Back in the long, lost days when Andrew was an only child, we had time on our side and still more time to spare. We spent as long as we wanted combing through books in the library. At the park, Andrew had free reign over what he chose to climb, where he wanted to run (within safe bounds, of course), and how long he wanted to swing (he once set a personal record for swinging for an hour). We went to children's museums, concerts, indoor playgrounds, and countless family-friendly events.
Alas for poor second child William. He seldom has the opportunity to enjoy these things to their fullest extent. It's not his fault: the excitement of going to kid-friendly places is lost on his mom, who has been there, done that already. While older brother is in school, she crams in errands, appointments, and other commitments. When he does go to the park, she has one eye on her watch because in fifteen minutes, he has to be home for an early lunch and an early nap so that they can pick up Andrew from school. On outings, Didi often remains on lockdown in his stroller because his mom can't multiply herself to chase after two kids headed in separate directions.
Earlier this week, I decided to put an end to the inequity. While Andrew was in school, I took William to the local zoo. You'd never know it from the first and last pictures in the set below, but for much of the time, I let him roam where he wanted. Oh, joy! What freedom! He could gaze as long as he wanted at the nasty-looking boa constrictor, run alongside the buffalo cage and trip on the pavement, romp full force at the playground until Mommy dragged him away for throwing pebbles too close to another child. He had fun doing what he wanted to do for a change. And Mommy? She got a workout playing sherpa on the run, chasing after him with his stroller laden with assorted toddler gear.
Obviously, there are times and places when and where letting an active and curious 2 year-old roam free range is neither wise nor practical. However, on that day it had its merits. While I had the delicious and uninterrupted privilege of savoring William's enjoyment, son #2 had the chance to feel like #1 for the morning.
November 7, 2009
November 1, 2009
The Good Guys Always Win
The streets were ours for the taking last Halloween night. Between the light rain and World Series Game #3 in which the hometown Phillies were vetted against my birthtown Yankees, turnout for trick or treating was low. Candy by the fistfuls was ours for the asking.
In true 6 year-old form, Andrew decided that he wanted to be a Star Wars character. Since we have a rule in our family that Halloween costumes must depict redemptive characters, his choices were limited to "good guys" only. He picked an Obi-Wan Kenobe costume, complete with a creepy middle-aged man mask. Following his cue, I dressed William as Yoda (blissfully, he's still too young to voice an opinion on what he wants to be). The Star Wars theme gave me a good excuse to indulge a dream and dress up as Queen Amidala, funky makeup, ram horn hair, and all. And Craig? Craig deserves the MVP award for shedding his conservative, tucked-in ways and getting his inner Jedi on.
Since our neighborhood is unconducive to trick-or-treating, we traveled to a nearby town in search of candy. We teamed up Craig's little sister, Kaity (she's rocking the Little Goth Riding Hood outfit in the pictures below), and his brother, Kevin, dressed up as... Uncle Kevin.
Twenty years from now, William may not remember that I sacrificed my dress to wipe his runny nose. Andrew has no idea that Craig wiped down the walls from his projectile poops at 3 a.m., though we have pictures to prove it. The passage of time will cause many of the things we did out of love to be forgotten. Still, I'm betting they'll remember their mom's giant Halloween mask that kept blowing in her face all night long. They'll recall that their dad wore a rat tail braided out of twine and didn't once protest. These are the things of which happy childhoods memories are made.
Finally, in case anyone asks whom I'm cheering for in the World Series, let's just say I was uncertain until I watched my first game earlier this week. Seeing the two teams matched against one another, there was no question of where my allegiances lay. Truth be told, I'm not a sports aficionado. I'm also not a fool. In a town known for its rabid, ahem, passionate sports fans, I value my life enough not to write my choice aloud. I'll just leave you with a truism: the good guys always win.
In true 6 year-old form, Andrew decided that he wanted to be a Star Wars character. Since we have a rule in our family that Halloween costumes must depict redemptive characters, his choices were limited to "good guys" only. He picked an Obi-Wan Kenobe costume, complete with a creepy middle-aged man mask. Following his cue, I dressed William as Yoda (blissfully, he's still too young to voice an opinion on what he wants to be). The Star Wars theme gave me a good excuse to indulge a dream and dress up as Queen Amidala, funky makeup, ram horn hair, and all. And Craig? Craig deserves the MVP award for shedding his conservative, tucked-in ways and getting his inner Jedi on.
Since our neighborhood is unconducive to trick-or-treating, we traveled to a nearby town in search of candy. We teamed up Craig's little sister, Kaity (she's rocking the Little Goth Riding Hood outfit in the pictures below), and his brother, Kevin, dressed up as... Uncle Kevin.
Twenty years from now, William may not remember that I sacrificed my dress to wipe his runny nose. Andrew has no idea that Craig wiped down the walls from his projectile poops at 3 a.m., though we have pictures to prove it. The passage of time will cause many of the things we did out of love to be forgotten. Still, I'm betting they'll remember their mom's giant Halloween mask that kept blowing in her face all night long. They'll recall that their dad wore a rat tail braided out of twine and didn't once protest. These are the things of which happy childhoods memories are made.
Finally, in case anyone asks whom I'm cheering for in the World Series, let's just say I was uncertain until I watched my first game earlier this week. Seeing the two teams matched against one another, there was no question of where my allegiances lay. Truth be told, I'm not a sports aficionado. I'm also not a fool. In a town known for its rabid, ahem, passionate sports fans, I value my life enough not to write my choice aloud. I'll just leave you with a truism: the good guys always win.
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October 30, 2009
Punkin' Face
What is it about pumpkins that make them so appealing to young children? I imagine God considering the matter before he set about creating the world. His thought process might have been something along the lines of, "What's the most outrageous-looking vegetable I can make? It has to be something that would make toddlers squeal with delight, something they just can't resist slapping at and trying to lift in vain. The bigger, the better. Just for fun, I'll make it in a really loud color."
Et voila! On the third day, God made pumpkins.
Our local grocery store had a buy-one, get-one-free deal, so I heaved two into our shopping cart. The boys and I got to work on them earlier this week.
On the back of one pumpkin, I carved a traditional triangle face. On the other, I carved a cat.
When it came to designing the fronts, I set my sights on something different, something a little closer to home and closer to my heart.
My two pumpkin faces.
Et voila! On the third day, God made pumpkins.
Our local grocery store had a buy-one, get-one-free deal, so I heaved two into our shopping cart. The boys and I got to work on them earlier this week.
On the back of one pumpkin, I carved a traditional triangle face. On the other, I carved a cat.
When it came to designing the fronts, I set my sights on something different, something a little closer to home and closer to my heart.
My two pumpkin faces.
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October 29, 2009
I Like It
As William continues to grow and become more verbally expressive, he has learned how to tell us about the things he likes. It's a welcome change from the "NO!"s that seemed to dominate his speech just months ago.
Out of the blue, while eating dinner, driving to Andrew's school, or going for a walk, he will share with us the things that have won over his little heart. His sentences usually begin with "I like it" and end with the following:
... muffin
... dan gao (cake)
... carwash
... qiao ke li (chocolate)
... Pirate's Booty
... butterfly bing gan (cookie)
... "Fire Burning" (a popular dance song by Sean Kingston)
... Sesame Place (oh, really?)
... t.v.
... bing (ice cream)
... qiao ke li
... peanut butter
... elevator
... cupcake
... qiao ke li
... qiao ke lide dan gao
... candy [pause]... in a bucket (that's my boy!)
Whuh-what? Who's that at the door? Oh, that must be CPS, who has read this post and is coming to question me about William's self-professed sugar-laden diet. Right behind them are the photo police, here to scold me for not getting a wider angle on the picture above. Note William's lopped-off head and truncated hands. Quick! Hit "Delete Post!" There's nothing to see here, people, nothing to see. Move on.
Out of the blue, while eating dinner, driving to Andrew's school, or going for a walk, he will share with us the things that have won over his little heart. His sentences usually begin with "I like it" and end with the following:
... muffin
... dan gao (cake)
... carwash
... qiao ke li (chocolate)
... Pirate's Booty
... butterfly bing gan (cookie)
... "Fire Burning" (a popular dance song by Sean Kingston)
... Sesame Place (oh, really?)
... t.v.
... bing (ice cream)
... qiao ke li
... peanut butter
... elevator
... cupcake
... qiao ke li
... qiao ke lide dan gao
... candy [pause]... in a bucket (that's my boy!)
Whuh-what? Who's that at the door? Oh, that must be CPS, who has read this post and is coming to question me about William's self-professed sugar-laden diet. Right behind them are the photo police, here to scold me for not getting a wider angle on the picture above. Note William's lopped-off head and truncated hands. Quick! Hit "Delete Post!" There's nothing to see here, people, nothing to see. Move on.
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October 24, 2009
Their Lives in Pictures
Halfway around the world in India, my friend, Tisra, and her husband, Eric, have been joined with their beautiful daughter, Dorothy. Like most newly-minted adoptive parents, their time and energy are consumed by the child who has just entered their lives. Fortunately, they've brought along their friend and professional photographer, Jess, to chronicle their journey so that the rest of us can get a sneak peek into their life-changing last three days. Jess has done a gorgeous job of capturing the emotional smorgasbord - the anticipation, the exhaustion, the fear, and the joy - that is international adoption.
Warm up your facial muscles in advance; you'll be smiling a lot.
Warm up your facial muscles in advance; you'll be smiling a lot.
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October 16, 2009
Free
Thanks to the prayers of many people and to the mercy of our great God, I'm happy to report that my father appears to be cancer-free, at least for now. The cancer didn't metasticize to his bladder, and his first PSA readings came back with a reading of zero.
He received the news on October 13th, my birthday. I couldn't have asked for a better present.
We are thankful for the opportunity to have many more good times together.
Posted by
October 13, 2009
35
Today, I turn 35.
Today is the day that I am supposed to stop wearing skirts that come above my knee. Prude that I am, I don't really do that anyway. My sisters bought me a conservative nightgown for my wedding night and joked about it missing a turtleneck collar.
Today is the day that I am supposed to get a Mom haircut. You know, that shoulder-length bob with the curled-up edges? After all, how many women over 35 have you seen with long hair? After 35, it seems like 99% of women sign a secret pact to hack off their hair, if it isn't cropped already.
As things would have it, this is one rule I plan to obey. It's less that I fear birthing a child who might be at risk, or that I worry that my energy reserves wouldn't last through a third toddlerhood. After raising two active boys, I am stretched, but I still have some fight left in me.
At the end of the day, Craig and I have to be realistic about what we can handle. First and foremost, we are not large family-types, even though we both come from families with four children. Craig leaves for work early, gets home late, and sees relatively little of the kids during the weekdays. His job is more stressful than most. Me? I am, and never have been, a motherly-mother type. I would fight you to the death for my kids, whom I love dearly. Still, I have to work harder at parenting than those women whom I believe are especially gifted with the nurturing heart it takes to raise children well. Bringing up kids is hard work for anyone, but for some people like myself, it doesn't come as naturally.
To complicate matters, neither Craig nor I have parents nearby whom we can stick with the task of watching our kids while we go to the dentist, bring the car in for state inspection, or simply come up for air when needed. Hiring a babysitter so we can catch dinner and a movie costs an obscene amount. Our neighborhood is heavy on retirees and light on young children. Our church and Andrew's school are almost half an hour away. As a result, playdates and relationships with other young parents, two things that make raising children easier, don't happen as organically.
We want to do the best we can with what we've been given. Yet, a warning goes off in my heart when I consider trying for #3. With two kids, I often go to bed feeling guilty for not having played enough with them, for having lost my patience, or for not having handled a situation as best as I could. I can only imagine how much guiltier I'd feel with three or more kids. I want to be able to teach my children to read, to know what they're doing online, to bake cookies, to shape lumpy Play-Doh sculptures with three arms and one eye. I want to take them to the park and to know where each one is, to load them into the car and to not forget a child, as I witnessed the other day with a large family. I fear that with the addition of another child, I wouldn't be able to do all these things to a level that I could call satisfactory.
Now please don't get me wrong: I'm not equating having more children with doing an exponentially poor job of parenting. I've seen large families succeed. Those children are obviously well-loved, well-attended to, and are thriving in every way. However, I know that what it takes for us to raise 3+ kids well is something Craig and I both lack. And knowing that, we're calling it quits on expanding our family.
Someone out there will invariably ask, "What about adopting another child?" This is an equally valid option. After raising both a biological child and an adopted child, I can honestly say that both experiences have been just as fulfilling. If a third child were something we both wanted, I wouldn't rule out adopting again. However, I am turning 35 today, a matter which puts biology on today's docket.
Ultimately, we have to come to grips with the truth that our fertility is not within our control. Our ability to conceive has always rested in God's hands, not ours. That I have been able to have a biological child is not something that I can take for granted. Even if I were to give in to my mother's wishes and try to conceive a daughter, nothing is guaranteed. We can make all the plans we want, but in the end, the final decision rests in God's hands. Knowing that, I might as well hit "delete" and cause this irrelevant post to combust. But I'm not ready to do that yet.
It could be that God has other plans for us that include adding more children to our family. If that is the case, we'll just have to trust that his strength is sufficient for us - and sufficient for the children who would have to endure us as parents.
But enough heavy talk. It's my birthday. My parents just arrived from out of state, I have a new camera lens to play with, courtesy of Craig, and there is a chocolate cake whose Siren song beckons to me through the seals of the refrigerator door. I could use something sweet to take the sting off of Andrew's earlier comment:
"You're turning 35?! Mom, you're... old!!!"
Today is the day that I am supposed to stop wearing skirts that come above my knee. Prude that I am, I don't really do that anyway. My sisters bought me a conservative nightgown for my wedding night and joked about it missing a turtleneck collar.
Today is the day that I am supposed to get a Mom haircut. You know, that shoulder-length bob with the curled-up edges? After all, how many women over 35 have you seen with long hair? After 35, it seems like 99% of women sign a secret pact to hack off their hair, if it isn't cropped already.
This is another trend that I'm going to buck. I can't deal with short hair constantly flying into my eyes. It's just one of those sensory pet peeves that makes me want to squeal in terror, flap my hands as if swatting at a horde of infectious mosquitoes, and jog in place a la Jennifer Beals in Flashdance.
Finally, today is the day when people who know my age will stop asking me if I plan to have more children. After all, word has it that my biological clock will start going haywire at 10:42 p.m., the second I turn 35. At that point, it just wouldn't be tactful for anyone to ask if trying for more kids were on our to-do list. They know that, were I to get pregnant today, I'd be subject to all sorts of nerve-wracking medical tests and that the baby would be at increased danger for genetical issues.
As things would have it, this is one rule I plan to obey. It's less that I fear birthing a child who might be at risk, or that I worry that my energy reserves wouldn't last through a third toddlerhood. After raising two active boys, I am stretched, but I still have some fight left in me.
At the end of the day, Craig and I have to be realistic about what we can handle. First and foremost, we are not large family-types, even though we both come from families with four children. Craig leaves for work early, gets home late, and sees relatively little of the kids during the weekdays. His job is more stressful than most. Me? I am, and never have been, a motherly-mother type. I would fight you to the death for my kids, whom I love dearly. Still, I have to work harder at parenting than those women whom I believe are especially gifted with the nurturing heart it takes to raise children well. Bringing up kids is hard work for anyone, but for some people like myself, it doesn't come as naturally.
To complicate matters, neither Craig nor I have parents nearby whom we can stick with the task of watching our kids while we go to the dentist, bring the car in for state inspection, or simply come up for air when needed. Hiring a babysitter so we can catch dinner and a movie costs an obscene amount. Our neighborhood is heavy on retirees and light on young children. Our church and Andrew's school are almost half an hour away. As a result, playdates and relationships with other young parents, two things that make raising children easier, don't happen as organically.
We want to do the best we can with what we've been given. Yet, a warning goes off in my heart when I consider trying for #3. With two kids, I often go to bed feeling guilty for not having played enough with them, for having lost my patience, or for not having handled a situation as best as I could. I can only imagine how much guiltier I'd feel with three or more kids. I want to be able to teach my children to read, to know what they're doing online, to bake cookies, to shape lumpy Play-Doh sculptures with three arms and one eye. I want to take them to the park and to know where each one is, to load them into the car and to not forget a child, as I witnessed the other day with a large family. I fear that with the addition of another child, I wouldn't be able to do all these things to a level that I could call satisfactory.
Now please don't get me wrong: I'm not equating having more children with doing an exponentially poor job of parenting. I've seen large families succeed. Those children are obviously well-loved, well-attended to, and are thriving in every way. However, I know that what it takes for us to raise 3+ kids well is something Craig and I both lack. And knowing that, we're calling it quits on expanding our family.
Someone out there will invariably ask, "What about adopting another child?" This is an equally valid option. After raising both a biological child and an adopted child, I can honestly say that both experiences have been just as fulfilling. If a third child were something we both wanted, I wouldn't rule out adopting again. However, I am turning 35 today, a matter which puts biology on today's docket.
Ultimately, we have to come to grips with the truth that our fertility is not within our control. Our ability to conceive has always rested in God's hands, not ours. That I have been able to have a biological child is not something that I can take for granted. Even if I were to give in to my mother's wishes and try to conceive a daughter, nothing is guaranteed. We can make all the plans we want, but in the end, the final decision rests in God's hands. Knowing that, I might as well hit "delete" and cause this irrelevant post to combust. But I'm not ready to do that yet.
It could be that God has other plans for us that include adding more children to our family. If that is the case, we'll just have to trust that his strength is sufficient for us - and sufficient for the children who would have to endure us as parents.
But enough heavy talk. It's my birthday. My parents just arrived from out of state, I have a new camera lens to play with, courtesy of Craig, and there is a chocolate cake whose Siren song beckons to me through the seals of the refrigerator door. I could use something sweet to take the sting off of Andrew's earlier comment:
"You're turning 35?! Mom, you're... old!!!"
Posted by
October 7, 2009
Tally-Ho!
For anyone who cares to count, feverish William has thrown up three times in a 14-hour span of time. That includes one upchuck in the seat of a shopping cart. As grace would have it, it was one of the few times I decided to use his quilted shopping cart seat cover.
O.K., carry on.
Posted by
October 1, 2009
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Here are some photos from an afternoon of fingerpainting. I was surprised that William chose to participate. Lately, he has shown a dislike for getting his hands dirty. He often fusses when he falls down outside and gets a smidgeon of dirt on his palms. I know it's just a matter of time before he comes running to me, soiled hands upraised, insisting that I clean them.
Still, who can resist fingerpaint?
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September 29, 2009
One Word, Four Ways
Lately, William has developed the gift of the gab. He has begun stringing words together in 4-5 word sentences and surprising us with new phrases. This morning, I did a double take when he ran into his brother's room and inquired, "What are you doing, Andrews?" (Yes, he likes to pluralize Andrew's name.) For a child who spent much of his first year in an orphanage with few opportunities for one-on-one spoken interaction, he's doing remarkably well.
As is typical for his age, many of William's words are intelligble only to us. Case in point: "Bi-min." This multi-functional word can mean either "vitamin," "fireman," "violin," or "Spiderman." The other day while driving around, I mistakenly thought he was demanding his favorite gummy vitamins when all he wanted was a Spiderman action figure that was out of reach.
Above is a picture of William rendered in two ways via Adobe Lightroom. In the past, I've tinkered with post-processing using Flickr.com (super-sloooooow) and the pre-sets that came with my Kodak camera software (super-limiting). In the three days that I've test-driven it, I've found Lightroom to be user-friendly and much fuller-featured. I still have much to learn with it. In a few weeks, I'm also going to begin a basic Photoshop class in an attempt to master the program that has hitherto chewed me up and spit me out.
There's a small part of me that feels guilty for post-processing my pictures. After all, shouldn't a good photo be able to stand on its own merit? Re-touching sort of feels like the current trend of processing popular singers' voices through Auto-tune. The overused effect can transform mediocre vocals into something catchy and in-tune (think of Kanye West on "Heartless.") But then again, when I see how much punch a few digital modifications can lend to an ordinary picture, I don't feel half as guilty, guilty, guilty, tee, tee, tee...
(Just in case you're wondering, I typed that last sentence through Auto-tune with a bit of delay thrown in just for flair, flair, fl, fl, fl, fl, flair.)
As is typical for his age, many of William's words are intelligble only to us. Case in point: "Bi-min." This multi-functional word can mean either "vitamin," "fireman," "violin," or "Spiderman." The other day while driving around, I mistakenly thought he was demanding his favorite gummy vitamins when all he wanted was a Spiderman action figure that was out of reach.
Above is a picture of William rendered in two ways via Adobe Lightroom. In the past, I've tinkered with post-processing using Flickr.com (super-sloooooow) and the pre-sets that came with my Kodak camera software (super-limiting). In the three days that I've test-driven it, I've found Lightroom to be user-friendly and much fuller-featured. I still have much to learn with it. In a few weeks, I'm also going to begin a basic Photoshop class in an attempt to master the program that has hitherto chewed me up and spit me out.
There's a small part of me that feels guilty for post-processing my pictures. After all, shouldn't a good photo be able to stand on its own merit? Re-touching sort of feels like the current trend of processing popular singers' voices through Auto-tune. The overused effect can transform mediocre vocals into something catchy and in-tune (think of Kanye West on "Heartless.") But then again, when I see how much punch a few digital modifications can lend to an ordinary picture, I don't feel half as guilty, guilty, guilty, tee, tee, tee...
(Just in case you're wondering, I typed that last sentence through Auto-tune with a bit of delay thrown in just for flair, flair, fl, fl, fl, fl, flair.)
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