Letter to a 12 Year Old

 Dear Matthew,

For the life of me, I cannot find a letter for your 11th birthday and here you are turning 12. What happened? How did I fail at life so substantially? My only defense is that we came home from our trip to New York together and almost immediately the entire world fell apart with the Covid-19 pandemic. It's no excuse. But that's all I can come up with. Or Will. Will was A WHOLE HEAPING HELPING OF A LOT LAST WINTER. I was barely surviving all the therapy and all the hitting and screaming that he was throwing my way. Again, no excuse. I apologize with everything in me.

You're 12. And you're a transracially adopted 12 year old. There's a lot of growth and development and adoption processing and understanding happening in these days and moments. The truth is, I didn't see all of this when I held your shrieking newborn body in my arms. I knew it would be a journey but I had no idea. Walking with you down this path of pain and awareness has been an experience I carry with great honor. I say it to you all the time and I will say it here in print: your story is yours. Your life is yours. Love who you choose. Accept what you will. Disregard what you won't. I am here for all your big, huge feelings and I am here for your silence. Decide who belongs to you and who doesn't. The choice is yours. I promise to continue learning, to sit in the uncomfortable, and to broaden my shoulders to hold what they need to. I promise to seek first to understand. I promise to do whatever I need to do in order to be what you need.

But what I need you to hear--someday, when you read this--is that I love you. I love you no more or less than your older brother or your younger brother. I know you are not biologically related to me but neither is your dad and I love him something ridiculous. I know you're not always in a place to receive that. But I won't stop saying it.

There's a line in Dear Theodosia where Hamilton sings...

Oh Philip, when you smile I am undone
My son
Look at my son
Pride is not the word I'm looking for
There is so much more inside me now
Oh Philip, you outshine the morning sun
My son
When you smile, I fall apart
And I thought I was so smart

Those are my thoughts exactly. Except, well, your name isn't Philip. But, Matthew, pride doesn't begin to cover it. There is so much more inside me. There is so much love. And in the depth of your smile I am undone. It's the same smile you've had since you were four months old. It lights up the room. It lights up my heart. And I know that is so mushy and gross but it's completely true. I am ever so thankful that I have that smile in my life.

I can list all the ways you amaze me but it would take too long. You are so smart with your straight As and your advanced math. You are so strong with your self taught flipping and your 200 push ups. You are such an incredible brother. Truly. Oh you know how to push both their buttons and you do--as brothers do--but you are so often kind and caring, patient and self-sacrificing. You are creative, introspective, and always hilarious.

This year has been hard on everyone and you're no exception. I'm sorry for the isolation. Still, we did get to go to Tahoe and San Diego. We had a blast camping at the lake with our best good friends and visiting the family in southern California. We had fun in the creek over the summer and really enjoyed our first full Oregon summer--even if our options were limited. Beach trips and Silver Falls and a million walks helped break up the huge amount of time we spent stuck inside.

With all the isolation, you'd think it would be impossible to sustain injuries. But no. You got a probable concussion--running through the house with wet feet and falling flat on your back, a sprained wrist--before you were proficient at landing flips, and a sliced open foot--because your brother shoved you off a dock and you tried to stay on it. Between you and your brother, we were visiting urgent care constantly and it was OUT OF CONTROL. But I will tell you that as of this letter, it has been 176 days since we have entered the urgent care or the ER. How long can we go? 177 days, probably.

Your laugh is infectious. Your brain, a wealth of knowledge. And your body, way taller than your older brother's was at the same age. I predict that you'll tower over him in two years time. But we'll see. Watching you grow and develop into the amazing preteen that you are is one of my greatest joys. I pray peace upon your heart as you continue to change into the person you will become.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

Mom

Interview with 12 Year Old Matthew

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? This is Us. 
2. What did you have for breakfast? Coco Puffs. (I do not buy Coco Puffs. The school puts it in their breakfast/lunch. JUST FOR CLARIFICATION.)
3. What do you want to name your future son? Ian. (You guys! I'm just waiting for the day when my kid makes up some name and I have to forever call my grandson Craydin or something--given the prevalence of terrible names lately. IAN IS SO NICE AND NORMAL. Yay!)
4. Favorite Food? Pizza. Wait no, not pizza. Escargot. (Okay. He had escargot on a cruise with my parents. He's 12. He likes to pretend buttery snails are his favorite food. Whatev.)
5. What food do you dislike? Cooked broccoli. 
6. What is your favorite color? Red.
7. Favorite lunch? Hot dogs and hamburgers.
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Hang out with friends. Specifically my bestest friend in the whole wide world who can never be replaced, Ben. 
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Ireland. (He once saw this little warrior ninja girl on Britain's Got Talent. She was from Ireland. He wanted to marry her. This was back when he hadn't sworn off marriage forever. He became obsessed with Ireland. The end.)
10. Favorite sport? Soccer.
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? I wouldn't be having a daughter but...Megan. ("I wouldn't be having a daughter. 😂😂😂" Oh. Okay. Noted. BUT AGAIN WITH THE NORMAL NAMED CHILDREN. YAY!)
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? I'm definitely a night person. (His exact words from last year.)
13. Pets? Dog. Two frogs.
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? Um. No. I don't know. I don't have any exciting news. I'm turning 12. That's exciting news.
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? An actor.
16. What is your favorite candy? Reese's.
**17. (New question this year. This used to be "Farthest place you've ever been from home?" which has been Israel ever since he was 4 and, since Israel is PRETTY far, it might be awhile before the answer changes so...new question.) Where do you want to live when you grow up? Well. I've thought about it. Ireland. (The obsession is deep.)
18. What is your favorite book? Wings of Fire.
19. What are you most proud of? Me being able to do a flip successfully.
20. What is your favorite movie? All the Star Wars movies.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The chicken. The egg had to be fertilized. (Exact same thing he said last year. He's no dummy.)

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Matthew.
2. What is your least favorite word? Jerk.
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Sports.
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") School. (For the record, he earned straight As again so I don't really see the problem...)
5. What sound or noise do you love? The sound of going to the zoo and hearing all the birds chirping in the background. Or the sound at the beach with the waves and the seagulls. (I had no idea he enjoyed bird sounds so much.)
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Styrofoam. (He doesn't even like to touch Styrofoam he hates it so much.)

7. What is your favorite curse word? Stupid. (I told him he could say any word. Any word at all and I wouldn't be upset. He said, "I know but I don't want to say those other words so...Stupid. Okay.)
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Professional Baseball Player. (Interesting...)
9. What profession would you not like to do? Tennis player. (Apparently we're all about the sports right now.)

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? Welcome to Heaven.

Interview with 11 Year Old Matthew

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? Family Matters (An oldie but a goodie)

2. What did you have for breakfast? Eggo Waffles (Technically, my money only buys the store brand but we can call them Eggos if he wants to.)
3. What do you want to name your future son? Marcus (WOW! If I had a grandson named Marcus, I would be so relieved.)
4. Favorite Food? Hamburgers. But there's a certain type. McDonald's McDonald's hamburgers. (Oh dear.)
5. What food do you dislike? Cooked broccoli.
6. What is your favorite color? Well. Right now it's gold.
7. Favorite lunch? Snack lunch. (This is basically a cheap charcuterie board. In a muffin tin.)
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Play with friends.
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Can you do a place that you've already gone? Yes. New York.
10. Favorite sport? Soccer.
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? McKenna.
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? I'm definitely night person.
13. Pets? Yeah. A dog. And a hamster. Well, that's not my pet, but...
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I just got all my math done. (His definition of new and exciting is different than mine.)
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? An actor.
16. What is your favorite candy? Reese's Pieces.
17. Where is the farthest place you've ever been from home? Israel.
18. What is your favorite book? Wings of Fire and Jack & Louisa.
19. What are you most proud of? That I found an AR book with 9 points on it. (In all of his life, this is what he's most proud of? Eleven year olds confuse me.)
20. What is your favorite movie? Star Wars the Rise of Skywalker.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The chicken. The egg had to be fertilized. (Well, okay then.)

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Abominable. I love saying the word abominable.
2. What is your least favorite word? Clean. Like...when I tell you to? Yes.
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Hanging out with family.
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") Going to school.
5. What sound or noise do you love? Geometry Dash music.
6. What sound or noise do you hate? When I'm in trouble and dad comes home and I hear the garage door start squeaking. (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!)

7. What is your favorite curse word? Stupid. (He looked at me like he really wanted to say something else and then he went with this.)
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Acting.
9. What profession would you not like to do? Be a janitor.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? Welcome to Heaven.

Interview With 10 Year Old Matt

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? Grizzy and the Lemmings

2. What did you have for breakfast? Cereal and yogurt.
3. What do you want to name your future son? Marek (I mean, I guess I can think of worse names. It's a Slavic name that means warlike one.)
4. Favorite Food? Cheeseburgers. But I do like everything.
5. What food do you dislike? Cooked broccoli.
6. What is your favorite color? Red.
7. Favorite lunch? Peanut butter and jelly.
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Reading or watching TV.
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Ireland.
10. Favorite sport? Football.
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? Leia. (Simply because he likes Star Wars. Every woman wants to be named after Princess Leia, I'm sure. Insert eyeroll.)
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? I'm a totally night person.
13. Pets? Tessie. Ollie. Hamilton.
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I have a new cousin named Sophie. She's my biological aunt's baby. (Awww. Cute.)
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? An actor.
16. What is your favorite candy? Lollipop.
17. Where is the farthest place you've ever been from home? Israel.
18. What is your favorite book? Star Wars books.
19. What are you most proud of? That I have a good family.
20. What is your favorite movie? Star Wars. The Force Awakens.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The chicken.

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Word. (Er. Ok.)
2. What is your least favorite word? onomatopoeia (I asked him if he was serious and he said yes because it's hard to say)
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Going outside.
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") Bullies.
5. What sound or noise do you love? Tap dancing noises.
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Styrofoam 

7. What is your favorite curse word? Stupid.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? A director.
9. What profession would you not like to do? Be in the military.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? Your sister wants to see you. (Good thing this was the last question. I'm basically a puddle of goop now.)

Ten Years Old

Dear Matthew,

I hope you see this as a "Mom's been really busy with teaching and studying and chasing Will and I'm glad it was late instead of not at all" and not a, "Wow, guess she can't even remember when my birthday is" letter. I DO know when your birthday is. I bought cupcakes for school and we had a party and you had presents and everything. Remember? It happened. Six entire days ago BUT IT ALL HAPPENED.

Happy Birthday! You are, somehow, ten years old now. I guess an entire decade has gone by but I hardly comprehend how.

This past year was a pretty big one for you. You saw your birth parents and all your siblings this year. You hadn't seen your mom since you were just over a year old and you hadn't seen your dad since right after you turned two. I'm sure I've put it in writing somewhere before but I'll leave it here for you also. Our goal has always been to try to discern what is best for you right now AND what is best for you once you're an adult who very well may want to have all your parents and all your siblings in your life on a consistent basis. So we hope and pray that we're doing right by you now and we also hope that translates into healthy adult relationships with all of us. And so, of course we flew to Texas to attend your sister's graduation last June. And of course we welcomed your dad when he came to visit in November. It was a big year with big feelings and I hope you know how very much we all love you, how much we all loved you from the minute you came into our lives, and how much we will all love you forever.

You are so uniquely you. You're smart and hilarious and stunningly handsome. You just pulled straight A's except for a pesky little B in keyboarding. You got straight E's too. Well done, you. You love science and are so looking forward to 5th grade because you'll get to do a science experiment! (To anyone else who might read this, my son is a crazy person who hasn't yet realized that the science fair is the bane of all existence. BUT HOORAY FOR ENCOURAGING EXCITEMENT IN STEM MINDED KIDS!) Hey, Matt...you're STEM brained. I don't know what to do with that. We might need to hire a Standby Mom that we bring in to perform the role of Science and Math Mom.

"In tonight's performance, STEM Mom will be playing the part of Actual Mom."

Speaking of standbys, I DO know what to do with your love of acting and theatre and that is to FOSTER THE HECK OUT OF THAT PASSION. No, you can't have the agent you've been asking for since forever ago but you CAN come with me to see Wicked and I will for sure take you to the stage door to get pictures and autographs and I will direct you in church Christmas plays and I'll keep putting money in that NYC Trip Fund we started. I'm not sure about the Hamilton tickets you requested but time will tell.

Sports. I don't know, man. You keep trying new things, looking for your niche. This fall you tried taekwondo and you were doing really well. You loved it at first and then that kind of fizzled. You played a quick season of basketball and really seemed to enjoy it. Now you're signed back up for baseball. Here's to hoping you find something you really, truly love some day.

You continue to be a man of a few close friends. You're still quiet and reserved until you really get to know someone and then you turn into a total goofball. You love your alone time but you love being cozied up to the family for a movie night. You are complex in ways I am not and simple in ways I am not. You are introspective and brilliant. You adore Garrett--when you're not busy trying to fist fight him--and you're great with Will, who you love so deeply but who you also struggle to tolerate in all his two-ness.

I really can't believe you came shrieking into our lives an entire ten years ago. The only one to scream and scream and scream and refuse to be consoled and yet, the quietest one of the trio now. I had no idea what kind of adventure you were about to take us on. But I'm so thankful you landed here, in my arms. I cannot imagine life without you. Happy double digits dude.

Love,
Mom

The Day He Came

What is born in the sea

even if carried deep into

the breast of land

made dry in the desert

sage in the mountains

or sweetened in the orchards

shall yet and always carry that

old and familiar salt

-Jaiya John

Matthew is an introvert. He doesn't get that from me and he doesn't get it from his mother. But there you have it. He is quiet, shy, and anxious around others until he becomes completely comfortable in a situation. Then, and only then, does that funny and bubbly boy emerge. To this end, he doesn't make friends easily. He'd rather have one or two good buddies--or a backyard and his own imagination--than a room full of friends.

And so, I worried about our trip to Texas. I didn't lose sleep but I was prepared to watch my boy "turtle up" as we met his family. His quietness has, on more than one occasion, been perceived as rudeness and that was the last thing I wanted him equated with on this trip.

I needn't have worried. "What is born in the sea...shall yet and always carry that old and familiar salt." It was as though he'd known them forever. And, in some way, he had. All those 40 weeks spent dwelling inside her body. Swimming. Growing. Kicking. Hearing her voice. Knowing the gentle sway of the steps taken by her feet. His older sisters were there those 280 days. Buried somewhere in the recesses of his mind, is there the memory of Mama singing them to sleep while he struggled to Begin? Has he known them all these years because he knew them then?

He is there, in the car with me. Every step he has taken to this point has been difficult. He has only shared moments with me but it is there on his face when we board the plane. It is there over his eggs and bacon in the hotel--he seems somehow smaller and he uncharacteristically asks me to help him. It is heard in the nearly inaudible sigh from the backseat as we make the drive. And yet, his eyes dance with the excitement of what is finally coming.

"I'm really nervous," he says as we pull up in front of their home. I have every intention, the moment those words hit my ears, to take his hands, look him in the eyes, and tell him to breathe. I will pray over him. I will let him take as long as he needs before we make the journey from car to front door. But she appears from thin air, bending down, her face at the driver's side window. Her smile, broad. It is the smile I remember from our time together in years gone by, identical to the one that spreads joy across the face of our boy. 

As I open the door I say, "Well she's here..." We throw arms around each other and, like water over stones in a brook, she spills, "I had to take a walk. I got so nervous."

I whisper, almost silently, into her ear, "He's nervous too." Whether to give him time or out of sheer excitement, she turns and runs up the walkway, yelling to her daughters. Two of them pour from the house. Everything is happening so quickly. I glance at Matthew and he is stoic. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth but he walks cautiously, a trait that comes from his father, no doubt, because it isn't from this maternal side of the family.

One sister calls to another, "Get out here! It's Matthew, he's really here!" and then, before speaking to him, she runs back inside. "Come on!" I hear her yell, "Matthew's here!" I realize I'm holding my breath. It is as though she's played this moment so many times, but he was always just a figment of her imagination.

This day, though. This day he has come.

They bubble. All of them extroverted and clamoring for his attention. He is the audience they have waited for all these years.

There are hugs and introductions. The littlest one, no doubt the most confused by all of this, is enamored and spends the better part of two days touching him. Holding his hand. Kissing his face. Glued to his side. Matthew slides into the role of big brother. I've seen it with Will. It's the role he was born to play. 

My boy has always hated germs. Slobbery kisses from five-year-old girls, forget about it. Unless it's his little sister. She is not a stranger. She is instantly his girl. 

He finds his family hilarious. I can tell by the soft chuckle he emits and the coy smile he employs when they say something funny. He is hilarious, too, and it seems to dawn on him that his silly sense of humor might run through the blood in his veins. He hears stories and sees pictures that make him smile.

At the end of the first day, we are both exhausted. He falls fast asleep while I'm in the shower. I crawl into bed next to him and place my hand on his soft cheek. I feel like the luckiest mom in the world--this amazing kid is asleep on the pillow next to mine. I'm processing things I didn't plan to process. Like the fact that when he says, "Mom," he means me and it makes me bristle a little. I feel like I've stolen the title and a part of me wants to sit down and really explain that I know how blessed I am that she allows me to use it. She is so easy on me and with me and she always has been. Whatever she has struggled through behind closed doors, I have been shown great grace and mercy and love. I stare at his face and I start to cry.

I can't decide if it's exhaustion or life or both.

The next day he makes more memories. Little Sister hangs on to him as though he'll disappear if she lets go. Big Sister asks me to promise to come back next summer and I swallow the lump in my throat. Because I cannot make promises even though I want to. For these siblings. For this mother. For this boy. But I have always said that in adoption we must take it one moment at a time. I cannot plan for 525,600 moments from now. Mama spins him in a circle and says she won't ever let him go. I can't possibly know the feeling. Biggest Sister hitches a ride from me to a friend's house and shares an extra five minutes with him. This doesn't surprise me at all. She's an adult now but I will always see the nine-year-old girl who wanted her unborn baby brother to have a golden retriever and a good life.

Our adopted children are their families. They look like them. They sound like them. They share character traits and blood. If they are born in the sea, they may leave and prosper and grow and change in remarkable and wonderful ways but, they will always carry with them the ocean's salt.

We fell right back into our life here when we returned. At nine, my son seems content to live in the world he's always known. This is, of course, a current peace that I will not take for granted. When an adult adoptee friend found out we were going to see Matthew's family, she said, "I promise you are...creating the strongest foundation of trust with him."

My hope is that he finds a way to thrive in the sage of the mountains or the sweetened orchards but that he always feels accepted as the savory salt of the sea.

Who Does This Child Belong To?

"We should not be asking who this child belongs to, but who belongs to this child." -James L. Gritter

I'll lay it out for you. Nice and honest. I felt defensive and threatened when I first started learning about open adoption. But this will be MY child. I will change this baby's diapers. I will kiss this child's boo-boos. I will rub this kid's back when the flu strikes and the vomit flows. I didn't really want to share. Somewhere along the way, someone told me that open adoption is biblical adoption and somewhere along the way I began to research the effects of open adoption on children and somewhere along the way, my views began to change.

But what would it look like?

Pictures and letters. 

It would look like pictures and letters because my child would need the comfort and stability of knowing that we are his family.

Right?

You see, I hadn't met my child yet. And I hadn't met his mother.

Every circumstance within adoption is unique. Some children are taken by the state for reasons. Some parents are absolutely incapable of raising their kids. Sometimes there is abuse and it is not in the best interest of the child to see his parents. I know this. I am so thankful that isn't Matthew's story but I know it's the story of countless children.

Perhaps, in those situations, open adoption does look like pictures and letters only. And that's okay. But what's vital, for our children, is that we do not shame their first family. For in shaming the family, we inadvertently shame the child. In refusing to talk about the first family, we silence the child. In failing to discuss adoption openly and honestly, we express to our child that their past cannot be a part of their future--that it is to be forgotten. In waiting to tell our children about adoption at all, we suggest that it is something of a secret. We turn our trust into a bomb waiting to detonate.

From the moment I laid eyes on my newborn son, I wanted the very best for him. I wanted what was best for him at one, four, five, nine years of age but I wanted to make every decision based on what was best for him at eighteen, twenty, thirty years old as well. If I can make a decision now that will help him to create positive relationships with his family when he's an adult then I'm going to do it. People have asked me if it's hard. People have told me that they could never "share" their child. I'm sure it is nothing less than the Spirit in me--guiding me, convicting me, growing me, sanctifying me--but I can't imagine not sharing my child. I believe, simply, that it is impossible to be loved too much. Why would I deny my child more love? From the woman who bore him, no less.

And so, when Matthew's mom called me up and invited us to his older sister's high school graduation, my heart screamed yes. He's been longing to meet them and this presented the perfect opportunity. There were hurdles to leap, schedules to arrange, bosses to ask for time off work, but I would have lassoed the moon to get him there.

Our two days were filled with family fun. I had thought that I would be in full time therapist mode as I helped Matthew through whatever this experience meant for him. Instead, he sailed through, in some ways, as though he'd always known them all. As for myself, I had to unpack a little more psychologically but it was absolutely worth it. Because whatever we have to wrestle with--as adoptee, as adoptive parent, as birth mother, as birth siblings--the smiles and the laughter, the memories and the stories influence it all.

I can tell you that no question and no feeling and no expression of that feeling is off limits for Matthew. Over the course of his life, there have been nights of hysterical tears and questions I can't answer and questions I try to answer. My friend, an adult adoptee, who was once the only seven-year-old I knew who'd been adopted, said, "No matter how young, adopted children experience a loss that every cell in their body experiences, even if mental cognition is too young to consciously grasp it yet."

I have always wanted to acknowledge the primal wound and the adoption related grief--to never force my child to be quiet or to process it like an adult would. I'm sure I'm screwing up on a daily basis, but I want to be a part of the solution and never a part of the problem. 

The school my children attend happens to be the school that employs me and happens to be a Leader in Me school. We use Dr. Covey's The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People to teach and inform our students. Habit #5 says, "Seek First to Understand, Then to be Understood." 

                      The essence of this habit is a temperament that favors curiosity,
                      open-mindedness, empathy, and patience--all rolled into one.
                      In order to really seek to understand, you cannot have already
                      judged a person or situation. You need to develop a desire to
                     understand--meaning a desire to see things from others' point
                     of view, to see their reasons, and feel what they feel. --Mike Strum

The children who have come to me through adoption need to know that my shoulders are broad enough to hold their pain. They need to understand that I am mature enough to put their insecurity before my own. They need to believe that I am confident enough to handle their emotion without making it about me. They need to know that I will seek to understand them before I insist on being understood.

I am an advocate for adoption and for adoption reform. That means that I will honor their first family's place in their lives. I wish that more adoptive parents understood that sharing the title of mother and father with another--in whatever way that manifests itself within their unique situation--is not a threat. It is absolutely vital for our children.

I want to reiterate that this looks different in every situation. It will look different for my two-year-old than it does for my nine-year-old. Some birth parents will desire distance and some will long for closeness. Some adoptees will push for connectedness while others push against it. Some birth parents have made egregious mistakes from which there is no turning back. Some have made choices due to circumstance and situation and they will learn and grow and change. We must understand that adoption is like the ocean, ebbing and flowing, twisting and turning. It is new every morning. The adoptive parents must adjust and process and accept that the only way to navigate this is to be willing to listen, to understand, and to take each moment at a time.

Open adoption is not what I thought it was. Praise God. It is not the threat to my family that I once imagined. It is his shy smirk when she tells him he ferociously kicked her morning, noon, and night in the womb. It is his birth mother giving him the things that I cannot. It is me giving him what she cannot. In truth, it is the beautiful white flash of the identical smiles of my son and his mother. And it is the mess of the life we all live and the child we all love.

On This Day in History

On December 21, we celebrate William Bassham Day--the day we officially and permanently and forever and always solidified Will's legal place in our family. On April 21, we celebrate Matthew Bassham Day for the same reasons. While the day Will joined our family felt like a formality as, after his birth, there were no adoption complications whatsoever, Matthew's day feels like a lot less of a formality and a lot more of the-day-I-finally-exhaled-after-not-breathing-for-nearly-fourteen-months.

If you're new here which is doubtful because back in the days of our contested adoption I had a great deal more readers than I do now, you can look at the archives for 2009 and 2010 to read more about our drawn out adoption process. What I want to say about that now is this...

Matthew's mother never wavered in her desire to place him with us. Oh, to be sure, she struggled in her own heart. While I don't presume to speak for her, I can only imagine that she experienced a daily tug of war of grief and sorrow and possibly regret mixed with the feeling that hopefully she made the right choice. Publicly though, she only ever said that he was ours.

I've been thinking about this recently. If the number of times I fail as a mother were written down, I fear no volume of pages would contain them. Just a couple of days ago, irritated, once again, at Garrett, my eleven year old, for being a terrible, horrible, pack rat slob, I started yanking things out of his backpack and scolding him for carrying around trash. I was throwing several plastic water bottles onto the floor when two thoughts struck me at the exact same time.

1. The "trash" was very colorful and cut in such a way as to indicate treasure where I saw only garbage.

2. My son's face and, therefore, his spirit were crushed.

"Mom," he said quietly before I could fix it, "it isn't trash. It's my art project I've been working on all week."

In my defense, my son is notorious for carting actual trash around in his backpack for days and weeks on end. Still, I'm a horrible parent. The prosecution rests. I did apologize, telling him I realized it was something special and I had assumed too quickly that the empty water bottles were exactly what they seemed. But I will probably carry the look on his face to my grave. I could weep even now.

My parenting fails are great. I desire such a higher standard for myself. I imagined I'd do this so much better than I am. Yesterday, as I got Will ready for bed, I said, "Hey, buddy. You're adopted. Can you say adopted?" He muttered something that suggested he was trying. I continued. "Adopted means that you were in your other mommy's tummy and when you came out, she picked us to raise you." He's not even two. It's going to have to stay that simple for now.

I thought about his other mommy. I thought about Matt's other mommy. And I thought about the weight of what I'm doing. I love Will and Matthew like they were birthed out of my very own body. Perhaps that doesn't make sense if you've never adopted a child but there are times when I forget that their story did not start with me. But the truth is they didn't begin with me. They began with their first mothers.

Regardless of circumstances, each of those women chose me. In a way, they hand picked me out of all the other mothers. Not only did they invite me in to one of the most intimate relationships known to mankind, they then turned around and walked away, leaving their heart in my arms and trusting me to love it more than my own life. I do not just owe it to myself and my children to hope and pray they turn out alright. I owe it to their mothers.

I will fail. I know that. I hope they know that. I hope that they will forgive my failures and my short comings. And I hope that, when their children are grown, they can say that they would choose me all over again. Raising their children--raising my children--is not a responsibility I take lightly. Motherhood is the single most important job I will ever have and I'm doing it, not only for myself, but for them.

On this day, eight years ago, I breathed a deep sigh of relief that my boy was mine forever. But he will never be only mine. He is ours. And I will strive to do my very best with him. For him. And for her.

***********************************
If you're an adoptive parent, regardless of how your children came to you, regardless of the circumstances surrounding their placement with you, be sure to think about their first parents and your responsibility to them. You are holding a significant piece of them in your arms. Love well. Love honorably. Love in such a way that when your child connects with his first family--whenever that might be--you are held in high esteem in the eyes of your child and in the eyes of his family.

Dear Matt,

You're halfway to 18 which is wackadoodle crazy, if you ask me. I cannot understand how you have suddenly turned into a 9 year old 3rd grader because I am sure that you were just born yesterday. And listen, kid, if you're reading this one day and you want to know what you were like, get a copy of the old television show This is Us. Watch Randall. All that wanting to be perfect. All that anxiety about not being perfect. All that thinking that anything less than perfect is failure. All the ways he loved his mama and his family. His struggles and his victories.

YOU.

Every week, we watch that show and it's like watching what we imagine you'll be like in 7 years or 28 years. And son, I hope you can shake all the needing to be perfect because that's all in your own head. But if you grow up and love your wife and your kids and your mother the way a fictional character loves those people in his life, well, I think you'll do okay.

Right now, you flip and flop and back handspring and walk on your hands ALL THE TIME. If you could practice gymnastics in our living room 24/7, you would. Of course, you also want to do karate, play baseball, play football, and wrestle. You are super strong and your chiseled body is basically ridiculous. Especially because you're NINE. You love to rock climb and can scurry up the wall like a buff little spider monkey.

You're a great speller and you love science. You would make potions and do experiments all day long (except for the times you were busy flipping and flopping about the house) if we'd let you. Reading is NOT your favorite thing to do but you are happy to read books about science and we have found a few others that'll hold your attention. You say that you want to be an actor and, when you come out of your shell for long enough, you are straight up hilarious.

You have the tenderest of souls, never wanting to choose something if your choice might hurt someone's feelings, never wanting to do anything to upset either of your brothers, always wanting to take care of people, often sacrificing your own opinion for what others might think. You've always been a hot and cold kind of kid. From the moment you were born, we've always said that your personality was like looking at a heart monitor. Up, down, up, down, up, down. You have big highs and big lows. The white folk you live with are a mostly German bunch and we're baseline steady--for the most part. You add emotion and flare to our relatively calm bunch. If you can harness all that passion for good, you'll move mountains.

I love you, man. I love your silly sense of humor and your tender side. I love how you love your family--both the one you live with and the one you came from--and want all of us to be happy. I love how you love Jesus. I love the way you self-sacrifice for your siblings. You are one of my most favorite people on the planet.

Grow and live and thrive and don't worry quite so much about being perfect. We love you just the way you are.

Love,
Mom

Interview with 9 Year Old Matthew

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? Star Wars Rebels, Ninja Turtles, Ben 10.

2. What did you have for breakfast? Cereal.
3. What do you want to name your future son? (This is a new question. I got rid of "What's your middle name?" because, well, he's known that for years now.) Robert.
4. Favorite Food? Hamburgers.
5. What food do you dislike? Cooked up broccoli.
6. What is your favorite color? Green and red.
7. Favorite lunch? Peanut butter and jelly.
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Gymnastics.
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Ireland.
10. Favorite sport? Football.
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? (This is a new question. I also decided to get rid of, "When is your birthday?" because he's also known that for years.) Carmel.
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? Night.
13. Pets? Tessie. Hamilton. Ollie.
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I know how to do a handspring.
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? I still have time, I don't know. Maybe an actor.
16. What is your favorite candy? Lollipops, lollipops oh my little lollipops.
17. Where is the farthest place you've ever been from home? Israel.
18. What is your favorite book? My Big Fat Zombie Goldfish.
19. What are you most proud of? I'm very proud that I started a club last year on this day. It's Get Rid of Slimy Girls Club. (Ummmm. Okaaaayyy.)
20. What is your favorite movie? Ninja Turtles.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The egg. The egg came first because the chicken would hatch out of its egg and have another chicken.

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? The longest word in the English language.
2. What is your least favorite word? Good. I can think of way better words than good.
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Gymnastics.
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") School.
5. What sound or noise do you love? The tune to Play That Funky Music White Boy.
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Balloons squeaking.

7. What is your favorite curse word? Stupid. Even though it's not. I can't say it.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Be in the military.
9. What profession would you not like to do? Be a nurse.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? Welcome.

Merry Christmas

Last week was filled with vomit. Will's vomit, my vomit, Garrett's vomit, Matthew's vomit, more of Will's vomit. We all just dropped like flies. The older boys and I, however, recovered within a day while Will just went on being sick. He was sick on Monday and on Tuesday and Wednesday. He seemed better on Thursday but started throwing up again on Friday and into Saturday. On Saturday night, I ended up at the children's hospital with a dehydrated Will. While we were able to orally rehydrate him without the need of an IV, it was a little scary for me. I'm just really aware of how fast organs can start shutting down in little people. He ended up being just fine and I'm very grateful that we were home within a few hours. I know that isn't the case for the parents of super sick kiddos.

Still, Christmas kind of sneaked up on us after six days of the swirling puke virus. I stayed home on Sunday morning which was tough for me since it was Christmas Eve. I almost never, ever miss church and being home, instead of with my brothers and sisters always makes me sad. I was so glad to be with Will though, rehydrating him and celebrating every wet diaper.

That night, since he'd been puke free for more than 24 hours, I was able to take him to our candlelight service. This was good because I was singing, the older boys were part of a living nativity and Troy was, of course, busy being the pastor.

I'd post a picture of Garrett as Joseph and Matthew as a wise man but I don't want to put other people's children on my blog. When they weren't busy being dressed as biblical characters, my kids were looking dapper. Will was excited to finally be feeling better.

I'm not a huge fan of the snow. But I am a huge fan of the snow on Christmas. Several years that we've lived here have resulted in brown ground on Christmas day. It almost never snows on the actual holiday which was also true this year but what did happen was magical. The snow began to fall, in giant and beautiful flakes on Christmas Eve. The twinkling lights everywhere were made more beautiful by the white and wintery wonderland as it softly fell. It was so fantastic and, as I watched it drift silently down, I had the thought that I would remember those few moments, with my kids in Christmas jammies and our tree framed in the window, for the rest of my life. Garrett is so close to being a teenager. The age gap between him and his baby brother is big and real. I have only these few seconds where all my boys are children. I want to soak up their relative smallness as much as I possibly can.

Monday was late and lazy like our Christmases always are. We opened our stockings and then had breakfast. The boys played in the snow while I cleaned up and Troy shoveled the driveway. Then we rushed through Will's gifts because he was turning into a nap needing tiny toddler tyrant. After we laid him down, the rest of us quietly and calmly opened our gifts.

Garrett received twenty trillion books this year, much to his delight. He's a history and literature loving bookworm. 

Matthew loves science and math and was truly overjoyed to get a chemistry set from my brother and sister-in-law. He loved all his gifts but I think you can see how happy he was about this one.

And Will loved everything, especially toys that made noise and his Busy Board which Troy made him. It's full of gadgets and gizmos he can flip and twist and zip and turn.

 

Our day was lovely. We're so thankful to our Lord for entering into humanity as a tiny baby in the tiniest of towns, in the lowliest of places. And we're so thankful for our family. Merry Christmas!

Atatood

Who's to say how my youngest child will turn out. Right now he's fifteen months old and has more energy in his smallest toe than I have in my whole entire body on a good day. He's a nut case and I'm, quite frankly, a little concerned about what all that energy might do some day. Burn the house down by accident? Maybe.

But, the other two are a little more settled in their ways. And Matthew has a tendency to be quick tempered. Over ridiculous things. This is almost always a result of being over tired. At eight years old, the child still occasionally needs a nap. Garrett hasn't needed a nap since he was two years old so it is true that you cannot parent any two children the same way. 

On Thursday, I asked Matthew to go read. This is a school requirement and I had already recorded his minutes in his daily planner. I will spare you the details but suffice it to say that an insane amount of football coupled with being back in school caught up to my kid. He FLIPPED his lid. The meltdown was immediate and...a little crazy. 

I fully implemented the "you just wait until your father gets home" tactic. In the end, he lost screen time until he could earn enough points to get it back. He was given a list of ways to earn points. Most of them involved doing chores. One of them was writing me an apology note. He wasn't given any help with spelling or content. He brought me a note, folded and taped into a third grade version of origami. 

Dear mom, Sorry for my bad atatood. Next time i won't get mad. I will not flail my arms and huff and puff and blow up. I will never act like this again.

First off, I am contemplating only spelling attitude this new way. From now until forever. For the duration of my life. Second, I nearly died laughing about the huff and puff part. Once I recovered from that, I moved on to the little bit about how he would never act like that again. Idle threats, friends. He certainly will act like that again. And when he does, if you think I don't fully intend to present him with this note, you'd be dead wrong.

I love that kid. I do not love his quick temper so much but if he can just learn to harness his atatood, that kid is going places.

Bon Voyage

Years ago, my parents asked us if we'd be open to having them take our boys on a trip--when they were a little older. Of course, we enthusiastically agreed. They talked about all the different options. We were really up for anything. I mean, we're the parents who took our kids to Israel when they were four and seven so, short of them planning a trip to Afghanistan or Syria or maybe the Gaza Strip, we were fine with it. 

The time has come. At eight and almost eleven, the boys are ready for an adventure with their grandparents. It's a combined birthday present (and, really, it could count as their birthday gift from now until forever) and they've known about it for several months. They've been receiving twice weekly clues to try to figure out where they're going. 

Clues like:

You'll need a passport

There may be an animal in your room from time to time

Many cultures come together

You will have the opportunity to go back in time

And so many more.

Garrett was dead set, most of the time, on it being a cruise. Matthew wasn't quite as invested in the clue situation as Garrett was but was very excited when he found out that there would be a lot of opportunities for eating.

I had told only a limited number of people because I was so worried that the surprise would be ruined. When I told people, most of them made requests for my parents to adopt them as grandchildren. Most of these people are close to my age and I'm not sure my parents are looking for adult grandchildren but I GET IT because this trip is AMAZING.

My parents flew in on Thursday and told the boys on Thursday night where they were going. They're cruising to Honduras and Mexico! (And, yes, their parents are JEALOUS!) Here they all are just before we took them to the airport...

Last night, they stayed in Houston and this morning they went on to Galveston. They've boarded the ship and are waiting to set sail.

They've already found lots of yummy food and have enjoyed one of their favorites...crawfish.

My parents booked the MOST FUN excursions for them. We cannot wait for pictures so we can live vicariously through them. We hope they know how very blessed they are and we hope they're minding every last manner. Bon Voyage, Boys!

Open Adoption

Troy called me downstairs yesterday. "I just got six texts," he said and he turned his phone so I could see. For the briefest of seconds, I was confused. The newborn baby in the pictures was Matthew. The sender was his father. Why was Matt's father sending us newborn baby pictures of our 8 year old? A moment later, my synapses all started firing correctly and I realized what was going on.

Matthew has a baby brother. His baby brother--who shares half of his DNA--looks so much like he did as a newborn. He was born yesterday. Matthew's father texted us within an hour after his birth to let Matt know he's a big brother again. We didn't know his brother was coming. We don't know the circumstances. But we know that his father, who has waited 8 years to parent a child, has a second son.

We showed the pictures to Matthew. He was so excited to have another sibling. This makes 7 for him. Three biological sisters, a biological brother, two brothers by adoption, and a Kate in heaven. Our boy is struggling, in some ways, with some of the concepts of adoption. He longs to have all of his family under one roof and, truly, who can blame him? He often says, "I want to live with __________ but, then I wouldn't be able to live with you." He doesn't want to leave us. He just wants all the people who are important to him nearby. It is because of this struggle, because of this sometimes blurred identity, that I rejoice in the siblings he has.

We are connected enough to his birth parents that I have no doubt he will one day foster relationships with his biological siblings. And I am so glad that he has them. He was excited to tell some of the people at church today that he has a new brother. To see him beam with pride, to hear the joy in his voice, I see, in him, a sense of connection and love--even if his brother is separated by miles and years.

There is the tendency, with adoptive parents, to push back against biology. The idea, perhaps, that we will be enough. We are only enough if we are all they need. If there is something else that they are longing for, we must always put the child before our own needs and our own feelings. Open adoption redefines itself many times in the course of a life. We must always protect the child entrusted to us (and that can certainly mean different things depending on the adoptive situation).

I believe that in open adoption we must be, well, open.

We must always love.

Love our children enough that, while they are young, and unless there was abuse against the child, they hear only positive things about their families. They are too small to process the negative and too impressionable to bear its weight.

Love our children enough to celebrate victories. Celebrate marriages and siblings and positive phone calls and, perhaps, even positive visits if circumstances allow. Matthew and I immediately picked out a gift for his new brother and we'll ship it out tomorrow. Because we share in Matthew's joy. Because we are celebrating with him.

Love our children enough that they sense, in us, openness. If my sons grow up and say, "We were always allowed to tell our parents what we were thinking and feeling, even if it could have hurt them," I will be satisfied.

Love our children for who they are and know that a large part of that comes from who their parents are. Matthew hasn't seen his father since he was two years old and he makes a couple of faces that look just like him. Some of his personality traits are directly passed down from them, riding on his DNA and outshining nurture in every way. We make a point of saying, "You looked just like your dad right then." Or, "Your mom really loves spicy food, too." Because we want to validate his place in our family and his place in theirs.

Love our children in the moment. Always. No matter what. Without regard for the way our relationship might change and without worrying about the evolution of open adoption in our lives. Love them with wild abandon. Love them, in adoption, the way we are called to love always.

Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. -1 Corinthians 13:4-7

Our relationship with Matthew's dad has not been an easy one. But time has a way of growing us. He sent us a picture this morning of him holding his newborn son. It touched me and nearly brought me to tears. I want good things for him. The truth of the matter is, he blessed me with an incredible gift in the son that we share. I will continue to love that boy with everything that is in me. And, born, perhaps, from the fierce love that I have for him, is a deep care for his family.

This is open adoption.

Hot Pink Puker

My middle child is very introverted. Not once he's very comfortable, mind you, but if you're a stranger or an acquaintance or even a casual friend, you can forget about cracking Matt's shell. He's a tough nut. He hates to have attention on him unless he's specifically gone looking for it. As his former kindergarten teacher recently said to me, Matthew needs to feel safe or he shuts down.

I tell you all of this as a preface--a little background--into why I have leaped so far ahead of all the rest of you in our race for Worst Mother of the Year. I'm so far ahead, in fact, that the committee is just going to give me my award now. In April. I don't have to wait until the end of the year.

Last Thursday, Matthew woke up and told me he had a stomach ache. He has also been loudly and frequently telling me how much he hates school. (This baffles me because he's brilliant, he likes his teacher, and he promises me that he's not having trouble with any kids.) So...I assumed his stomach ailment had a direct correlation to his detestation of education. I told him to get ready for school.

He didn't want to eat.

In addition to being a brilliant introvert, Matthew's eating skills are legit. No joke, the kid eats like he's the next champion of that Coney Island hot dog challenge. So the life choice to not eat breakfast on Thursday morning gave me pause.

I offered him Pepto Bismal the way you offer a toddler a band-aid. "This will help!"

And off he went to school because if there isn't a fever and/or some kind of bodily fluid coming out of my kid (i.e. vomit, explosive poo, eye goop) they're going.

Twenty minutes later, unbeknownst to me, my poor kid (read: my poor Do-Not-Look-At-Me-Unless-I-Invite-You-To-Do-So-Because-I-Am-Shy-And-Embarrass-Easily kid) threw up a hot pink mess all over his desk, all over his clothes, and all over a packet he'd been working on all year. My cell phone rang, "Hi, Lori. It's Jennifer." It doesn't bode well when the office is calling you twenty minutes after school starts. It either means there's an unfilled sub job in a class with a bunch of trouble makers or a sick kid. "I have Matthew. He threw up ALL OVER THE PLACE."

Oh goody.

Matthew is super smart. He is super funny. He is super athletic. You know what he isn't? A super barfer. He just, rarely throws up. On the other hand, I am a champion vomiter. A class act puker, if you will. Garrett is proudly being raised up in his mother's tradition. When we throw up, it is every 15-30 minutes for no less than 4 hours. We throw up what we've eaten and then, hours later, we receive visual confirmation that there are greens, yellows, and phelgmy reds existing in the deep pits of our stomach. Acid. Bile. Lining, perhaps? We barf big, y'all. Garrett, by age three, was throwing up without assistance. Now, to be fair, his first chuck would usually begin while he slept and, thus, cover himself and all of his bedding. However, all subsequent trips would involve him trekking to the toilet himself, throwing up, and then crawling back into his sleeping bag on my floor. AT THREE.

And lest you think that I should have won Worst Mother of the Year for THAT, I was always awake, always asked him if he needed me, and always received the answer that, no, in fact, he did not.

Matthew, at 8 years old, repeatedly hurled onto his desk, never thinking that getting over to a trash can would be ideal. He, apparently, has the barfing aptitude of a three-year-old. Poor kid. So he threw up Pepto Bismal all over his desk and then went to the office where I picked up his sad, vomit covered self. I apologized profusely to the office staff and his teacher. "He told me he didn't feel well," I said. "But, there was no outward evidence of his stomach ache."

Not to worry, they all said. Except that we do. We second guess all of our parenting choices. If only I'd found it even more weird that my champion eater didn't want to have breakfast, he'd have thrown up in the safety of his own home, all over the carpet. I'd have cleaned it up instead of poor Josh, the custodian. When we got home, I sent him upstairs to change his clothes. He stopped on the stairs and, with his eyes welling up with tears, said quietly, "I told you my tummy hurt."

Knife. Heart. Twist.

Yep. He'd told me alright. But he never throws up! I can count on two hands the number of times he's thrown up in his whole entire life. If it was me, I'd need my hands, feet, and a whole bunch of neighbors to lend me their fingers. How was I to know that this particular stomach ache was going to be the one that ended in a fountain of regurgitated Pepto Bismal?

Still, I subjected my shy, introverted 8 year old to public vomiting. I'm terrified that, in high school, he'll be known as the Hot Pink Puker. It is for this reason that the committee has awarded me the Worst Mom Trophy. I've knocked you all out of the running.

You're welcome.

Interview with 8 Year Old Matthew

1. What is your favorite T.V. show? Ben 10.
2. What did you have for breakfast? A doughnut and some eggs.
3. What is your middle name? Eric and David. (David Eric)
4. Favorite Food? Bananas.
5. What food do you dislike? Nothing.
6. What is your favorite color? Bluish grayish.
7. Favorite lunch? Peanut Butter and jelly.
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Go to church.
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? To Texas to see my mom.
10. Favorite sport? Soccer.
11. When is your birthday? February 28.
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? A night person because I'm not a morning fan.
13. Pets? I used to have Peter and Beck. The ones that are still alive are Ollie and Tessie. And Hammy.
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I am going somewhere with my Grandma and Grandpa but I don't know where yet.
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? A teacher like Indiana Jones and a military policeman.
16. What is your favorite candy? Me. Chocolate.
17. What is the farthest you've ever been from home? Israel. (He finally stopped calling it Isrerael. Sniff.)
18. What is your favorite book? Dino Mike
19. What are you most proud of? Having a baby. Will. (Such a sweet brother.)
20. What is your favorite movie? The Ben 10 movie.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The egg. Why do you think that? Because first the chicken has to hatch out of the egg?

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Ben.
2. What is your least favorite word? Poop.
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Jesus.
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") Satan.
5. What sound or noise do you love? Zippity Do Da.
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Wah wah wah. When my brother cries.
7. What is your favorite curse word? Stupid.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Being a missionary.
9. What profession would you not like to do? Be a doctor.
10 If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part) "Kate wants to see you." (This one basically did me in.)

My Middle Man is Eight!

Dear Matthew,

Do you want to know why this letter is late? Because we're so crazy busy trying to keep up with your schedule. That's why. If it isn't Scouts, it's soccer. If it isn't soccer, it's Kid's Club. If it isn't Kid's Club, it's choir. You're involved. In everything you can be.

The biggest thing that happened to you this year was your promotion to big brother. You have embraced the role like a champion, almost always willing to help in whatever way you can. Will adores you and the bond you have is incredible to watch. From the moment you laid eyes on that baby, the love you have for him was evident.

This year you played baseball, soccer, ran track, starred in a church Christmas play, joined the school choir, got great grades, participated in scouts earning your Wolf rank and advancing to Bear, and learned a lot at church. Always a man of a few good friends, you are branching out at school and beginning to request play dates with friends. You're always willing to invite buddies to Kid's Club and I love that passion in you.

You are still hilarious. Your impressions slay me. Your timing is hysterical. You make me laugh every day. While on our recent vacation to Disneyland and Universal Studios, we cooked a frozen pizza in the microwave and on the stove top when we realized that there was no oven in our kitchen. I had dad film me doing a step by step detailing of the process. At the end, we had you sample it and you declared, "Hmmm. This pizza has a delicious flavor." It was intense overacting. It was major hamming. It was super funny. Dad had to pause the video because we both were cracking up. All this while your brother was refusing to taste it because, surely, frozen pizza had turned into Haggis in the microwave.

We celebrated your birthday a week early at Rainforest Cafe at Downtown Disney with your buddies Ben and Web and their parents before hanging out for two days with them at Disneyland and California Adventure. You ordered pasta and fruit and had a special treat of being able to drink soda. Later, we had red velvet cake and ice cream in our hotel room. Grandpa Gary took you to Medieval Times to celebrate your birthday and you had a great time being upgraded to VIP, watching jousting and eating your dinner. On your actual birthday, Grandma and Grandpa came to visit. We had a cake that you picked out at the Scout Blue and Gold dinner, a pudding cake with plastic sharks on top. You opened presents, ate McDonald's for dinner, and watched your brother play in two soccer games.

I can't believe you're already eight years old. I love you so much. You keep me on my toes and on my knees. You give me such joy and it is my intense hope that you will grow up loving Jesus and funneling your intense passion for good. Because, if you can do those two things, Kid, you'll move mountains.

Love,
Mom

Movin' and Shakin'

Matthew was this amazing little mover and shaker. He lifted his head off my shoulder, IN THE HOSPITAL ROOM, WHEN HE WAS TWO HOURS OLD, and just held it steady, staring at me like, "Whoa, you're white." He walked just shy of ten months and crawled at six. He was/is just a freakishly coordinated human being. This post isn't about him.

Garrett was content to do his own thing. He had no siblings to chase. I was a first time mom and all my friend's babies were doing things way faster than him and I was afraid he'd never figure out how to crawl. He did, at eight and a half months old, in a hotel room in northern California. Then I worried he'd never walk. He did. At twelve and a half months. Not in a hotel room.

Will reminds me SO much of Garrett. They have a very similar "I'm About to Cry Because My Feelings Are Hurt" face. And they seem to be hitting milestones at roughly the same time.

Will has been desperately trying to crawl for a couple of weeks now. He tried the site and bounce which was somewhat effective if not overly practical. The Sit and Bounce evolved into him getting on his hands and knees with his feet tucked up underneath him. He tried, valiantly, to crawl this way, but his feet kept getting in the way. He'd end up sprawled on the floor, mad that he couldn't seem to use the force to make whatever object he was trying to reach come to him instead.

I worked yesterday and Troy told me that Will was SO close. I have to work tomorrow and the next day. The fact that Will decided he'd learn how to Scoot-Crawl today was just great. Albeit hilarious. He kinda walks with one foot while dragging the other foot behind him.

I have spent forever trying to upload the video and Blogger is JUST HAVING NONE OF IT. So I'm sorry. Suffice it to say, he's now capable of reaching whatever he'd like. Which, today, happened to be a Pokemon card that he sucked on until it was effectively ruined. Also, he may or may not have consumed a portion of it.

Roughage. Right?

African-American

We try to be very (age appropriate) proactive in talking with our children about slavery, racism, and civil rights. Yesterday, Matthew had a substitute teacher. He came home and told us that she talked with them about MLKJ and that she used the N-word.

"Wait. What now?"

He stuttered and stammered and said that she said that people used to use that word.

"Did she ACTUALLY say the word or did she say 'the N word'?" I asked.

"Oh she said it!" Matthew replied.

Guys, I was just about to lose my EVER LOVING MIND. The only reason I didn't was because Troy was there, imploring me to figure things out BEFORE I lost my religion.

"Maybe it was...okay? Maybe...we need to figure out the context," he said. Because I'm married to a man who really wants to give people the benefit of the doubt.

"I AM SORRY," I clenched my jaw, "but a teacher--a SUBSTITUTE teacher--should NEVER actually say that word. Especially in a room that has TWO BLACK STUDENTS!" I turned to Matthew. "I need you to tell me exactly what she said."

"Well. She was talking about that new movie with the ladies who work for NASA and, Mom, she didn't even say it RIGHT! She said, 'NigRO' with an O on the end. I mean she said it ALL wrong!"

"Wait...did she say, NEGRO?"

"Yes!"

Now, I don't really know the context in which she said it but it sounds like she was talking about something in Hidden Figures and that it was maybe okay. This prompted our family to have another discussion about the N word and a talk about the evolution of the words Negro, Colored, Black, and African-American.

Matthew always identifies himself as Brown and it's only been recently that we've explained that while he is certainly brown, the world refers to him as a black man. In the course of this discussion of words, I informed Matthew that the only acceptable words to describe him now are Black and African-American.

His eyes grew huge. "Wait! I'M AN African-American???"

"Yes..." I replied.

"Well, okay then."