our knitting project

I’m always pleasantly surprised by the ways our family is knitted together. It reminds me of knitting actually. Not that I’ve ever really knitted anything so I guess it’s more like it reminds of what I think knitting would be like. I imagine that we started out thinking we were going to make a sock, and then we kept adding to it and pretty soon it became a scarf and then we added some more in different colors and it started to look like a sweater and the we add more in more colors and it might end up being some kind of poncho thing with a hood right now.

I say that because our old nanny was just in town visiting from her new home and life in California. She loves these kids like a favorite aunt: phone calls and gifts on birthdays and holidays, pictures from her new life as a college graduate. We chat over dinner about Sloane’s potty training, Tagg’s new addiction to Star Wars, her boyfriend’s crazier-than-ever mother, her search for a new house. She always feels like family to me and I hope that no matter what happens in the future, she feels that way too. 

We were blessed to find her at a time when I was really struggling with the fiscal requirements that drove me back to work when I wanted nothing more than to be home with my children. Leaving them in a stranger’s hands was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But she was perfect from the first meeting – she was the only candidate who insisted on meeting at a Starbucks because she was concerned about safety, not paranoid just cautious. I was sold! - and she just got better from there.

I was often jealous that she was leading the life I had dreamed of and planned on – play dates and swimming lessons and craft projects - while I was living meetings and deadlines and office politics. But you do what you have to do to get by, and now I realize that maybe she was brought to us because she was meant to be part of our random, ever-expanding, knitted-together-by-love little family. 

I also think she helped me figure out something that I think most working moms know, or learn: you get as much joy out of the time you have together as you can. You might even appreciate that precious time more because you actually know what you're missing. 

I do have to say that since Nessa left, I have a newfound appreciation for her ability to have EVERYTHING in perfect order when I got home at night. When Scott gets home on Saturdays, it's like Toys R Us exploded in our house and our dishwasher and washing machine are broken. Hey, we all have our strengths. Cleaning may not be one of mine, but I can craft and soccer-mom my ass off!

So who knows where it will end up, this knitted-together family of ours. What shape, size and combination of colors it will end up. The one thing we do know is that no matter what, it keeps us all warm and snuggly.

soccer mom

 Tagg's first soccer game was Saturday. I am officially a soccer mom. His team is called the Ladybugs. I don't know why. It's a mix of boys and girls under 4. After one practice and one game, I am already learning a lot.

One, just be happy if your kid runs around on the field for some or all of the game, poses for at least one cute picture, does not hit, kick or push any other kids, and does not yell a swear word - especially not the really bad one.

Two, you need some stuff. A lot of stuff. Just when I thought I was done with diaper bag nonsense, I now have camping chairs, a first aid kit, snacks, a blanket, sweatshirts (for me and both kids), drinks, spare clothes including a long sleeve shirt, a port-o-potty for Sloane because there are no bathrooms, and an extra ball for Sloane to play with — all in my car. I suspect that summer soccer may also involve a sunshade of some sort, maybe some spray bottles. And I need to make sure the iPad is in the bag and charged up just in case #4 (see below) doesn't happen.

Three, Saturdays are no longer my day. Or even "our" day. We have to get up early for 8am soccer games, or juggle our usual Saturday plans around 11am or noon games. I'm actually pretty happy about that. How we're going to handle it when Sloane gets in on the soccer/dance action, I have no idea. But I'm pretty sure there are not going to be any Saturday pedicures in my near future.

Four, enlisting a cheering section (aka, aunts, uncles, grandparents) is critical. Otherwise, you will not be in any photos with your little superstar. Your non-playing child will be a screaming mess or trying to run into the parking lot or onto the field while you're trying to get your little soccer star to get up off the ground (the team has decided it's "nap time" so they are all laying down at mid-field while the opposite team is scoring goal. Plus, there may not be anything better than having a huge cheering section when your son gets his first goal in a soccer game. Even better when he proceeds to get three more goals for the other team. And then lays down in the middle of the field because he's tired. And it's nap time.

Five, this is what it's all about. I have never been more proud that Tagg was the first and only kid on his team to score a goal. That he's really good at dribbling, even if it's not always toward the right goal. That his super-giant soccer shorts stayed up. That he scores the most, if not the only goals for his team. That he now loves his shin guards that make him look like a Transformer so much he won't keep his socks tucked over them. That he almost always listens to Coach and tries really hard to play. Watching him clap his hands with excitement about getting to practice kicking a goal. The big hug when the game is over. That's everything it was cracked up to be and more.

 I'm a soccer mom. I think I scored!

PS...you will notice that I am not in one single picture with my little soccer star. Please refer to tip #4. Must have paparazzi.

happy birthday, nana

Nana with the grandkids and her fabulous birthday cake.

Leave it to my mom. She's 60-uh-something and for her birthday, no spa days or fancy dinners or expensive jewelry. Nope. Let's go camping! And, just because we're all busy, she'll even get all the food for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You gotta love her!

Marc and Papa working the grill

The guys barbecued some wonderful chicken, but seriously, how much do you think we eat?!

We got this Pili-Pili hot sauce at a full-on, hippie, green festival
they were having at the lake campground. This stuff is HOT.
Like burn-your-face-off hot. But delicious, and award winning.

Do not ask me about the bangs. It wasn't me.

My little princess. She digs in the dirt. Runs down the rocky dirt trails. Climbs up the slide and hangs with the boys at the playground. But she'll pick up a broom and start cleaning up the campsite, too. Because, you know, she can find all kinds of gross and dirty stuff to put in her pockets - or her mouth - by sweeping.

Tagg found this stick in the water and immediately dubbed it his "Jedi walking stick."
I didn't get it until he said it was like Yoda's. Duh.

You get a little spoiled by Lake Powell boating and camping. The beaches at Jordanelle - where the water is down a ton! - were insanely rocky and muddy and kind of gross. And the water was 10 or 15 degrees colder. Still super fun, but not...Powell. Needless to say, we did not spend a whole lot of time in the lake.

Besides cooking, cleaning, boating, playing, beaching and running around, we also managed to do a cool art project where we painted a bunch of sea shells, and some frames. We ran out of time to glue them to the frame but the shells alone were just cool. Note to self: the best paint for the sea shells is not washable. So when your kid wipes his hands on the baby's special blanket...not so good!

Me and my mom "camping" back in the day. No wonder I love getting all back to nature with my family.

I have to say that I love this trip with my family, and I'm so grateful to celebrate another birthday with my mom. We played cards, games we haven't played in years. Papa made Yoda and Dora shaped pancakes for the kids. We went to the beach, the playground, the hippie festival and introduced my parents to the Chow Truck, Best of all, we got to celebrate my amazing mother. The woman who made us crafty, taught us to love cooking, musicals, reading and basketball, and loves all of us - her grandkids most of all - with a heart so big and forgiving and patient and sweet and strong.

We love you and happy birthday, mom!

the good stuff

I have a friend who is in her early 60s. She's a brilliant, interesting woman and I gather she may have been a bit of a wild flower child back in the day. I also happen to know that she placed a child for adoption when she was a teenager. She shared this very personal story with me when she found out we were adopting our daughter and as much as I appreciated it then, I really treasure it now. Why? 

Sometimes it's hard being so open with your birth parents. There's a lot of anxiety, paranoia and fear that comes along as part of the package. Some of it's justified, most is completely fabricated from dark, icky places in your head and weird stuff people say to you. There are days when you don't want to share the title of "mom," or when you vividly see a day in the future when your dramatic teenager will crush you in the heat of a stupid argument about curfew by saying they want to go live with their "real" parents, or when you tell someone you had lunch with your baby mama and they look at you like you said you sent your baby to the zoo with a kidnapper, or a Catholic priest. There are days when you wonder if you've shared too much, or not enough. And, the worst of all, what if they try to get your baby back. Sure, not realistic, but in crazy-brain town you still worry about it. And bear in mind, our birth families are AMAZING people. Like unbelievably cool, normal, awesome people. And I still play out these internal soap opera moments in my head more often than I care to admit. 

So that's where my friend and her story serve as a beacon of light. AKA, a virtual bitch-slap to the face. I see my relationship with my birth parents fast-forwarded 40 years. I see our relationship from their point of view, with a veneer of wisdom and life experience to boot. I hear her talk about how much she struggled with her adoption decision back then. A decision that didn't feel like a choice based on the circumstances and pressures at the time. A choice that opened up a future full of adventure, love and success. But I can tell she still has traces of regret. I see how much she loves the child she gave up all those years ago, and how much she cherishes the precious little time she is able to spend with him and her grandchildren now. She calls him "my son" and speaks about him with an ease so natural that most people never know that of her two sons, she raised one and watched one grow up from afar. My heart aches to hear how hurt she is by his adopted mother's territorial nature which keeps her so very distant and removed from her son and his family. I "ooh" and "ahh" over the family photos she proudly shares and the stories of her grandkids' triumphs in school and sports. All proof that a mother's love doesn't require a formal title, or a typical family tree, or daily conversations. It just is. And when someone asks her how many kids she has, she doesn't hesitate when she answers, "I have two children." 

Seeing that love and conviction, and the joy and pride she has as a mom, reminds me why it's important to invest in this relationship with love, trust, hope and, maybe most importantly, with open hearts and open minds. Because the more you open up, the more room there is for the good stuff. And it's really all about the good stuff.

graduation day

It was graduation season a couple of months ago (where does the time go?!) and our mailbox was full of white and cream envelopes. A lot of our friends, who got started with their families well before we did, have kids graduating from high school and they proudly send announcements with photos of their smiling kids in caps and gowns.

Among them was an announcement for Tagg’s baby mama’s high school graduation. Amazing. He’s almost 4 years old and she is just graduating from high school. How crazy is that? 

I keep in touch with Juno’s mom and Juno and I are friends on Facebook (weird, right?) so I know that she’s graduating with honors, was the star of her high school basketball and volleyball teams, that she’s going to college to study medicine, and that she’s been to lots of dances and football games and that she's gorgeous, popular and seems really happy. Basically, she's having the perfect high school experience. I’m really proud of her. In what I hope is a non-condescending kind of way. 

That graduation announcement was comforting to me. Like we all did the right thing and it's working out perfectly. I hope she felt the same way. And that Tagg will, too, someday.

Now the big question…what do you get your baby mama for a graduation present?!

hey baby

I have always wondered what it feels like to be pregnant. To give birth. Once I knew I wouldn't ever have children or experience any of it first-hand, I wondered if I seriously missed out on something, if I should have these pangs of remorse and deprivation by not being able to deliver (pun intended) the one event that makes you a "real woman," or if I should be a little wistful that I missed the pregnancy/birth experience, or if I'm really and truly fulfilled with the birth experience I had as an adoptive parent. I think I found some answers today...

My little brother's wife had her second baby today and I got to be there for the birth of my new, incredibly handsome nephew. She is such a gracious, loving and thoughtful woman that she had invited me for her daughter's birth two years ago because she thought it might be important to me to have that experience. Of course, I was sick. Sick as a dog. Like damn near pneumonia sick. So I missed it. Today I got my do-over.

I made it to the hospital just in time. Like, seriously, one more wrong turn or a pee break and I might have missed it. Saw a little bloody show. Saw the pushing (way less dramatic than on TV but, then again, Becks is a rock star). Saw the baby come out (which reminded me a little of Total Recall...sorry Becky and baby boy, just being real). Managed not to get any inappropriate pictures or video of the vah-jay-jay, per strict instructions. Saw the little guy take his first breath, belt out his first cry, open his eyes the first time, calm at the feel of his mother's breast and heart beat, slap the nurse's hand away. Fell in love. 100% and then some. And ended up in tears.

After some reflection, I think I'm good. I don't feel like I've "missed out" by not being pregnant. Or by not actually giving birth. I have loved my children wholeheartedly from minute one. Second one. Nobody sat on my bladder, gave me heartburn, kicked me in the middle of the night, or made me puke for 9 months, but the second we heard "we want you," we became parents. With less hormones. That is undeniable. The pain points were different. Wondering if you'd walk away with baby, how the relationships would work, that kind of thing. So my takeaways from seeing a baby born are, perhaps, life-changing. Or at least attitude-changing.

• I kind of wish that I had been there in the room when they were born even though the reasons we weren't are completely fine. But there's a little magical bond that got delayed for us, and I would have loved to see the joy and love on their birth family's faces at that moment. Although, maybe that would have been harder. I already ache for them every day. Would those pictures turn a sweet twinge into full-on pain? Or would I continue to adore the fact that pictures we have of our children's birthdays have their birth families and us hugging, smiling, loving? I think that's pretty amazing.
• I kind of wish that our family had been able to join us, in the hospital, to celebrate these children and welcome them to our family like most children are. Kind of like that last scene in Parenthood (always makes me cry because that is SO my family!). Where you have almost too many family members there to welcome them and to love them and to embrace them into your life
• I wish all hospitals knew how to deal with adoptions. They can either make you feel like parents from day one, or awkward intruders.  
• Whoa! When you see that stuff on TV about bowling balls through a straw and "how are you doing that?!?!?!"...all true. Women are pretty fucking amazing. 

When you're in an adoption situation, no matter how secure you are, you are on an island. We spent 3 days in the hospital both times, trying to figure out our role. Balancing hopes of supreme joy with fears of excruciating devastation. Alone. Without our moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, friends and confidants. Loving this baby - our baby - 100 and a gazillion bazillion percent, wanting to share this child with the ones we love...and yet knowing, fearing that there's a good chance something will blow up, minds will be changed, and you will come home with nothing but broken dreams and broken hearts and no baby. Those days in the hospital might be the most joyous, petrifying, insecure, blessed, paranoid days I've ever had in my life. And we did it twice. And no matter what the "norm" is or what I know now or what I "kind of" wish, our babies and the experiences we had are still the most perfect and wonderful moments in my life.

Now that I've seen the birth process, I think the only thing I might truly regret - or maybe the right word is "covet" - from today is a feeling. Security. Knowing for sure, 100 and a gazillion bazillion percent that this child is yours, from the moment he or she takes their first breath, to the first time grandma or favorite aunt or best friend gets to hold the little nugget, to the moment you strap them in their car seat and drive home at 5MPH. All of the other stuff...the love, the connection, the family, the memories. That has never been a question or an issue.

So, hey new baby. Welcome to the family! You are in good company! And thanks for the lesson. I owe you one.

mothers' day

My friends had sweet, all-smiley pix with their kids for Mothers Day.
This is our best take...Tagg wishing he was throwing rocks in the pond,
and Sloane going for my bracelet. At least my eyes are open.
Welcome to my mom life! I L-O-V-E it.

Mother's Day, for me, is an incredibly special day. There were days, years even, where I never thought I would be somebody's mom. I love my mother so much, and my mother-in-law and my aunts and so many of my friends are amazing, incredible and inspirational moms that I feel honored to be in "the club." Scott and I had a little romantic escape at Snowbird that included a lovely dinner, a hot tub with mountain views, and much-needed massages in the morning, and then we spent a fun-filled day with the kids. Perfect Mothers' Day in my opinion.

And then I got this text from Juno: Happy Mother's Day! I hope it is a great one :) love you all so much!

AND this Facebook message from Bella: I hope your Mother's Day is wonderful [: You deserve it! I think I could have interviewed every mom in the world, and still never found one that came close to you!

I cried a little. Happy tears. They made me feel...like a Mother. I'm not sure how to describe this exactly, because I feel like a mother every day when I'm with Tagg and Sloane. But I think somehow when you're an adoptive parent, especially one with such an open relationship with your birth parents, you feel like you share these children in a way. At least that's how it is for me.

Sure, you're their mom. You do all the hard stuff - diapers and discipline, patience and potty training, late nights and last-minutes, college savings accounts and clean up. But you get all the good stuff too - the hugs, the night-night kisses, the "firsts," the giggles, the random and hilarious comments and dances, and all those moments that make parenthood so delicious. But for me, I share these children with their birth moms. I'm aware, always, that I made a pact with them and our babies to be not just a "whatever" mom, but a great mom. And that's not always an easy promise to live up to.

So knowing that I not only get the joy of this handsome, clever, hilarious boy and this adventurous, lovely, whip-smart girl, not to mention the entire "mom" experience...and that they support me in the journey? That they appreciate me and respect our relationship enough to send those messages? Next to my children, that is THE best Mothers' Day gift I could ever hope for. And every success that these girls have in their lives is just a special bow on top. A bow that makes me proud and warm inside. I hope to get the same gift every year. It will just get richer and more special as time goes on.

I still never know exactly how to respect their place in this relationship. Hallmark doesn't make "birth mom" Mothers Day cards. And it seems like it could be offensive or hurtful, or something not right, to send them a card or an email acknowledging that it's their day too in a weird, unconventional way. No matter what, I hope they know that every moment of every Mothers Day and most days, we have them in our hearts and minds. Because without their mother's love, I would not be celebrating this very special day.

*There's an Open Adoption Round Table blog about Mothers Day...lots of great conversations that we are now part of...

how does it feel?

The Open Adoption Roundtable posted a discussion topic today...how do you feel after a visit? A little like you've been through an emotional sausage grinder, I think but hey! sausage is pretty yummy when it's done. Let me see if I can capture some of the feelings that ricochet around your heart and head and family after a visit.

Full of Love. We always say that you can't ever have too many people to love you. We are extremely lucky to have these amazing people who started as strangers and became part of our family. Our love for them is genuine, and so is their love for us. It's amazing how much love is out there when you open your heart to it. We chat about life and the weather and marvel over how amazing our kids are, like we would with aunts and cousins who live out of state. Thoughtful little gifts show how much they care for our whole family whether it's a special book that Bella knows Tagg would love, or a cute outfit that I know Juno picked out specially for Sloane. Sometimes my heart practically hurts and my eyes well up with tears, I'm so overflowing with love.

Blessed. How on earth did we get so lucky to have these amazing, perfect, beautiful children?! These people. That's how. These selfless young women and men, and their families, who gave us a gift for which there will never be enough thanks. We are blessed that they chose us, blessed with these amazing babies, and blessed that they are now part of our life and are willing to figure it all out and make mistakes and enjoy the wonderful...together.

Insanely lucky. We'll probably never win the Lotto. We must have used up a lifetime of good luck getting these adorable kids. But to get the extended family too? They are all, all of them, so special and wonderful and loving and normal (let's face it, that's a big one!). They are beautiful and smart and funny and fun. And they could have done this. But they made an incredibly hard decision and took a huge gamble on us. And I guess we gambled too. Open adoption takes a lot of trust, and a lot of openness. We've been lucky that everyone in this crazy relationship respects the relationship, and puts the kids first.

A little sad. Like I said, they could have done this. And I know that after every time we talk or meet for a picnic in the park, they have to leave their kids, and deal with the separation again. They have to file away those fleeting moments - a hug, a facial expression that reminds them of themselves as a child, the chime of a giggle that sounds familiar. Trying, in a few minutes or hours, to absorb all the change that weeks or months of growing up has affected on the baby they placed so lovingly in our arms. Hoping that they didn't say or do anything awkward, that they didn't push too much, hug too tightly. And wondering how long it will be till they can do it again. It makes me feel a little sad.

Relief. I think before every meeting, you work up in your head a list of all the worst things that could happen. From a bad hair day or an awkward conversation to a full-on meltdown or...who knows, random kidnapping attempt. Seriously, your head can get a little crazy. And when it all goes well, and you've added another brick to the foundation of trust you're building together, it feels good. And right. And you're relieved.

Wonder. How on earth are we doing this? How are we making it work? There's no book. No instruction manual. There are hardly even any good conversations online to help guide you (except this one of course). We're just winging it. And what's next? What happens when the kids are old enough to understand who Bella and Jacob and Juno and Paulie are, and how they fit in our family? How are we going to explain adoption to them? How do we make sure they know how much they're loved by all of us? What if, in their teen angst years, they don't want this relationship anymore and how do we help them and the birth parents deal with that? What if their birth parents "move on" and don't stay in touch, or what if some do and some don't? And when they have children that they parent, how does that relationship work? We know it's going to get easier in some ways, and harder in lots of others. I suppose we're going to keep walking ahead blindly, guided by nothing more than love and faith.

the principal's office

Tagg has been in pre-school for about 6 months and we already had our first visit to the principal's office. Well they don't really have a principal at our pre-school but the experience is the same. Here's how it went down...

I pick Tagg up from school and ask how his day was. "Good!" he pipes up from the car seat.

"What did you do today?"

"We were hitting and kicking and punching Bobby," he boasts, in his sweet little chirpy voice.

"You did WHAT?!?!"

And he kindly repeated it for me. Thank goodness he doesn't get the concept of lying yet. I immediately picked up the phone and called the school and sure enough, they thought we should come in for a "talk." Apparently there are four boys in his class who are having some kind of Lord of the Flies moment where they take turns beating the snot out of each other and playing king of the class. One, the little kid, has resorted to biting, which has his parents completely freaked out and desperate. And here's my little hellion, in desperate need of...something. On the flip side, I was strangely happy that it wasn't just him beating up other kids. I mean, at least he's not a bully. Yet.

So how do we change the direction? Well, first of all, we think he's bored and is acting out to get attention. In about a year and a half, he went from being the only child, and then one of two kids with someone dedicated to his every need, thought or question, to one of a dozen little people all trying to figure out their place in the world. And he's really wicked smart. When the class is learning that "red means stop," he knows that a stop sign is a hexagon and stop is spelled s-t-o-p. So we put him in some special programs at school that give him a little more challenge and personal attention. But what else?

Stickers. Yep. Stickers is what we came up with. (Bear in mind, I am beginning to loathe stickers. They are everywhere, on everything. Like mold or fleas. But they work.) We call it the "nice project" and he gets rewarded with a sticker every time he does something kind. The end game reward is Star Wars Legos (yes, I understand that these are the same devil as stickers, but worse because you step on them and they clog up the vacuum and they're just generally awful). I have never seen a kid more motivated to get stickers, and Star Wars, and legos.

No matter what, hopefully, the exercise is teaching him the value of being sweet, listening and helping. Fingers crossed.

love notes

I am not a huge fan of Valentines Day. Very un-girlie, I know. It just seems so manufactured and forced. Not that I wouldn't love some flowers or a little romantic dinner somewhere, don't get me wrong. I would just rather get a bouquet of tulips on a random Tuesday in May or have a lovely dinner out for no particular reason without seven billion other people celebrating romance because they're supposed to. Bah humbug!

The one thing I do love about Valentines Day is thinking about love. Being reminded how much love there is in my home, in my life, in the world. Loving love.

I was reminded of the love fest today when I opened the mailbox and there was a red envelope addressed to our family, postmark West Virginia. It was a Valentines card sending hugs and smiles...and love our way. From one family to another. To me, the best thing about open adoption is being able to share that love and caring. Across the miles and the months. I know that someday my children will have this tender history of the love that brought them to us and keeps us close to their birth families' hearts.

As usual, I am running a few days behind in getting my cards out. Doesn't seem to matter how early I start, I always end up late somehow. But I love the handmade cards we made for the kids' birth families. Their watercolor art is unique, special and beautiful with the drips and streaks —Tagg's are intense and bold and organized; Sloane's are arbitrary, free, delicate. I love them so much it's hard for me to be unselfish and send them off. A poignant reminder of the special gift that we were given. Maybe that's why I waited till the last minute to post them. So off these little masterpieces of love go, families joined by little hands and little hearts.

Maybe I am a fan of Valentines Day after all.