We have very good friends who have been waiting a while for their daughter from China. They turned in their paperwork a little over two years ago, and were delighted to receive a referral in late June (almost exactly 3 years after we learned about Marcie!).
They leave on Friday for China. With their four-year-old son. Our kids are, admittedly, a little jealous. They'll get to go to China, too. Just not this summer.
In the meantime, we've been reveling in the excitement of Lila's referral and pending arrival. Watching my friend Grace go through the experience has reminded me a little of what it was like, and it got me ruminating the other day about how foreign the concept of a sudden "birth" in the family must seem to some people. Here's what I came up with:
I don't know what it feels like, emotionally, to give birth. Do new moms feel an overwhelming love for this child? Or does the love slowly develop over the course of the pregnancy, and you love him before you meet him? Are you stunned and overwhelmed, and you know that you have great things in store together, and so you love him at birth, in anticipation of really getting to know him?
I don't know that you can define the moment you first love your child. Really love him. And I don't you have to give birth to love a child at the moment he is born. Otherwise, we would say that fathers don't love their children from birth. But we know they do- and probably even before that.
And so I think it is with adoption. You don't really have the months of living with becoming a parent. Yes, you wait a long, long time. There is a lot of paperwork. And even after you see the pictures and learn about your child's daily routine, you still must wait to meet her. Some adoptive parents say they love their child the moment they see her. Maybe that's true. But I don't think it has to be that way. And I don't think it's that way for a lot of people. I remember the day after we met our girls in China. I was sitting in the bank waiting to give our orphanage donation. Only two mothers were there (all the rest were dads). The other woman was a single mom, in China alone with her new daughter. I could see the look on her face, the almost-vacant stare of total fear in her eyes. So I started talking to her. (I'm paraphrasing below, of course- it was several years ago, now.)
"There's no right way to do this, you know," I told her. "Love doesn't have to be an immediate, intense, all-consuming feeling. Sometimes it comes slowly."
She looked at me, a little startled. And I knew it wasn't my business, but I couldn't help myself. "When we adopted our son, the adoption counselors told us we might not love him right away, but that we had to go through the motions, that the love would come. It's not that you don't love them right away, though. I think you're just in shock at first."
There was a long silence, and then she finally spoke. "I feel terrible," she admitted. "I have this beautiful daughter, who I've been waiting for for so long. But all I can think about is my cats. It sounds awful. But I miss them."
It's weird how we cope with these sorts of events. I knew Marcie was meant to be mine from the moment I saw her picture. But once I got her and held her in my arms, I immediately missed Casey more than anything in the world. I knew he was safe at home, and in my head I felt like I should be the happiest woman on earth. But a part of me was in shock. With Casey, who was already 3 1/2 by then, I knew what to expect, even if it wasn't always easy to parent him-- and I loved him. But Marcie was an introduction to the total unknown. And as ready as I was, and as happy as I was, I was still a little freaked out.
Love comes in all forms. Sometimes it's immediate and overwhelming. Sometimes it sneaks up on you, suddenly. And sometimes it takes a while to grow. But the important thing is that you're open to it, and that the love endures. And that we acknowledge that whatever kind of love we feel for our children, it's okay.
That's what becoming an adoptive parent means. It's probably what being a parent means, generally, too. There's just, ironically, less time to emotionally prepare for this child who is yours already and soon joining your family. Less time to grow into it.
Showing posts with label ruminating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ruminating. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Open Houses
Ok. First, there was the whining. Mine.
The preschool open house was at 5:00 p.m.
The school doesn't even close until 6:00 p.m. And it's kind of a daycare slash preschool. So I was surprised. After all, they rely, at least a little bit, on us paying for full time care to keep the place open and running. And 5:00 p.m., really?
So I had to leave work at 4:00 p.m., to make sure I'd get out of the office by 4:15. And I did.
I raced to Casey's school to pick him up. We flew over to the preschool, where we met Marcie, playing on the playground with all the other bazillions of kids whose parents also don't show up before 5:00 p.m. She was happy to see us. We cut on lines, played with a puzzle, did a lace-up activity, and then the class danced. Well, most of the class. Not Marcie. Because she's not into actually participating in group activities when "outside" adults (including me) are watching. So I watched the other kids dance, while Marcie stood in her spot in the circle. It's not a big deal. I mean, the important thing is that she does what she's supposed to do during the school day. But still. It's irritating. Or maybe it's a little endearing. Honestly, I'm tired and I can't decide.
Then, in a moment of horrible parenting, I took the kids to (gasp!) McDonald's. It's a pretty rare occurrence. I think I might be able to actually name all the times I've ever taken the kids there. Even just for ice cream. But we were in a hurry. So to McDonald's we went.
Where Casey whined because he wanted two cookies for dessert. Puh-lease. Isn't McDonalds kind of like having greasy dessert for dinner, anyway?
At Casey's school, Marcie announced she had to use the bathroom. Which was, of course, locked. Fortunately, Casey could show us where the kindergarten bathroom was, in one of the other teacher's rooms. It smelled of urine. Probably all over the floor. I guess that's not a huge surprise since it's a kindergarten bathroom. But it was still gross.
Casey was thrilled to show off all his school work-- and with good reason. The thing about kindergarten is that the kids can't help but improve over the course of the year. Sure, Casey isn't the most advanced kid in his class. But that doesn't matter. He's learning. And he likes school. And that's what matters.
That's one of the strange things about open houses-- you can see what everyone else's kid is doing to. So it's hard not to compare-- or at least to wonder-- how your kid stacks up. I'm actually pretty good about not doing that. Like I said, my primary concern is Casey.
But then a mom mentioned that she'd like to have Casey over for a play date one of these Saturdays, now that t-ball is over. Casey didn't play t-ball. Partly because somehow we weren't even aware sign-ups were going on. But more honestly because we couldn't figure out how we'd get him to practice during the weeks. And this is our problem now, too, with soccer. How does he play community soccer if we can't get him to practices? How do we get to practices when we both work at least 30 minutes from home (did I mention Jason started a fabulous new job this week, the only down side being the commute?)?
I seriously don't think a month goes by that I don't sigh and think to myself that I wished one of us could be home to take care of these things. And picking up. And taking out the trash. And doing dishes and folding laundry. And mowing the lawn. And weeding. Seriously, how do people do it all? I can hardly find time to do any of it. It's a miracle I have clean underwear every week. (It's all about prioritizing, I suppose.)
And so now I've turned my kids' open houses, celebrations of their academic and social accomplishments, into a pity party- a guilt festival. That's so sad. Parenting at its best (and by best I mean worst). Some day. Some day we will get it all worked out. Some day one of us will be home after school. We will be poor. But our kids will have enriching, meaningful relationships with us because of it. And that's worth more than money can buy.
Some day.
The preschool open house was at 5:00 p.m.
The school doesn't even close until 6:00 p.m. And it's kind of a daycare slash preschool. So I was surprised. After all, they rely, at least a little bit, on us paying for full time care to keep the place open and running. And 5:00 p.m., really?
So I had to leave work at 4:00 p.m., to make sure I'd get out of the office by 4:15. And I did.
I raced to Casey's school to pick him up. We flew over to the preschool, where we met Marcie, playing on the playground with all the other bazillions of kids whose parents also don't show up before 5:00 p.m. She was happy to see us. We cut on lines, played with a puzzle, did a lace-up activity, and then the class danced. Well, most of the class. Not Marcie. Because she's not into actually participating in group activities when "outside" adults (including me) are watching. So I watched the other kids dance, while Marcie stood in her spot in the circle. It's not a big deal. I mean, the important thing is that she does what she's supposed to do during the school day. But still. It's irritating. Or maybe it's a little endearing. Honestly, I'm tired and I can't decide.
Then, in a moment of horrible parenting, I took the kids to (gasp!) McDonald's. It's a pretty rare occurrence. I think I might be able to actually name all the times I've ever taken the kids there. Even just for ice cream. But we were in a hurry. So to McDonald's we went.
Where Casey whined because he wanted two cookies for dessert. Puh-lease. Isn't McDonalds kind of like having greasy dessert for dinner, anyway?
At Casey's school, Marcie announced she had to use the bathroom. Which was, of course, locked. Fortunately, Casey could show us where the kindergarten bathroom was, in one of the other teacher's rooms. It smelled of urine. Probably all over the floor. I guess that's not a huge surprise since it's a kindergarten bathroom. But it was still gross.
Casey was thrilled to show off all his school work-- and with good reason. The thing about kindergarten is that the kids can't help but improve over the course of the year. Sure, Casey isn't the most advanced kid in his class. But that doesn't matter. He's learning. And he likes school. And that's what matters.
That's one of the strange things about open houses-- you can see what everyone else's kid is doing to. So it's hard not to compare-- or at least to wonder-- how your kid stacks up. I'm actually pretty good about not doing that. Like I said, my primary concern is Casey.
But then a mom mentioned that she'd like to have Casey over for a play date one of these Saturdays, now that t-ball is over. Casey didn't play t-ball. Partly because somehow we weren't even aware sign-ups were going on. But more honestly because we couldn't figure out how we'd get him to practice during the weeks. And this is our problem now, too, with soccer. How does he play community soccer if we can't get him to practices? How do we get to practices when we both work at least 30 minutes from home (did I mention Jason started a fabulous new job this week, the only down side being the commute?)?
I seriously don't think a month goes by that I don't sigh and think to myself that I wished one of us could be home to take care of these things. And picking up. And taking out the trash. And doing dishes and folding laundry. And mowing the lawn. And weeding. Seriously, how do people do it all? I can hardly find time to do any of it. It's a miracle I have clean underwear every week. (It's all about prioritizing, I suppose.)
And so now I've turned my kids' open houses, celebrations of their academic and social accomplishments, into a pity party- a guilt festival. That's so sad. Parenting at its best (and by best I mean worst). Some day. Some day we will get it all worked out. Some day one of us will be home after school. We will be poor. But our kids will have enriching, meaningful relationships with us because of it. And that's worth more than money can buy.
Some day.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Motherhood
I heard about Madeline Spohr on my friend Danielle's blog. It was hard to read about Madeline. She had just passed away. And she was a toddler. A baby, really.
She was born premature. And I found her blog just about the same time my close friend Ann was placed on bed rest. At 30-ish weeks. With her first child. The bed rest was at home at first. And it was sort of coincidental that I learned of her plight as it happened because we were supposed to have lunch together that day. And then the bed rest happened, so lunch was canceled. Then, at 32 weeks they sent Ann to the hospital. Where she was to stay until the arrival of her child. The life within her kicking and wiggling. Growing. But then the baby couldn't wait. He had to retreat from the safety of her womb into this big, cold world. His arrival was welcomed by Ann's large, extended family-- many of whom waited around in the hospital, hoping for a glimpse of this new life as he was wheeled through hospital hallways into the ICU. He was born breathing on his own. He is gaining weight. He is doing well. And so is she. And I'm glad. Especially after reading about Madeline.
I read about Madeline before Cole's arrival. That is his name -- Ann's baby's name. And just before he took his first breath, Madeline took her last one. And it broke her mother's heart. It touched the hearts of many. Made us stop breathing. At least momentarily. And still her mother blogs. If you have the heart for it, you can follow the story here: http://www.thespohrsaremultiplying.com/.
Today, as I read Heather's words, the tears fell from my eyes.
It was a reminder of how precious life is.
How delicate a balance we try to live.
It was a reminder of what really matters.
A reminder of how lucky I am.
Each day I am lucky. Casey and Marcie make it so.
She was born premature. And I found her blog just about the same time my close friend Ann was placed on bed rest. At 30-ish weeks. With her first child. The bed rest was at home at first. And it was sort of coincidental that I learned of her plight as it happened because we were supposed to have lunch together that day. And then the bed rest happened, so lunch was canceled. Then, at 32 weeks they sent Ann to the hospital. Where she was to stay until the arrival of her child. The life within her kicking and wiggling. Growing. But then the baby couldn't wait. He had to retreat from the safety of her womb into this big, cold world. His arrival was welcomed by Ann's large, extended family-- many of whom waited around in the hospital, hoping for a glimpse of this new life as he was wheeled through hospital hallways into the ICU. He was born breathing on his own. He is gaining weight. He is doing well. And so is she. And I'm glad. Especially after reading about Madeline.
I read about Madeline before Cole's arrival. That is his name -- Ann's baby's name. And just before he took his first breath, Madeline took her last one. And it broke her mother's heart. It touched the hearts of many. Made us stop breathing. At least momentarily. And still her mother blogs. If you have the heart for it, you can follow the story here: http://www.thespohrsaremultiplying.com/.
Today, as I read Heather's words, the tears fell from my eyes.
It was a reminder of how precious life is.
How delicate a balance we try to live.
It was a reminder of what really matters.
A reminder of how lucky I am.
Each day I am lucky. Casey and Marcie make it so.
Friday, April 24, 2009
The S.S. Multicultural
So I initially intended to post about how irritating I find "multicultural faires" to be.
In my (admittedly) limited experience, multicultural "events" are usually planned and organized by non-"multicultural" people (read: Whiteys, like me).
I'm all for exposing kids to other countries around the world. To their foods, their music, their art and history, their language-- the whole shebang. Really, what harm can come from teaching others about the world around us? And, as we interact more and more with people who were born and raised in cultures different from our own, it helps to understand-- at least academically-- what their beliefs, attitudes, approaches are, generally speaking.
But a "multicultural faire" just sounds so contrived to me. Because it's usually a bunch of white people who have book-studied whatever country they are teaching about. The intentions are good. But how meaningful can the experience really be?
So that's what I was going to write about. But tonight we went to the one at Casey's school. Because Casey asked to go. Because the kindergartners were performing. And I have to admit, it was really well-coordinated and well-run. There was food and activities, artwork and photos. There was music and dance. And although Casey's school's minority population really is, well, in the minority (by far!), it was clear from this evening that many of the "booths" and areas were run by people who really probably do know something about the "culture" they were presenting. So the Afghanistan area had been organized and was being hosted by an Afghan family. Same with the booth about the Philippines. And the booth from Mexico. I don't really know about many of the European booths-- I suspect they were sponsored by families with origins from those countries. But that's better than me hosting, say, a booth on Ethiopia (and there was one- I'm not sure if the family was Ethiopian or not).
So I thought it was cute. And if my only real gripe is that it's called "multicultural" night instead of "Countries of the World" night (or some other equally generic term), I must be looking for something to complain about, right?
Oh-- and the singing (and signing) of "It's a Small World" was pretty cute.
In my (admittedly) limited experience, multicultural "events" are usually planned and organized by non-"multicultural" people (read: Whiteys, like me).
I'm all for exposing kids to other countries around the world. To their foods, their music, their art and history, their language-- the whole shebang. Really, what harm can come from teaching others about the world around us? And, as we interact more and more with people who were born and raised in cultures different from our own, it helps to understand-- at least academically-- what their beliefs, attitudes, approaches are, generally speaking.
But a "multicultural faire" just sounds so contrived to me. Because it's usually a bunch of white people who have book-studied whatever country they are teaching about. The intentions are good. But how meaningful can the experience really be?
So that's what I was going to write about. But tonight we went to the one at Casey's school. Because Casey asked to go. Because the kindergartners were performing. And I have to admit, it was really well-coordinated and well-run. There was food and activities, artwork and photos. There was music and dance. And although Casey's school's minority population really is, well, in the minority (by far!), it was clear from this evening that many of the "booths" and areas were run by people who really probably do know something about the "culture" they were presenting. So the Afghanistan area had been organized and was being hosted by an Afghan family. Same with the booth about the Philippines. And the booth from Mexico. I don't really know about many of the European booths-- I suspect they were sponsored by families with origins from those countries. But that's better than me hosting, say, a booth on Ethiopia (and there was one- I'm not sure if the family was Ethiopian or not).
So I thought it was cute. And if my only real gripe is that it's called "multicultural" night instead of "Countries of the World" night (or some other equally generic term), I must be looking for something to complain about, right?
Oh-- and the singing (and signing) of "It's a Small World" was pretty cute.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Live Blogging- Adopt-a-family & other pet peeves
So I'm watching Extreme Makeover Home Edition right now. It's the family from Tallahassee, Florida, which adopted 6 children from China using CCAI, our agency. During the home tour, they even zoomed in on the CCAI bumper stickers Made in China, Loved in the USA.
I'm taking this moment, while watching TV, to share one of my adoption-parenting pet peeves. Okay, three of them.
First, I have to say that I love our agency. I would not use another China agency because I think CCAI is that fantastic. They are forthcoming. They are ethical. They do not try to rob you blind in crazy-insane adoption-related fees. They will hold your hand if you need hand-holding. The owners understand adoption first-hand. They have many programs to work with kids post-adoption-- both because coming to terms with being adopted is sometimes difficult for people and because being Chinese matters, and the agency gets it. Generally, I think CCAI just gets it.
But those bumper stickers-- they irritate me. I think the whole "Made in China" thing is cute. Casey and Marcie often dance around and tell us that Marcie came from China and Casey came from Ohio. But the extra phrase-- "loved in the U.S."-- implies that the kid was not also loved in China. I can't believe our agency really thinks that. In my view, adoption from China is not a product of the lovelessness of the Chinese people frequently forced to leave their children with strangers. I believe that Marcie birthfamily, wherever they are, worry about her. Wonder what ended up happening. Pray and hope that she found happiness wherever she landed. I also know that Marcie was loved in the orphanage. I have no doubt that those nannies really did care about her and love her. I'm not suggesting it can supplant a parent's love. But it's really important to me that both my kids know how wanted and loved they were before they found their ways into our lives and our arms. That's the thing about adoption.
And this brings me to the second pet peeve. What is up with that attitude that "these people have done a wonderful thing by adopting. . ."? I mean, of course I think adoption is wonderful. And the mom on the show really did try to put off Ty and the other designers, who kind of suggested the kids should be grateful to find a family here in the U.S., by saying something like "Oh no-- they don't owe us anything!" Well that's definitely how I feel. I have written about this before. I did not adopt my children to "save" them, to give them a "better" life, or because I wanted to do something good for the world. My choice to adopt was totally and completely selfish. I chose adoption because I wanted children. And this was how we could build our family. To suggest adoption is some sort of noble action is to suggest that kids who are adopted are somehow lesser--or less-deserving of family. We don't say, "Oh, your kids are so lucky you gave birth to them. If you didn't, they wouldn't exist. I sure hope they let you know how grateful they are to be alive and to have you take care of them." Of course we don't-- because we expect parents to take care of their children. Why isn't it the same with adoption?
And finally, my third pet peeve. Yes, yes. I'm probably ridiculously overly sensitive about these things. Blah Blah. It doesn't mean I'm wrong. I listened on the show when the builder was talking about how impressed they were by the family for "all they've given" (because they chose to adopt-- see above on how I feel about this). But then he said something else that irks me. He said something like, "And that's why we've decided to adopt this family for the week."
Um. Yeah. That's not what adoption is. The whole point of adoption is that it is permanent. You do not adopt a child for a week. Or a month. Or a year-- or even five years. And when we have "adopt a family" programs at Christmas, or "adopt a family" on Extreme Makeover, it kind of misses the point of what adoption means. And I think it waters it down. When we talk about temporary "adoptions," we are not making a long term, permanent commitment. It's like-- Hey, it will be fun to take care of these people and help them out, and then when we run out of money or get tired of it, we can just move on. But that's the opposite of what adoption is-- or should be. Adoption is the notion that no matter what, this is a permanent family. If the money runs out, if luck changes, if health begins to fail-- no matter what-- you will be there. Because that's what family means.
Don't get me wrong-- I love the idea of lending a hand, in whatever way you can, to people who need help. I just don't think we should call it an adoption. WORDS. MATTER.
Phew. And that concludes my rant for today.
*UPDATE*
I finished watching the show. Despite my aforementioned irritations, I thought the show generally handled adoption responsibly, highlighting the families adoption has touched, and treating it-- as it should have been-- as just a piece of the much larger puzzle that makes up the variety of ways people choose to build their families.
I'm taking this moment, while watching TV, to share one of my adoption-parenting pet peeves. Okay, three of them.
First, I have to say that I love our agency. I would not use another China agency because I think CCAI is that fantastic. They are forthcoming. They are ethical. They do not try to rob you blind in crazy-insane adoption-related fees. They will hold your hand if you need hand-holding. The owners understand adoption first-hand. They have many programs to work with kids post-adoption-- both because coming to terms with being adopted is sometimes difficult for people and because being Chinese matters, and the agency gets it. Generally, I think CCAI just gets it.
But those bumper stickers-- they irritate me. I think the whole "Made in China" thing is cute. Casey and Marcie often dance around and tell us that Marcie came from China and Casey came from Ohio. But the extra phrase-- "loved in the U.S."-- implies that the kid was not also loved in China. I can't believe our agency really thinks that. In my view, adoption from China is not a product of the lovelessness of the Chinese people frequently forced to leave their children with strangers. I believe that Marcie birthfamily, wherever they are, worry about her. Wonder what ended up happening. Pray and hope that she found happiness wherever she landed. I also know that Marcie was loved in the orphanage. I have no doubt that those nannies really did care about her and love her. I'm not suggesting it can supplant a parent's love. But it's really important to me that both my kids know how wanted and loved they were before they found their ways into our lives and our arms. That's the thing about adoption.
And this brings me to the second pet peeve. What is up with that attitude that "these people have done a wonderful thing by adopting. . ."? I mean, of course I think adoption is wonderful. And the mom on the show really did try to put off Ty and the other designers, who kind of suggested the kids should be grateful to find a family here in the U.S., by saying something like "Oh no-- they don't owe us anything!" Well that's definitely how I feel. I have written about this before. I did not adopt my children to "save" them, to give them a "better" life, or because I wanted to do something good for the world. My choice to adopt was totally and completely selfish. I chose adoption because I wanted children. And this was how we could build our family. To suggest adoption is some sort of noble action is to suggest that kids who are adopted are somehow lesser--or less-deserving of family. We don't say, "Oh, your kids are so lucky you gave birth to them. If you didn't, they wouldn't exist. I sure hope they let you know how grateful they are to be alive and to have you take care of them." Of course we don't-- because we expect parents to take care of their children. Why isn't it the same with adoption?
And finally, my third pet peeve. Yes, yes. I'm probably ridiculously overly sensitive about these things. Blah Blah. It doesn't mean I'm wrong. I listened on the show when the builder was talking about how impressed they were by the family for "all they've given" (because they chose to adopt-- see above on how I feel about this). But then he said something else that irks me. He said something like, "And that's why we've decided to adopt this family for the week."
Um. Yeah. That's not what adoption is. The whole point of adoption is that it is permanent. You do not adopt a child for a week. Or a month. Or a year-- or even five years. And when we have "adopt a family" programs at Christmas, or "adopt a family" on Extreme Makeover, it kind of misses the point of what adoption means. And I think it waters it down. When we talk about temporary "adoptions," we are not making a long term, permanent commitment. It's like-- Hey, it will be fun to take care of these people and help them out, and then when we run out of money or get tired of it, we can just move on. But that's the opposite of what adoption is-- or should be. Adoption is the notion that no matter what, this is a permanent family. If the money runs out, if luck changes, if health begins to fail-- no matter what-- you will be there. Because that's what family means.
Don't get me wrong-- I love the idea of lending a hand, in whatever way you can, to people who need help. I just don't think we should call it an adoption. WORDS. MATTER.
Phew. And that concludes my rant for today.
*UPDATE*
I finished watching the show. Despite my aforementioned irritations, I thought the show generally handled adoption responsibly, highlighting the families adoption has touched, and treating it-- as it should have been-- as just a piece of the much larger puzzle that makes up the variety of ways people choose to build their families.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Good-bye 2007, Hello 2008
It's hard to believe another year has passed already. It's true, sometimes time seems to crawl-- like when you're waiting for an adoption referral you were told would take about 6 months and it's already been 2 full years (those poor families waiting for children from China!). But more often then not, time flies by. The older I grow, the faster it flies. My marriage seemed to speed up time. And then came Casey. Now I have a hard time shifting out of fifth gear long enough to enjoy the company.
2007, like the year before it, brought a lot of change, and it also helped us settle into some new routines. For me, 2007 was all about finishing law school. Of course, there were other big events in 2007, besides law school graduation. Like sitting for the bar exam. Passing the bar. Saying good bye to my work family, where I'd found myself comfortably cozied into my cubicle for about 5 1/2 years. Starting a new job. Traveling to Ohio to visit with extended family and to observe one my closest friend's weddings. Traveling to North Carolina to visit with another dear, dear friend and to visit with my parents. Testing out pretty much all the public transportation San Diego has to offer. Playing at Disneyland. Celebrating my eighth wedding anniversary, joining friends in trips to Las Vegas, and making cakes for my kids' 4th and 2nd birthdays. And who could forget the Fire Storm, which sent us packing-- literally, albeit temporarily.
2007 was a reprieve from the catastrophic-type illnesses that had seemed to plague our extended family during the preceding three years. It was a year of final chapters and of new beginnings. In 2007 Marcie left Grandma S.'s exceptional care for the world of preschool. We said good bye to our faithful Honda Accord in exchange for a 2007 Odyssey. Casey switched sports from soccer to baseball and swimming, at least for a while.
In 2007, we welcomed a new nephew, a new brother-in-law-to-be, and learned we'll be adding a seventh nephew (or niece-- we don't have any of those yet) to our family.
So we have much to look forward to in 2008. Though we're in for a long wait to China for B.S. #3, we've tentatively decided to pursue an adoption in the interim, probably from Ethiopia. We plan to begin that process in 2008. Casey will start kindergarten this fall (!), and my sister Megan, my sister in law Tiffany, and my best friend Ann are all getting married in 2008. In 2008 we will finish landscaping our back yard. We will visit Disneyland (again). We'll celebrate our ninth wedding anniversary, the 35th year of our lives, and we'll dance a happy dance as our children turn 5 and 3.
In 2008 we will become experts at Rock Band, we'll teach Casey to ride his bike without training wheels, and we'll squeal in delight as Marcie become officially toilet-trained. In 2008, we will laugh and love and sing and dance. We will appreciate all that we have, and all that we are. We will try to, as Emily put it in Thornton Wilder's Our Town, appreciate "every, every minute" while we live it.
I'm not naive to think 2008 will be without its disappointments and pitfalls. But it's only January 2nd. So let's start off this year with the "glass half full" mentality, shall we? No resolutions, except to try to appreciate life and all that it offers . . .
2007, like the year before it, brought a lot of change, and it also helped us settle into some new routines. For me, 2007 was all about finishing law school. Of course, there were other big events in 2007, besides law school graduation. Like sitting for the bar exam. Passing the bar. Saying good bye to my work family, where I'd found myself comfortably cozied into my cubicle for about 5 1/2 years. Starting a new job. Traveling to Ohio to visit with extended family and to observe one my closest friend's weddings. Traveling to North Carolina to visit with another dear, dear friend and to visit with my parents. Testing out pretty much all the public transportation San Diego has to offer. Playing at Disneyland. Celebrating my eighth wedding anniversary, joining friends in trips to Las Vegas, and making cakes for my kids' 4th and 2nd birthdays. And who could forget the Fire Storm, which sent us packing-- literally, albeit temporarily.
2007 was a reprieve from the catastrophic-type illnesses that had seemed to plague our extended family during the preceding three years. It was a year of final chapters and of new beginnings. In 2007 Marcie left Grandma S.'s exceptional care for the world of preschool. We said good bye to our faithful Honda Accord in exchange for a 2007 Odyssey. Casey switched sports from soccer to baseball and swimming, at least for a while.
In 2007, we welcomed a new nephew, a new brother-in-law-to-be, and learned we'll be adding a seventh nephew (or niece-- we don't have any of those yet) to our family.
So we have much to look forward to in 2008. Though we're in for a long wait to China for B.S. #3, we've tentatively decided to pursue an adoption in the interim, probably from Ethiopia. We plan to begin that process in 2008. Casey will start kindergarten this fall (!), and my sister Megan, my sister in law Tiffany, and my best friend Ann are all getting married in 2008. In 2008 we will finish landscaping our back yard. We will visit Disneyland (again). We'll celebrate our ninth wedding anniversary, the 35th year of our lives, and we'll dance a happy dance as our children turn 5 and 3.
In 2008 we will become experts at Rock Band, we'll teach Casey to ride his bike without training wheels, and we'll squeal in delight as Marcie become officially toilet-trained. In 2008, we will laugh and love and sing and dance. We will appreciate all that we have, and all that we are. We will try to, as Emily put it in Thornton Wilder's Our Town, appreciate "every, every minute" while we live it.
I'm not naive to think 2008 will be without its disappointments and pitfalls. But it's only January 2nd. So let's start off this year with the "glass half full" mentality, shall we? No resolutions, except to try to appreciate life and all that it offers . . .
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