summer recap

On the first night of summer break, Arthur yelled for me from the shower.  "Mom!  Can you get a pencil and paper?  I'm making up a song and I don't want to forget it!"

I grabbed the supplies, sat on the bathroom stool, and scribbled down every word, my eyes welling over-

I love summer break

And I love school

But summer break is better

Because you get to stay with your mom

And it's more fun because you get to do art projects with your mom

Like painting a clay thing you made

And you make your clay

I like taking walks with my mom

School is good because you learn

but I'd rather stay home with my mom 

Later, as I fell asleep, I couldn't stop thinking about that song.  This was the cream of motherhood, no doubt.

I'd like to say that this set the tone for our summer, but that is not entirely accurate.  Everyone did get a lot of time with their mom and hopefully some of it was fun.  We also had hard days, strings of hard days.  Hurt feelings, bruised egos, forty "I hate you"s before 10 am.  Complaints about the lack of fun, the lack of chips, the lack of TV.  Second chances, third chances, tenth chances to make the right choice. (Disclaimer: often the one struggling to make the right choice was me.)

Our air conditioner broke and we sweated through it and relied on the kindness of neighbors and paid for a whole new system like adults do.

Our beloved neighbors- and the kids best friends- moved hours away mid-summer and we spent the later half finding our way without them.  We are still finding our way. 

Helen spent several weeks at a day camp where she was chased by pirates, found 37 cicadas and an injured bird on the playground, and was crowned queen of the slip 'n slide. Arthur and I spent those same weeks leisurely grocery shopping, playing cards, and eating lunch in almost complete silence (a preference we share). 

There were days when I needed a break in the worst way.  Times when I just couldn't bear to serve another lunch, so we ate cheese and crackers on paper plates outside.  Steve took the kids to the pool every Sunday afternoon so that I could regain my sanity.  But there were also plenty of fun adventures, trips to the library, and days that I felt like this could be all I wanted in life- to have my little tribe of children around me, jostling to get on my lap. 

We visited family, we visited friends, and the kids passed the swim test at every pool we went to, perhaps the biggest reminder that they are growing up, that each summer will be different. 

And then it was over, almost surprisingly fast.  In a flurry of backpacks and new uniforms and thirty glue sticks they were out the door to conquer a new year. 

It's quiet here now and I get a lot accomplished.  And in between laundry and sewing and spreadsheets, I dream a little bit about next summer.

the solo trip

One of our family tenets is that we choose to travel together.  Steve and I were both of the stick-together mindset when we got married and then we added children and we needed to be close to them, especially for the first few years, so we just kept at it.  We like to be together, our kids are good travelers, it usually works out just fine. 

So when the occasion arose that we needed to be in Virginia for my grandmother's funeral, we did what we usually do and tried to make it a family trip.  The timing was difficult and after some deliberation, Steve offered a suggestion.

"I think you should go alone."

In the end, it made the most sense.  So I bought a plane ticket and we made some plans and we talked about it with the kids, as the day approached.  Steve kept telling me how free I would feel, traveling alone.  Nobody to keep track of or feed!  No need to squish into an airplane bathroom with another person!  Nothing to worry about!

He was right, in a lot of ways.  It was quite freeing to pack one small bag with just my own belongings.  I didn't have to anticipate who would need a snack on the plane, or which activity book might hold their attention the longest.  I could breeze through security without the usual car seat to jam through the scanner.

I pictured myself lounging in the airport, reading a magazine as I waited for my flights.  Falling exhausted into a hotel bed after brushing only one set of teeth, instead of two or three.  Waking up to my alarm and having a few moments before anything major is required of me.  Worrying about only my own hunger, my own energy level, my own need for a restroom.  I could practically be drunk with freedom just thinking about it.

But I knew what would really happen.  That I would be just a teensy bit lonely as I waited for my plane.  That I'd feel lost with a stranger in the seat next to me.  That I'd see families traveling together and get a little teary.  That I'd miss them terribly.

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It was almost just like I'd pictured. I read a magazine quietly on the flight there while the teenage girl next to me slept. My sister picked me up at the airport and we navigated our way to the hotel and I fell into bed with pillows piled around me for company.

I spent the next day being a granddaughter and daughter, instead of a wife and mom. I got to spend time with beloved family members and friends that are like family. It was emotional and draining and it was a blessing to be there. And as good and right as it was to be able to focus on the service and my family that was there, I missed having my usual crew around me. I even missed the lack of personal space- someone always crawling on me, pulling at me, wanting to be lifted up. I found myself looking down at my legs several times, a reflex I've developed to make sure I don't step on Helen, who is usually right there. I kept forgetting to eat at regular meal times, mainly because I wasn't feeding anyone else.

I arrived home late, long after the kids were asleep.  Steve and I sat up talking, catching up on the day.  As we went to bed, he commented that he wished he could give me a chance to sleep in the next morning for Mother's day.  I told him not to worry about it, and I meant it.  

The next morning, Helen ran into our room just after 6, as usual.  Steve took her into the guest room to read a book, but I couldn't stay away.  I joined them and took over the reading while he took a shower.  Arthur wandered in a bit later and said, "Mom!  You're back!"   Helen stared at me for a minute and then shouted, "You're back??!!??"  like she had definitely forgotten I was ever gone.  We all snuggled in and I kept reading and thought about making eggs for breakfast and I was just so glad to be home. 

the blessing of five years

This weekend marks a significant milestone for our family.  It is Arthur's family day- his 5th family day, to be specific, meaning that it has been 5 years since Steve and I became parents. 

As I think most parents would say, it seems both like a moment and a lifetime, simultaneously.  We've learned so much, but- especially- we've learned how little we really know. Becoming a parent has caused me to become less selfish, while also showing me how incredibly selfish I still am.  It has caused me to care about so much more, but also care about so much less. 

I am learning that there are things that people almost always say, specifically when it comes to adoption.  Some of them are awkward, most are well-meaning, most are also completely ridiculous.  

"I know a family that has a 'gotcha day'", one of the kids' teachers commented.  That's what people say when we mention family day.  Always, without a doubt, "gotcha day".  I've never really loved the term, but it took me until yesterday to figure out why: "gotcha day" sounds cute.  Like maybe you held out your arms and this precious, smiling child jumped into them and you yelled "gotcha!"

There was nothing cute about the days we got our kids.  I was emotional and sweaty, we were jet lagged and nervous, there were long meetings and translators.  On the day we got Arthur, I developed a headache so severe (possibly from spending 6 hours in a taxi) that Steve had to take the first night shift all by himself and ended up hiding bits of cereal in Arthur's crib to keep him content (we all still love to tell this story).  On the day we got Helen, Arthur threw up in my hands.  The absolute best I can say about either of these days is that it was, in fact, the day our family grew.  So we call it "family day". And we celebrate like it's our job- not the original, difficult day, but the victorious fact that we've made it through an entire year since then.  We celebrate because we're a family now, and we weren't before. 

When it comes to parenting, it is easy, sometimes, to think about the things I have missed.  First steps, first teeth, first words.  I have missed so much.  

I had a coworker once who had gotten married in her early thirties, to a man who had been previously married and already had children.  She told me one day about how at first she assumed they would not have children together, that it didn't seem logical at the time.  Her husband disagreed and told her that he felt like if they didn't have a child they would be missing a blessing.  

As she told me all this, I knew the rest of the story that covered the twenty years between then and now.  I knew that they had a daughter, so precious to them, and that she had fallen off a horse in college and suffered a brain injury.  I knew about the coma, the medical bills, the long, slow recovery.  I knew about the seizures and the way they still worried about her all the time and the fact that none of them would ever be the same.  

And she teared right up as she said to me, "And you know, he was right, of course.  We would have missed this blessing." 

And that's where I land when I start to add up all the milestones I've missed.  The list may be long, but if I hadn't missed those things, if life had gone some other way, I would have missed so much more.  I would have missed watching Arthur commit the word "cookie" to memory, one of his first English words, just so he could request another and another.  I would have missed hearing Helen sing Chinese nursery rhymes and her delight when we found other children singing them on YouTube.  I would have missed these 30 pound children falling asleep on my chest and afternoons spent with nothing more to do than hold them.  

I would have missed this blessing. 

We're making pancakes for breakfast on Sunday and we have a new riding toy to give the kids.  We're planning a special lunch and a trip to the park and there will definitely be ice cream.  We do it up big on family day.  If there is one thing worth celebrating, it's this family.  

together

Well, we've made it through another January.  There was the snow (most welcome!) that closed school for three days.  The flu that kept three of us down for almost two weeks.  Lots of mud, lots of layers.  January usually gets me down, but somehow, this year, it didn't.  When I sent the kids back to school after a rather lengthy Christmas break, I wasn't ready to see them go.  I welcomed the extra week of time at home, all four of us, due to weather and illness.

We had some rough days, but when I think back on the month, it seems like all I can really remember is being together.  Helen and I watching Beauty and the Beast at 6 am when her fever was too high to sleep.  Arthur and I reading Little House in the Big Woods.  Steve and I, consuming vast quantities of ibuprofen and tea, fluctuating back and forth on who was more fit to accomplish the basic tasks of daily life. Arthur and I decorating the dining room with streamers for Helen's family day dinner, and Helen's face when she saw them.  Steve waking up with me in the night when I needed him, always ready to help, always happy to do it.  Sharing the three heating pads between the four of us and debating if we should just get one more.

In the time it has taken me to write this blog post (about two weeks, if anyone is keeping track), Arthur took his own turn at being sick and now it appears to be mine again.  And while I'm in it, of course I wish for the illness to be over.  But I also wish for a hundred more days of just Arthur and I at home, playing Trouble and sharing blankets.  I know that when I look back on this winter, I will barely be able to conjure up who was sick when and what they had.  But I'll remember that we were together.  

The kids are changing, and I guess what I mean by that is that they're getting older.  They've lost their baby cheeks and their arms and legs keep growing and growing.  But they both still want to be cuddled and tickled, read to and sung to.  And I try not to wonder (but of course I wonder) when it will slowly end, the cuddling and reading, the washing hair and lotioning feet.  Will I even know it's the last time?  Or will I one day realize that it's been three weeks since Arthur asked me to help him dry off after bath?  It makes me think of these words by Iain S. Thomas-

I hope that in the future they invent a small golden light that follows you everywhere and when something is about to end, it shines brightly so you know it’s about to end.

And if you’re never going to see someone again, it’ll shine brightly and both of you can be polite and say, “It was nice to have you in my life while I did, good luck with everything that happens after now.”

And maybe if you’re never going to eat at the same restaurant again, it’ll shine and you can order everything off the menu you’ve never tried. Maybe, if someone’s about to buy your car, the light will shine and you can take it for one last spin. Maybe, if you’re with a group of friends who’ll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you’ll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, “This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good.”

Right now, at ages 7 and 5.5, they seem to be on the cusp of something.  A new phase, perhaps.  They're turning into big kids before my eyes and there is no stopping it.  And I'm just trying to hold every bit of these big but still little kids, this twelve year old marriage, this life here in this house, in this city, and whisper to myself, "This is so good."