Owen, No. 58.
Jesus, No. 79.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
More popular than Jesus?
The Social Security Administration just released its 2008 list of most popular baby names.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
You know you're an adoptive parent when...
I've seen this on various adoption blogs...definitely can relate!
You Know You're An Adoptive Parent When . . .
1. The fact that there are 143 million children without a parent to kiss them goodnight has made you lose sleep.
2. You realize DNA has nothing to do with love and family.
3. You can't watch Adoption Stories on TLC without sobbing.
4. The fact that, if 7% of Christians adopted 1 child there would be no orphans in the world, is convicting to you.
5. You spend free time surfing blogs about families who have experienced the blessing of adoption.
6. It drives you crazy when people ask you about adopted child's 'real' parents.
7. You have ever been 'pregnant' with your adoptive child longer than it takes an elephant to give birth (2 years!).
8. You had no idea how you would afford to adopt but stepped out in faith anyway, knowing where God calls you He will provide.
9. You have ever taken an airplane ride half-way around the world with a child you just met.
10. You believe God's heart is for adoption.
11. You realize that welcoming a child into your heart and family is one of the most important legacies you could ever leave on this earth.
12. You know what the word 'Dossier' means, and you can actually pronounce it!
13. You have welcomed a social worker into the most private parts of your life.
14. You shudder when people say your child is so lucky that you adopted them, knowing full well you are the blessed one to have him or her in your life.
You Know You're An Adoptive Parent When . . .
1. The fact that there are 143 million children without a parent to kiss them goodnight has made you lose sleep.
2. You realize DNA has nothing to do with love and family.
3. You can't watch Adoption Stories on TLC without sobbing.
4. The fact that, if 7% of Christians adopted 1 child there would be no orphans in the world, is convicting to you.
5. You spend free time surfing blogs about families who have experienced the blessing of adoption.
6. It drives you crazy when people ask you about adopted child's 'real' parents.
7. You have ever been 'pregnant' with your adoptive child longer than it takes an elephant to give birth (2 years!).
8. You had no idea how you would afford to adopt but stepped out in faith anyway, knowing where God calls you He will provide.
9. You have ever taken an airplane ride half-way around the world with a child you just met.
10. You believe God's heart is for adoption.
11. You realize that welcoming a child into your heart and family is one of the most important legacies you could ever leave on this earth.
12. You know what the word 'Dossier' means, and you can actually pronounce it!
13. You have welcomed a social worker into the most private parts of your life.
14. You shudder when people say your child is so lucky that you adopted them, knowing full well you are the blessed one to have him or her in your life.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Bunnymen
Happy Easter!
Owen and Kyle suffer through the obligatory picture-taking while thinking, "We better be getting some good candy for this humiliation!"
Thunder 'n lightning
We had our first spring thunderstorm this evening, right at bedtime, and Owen was scared. I had to hold him and sit in the rocking chair until he fell asleep. (Yeah, tough job).
The thing is, I love thunderstorms. Or maybe I should say I find them fascinating. I surely haven't loved a flooded basement, or the time lightning struck my pear tree and took part of it down and I had to borrow a chainsaw, or even this evening's, when I only had the storm but most of my family 50 miles south was under a tornado watch...but I digress. It's just that I could sit at the window and watch the weather for the duration of a good storm.
I thought Owen might share my enthusiasm -- "Look Owen! Lightning!" Wrong. Instead, he cried and demanded "Up! Up!" out of bed, and hold me, Mommy, because I do not like this!
The thing is, I love thunderstorms. Or maybe I should say I find them fascinating. I surely haven't loved a flooded basement, or the time lightning struck my pear tree and took part of it down and I had to borrow a chainsaw, or even this evening's, when I only had the storm but most of my family 50 miles south was under a tornado watch...but I digress. It's just that I could sit at the window and watch the weather for the duration of a good storm.
I thought Owen might share my enthusiasm -- "Look Owen! Lightning!" Wrong. Instead, he cried and demanded "Up! Up!" out of bed, and hold me, Mommy, because I do not like this!
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Madonna, Malawi and adoption madness - Los Angeles Times
Madonna, Malawi and adoption madness - Los Angeles Times
Another great article. Here's an excerpt:
The concerns about Madonna's latest adoption request seem to focus on such superficial aspects as what she was wearing when she toured the orphanage, her wealth, her race and her celebrity. What difference could these things make when weighed against the reality of the life the little girl she sought to adopt might face if left in the orphanage?
The questions that should be asked -- "Does a viable alternative to the orphanage exist for this little girl in Malawi, and does it exist now? Is there someone there who is willing and able to give her the love and care that is needed by all children?" -- are subsumed by ridiculous snarking about clothes and statements about what Madonna "should" do instead of adopting this child.
Meanwhile, a flesh-and-blood child waits for someone to come to his or her senses and consider her legitimate and immediate needs.
Posted using ShareThis
Another great article. Here's an excerpt:
The concerns about Madonna's latest adoption request seem to focus on such superficial aspects as what she was wearing when she toured the orphanage, her wealth, her race and her celebrity. What difference could these things make when weighed against the reality of the life the little girl she sought to adopt might face if left in the orphanage?
The questions that should be asked -- "Does a viable alternative to the orphanage exist for this little girl in Malawi, and does it exist now? Is there someone there who is willing and able to give her the love and care that is needed by all children?" -- are subsumed by ridiculous snarking about clothes and statements about what Madonna "should" do instead of adopting this child.
Meanwhile, a flesh-and-blood child waits for someone to come to his or her senses and consider her legitimate and immediate needs.
Posted using ShareThis
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Well said.
My adoption agency director posted this on Facebook today:
International Adoption Editorial
Barbara Adde
February 19, 2009
I entered the world of parenthood much later than most.
At the age of 42, in a stark, unfamiliar orphanage in a small, poor town, not even a dot on the huge mass of land on a map of Russia, I had the great joy of handing a dark-eyed infant girl I had just met to my husband and introduced our daughter.
By the time she came home with us 3 months later, she had gone from stranger to dearly beloved daughter. By the time she was 2, she could repeat with me that Mommy and Daddy would always keep her "happy and healthy, safe and warm."
Julia, and 4 years later, our son Benjamin, have become the light of our lives. They are as different as the 2 continents they were born on -- Julia from Asia and Benjamin, with his blond hair and pale grey eyes, from just over the border Russia shares with Europe.
Julia at 7 reminds me of a cat -- feline grace, mysterious deep thoughts hidden behind sleepy eyes, only to open with a sunny smile. At 4, Ben is a happy-go-lucky puppy, bouncing everywhere, stopping only to eat (often) and get a pat on the head.
Somewhere along the way between Russia and now, they stopped being adopted and became a part of me. They are clearly etched into my chromosomes -- each on their own, of course -- their internal continental divide.
And so it is with great pain that I read stories of children stolen from their birth parents to be sold to Americans, so desperate to become parents, supposedly, that they will look away from what is happening.
Perhaps this is true in some places, and it absolutely needs to be stopped, but these stories are affecting the lives of the hundreds of thousands of true orphans who will lose their one chance to know a family, because the fear that is being created by these stories is all but stopping international adoption.
Has anyone writing these articles stopped to look in the many, many orphanages that exist around the world, looked in the eyes of the children whose childhoods are passing them by? These aren't someone's living warehouses, storage for future sales. These are children whose parents, for whatever reason -- poverty usually, illness, personal crises we don't know -- have handed their children to the State to raise. And the orphanage women who struggle to do their best to keep these children fed, clothed and housed with the limited resources available to them.
Some of the children in these Russian orphanages are visited by parents and extended family; these lucky ones are identified as not available for adoption. The majority are never visited. These children exist -- or as one orphanage director told us -- "they do not live, they survive" -- until the day they are released to the street, with no home, no family, no hope. No past to give them roots, no future to look forward to.
Julia and Ben were among these children. It scares me how close we came to missing them. In fact, any one of these children could have been the one assigned to us by the Russian Ministry of Education. So each one is in some way mine also. And I had to leave them behind, with no mother to hold and comfort them, as I hold and comfort Julia and Ben. It is impossible to forget the children I met there and the multitudes each represents.
We can't leave them behind because of misinformation and politics. Those children who are truly without parents and family deserve their chance for a happy childhood too. Being born in the right place and time should not be a prerequisite for knowing a parent's love.
I don't know why my daughter and son had to be born to other parents on the other side of the planet -- I don't really think there is an answer. I don't know if there an answer to the pain I can only imagine those parents must still feel from a decision they felt they had to make -- or the pain my children will one day learn when they truly understand what they lost very early in their lives.
But I do know that the four of us are a family, bonded for life by much more than the pieces of paper that transferred their lives to our care.
I hope that the many waiting children reach the arms of the parents who can keep them happy and healthy, safe and warm.
International Adoption Editorial
Barbara Adde
February 19, 2009
I entered the world of parenthood much later than most.
At the age of 42, in a stark, unfamiliar orphanage in a small, poor town, not even a dot on the huge mass of land on a map of Russia, I had the great joy of handing a dark-eyed infant girl I had just met to my husband and introduced our daughter.
By the time she came home with us 3 months later, she had gone from stranger to dearly beloved daughter. By the time she was 2, she could repeat with me that Mommy and Daddy would always keep her "happy and healthy, safe and warm."
Julia, and 4 years later, our son Benjamin, have become the light of our lives. They are as different as the 2 continents they were born on -- Julia from Asia and Benjamin, with his blond hair and pale grey eyes, from just over the border Russia shares with Europe.
Julia at 7 reminds me of a cat -- feline grace, mysterious deep thoughts hidden behind sleepy eyes, only to open with a sunny smile. At 4, Ben is a happy-go-lucky puppy, bouncing everywhere, stopping only to eat (often) and get a pat on the head.
Somewhere along the way between Russia and now, they stopped being adopted and became a part of me. They are clearly etched into my chromosomes -- each on their own, of course -- their internal continental divide.
And so it is with great pain that I read stories of children stolen from their birth parents to be sold to Americans, so desperate to become parents, supposedly, that they will look away from what is happening.
Perhaps this is true in some places, and it absolutely needs to be stopped, but these stories are affecting the lives of the hundreds of thousands of true orphans who will lose their one chance to know a family, because the fear that is being created by these stories is all but stopping international adoption.
Has anyone writing these articles stopped to look in the many, many orphanages that exist around the world, looked in the eyes of the children whose childhoods are passing them by? These aren't someone's living warehouses, storage for future sales. These are children whose parents, for whatever reason -- poverty usually, illness, personal crises we don't know -- have handed their children to the State to raise. And the orphanage women who struggle to do their best to keep these children fed, clothed and housed with the limited resources available to them.
Some of the children in these Russian orphanages are visited by parents and extended family; these lucky ones are identified as not available for adoption. The majority are never visited. These children exist -- or as one orphanage director told us -- "they do not live, they survive" -- until the day they are released to the street, with no home, no family, no hope. No past to give them roots, no future to look forward to.
Julia and Ben were among these children. It scares me how close we came to missing them. In fact, any one of these children could have been the one assigned to us by the Russian Ministry of Education. So each one is in some way mine also. And I had to leave them behind, with no mother to hold and comfort them, as I hold and comfort Julia and Ben. It is impossible to forget the children I met there and the multitudes each represents.
We can't leave them behind because of misinformation and politics. Those children who are truly without parents and family deserve their chance for a happy childhood too. Being born in the right place and time should not be a prerequisite for knowing a parent's love.
I don't know why my daughter and son had to be born to other parents on the other side of the planet -- I don't really think there is an answer. I don't know if there an answer to the pain I can only imagine those parents must still feel from a decision they felt they had to make -- or the pain my children will one day learn when they truly understand what they lost very early in their lives.
But I do know that the four of us are a family, bonded for life by much more than the pieces of paper that transferred their lives to our care.
I hope that the many waiting children reach the arms of the parents who can keep them happy and healthy, safe and warm.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Snowman pajamas!
Owen in his favorite snowman pajamas. He insists on wearing them every night, and he insists on wearing shoes with them to bed. The shoe thing is recent, and it's a bit of a regression -- in Vietnam and the first few weeks home, he wore his sandals to bed and would start to fret if he didn't have shoes on.
So, while he's going through the daycare transition...why not snowman pajamas and shoes to bed? How can I argue when he's smiling like that?
Show me your tears
Rough week, and it's only Wednesday.
Owen started full-time daycare on Monday. I want to believe it's getting better every day, but I think that's wishful thinking at this point.
The transition didn't go as planned. Two weeks ago, Ray started taking Owen to daycare for a few hours a day, gradually lengthening the time. We thought he'd only stay a few hours the first week and we'd increase the time the second week, but he was doing so well that he was staying through nap time by the end of the week.
Then, six days off. The second week, the provider and her kids got a terrible flu, and she closed from Monday through Thursday. So instead of five more days to get used to daycare, Owen went for one day, had the weekend with us, and then we dropped him off early on Monday, Ray's first day back after paternity leave.
Owen wasn't happy about this. I think it threw him to go so early, and the fact that Mommy and Daddy were both in the car for the drop-off, and clearly going somewhere together without him, was tough. He screamed and cried for a long time, the provider said.
Tuesday was a little better, she said, although he was hysterical when I left him. Today, he started crying as soon as we turned onto the provider's street, and was clinging to me and calling for me as I tried to hand him to the provider. It broke my heart.
When we pick him up in the evenings, we can hear him screaming from the driveway. The provider says it's because he sees us pull up, and he starts crying for me until I get in the house.
The provider is great, the setting is small -- only a few kids. I really have no worries about Owen's daycare. I think once we get over this hump, he's going to do great there. I think I found a good place for him.
But this first week...ugh. I feel like the worst mother in the world, walking away from him while he's holding his arms out and screaming for me to take him with me. I wonder if this is causing his little brain to recall, in some fashion, his first days at the orphanage, when he didn't know what was happening to him.
And now Ray is off in the morning to California for four days, throwing another monkey wrench in the transition. Owen will wake up tomorrow to find no Daddy in the house.
I feel like I'm asking an awful lot of the little guy these days.
Owen started full-time daycare on Monday. I want to believe it's getting better every day, but I think that's wishful thinking at this point.
The transition didn't go as planned. Two weeks ago, Ray started taking Owen to daycare for a few hours a day, gradually lengthening the time. We thought he'd only stay a few hours the first week and we'd increase the time the second week, but he was doing so well that he was staying through nap time by the end of the week.
Then, six days off. The second week, the provider and her kids got a terrible flu, and she closed from Monday through Thursday. So instead of five more days to get used to daycare, Owen went for one day, had the weekend with us, and then we dropped him off early on Monday, Ray's first day back after paternity leave.
Owen wasn't happy about this. I think it threw him to go so early, and the fact that Mommy and Daddy were both in the car for the drop-off, and clearly going somewhere together without him, was tough. He screamed and cried for a long time, the provider said.
Tuesday was a little better, she said, although he was hysterical when I left him. Today, he started crying as soon as we turned onto the provider's street, and was clinging to me and calling for me as I tried to hand him to the provider. It broke my heart.
When we pick him up in the evenings, we can hear him screaming from the driveway. The provider says it's because he sees us pull up, and he starts crying for me until I get in the house.
The provider is great, the setting is small -- only a few kids. I really have no worries about Owen's daycare. I think once we get over this hump, he's going to do great there. I think I found a good place for him.
But this first week...ugh. I feel like the worst mother in the world, walking away from him while he's holding his arms out and screaming for me to take him with me. I wonder if this is causing his little brain to recall, in some fashion, his first days at the orphanage, when he didn't know what was happening to him.
And now Ray is off in the morning to California for four days, throwing another monkey wrench in the transition. Owen will wake up tomorrow to find no Daddy in the house.
I feel like I'm asking an awful lot of the little guy these days.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Happy Year of the Ox
Owen at my adoption agency's new year's party on Saturday. Lots of good food, and it was great to see all the kids. I dressed Owen in his pinstripe suit, since I didn't buy him the traditional Vietnamese tunic and pants that many of the other boys were wearing. They all looked so handsome, I'll have to order one for next year.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Toto, I don't think we're in Vietnam anymore
First significant snowfall of the season. Owen played in it and caught snowflakes on his tongue.
He also made two tiny snowmen. Then he ate their heads.
He also made two tiny snowmen. Then he ate their heads.
Hatin' on the breeders
I had my court-appointed interview yesterday for the readoption. It came in the middle of a long day -- stressful day at work including giving a presentation, then rushing home for the interview, then heading back downtown for a working dinner.
The investigator was very nice, very personable. I really shouldn't complain.
But still.
I have never gotten used to the intrusiveness of the adoption process. I really hated having to answer so many personal questions, particularly about my relationship with Ray. I know we're doing this whole thing in a nontraditional way. So we're under more scrutiny even than a married couple. I know we have to 'splain ourselves to people appointed by the court who are only doing their jobs, and part of that job is looking out for the best interests of a child.
But still.
When breeders have to go through this kind of 3rd degree every time they pop a child into the world, I won't be so cranky.
The investigator was very nice, very personable. I really shouldn't complain.
But still.
I have never gotten used to the intrusiveness of the adoption process. I really hated having to answer so many personal questions, particularly about my relationship with Ray. I know we're doing this whole thing in a nontraditional way. So we're under more scrutiny even than a married couple. I know we have to 'splain ourselves to people appointed by the court who are only doing their jobs, and part of that job is looking out for the best interests of a child.
But still.
When breeders have to go through this kind of 3rd degree every time they pop a child into the world, I won't be so cranky.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
O-ba-ma!
Owen watched Obama take the oath of office today. He can say, "Oh-bah-ma! Oh-bah-ma!" pretty well.
Then he had a meltdown because I wouldn't give him some candy. Then he took a nap.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Rock Lobster
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Back to work
I'm almost through my first week back at work.
I can't say I'm very happy about it, but I'm settling in. This has been a huge transition for me. I miss all my "Owen time" during the day. The evenings are too short.
But Owen is doing great at home with his dad. They wave good-bye to me in the morning, and then do guy stuff all day. They've been to Ikea, they've worked on our big kitchen remodeling project, and today they baked a pie. Okay, maybe that last one wasn't guy stuff, but the pie was damn yummy!
This morning, for the first time, when Owen woke up, he called out, "Daddy! Mommy!" instead of just asking for me. That was great. This is going to be a wonderful few weeks of bonding for him and Ray.
Mommy, on the other hand, will have to adjust.
I can't say I'm very happy about it, but I'm settling in. This has been a huge transition for me. I miss all my "Owen time" during the day. The evenings are too short.
But Owen is doing great at home with his dad. They wave good-bye to me in the morning, and then do guy stuff all day. They've been to Ikea, they've worked on our big kitchen remodeling project, and today they baked a pie. Okay, maybe that last one wasn't guy stuff, but the pie was damn yummy!
This morning, for the first time, when Owen woke up, he called out, "Daddy! Mommy!" instead of just asking for me. That was great. This is going to be a wonderful few weeks of bonding for him and Ray.
Mommy, on the other hand, will have to adjust.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
I've had the time of my life
This is it. It's over. I'm heading to bed in a few minutes, and when I wake up, I re-enter the working world.
I don't want to make too much of a drama about this. Millions of women head to work every day, leaving their kids in someone else's care. There's nothing unique about this.
Except that it's killing me. Owen's speech therapist told me last week that every mom cries the first day back, so I shouldn't be too hard on myself. And Owen will be home with his dad. He'll have a great time. Ray will have a great time. It's going to be hardest on me.
It really has been an amazing ride. We went on a trip and came back with someone we'll know for the rest of our lives. I went on a trip and became a mom. It still blows my mind how much has happened in such a short time.
Being at home with him taught me how non-linear time is. Sometimes the days felt endless, sometimes they flew by. The weeks and months disappeared before I knew it.
Owen went from being a scared little boy who barely opened his mouth to a little motormouth who can say probably 100 words in English and is starting to put two-word sentences together. Since we've been home, I've gotten him off the bottle and sleeping through the night (most nights). He's become very attached to his grandparents, cousins, and his parents of course. He's met so many people and done so many things, and he rolls with all of it with amazing flexibility. He laughs and jokes and teases all the time now -- things that were unimaginable in July and August.
We still have transition issues. Getting him to go to sleep is an exercise in frustration for me most nights. Eating is fraught with issues, but he's learning to regulate his food a little better. The sensory integration issues are still tough -- I got bit twice today, and badly. And while sometimes he's pretty good about getting his needs met, other times he's just a little too go-with-the-flow. When he doesn't protest about being hungry or uncomfortable, you can see how much deprivation has shaped him.
But he's done amazingly well, considering all that's been asked of him since July 22. I am in awe of how the transition has gone.
So now we start a new routine. At what point in the day am I going to miss him the most? I think naptime, when I'd be snuggling with him in the rocking chair, under a soft blanket, with his little head on my shoulder. That's pretty hard to beat. On the other hand, there's pretty much zero chance I'll have to change a dirty diaper from 8 to 5 tomorrow.
I don't want to make too much of a drama about this. Millions of women head to work every day, leaving their kids in someone else's care. There's nothing unique about this.
Except that it's killing me. Owen's speech therapist told me last week that every mom cries the first day back, so I shouldn't be too hard on myself. And Owen will be home with his dad. He'll have a great time. Ray will have a great time. It's going to be hardest on me.
It really has been an amazing ride. We went on a trip and came back with someone we'll know for the rest of our lives. I went on a trip and became a mom. It still blows my mind how much has happened in such a short time.
Being at home with him taught me how non-linear time is. Sometimes the days felt endless, sometimes they flew by. The weeks and months disappeared before I knew it.
Owen went from being a scared little boy who barely opened his mouth to a little motormouth who can say probably 100 words in English and is starting to put two-word sentences together. Since we've been home, I've gotten him off the bottle and sleeping through the night (most nights). He's become very attached to his grandparents, cousins, and his parents of course. He's met so many people and done so many things, and he rolls with all of it with amazing flexibility. He laughs and jokes and teases all the time now -- things that were unimaginable in July and August.
We still have transition issues. Getting him to go to sleep is an exercise in frustration for me most nights. Eating is fraught with issues, but he's learning to regulate his food a little better. The sensory integration issues are still tough -- I got bit twice today, and badly. And while sometimes he's pretty good about getting his needs met, other times he's just a little too go-with-the-flow. When he doesn't protest about being hungry or uncomfortable, you can see how much deprivation has shaped him.
But he's done amazingly well, considering all that's been asked of him since July 22. I am in awe of how the transition has gone.
So now we start a new routine. At what point in the day am I going to miss him the most? I think naptime, when I'd be snuggling with him in the rocking chair, under a soft blanket, with his little head on my shoulder. That's pretty hard to beat. On the other hand, there's pretty much zero chance I'll have to change a dirty diaper from 8 to 5 tomorrow.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The sweetest and saddest time of day
T minus three days. I have three days of maternity leave left.
Owen's going to be fine. He's going to have a great time with Ray over the next few weeks. And once he's in daycare full-time, I think he'll be fine. He loves to play with other kids, so I think he'll have a ball.
But still.
The past few days, we start every morning with our usual routine. I'm up, drinking coffee, watching a little Matt 'n Meredith 'n Al, or trying to get a start on the day, when Owen sits up in his bed and calls out, "Mommy!"
When I walk in his room, he's calmly sitting there, waiting for me, with the biggest smile on his face. Then I scoop up him, his Capitals blanket, and his teddy bear, and we head to the couch. Sometimes he drifts back to sleep on my shoulder, or just snuggles there for a while. We sit on the couch together and cuddle and laugh. We might practice some sounds and words. We exchange a lot of tickles and kisses. Then we go have breakfast.
This week has been bittersweet. I keep thinking, we won't have time for this once I go back to work. Not at the leisurely, all-the-time-in-the-world pace we have now. I don't even know if Owen will be up when I leave next week. Will he wake up and call "Mommy"? Then what'll happen?
Every morning lately has been beautiful, and yet it has tugged at my heart unbearably.
Owen's going to be fine. He's going to have a great time with Ray over the next few weeks. And once he's in daycare full-time, I think he'll be fine. He loves to play with other kids, so I think he'll have a ball.
But still.
The past few days, we start every morning with our usual routine. I'm up, drinking coffee, watching a little Matt 'n Meredith 'n Al, or trying to get a start on the day, when Owen sits up in his bed and calls out, "Mommy!"
When I walk in his room, he's calmly sitting there, waiting for me, with the biggest smile on his face. Then I scoop up him, his Capitals blanket, and his teddy bear, and we head to the couch. Sometimes he drifts back to sleep on my shoulder, or just snuggles there for a while. We sit on the couch together and cuddle and laugh. We might practice some sounds and words. We exchange a lot of tickles and kisses. Then we go have breakfast.
This week has been bittersweet. I keep thinking, we won't have time for this once I go back to work. Not at the leisurely, all-the-time-in-the-world pace we have now. I don't even know if Owen will be up when I leave next week. Will he wake up and call "Mommy"? Then what'll happen?
Every morning lately has been beautiful, and yet it has tugged at my heart unbearably.
Monday, January 5, 2009
How's that again?
We spent the day in VA so that Ray could get his car worked on and inspected, and interesting things always seem to happen over there.
1. We were in the library down the street, keeping Owen entertained in the children's section, when I looked over at a shelf of picture books. My eyes settled on these three book spines, all in a row: "Punk Farm," Bubble Bath Pirates," and "Annie Was Warned."
Now, I'm just getting back into children's books after a long absence (a high school job in a public library); maybe some of you are familiar with these. For all I know, they're classics. But the titles just cracked me up. "Punk Farm" could be the name of a band (and indeed it's about a hard rockin' band made up of a pig, sheep, cow, and horse). "Bubble Bath Pirates" clearly belongs in the women's erotica section -- except that this is Virginia so there's no women's erotica section. Obvs. And as for "Annie Was Warned," well, that's an ominous title for a book aimed at tots. It sounds like one of those after-school specials of my youth. Warned about what? And what happened to her when she apparently disobeyed? I was too afraid to find out.
2. Then we went to lunch, at the legendary Vienna Inn. While we waited for our loaded chili dogs, a cell phone starting ringing in the booth behind us, which was occupied solely by an elderly woman.
Seemed like an odd choice for a ringtone for her phone. I did a doubletake while the lady tried to answer the phone...but then her granddaughter came to the table, bearing their drinks.
3. In the afternoon, Ray and Owen went out for a bit in the newly fixed car. When they came back, Ray said, "The whole drive back, I thought Owen was saying 'butthole,' 'butthole,' but then I realized he was saying, 'pretzel.'"
1. We were in the library down the street, keeping Owen entertained in the children's section, when I looked over at a shelf of picture books. My eyes settled on these three book spines, all in a row: "Punk Farm," Bubble Bath Pirates," and "Annie Was Warned."
Now, I'm just getting back into children's books after a long absence (a high school job in a public library); maybe some of you are familiar with these. For all I know, they're classics. But the titles just cracked me up. "Punk Farm" could be the name of a band (and indeed it's about a hard rockin' band made up of a pig, sheep, cow, and horse). "Bubble Bath Pirates" clearly belongs in the women's erotica section -- except that this is Virginia so there's no women's erotica section. Obvs. And as for "Annie Was Warned," well, that's an ominous title for a book aimed at tots. It sounds like one of those after-school specials of my youth. Warned about what? And what happened to her when she apparently disobeyed? I was too afraid to find out.
2. Then we went to lunch, at the legendary Vienna Inn. While we waited for our loaded chili dogs, a cell phone starting ringing in the booth behind us, which was occupied solely by an elderly woman.
Buddy you're a boy make a big noise
Playin' in the street gonna be a big man some day
You got mud on your face
You big disgrace
Kickin' your can all over the place
We will we will rock you
We will we will rock you
Playin' in the street gonna be a big man some day
You got mud on your face
You big disgrace
Kickin' your can all over the place
We will we will rock you
We will we will rock you
Seemed like an odd choice for a ringtone for her phone. I did a doubletake while the lady tried to answer the phone...but then her granddaughter came to the table, bearing their drinks.
3. In the afternoon, Ray and Owen went out for a bit in the newly fixed car. When they came back, Ray said, "The whole drive back, I thought Owen was saying 'butthole,' 'butthole,' but then I realized he was saying, 'pretzel.'"
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Reunion Day
Today, we had brunch with our travel group -- the first time we've all been together since Hanoi -- and with two families who recently returned with their new daughters.
It was great to see how the four kids have grown since August. Everyone's bigger with fuller heads of hair -- yes, good nutrition works wonders. The three formerly floppy babies are crawling and incredibly mobile. Everyone commented on how big Owen's getting and how much he's changed.
We posed the kids for a group photo just like the one we took on the couch in the lobby of the Somerset Grand in Hanoi. (Of course, we forgot our camera, so I hope I can get a photo from one of the other parents to post here.)
We also watched a short video that one of the dads put together from his trip footage. We all had cameos in it, and of course we all started groaning at the G&R footage, remembering how hot it was that day. Dan chose the most relaxing, soft music for the background, and we had to laugh at how that changed the tenor of the video, since we remember how hectic and stressed parts of the trip were (and don't get us started when the Halong Bay footage came on-screen). But it was so sweet, we were all wiping tears away by the end. Puts my little memory book that I made for Owen to shame -- I wish we had taken more video. Dan did it all with a Flip camera, and it looked terrific.
It was hard to find a weekend when all four families were in town, so I don't know when we'll all get together again, but we talked about an annual photo, on a couch somewhere, with all the kids in a line (Owen on the far right).
It was great to see how the four kids have grown since August. Everyone's bigger with fuller heads of hair -- yes, good nutrition works wonders. The three formerly floppy babies are crawling and incredibly mobile. Everyone commented on how big Owen's getting and how much he's changed.
We posed the kids for a group photo just like the one we took on the couch in the lobby of the Somerset Grand in Hanoi. (Of course, we forgot our camera, so I hope I can get a photo from one of the other parents to post here.)
We also watched a short video that one of the dads put together from his trip footage. We all had cameos in it, and of course we all started groaning at the G&R footage, remembering how hot it was that day. Dan chose the most relaxing, soft music for the background, and we had to laugh at how that changed the tenor of the video, since we remember how hectic and stressed parts of the trip were (and don't get us started when the Halong Bay footage came on-screen). But it was so sweet, we were all wiping tears away by the end. Puts my little memory book that I made for Owen to shame -- I wish we had taken more video. Dan did it all with a Flip camera, and it looked terrific.
It was hard to find a weekend when all four families were in town, so I don't know when we'll all get together again, but we talked about an annual photo, on a couch somewhere, with all the kids in a line (Owen on the far right).
Owen gets into the holiday spirit
More recent photos, these from my family's holiday party.
Owen LOVES candy canes!
Owen and his big brother, Red:
Owen LOVES candy canes!
Did I mention how much he loves them?
Saturday, January 3, 2009
While I wasn't blogging -- Jacksonville edition
Here are some photos from our trip to Jacksonville, FL, in early December.
Owen finally meets Grandpa Ray:
Owen with Grandpa Ray and Grandma Beth:
We feed a giraffe at the excellent zoo in Jax:
Owen meets Santa -- and while he wasn't quite sure what was going on, he did not freak out. This was taken at a Breakfast with Santa event at the preschool our friends own:
Uh...something missing here
WashingtonPost.com is running this graphic from the AP with an article on adoptive parents' concerns about their children's health in the wake of the Chinese tainted formula problem.
The graphic, you'll note, is headlined "Adoptions Steadily Decreasing," and notes that the number of international adoptions by US parents has declined since the peak in 2004.
But there's nothing in the graphic, or the article, that so much as hints at why. Readers are left to draw their own conclusions.
The reason, of course, is that some sending countries have tightened requirements or even shut down for periods since 2004, resulting in fewer completed adoptions.
But if you didn't know much about international adoption, would that even occur to you? You might make any number of assumptions -- lack of interest, lack of children needing homes, whatever.
Not helpful, AP!
(OTOH, look at that number for 2008 from Vietnam: 751 adoptions before Vietnam shut its doors this fall. And one of the 751, thank God, was Owen!)
The graphic, you'll note, is headlined "Adoptions Steadily Decreasing," and notes that the number of international adoptions by US parents has declined since the peak in 2004.
But there's nothing in the graphic, or the article, that so much as hints at why. Readers are left to draw their own conclusions.
The reason, of course, is that some sending countries have tightened requirements or even shut down for periods since 2004, resulting in fewer completed adoptions.
But if you didn't know much about international adoption, would that even occur to you? You might make any number of assumptions -- lack of interest, lack of children needing homes, whatever.
Not helpful, AP!
(OTOH, look at that number for 2008 from Vietnam: 751 adoptions before Vietnam shut its doors this fall. And one of the 751, thank God, was Owen!)
Thursday, January 1, 2009
New year, more blogging?
It's New Year's Day, and I've cleaned out two drawers. Yippee. At least I feel like I've started 2009 with some minor sense of accomplishment.
I have not updated the blog very much since mid-November. I was assuming no one was reading it, now that the big trip and homecoming are over and Owen's just another (adorable) kid and I'm just another jittery first-time mom.
But recent visits with friends and family have taught me that some of you out there are checking in, and you want more pictures and stories. So for 2009, I'll try to be a better blogger.
I missed a lot of milestones from mid-November on: Owen's first ER visit, his first Thanksgiving, his first visit to see Santa, and all the Christmas festivities. I can't really explain why I stopped chronicling all of these events. Partly the assumption of no audience (but then, I'm really writing this blog for Owen), but also partly because in mid-November I went into a major freakout (depression?) about returning to work. Sometimes I got so anxious about it, I didn't want to blog for fear of sounding like a basket case, and other times I was just too exhausted in the evenings, because I started a program of Making Every Day Count while I watched the clock run out on my maternity leave.
I know most everyone is conflicted about going back to work. I can't imagine what it's going to be like on January 12, when I pull out of the driveway and head to work instead of spending a leisurely morning giving Owen his breakfast, reading a book or two, and cuddling on the couch. For me, it's also the job itself, and the stress inherent in it. I'm sure I'll regain some passion for my work, but lately I've had this insane notion that I should go back to school -- at my age! -- and change careers to something that actually and literally saves lives. Because that sounds like the only option that has a chance of being more meaningful than spending my day with Owen.
Anxious, who me?
So here's a quick recap:
1. Owen's ER visit was in mid-November, right after my last blog entry. He had a high fever that spiked quickly, so over breakfast one morning he had a febrile seizure in Ray's arms. It was the longest 25 seconds of our lives. We rushed Owen to his doctor's office, where they got his fever down pretty quickly, but then they sent us to the ER for a fuller work-up than they could do at their office. Why a fuller work-up? Because at that point, he'd been home for three months, and we just can't answer questions like: Has he ever had one of these seizures before? Does he have a family history of X, Y, or Z? While the doctor thought it was likely "just" a febrile seizure, we had to rule out lots of other things, as well as figure out what was causing the fever.
So, we spent a day in a pediatric ER unit of a local hospital, and the poor child was poked and prodded far too much. They blew three lines before getting an IV in. They inserted TWO catheters -- the first one I could see under his skin while they jammed it, saying they couldn't get it into his bladder and would need a smaller gauge. He got a bloody nose during the nasal swab. And the whole time Ray and I were holding him down, and he was screaming, "Mom! Mom! Mom!"
But he was fine. Ten days of antibiotics for some undetermined, generic virus, and he was good as new. And seemed to forgive us for the Catheter Incident.
2. Thanksgiving was great. Big dinner, we all ate too much, and Owen was entertaining. He took my bowl of kale off of my plate before I could dish him out a toddler portion, and would not give it back. Of course, everyone laughed, which meant he just played to his audience, putting the bowl of kale nearly behind his back and saying, "No, no, no" to me.
3. All of the holiday festivities. I'll post photos soon, I promise. He sat on Santa's lap on two separate occasions and was fine both times. No tears, no bewilderment. He loves Christmas lights and snowmen, even though we've had no snow. He got a lot of presents, and he's been busy ever since with them. He was handsome in his Christmas sweater and his black velvet blazer.
For Ray and me, and for my family, it was a great time. I loved experiencing Christmas in a way I haven't since I was kid myself, and it's only going to get better -- by next year, he might have a better idea of who Santa is and why we're having this celebration. But this year, watching his eyes get big when he was Christmas lights was enough.
So, I'm wishing everyone a healthy and happy 2009, and I'll keep the blog posts coming.
I have not updated the blog very much since mid-November. I was assuming no one was reading it, now that the big trip and homecoming are over and Owen's just another (adorable) kid and I'm just another jittery first-time mom.
But recent visits with friends and family have taught me that some of you out there are checking in, and you want more pictures and stories. So for 2009, I'll try to be a better blogger.
I missed a lot of milestones from mid-November on: Owen's first ER visit, his first Thanksgiving, his first visit to see Santa, and all the Christmas festivities. I can't really explain why I stopped chronicling all of these events. Partly the assumption of no audience (but then, I'm really writing this blog for Owen), but also partly because in mid-November I went into a major freakout (depression?) about returning to work. Sometimes I got so anxious about it, I didn't want to blog for fear of sounding like a basket case, and other times I was just too exhausted in the evenings, because I started a program of Making Every Day Count while I watched the clock run out on my maternity leave.
I know most everyone is conflicted about going back to work. I can't imagine what it's going to be like on January 12, when I pull out of the driveway and head to work instead of spending a leisurely morning giving Owen his breakfast, reading a book or two, and cuddling on the couch. For me, it's also the job itself, and the stress inherent in it. I'm sure I'll regain some passion for my work, but lately I've had this insane notion that I should go back to school -- at my age! -- and change careers to something that actually and literally saves lives. Because that sounds like the only option that has a chance of being more meaningful than spending my day with Owen.
Anxious, who me?
So here's a quick recap:
1. Owen's ER visit was in mid-November, right after my last blog entry. He had a high fever that spiked quickly, so over breakfast one morning he had a febrile seizure in Ray's arms. It was the longest 25 seconds of our lives. We rushed Owen to his doctor's office, where they got his fever down pretty quickly, but then they sent us to the ER for a fuller work-up than they could do at their office. Why a fuller work-up? Because at that point, he'd been home for three months, and we just can't answer questions like: Has he ever had one of these seizures before? Does he have a family history of X, Y, or Z? While the doctor thought it was likely "just" a febrile seizure, we had to rule out lots of other things, as well as figure out what was causing the fever.
So, we spent a day in a pediatric ER unit of a local hospital, and the poor child was poked and prodded far too much. They blew three lines before getting an IV in. They inserted TWO catheters -- the first one I could see under his skin while they jammed it, saying they couldn't get it into his bladder and would need a smaller gauge. He got a bloody nose during the nasal swab. And the whole time Ray and I were holding him down, and he was screaming, "Mom! Mom! Mom!"
But he was fine. Ten days of antibiotics for some undetermined, generic virus, and he was good as new. And seemed to forgive us for the Catheter Incident.
2. Thanksgiving was great. Big dinner, we all ate too much, and Owen was entertaining. He took my bowl of kale off of my plate before I could dish him out a toddler portion, and would not give it back. Of course, everyone laughed, which meant he just played to his audience, putting the bowl of kale nearly behind his back and saying, "No, no, no" to me.
3. All of the holiday festivities. I'll post photos soon, I promise. He sat on Santa's lap on two separate occasions and was fine both times. No tears, no bewilderment. He loves Christmas lights and snowmen, even though we've had no snow. He got a lot of presents, and he's been busy ever since with them. He was handsome in his Christmas sweater and his black velvet blazer.
For Ray and me, and for my family, it was a great time. I loved experiencing Christmas in a way I haven't since I was kid myself, and it's only going to get better -- by next year, he might have a better idea of who Santa is and why we're having this celebration. But this year, watching his eyes get big when he was Christmas lights was enough.
So, I'm wishing everyone a healthy and happy 2009, and I'll keep the blog posts coming.
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