Get Ready!

Tomorrow are school pictures...oh my. Ours start at 8am. Because that's the best time to ask a preschooler to smile after you've dressed him up and told him not to touch anything and slicked his hair down.

And a violin update. Our Little Prince has asked for-make that pestered us about--a violin. He talks about violins, picks out the sounds they make in the music we hear, mimics being a violin by rubbing his legs together...and of course when we took him to earxtacy in Louisville, he LOVED the listening stations and chose out of EVERYTHING he heard an instrumental CD featuring Bela Fleck (banjo), Zakir Hussain (tabla), and Edgar Myer (double bass), called "The Melody of Rhythm," recorded with who else but the Nashville Symphony. He loved visiting our friends the Dillards and listening to Jonathan and his dad play their way through the house, and he was undone at a recent fiddle competition in downtown Franklin (where, of course, he fell in love with the harmonica). In the car, he wants to hear the Bela Fleck CD or Alison Krauss and Union Station. At my sister's house, he grabbed his uncle's Rock Band drumsticks, and before I could move fast enough to avert the damage he'd make by beating the wall & furniture & cousin Reagan, he tucked one stick under his chin, rubbed it with the other, and smiled, "Look! It's a violin!"

So, we get the hint. Even now, we're trying to wedge our way into Suzuki lessons at the same church where he goes to preschool. And we've picked out the perfect violin, one sixteenth size, of course, so he can grow into it. Good grief. Just to make sure, before we start eating Ramen noodles to finance this endeavor (that's what parents do, right? I thought Ramen noodles were limited to college and first year of marriage!), I asked him again the other day, as we watched Elmo's world feature violins--"YoYo, do you still want a violin?"

"No, Mama."

Well, there you have it, I thought. It has passed. We've begun the cycle of "I must have this, it's what I've wanted to do my whole life," to be replaced 2 hours later with, "No, I never wanted that, I have thought about doing this for ever!"

"I don't want to play violin, Mama. I want to fiddle. Do you hear that there, Mama? That's fiddle music, not violin music. That's what I want to do."

It took Nashville 16 months to get to our boy, but it got him. Hard.

Talking With...

There's this really weird dichotomy to 4-year-olds. The boy who liked to mush everything together on his plate a few months ago DOES NOT! want his corn to touch his chili. And the grapes he loved last summer will not pass his lips now. Ahhh, to be four. But then, as we talk, if I can sit still long enough, he blows me away.

The other night, we were getting ready for bed, and Shane was coaxing him to finish picking up his toys. "I know you'll make a good decision and clean up," Shane said.

"How do you know I'll clean up?" asked our intrepid one.

"Because you are a smart boy, and you don't want to be punished for leaving a big mess," his father replied.

"But, didn't Jesus take the punishment for me so I don't have to?"

Clearly, he's grounded from Sunday School.

And then today, reading our book before a little nap (he has a yucky cold), he said, "How long will the moon be? As long as this world? As long as you live? Does God know the answer?"

"Well, I don't know how long the moon will last."

"What questions do you have, Mama, that you don't know the answers?"

"Well, how deep is the ocean, and how many stars are in the sky..."

"Is that the only questions? Do you have even more than those? Are there too many?"

"Yes, there are too many for right now."

"Does God know the answers?"

"I guess He does."

"Do you want to snuggle now, Mama?"

Ok, so I know he's not the only kid in the world asking questions or making his parents' little brains go *pop* ! But it is surely an amazing wondrous thing to see his awareness blossom every day and to watch him unfold. I'm so lucky to be a Mommy. I know I have to write this now, because when he's in 4th grade and his feet stink and he doesn't want my hugs and he slams his bedroom door, I'll have to look back on this and say, "It's all the same little boy." And he'll still be unfolding.

can't deny it any longer

Baby feet are one of my favorite things in the whole world. They're shapeless, funkless, with kissable little toes. The little tootsies in this picture are my niece's baby feet, sprinkled with the cutest possible touch of sand. How sweet are those feet!

These feet here? I promise they were baby feet just a few months ago. They are my favorite little feet in the whole world. When we were in China, and for a while after we came home, homesickness and separation hit the little prince hard, and when he WOULD NOT let Mama or Baba hold him, the one point of contact he would allow me was to hold one little foot. I held on, hoping that one little gesture told him we loved him even if we weren't much comfort yet. He still will slide one foot into my hand when we snuggle, scrunching his little toes. And of course the funniest joke in the world is for him to trick me into smelling his "stinky" feet.

But clearly, something has changed. The picture hints at it, but even then, I could deny it was happening. No more. The shapelessness has resolved itself into an arch, the sweet little stubby toes have begun to get longer and longer, and there's clearly a ball and a heel. A heel, people! No sweet little blobby foot anymore-it's irrefutably a Little Boy Foot, not a baby foot!

Inevitable, I know. It's still the sweetest foot, but would it have been too much to just let it stay a baby foot a little longer?! I know-if this is how I take the "passage of the foot," I'm in for a world of growing pains. And let's not get started on how I'll embarrass him. "Mom, you blogged about my feet?"

I wonder if there's still some ice cream in the freezer. Guess I'll have to tough it out. I'll be accepting condolences.

Wow-that was quick!

I can't believe it's September!

I spent August in a flurry of canning and freezing, with 16 pints of pepper relish, 10 pints and 4 quarts of pickles, 8 pints of peaches, 2 pints of figs, 15 quarts of green beans, 5 quarts of blackeyed peas, and 7 quarts of corn to show for my efforts. Putting up food is gratifying.

We also managed to squeeze our way down to SC and Florida for 10 days (sans Shane-poor man had to work!). The invitation to visit came from none other than Mrs. Murphey, from Cumberland College days. Mrs. Murphey and her late husband traveled to Israel in 1952 to establish a kibbutz. Instead, they wound up running a home for children of Arabic and Jewish descent, a subsistence garden, a church, and a school. After nearly thirty years, they returned to the States, where Mr. Murphey taught Hebrew, among other things, at Cumberland College, and Mrs. Murphey earned her Masters in Music. They took us under their capable wings when Shane and I first got married, and they carried us through some traumatic experiences.

While we were invited to visit Mrs. Murphey at her timeshare in Florida, the understanding was that she needed some help ordering the memories in her mind and the writings her husband compiled, so that she could begin the task of writing the history of the "Village" she and her husband poured so much of their lives into.

So we went! And I typed and typed and typed, and YoYo climbed Florida's tallest lighthouse and spent lots of time playing in the sand. We got to spend some great time on both ends of the trip with my sister Andrea, her hubby Tyson, and YoYo's beautiful cousin Reagan.

We also have been getting ready for school-YoYo's preschool starts next week, and I'll be teaching art there one day a week!

Oh, and we went to the Williamson County Fair with friends-and I learned my boy is fearless! He climbed aboard his first ride, a flying elephant, and I was sure he'd bail as soon as it started moving. Oh but no! He waved and cheered, and when the ride finally began to slow down and return to the ground, he kept asking, "Why is it stopping?" to the laughter of all within earshot. The three amigos enjoyed rides until 10 pm, when their esteemed parents decided that the best option was to let everyone share cotton candy on the way back to the cars. Oh what a night!

And the living is easy

It's keeping up with it that's hard.  We've put on the miles this summer-a two-week trip to Oak Island, NC; two trips to Indiana for fun & birthdays; a trip to SC before the beach; a drive to Kentucky for a wedding (yeah!); and I know I'm missing something else on this list!

Then the home stuff--peach-picking, swimming, the zoo, fishing, campfires, cookouts, parades, birthday parties in a never-ending stream of cakey goodness, an AWESOME visit with Claire & her family (YoYo's "betrothed," don'tchaknow?!), too little time with Kirsten!, the vegetable garden, playdates...

Whew! We need a vacation!  

here fishy, fishy, fishy...

Memorial Day marked a year and a day since we landed in Nashville's BNA airport with our sweet prince.  I can't even remember what we did that first day back.  I think sleep was involved, but it seemed there was a stream of visitors and well-wishers, too.  Shane's folks were in town, and they stayed at a hotel to give our brand new family some space to recover--and then dropped in to make sure we were getting fed and rested.  Yeah, grandparents!

This year was different, though.  We dug worms out of the compost pile and headed off to the Jones' ranch for a fancy steaks-from-the-grill lunch and finished it off with an afternoon of fishing.  YoYo's first time fishing was GREAT!  He caught about 8 of the smallest bluegill we've ever seen, but he was so tickled and he loved handling the worms.  

He paused midway through the excursion to wax philosophical on us.  I had to cath him while his buddy Cole was present, and he asked, "Why do I have a stoma?"  Thinking on it now, I realize that was THE OhmygoshwhatamIgonnasaywhenheasksthat moment, but at the time we were just zipping right along, so I said, "That's what God helped the doctors give you-everybody has to potty, and there's lots of different ways to do it."  So he turns to Cole and says, "God made all things, Cole.  Did you know that?  I can teach you that."  Cole laughed and said, "Of course He did, silly poophead."  I alone was present to see the tale unfold--and it was funny.

As the shadows got longer and the prince tired, we piled into the car and drove away, our tiny fish happy and safe back in their home pond.  What a great day to spend with friends!  

Of course, the evening ended with us gingerly removing ticks as secretively as possible inside the ER of Vandy Children's Hospital while awaiting labs, but that's what keeps us humble 'round these parts.  Looking like Ma and Pa Kettle at the ER.

Of course tonight, my Dad called to ask YoYo about the fishing trip.  "Can you take me fishing, YoYo?" he asked after YoYo boasted loudly, "I caught EIGHT FISH, Papa!"  

YoYo replied somberly, "Well, I guess you'll have to take us--I'm not allowed to drive yet."

Something tells me it's all happening...

We went to the zoo last week with friends.  What a great idea to take three boys & their little sisters to the zoo together & have a picnic lunch!  Of course, only one of the two sisters wanted to be in the photo-when the other one burst into tears & screaming mid-shoot, YoYo looked at her & declared, "That's pitiful."

Sunday nights, the same three boys, parents, & sisters get together with Susan at the home of "pitiful" to enjoy potluck dinner & a few hours of train table time (or TV, or the swingset, whatever).  We needed to leave early this past Sunday to make a quick appearance at a high school graduation party nearby.  YoYo protested, "I just want to play!" & our sweet friends insisted we leave him with them while we made our grownup jaunt.  We joked on the way down the road that it would be funny to "talk someone down from the ledge" if YoYo filled his colostomy pouch to bursting.  It was whistling in the dark--worst-case scenario.

You know what happened next.  Within 20 minutes of arrival at the fete, a call came on my cell with Ken (pitiful's Dad) saying, "Anna, what happens if..." & the call was dropped.    

Oh, no.  So the host gave me a land line & I called to find out that the worst-case scenario happened, & it was time to tell my dear sweet Susan via phone how to change my son's pouch. These are better friends than we deserve.  A fellow partygoer (a health-care pro) told us, "Take your time, finish your cake.  He's fine."  We did, & when we got back to YoYo, he had new clothes & still wasn't ready to leave-"WordWorld" was on TV.  By the time we got home, we had to change him again.

Monday night, he complained of a bellyache, & then strange things happened with his pouch that raised alarm.  We called the right folks & ended up in the Vandy Children's Hospital ER. Until 5 this morning.

Two x-rays, two vials of blood, many tests, & a worn-out YoYo later, we learned he's fine, just a little backed up.  The possibilities ranged from that to stoma blockage to liver problems to anemia to scary.  Our boy hollered proper when his blood was drawn, & the observation room we had was the size of a Chicago bus stop shelter, but it's all ok.  He's ok.

I don't know how long it will be, though, before we're brave enough to leave him & go on a date again.  This was the 1st time that we left him with someone other than kinfolk for a date-like moment.  As another fellow partygoer declared, "I guess sh*t really does happen!"  I shouldn't laugh, but I did.

I do still.  I guess it is a light & tumble journey from the Eastside to the park, just to find a fancy ramble at the zoo. 

looking back

Today was YoYo's last day of preschool.  Wow.  Just wow.  He has so enjoyed his classmates--he calls them, "my children."  Like he's Moses.  One afternoon, he waved as we left, calling, "Goodbye, my children."  I was waiting for them to reply, "Au revoir, mon pere."

Which brings me to this time last year.  We were in Guangzhou, and so happy to be there.  We had an enormous beautiful clean (oh, thank God, clean!) room overlooking the water, and serious bonding time was spent looking out the window together, counting boats.

We had a near-miss with medical supplies.  Before we left the US, a BlueSky nurse sent a list of ostomy supplies we'd need.  I took it to a medical supply store, & the rep didn't recognize half the items-lost in translation.  He decided I didn't need nearly as many catheters as I asked for, and that sterile gloves and swabs were pointless.  "It's only a clean procedure," he insisted.  He referred us to an ostomy therapist, who gave us a big bag of sample colostomy supplies. 

In China we realized how unprepared we were.  Conditions required a new catheter every time.  YoYo's urologist advised a catheter a day, already unusual compared to the average catheter a week for a urostomy-but there are reasons.  We had 30--we needed 80.  BlueSky graciously gave us what they could, but we were still short.  Then the weirdest thing happened.  One night in Beijing, we went for a walk, and three blocks from our hotel we passed...an OSTOMY SUPPLY STORE! Um, the odds.

So we wheeled YoYo in and pulled out our purse-sized case of supplies to show the good Mandarin-speaking-only folks what we needed.  Quantity and price were communicated via calculator.  Oh, did we feel like we'd pulled off the most savvy operation ever!  And then--they were out of the catheter that we needed.  THE ODDS, people!

Fast-forward to Guangzhou.  By then, we would have been out of catheters, but I had been boiling bottled water to rinse & reuse them (every 4 hours), so that we were getting a day out of each catheter. Even then, we'd be cutting it close.  We spent hours in Zhengzhou, then Guangzhou, trying to track down what we needed.  

I was so worn out.  The trauma a child goes through when he realizes that he has been separated from his family-his first family-and handed to strangers who speak gibberish defies comparison.  If that child is a toddler, there's another layer of complexity.  When that child is dependent on caths & colostomy pouches and a very clean environment, things start to feel life-or-death all the time.  Ride in a cab? Meal at a restaurant?  Shower at a hotel?  Life or death.   

Add the natural disaster, the frequent emails from my employer asking for this task or that information, some grief from our agency, and just the regular weariness from traveling on 4 flights through 3 provinces, and survival is a miracle.  Just when it looked like YoYo would develop a bladder infection from the handling he received at the Shamian Island clinic (on May 19, as a matter of fact), Paul Gour revealed (casually, over lunch at Lucy's) that he worked with medical supplies.

Of course he did.  And of course, he was willing, even though he and Chelsea had their own toddler-size bundle of terrified with her own set of medical stuff, to arrange for catheters to be FedEx'ed to us from the US if we needed them.  

Just the knowledge-that someone we hardly knew cared enough to risk that-was like a big cool drink of calm down.  Things were going to work out.  We'd cut it close, but we'd have enough.  And we were not alone. 

We still are not alone.  Mercy!  (I think I'll go recount my caths now, and maybe I'll use one as a straw, and make a necklace out of another, and weave some others into a placemat.  Ha!)

milestones

A year has officially passed now since Fu Tian You became our very own Tian Yo Caudill.  May 12, 2008, will be remembered by hundreds of thousands as the day of the Sichuan earthquake, but for us, it is the day we were born as a family!

Last week, our caseworker dropped by for one last post-placement interview.  Now the process is officially wrapped-if you don't count the readoption or the TN birth certificate paper chases!

Having a caseworker who last saw YoYo last summer gave me the chance to see him through a different lens.  And I am so thankful and proud of all he has done since coming to us!

The little prince knows his alphabet & phonetics,  and in the last month he's started sounding out words to guess how to spell them-on his own!  He's learning to dress himself, and he can hop, skip, & jump.  He loves LOVES to work and play outside.  He likes to paint and loves to watch things grow.  He also really likes to watch the birds at his bird feeder, and has declared his favorite is the chickadee.  He sings all the time, and he says he wants to play the violin (who knows how long that will last).

Two weeks ago, we watched a production of Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing" at Christ Presbyterian Academy.  During the 3+ hours, YoYo was riveted.  He watched the whole show, and asked so many questions.  There was a small instrumental ensemble which provided beautiful music for the production, and he was mesmerized by the instruments.  He asked about each change in mood or tone in the music, and he talked about when it sounded sad and when it sounded fast.  

He amazes me.  And he asks SO MANY questions.  I can't keep up-I have to admit, I get impatient sometimes, because I'm not quick-witted enough to make it easier on myself or to anticipate him.  He claims he wants to know.  Nana told him Saturday, "You have so many questions!"  His reply?  "I know-there are all these questions in my head at the same time, and I have to ask all of them.  And God will give me even MORE questions, Nana!"

He's turned us upside-down.  

And we couldn't be happier.  

Mother's Day (after)

So, by this time last year, I had my first Mother's Day-and so so many beautiful emails and prayers for a lovely one from friends!  That brings me to this-and I'm overdue, but I was without internet this weekend precisely because I was celebrating my (little) sister's first Mother's Day!

So, a belated Happy First Mother's Day to Andrea!  I imagined a lot of stuff when I was a kid (I hear that snicker), but I never seemed to imagine what it would be like for my sister and me to both be Moms!  And she is such a good Mommy-with a sweet sweet beauty of a blue-eyed girl. When I asked YoYo the other week if he'd like a little brother or sister (so maybe we're talking about another adoption-not that that's a surprise, right?), he said, "I have a sister."  I asked, "Who?" assuming he'd name Zhi Jing or another friend from BlueSky, or even one of his buddies' sisters.  He said, "Baby Reagan is my sister, silly Mama."  Oh yeah, pal, right where she's totally harmless-8 hours away!

And Happy Mother's Day to my favorite Moms-first to my Mom, whose mothering AND friendship I'm thankful for (and proud to lay claim to!), and to my Mother (in-law or outlaw?) Jane, Shane's Mom, who from the start loved me just as much and as closely as she does her two kiddos.  Who knew a Mother-in-law could do that?  

And to Shari, the coolest Mom, my sister (in-law/outlaw!), who is so so fun to hang out with and a trusted pray-er all in one gorgeous package.  I know she looks younger than I do, but yes, that high school girl is her daughter, thankyouverymuch.

And to Rinda Smith, Chelsea Gour, Phemie Tan, Lisa Florian, Katie Songer, Stephanie Garrett, Lisa Landers, Katy Parks, and Tricia Jones, I'm watching all y'all, and taking notes, because there's so very much to learn, and I know I'm surrounded by a cloud of witnesses-who better to learn from than women one admires!

And to Vickie Foltz, you amazing woman-this was the first Mother's Day since you left, and I'm learning that a Mother's teaching in the life of her children continues to unfold long after she leaves this earthly home.  Thank you dear friend for sharing your wisdom with so much vulnerability.  

Being Born

Remembering how we felt on our first day was refreshing, like a clear pool of cool water.  When I remember Day 2 in China, it feels a little more like the feelings I've had since.  That's when we saw YoYo's ostomies for the first time.  Watching his care routine, all the thoughts about one child's worth, about adopting a baby nobody else would want, and any place where I was tempted to think we were nice people for "doing this" (whatever that means) were entirely flushed from my head and replaced with, "What the HELL were we thinking?!?  We can't do this!  Who did we think we are to try to care for this little boy?"  

It reminds me of places in the Tanakh where a person emerges for just a second from the obscurity of time and their really great moment of faith or stupidity is noted forever.  A fellow teacher used to always remind me of a moment he thought I spoke in faith without fear, and the way he recounted it brought to mind that Biblical manner of storytelling.  It's probably more accurate (honest?) to assume that if I had one of those Tanakh stories, it would be the moment when the enormity of YoYo and his "stuff" loomed so large it cut the legs out from under any intentions of faith or love or noble deed that I might have cherished.  Chelsea Gour has been such an encourager in that respect, reminding me of the good and the room for hope-redemptive feelings.

I can't find how to write this next bit.  We're still afraid.  I'm still afraid, especially when I think about grade school and boys' bathrooms and locker rooms and all my stereotypes about boys and meanness.  Love of friends helps ease the way.  I hope I can get outside of my own head and be that friend to another.    

The photo?  It shows YoYo's response to our fear-and maybe it's prophetic.  

happy birthday to family

The songs in your head are now on my mind...

Of course it hardly seems possible that a year ago, we were ready to land.  Dr. He and an assistant met us at the (enormous) Beijing airport.  We were so tired, so unprepared.  We allowed our lives to gallop right up to the minute we had to leave, and the only quiet moments to ponder, to even try to still ourselves, were the ones in the plane. Mercy.

Of course (again) nobody is ever really ready to be a parent, but I thought the years of waiting would give us an edge.  Boy is that funny!  Walking into the foster home, looking through the dim interior for the baby we would be taking home, was maybe the weirdest naked feeling ever.  Struggling to understand the language, overcome with emotion (and more than a little fear), not knowing what would happen next...and then we saw him!  

It was more than good to have a week at BlueSky before joining our travel group.  I'm sure every adopting parent would covet that luxury.  For us, it made the difference between survival and crisis.  I learned how to use a catheter and colostomy supplies from some incredible volunteer nurses (American and Swedish), and I practiced under the watchful loving eyes of the ayis (who gave great advice I will never be able to translate).  I was so scared I wouldn't remember all the instructions, and that it would cost YoYo his life.  We spent our mornings around the dining room table, sharing peanut butter sandwiches with our little boy, wondering if he knew what would happen next.  We took turns rocking him, stole him away from the other children for snippets of bonding time without attracting attention.  We took walks around the block and navigated our first store outings without translators, we took him to our guest apartment and read stories to him and gave him snacks and napped.  It felt like we were doing something wrong (at least to me), or like we were playing house, pretending that this little one was ours.  I kept thinking any minute that someone would approach to demand whose beautiful boy-child we'd taken, and I would not have the language to explain he was ours.

Everyone at BlueSky was so gracious to let us ease into being with him, and I guess to let him ease into being with us.  The parties and gifts and care lavished on us made me wonder when they would find out that we are really just teachers and not royalty.  They were so happy for us, and I felt guilty to know we were taking their little Prince-even though I could tell myself again and again that the timing was just.   I could almost believe we were their fairytale people, and then the strain of all we were learning medically and the fear of what may come would overtake me and I would lash out at my dear selfless husband in private for tiny nothing things.  Oh, bittersweet, that labor brings joy and pain to life and commits it to memory.

Two of the kindest gifts came from the nurses.  Gunilla had lovely flowers in the guest apartment when we arrived.  Forever and ever those will be the first flowers I received as a mother.  Then wise Tammy stepped in the day before we had to take YoYo from BlueSky, and she insisted we go to the Orchard for one last date before parenthood consumed us.

She sent her driver (!) to collect us, and he carried us to an estate which had belonged to a very old family.  It was seized in the 40s, but lately has evolved (somehow) into a privately owned restaurant.  The gardens surrounding it are lush, sections of the orchard are intact--it is breathtaking.  It was somewhere during the elegant meal that parenthood dawned on us, and that epiphany carried us through the remainder of the journey.  Tammy was able to give us the moment of quiet stillness we needed before plunging in.  I thought of her this week as I transplanted creeping sedum to my beds of iris, now a riot of color.  I first saw creeping sedum banking iris at the Orchard, and I echo the combination now, in my garden, in thanks to Tammy and Gunila and Sunila and Dr. He and all of BlueSky.

Though the hope for another child and the shadow of grief for infertility sometimes feel like betrayal to the precious gifts we have received, I think we can honestly say that we are so very happy that we can hardly take it.  At the dentist yesterday, a nurse smiled to say we rescued YoYo, and I said with full heart, "No, he rescued us."  

4 is the magic number

Photos to come...my macbook crashed and the guys at the genius bar (no really, that's the name?) won't see me til 9 am Tuesday.  I am seriously compromised-I'm desperate enough to write this on hubby's macbook, the school one, which I prefer to call "The Hobo."

ANYWAY.

Monday-April 6! The little prince turned 4, and we were filled with joy, and I had no idea the emotional soup it would be (for me, in my head, trying to keep it all smooth and calm outside). 

YoYo woke up asking, "Am I 4?"  And it hit me (so so much harder than I imagined) that it is our first birthday with our first little one, and he is 4 and I've already missed so much, and I feel like a guest and not a parent (because we missed birthdays 1, 2, and 3), and I wonder about his birth-parents and what they are feeling.  

HOW is it that this way to family is so very unending with its happy/sad surprises?  YoYo knew just what I needed, a good 20 minutes of snuggle time before jumping into the day.  We had pancakes cut into 4's for breakfast, then some TV, and then lovely playing with the lovely toys the grandparents giddily stuffed our house with last week.  (PS-Grandparents, we know what you're doing.  Don't think we don't.)  Then off to school to pick up Shane for pizza lunch!  We ended up at the mall, thanks to the macbook-did I mention I HATE the mall?  

We played restaurant for dinner, and that was an absolute hit.  Our party party was last Saturday at the park.  Just YoYo, a very few friends his age, and the most glorious how-did-we-luck-out day weatherwise that has happened in the last three weeks.  Seriously-it's snowing outside as I type this.  Snowing.  April.  Tennessee. 

I'm relieved now.  This passage had so much potential for hardship-and I didn't have any idea it could until an idle conversation.  We've talked so much about turning 4, and he has been excited.  Then I talked to him about my cousin's upcoming wedding in DC, and the drive, and the hotel, and how fun it will be.  His response was a question.  "And then I can no go home to Mama and Baba again anymore? I will no see Baba ever?"  It took me a while to put it together.  Each birthday has been spent with different people-and each one has been followed by separation.  When he turned one, he was in Singapore, recovering from surgery.  He was doted on by a couple there, and he loved them.  A month after his birthday, he returned to Beijing.  Birthday number two came, and a couple of months later he traveled to the US for more surgery.  Months later, he returned to Beijing.  His third birthday was in Beijing, at BlueSky Healing Home, and it was packed with people who are part of YoYo's story-volunteer nurses, marathon runners, fundraisers, volunteer workers, teachers...all of them knew he'd be leaving soon for good and they came to say good-byes.  And less than a month later, we walked into BlueSky, and his first words to us were, "You will take me with you on a plane far away."  And he misses his sweet family from BlueSky.  He will talk about, "When I lived at HaiHe's house," or "When I was at QinQin's house," and sometimes the stories aren't even real, but his feelings are, and it's so hard to know that even though he is only 4 and may not remember much of this later, it is very real to him now, and it is grief and loss and separation, and it is profound, and no matter how much he loves his Mommy and Daddy, that love for him is mingled with the loss.  Our beginning as a family was the end of what he had already known and loved as family.

That this birthday came and went for him, without tears, with some rememberings, with much tenderness and laughter and play and singing and dancing, is a miracle.  And a gift.  I am so thankful for him every day, and I have no idea how it is that we are blessed enough to have him.  With hope for many more birthdays together. 

Pride goes...

I planned a great Saturday.  It was full of errands-things that could be checked off lists to make me feel Productive! and Efficient!  The only thing I wasn’t looking forward to?  Buying underwear.  I have underwear that has traveled to more countries than Sarah Palin.  Underwear that should be retired.  But clever me-I had a coupon for Victoria’s Secret!

We went to Textile Fabric to see the remnant sale first.  The only way I could keep YoYo interested was to steer him toward telling me the textures of the fabrics.  He LOVED that game.

I put off the mall until the end.  I hate the mall.  But I had checked so much off my list-this was the last thing!  We walk into VS, and I think, “It’s underwear-YoYo’s 3.  He doesn’t care.”  Sure enough, as we walk in, he points to a mannequin.  “What’s that lady doing?” 

“She’s not a real lady-she’s just pretend.”

“Is she wearing lady clothes?”  Hadn’t ever heard it put that way, but ok, I guess that makes sense.  They’re clothes (kind of), and they are on a lady (kind of).  It’s like I don’t see what’s coming next.  “Yes, those are lady clothes.”

“Is that lady pretend, too?”

“Yes, all the ladies in here are pretend.”  Now I’m actually a little smug, because I think I’ve dropped some kind of social commentary on my toddler.  He’ll be so sophisticated!

We get to the table thingy that has all the underwear in the little back room, and I’m safe.  We’re past photos and mannequins, and this room’s harmless—panties & bras. 

 So YoYo turns around to the Sale rack and goes into fabric store mode.  He does the fabric drill—touch it with your fingers, rub it on your cheek—and he says (so so so loudly), “Mama, this is AMAZING!  Are ALL these lady clothes?”  The store is suddenly so very quiet. 

I still have that coupon, if anyone wants it.

Uncle Fun

In the spirit of catching up, I'll share a bit about the phenomenon called Uncle Craig.  

Uncle Craig is a giant who lives in Boston.  The combination of his 6'5" frame, the fact that he rides a chair through the sky to see us, and his striking resemblance to the Baptist Sunday School Board Jesus of VBS days gone by make him the stuff of obsession for small children.  I think I mentioned in an earlier post that he actually eats babies.  

When Uncle Craig came for a visit a couple of weeks ago, I wasn't sure how YoYo would handle him.  We ride this wacky pendulum these days, swinging from, "I hear a grownup, but I'm not sure I care," to, "No, I will NOT acknowledge that grownup."  Ok, so maybe it's not so much a pendulum.  But apparently Craig is magic.  Legend.  A few months back, Craig gave YoYo some antique Chinese coins for Lunar New Year.  I really can't explain what that meant to me.  This time, he played with that little boy for hours at a time, and it didn't matter how stinky YoYo was to him, he would cram his body into impossible spaces, watch the same Clifford episode 30 times, lose at every single game imaginable (including head-on truck crash livingroom rally), and keep YoYo AND PaPa AND Shilo the puppygirl ALL mesmerized.  If he ever ever moves back to Nashville, we will hold him hostage.

What's the photo?  Typical stuff for the visit.  Craig somehow folded himself inside a Little Tykes playhouse (4 feet x 4.5 feet x 4.5 feet) and then lured both YoYo and Shilo inside.  Not that there weren't already two dozen stuffed animals in there.  And a plastic chair.  They were in there for maybe a half hour-by choice, mind you.

Thanks Uncle Craig.  I can't wait til Easter comes, and we use the old-school PAAS egg-dyeing kit and fill YoYo's basket with Uncle Craig's bag of treats.  I hope YoYo always knows how cool you are and how much you love him.   

Catching up

There's so much to tell-so many beautiful days and grumpy moments and fears for the future and sighs that things were easier than anticipated-and that was just in a few weeks!

So we'll start small for now.  The other night we had the lovely lovely Songer family over, and their 3 year old little man enjoyed an evening with our 3 year old little man while the parents ate and laughed and enjoyed as normal an evening as can be had-hooray!  I played "restaurant" for the boys (thanks Mr. Rogers for the idea).  The grownups had their own meal, but the boys, seated at YoYo's play table, were given menus with the evening's options in crayon--grilled cheese, hotdog, chicken nuggets, with apples, fries, or grapes on the side and milk or apple juice to drink.  They soooo loved it!  They chose the same things, and we used some really cute placemats that look like racetracks (thanks Mom!), and I even put some carnations in a cup on the table.  (I cheated there-we had the flowers already, because with the advent of Spring, YoYo has been in love with flowers and wants a bouquet every time we go to Kroger!).  

YoYo totally got into it, and when the boys had been served and I finally sat down at the grownup table to eat with our friends, he called, "Excuse me, lady?  Lady?  Could I please have some more juice?  And we need some ketchup, please, lady."  I took care of them, and gave my best, "Will that be all, gentlemen?" and he chirped, "Yes, lady-thank you so much!"  He has been fascinated with a Mr. Rogers tape that I found at a used bookstore, and has watched that dear man visit a restaurant to order a cheese sandwich so many times that I KNEW he was thinking of the waitress in the video every time he called, "Lady?  Miss Lady!" (even though Mr. R. didn't do that).  So when he asked, after the second refill of apple juice and an additional side of fruit, "Are you the lady from the restaurant?" I answered, "Yes, just like the restaurant in Mr. Rogers."  He was so delighted that I am forced to admit my skill with the English language is not sufficient to do him justice.  His eyes absolutely danced and he laughed with so much glee and found so many tiny tiny reasons to call his waitress back to the table that Shane finally intervened to inform the young gents that their waitress was on break.  

I could only catch photos at the evening's end, when I realized that of all YoYo's friends, we don't have Corbin on our fridge.  Silliness ensued.

At least we got a nice normal photo in first. Mind you, the Vulcan death grip YoYo has on his young friend's neck raises concern, but they're both smiling, so that's a good sign.  The big thing I notice is that while Corbin is almost a full year younger than YoYo, they have changed places- months ago, YoYo was the taller one.  (A special shout-out to Reed here, who's totally responsible for the awesome Small Paul shirt YoYo sports-she keeps his cool side cool!)

There was a wonderful visit from Uncle Craig a week ago, and happy times with cousins Brandon and Erika in Indiana, but I must save that for later-I've got to get some sleep!

Day in the Life

Joy of joys, we are finished with the mega-antibiotic!

Today was a typical non-preschool day...

YoYo woke up around 10 am. I let him sleep in because this week Shane has been working on a set for the next high school play. He leaves every morning at 7 am, then returns around 10 pm. After a few days of that, YoYo begs to stay up long enough to see BaBa for a little bit before he goes to bed. Who am I to deny him that?!

I took care of my email before he woke up. Then we started our routine-fuss over breakfast, get dressed-he feeds our dog and folds napkins for meals. I do laundry and start cleaning house. I answer my voicemails (ok-3 of them before he starts clamoring for attention), help him with his projects (another installation, 30 min. of TV, some alphabet time), and then it's time for lunch. Ahhh, gyoza dumplings and noodle soup-a favorite!

After lunch we run to the grocery for a mid-week mini-list. When we return, it's time to read a book & take a nap. Mind you, I'm not detailing the cath times that have happened, the colostomy blowout and subsequent clothing wash, or the etsy & ebay items I listed this morning.

When he wakes up from naptime, it's just like any day-I'm mopping the floor while waiting for a guy to come pick up the 8 rolls of insulation I just sold on craigslist, and while Shane helps him load them into the truck, the nurse comes by to take our blood and urine samples for the life insurance folks. Of course we send her on her way afterwards with a box full of potted African violets, then it's time to go out for a belated birthday dinner, courtesy of Shane's parents (thanks, Jane!).

We're on the way to Chili's when we see a toddler and his mama by the road-their car broke down and she's held out for 2 hours for a ride because she doesn't think she can carry him AND her 3 bags of groceries 15 miles. No kidding. We shove them in the car & take them home, then it's back to Chili's for dinner. Oh wait-it's time for a cath again. Let's just use Chili's restroom this time. I hear a little girl say, "This bathroom's for little girls, not boys!" to her mama, and I realize I'm surprised that it's taken so long for that to happen. But then of course her mother replies, "Well, honey, HE still has to use diapers," and I think of all the things I don't want YoYo to hear me say to her. Ok, lady. Hope you savor that superiority.

After a lovely dinner, it's back home for birthday cake and an episode of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood as a family on the couch before we make our ways to bed. I read YoYo "The Little Engine that Could," and he points out that it's like the little boy we met earlier this evening. Ok, I'll buy that one.

Gogo, too?

"It's kinda like I love you, but it's SNOT!"  (get it?)  YoYo's favorite joke.  Thank you, mystery infection/cold thing.

Well, we had our first freakishly scary episode with the little man.  I left for the grocery store the first evening of our elephantine antibiotic round, and Shane called me 20 minutes later, asking, "Can you please come home right now?" in a voice that frightened me.  He'd left YoYo on the couch to start dinner, and a strange behavioral episode ensued which seemed an awful lot like a seizure.  When he couldn't get YoYo to respond (no eye contact, no body language, no vocal response), he was terrified.  We paged and paged our pediatrician, unwilling to risk a visit to the ER to explain to some random intern our little man's laundry list of rare issues that may or may not coincide with this kind of thing.  The good doctor reassured us, and as YoYo drifted off to an exhausted, sicky-boy sleep, we breathed sighs of relief.

Of course, there is nothing that YoYo goes through that GoGo shouldn't go through, so it happens that GoGo's ear fell off suddenly and without explanation-unless you count, "I don't know.  I just kissed him and his ear came off."  (I can't tell you how many times I've heard that one.)  I donned a stethoscope and played doctor as GoGo came to the Kitchen Table Memorial Hospital (complete with 3-year-old-siren blaring, thank you).  

After a shot and a good sewing-up, GoGo let YoYo trim his paws for good measure, and then he had the kind of cleaning that I think may only be able to happen one or two more times before he is beyond repair (oh, please, God, give us some years before we get there).  Hovering over the bathroom sink with homemade soap and a lice comb (the only thing that could comb out the pills in his fleece), I suddenly remembered all the times I wanted to give a special doll or stuffed animal a bath and grooming that would make him as good as new. So when this turned out really well, I took a picture.  Is it me, or does GoGo look a little indignant?

I feel like I'm learning to breathe.  I worry so much about doing the wrong thing that when we're around friends, I bring YoYo up short constantly--I'm so afraid he'll push another kid or break something that belongs to someone else or cause a fuss--and I've always been afraid of that for me, too.  When we went to the theater for the first time on our own, my brother and I nearly killed each other because I wanted us to be so perfect in our behavior that I jumped on him for every breath he took!  So today, I didn't fuss when YoYo wrote all over his palms, or when he stuck the ball-point pen in the screwdriver hole on his table, or when he wiped his mirror til it was cloudy with a fresh wet wipe.  He's trying to experiment with so much, and I am so ingrained in 15 years of not having a kid that I'm used to focusing only on what I think needs to get done.

Mercy.

p.s. I took every box I could find in the house and shed last night and made a "train" in the living room.  He's crammed every toy and stuffed animal he owns in there.  And it makes him happy!  He made tickets for all the animals to board the train and is counting them into a bag.

he feels "yucky"

Alas, we're in the throes of our first honest-to-goodness sickness. Two weeks ago, we walked into preschool to see a little girl look up from the craft table and say (snotto-voce), "I don't feel so good." Seconds later, as she curled in a rocking chair in the fetal position, YoYo proudly assumed her craft-table post to make his mommy the finest valentine in the land. All I could think was, "Here it comes."

Sure enough, within 24 hours, it came. For both of us. I felt B-L-A-H. Meanwhile, captain snotty-nose seemed none the worse for wear-no fever, just a cold, right? I waited a few days and gave him kiddy mucinex for a week. I WAS NOT going to overreact. I was NOT taking him to the Doc to hear, "Yeah, not much we can do. Make sure he drinks a lot."

Until last night. It's been two weeks. He was sounding better, and this morning at 5-God-is-not-even-awake-yet-a-blessed-m, he woke up coughing. And the cough had that really nasty sound only little kids can get. And he was soooooo hot. 102, in fact. We headed to the Doc as soon as his office opened. PS, I won the lottery-it was Doc's first day in a new office-let's not talk about the havoc at the front desk, or how much they wanted to kill me for asking them to "work us in."

He is so pitiful. His antibiotic dosage is so large, it alarmed the pharmacist, who double-checked with Doc before she'd even let us take it home. We had to beg/bribe/threaten him to drink anything, and he barely ate. He slept a lot. While the nurse oohed and ahhed over his good behavior after an hour's wait, I thought, "Yeah, he must feel BAD to be this compliant." When he turned down gyoza (dumplings) AND McDonald's for lunch, I considered taking him back and demanding he be admitted to the hospital.

Instead, while he sleeps, I will pay tribute to our incredible little man. With photos.

These are from an installation he did in the living room the other week. He asked for little paper, scrawled a design on each page, laid the pages out in a serpentine line, then added a car to each page. It was so methodical. I don't know if you can tell from the detail, but he placed each car in an alternate direction. It took time, and I watched the whole thing. Christian Boltanski, we are coming soon.

Shane's cousin Eli (our other "Baby Boy") has been back and forth to our house from Cincinnati several times in the last few months as he makes college plans and prepares to move down here. YoYo loves him. LOVES him. Which delights me-I don't know if you can see E's gauges, but when YoYo first met him, those ear-bobs were accompanied by a nose ring and two lip piercings, and a tattoo gallery. Was our little guy afraid? Nope. In fact, he was inspired...

...and decided he should take up nudie-bear bongo drumming. I don't think I can post that one...yet.

Feel better, Little Bear!

This Just Happened

That title felt like a sentence out of a Tian Yo Pooh book when I wrote it.  You know, the sort of sentence where Piglet looks out of his tree at the rising waters and thinks I'm All Alone and I'm Going to Die Like This? What The Heck?  or Eeyore loses his tail and thinks Aftermarket Parts aren't All They're Cracked Up to Be.

But I Digress-and I hope you noticed that our book series is Tian Yo Pooh, not the inferior Winnie, because of course one of the ayis read Pooh to YoYo very often, each time pointing to ursa crocinus and calling him "Tian Yo."  That's going to be a letdown in a few years-I'm more worried about it than the "Talk About Santa" thing.

Anyway.

Here's the photo.  It looks innocent, to be sure, but it contains a meaning that has unraveled my life.  All the travel and prayer leading up to adoption, all the changes of heart, the struggles with the agency, the cliffhangers, the nights without sleep, the earthquakes (you knew I'd tag that again), the strategic appearances in government newspapers, it all was leading TO THIS. The moment when my son lines his letters up on the refrigerator, and in a make-two-syllables-from-one-syllable-words voice that's a dead giveaway for one of his preschool teachers, says, "Children, I have a surprise for you today.  Can you guess what it is?"  I turn from my laptop, filled with laughter (and terror), to see his head tilted JUST LIKE HIS TEACHER and his hands clasped in front of him JUST LIKE HIS TEACHER.  He is even mimicking her smile.  

I sneak the camera out, and he instantly has a dog "mask" on his head.  So Baba can see it in the picture.  He wants a costume, people.

Clearly I have underestimated this little bear.

New Kid in Town

So, it's about time.  I'm finally posting about my "little" sister's first baby!  I can't tell you how much we've burned up the road between Franklin, TN, and SC for this little girl!  The week of baby Reagan's arrival alone, we drove to my folks' house, then to Columbia and back three times, to Charlotte and back once, and to Asheville and back once before coming home.  Grand total?  Somewhere near 21oo miles in 9 days.  YoYo is a SAINT-that little boy never cried once, although he did ask, "Are we almost there?" roughly once per mile.  We listened to his Muppets CD nearly 32 times.  I kid you not.

He was a little concerned in the hospital.  When he saw Andrea (shortly before the baby arrived), he said, "I don't like baby Reagan.  I don't want her to come out."  When he saw her the first time, he said, "She's no good."  If you look at the pic, you can tell Andrea's the pretty one of the two Willard sisters.  

Uncle Craig (my "little" brother) surprised all by flying in from Boston-picking him up was its own adventure.  Needless to say, when he rode with us to see the young Seay family the day after Reagan went home from the hospital, Uncle Craig had to pull double duty.  He was doting Uncle Craig, tender with baby (I wish to goodness I could find the pic of him "eating" the baby), and wild Uncle Craig, tireless on the playground with a wide-open Tian Yo.  

Finally, YoYo came around--and around and around--as Uncle Tyson spun him in a chair.  Shortly afterwards, he said, "I love baby Reagan."  The spin therapy had worked.  When he finally let me hold Reagan without yelling, "No, that's MY Mama!" he stroked her arm very gently and whispered, "I don't want to break her."

PS-for those who wondered, YES, the three of us look ridiculously similar. 

Re-take

Ok, so I just re-read my last post, and yikes! The lesson is never write an entry at 4 am when you can't sleep the morning of a friend's funeral.  Seriously, you can't account for your brain, so do laundry instead.

Lots of backstory, but I'll sum up.  To begin, kids in YoYo's preschool class take turns going to the restroom.  YoYo has begun asking if he can go, too.  Currently, I pick him up at the end of four hours (school goes for 5 hrs.) to get him home in time to cath.  His teachers remembered my mention of reconstructive surgery a while back and wondered if he's be able to join the potty rotation soon.  Nothing wrong with asking that.  Exstrophy is largely correctable for many children--YoYo's an exception at this point.  But it threw me for a loop, and this is where having YoYo in preschool is helpful, because I can work through these things a step at a time.

YoYo knows he's different, but until now, he's always been surrounded by kids with medical needs.  His curiosity about others is growing.  I love every little inch of this squirmy boy, but I wish there was an easier way for him.  

Then last weekend, a friend from our Sunday School class died suddenly and tragically.  He was so excited about us getting YoYo.  When our class descended on our house, he and our realtor installed the pocket door to our laundry room and went a little crazy with redos.  I was told later the only reason they didn't rip up and redo the entire laundry room floor was my freezer full of half a cow.  When neighborhood kids were desperately nosy about what was going on at our house, Mike B. made them a bicycle ramp of scrap plywood.  They'd completely trashed it within two weeks, and he just laughed with delight.  We drove to Memphis for his funeral yesterday.

So I was a little distracted when I last posted.

This weekend will mark YoYo's first Lunar New Year with us--we're hoping to squeeze in to the Greater Nashville Chinese Association New Year Festival.  It's the Year of the Ox, y'all!

This is from my sister's baby shower, but its pink and red, colors for happiness, felt Chinese New Year festive to me.  These hung from the ceiling til the party ended, and YoYo dragged them around and danced with them for half an hour while we cleaned up.  

 

Kudos, sighs, and snippets

When we met YoYo, he slept with a catheter taped into the port in his side, and it drained to a small bag. Someday I may know why China has convenient tiny drain bags and America only has huge ones, but probably not. Anyway, when 4 out of the first 5 American bags pulled the cath out of our boy in the middle of the night and left puddles on the carpet and bed, it was time for a new system. 

So I stay up. YoYo has to be cathed every 4 hours, and though it slows at night, he still needs a cath somewhere in there. I do it around 2 am and again at 8. It was beginning to wear on me--I couldn't go to sleep and set an alarm, because I didn't want to wake Shane & I was afraid I'd sleep through. That sounds pitiful, especially when you read Superwoman's feats at gourfamilyadoption.blogspot.com. But I'd roll over at 8 am and think, "Can't do it." I'd do it-I was just beginning to feel a little overwhelmed. In the meantime, I was worried I was holding him back, because we're only doing 3-4 caths in the bathroom weekly--the rest are on his changing table.

Then we saw Dr. John Brock last week-YoYo's urologist. He did an ultrasound and checked urine. Turns out, he thinks we're doing a good job-the urine counts show we're cathing often and taking our time. He doesn't want me to rush the bathroom-the changing table is ok. AAAANNNNDD...YoYo's gaining weight! He's up to 30 lbs. now from the 23 he weighed in June. Sure, some 2T stuff still hangs tentlike on him, but we're moving along, and my fears of bone density and nutritional problems are fading. It's amazing how a little Dr. visit can kickstart your attitude.

I think one of the hard things has been that people have asked what can be done to "fix" YoYo or to make him "better." It's not a bad or wrong question to ask. It is hard to hear, however, that if we just keep praying, God can work a miracle that will astound the doctors and mend YoYo's body.

Now PLEASE do not read this and think you've done something wrong if you've thought or said anything like that; likewise, I hope you can afford grace to not judge anyone who HAS asked that. I would have done the VERY SAME thing before adopting YoYo. Part of loving one another, I think, is being free enough to not be afraid to ask those questions or to hope past what seems medically possible--it's how we help, it's part of community, and it is soooo ok. If we can't tell each other the things we dare to dream for each other, then how can we love and know each other? This is where we live! and these are the hands and feet we have!  Can I be free enough to receive another's brave hope for us without attaching strings to how it should be worded or thought?  

My idea of wholeness needs tweaking. The Author and Finisher of his little body SPOKE IT INTO BEING. I think I'm just now receiving that if He wants to change anything, He can, without secretly meaning that I think because He can, He should. If He doesn't? I don't think we'll fall out of His hands. If anyone who loves us or just hears of our sweet little man feels moved to pray for anything, far be it from me to set my face against that hope. For me, the miracle is that YoYo is our son, the waiting child for whom we waited so long. The daily care thing is so normal now that I don't think of him as "handicapped," I think of him as a 3-year-old whose energy and appetite for learning leaves me in the dust on the ground gasping for breath. He is formidable. That's funny, because I have to catch myself when someone feels sorry for him or can't believe how awful his condition is--it's like I've completely forgotten that just a few years ago, I would have only heard about bladder exstrophy through TV or charity appeals--like it would have been some sci-fi thing.


Enough! Now for the snippets...


Shilo is no longer mine. YoYo told me quite seriously, "Shilo is MY dog, MaMa. I feed her and pet her, but I can share her with you. You can pet her if you want to." So when the next vet bill comes, kid, what you're saying is...


We went to Barnes & Noble and discovered that some GENIUS installed a train table in the kids' section. I cannot tell you what this means to us. Suffice it to say, he's still got his coat on in the photo-when I asked him to take it off, he said, "There's not enough time, Mama." Apparently my priorities are all wrong.


YoYo wants to read. We've been playing games with letters in the tub, on the fridge, on blocks-when he initiates-but he does NOT want to spend time on the letter "B," people. He wants to know how to spell "BABA" right now! Yeah, yeah, these letters are all nice, lady, and I hear what you're saying, but what can I WRITE?! In the meantime, he channels his energy into color sorting. It's probably some cyrillic code.

boy of constant sorrow