The Haberdashery Conspiracy

First of all, thanks to all of you for your kind words about “Dear Birth Mom.” It was an emotional day and I thank you for sharing it with me. I apologize for the ruined makeup and otherwise embarrassing responses you may have experienced. One man even stopped me at church and said, “I really liked your blog.” Then he leaned in closer and said, “I may have even shed a tear or two or maybe my eyes were just leaking.” Whatever your response, your kind words encouraged me.

Here in Kansas, we’re bracing ourselves for two types of storms. First, the birthday party festivities will be ramping up around 6:30 tonight. Isaac woke up at 3am. I think he might be a little excited.

Second, the weather forecast for this weekend has us all in a tizzy. You couldn’t pay me enough to be a meteorologist in Kansas (or anywhere in the Midwest for that matter) right now. Depending on your TV/Radio/Interwebs weather forecaster of choice, we’re getting anywhere from 1 to 6 inches of snow in the next 48 hours. Before it snows, we may get ice (again, depending on who you choose to listen to, or is it “to whom you choose to listen”?). One of the weather dudes is going to get something wrong and then everyone will blame him/her. Despite our love/hate relationship with these prognosticators, we’ll all run out and buy up all the break and milk from the grocery stores. I’m headed to Wal-Mart soon. I’ll pick some up for you.

Finally, after my last blog, I feel the need to lighten things up a bit and help you get through this last push through the holidays. To do so, a couple of stories:

Yesterday, I was at Sam’s, busily checking out (I love the self-checkout thingies there – that’s a whole ‘nother blog). A nice gentleman walked up to me and said something like, “I like that present you gave my dog.” The look on my face had to have been priceless. In my mind I’m thinking, “Is this code for something? Am I suddenly in a spy movie and this guy is trying to pass off some kind of government secret that will eventually lead me to some form of water torture? Or, is this the worse pick-up line ever?”

Then I took another look at him and realized he was my friend’s husband. I’ve met him a couple of times, but he was out of context. We all know how that feels. Remember what it felt like to see your third grade teacher at the grocery store? Yeah, it was that feeling.

After I recovered, I realized he was thanking me for this:

 

No pick-up line, no espionage. Just a little Chihuahua humor. (Am I the only one who can spell Chihuahua because of Les Nessman? Anyone?) This is my friend Ann’s little Pinot who I thought would enjoy some Christmas apparel. Turns out, she’s a little stunned by it.

After meeting Ann’s husband at Sam’s, I stopped by her office to give her a lamp. We tried to figure out how to get the whole thing on the plane with her to California. This was one suggestion:

I think it works. Especially if she plans to stay for New Year’s Eve.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

 

 

Dear Birth Mom

Dear Birth Mom:

Today is their 13^th birthday.

But you know that. Every year as we celebrate our babies’ birthday, I have the best time. We usually start the morning off with breakfast and gifts and then end the day with dinner at the restaurant of their choice. Sometime during their birth “week”, we have a party. This year is no exception: Seven tween-age boys plus two 13 year olds are descending into my basement to wreak havoc and eat a lot of junk.

But as each year passes, I never fail to get a little (or a lot) melancholy on this day. I can’t help but think of you. And I wonder, are you thinking of us too? Do you wonder what they look like? Do you think about their voices and how they’ve changed and are changing this very moment? Do you wonder where we live and if they have siblings? Do you…?

I often wish you would have chosen to stay in our lives. At the time of their adoption, we gave you the choice, but you couldn’t. You needed a clean break. You’d had them for 34 weeks in utero and six months in an apartment. You recognized their need for stability and for two parents who could be there 24/7. You didn’t have that luxury – you were too busy just making sure all those living with you were surviving. There was little margin for thriving or any such frill.

We’ve done our best (so far) to make sure they know they are loved by us and by you. Does it help to know they ask about you? They wonder if someday you’ll want to meet them. I know you will, when the time is right. But for now, let me tell you about them.

Isaac is tall. And pretty. He’s already about 5’7” and growing at an amazing, sometimes alarming rate. He would die to be called pretty, but he is. He has great big brown eyes and a beautiful smile. He loves our dogs. Every day when he comes home from school, the girls greet the boys at the door. Isaac always stops, gets down on the floor and gets his daily dose of dog germs. He’s the quiet one – until you get to know him. Then you have to ask him to kindly shut it. He has favorite topics: Minecraft and various other games, our dogs, and food. Yes, the kid loves to eat. He gets up from every meal and wants to know when and where the next one will take place. He loves buffet restaurants. He told me when he was about seven that he wanted to go to that place “where you can randomly choose your food.” I read something the other day that summed him up completely:

“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “what’s the first thing you say to yourself?”

“What’s for breakfast?” said Pooh.  “What do you say, Piglet?”

“I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?” said Piglet.

Pooh nodded thoughtfully. “It’s the same thing,” he said.

 A. A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh 

Max isn’t as tall as Isaac. He’s not too happy about this, but we keep telling him he’ll get taller. He already taller than me (okay, so that’s not all that tall!) so I think he’ll hit that growth spurt soon. Unlike his brother, he talks constantly and to whomever will listen. And sometimes, he keeps talking to people who stopped listening long ago. He’s quite the ladies’ man. We’ve always joked that he had a girlfriend in every port: preschool, church, neighborhood, wherever he went. I think we’re about to cross over into the “that’s not funny anymore” region. Frankly, 13 year old girls scare me to death! At 13, he’s “dating” a darling girl. However, I’m not sure what that means since they only see each other at school and occasionally at church. He knows we’re really strict about phone calls, emails, texts, and all that. He’s a good kid with a huge heart. He has a friend whose family is in a constant state of crisis because of their father’s illness and a sister’s teenage depression. Max always wants to bring this kid everywhere we go: church, restaurants, family outings, even our vacations. When we made plans for a family trip this past summer, he told me, “Mom, I’ll sleep on the floor so we can take (his friend) along. He never gets to go anywhere and he’s never been on a vacation like we have.” That was the ultimate horror for Max. He hates the fact that someone else might not have fun like he does – every moment of the day. His heart is huge and it comes out in the beautiful smile that graces his face 90% of his day.

Birth Mom, you gave me a great gift. I get to mother these boys and it is a constant joy. No, it’s not always easy, but compared to what you did to give me this gift, it’s a walk in the park. You gave them to me; I’m doing my best to see that they do you proud. They love you, even though at this age they can’t express it. They love me, too; I know because they look at me with grateful glances and smiles that will melt your heart. And occasionally, when their tough boy shields are down, they say, “Love you, too, Mom.”

Thank you, Birth Mom. I hope this December 18^th is filled with sweet memories and happiness and that, somehow, God will visit you today with special peace that passes any mortal understanding. We love you.

From one mom to another, 

Brenda