I started this blog back in 2006 to document our journey to Marcie. After we returned to the U.S., it was so easy to continue writing. At the time, Casey was a preschooler. And a hand full at that. Then Marcie began doing more and more interesting things. So the writing came. They were so amusing.
It's not that they aren't amusing anymore. They are. It's just that the events are less action-related and more conversational. Their stories now are less about my coping with them and more about me helping them cope with the world-- and in that sense, I have felt (obviously) less motivated to write about them. Because somewhere in these past few years, the stories have become theirs and not so much mine. I think that's a good thing, though. We're all growing up.
But I find myself drawn back to the blog lately. I know I haven't been posting, but I have been composing in my mind. Mostly about Tate. And, given the trajectory of this blog, that makes perfect sense. He's in the midst of his terrific twos. And I don't know if we are more tired or he is more energetic, but he seems to be a bigger hand full than either Casey or Marcie were. In a different way. Somehow, some days I feel caught off-guard. Maybe I have been too confident in my parenting- this is our third after all. Whatever it is, Tate has introduced new challenges.
At first, I thought it was because of our changed family situation. When Casey and Marcie were two, Jason and I both were working full time outside the home. They were in preschool (Marcie full day, Casey half day and then to Grandma S.'s house). With Tate, it's all on us because Jason is home full-time. So I wondered if Casey and Marcie were really more rascally than I realized.
But I don't think that's it. I just think Tate is making his own way in the world. My sister recently referenced him (lovingly, I might add) as "Tornado Tate." Sometimes that's how it feels. He is a whirlwind of activity, blowing through our home, and when we are at home, we spend a lot of our time following him around and cleaning up after him.
Don't get me wrong. We love him to death. In retrospect, we can acknowledge that we were crazy to adopt a third child, busy as our lives already were. Night after night, while he is still racing around the house at 10pm and I am falling asleep on the sofa, trying to keep one eye open on him, I wonder, "What were we thinking?!?" But of course, we were guided by instinct -- and, let's be honest here -- we can't imagine life without him and really wouldn't want to. He's a force to be reckoned with, and a total love bug, too.
So I remember, now, why I kept writing this blog after bringing home Marcie. And I think I will be doing more of it soon-- there are already so many adventures to document: the nail polish incident, the sharpie incident, the dresser incident, the medicine cabinet incident, the kitchen sink incident, the hair color incident-- and so many more to come, I am sure. . .