child would be here. I want this other child. I can see his face when I close my eyes. So why wasn't I moving heaven and earth to get him here? I could chalk it up to laziness and procrastination, I am no stranger to those demons. But that was not the answer.

Then one day it hit me. I wanted to have a biological child. I thought if I didn't get the adoption process rolling, then maybe just maybe I would get pregnant.

It is a dream that I have had for so long. I can't even rememeber the first time I thought about having children, playing mommy as girls often do with a pillow under my shirt. It was a given, I would get pregnant, I would have a baby. Every one does.

But not every one does.

I didn't.

Month after month, year after year, I didn't get pregnant.

So I moved on and made other plans. We built our family through adoption. But I thought about having a baby. People told me that I would get pregnant after we adopted. They told me stories about it happening. I knew people it had happened to. I grabbed at the hope that those stories offered and held on tight. It happens. It can happen to you.

But it didn't happen.

Month after month, year after year, it didn't happen.

And maybe it never would.

Never.

In my mind I knew it.

But my heart still held on to this dream. And in order to move forward, I had to release the dream that I had held in my heart for so long. I thought my heart would break into a million tiny pieces when I finally said those words. But I had to do it, I had to open my mouth and say out loud to the world:

I am never going to get pregnant. I am never going to carry a baby inside of me for nine months. I am never going to give birth to a child. I am never going to feel the joy and the pain that experience can bring.

As I said those words, I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. My heart hurt but it had not broken. I was still here. The earth was still spinning. The sun was still shining. My daughter, my beloved daughter, was still laughing and playing.

And now I can move on.

The child I see when I close my eyes does not look like me, nor does he look like my husband. He has cocoa brown skin and dark eyes. The son that I want, the son that I love is the one we are planning on adopting.

Not flesh of my flesh, Nor bone of my bone,
But still miraculously my own.
Never forget for a single minute,
You didn't grow under my heart - but in it
--- Fleur Conkling Heylinger

It Goes To Eleven

Eleven years.

Its hard to believe that time can go by so quickly. It seems like only yesterday.

Eleven years ago I was so nervous. I stood before a crowd of our friends and family with you. I listened as my father and your mother performed the ceremony. I promised to love you, to cherish you, to be with you forever. You and I became Us.

These eleven years we have shared together have been easy and difficult. They have been happy and sad. We have had our ups and downs, our disappointments and our joys.

But most of all these eleven years have been wonderful because I have been able to walk through this world with you by my side. So thank you for being you, for loving me, for chosing me. I love you.

I Love You More Than Dinosaurs

Happy Valentines Day!

Three

Wow. Three is huge. You are not a little baby anymore. You are no longer a toddler. You are a little kid.

You are learning new things every day. You can spell (and write) your name. You can count up to 20. You love the letter game and know what letters start a lot of words. You rhyme everything. When I ask what you want to learn in school, your list is so long. You want to know everything, right now. Pretty soon you will be smarter than me.




You love to laugh. You love to make up silly dino games. You make up the most wonderful stories. You love to sing and dance. Right now your favorite songs are the Bushel and a Peck song and You Are My Sunshine. But I've also caught you singing along to the Beatles and that makes me happy.

You are growing up. You are now tall enough to ride the dino ride at the fair all by yourself. But I love that you still want your mommy around. Your beloved dinos have fallen out of favor lately, replaced by horses and puffy glitter stickers. Crayons have been replaced by markers as the preferred method of artistic expression.

Today you are three, my dear Bunny. You fill our lives with such joy and love it is hard to believe what our world was like without you in it. I wish that your days are filled with laughter, sunshine, love, silly dino games, glitter stickers and whatever your heart desires.

But today my thoughts also go to a family half a world away. Even though I don't know you, I want you to know that the little girl you brought into this world, who has entered our family and our hearts, is happy and healthy. Thank you. I will never let her forget you.

Slow

Everything is a whirlwind of activity this time of year. Rush to decorate the house, to buy the presents. Run off to this activity or that commitment.

Time is flying by at such an alarming rate. The holidays are almost here but it seems like only yesterday my leopard dino cat and I were trick or treating. How did that happen?

She is moving so fast too. Growing like a weed, advancing by leaps and bounds. She wants to learn everything now. She wants to master every new skill. She wants to grow up, fast. She knows she will be three in January. She is not sure what that means, only that it means she is getting bigger. And getting bigger means she can do more.

One moment she will be sitting on the floor reading a book, the next she is up and moving like a blur. She is spinning, running, jumping, dancing. Doing everything and anything she can.

All of this movement is scaring me. I don't want to move fast. I prefer to take it slow. I want to curl up on the couch with a blanket and hot cocoa, turning in on myself. I want to pull her in my lap. To hold on to her, to who she is now for just a little while longer.

I want to dive into the pool that is the present time, swiming in and soaking up the beauty of the now until my fingers get all pruny. I want to live in this moment. I want to be present in this time and this time only.

So I move slowly, deliberately. I reach out grasping at this moment and that flash holding them to my breast. I inhale deeply trying to memorize the smells. I scan the world around me, taking millions of mental pictures to capture the now.

The future does not matter. What is around the bend will come in its own time.

Broken Hearts and Bee Stings

Let's just get this out there, I do not like bugs. Insects, arachnids and their bretheren just creep me the hell out.

I can admire them for the engineering marvels that they are. I mean how the heck do those bumble bees fly and the spiders spin those amazing webs? But that is the extent of my good feelings towards the creepy crawling, hopping and flying little buggers goes.

But yesterday my feelings towards bugs took an interesting turn.

Bunny is in love with Miss Spider's Tea Party by David Kirk. She requests the book all the time and even "reads" it in bed. Needless to say she was over the moon when we discovered the Miss Spider show on Noggin. As far as she is concerned this show should be on a constant loop at our house.

I like the show too. Good animation and the cute little bugs teach good stories about how to treat others. As far as I am concerned these cartoon bugs are the only bugs I like.

Until yesterday. Yesterday I was cursing David Kirk and whoever green lit the cartoon. They caused me to break my daughter's heart.

Bunny was over tired at naptime. She did not want to sleep, all she wanted to do was watch Miss Spider. And I wouldn't let her until after she took a nap. But she wouldn't sleep. All I heard were repeated requests to watch Miss Spider over the monitor.

After listening to this for over almost an hour an a half, it was clear there would be no nap. So, begrudginly, I retreived her from her room. Bunny thought this meant she could watch Miss Spider. But I did not want to give in so I put my foot down and said no.

This caused a major over tired breakdown. Bunny started sobbing with tears streaming down her face. "Please momma. Please watch Miss Spider momma. I said please momma." Her heart was breaking and so was mine. She asked so politely, it was all she wanted. But I was mean and would not give in.

I know this was the best thing for her but her tired little brain could not wrap itself around this. All she knew was that her mother was denying her the only thing in the world she wanted. I felt terrible.

But her heartbreak was short lived, mine was not. She was diverted by grapes and juice and the promise of the pool. As I watched her splashing in the pool and running through the sprinkler I thought about how I'd let her down. I thought about the many times I would let her down in the future and my heart broke some more.

It was about that time when I saw a wasp buzzing around the backyard. I started freaking out. Of all the bugs, I hate the stinging kind the most. I had these terrible visions of Bunny being stung, of having to take her to the emergency room, of, well, even more horrible things than that.

I knew I couldn't let her get hurt but I didn't want to drag her away from the pool and disappoint her once again. So I kept an eye on the wasp. I even positioned myself between her and the wasp, thinking he wouldn't come near the water. Right? Wrong. Apparently he was thirsty and thought the puddles near the pool were a nifty place to hang out. Yikes.

So I, in my bug fearing brain, knew I needed to get her out of there. I knew she'd see the wasp and want to go in for a better look. I was afraid her movements would spook the wasp and . . . well not good. So I wrapped her in a towel and took her in the house.

After a few squawks of protest, she was happily watching Miss Spider in the living room. Her heart was content. And mine was healed by a icky stingy wasp who reminded me what was important.

10 Years Later

Today I won't have my usual Friday Finds. We are leaving on vacation for the long weekend and I am up to my eyeballs in preparations. Because of our vacation, there will be no posts until Tuesday (but I am sure there will be tons of stuff to write about when we get back).

What I really want to write about today, is my wonderful Bubs in honor of our 10th wedding anniversary tomorrow. So here goes

Dear Bubs,

Thank you for 10 wonderful years. When I look back on our wedding pictures, I see two people who are so young, are very much in love and are filled with hope. Now 10 years later we are a bit older and wiser, our days are filled with joy and hope and I am more in love with you now than ever.

I realize that I am the lucky one here. You are so supportive of me. You believe so strongly in me that you have given me the gift of being able to stay home with Bunny. You have stood by me in the hard times, letting me lean on you for strength. You always want to make me happy.

You are a wonderful father whom Bunny adores. I love that you have your Daddy and Bunny Saturdays, it gives me an opportunity to recharge my batteries and gives you precious time with her.

You know that the answer to the question "Where do you want to go to dinner?" is always La Fuente. You make the best salad dressing and pancakes and are an omlet maker extrodinare. You do the dishes after I cook dinner.

While you do have your faults - like playing in 10 million different fantasy sports leagues (fantasy golf? really?), you don't like bloody marys, ketchup, peanut butter or sauces of any kind. These faults are really minor and kind of funny.

No, what I remember and cherish most during these 10 years is the love that we share.

Thank you for 10 wonderful years. I look forward to the next 50.

On Mother's Day, A Love Poem to My Daughter

Mommy, Momma, Mom. Those words fill my heart with joy because I am your mother.

I was your mother during those long and often lonely days when we were trying to conceive. During every negative pregnancy test, I was your mother.

I was your mother when we began the adoption process. During the long waiting period, I was your mother.

I was your mother when you were born a half a world away. During the first nine months of your life, even though I was not there, I was your mother.

I was your mother when I finally saw your face staring back at me in your referral picture. During the long flight to meet you, I was your mother.

I was your mother when they placed you in my arms for the first time. During those weeks in strange hotel rooms when we went from strangers to family, I was your mother.

I was your mother when we brought you home for the first time. During all those months since, I have been your mother.

When you smile, my heart smiles. When you cry, my heart cries. When you laugh, my heart laughs. When you love, my heart loves.

I am your mother. I have always been your mother. I will always be your mother.