Family, or some facsimile

When you have a child, you start a family. When you adopt, you become a family AND you become part of a village.

A village that sneaks up on you in the middle of the night. A village of courageous, child hungry people, that have some inkling of really understanding what you are feeling even when you are lacking the right words to express it, and even if they are not feeling the same thing at the moment.

Sometimes it is an invisible village, of connections across continents, states, or worlds. Sometime it is the neighbor next door, or the preschool teacher who shares her story. But while invisible, it is there, it is palatable, and when called upon it steps forward.

There are friends, there are work friends, there are work out buddies, but there is just separate stratum of emotion and bond for my mommy friends and my adoption-mom friends. We stop worlds for one another, we move mountains, and we don't even have to talk regularly.

Tomorrow I take a leap. I'm spending 3 days with four families that share an amazing bond. We have photos of our children together in an orphanage. We live across the country. We have differing religious beliefs, economic realities, family make-up, and style. But we have something in common, a process that chose us to find one another, and we took the call once found to keep it going. So we are gathering.

And on the eve of our gathering, it feels like I'm getting ready go be with family.

I'm not blogging this weekend. Talk to you on Monday.

home again

The lavender of Provence.

I'm home. I didn't jump a plane to Africa or Asia, but headed back to NYC.

Last night I was trying to explain to the Big Boy that Paris is the capital of France, like NYC is the capital of.... guess what, it's not the capital of anything, when Big Boy suggested, "the capital of the world." Yes, it is. I'm home.

I had a fabulous trip. I missed the boys, and I didn't miss the boys. I didn't miss the chaos that I call starting a business, but it was on my mind the whole time. I improved my photography skills, and I lamented that I just don't spend enough time working the craft (photography that is) while I was still full time working the craft. Sounds schizophrenic as I write it and yes, that is the duplicity of my life at the moment. Really, it is all good, its just me trying to have it all which I know is crazy. I will find balance. I'll start posting a few photos.

I spent the weekend with the boys out in the park, riding bikes and just hanging. It was nice. But an amazing comment came our way, we were hanging with the 'doormans' hosing off the sidewalk, when our next door neighbor stopped to chat. We have four neighbors on our floor. One neighbor we are super friendly with and the boys run relatively freely between our house and his. One is a former Broadway singer, older, and we quite like her and chat regularly. One is a hermit and in eight years I've seen him once, actually last week and didn't realize who he was until he got off the elevator. The last is a single, widow, slightly older lady, whom I'll call Sarah, who is nice, but she puts a case of wine in the garbage once a week (I like a glass wine at the end of the day, but ouch). She usually rents to one person at a time, which the last couple years has been a really nice young gal somewhere around 30 years old. She is a former classical musician like my husband, with a couple harps in her house. She is nice, but we don't chat everyday. But totally friendly when we pass in the hallway. Beyond the people on our floor, we are very friendly with another six families, and friendly with another dozen or so.

Well, Sarah stopped to chat with me and said to my surprise, "I didn't realize until this week that the Little Man was yours. I just thought, 'wow those kids are good friends, he's over all the time.'" While this is hilarious, in two days the Little Man will have been part of our life for a year, it is also amazing that race does make a different. If he looked more like us, then maybe she would have thought she just missed the pregnancy. What also amazed me is that the comment comes at a time when I've started to forget to think of our family as multi-racial; we are just a family.

I laughed with her, smiled and said, "yep, he's part of our troupe now!" and the Big Boy proclaimed, "He's my brother." I guess the big struggles of integration are passed (keeping my fingers crossed): we are just family.

A sacred relationship

The relationship between mother and son is simple. Mother. Son. But it is also complex. Mother. Son.

DS1 asked, "Who will grow to be as big as daddy first; me or my brother?" I said, "You will."

His response floored me, "You know why? Because I came first and I came from your belly." Hello! Guess we are there. He understands that his brother did not come from my belly. Yet he is still his brother. I believe we are now understanding the adoption story. WOW.

I love both my boys. But with my man that came from China, I love him, love (if that is the right word, maybe recognize with a certain level of respect and compassion) his biological parents and I love the serendipity that exists between us to bring us together. I don't love the circumstances that existed to allow us to come together. I look forward to sharing the adoption story with him and I equally dread sharing the story with him. I'm thankful for the practice I get in explaining it to others, to his big brother.

Calls from the road

Definitely part of parenting that is hard is that toddlers, particularly DS2 who isn't clearly talking, can't tell me what they need, what they want, what is working and what isn't. And as a parent, I do things for the boys even if it is hard for me. Phone calls home, while on the road, go in this category.

While I have been on the road this week, I've been calling home to talk to the boys. I believe this important; it lets them know I am still alive, still care, and still plan on coming home. But I also wonder what they get out of it. If they are having fun with a toy or each other, I can hear them telling the sitter they don't want to talk to me. Frankly, this is a crushing blow to me. But DS1 usually will eventually take the phone. Once on the phone, instead of saying he's having fun or misses me, or doesn't miss me, I get random silly comments like, "are you fooling around?" "Are you hitting your poopy buttocks (thank you DH for the vocabulary lessons)?" "When are you coming home?"

I try to explain I'm off working. I ask about their day, school, friends. I share stories, like if I saw a firetruck or something interesting. Then I hang up and just miss them badly and feel like a shitty parent for not being there. Even worse, but it is better to know than not, is to hear the reports from DH and the sitter that DS2 is running around the house asking for "moma". That he searches my bedroom office for me each time he comes into the house. When DS2 takes the phone, he tells me stories I don't understand and gives the phone kisses. I know he misses me, but seeing/hearing the evidence is painful. I miss him too.

Being on the road is not all bad. I get to take a long shower without anyone watching me or asking questions. I get to go poop without having a conversation with a toddler about what I'm doing. I sleep without worrying that every sound in the night is one of the boys needing help. I get to eat my food while it is hot. However, I miss them greatly. I always carry pictures and look at them often.

Small Departure from our household

We had a mouse. I kind of liked her presence. This week we caught and removed her. But she stays on my mind. I miss her. Yeah, I'm likely hormonal.

There is no reason to feel sad about the mouse. I decided the mouse was a "she" as she was (1) friendly, would run by when we were all hanging in the livingroom, (2) smart, every trap my husband put down she would run right passed, (3) wasn't living with us, I suspect we were just a transit apartment in her moves from one destination to another and (3) she was a really small mouse (I've lived in NYC a long time now, I've seen my share of rats and mice).

She first started appearing when the weather turned really cold in late October. DH and DS1 saw her first. It was the first time I ever heard DH shout "Oh My God", like a girl. When I asked what happen DH explained he saw a mouse. DS1 missed it, but caught how exciting this was and watched the radiator until he caught sight of her on her return run through later that evening. She'd run from the kitchen (under the stove) through the kitchen, across the livingroom to the radiator. Then a few hours later she'd run back. I figure both sites have room for a mouse to transit.

A few days later I saw her and frankly sized her up as a benign presence. She had things to do, places to be, she really didn't seem interested in us. I never found any evidence of damage like she was trying to eat things or nesting. I never found any mouse poop. Then there were no sightings for a month or so.

One night DH commented she was back and started putting out glue traps where the boys couldn't reach them. The next evening as we were relaxing we saw her approach and then run around the glue traps. The next day she made an appearance during DS2's speech therapy; thankfully I was the only one that noticed. But, that was the turning point. I didn't want others knowing I was harboring a mouse. I also figured at some point, at some level, this is very unhygienic for the boys.

Next, DH put out more glue traps, super sticky kind supplied by our Super, in her path, where the boys could reach them. Of course he told the boys not to touch them. No surprise, the boys did find out personally that the traps were super sticky. This lead to allowing the Super to bring up the exterminator.

The exterminator was a totally cool guy. He only wanted to put traps where the boys couldn't reach them, but that wasn't along her path. I was confident that the boys were sufficiently educated such that they wouldn't touch the new traps and convinced the exterminator. He put out new super-duper sticky traps that smelled of bananas. He looked behind my refrigerator and stove and confirmed she wasn't living with us as well as recovered a few lost spoons.

That evening I went out with a girl friend to see a movie, and when I returned, DH had the trap in the center of the room with our little lady stuck to it. Why he saved it to show me, is a mystery that can only be explained by a caveman gene. I sat there for a long time sad and apologizing. DH finally picked it up and sent her down the garbage compactor.

DS1 was aware of the traps and that they are now gone. He would get excited every time we caught a little bug or spider, have I mentioned before but for some reason we have a slight problem with ladybugs in our house, another harmless presence I've done nothing about, but in the spring they tend to attack one of our windows that face the park, but even today I found one on the plant in my office. I don't have the heart to tell him that we caught her. I can't answer any questions about where she went. I wanted to take her across the street to the park, but DH was convinced if I tried to pry her off she'd lose limbs.

I know, pathetic, this is what I have become.

Family Dinners

Ok, I'm old fashion.  I believe we should sit down and eat dinner like a family when we can.  Prior to DS2 joining us that was about 6 days a week.  No tv (another thing I'm old fashion on, only one in the house and only 30 minutes a day) during dinner, and it eaten around a table (whether I cook or order in).  

However, with the addition of DS2 and the start of preschool for DS1, I've got the boys bed time routine moved forward to lights out at 8 pm instead of 9 pm, which means DH and I eat after the boys go to bed.  But not while on  vacation.  I thought it would be great to eat together. 

And it is.  But how many times must I say, " don't put your feet on the table", "don't stick the fork in your nose", "yes, you can eat with your fingers over waiting for me to feed you every bite", "if it is too hot, just spit it out on your plate".  Overall, the boys are good.  And I try not to linger with the family meal, get in and out as quickly as possible, while still sitting long enough to feed everyone and have some sort of conversation. But, wow, not as relaxing as one would hope.  But they are still young and I have time to mold them. 

 This week we've had the luxury of grilling outside which is just amazing.  Yeah, I'd love to have a NYC apartment with a balcony and a grill.  But even 12 years on the Street for mid-level person like myself that did luxury was not afforded; and I think grills are technically illegal in the city although you see them everywhere.  Also, grilling means all my boys want to play with the weapons.

I even made the boys dress up one night as we went in to eat at one of the harbors.  I was trying to get one of the boys dressed in a nice shirt, I was still in my underwear, when DH said, "mommie looks sexy".  He was quickly corrected by DS1, "Mommie's not sexy, she's naked".  So you can see, even getting to the dinner table is ego deflating.  

So to those who look each other in the eye during a family meal, which is also a Thanksgiving tradition, I salute you and attempt to join you!