This outfit is as cute on her as it was on her brother when he wore it 4 years ago and as cute as it was in the children's store in Naples.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
13 months we've been together...
I know it's like we live in a tundra. Happy bought that hat.
This outfit is as cute on her as it was on her brother when he wore it 4 years ago and as cute as it was in the children's store in Naples.
This outfit is as cute on her as it was on her brother when he wore it 4 years ago and as cute as it was in the children's store in Naples.
Friday, January 29, 2010
HAPPY SECOND BIRTHDAY, LAYLA!!!
Let me start by saying this, “Yes, Nancy I know.” :)
Two years ago in Da Nang, a woman gave birth to a tiny baby girl. I would like to believe that she loved her daughter with all her heart, but knew sadly she wouldn’t be able to parent this child and made one of the toughest decisions of a life. So either herself or someone she trusted more than life itself took the warmly dressed newborn and placed her where she would for sure be found and found quickly, outside of an orphanage.
In this orphanage this baby grew and came to know and love her nannies and the other babies there. Then seven months and one week later after arriving at the orphanage, this unsuspecting crawling baby girl’s life was drastically changed once again. Four months later, the baby once known as Tra Minh became Layla and became daughter to an awesome mom (yes, I am tooting my own horn!) and part of an incredible network of family and friends.
Last year for her first birthday, Layla had only known me a little less than a month and had been with her siblings and new family for barely two weeks. She was a friendly baby when she wanted to be. Her hair was thin and spotty, but I knew she was the cutest baby girl ever born on January 21 and I loved her endlessly.
This year, Layla could have been rockin’ a ponytail but her brother saw fit for that not to be possible, so instead she rocked barrettes, which I’m proud to say she didn’t take out of her hair like she does ponytails and hair bands. At the doctor’s office, I know not the greatest way to spend your birthday, she was saying, “Hi!” to everyone she saw. No where in sight was the little girl who gives off some of the best “I am not the one” looks I’ve ever seen. She was just my happy, kissing, loving baby.
I am so incredibly blessed to be the mother to this little girl. She is my baby. My baby, who is so spoiled, that on Sunday the idea of having a fourth child crossed my mind seriously. I thought maybe if Jack was here then Layla would stop being the baby and be a big girl. But Aunt Dee Dee brought this idea to a crashing halt when she pointed out that Layla didn’t get this way on her own. True dat! And knowing Layla as I do, as soon as Jack started walking all bets would be off and Layla would reclaim her position as baby. Though to be truly honest, I don’t know if she ever would have let Jack be the baby.
Rowan: Mommy, that’s my sister.
Me: Yes, she is your sister. What’s her name?
Rowan: Layla. Baby. Katarzyna.
Yes, Layla is definitely the baby. At Christmas my aunt wondered out loud why everyone called Layla baby and I responded because she is. Then I realized later no one else who holds the position of baby in my family is called baby like Layla. I’ll chalk it up to another thing she got from Oma. My mom’s nickname when she was a kid was baby sister and her one year and twenty-five day younger brother was baby brother. Somehow along the way their nicknames were shortened to Bay Sister and Bay Brother. (Really people, that extra “b” was killing you to say?!) Funny how nicknames stick, my mom was only the youngest sister for three years when her younger sister was born, followed by two more sisters. But this Christmas, I signed Bay Sister on Christmas cards for family members. I wonder if sixty-three- year-old Layla will still be called Baby by us.
It has been amazing to watch Layla blossom into this strong willed, intelligent, feisty, playful, loving toddler. Everything she touches becomes hers. “Mine!” she shouts at the top of her lungs. While those hands can pack a smack (we’re working on the no hitting thing) she gives the best kisses, multiple kisses. She loves peek-a-boo. She sounds exactly like Ah-nuld when she says, “Get down,” her version of put me down.
She is inventive. When Oma built barriers in case she dozed off while babysitting, her eyes could never completely close because Layla was plotting and creating ways to get over her Oma’s gates. I’ve learned to dislike the light weightiness of children’s chairs because my Koala Bear can quickly and easily move them to help her get what she wants. Cookie jars, fruit, drinks, nothing is safe on any counter or table surfaces that can be reached with a chair or whatever else she can use to help her climb.
I remember when Jory was her age if I turned off a light in a room, it was the signal it was time to move on and he did. Rowan was attached to me like glue as soon as the light went off since she is afraid of the dark. But Layla, if she’s not ready to leave the room, a little something like darkness isn’t going to stop her from doing what she wants to do. I have never parented a child so fearless, so adventurous. She makes me laugh. She makes me smile. She makes me want to pull my hair out. Every minute, every second of the nearly twenty-one month wait for her was worth it. She is the third light of my life.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.” Proverbs 3:5-6. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart with all your soul and with all your strength.” Deuteronomy 6:5. The two greatest pieces of wisdom I could ever give my baby, my Layla. I love you, little girl. I pray God blesses you and keeps you. That He blesses and keeps your husband, your children, and their children.
Happy Birthday, Layla! And you know the other cool thing about turning 2 is that you become a twin. Yiippee!!! Forgive me, had I known you and Rowan were going to be twins I would have given you more twin like names.
When the sun shines we shine together
Told you I’d be here forever
Said I’ll always be your mom
Took oath I’m a stick out till the end
Mommy, this is just what I wanted, my birthstone screwback earrings and a bubble lawnmower. If you look closely on the stereo behind Layla is her one-year-old birthday picture. My how we've changed.
The beautiful birthday girl trying to eat her new earrings.
Two years ago in Da Nang, a woman gave birth to a tiny baby girl. I would like to believe that she loved her daughter with all her heart, but knew sadly she wouldn’t be able to parent this child and made one of the toughest decisions of a life. So either herself or someone she trusted more than life itself took the warmly dressed newborn and placed her where she would for sure be found and found quickly, outside of an orphanage.
In this orphanage this baby grew and came to know and love her nannies and the other babies there. Then seven months and one week later after arriving at the orphanage, this unsuspecting crawling baby girl’s life was drastically changed once again. Four months later, the baby once known as Tra Minh became Layla and became daughter to an awesome mom (yes, I am tooting my own horn!) and part of an incredible network of family and friends.
Last year for her first birthday, Layla had only known me a little less than a month and had been with her siblings and new family for barely two weeks. She was a friendly baby when she wanted to be. Her hair was thin and spotty, but I knew she was the cutest baby girl ever born on January 21 and I loved her endlessly.
This year, Layla could have been rockin’ a ponytail but her brother saw fit for that not to be possible, so instead she rocked barrettes, which I’m proud to say she didn’t take out of her hair like she does ponytails and hair bands. At the doctor’s office, I know not the greatest way to spend your birthday, she was saying, “Hi!” to everyone she saw. No where in sight was the little girl who gives off some of the best “I am not the one” looks I’ve ever seen. She was just my happy, kissing, loving baby.
I am so incredibly blessed to be the mother to this little girl. She is my baby. My baby, who is so spoiled, that on Sunday the idea of having a fourth child crossed my mind seriously. I thought maybe if Jack was here then Layla would stop being the baby and be a big girl. But Aunt Dee Dee brought this idea to a crashing halt when she pointed out that Layla didn’t get this way on her own. True dat! And knowing Layla as I do, as soon as Jack started walking all bets would be off and Layla would reclaim her position as baby. Though to be truly honest, I don’t know if she ever would have let Jack be the baby.
Rowan: Mommy, that’s my sister.
Me: Yes, she is your sister. What’s her name?
Rowan: Layla. Baby. Katarzyna.
Yes, Layla is definitely the baby. At Christmas my aunt wondered out loud why everyone called Layla baby and I responded because she is. Then I realized later no one else who holds the position of baby in my family is called baby like Layla. I’ll chalk it up to another thing she got from Oma. My mom’s nickname when she was a kid was baby sister and her one year and twenty-five day younger brother was baby brother. Somehow along the way their nicknames were shortened to Bay Sister and Bay Brother. (Really people, that extra “b” was killing you to say?!) Funny how nicknames stick, my mom was only the youngest sister for three years when her younger sister was born, followed by two more sisters. But this Christmas, I signed Bay Sister on Christmas cards for family members. I wonder if sixty-three- year-old Layla will still be called Baby by us.
It has been amazing to watch Layla blossom into this strong willed, intelligent, feisty, playful, loving toddler. Everything she touches becomes hers. “Mine!” she shouts at the top of her lungs. While those hands can pack a smack (we’re working on the no hitting thing) she gives the best kisses, multiple kisses. She loves peek-a-boo. She sounds exactly like Ah-nuld when she says, “Get down,” her version of put me down.
She is inventive. When Oma built barriers in case she dozed off while babysitting, her eyes could never completely close because Layla was plotting and creating ways to get over her Oma’s gates. I’ve learned to dislike the light weightiness of children’s chairs because my Koala Bear can quickly and easily move them to help her get what she wants. Cookie jars, fruit, drinks, nothing is safe on any counter or table surfaces that can be reached with a chair or whatever else she can use to help her climb.
I remember when Jory was her age if I turned off a light in a room, it was the signal it was time to move on and he did. Rowan was attached to me like glue as soon as the light went off since she is afraid of the dark. But Layla, if she’s not ready to leave the room, a little something like darkness isn’t going to stop her from doing what she wants to do. I have never parented a child so fearless, so adventurous. She makes me laugh. She makes me smile. She makes me want to pull my hair out. Every minute, every second of the nearly twenty-one month wait for her was worth it. She is the third light of my life.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.” Proverbs 3:5-6. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart with all your soul and with all your strength.” Deuteronomy 6:5. The two greatest pieces of wisdom I could ever give my baby, my Layla. I love you, little girl. I pray God blesses you and keeps you. That He blesses and keeps your husband, your children, and their children.
Happy Birthday, Layla! And you know the other cool thing about turning 2 is that you become a twin. Yiippee!!! Forgive me, had I known you and Rowan were going to be twins I would have given you more twin like names.
When the sun shines we shine together
Told you I’d be here forever
Said I’ll always be your mom
Took oath I’m a stick out till the end
Mommy, this is just what I wanted, my birthstone screwback earrings and a bubble lawnmower. If you look closely on the stereo behind Layla is her one-year-old birthday picture. My how we've changed.
The beautiful birthday girl trying to eat her new earrings.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
It's been one year since you looked at me....
If they say -
Why,
why,
Tell 'em that is human nature
Why,
Why,
Does he do me that way
If they say -
Why,
Why,
Tell 'em that is human nature
Why,
Why,
Does he do me that way
I can’t believe a year ago today Layla and I entered into our “arranged marriage.” A government worker in Vietnam placed us together based on my request for a healthy baby girl under one. And right under the gun of Vietnam, once again, closing their doors to American adoptions, I received my official referral letter in which I was matched with a bouncing seven-month-old. Okay, those first pictures of her, she definitely wasn’t bouncing, but she was a baby.
I ordered Numero Uno pizza and wings for my co-workers to celebrate my referral. I showed Layla’s picture to friends and loved ones, but it all seemed a bit surreal. Even when I was in Vietnam, it still seemed unbelievable. I can only image how it all seemed to a certain eleven-month-old baby girl. While I had knowledge of her, had an idea of height and weight, knew how her health was, had pictures of her, she probably knew nothing of me. Then on December 28, 2008, her routine and that of the other kids in the orphanage was interrupted by a visit by three families. Suddenly she was thrust into the arms of a stranger, who sang to her a song about something killing something. She cried. In retrospect, “It’s Killing Me” should not have been the introductory DC Talk song I sang to her. No wonder she cried. My bad. After an hour with me, the stranger, surrounded by other strangers we disappeared and back to the regular routine- - the routine she had known for the last eleven months.
With the odd occurrence behind her, she went to sleep not knowing that was the last time she would sleep in that crib. It was the last time her nanny would put her to sleep. The last time she would fall asleep next to the baby who slept next to her. After a nice hearty breakfast, I’m sure it surprised her to see the strangers back and this time after being handed to stranger #1. Talk commenced around her in a language she was unfamiliar with and a language she knew well, then we were off. She was getting into a van with the strangers, leaving behind the only home she knew. The only family she remembered. The only bed she had ever slept in, possibly. A little more than an hour after leaving home, she was legally tied to stranger #1 for all time. How strange to be tied to someone for forever after only knowing them for a grand total of two hours. And thus began our “arranged marriage,” over a week in Vietnam we started to feel each other out, get to know each other’s quirks and ticks. And then coming home, she had to say goodbye to strangers #2 and #3, also known as Nancy and Lisa, and the boy, she knew who was now being called by some unfamiliar name, Benjamin. And she had to say goodbye to strangers #4 and #5, Barbara and Michael, and her friend/family member, James. So many goodbyes in such a short period of time.
Then upon touching down at home, we had to relearn each other again in this new playing field filled with other children, jobs, loved ones, church, and all the other busy things that come with life in LA and being part of the Herrington family.
It’s been an amazing year and the word “amazing” doesn’t even begin to describe it. Layla is incredible. Simply put, she’s brilliant, funny, beautiful, strong willed, fearless. I look at her, then look at her sister, and for the first time I see a future- - a future of me and two girls turned young women, who think their way is the best way, yet in two completely different ways. Rowan is fall to the ground, I’m not moving, stubborn. Complete with diva screams and emotional, heartfelt tears. While Layla is a hold her breath to her lips turn blue kinda girl. I never envisioned a future with Jory where we butted heads or really ever gave thought to our future, and still don’t have a vision other than my academic and sports dreams for him. Thank God he was my first because I look at his sisters when they are being stubborn and strong willed and I think, if they had been my first I would have only had one.
But maybe Layla’s strong willed spirit is what helped her get through all the changes that has come her way in her less than two years of life. As I was mailing out this year’s Christmas picture I looked at my girls and Jory in their Ao Dais and I couldn’t believe how much they changed, particularly Layla. I compared the Christmas picture to the first picture I received of her and wow! I will say that while Layla is not rocking a Tyra Banks’ fivehead (Thank God!), bangs have definitely have become our friend and will remain our friend until mommy no longer has say over hairstyles, so say till college.
The nannies had carefully written up Layla’s schedule for me, included what she ate for lunch, what type of formula she drank. Part of me thinks the schedule was just a lie, but I know it wasn’t. There’s no way they could have allowed ten babies and toddlers to be on different schedules, yet I’ve never met a kid who so quickly ditched their schedule. Maybe this goes back to Layla’s ability to adapt quickly to changes, but you think she could have maintained some of her old schedule. Yes, we were sight seeing and going to various appointments, but her Ergo was comfortable she could have slept on schedule in it. But no.
And there was some myth that she went to bed at 8:30. In what universe did that happen? I remember reading she had a 1AM feeding and said, will break her of that. Ha! Ha! The joke was on me. I don’t think I’ve gotten more than two nights at a time of Layla sleeping through the night. And she’s been home a year. A year. Rowan came home sleeping through the night. And Jory, thanks to his Aunt Mona’s firm words to me, was sleeping through the night by five months. Gosh, it pays to be the baby.
In the immortal words of Snoop, “Da game is to be sold not to be told.” My baby could make a mint (Cha Ching!!) off of selling the game. The game where even though for eleven months she was dressed every day, yet she comes home and can’t even lift her arms up to take off her shirt or onesie, doesn’t know how to stand to put on her pants, or to lift her feet to put her socks or shoes on. I understand there are delays, but a delay in the one function that you do everyday?
Now she tries to pull everything on thinking they are pants. She loves sticking her feet out for her socks and shoes to be put on. She can take off socks and hide them faster than a speeding bullet. Yet pretends she has no idea how to put socks back on. She happily lifts her arms to put her onesie on. Or she does when she wants to get dressed. If she’s not in the dressing mood, those arms stay glued to the front of her body.
For a baby who came home only eating Vietnamese baby formula and rice soup, it flabbergasts me how she’s inherited her sister’s love of food. There isn’t a food, Layla has met that she doesn’t like or rather love. A drink for that matter either. She could have just eaten and she sees you with food and the next thing you hear, “Wan some?” And she’s not happy with a taste or a bite. She wants to help you eat the rest of your food. And heaven forbid you have something to drink, you have to pry the cup out of her hands.
When Layla came home she wasn’t saying any words, including Vietnamese ones, but now she can talk and talk. She can be quite bossy at times. And she wields those words like a sword.
Me: “Layla, let’s go to bed.”
Layla: “Bathroom! Bathroom!”
Me: “Do you really have to go to the bathroom?”
Layla: “Bathroom! Bathhhhrooom!”
I pull down her pants and take off her diaper and two seconds before her tush even touches her potty, I hear, “All done!”
So now when bathroom is said. I respond with, “Layla, look at mommy, do you really have to go to the bathroom?”
“Bathroom!”
“Then take off your pants and diaper.”
That command either yields a quick compliance or her stepping away from me while putting her hands in front of her pants in fear that I might actually pull them off and make her sit on the potty.
“Bathroom” is yelled, never said quietly, early in the mornings, during church, at the mall, bedtime, and naptime. It’s the new favorite word after, “Want some juice,” which is usually said and sometimes said very loudly in a whiny, sleepy tone.
And the most perfect times to sing “ABC” are while on the potty, while in church, and during prayers. Although someone can put their finger to their lips and go, “Shhh;” they seemingly have no idea what this same gesture means when the
“ABC” song is sang at inappropriate times.
Jory woke up content. He made a little cry to let me know he was up and that was it. Sasha would wake up with a smile on her face. Rowan woke up with her thumb in her mouth and the other hand twirling her hair. Layla.
Layla: “I wan some orange juice.”
Me: “Good Morning, Layla.”
Layla: “Orange juice,” said with increased volume.
Me: “Did you sleep well?”
Layla: “Juuiiccee.”
Me: “Please.”
Layla: “Juice, please,” complete with the sign for please.
After some orange juice, milk or apple juice, then my happy camper appears.
“Hi!” is said pleasantly. Hugs and kisses are given out.
During the last year, we’ve gone from a baby who wouldn’t hold her Oma’s hand during morning prayer nor would she allow Oma to hold her hand. If Oma took her hand she would try and snatch it back quickly and then hide it. And now she willing gives her hand to Oma and says, “Amen!” at the end, louder than both Jory and Rowan, if they are awake.
Me: “Layla, pick up the doll and put it in the toy box.”
Layla: “Night night,” which is promptly followed by her laying down wherever she is, on the floor, leaning over the table, on the sofa.
Me: “Layla, come here.”
Layla: “Night night,” and she lies down. AND SCENE.
Was the purpose of learning words to get out of doing things you don’t want to do? Seemingly the answer is yes.
When she first started doing this I was surprised, I’m not sure why. I was once told that babies are the ultimate manipulators. They are like the Talamasca, they are there and always watching.
I’ll just combine Jory’s gotcha day in with Layla’s since his is on the 30th. In the five years, I’ve been blessed to parent I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned a lot about what I really want for my kids. I have to get to the root of what is truly important to me. Things I never thought I would do, I’m doing. Never thought I would adopt from foster care. Been there, done that, survived that, and have the t-shirt to prove it.
Homeschooling. Yep, we’re embarking on that journey. I thought Dee Dee, and you know I love you, but I thought you were insane for homeschooling when I first met you. To be completely honest, I feared the girls were going to be backward hicks. I did. I remember shaking my head and thinking I’ll never be like that when you spoke of your parenting choices. Now that I have kids, oh wise sister, I have learned a lot from you and I’m still learning. I won’t even get into the school choices in LA. Or the sadly outrageous cost to send a child to a Baptist or Lutheran school. Contemplating school had me truly praying about what was most important. It made me feel like I was really a parent. I was deciding the educational future of my son. My first. My baby boy. I have no more then in this moment missed Shane. Wishing I had a strong, Christian partner to navigate these waters with. But it is, what it is. And God answered my prayers. The most important thing for Jory is to learn about God, while learning what a past present participle is. So here we go off into a world that three months ago I would have laughed if you had said, what about homeschooling Jory.
Rearing children has opened my truly to the importance of accountability. I’ve been blessed to have sisters in my life like, Carol, Emily, Dee Dee, Ekua, Deedee, Cindy, Sarah, Sara, to name a few that just call me on that not so good stuff that I’m doing. Sometimes it’s just a simple email that says, “Yash.” And I’m convicted. Or my new favorite is from Ro, who will simply ask, “Do you know Jesus as your personal Savior?” Oh snap! Hearing that just lays me out. For those of us who are believers, I wonder why accountability is so hard. We are all walking this narrow path together, yet somehow we think accountability is synonymous with judging. The two are not the same thing. Sometimes my thinking or my plans are going wayward and I don’t even quite realize it and in those times I need a reality check. I need someone who says, “Yash,” to make me stop and think about what I’m saying or doing.
The first time I heard a believer say, they weren’t open to adopting children of certain races, I was- - shocked, dismayed, appalled. I know adoption is a gift, which not everyone has. I know some are called to adopt special needs children or children from other countries. But to hear a believer who is adopted domestically say they can only adopt black children or they can adopt white or Hispanic children, but not any other race- - stuns me.
How can we fellowship, worship God, and have communion with our brothers and sisters of a different race, yet then turn around and say, but I wouldn’t want someone who looks like you to call me mom or dad? How can we sing, “Jesus loves the little children/All the children of the world/They are red, yellow, black and white/They are precious in His sight/Jesus loves the little children of the world;” yet choose which of these precious children, who were made by our Creator, we would be willing to adopt based on melanin?
It would be easy to quote Bret Butler on My Name Is Earl and say, “Don’t you dare judge me,” but what about accountability amongst the believers when we hear things like this? When we hear, I would adopt a Hispanic child, but there are no Hispanics in my area so it wouldn’t be fair to him or her. We are our children’s first and most important role model. I can still hear and see the commercial of yesterday where dad confront his teen about the drugs he found in the boy’s room.
Dad: “Where did you get this? Where did you learn this?”
Teen: “I learned it by watching you, Dad. I learned it by watching you.”
Are we going to stand before God and explain that we would have adopted the Asian girl, but we didn’t know any Asian people, didn’t have any Asian role models for her, and we thought growing up with an Asian family or surrounded by Asians was more important than being reared in a God fearing home?
I truly believed when I began my road to parenthood that God would never give me more than I could handle. There are some things He has allowed to happen that I could have done without, but I’m still standing and stronger for it. Accountability can sometimes be a tough thing to do, but it’s a necessary one.
Five years have gone by in a flash on an eye. This past year has gone by super fast. This time last year, Layla and I barely knew each other and now I can’t believe I didn’t always know this funny, brilliant girl. I look at her and think Jory was once this small. Once this tiny and now he does homework, learns sight words, tries to use logic to get my “no” to turn into a “yes.” That last one still makes me laugh. My first baby is old enough to try and get me to change my mind.
Over the past few years, a wise, older, older, older, let’s just say she saw the Wright brothers test their first plane, friend who I affectionately call Pidge has said it doesn’t bother her or hurt her feelings that she didn’t see her daughter’s first step or hear her son’s first word because she had other firsts with them. Pre-Layla I don’t know if I truly got that. Maybe even a part of me thought she was deluding herself when I thought about seeing Jory’s first tooth come in, hearing him call me Ash instead of mommy, a word he could say, watching a little over a year-old Rowan take her first steps. But now I get it.
When I cradle Layla in my arms, which I can only do when I’m tickling her or she’s almost asleep, I don’t wonder or miss what it would have been like if I had been able to hold her like this when she was two-months-old or two-days-old. When I watch her sleeping, I don’t imagine what it would have been like to see a smaller version of her lovely face sleeping. I was there for her first word and her first tooth. I was there when she had a bite of American made mashed potatoes at KFC. I was there the first time she smiled at Lisa. It wasn’t her first smile, but it was the first smile I saw and it was great. It was just as great as the first time Jory smiled, and Sasha smiled.
And while we only had less than thirty days she had never seen before she turned one, ever day after that was still like a first day because she hadn’t been my daughter the previous year. It wasn’t her first Valentine’s Day, but in a way it was because it was her first with us and let’s be honest, I’m thinking Hallmark hasn’t made inroads into Vietnam with the whole card and gift thing for V-Day. Her first St. Patty’s Day. Her first Good Friday, Easter…And just her first June 1st, another day nothing special except this June 1st she had a mommy, a sister, a brother, an Oma, and a host of family and friends who loved her dearly.
Though when she knocks five years off her Oma’s life with her breath holding thing, I do wonder if I had been there for those days when she fed every four hours, would she hold her breath when she’s really upset? Would she stomp her feet when she gets extremely frustrated? I would like to think no, but other days I think, yep, she’d still be doing that stuff. And things like, Layla finally deciding to call me Mommy a few weeks ago instead of Mama, which she had been calling me for months, even though I refer to myself as Mommy and Jory and Rowan call me Mommy, I realize my little girl from the moment the egg and sperm met the willfulness was there.
Layla has come a loooonnnnngggg way in this past year. In the beginning, I couldn’t even look at the milestone charts for children her age because she lagged behind and now….When I told her doctor about her holding her breath to her lips turn blue, her wonderful doctor printed out an article entitled “breath holding spell,” told me not to react at all when she does it because it reinforces the behavior, and then gleefully said, “She’s all caught up with her age group.” Yeah, I’ll be sure to tell that in the exact same tone to Layla’s Oma next time Layla holds her breath. Right before her Oma passes out from fear.
Thank you all for taking this journey with me. Some from my talks about adoption, others from where I started the process, and others who joined me when I wrote that first email on that gimpy computer in Taipei. Thank you. Thank you for the support, the comments, the love, and the prayers. Thank you!! And in case you hadn’t notice, which I’m not sure anyone did since no one said anything, but since June 29 I’ve used songs sang by MJ in my updates.
In the words of that famous commercial, “Layla, you’ve come a long way, baby.” I love you, Koala Bear!
Been up and down been almost crushed to the ground
But somehow I still come out with my crown
Sometimes my hills seem unbearable
But Lord don't move my mountain I'm believin in your miracle
I've never seen the righteous forsaken
I'd never have made it without you
My joy, my peace, my happiness
My hope, my strength, my deliverance
Ain't no stoppin my praise, my diligence
My life I've dedicated cause I made it with you
I made it with you
Nobody but you
I made it with you
Why,
why,
Tell 'em that is human nature
Why,
Why,
Does he do me that way
If they say -
Why,
Why,
Tell 'em that is human nature
Why,
Why,
Does he do me that way
I can’t believe a year ago today Layla and I entered into our “arranged marriage.” A government worker in Vietnam placed us together based on my request for a healthy baby girl under one. And right under the gun of Vietnam, once again, closing their doors to American adoptions, I received my official referral letter in which I was matched with a bouncing seven-month-old. Okay, those first pictures of her, she definitely wasn’t bouncing, but she was a baby.
I ordered Numero Uno pizza and wings for my co-workers to celebrate my referral. I showed Layla’s picture to friends and loved ones, but it all seemed a bit surreal. Even when I was in Vietnam, it still seemed unbelievable. I can only image how it all seemed to a certain eleven-month-old baby girl. While I had knowledge of her, had an idea of height and weight, knew how her health was, had pictures of her, she probably knew nothing of me. Then on December 28, 2008, her routine and that of the other kids in the orphanage was interrupted by a visit by three families. Suddenly she was thrust into the arms of a stranger, who sang to her a song about something killing something. She cried. In retrospect, “It’s Killing Me” should not have been the introductory DC Talk song I sang to her. No wonder she cried. My bad. After an hour with me, the stranger, surrounded by other strangers we disappeared and back to the regular routine- - the routine she had known for the last eleven months.
With the odd occurrence behind her, she went to sleep not knowing that was the last time she would sleep in that crib. It was the last time her nanny would put her to sleep. The last time she would fall asleep next to the baby who slept next to her. After a nice hearty breakfast, I’m sure it surprised her to see the strangers back and this time after being handed to stranger #1. Talk commenced around her in a language she was unfamiliar with and a language she knew well, then we were off. She was getting into a van with the strangers, leaving behind the only home she knew. The only family she remembered. The only bed she had ever slept in, possibly. A little more than an hour after leaving home, she was legally tied to stranger #1 for all time. How strange to be tied to someone for forever after only knowing them for a grand total of two hours. And thus began our “arranged marriage,” over a week in Vietnam we started to feel each other out, get to know each other’s quirks and ticks. And then coming home, she had to say goodbye to strangers #2 and #3, also known as Nancy and Lisa, and the boy, she knew who was now being called by some unfamiliar name, Benjamin. And she had to say goodbye to strangers #4 and #5, Barbara and Michael, and her friend/family member, James. So many goodbyes in such a short period of time.
Then upon touching down at home, we had to relearn each other again in this new playing field filled with other children, jobs, loved ones, church, and all the other busy things that come with life in LA and being part of the Herrington family.
It’s been an amazing year and the word “amazing” doesn’t even begin to describe it. Layla is incredible. Simply put, she’s brilliant, funny, beautiful, strong willed, fearless. I look at her, then look at her sister, and for the first time I see a future- - a future of me and two girls turned young women, who think their way is the best way, yet in two completely different ways. Rowan is fall to the ground, I’m not moving, stubborn. Complete with diva screams and emotional, heartfelt tears. While Layla is a hold her breath to her lips turn blue kinda girl. I never envisioned a future with Jory where we butted heads or really ever gave thought to our future, and still don’t have a vision other than my academic and sports dreams for him. Thank God he was my first because I look at his sisters when they are being stubborn and strong willed and I think, if they had been my first I would have only had one.
But maybe Layla’s strong willed spirit is what helped her get through all the changes that has come her way in her less than two years of life. As I was mailing out this year’s Christmas picture I looked at my girls and Jory in their Ao Dais and I couldn’t believe how much they changed, particularly Layla. I compared the Christmas picture to the first picture I received of her and wow! I will say that while Layla is not rocking a Tyra Banks’ fivehead (Thank God!), bangs have definitely have become our friend and will remain our friend until mommy no longer has say over hairstyles, so say till college.
The nannies had carefully written up Layla’s schedule for me, included what she ate for lunch, what type of formula she drank. Part of me thinks the schedule was just a lie, but I know it wasn’t. There’s no way they could have allowed ten babies and toddlers to be on different schedules, yet I’ve never met a kid who so quickly ditched their schedule. Maybe this goes back to Layla’s ability to adapt quickly to changes, but you think she could have maintained some of her old schedule. Yes, we were sight seeing and going to various appointments, but her Ergo was comfortable she could have slept on schedule in it. But no.
And there was some myth that she went to bed at 8:30. In what universe did that happen? I remember reading she had a 1AM feeding and said, will break her of that. Ha! Ha! The joke was on me. I don’t think I’ve gotten more than two nights at a time of Layla sleeping through the night. And she’s been home a year. A year. Rowan came home sleeping through the night. And Jory, thanks to his Aunt Mona’s firm words to me, was sleeping through the night by five months. Gosh, it pays to be the baby.
In the immortal words of Snoop, “Da game is to be sold not to be told.” My baby could make a mint (Cha Ching!!) off of selling the game. The game where even though for eleven months she was dressed every day, yet she comes home and can’t even lift her arms up to take off her shirt or onesie, doesn’t know how to stand to put on her pants, or to lift her feet to put her socks or shoes on. I understand there are delays, but a delay in the one function that you do everyday?
Now she tries to pull everything on thinking they are pants. She loves sticking her feet out for her socks and shoes to be put on. She can take off socks and hide them faster than a speeding bullet. Yet pretends she has no idea how to put socks back on. She happily lifts her arms to put her onesie on. Or she does when she wants to get dressed. If she’s not in the dressing mood, those arms stay glued to the front of her body.
For a baby who came home only eating Vietnamese baby formula and rice soup, it flabbergasts me how she’s inherited her sister’s love of food. There isn’t a food, Layla has met that she doesn’t like or rather love. A drink for that matter either. She could have just eaten and she sees you with food and the next thing you hear, “Wan some?” And she’s not happy with a taste or a bite. She wants to help you eat the rest of your food. And heaven forbid you have something to drink, you have to pry the cup out of her hands.
When Layla came home she wasn’t saying any words, including Vietnamese ones, but now she can talk and talk. She can be quite bossy at times. And she wields those words like a sword.
Me: “Layla, let’s go to bed.”
Layla: “Bathroom! Bathroom!”
Me: “Do you really have to go to the bathroom?”
Layla: “Bathroom! Bathhhhrooom!”
I pull down her pants and take off her diaper and two seconds before her tush even touches her potty, I hear, “All done!”
So now when bathroom is said. I respond with, “Layla, look at mommy, do you really have to go to the bathroom?”
“Bathroom!”
“Then take off your pants and diaper.”
That command either yields a quick compliance or her stepping away from me while putting her hands in front of her pants in fear that I might actually pull them off and make her sit on the potty.
“Bathroom” is yelled, never said quietly, early in the mornings, during church, at the mall, bedtime, and naptime. It’s the new favorite word after, “Want some juice,” which is usually said and sometimes said very loudly in a whiny, sleepy tone.
And the most perfect times to sing “ABC” are while on the potty, while in church, and during prayers. Although someone can put their finger to their lips and go, “Shhh;” they seemingly have no idea what this same gesture means when the
“ABC” song is sang at inappropriate times.
Jory woke up content. He made a little cry to let me know he was up and that was it. Sasha would wake up with a smile on her face. Rowan woke up with her thumb in her mouth and the other hand twirling her hair. Layla.
Layla: “I wan some orange juice.”
Me: “Good Morning, Layla.”
Layla: “Orange juice,” said with increased volume.
Me: “Did you sleep well?”
Layla: “Juuiiccee.”
Me: “Please.”
Layla: “Juice, please,” complete with the sign for please.
After some orange juice, milk or apple juice, then my happy camper appears.
“Hi!” is said pleasantly. Hugs and kisses are given out.
During the last year, we’ve gone from a baby who wouldn’t hold her Oma’s hand during morning prayer nor would she allow Oma to hold her hand. If Oma took her hand she would try and snatch it back quickly and then hide it. And now she willing gives her hand to Oma and says, “Amen!” at the end, louder than both Jory and Rowan, if they are awake.
Me: “Layla, pick up the doll and put it in the toy box.”
Layla: “Night night,” which is promptly followed by her laying down wherever she is, on the floor, leaning over the table, on the sofa.
Me: “Layla, come here.”
Layla: “Night night,” and she lies down. AND SCENE.
Was the purpose of learning words to get out of doing things you don’t want to do? Seemingly the answer is yes.
When she first started doing this I was surprised, I’m not sure why. I was once told that babies are the ultimate manipulators. They are like the Talamasca, they are there and always watching.
I’ll just combine Jory’s gotcha day in with Layla’s since his is on the 30th. In the five years, I’ve been blessed to parent I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned a lot about what I really want for my kids. I have to get to the root of what is truly important to me. Things I never thought I would do, I’m doing. Never thought I would adopt from foster care. Been there, done that, survived that, and have the t-shirt to prove it.
Homeschooling. Yep, we’re embarking on that journey. I thought Dee Dee, and you know I love you, but I thought you were insane for homeschooling when I first met you. To be completely honest, I feared the girls were going to be backward hicks. I did. I remember shaking my head and thinking I’ll never be like that when you spoke of your parenting choices. Now that I have kids, oh wise sister, I have learned a lot from you and I’m still learning. I won’t even get into the school choices in LA. Or the sadly outrageous cost to send a child to a Baptist or Lutheran school. Contemplating school had me truly praying about what was most important. It made me feel like I was really a parent. I was deciding the educational future of my son. My first. My baby boy. I have no more then in this moment missed Shane. Wishing I had a strong, Christian partner to navigate these waters with. But it is, what it is. And God answered my prayers. The most important thing for Jory is to learn about God, while learning what a past present participle is. So here we go off into a world that three months ago I would have laughed if you had said, what about homeschooling Jory.
Rearing children has opened my truly to the importance of accountability. I’ve been blessed to have sisters in my life like, Carol, Emily, Dee Dee, Ekua, Deedee, Cindy, Sarah, Sara, to name a few that just call me on that not so good stuff that I’m doing. Sometimes it’s just a simple email that says, “Yash.” And I’m convicted. Or my new favorite is from Ro, who will simply ask, “Do you know Jesus as your personal Savior?” Oh snap! Hearing that just lays me out. For those of us who are believers, I wonder why accountability is so hard. We are all walking this narrow path together, yet somehow we think accountability is synonymous with judging. The two are not the same thing. Sometimes my thinking or my plans are going wayward and I don’t even quite realize it and in those times I need a reality check. I need someone who says, “Yash,” to make me stop and think about what I’m saying or doing.
The first time I heard a believer say, they weren’t open to adopting children of certain races, I was- - shocked, dismayed, appalled. I know adoption is a gift, which not everyone has. I know some are called to adopt special needs children or children from other countries. But to hear a believer who is adopted domestically say they can only adopt black children or they can adopt white or Hispanic children, but not any other race- - stuns me.
How can we fellowship, worship God, and have communion with our brothers and sisters of a different race, yet then turn around and say, but I wouldn’t want someone who looks like you to call me mom or dad? How can we sing, “Jesus loves the little children/All the children of the world/They are red, yellow, black and white/They are precious in His sight/Jesus loves the little children of the world;” yet choose which of these precious children, who were made by our Creator, we would be willing to adopt based on melanin?
It would be easy to quote Bret Butler on My Name Is Earl and say, “Don’t you dare judge me,” but what about accountability amongst the believers when we hear things like this? When we hear, I would adopt a Hispanic child, but there are no Hispanics in my area so it wouldn’t be fair to him or her. We are our children’s first and most important role model. I can still hear and see the commercial of yesterday where dad confront his teen about the drugs he found in the boy’s room.
Dad: “Where did you get this? Where did you learn this?”
Teen: “I learned it by watching you, Dad. I learned it by watching you.”
Are we going to stand before God and explain that we would have adopted the Asian girl, but we didn’t know any Asian people, didn’t have any Asian role models for her, and we thought growing up with an Asian family or surrounded by Asians was more important than being reared in a God fearing home?
I truly believed when I began my road to parenthood that God would never give me more than I could handle. There are some things He has allowed to happen that I could have done without, but I’m still standing and stronger for it. Accountability can sometimes be a tough thing to do, but it’s a necessary one.
Five years have gone by in a flash on an eye. This past year has gone by super fast. This time last year, Layla and I barely knew each other and now I can’t believe I didn’t always know this funny, brilliant girl. I look at her and think Jory was once this small. Once this tiny and now he does homework, learns sight words, tries to use logic to get my “no” to turn into a “yes.” That last one still makes me laugh. My first baby is old enough to try and get me to change my mind.
Over the past few years, a wise, older, older, older, let’s just say she saw the Wright brothers test their first plane, friend who I affectionately call Pidge has said it doesn’t bother her or hurt her feelings that she didn’t see her daughter’s first step or hear her son’s first word because she had other firsts with them. Pre-Layla I don’t know if I truly got that. Maybe even a part of me thought she was deluding herself when I thought about seeing Jory’s first tooth come in, hearing him call me Ash instead of mommy, a word he could say, watching a little over a year-old Rowan take her first steps. But now I get it.
When I cradle Layla in my arms, which I can only do when I’m tickling her or she’s almost asleep, I don’t wonder or miss what it would have been like if I had been able to hold her like this when she was two-months-old or two-days-old. When I watch her sleeping, I don’t imagine what it would have been like to see a smaller version of her lovely face sleeping. I was there for her first word and her first tooth. I was there when she had a bite of American made mashed potatoes at KFC. I was there the first time she smiled at Lisa. It wasn’t her first smile, but it was the first smile I saw and it was great. It was just as great as the first time Jory smiled, and Sasha smiled.
And while we only had less than thirty days she had never seen before she turned one, ever day after that was still like a first day because she hadn’t been my daughter the previous year. It wasn’t her first Valentine’s Day, but in a way it was because it was her first with us and let’s be honest, I’m thinking Hallmark hasn’t made inroads into Vietnam with the whole card and gift thing for V-Day. Her first St. Patty’s Day. Her first Good Friday, Easter…And just her first June 1st, another day nothing special except this June 1st she had a mommy, a sister, a brother, an Oma, and a host of family and friends who loved her dearly.
Though when she knocks five years off her Oma’s life with her breath holding thing, I do wonder if I had been there for those days when she fed every four hours, would she hold her breath when she’s really upset? Would she stomp her feet when she gets extremely frustrated? I would like to think no, but other days I think, yep, she’d still be doing that stuff. And things like, Layla finally deciding to call me Mommy a few weeks ago instead of Mama, which she had been calling me for months, even though I refer to myself as Mommy and Jory and Rowan call me Mommy, I realize my little girl from the moment the egg and sperm met the willfulness was there.
Layla has come a loooonnnnngggg way in this past year. In the beginning, I couldn’t even look at the milestone charts for children her age because she lagged behind and now….When I told her doctor about her holding her breath to her lips turn blue, her wonderful doctor printed out an article entitled “breath holding spell,” told me not to react at all when she does it because it reinforces the behavior, and then gleefully said, “She’s all caught up with her age group.” Yeah, I’ll be sure to tell that in the exact same tone to Layla’s Oma next time Layla holds her breath. Right before her Oma passes out from fear.
Thank you all for taking this journey with me. Some from my talks about adoption, others from where I started the process, and others who joined me when I wrote that first email on that gimpy computer in Taipei. Thank you. Thank you for the support, the comments, the love, and the prayers. Thank you!! And in case you hadn’t notice, which I’m not sure anyone did since no one said anything, but since June 29 I’ve used songs sang by MJ in my updates.
In the words of that famous commercial, “Layla, you’ve come a long way, baby.” I love you, Koala Bear!
Been up and down been almost crushed to the ground
But somehow I still come out with my crown
Sometimes my hills seem unbearable
But Lord don't move my mountain I'm believin in your miracle
I've never seen the righteous forsaken
I'd never have made it without you
My joy, my peace, my happiness
My hope, my strength, my deliverance
Ain't no stoppin my praise, my diligence
My life I've dedicated cause I made it with you
I made it with you
Nobody but you
I made it with you
The most wonderful time of the year - - Disneyland and Christmas
I have a Christmas schedule that I started some years back. It starts the day after Thanksgiving.
1. Go shopping on Black Friday
2. Take out Christmas music after shopping
3. Take the Christmas card picture
4. Decorate the lawn
5. Pull out the Christmas presents bought earlier in the year
6. Take out the Christmas sweaters
December 1 is the official Christmas sweater kick off. A Christmas sweater or one that is green or red, every day until the 25th. First week in December mail out all the Christmas presents and send out Christmas cards. The first weekend in December buy the Christmas tree and decorate. Take family Christmas picture. Celebrate my birthday. Celebrate Jory’s birthday observed. Celebrate Layla’s and Jory’s gotcha days. December 29th or 30th take down the decorations. That sums up our holiday festivities. Or rather I should say this is the dream of how the festivities are supposed to go.
We couldn’t decorate the front yard Thanksgiving because Oma decided the lawn needed counting. That half inch the yard grew since the last cutting would have ruined, simply ruined the decorations, so I had to throw up the blow up decorations quickly to take a picture. Of course, Layla fell asleep right after I dressed her for the picture. A nicer mommy would have let her sleep, but she had a mommy on a mission and her sleeping time could not and would not interfere with that. I’m so glad that I had the presence of mind in Vietnam to buy Ao Dais for this year’s Christmas picture. I’m genius!
I tried to get all three to smile at the same time. That didn’t happen, but I think I got some good, cute pictures anyway. Monday morning, I had our Christmas pictures in hand; it was time to start mailing them out. This year I decided I would send out the cards the same time I sent out the Christmas presents. That was a mistake.
I tried to wake up at 4AM to get a jump start on the presents that I smartly separated by family on Black Friday night, at 4:30AM my human Lojac was up. You don’t get a lot of presents wrapped when you have to hide the scissors, make sure no one is ripping the paper off the presents you’ve already wrapped, trying to keep someone off the wrapping paper, and keeping them out of the tape. I threw on Jem and the Holigrams (brilliant cartoon and one of the best presents I’ve ever received. I love you, Ash!) to distract my Koala Bear because her physical therapist said she was mesmerized by TV. Interesting since there was a TV in the orphanage so TV isn’t a new concept to her. But what I discerned was that Layla is only mesmerized by TV if she doesn’t want to be bothered with you. Sorry therapist, she just wasn’t that into you. Jem had no effect. I even tried to capture her attention by showing one of the greatest Christmas movies of all time, Scrooge (Bill Murray is genius. His Richard Pryor on fire joke one of the best jokes in the movie. Then I sadly realized my kids will have no clue what that joke means without me explaining it to them. I’m getting old.). No go. It took nearly three weeks to get all the presents wrapped. If anyone got their presents or their cards after Christmas, you have Layla to thank for that. Next year, she will not be allowed to slow down the system.
The first Saturday in December, Jory picked out our Christmas Tree at Home Depot and we went home to immediately decorate it. I put on the Christmas cds and pulled out our treasured ornaments. When I heard something drop and crack, I raced into the kitchen to find the ornament I made in Mrs. Doty’s Pre-first class on the floor in two pieces. It’s only an ornament. It’s only an ornament, I chanted to myself. I told Jory, it was okay and for him to not touch any ornament I put on the kitchen table. It’s only an ornament. He had no idea how long we saved that ornament. Or the fact that Mrs. Doty might have passed away. He has no idea.
You know what Christmas tree decorating with a four-year-old and two-year-old taught me…that 98% of the ornaments I have are very dear and precious to me. I like my ornaments of the Grinch, Cindy Lou Who, and Max, the dog, but I never knew how precious it was until Rowan held Cindy Lou in her hand and wanted to haphazardly put her on the tree. Cindy is tiny. She could get lost. You can’t just put her anywhere. I quickly helped Rowan place Cindy Lou somewhere safe and redirected her to the apples. The apples, which she then proceeded to place on the ten nearest branches closest to the floor. Christmas decorating is about letting the kids help and learn so I let it go, even when I thought about how the baby’s favorite fruit is an apple and anything red and eatable she sees is called an apple. I let it go. Sure enough when the baby woke up, she screamed, “Apple!”, but luckily I was able to dissuade her from touching them.
While testing Christmas lights, the song I cried to and prayed to all those years ago when I was childless, Breath of Heaven, came on and instantly I was reminded of how blessed I was to be sharing this season of Jesus’ birth with three gorgeous kids. And when I heard it for a second time, while I was cooking dinner with the kids running around the kitchen, I pondered how much easier life would be on occasion if God would let us see the movie screen and not just the TV screen. Oh what burden would have been lifted off of me that Christmas Day in 2004, if He had showed me just a clip, a teaser of Christmas 2006 or Christmas 2009, where I could see myself surrounded by and loving on the best, the brightest, the most beautiful children in the world.
On the sunny, yet windy day of the 22nd, Layla and I drove to Edmund D. Edelman Children’s Court House. We hung out on the fourth floor for a while as the families with lawyers, or in this case the same lawyer, cases were heard first. Layla wore the beautiful white and red dress she’d worn earlier that year when we finalized Rowan’s adoption, which also happened to be Rowan’s very Christmas dress. I was wearing my court suit: black pants, grey and black jacket, and a purple tank top with black lace around the edges.
Layla walked around, played peek-a-boo, took a few pictures, then we were up. We were before Judge John L. Henning. (What a fun job to preside over adoptions all day.) Judge Henning presided over Jory’s adoption, too. We had come full circle in our adoptions.
The court reporter, the stenographer, Layla and I sat as the judge seemed to read over all our documents, read every single word of the post-placement report. The perks of being the last case before lunch. He jokingly asked if I had written the post-placement report myself. And when the document that would allow Layla to get her very own CA birth certificate was placed before, I picked up the pen to sign right away, but Judge Henning stopped me. He wanted to know if I knew what I was signing. I explained to him what the document was, what it meant, and told him he told me that the first time I was before him. He was impressed with himself for doing such a thorough job of teaching me. I signed. He signed. And it was complete. We took photos with Judge and out the door.
When we finalized Jory’s adoption, three aunts and a very loving social worker were there. After court, we went to Sizzler, and then we took Willow to the doctor. Later that week, we had a finalization party for family and friends. When Rowan finalized, it was just Jory, Oma, and Layla. We stopped at McD’s for a big breakfast, and then we came to work so everyone could meet the amazing trio, whom they had never seen in person. As for Layla, she fell asleep in the car so I stopped at Mc D’s and got myself some food, then we stopped at AT & T to get Oma a new phone. Sometimes it just stinks not being the first.
With the readoption behind us, it was time for my birthday. No mommy hath greater love than this that she spends her birthday at Disneyland. I’m not a fan, but I got in free and the kids had never been so off we went. I put Jory in the
back of the stroller with the blanket on top of him so he could get in free too, but the older gentleman at the gate said he needed a ticket. Dude, I’m a poor mother, why are you doing this? The good me said pay the $62 for Jory to get in, but the bad me heard $62 and 4-year-old and said, well….So we went and found the woman who had helped us when we first entered the park. She informed me children two and under get in free. I knew I was defeated then and we went and paid for Jory’s ticket. Later I thought though that maybe I should be insulted. What were they saying about my baby? That he didn’t look two? Jory could have been a two-year-old with a growth hormone problem. They didn’t know. Thank God, he doesn’t have any issues, but I’m just saying…
I was trying to make it to Toon Town, I was armed with knowledge from experienced moms and Disneyland goers and in my hands was the very detailed and wonderful guide Nyah tailored for me and the kids, and we didn’t make it to Toon Town. I saw a ride I thought we could all ride and we stopped there. When I looked around, I saw other rides for the whole family and decided we were staying wherever we were, Fantasy Land it was later revealed, until we had ridden everything there was to ride.
Layla started off loving the Tea Cups. She threw her hands up in the air like she saw others doing and then she stopped. She wasn’t loving the ride so much. The spinning cups ended and we walked over to Dumbo. The baby started shaking and channeling my mom, I thought is she choking, then I came back to myself and realized she was about to throw up. I leaned her over the very beautiful pontisettia and cleaned her face when she was finished. As Layla was throwing up, other people went around us and took our spot in line. Fresh faced Layla, Rowan, Jory, and I walked around those people and took our original place in line. Obviously they didn’t know who they were dealing with.
The baby can truly act like the baby when she wants to, but she knows when she has to hunker down and fly right; and that sometimes you just have to take one for the team. She took one for the team. Maybe she also sensed after paying for Jory’s ticket and $14 to park that Mommy’s hand could dial Aunt Dee Dee’s number in two seconds and ask if one loving aunt wanted to baby sit for a few hours. After a successful, flying Dumbo ride Layla let it be known what her price was for being a team player- - no more walking. From about 11:30 until we left the park sometime after 5PM, I carried Layla on top of my backpack 99% of the day.
Rowan was afraid of the rides that went into the dark, but she pushed through her pain. Jory loved it. He loved the rides. Rowan had a good time too. And Layla probably had the best time of all- - enjoying the time from the comfort of her mommy’s arms. I was excited the kids were so engrossed in all that was going on around them that they didn’t ask for me to buy any overpriced food. They were content to eat their PB & J as we walked from ride to the next. Happy to take sips of their apple juice from their thermoses. And especially delighted when they saw I had packed not only chips and popcorn and they got to share both.
I’m not anti-Disney, but we haven’t seen any of the Princess’ movies (okay, strike that, Layla might have been awake for Cinderella II when it was the only thing on at 2 in the morning in Hanoi) as we stood in line for some Princess ride, let’s say Sleeping Beauty, I realized three things: 1. we needed to start reading the Princess’ stories or watching their movies ASAP because when Maleficent started speaking and laughing Jory responded with, “Stop that Skeletor!” The only show we watch with a consistent villain is He-Man; 2. he and Rowan had no idea who Sleeping Beauty, Pinocchio (though he has the cutest Pinocchio bib from the land where Pinocchio was born/created/made; and has a Pinocchio pencil I bought for him when I was in Italy), Peter Pan etc…; and 3. I was right Dora, Mickey Mouse Club House, and those other “interactive” pre-school programs are teaching him, wrongly, that if some character is talking you should respond, thus explaining the talking back to Maleficent.
I also learned that when I tell Jory to hold Rowan’s hand, sometimes Rowan doesn’t give him her hand so he grabs her jacket or her arm, which she doesn’t like, which leads to tears. And thusly while getting off the train and walking towards the Haunted Mansion, she fell to her knees so overcome with emotions and distraught because Jory wasn’t holding her hand and in turn her brother kept holding her arm and kept walking dragging her beside him. I looked over and told Jory to let her go. What could I say; Jory was doing what I asked him to do. I didn’t stipulate if your sister falls to the ground, don’t drag her. So I made my stipulation and told Rowan to give her brother her hand and that way he won’t grab her jacket or her arm and once again all was right in the world. Though I wonder how long he would have dragged her if I hadn’t seen it seconds after it happened.
Jory enjoyed both his boat rides and the train ride. They were probably his favorite parts of the park. Rowan appreciated anything that didn’t take us into darkness. It was an interesting day for me, I was surrounded by people, some who dared to have the same birthday as me, and (I so don’t dig that. Me and Susan Lucci are the only two people allowed to have the day.); the kids were engrossed in the newness of it all, the baby was sleep or pretending to be asleep, I couldn’t hear anyone on the cell phone, so there I was surrounded by thousands on the day of my birth, yet all alone.
After leaving the park, we met up with Aunt Dee Dee and family at Islands. We gave Aunt Dee Dee her fabulous Christmas present; at times I scare myself with how great the gifts I give are. We drove home with everyone falling asleep. I opened my presents at home with sleeping kids surrounding me and Oma, then I hit the hay bringing another birthday to an end and revving up for Jory’s birthday observed.
Chuck E. Cheese is now the official home Jory’s birthday. It’s usually very quiet there at noon on Christmas Eve, but this year it wasn’t. Both the understaffed place and I were surprised by this. I never truly saw myself as a competitive person, but it kills me when Jory goes there and refuses to play the games that will get him the most tickets. Doesn’t he get the purpose of this place? It’s for his Mommy to spend $50 dollars on bad pizza (sorry Casey, but you’re insane) and tokens so he can win a five cent toy. My nephews understand that, but my son doesn’t.
He wants to play the arcade games he’s too young to play or to take pictures so he could get fake licenses that made him a race car driver and some other cool professional. I just had to take a deep breath and just be okay with the fact that he was happy. I have to do that every time we walk into that place.
Layla’s first Christmas at home was far from the normal Christmas. I’m not sure what I was busy doing but I didn’t go to bed until after midnight. Around 8 or 9, I became conscious of the fact that somehow the TV was on A & E and that A & E was having a “The First Forty-Eight” marathon because nothing says “Merry Christmas, Jesus” like following around homicide detectives the first forty-eight hours after they receive the call that there’s a body. As I watched through Christmas morning, I couldn’t decide what was more disconcerting: 1. A & E’s programming department thought this was a good way to celebrate Christmas; or 2. that I was hoping they would show my favorite episode. When I saw A & E was ringing in the New Year with the same marathon, they won hands down.
At some point on New Year’s Eve, I became aware of the promos. Why does A & E stand for arts and entertainment? It should be D & D for dark and depressing. Their promos were for: Intervention, Hoarders, Psychic Kids, Dog the Bounty Hunter, and Criminal Minds. I think someone needs to take the development department out into the sunlight and help them understand not everyone is murdered, going to jail, or in need of some true mental help.
While depressing, at least their development department is on the right track, over at TBS, their comedy department needs some help. How do you cancel the Bill Engvall Show? Bill will be fine. He can go back on the Blue Collar Tour, but what about Tim Meadows? What is he going to do? Where is he going to go? There’s already four black guys on Thirty Rock. And Tina is busy making romantic comedies to write him into her movies. He can’t go back to SNL. Why didn’t anyone think of Tim? To add insult to injury, they didn’t pick up My Name is Earl. How do you not pick up one of the funniest shows on television? How do you not want to work with Greg Garcia? Did no one in the development read his sharp and witty response to Ben Silverman axing his show? Hey, maybe Greg can write a new sitcom and Tim could be in it. And if someone could explain Meet the Browns to me, I’d really appreciate it. I’m still not sure how that show is even considered funny. As problematic as TBS comedy development is, there specials department rocks. Whoever decided to air A Christmas Story for twenty-four hours on Christmas Day is a genius and should really be running the network. I didn’t see the movie all the way through once, but I think I saw all of it by it being on all day. Sorry for the digression.
I was up at 3AM and couldn’t go back to sleep. Oma woke up at 5AM and we sat and watched another of the greatest Christmas movies of all time, A Christmas Story. Why doesn’t my mom get this movie? It’s genius. The kids wake up between 7 – 8AM, but by that time I’m dozing. They in turn start taking naps, and then Oma takes a nap. At 11AM, we finally start opening presents. Unfortunately, lunch at my cousin’s was at noon.
Jory was more than willing to help anyone taking longer than two seconds to open their gift. Rowan wondered out loud, “Where’s my gift?” whenever someone else opened a gift. Layla thought Oma’s newly made red table cloth was the greatest thing since McDonald’s French fries and happily played underneath the table. She made appearances to open her presents, then swiftly went back, learning on the way that she’s now too tall to simply walk under the table. The third or fourth gift, my birthday boy opened was a remote control truck and he fell into a boy truck trance. He could barely open other gifts because his whole world was centered on when he could open his truck, when he could play with his truck, when he could take it out of his box and touch his truck. I’ll make sure any cars and trucks he gets are the last thing he opens next year.
We never open presents that late and we never open them without Whitney and Mariah playing in the background. They have two of the greatest Christmas albums ever. Next year, Layla will get the real Herrington Christmas.
Arriving at my cousin’s at 2PM, we ate a hardy meal, even though I never did get any of Aunt Betty’s to die for monkey bread, and then the family sang happy birthday to my beautiful birthday boy.
Layla’s and Rowan’s Gotcha Days were spent recovering from all the Christmas business, but I did make it out the house on the 29th so we could have KFC. Layla had a bite of my chicken like she did a little less than a year ago when we were in Saigon. The only things missing were: Nancy, Rock Star, Lisa, an American Idol winner playing on the radio, an American Idol winner video playing on the TV. The biscuit was a new thing to Layla because they don’t have the biscuits in Vietnam.
The Christmas season was great. I hope Layla enjoyed her first Christmas with her family. And I learned a new lesson….Children’s Place once again rocks for selling matching Christmas pjs for the whole family and I must be there on December 26th so I can buy next year’s Christmas pjs for half price.
1. Go shopping on Black Friday
2. Take out Christmas music after shopping
3. Take the Christmas card picture
4. Decorate the lawn
5. Pull out the Christmas presents bought earlier in the year
6. Take out the Christmas sweaters
December 1 is the official Christmas sweater kick off. A Christmas sweater or one that is green or red, every day until the 25th. First week in December mail out all the Christmas presents and send out Christmas cards. The first weekend in December buy the Christmas tree and decorate. Take family Christmas picture. Celebrate my birthday. Celebrate Jory’s birthday observed. Celebrate Layla’s and Jory’s gotcha days. December 29th or 30th take down the decorations. That sums up our holiday festivities. Or rather I should say this is the dream of how the festivities are supposed to go.
We couldn’t decorate the front yard Thanksgiving because Oma decided the lawn needed counting. That half inch the yard grew since the last cutting would have ruined, simply ruined the decorations, so I had to throw up the blow up decorations quickly to take a picture. Of course, Layla fell asleep right after I dressed her for the picture. A nicer mommy would have let her sleep, but she had a mommy on a mission and her sleeping time could not and would not interfere with that. I’m so glad that I had the presence of mind in Vietnam to buy Ao Dais for this year’s Christmas picture. I’m genius!
I tried to get all three to smile at the same time. That didn’t happen, but I think I got some good, cute pictures anyway. Monday morning, I had our Christmas pictures in hand; it was time to start mailing them out. This year I decided I would send out the cards the same time I sent out the Christmas presents. That was a mistake.
I tried to wake up at 4AM to get a jump start on the presents that I smartly separated by family on Black Friday night, at 4:30AM my human Lojac was up. You don’t get a lot of presents wrapped when you have to hide the scissors, make sure no one is ripping the paper off the presents you’ve already wrapped, trying to keep someone off the wrapping paper, and keeping them out of the tape. I threw on Jem and the Holigrams (brilliant cartoon and one of the best presents I’ve ever received. I love you, Ash!) to distract my Koala Bear because her physical therapist said she was mesmerized by TV. Interesting since there was a TV in the orphanage so TV isn’t a new concept to her. But what I discerned was that Layla is only mesmerized by TV if she doesn’t want to be bothered with you. Sorry therapist, she just wasn’t that into you. Jem had no effect. I even tried to capture her attention by showing one of the greatest Christmas movies of all time, Scrooge (Bill Murray is genius. His Richard Pryor on fire joke one of the best jokes in the movie. Then I sadly realized my kids will have no clue what that joke means without me explaining it to them. I’m getting old.). No go. It took nearly three weeks to get all the presents wrapped. If anyone got their presents or their cards after Christmas, you have Layla to thank for that. Next year, she will not be allowed to slow down the system.
The first Saturday in December, Jory picked out our Christmas Tree at Home Depot and we went home to immediately decorate it. I put on the Christmas cds and pulled out our treasured ornaments. When I heard something drop and crack, I raced into the kitchen to find the ornament I made in Mrs. Doty’s Pre-first class on the floor in two pieces. It’s only an ornament. It’s only an ornament, I chanted to myself. I told Jory, it was okay and for him to not touch any ornament I put on the kitchen table. It’s only an ornament. He had no idea how long we saved that ornament. Or the fact that Mrs. Doty might have passed away. He has no idea.
You know what Christmas tree decorating with a four-year-old and two-year-old taught me…that 98% of the ornaments I have are very dear and precious to me. I like my ornaments of the Grinch, Cindy Lou Who, and Max, the dog, but I never knew how precious it was until Rowan held Cindy Lou in her hand and wanted to haphazardly put her on the tree. Cindy is tiny. She could get lost. You can’t just put her anywhere. I quickly helped Rowan place Cindy Lou somewhere safe and redirected her to the apples. The apples, which she then proceeded to place on the ten nearest branches closest to the floor. Christmas decorating is about letting the kids help and learn so I let it go, even when I thought about how the baby’s favorite fruit is an apple and anything red and eatable she sees is called an apple. I let it go. Sure enough when the baby woke up, she screamed, “Apple!”, but luckily I was able to dissuade her from touching them.
While testing Christmas lights, the song I cried to and prayed to all those years ago when I was childless, Breath of Heaven, came on and instantly I was reminded of how blessed I was to be sharing this season of Jesus’ birth with three gorgeous kids. And when I heard it for a second time, while I was cooking dinner with the kids running around the kitchen, I pondered how much easier life would be on occasion if God would let us see the movie screen and not just the TV screen. Oh what burden would have been lifted off of me that Christmas Day in 2004, if He had showed me just a clip, a teaser of Christmas 2006 or Christmas 2009, where I could see myself surrounded by and loving on the best, the brightest, the most beautiful children in the world.
On the sunny, yet windy day of the 22nd, Layla and I drove to Edmund D. Edelman Children’s Court House. We hung out on the fourth floor for a while as the families with lawyers, or in this case the same lawyer, cases were heard first. Layla wore the beautiful white and red dress she’d worn earlier that year when we finalized Rowan’s adoption, which also happened to be Rowan’s very Christmas dress. I was wearing my court suit: black pants, grey and black jacket, and a purple tank top with black lace around the edges.
Layla walked around, played peek-a-boo, took a few pictures, then we were up. We were before Judge John L. Henning. (What a fun job to preside over adoptions all day.) Judge Henning presided over Jory’s adoption, too. We had come full circle in our adoptions.
The court reporter, the stenographer, Layla and I sat as the judge seemed to read over all our documents, read every single word of the post-placement report. The perks of being the last case before lunch. He jokingly asked if I had written the post-placement report myself. And when the document that would allow Layla to get her very own CA birth certificate was placed before, I picked up the pen to sign right away, but Judge Henning stopped me. He wanted to know if I knew what I was signing. I explained to him what the document was, what it meant, and told him he told me that the first time I was before him. He was impressed with himself for doing such a thorough job of teaching me. I signed. He signed. And it was complete. We took photos with Judge and out the door.
When we finalized Jory’s adoption, three aunts and a very loving social worker were there. After court, we went to Sizzler, and then we took Willow to the doctor. Later that week, we had a finalization party for family and friends. When Rowan finalized, it was just Jory, Oma, and Layla. We stopped at McD’s for a big breakfast, and then we came to work so everyone could meet the amazing trio, whom they had never seen in person. As for Layla, she fell asleep in the car so I stopped at Mc D’s and got myself some food, then we stopped at AT & T to get Oma a new phone. Sometimes it just stinks not being the first.
With the readoption behind us, it was time for my birthday. No mommy hath greater love than this that she spends her birthday at Disneyland. I’m not a fan, but I got in free and the kids had never been so off we went. I put Jory in the
back of the stroller with the blanket on top of him so he could get in free too, but the older gentleman at the gate said he needed a ticket. Dude, I’m a poor mother, why are you doing this? The good me said pay the $62 for Jory to get in, but the bad me heard $62 and 4-year-old and said, well….So we went and found the woman who had helped us when we first entered the park. She informed me children two and under get in free. I knew I was defeated then and we went and paid for Jory’s ticket. Later I thought though that maybe I should be insulted. What were they saying about my baby? That he didn’t look two? Jory could have been a two-year-old with a growth hormone problem. They didn’t know. Thank God, he doesn’t have any issues, but I’m just saying…
I was trying to make it to Toon Town, I was armed with knowledge from experienced moms and Disneyland goers and in my hands was the very detailed and wonderful guide Nyah tailored for me and the kids, and we didn’t make it to Toon Town. I saw a ride I thought we could all ride and we stopped there. When I looked around, I saw other rides for the whole family and decided we were staying wherever we were, Fantasy Land it was later revealed, until we had ridden everything there was to ride.
Layla started off loving the Tea Cups. She threw her hands up in the air like she saw others doing and then she stopped. She wasn’t loving the ride so much. The spinning cups ended and we walked over to Dumbo. The baby started shaking and channeling my mom, I thought is she choking, then I came back to myself and realized she was about to throw up. I leaned her over the very beautiful pontisettia and cleaned her face when she was finished. As Layla was throwing up, other people went around us and took our spot in line. Fresh faced Layla, Rowan, Jory, and I walked around those people and took our original place in line. Obviously they didn’t know who they were dealing with.
The baby can truly act like the baby when she wants to, but she knows when she has to hunker down and fly right; and that sometimes you just have to take one for the team. She took one for the team. Maybe she also sensed after paying for Jory’s ticket and $14 to park that Mommy’s hand could dial Aunt Dee Dee’s number in two seconds and ask if one loving aunt wanted to baby sit for a few hours. After a successful, flying Dumbo ride Layla let it be known what her price was for being a team player- - no more walking. From about 11:30 until we left the park sometime after 5PM, I carried Layla on top of my backpack 99% of the day.
Rowan was afraid of the rides that went into the dark, but she pushed through her pain. Jory loved it. He loved the rides. Rowan had a good time too. And Layla probably had the best time of all- - enjoying the time from the comfort of her mommy’s arms. I was excited the kids were so engrossed in all that was going on around them that they didn’t ask for me to buy any overpriced food. They were content to eat their PB & J as we walked from ride to the next. Happy to take sips of their apple juice from their thermoses. And especially delighted when they saw I had packed not only chips and popcorn and they got to share both.
I’m not anti-Disney, but we haven’t seen any of the Princess’ movies (okay, strike that, Layla might have been awake for Cinderella II when it was the only thing on at 2 in the morning in Hanoi) as we stood in line for some Princess ride, let’s say Sleeping Beauty, I realized three things: 1. we needed to start reading the Princess’ stories or watching their movies ASAP because when Maleficent started speaking and laughing Jory responded with, “Stop that Skeletor!” The only show we watch with a consistent villain is He-Man; 2. he and Rowan had no idea who Sleeping Beauty, Pinocchio (though he has the cutest Pinocchio bib from the land where Pinocchio was born/created/made; and has a Pinocchio pencil I bought for him when I was in Italy), Peter Pan etc…; and 3. I was right Dora, Mickey Mouse Club House, and those other “interactive” pre-school programs are teaching him, wrongly, that if some character is talking you should respond, thus explaining the talking back to Maleficent.
I also learned that when I tell Jory to hold Rowan’s hand, sometimes Rowan doesn’t give him her hand so he grabs her jacket or her arm, which she doesn’t like, which leads to tears. And thusly while getting off the train and walking towards the Haunted Mansion, she fell to her knees so overcome with emotions and distraught because Jory wasn’t holding her hand and in turn her brother kept holding her arm and kept walking dragging her beside him. I looked over and told Jory to let her go. What could I say; Jory was doing what I asked him to do. I didn’t stipulate if your sister falls to the ground, don’t drag her. So I made my stipulation and told Rowan to give her brother her hand and that way he won’t grab her jacket or her arm and once again all was right in the world. Though I wonder how long he would have dragged her if I hadn’t seen it seconds after it happened.
Jory enjoyed both his boat rides and the train ride. They were probably his favorite parts of the park. Rowan appreciated anything that didn’t take us into darkness. It was an interesting day for me, I was surrounded by people, some who dared to have the same birthday as me, and (I so don’t dig that. Me and Susan Lucci are the only two people allowed to have the day.); the kids were engrossed in the newness of it all, the baby was sleep or pretending to be asleep, I couldn’t hear anyone on the cell phone, so there I was surrounded by thousands on the day of my birth, yet all alone.
After leaving the park, we met up with Aunt Dee Dee and family at Islands. We gave Aunt Dee Dee her fabulous Christmas present; at times I scare myself with how great the gifts I give are. We drove home with everyone falling asleep. I opened my presents at home with sleeping kids surrounding me and Oma, then I hit the hay bringing another birthday to an end and revving up for Jory’s birthday observed.
Chuck E. Cheese is now the official home Jory’s birthday. It’s usually very quiet there at noon on Christmas Eve, but this year it wasn’t. Both the understaffed place and I were surprised by this. I never truly saw myself as a competitive person, but it kills me when Jory goes there and refuses to play the games that will get him the most tickets. Doesn’t he get the purpose of this place? It’s for his Mommy to spend $50 dollars on bad pizza (sorry Casey, but you’re insane) and tokens so he can win a five cent toy. My nephews understand that, but my son doesn’t.
He wants to play the arcade games he’s too young to play or to take pictures so he could get fake licenses that made him a race car driver and some other cool professional. I just had to take a deep breath and just be okay with the fact that he was happy. I have to do that every time we walk into that place.
Layla’s first Christmas at home was far from the normal Christmas. I’m not sure what I was busy doing but I didn’t go to bed until after midnight. Around 8 or 9, I became conscious of the fact that somehow the TV was on A & E and that A & E was having a “The First Forty-Eight” marathon because nothing says “Merry Christmas, Jesus” like following around homicide detectives the first forty-eight hours after they receive the call that there’s a body. As I watched through Christmas morning, I couldn’t decide what was more disconcerting: 1. A & E’s programming department thought this was a good way to celebrate Christmas; or 2. that I was hoping they would show my favorite episode. When I saw A & E was ringing in the New Year with the same marathon, they won hands down.
At some point on New Year’s Eve, I became aware of the promos. Why does A & E stand for arts and entertainment? It should be D & D for dark and depressing. Their promos were for: Intervention, Hoarders, Psychic Kids, Dog the Bounty Hunter, and Criminal Minds. I think someone needs to take the development department out into the sunlight and help them understand not everyone is murdered, going to jail, or in need of some true mental help.
While depressing, at least their development department is on the right track, over at TBS, their comedy department needs some help. How do you cancel the Bill Engvall Show? Bill will be fine. He can go back on the Blue Collar Tour, but what about Tim Meadows? What is he going to do? Where is he going to go? There’s already four black guys on Thirty Rock. And Tina is busy making romantic comedies to write him into her movies. He can’t go back to SNL. Why didn’t anyone think of Tim? To add insult to injury, they didn’t pick up My Name is Earl. How do you not pick up one of the funniest shows on television? How do you not want to work with Greg Garcia? Did no one in the development read his sharp and witty response to Ben Silverman axing his show? Hey, maybe Greg can write a new sitcom and Tim could be in it. And if someone could explain Meet the Browns to me, I’d really appreciate it. I’m still not sure how that show is even considered funny. As problematic as TBS comedy development is, there specials department rocks. Whoever decided to air A Christmas Story for twenty-four hours on Christmas Day is a genius and should really be running the network. I didn’t see the movie all the way through once, but I think I saw all of it by it being on all day. Sorry for the digression.
I was up at 3AM and couldn’t go back to sleep. Oma woke up at 5AM and we sat and watched another of the greatest Christmas movies of all time, A Christmas Story. Why doesn’t my mom get this movie? It’s genius. The kids wake up between 7 – 8AM, but by that time I’m dozing. They in turn start taking naps, and then Oma takes a nap. At 11AM, we finally start opening presents. Unfortunately, lunch at my cousin’s was at noon.
Jory was more than willing to help anyone taking longer than two seconds to open their gift. Rowan wondered out loud, “Where’s my gift?” whenever someone else opened a gift. Layla thought Oma’s newly made red table cloth was the greatest thing since McDonald’s French fries and happily played underneath the table. She made appearances to open her presents, then swiftly went back, learning on the way that she’s now too tall to simply walk under the table. The third or fourth gift, my birthday boy opened was a remote control truck and he fell into a boy truck trance. He could barely open other gifts because his whole world was centered on when he could open his truck, when he could play with his truck, when he could take it out of his box and touch his truck. I’ll make sure any cars and trucks he gets are the last thing he opens next year.
We never open presents that late and we never open them without Whitney and Mariah playing in the background. They have two of the greatest Christmas albums ever. Next year, Layla will get the real Herrington Christmas.
Arriving at my cousin’s at 2PM, we ate a hardy meal, even though I never did get any of Aunt Betty’s to die for monkey bread, and then the family sang happy birthday to my beautiful birthday boy.
Layla’s and Rowan’s Gotcha Days were spent recovering from all the Christmas business, but I did make it out the house on the 29th so we could have KFC. Layla had a bite of my chicken like she did a little less than a year ago when we were in Saigon. The only things missing were: Nancy, Rock Star, Lisa, an American Idol winner playing on the radio, an American Idol winner video playing on the TV. The biscuit was a new thing to Layla because they don’t have the biscuits in Vietnam.
The Christmas season was great. I hope Layla enjoyed her first Christmas with her family. And I learned a new lesson….Children’s Place once again rocks for selling matching Christmas pjs for the whole family and I must be there on December 26th so I can buy next year’s Christmas pjs for half price.
Eleventh Month Gotcha Anniversary
I thank you, Lord
I thank you, Father for the gift of your Son
I thank you, Lord
I thank you , Jesus for the things you have done
I thank you, Lord,
I thank you Spirit for the gift that is here
Here in my heart
November is the month of Thanksgiving and the home of my second favorite holiday, Black Friday. Which lets be honest, Thanksgiving is meant for you to be thankful and to pump you full of food and energy so you can be ready and out the door at 3:30AM.
This Thanksgiving I have a lot to be thankful for. I’m thankful for my health, my strength. For having the greatest job in the world, where I work with and for the coolest people. I’ve got amazing family and loved ones. I belong to awesome yahoo groups and support group.
I’m thankful for my mother who reared me on her own and reared an incredible, brilliant, beautiful daughter if I might say so myself; and who now is an outstanding Oma to her three beloved grandchildren. My life wouldn’t be possible without her. Though she drives me crazy and in college had me saying, “I’ll never have daughters,” I can’t imagine my life without her.
I’m thankful for this funny sweet boy who is less than a month away from being five. Five?!?! How did that happen? I still remember sending one of my first emails to one of my yahoo groups about being nervous about sending off my adoption application. The replies were amazing and told me I should be nervous this was a big step. I don’t think I even realized how big of a step it was. I don’t think until you hold your child in your arms, you can even begin to understand. Angelina once said in an interview that before Maddox she had nothing to kill for. That statement always stuck with me because of its truthfulness. I would have killed anyone who dared harmed my precious baby boy. Still will.
I remember Jory’s first Black Friday when a man looked like he was about to step on Jory trying to get some electronic gadget and I was seconds away from yelling at Whit and Mel to come get Jory because I was about to throw down with this man. I’m not a violent person and I’ve never been in a fight, but this man was about to hurt my baby. Luckily he must have seen the glare and waited the second it took for me to move Jory’s stroller to the side so he could pass by.
I’m eternally grateful for the baby who was so awesome that when it was time to turn in the application for number two, I was nervous once again. I asked and wondered, what if baby number two isn’t as great as Jory. This kid of mine set the bar high. And once again, I was told it’ll be okay, you’ll think the new baby will be just as great. And Sasha was. Rowan was. And Layla was.
I love this little boy who talks with me, asks me questions, gives hugs when he sees me crying, and loves to give me kisses before he goes to bed. God has truly blessed me with this kid, I call Jory.
I love him as much as I love Rowan. My big girl has been my big girl since the day she came home, nice and unspoiled. When she came home I knew one day soon that Layla was coming home so I figured I shouldn’t call her baby. I thought I should let her get use to hearing who she would be and that was mommy’s big girl. At her loving foster home, she was one of five kids under the age of three and she wasn’t the youngest there. So there was always a look of surprise, at first, on her face when she got picked up moments after she started crying. With three babies under seven months, her foster mom or foster grandma couldn’t jump every time she cried. She was quiet and in the beginning would only truly light up when Jory came home. She was use to a crazy, busy household. I guess us being home alone with the TV going and the wonderful Joss Stone singing from the speakers wasn’t the kind of noise she was use to.
I’m appreciative of this beautiful little girl who once she felt safe and secure let her true personality shine. I’m happy to have a daughter who has habits that are like nails on a chalkboard to me. Though I can’t stand some of them, I know there is a lesson in it all for me.
I’m thankful for the caring person Rowan is. She’s quick to ask if you’re okay, will give you a hug if she thinks you need one, and quick to say I’m sorry if she thinks she hurt you. Rowan is so sweet, so kind, so playful, and oh so stubborn. I mean fall to the ground crying because you don’t pick her up stubborn. We’re working on the “I’ve lost my mind” behavior.
She is quizative. She adores her older brother and is very proud to be a big sister. She loves being helpful around the house, getting things for the baby. And absolutely loves being called and thought of as a big girl. Rowan also seems to love acting like she lost all ability to reason and think when we go to Sears to take our Easter/birthday pictures. One day, she’ll take a picture there that doesn’t show her sucking her thumb or have snot running down her noise or tears either running down her face or in her eyes. One day. Hopefully it will be this upcoming year.
I’m thankful for Layla’s bottom teeth. Her teeth grew in slowly. Two at the top, then two at the bottom. Then two more at the top. Then two more at the top and then a stand still. Six teeth on top and only two at the bottom. Months past and I saw back teeth on top trying to breakthrough, but nothing on the bottom. I was starting to get concerned. I thought soon I would have to call Whit and tell her to get a number for one of those moms on Toddlers & Tiaras so I could find out what dentist they took their daughter to because Layla might have be in need of some baby dentures. It was disturbing to see a row full of beautiful, pearly whites on top and two lone ones on the bottom. And it was just a little creepy. I don’t know why, but it was. Then suddenly, and by suddenly a mean over months, the bottom miraculously started catching up with the top and the call to Aunt Whit wasn’t necessary.
And I’m thankful and grateful and just all around blessed to have had such an easy transition with Layla. I was prepared for the worse. I was ready for a baby who hated me on sight, who didn’t want me to touch them, or look at them. I was prepared to feel like I was a glorified babysitter until my feelings of complete and utterly love kicked in. Our first full day together Layla did try to pretend she was sleep and actually did sleep to get away from me. But looking back on it now, I see it differently.
My pastor once told the story of a contest where the artists were called to paint a picture that illustrated peace. Paintings of sunsets, sunrises, tranquil waters, picturesque parks, mountaintops and the like were all submitted. And the winning painting was one of a raging storm, a turbulent river, a shaking tree, yet in that tree were a mother bird and her babies sleeping like babies. The gist of the story was that true peace was being calm and nonplussed when everything around you is crazy.
Layla could have reacted to her new situation by never sleeping, trying to stay awake as long as possible, watching and suspicious of my every move; but while she still wasn’t sure about what was coming next in her life she still trusted me with her life by closing her eyes and going to sleep in my arms.
I’m thankful for the little girl, who rocked her black t-shirt with her name in hieroglyphics and blue jeans which matched her siblings’ outfits, and happily sat in the high chair I once sat in, that her brother once sat in, and her sister once sat in, and grubbed down her Turkey Day meal without blinking an eye. She didn’t even ask to get up until her plate was clean. She couldn’t even bother to talk to anyone because she was too busy eating. I pray she one day doesn’t have nightmares about how her insane relatives somehow thought smoked hen and miniature fried chicken legs were a substitute for Turkey on Turkey Day. I know, you do wonder what our family was smoking. But rest assure, her mommy will now be on the food planning committee for Thanksgiving from now on. My baby’s first Thanksgiving and she didn’t even eat turkey. The travesty!
I’m thankful for the kisses. Jory’s kisses that are sometimes followed by him wiping his mouth and then my cheek. Does he think kisses have cooties? Rowan’s kisses, which require her to pucker up and then decide where exactly she’s going to kiss me. And Layla’s kisses which start with her making a kissing noise then following through with the kiss.
I’m even grateful for the baby that creates nights like these. I walked into the family to see my panicked mother holding/shaking a blue lip, limp looking baby. Tread slowly started to creep.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, as I took Layla from her, blow in her face, and do what I was taught to do for a choking baby.
“She’s choking,” my mother replied.
I grabbed the phone, quickly dial 911, as Layla begins to cry. My mother’s panic was rising. As I speak to the operator, Layla’s screaming can be heard loud and clear. Just as I suspected, someone had been holding their breath because they were upset.
The operator said it was best for the ambulance to still come and check on the baby since she was so young. I agreed and a calm and collected Layla and I open the door to let the fire department and medics in.
Being as this is their second time here (scalloped potatoes are not your friends) for a certain someone, I knew the questions they were going to ask. I mentioned she did have a history of holding her breath until her lips turn blue. To which, the head fireman asked, why I called them. I simply answered because I wasn’t in the room when she went blue and I was told she was choking.
And then the cutest thing was said. A twenty-something Hispanic medic looked at me with such innocent eyes and asked, “Why would she hold her breath?”
I wanted to reach out and touch his cute little cheek. Why? Why? Why would a twenty-two month old hold her breath until her lips turn blue? Well…have you seen “Seven”? Layla has her own seven deadly sins and when they are committed against her watch out.
Let’s rewind to five minutes before the 911 call. I was sitting on the floor, rocking a tired, crying, and cranky Layla to sleep while her brother was watching the greatest cartoon in the world, Scooby Doo, the classic one not that crap that they make now, when I heard a cry from the other room. Rowan was crying and I needed to see what was wrong with her. I decided I didn’t need two crying babies so I put the baby on her own rump and told her to watch cartoons with Jory until I get back. Sins one, two, and three were just committed. One, I put her down. Two, I left her. Three, I didn’t take her with me.
I went into the room to check on Rowan, who was crying because she wasn’t sleepy. Really? Really? I let that go. While I was conversing with Rowan about how she needed to stop crying and go to bed, a furious Layla made her way from Mommy’s room to the family room where her concerned Oma was. I figured the breath holding started while walking down the hall and Oma reacted with pure terror. In retrospect, I realized the limp body was her not wanting to stand up so Oma was forced to hold her. Oma’s fright kept the breath holding going. Cue me. Who walked into all of this.
I didn’t give the paramedic this answer, he wouldn’t have understood, but when he was checking out Layla’s heart she held her breath again. She didn’t let her lips turn blue so she was only mildly angry that he put his cold medical equipment on her chest. But the head guy did note her behavior. See dude, it’s not in my mind.
We refused transport to the hospital since nothing was wrong with the willful one and by the time they packed up their gear, Layla was sleep.
When I was relaying the story to Julie, I said, “Who taught her how to do this?” To which, Julie simply replied, “Does anyone need to teach us to sin?” Touché. Touché.
It shouldn’t, but it does amaze me that at such a young age, she knows holding her breath with Oma will always get her once she wants. She’s never done this when we are alone together. She has always done it when she and Oma are alone. And every time, her Oma is convinced she’s choking. No, she’s not choking. She’s being willful and wants her way, which on this night was for mommy to come back to her, pick her up, and keep rocking her to sleep.
I’ve dialed 9-1-1 three times in my life. Okay four, but I was a kid then I just wanted to see what would happen. I had no idea they could call you back. Never did that again. I called for my dad and learned how the medics are when they take a dead person out of your house and keep working on them as if they weren’t dead or there’s a chance they could be revived. Granted, my dad didn’t get the Michael Jackson two hour non-stop treatment, but he got enough for him to “die” at the hospital.
The next time was when Layla choked on a scalloped potato. I was able to get it out with the help of the operator and later learn from the fire department that they see a lot of kids who choke on regular and baby scalloped potatoes. And now this time. I had gone for more than two decades between my first and second call to them, but Miss Layla has me calling them twice in less than a year. Oh yeah and sin four was stating I was leaving Layla to go check on Rowan.
It is always better to be safe than sorry, but somehow Oma is going to have to learn not to be duped so easily by manipulating babies with their own agenda.
I’m so incredibly grateful that even these words don’t suffice, but I am so thankful that God sent His only Son to die for my sins. I’m in awe of our Creator who has and is allowing me to rear three incredibly bright, loving, fantastic children; who has given me my rockin’ family and awesome friends. My life is nothing like I imagined it back in my days in Moorhead or even in Sliema or Butte, but this life is amazingly perfect. Though marriage to a nice conservative Christian George Clooney wouldn’t hurt. :)
Take Life Easy, So Easy Nice And Easy
Like A Child So Gay And So Carefree
The Whole World Smiles With You
As You Go Your Merry Way
Oh With A Child's Heart
Nothing's Gonna Get Me Down
I thank you, Father for the gift of your Son
I thank you, Lord
I thank you , Jesus for the things you have done
I thank you, Lord,
I thank you Spirit for the gift that is here
Here in my heart
November is the month of Thanksgiving and the home of my second favorite holiday, Black Friday. Which lets be honest, Thanksgiving is meant for you to be thankful and to pump you full of food and energy so you can be ready and out the door at 3:30AM.
This Thanksgiving I have a lot to be thankful for. I’m thankful for my health, my strength. For having the greatest job in the world, where I work with and for the coolest people. I’ve got amazing family and loved ones. I belong to awesome yahoo groups and support group.
I’m thankful for my mother who reared me on her own and reared an incredible, brilliant, beautiful daughter if I might say so myself; and who now is an outstanding Oma to her three beloved grandchildren. My life wouldn’t be possible without her. Though she drives me crazy and in college had me saying, “I’ll never have daughters,” I can’t imagine my life without her.
I’m thankful for this funny sweet boy who is less than a month away from being five. Five?!?! How did that happen? I still remember sending one of my first emails to one of my yahoo groups about being nervous about sending off my adoption application. The replies were amazing and told me I should be nervous this was a big step. I don’t think I even realized how big of a step it was. I don’t think until you hold your child in your arms, you can even begin to understand. Angelina once said in an interview that before Maddox she had nothing to kill for. That statement always stuck with me because of its truthfulness. I would have killed anyone who dared harmed my precious baby boy. Still will.
I remember Jory’s first Black Friday when a man looked like he was about to step on Jory trying to get some electronic gadget and I was seconds away from yelling at Whit and Mel to come get Jory because I was about to throw down with this man. I’m not a violent person and I’ve never been in a fight, but this man was about to hurt my baby. Luckily he must have seen the glare and waited the second it took for me to move Jory’s stroller to the side so he could pass by.
I’m eternally grateful for the baby who was so awesome that when it was time to turn in the application for number two, I was nervous once again. I asked and wondered, what if baby number two isn’t as great as Jory. This kid of mine set the bar high. And once again, I was told it’ll be okay, you’ll think the new baby will be just as great. And Sasha was. Rowan was. And Layla was.
I love this little boy who talks with me, asks me questions, gives hugs when he sees me crying, and loves to give me kisses before he goes to bed. God has truly blessed me with this kid, I call Jory.
I love him as much as I love Rowan. My big girl has been my big girl since the day she came home, nice and unspoiled. When she came home I knew one day soon that Layla was coming home so I figured I shouldn’t call her baby. I thought I should let her get use to hearing who she would be and that was mommy’s big girl. At her loving foster home, she was one of five kids under the age of three and she wasn’t the youngest there. So there was always a look of surprise, at first, on her face when she got picked up moments after she started crying. With three babies under seven months, her foster mom or foster grandma couldn’t jump every time she cried. She was quiet and in the beginning would only truly light up when Jory came home. She was use to a crazy, busy household. I guess us being home alone with the TV going and the wonderful Joss Stone singing from the speakers wasn’t the kind of noise she was use to.
I’m appreciative of this beautiful little girl who once she felt safe and secure let her true personality shine. I’m happy to have a daughter who has habits that are like nails on a chalkboard to me. Though I can’t stand some of them, I know there is a lesson in it all for me.
I’m thankful for the caring person Rowan is. She’s quick to ask if you’re okay, will give you a hug if she thinks you need one, and quick to say I’m sorry if she thinks she hurt you. Rowan is so sweet, so kind, so playful, and oh so stubborn. I mean fall to the ground crying because you don’t pick her up stubborn. We’re working on the “I’ve lost my mind” behavior.
She is quizative. She adores her older brother and is very proud to be a big sister. She loves being helpful around the house, getting things for the baby. And absolutely loves being called and thought of as a big girl. Rowan also seems to love acting like she lost all ability to reason and think when we go to Sears to take our Easter/birthday pictures. One day, she’ll take a picture there that doesn’t show her sucking her thumb or have snot running down her noise or tears either running down her face or in her eyes. One day. Hopefully it will be this upcoming year.
I’m thankful for Layla’s bottom teeth. Her teeth grew in slowly. Two at the top, then two at the bottom. Then two more at the top. Then two more at the top and then a stand still. Six teeth on top and only two at the bottom. Months past and I saw back teeth on top trying to breakthrough, but nothing on the bottom. I was starting to get concerned. I thought soon I would have to call Whit and tell her to get a number for one of those moms on Toddlers & Tiaras so I could find out what dentist they took their daughter to because Layla might have be in need of some baby dentures. It was disturbing to see a row full of beautiful, pearly whites on top and two lone ones on the bottom. And it was just a little creepy. I don’t know why, but it was. Then suddenly, and by suddenly a mean over months, the bottom miraculously started catching up with the top and the call to Aunt Whit wasn’t necessary.
And I’m thankful and grateful and just all around blessed to have had such an easy transition with Layla. I was prepared for the worse. I was ready for a baby who hated me on sight, who didn’t want me to touch them, or look at them. I was prepared to feel like I was a glorified babysitter until my feelings of complete and utterly love kicked in. Our first full day together Layla did try to pretend she was sleep and actually did sleep to get away from me. But looking back on it now, I see it differently.
My pastor once told the story of a contest where the artists were called to paint a picture that illustrated peace. Paintings of sunsets, sunrises, tranquil waters, picturesque parks, mountaintops and the like were all submitted. And the winning painting was one of a raging storm, a turbulent river, a shaking tree, yet in that tree were a mother bird and her babies sleeping like babies. The gist of the story was that true peace was being calm and nonplussed when everything around you is crazy.
Layla could have reacted to her new situation by never sleeping, trying to stay awake as long as possible, watching and suspicious of my every move; but while she still wasn’t sure about what was coming next in her life she still trusted me with her life by closing her eyes and going to sleep in my arms.
I’m thankful for the little girl, who rocked her black t-shirt with her name in hieroglyphics and blue jeans which matched her siblings’ outfits, and happily sat in the high chair I once sat in, that her brother once sat in, and her sister once sat in, and grubbed down her Turkey Day meal without blinking an eye. She didn’t even ask to get up until her plate was clean. She couldn’t even bother to talk to anyone because she was too busy eating. I pray she one day doesn’t have nightmares about how her insane relatives somehow thought smoked hen and miniature fried chicken legs were a substitute for Turkey on Turkey Day. I know, you do wonder what our family was smoking. But rest assure, her mommy will now be on the food planning committee for Thanksgiving from now on. My baby’s first Thanksgiving and she didn’t even eat turkey. The travesty!
I’m thankful for the kisses. Jory’s kisses that are sometimes followed by him wiping his mouth and then my cheek. Does he think kisses have cooties? Rowan’s kisses, which require her to pucker up and then decide where exactly she’s going to kiss me. And Layla’s kisses which start with her making a kissing noise then following through with the kiss.
I’m even grateful for the baby that creates nights like these. I walked into the family to see my panicked mother holding/shaking a blue lip, limp looking baby. Tread slowly started to creep.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, as I took Layla from her, blow in her face, and do what I was taught to do for a choking baby.
“She’s choking,” my mother replied.
I grabbed the phone, quickly dial 911, as Layla begins to cry. My mother’s panic was rising. As I speak to the operator, Layla’s screaming can be heard loud and clear. Just as I suspected, someone had been holding their breath because they were upset.
The operator said it was best for the ambulance to still come and check on the baby since she was so young. I agreed and a calm and collected Layla and I open the door to let the fire department and medics in.
Being as this is their second time here (scalloped potatoes are not your friends) for a certain someone, I knew the questions they were going to ask. I mentioned she did have a history of holding her breath until her lips turn blue. To which, the head fireman asked, why I called them. I simply answered because I wasn’t in the room when she went blue and I was told she was choking.
And then the cutest thing was said. A twenty-something Hispanic medic looked at me with such innocent eyes and asked, “Why would she hold her breath?”
I wanted to reach out and touch his cute little cheek. Why? Why? Why would a twenty-two month old hold her breath until her lips turn blue? Well…have you seen “Seven”? Layla has her own seven deadly sins and when they are committed against her watch out.
Let’s rewind to five minutes before the 911 call. I was sitting on the floor, rocking a tired, crying, and cranky Layla to sleep while her brother was watching the greatest cartoon in the world, Scooby Doo, the classic one not that crap that they make now, when I heard a cry from the other room. Rowan was crying and I needed to see what was wrong with her. I decided I didn’t need two crying babies so I put the baby on her own rump and told her to watch cartoons with Jory until I get back. Sins one, two, and three were just committed. One, I put her down. Two, I left her. Three, I didn’t take her with me.
I went into the room to check on Rowan, who was crying because she wasn’t sleepy. Really? Really? I let that go. While I was conversing with Rowan about how she needed to stop crying and go to bed, a furious Layla made her way from Mommy’s room to the family room where her concerned Oma was. I figured the breath holding started while walking down the hall and Oma reacted with pure terror. In retrospect, I realized the limp body was her not wanting to stand up so Oma was forced to hold her. Oma’s fright kept the breath holding going. Cue me. Who walked into all of this.
I didn’t give the paramedic this answer, he wouldn’t have understood, but when he was checking out Layla’s heart she held her breath again. She didn’t let her lips turn blue so she was only mildly angry that he put his cold medical equipment on her chest. But the head guy did note her behavior. See dude, it’s not in my mind.
We refused transport to the hospital since nothing was wrong with the willful one and by the time they packed up their gear, Layla was sleep.
When I was relaying the story to Julie, I said, “Who taught her how to do this?” To which, Julie simply replied, “Does anyone need to teach us to sin?” Touché. Touché.
It shouldn’t, but it does amaze me that at such a young age, she knows holding her breath with Oma will always get her once she wants. She’s never done this when we are alone together. She has always done it when she and Oma are alone. And every time, her Oma is convinced she’s choking. No, she’s not choking. She’s being willful and wants her way, which on this night was for mommy to come back to her, pick her up, and keep rocking her to sleep.
I’ve dialed 9-1-1 three times in my life. Okay four, but I was a kid then I just wanted to see what would happen. I had no idea they could call you back. Never did that again. I called for my dad and learned how the medics are when they take a dead person out of your house and keep working on them as if they weren’t dead or there’s a chance they could be revived. Granted, my dad didn’t get the Michael Jackson two hour non-stop treatment, but he got enough for him to “die” at the hospital.
The next time was when Layla choked on a scalloped potato. I was able to get it out with the help of the operator and later learn from the fire department that they see a lot of kids who choke on regular and baby scalloped potatoes. And now this time. I had gone for more than two decades between my first and second call to them, but Miss Layla has me calling them twice in less than a year. Oh yeah and sin four was stating I was leaving Layla to go check on Rowan.
It is always better to be safe than sorry, but somehow Oma is going to have to learn not to be duped so easily by manipulating babies with their own agenda.
I’m so incredibly grateful that even these words don’t suffice, but I am so thankful that God sent His only Son to die for my sins. I’m in awe of our Creator who has and is allowing me to rear three incredibly bright, loving, fantastic children; who has given me my rockin’ family and awesome friends. My life is nothing like I imagined it back in my days in Moorhead or even in Sliema or Butte, but this life is amazingly perfect. Though marriage to a nice conservative Christian George Clooney wouldn’t hurt. :)
Take Life Easy, So Easy Nice And Easy
Like A Child So Gay And So Carefree
The Whole World Smiles With You
As You Go Your Merry Way
Oh With A Child's Heart
Nothing's Gonna Get Me Down
Ten Month Gotcha
But not even lightening
Will be frightening to my lion.
And with no fear inside,
No need to run, no need to hide,
You're standing strong and tall,
You're the bravest of them all
If on courage we must call,
Then just keep on tryin'
And tryin' and tryin'-
You're a lion,
In the BC (before children) age, Mike and I would go on virtual movie outings. I can’t remember why but for some reason we decided to see Catwoman. We probably wanted to go to see how awful it was. Well a few days after we saw it, Mike sent me an article from The Onion where people who saw the movie said they only wanted two or three of their bucks back after seeing the movie, when originally they had thought they would be asking for all or at least half of their ticket cost back. That to me sums up the movie perfectly, it wasn’t so bad it’s good a la Marci X; it wasn’t outright horrible, it just wasn’t good. Though I have to say the first fifteen minutes would have made the beginning of a wonderful romantic comedy, Halle was great, she had great chemistry with Benjamin Bratt, but I know Halle doesn’t do romantic comedies. And I won’t digress and go into a tirade about how she’s a chick in Hollywood thus in order to have real power she needs to be in pictures that gross over a hundred million dollars and for women that means romantic comedies and for men that means action pictures or comedies. And by making the hundred million dollar movies, you get to make your small indie films a la Monster’s Ball. Nope, I’m not going there.
Anyway the Saturday before Halloween four years ago, my mom and I are were watching Catwoman. Jory was asleep and I wanted to watch it with my mom who hadn’t seen it before. The phone rang and we discovered my brother-in-law, Leonard, had been in an accident. Twenty or thirty minutes later the phone rang again and Leonard was dead. Oh how I cried. He and I weren’t that close for he rarely left his adopted hometown. He was a self-proclaimed Louisiana country boy. He hated the big city. He lived and died a country boy.
I cried for the man, who could see forty coming, but didn’t make it. I cried endlessly for my sister, who met him her frosh year in college and nearly twenty years later had lost him. I cried for my niece who was two-and-a-half months away from being born and would never be held by the man, who would have thought the sun rose and shined on her. I cried for my babies, my boys, Mijo and Tigger, who at six-and-a-half and four-and-a-half had lost the man they looked up to. I cried for the lives my nephews would never have. Our family knew that the boys would have been driving before they became teens and by the time they graduated from high school would have known how to rebuild an engine and build a house from scratch just like their daddy.
I remember talking to my sister the very next morning and crying in her ear as she stayed strong and thanked me for my condolences. I remember when my sister put my nephews on the phone and I thought I’m not going to bring up their dad, yet the first thing Mijo said to me was, “Auntie, my dad’s at the mort- - What is it called, Mama?” I wanted to cry that my baby knew that word and knew it in reference to his father. “Yes, Mijo, Daddy is at the mortuary.”
I remember seeing Leonard in the casket then looking at my heavily pregnant sister, looking so dignified and lovely in her black maternity dress, and I just lost it. And a moment I will never forget in my life was when she wrapped her arms around me, hugged me, and whispered in my ear, “It’ll be okay.” Which of course made me ball harder. Why was she saying that to me? I didn’t just lose the love of my life. I wasn’t standing in front of the coffin of the man I had hoped to grow old and decrepit with.
The strength that my sister showed then and now wows me. I can still see her on that December 27th morning being wheeled off for her c-section all by herself, while the boys and I watched. She was all alone this time, when the two previous times Leonard was by her side.
When I think of true strength I think of my sister. I think of my grandmother. I think of my mother. I think of Layla. A little girl who can smile brightly and giggle delightfully in spite of the losses she’s experienced in her young life. She’s lost her birth family. She’s lost the country she was born in. She’s lost the culture she would have been taught had she been reared in Vietnam. She’s lost the only family she’d known at the orphanage. She’d lost all that in eleven short months, yet still at dinner in our hotel’s restaurant a little over twenty-four hours after she first met me, she smiled at me. She smiled at me. She smiled at me! How do you smile in the face of such great lost? All I can say is God.
And after her losses, she was then hit with a world of changes: staying at her first hotel, hanging out in the business lounge at the airport (loved that!), her first plane ride, and her first taxi ride. The new clothes, the new mother, the new shoes, the masses of people when we went shopping and sight seeing. The endless parade of motorbikes. Coming to America. Getting siblings. Getting an Oma. An entirely new family. And Layla just adapted. She went with flow and as each change came she took it on at full speed and conquered them.
I’m in awe of the strength God has given her. I don’t know if everyone has a Job phase in their lives, but this was definitely hers and she could have given up, but she didn’t. “Naked I came from my mother’s womb/And naked I shall return/For the Lord giveth and He taketh away/Blessed be the name of the Lord.” This is the song she had to have been singing in her heart, in her soul.
Before me today stands a little girl who melts my heart, who is loving, giving, caring, brilliant, beautiful. She loves her brother, her sister, her Oma, her family, and Happy (her babysitter). She deals well when her mommy brings her to work to show her off to the friends who asked about her, prayed for, thought of her before she was even aware they existed. People who told me she was a cute little baby from her pictures, who were thrilled for me and for her when we were matched and when she finally came home. People who delight in seeing the progress she’s made from the baby they made days after she touched down in the greatest city in the world. A little girl who is a complete Mommy’s girl.
I pray I was a good mother to her when she felt that she was a stranger in a strange land because I have been there. When I lived in Moorhead, when I lived in Butte, when I lived in Sliema. Every time God has sent someone or someones to me to be my friend, to be my family. I hope in her time of need I was to her what Ann and Fifi were to me in Butte, what Heather, Mike, Kelly, Scott, Kelly, and Matthew were to me in Scandawhovian land, to name a few. And what the incredible Lisa Carol was to me in Malta. You too, Peter. And what Nancy, Lisa, and Rock Star were to me in Vietnam.
When I was in Israel, standing and walking in the land of my forefathers, I thought of Abraham and how following God’s command he bound Isaac to the altar and was going to sacrifice him. He laid his son on the altar to sacrifice him. WOW! It hit me that’s what I have to do with my children. I’ve said they are the Lord’s, but would I have been able to do what Abraham did? Wouldn’t I have been trying to hide my child? Or trying to bargain with God? As much as I love Jory, Rowan, and Layla they are not mine, they are God’s. God loves them more than I can ever begin to conceive. He wants only the best for them. The paths they travel will not be the same ones I’ve traveled.
It’s so hard imagining saying, “Here God, here are your children.” I have no idea why I think I can do a better job protecting them then the One who knows the exact number of stars in the sky. Yet Regina Belle’s words float through my mind.
If I could, I would try to
Shield your innocence from time
But the part of life
I gave you isn't mine
I'll watch you grow
So I can let you go
If I could, I would help you
Make it through the hungry years
But I know that I can
Never cry your tears
But I would, if I could
God has loaned these children to me. They are His just like I am His. I need to give back to Him, what He gave to me and stand firm in Jeremiah 29:11. “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” God has plans for Layla, Rowan, and Jory to prosper and grow. I’m working on having the strength of the women I admire.
Strength. It can only come from God as I walk down this road called parenthood. The words from the brilliant Toby “DC Talk needs to put a new album out” Mac reminds me of the failings I will have as a mom because I am only human, which is why my children need God so they can trust in the One who will never fail them. And it reminds me that the love I have and feel for Jory, Rowan, and Layla can’t even begin to touch the love He has for me and for them.
This goes out to my man his name is True Blue
For all the nights that your Daddy spent away from you
For all the days that I told you "Maybe next time"
Laid up in the studio consumed with my next rhyme
What kind of lyric can I drop to make you think twice
About the trials that you're gonna face in this life
I can lullaby even point you to the Most High
Prayin' every little thing is gonna be all right
Someday my love isn't gonna be fulfilling
Try as I may, human love it hits a ceiling
But I can sow the seeds, say a prayer, this I know
If faith can move a mountain
Surely God can make His spirit grow in you
This goes out to my little man T Mac
For all the junk you've been carrying on your back
My burden's easy and My yoke is a featherweight
And this you know yet you're still a man of little faith
What can I do to spring your knowledge into how you roll
Don't you have the Spirit and the letters that My people wrote
My love stretches farther than your mind can conceive
I've got a hand full of grace, a heart full of mercy
Someday My son, your gonna find My love fulfilling
Hope as I may, you've got to turn in when you're willing
I'll take you as you are and just to add a human touch
I gave to you a son so you can understand the Father's love for you
I thought about entering the terrific trio in the Gap Kids contest cause at the very least, if we had made it to the semi-final round, we would have gotten a free trip to visit Miss Ashley in SF. And she could have come and stayed with us in our swanky hotel room. The following photos show why we didn't enter. Thanks, Layla.
See, she can open her eyes for a photo, but obviously not when a chance to vacation on some tropical island Mommy has never been to is on the line.
Will be frightening to my lion.
And with no fear inside,
No need to run, no need to hide,
You're standing strong and tall,
You're the bravest of them all
If on courage we must call,
Then just keep on tryin'
And tryin' and tryin'-
You're a lion,
In the BC (before children) age, Mike and I would go on virtual movie outings. I can’t remember why but for some reason we decided to see Catwoman. We probably wanted to go to see how awful it was. Well a few days after we saw it, Mike sent me an article from The Onion where people who saw the movie said they only wanted two or three of their bucks back after seeing the movie, when originally they had thought they would be asking for all or at least half of their ticket cost back. That to me sums up the movie perfectly, it wasn’t so bad it’s good a la Marci X; it wasn’t outright horrible, it just wasn’t good. Though I have to say the first fifteen minutes would have made the beginning of a wonderful romantic comedy, Halle was great, she had great chemistry with Benjamin Bratt, but I know Halle doesn’t do romantic comedies. And I won’t digress and go into a tirade about how she’s a chick in Hollywood thus in order to have real power she needs to be in pictures that gross over a hundred million dollars and for women that means romantic comedies and for men that means action pictures or comedies. And by making the hundred million dollar movies, you get to make your small indie films a la Monster’s Ball. Nope, I’m not going there.
Anyway the Saturday before Halloween four years ago, my mom and I are were watching Catwoman. Jory was asleep and I wanted to watch it with my mom who hadn’t seen it before. The phone rang and we discovered my brother-in-law, Leonard, had been in an accident. Twenty or thirty minutes later the phone rang again and Leonard was dead. Oh how I cried. He and I weren’t that close for he rarely left his adopted hometown. He was a self-proclaimed Louisiana country boy. He hated the big city. He lived and died a country boy.
I cried for the man, who could see forty coming, but didn’t make it. I cried endlessly for my sister, who met him her frosh year in college and nearly twenty years later had lost him. I cried for my niece who was two-and-a-half months away from being born and would never be held by the man, who would have thought the sun rose and shined on her. I cried for my babies, my boys, Mijo and Tigger, who at six-and-a-half and four-and-a-half had lost the man they looked up to. I cried for the lives my nephews would never have. Our family knew that the boys would have been driving before they became teens and by the time they graduated from high school would have known how to rebuild an engine and build a house from scratch just like their daddy.
I remember talking to my sister the very next morning and crying in her ear as she stayed strong and thanked me for my condolences. I remember when my sister put my nephews on the phone and I thought I’m not going to bring up their dad, yet the first thing Mijo said to me was, “Auntie, my dad’s at the mort- - What is it called, Mama?” I wanted to cry that my baby knew that word and knew it in reference to his father. “Yes, Mijo, Daddy is at the mortuary.”
I remember seeing Leonard in the casket then looking at my heavily pregnant sister, looking so dignified and lovely in her black maternity dress, and I just lost it. And a moment I will never forget in my life was when she wrapped her arms around me, hugged me, and whispered in my ear, “It’ll be okay.” Which of course made me ball harder. Why was she saying that to me? I didn’t just lose the love of my life. I wasn’t standing in front of the coffin of the man I had hoped to grow old and decrepit with.
The strength that my sister showed then and now wows me. I can still see her on that December 27th morning being wheeled off for her c-section all by herself, while the boys and I watched. She was all alone this time, when the two previous times Leonard was by her side.
When I think of true strength I think of my sister. I think of my grandmother. I think of my mother. I think of Layla. A little girl who can smile brightly and giggle delightfully in spite of the losses she’s experienced in her young life. She’s lost her birth family. She’s lost the country she was born in. She’s lost the culture she would have been taught had she been reared in Vietnam. She’s lost the only family she’d known at the orphanage. She’d lost all that in eleven short months, yet still at dinner in our hotel’s restaurant a little over twenty-four hours after she first met me, she smiled at me. She smiled at me. She smiled at me! How do you smile in the face of such great lost? All I can say is God.
And after her losses, she was then hit with a world of changes: staying at her first hotel, hanging out in the business lounge at the airport (loved that!), her first plane ride, and her first taxi ride. The new clothes, the new mother, the new shoes, the masses of people when we went shopping and sight seeing. The endless parade of motorbikes. Coming to America. Getting siblings. Getting an Oma. An entirely new family. And Layla just adapted. She went with flow and as each change came she took it on at full speed and conquered them.
I’m in awe of the strength God has given her. I don’t know if everyone has a Job phase in their lives, but this was definitely hers and she could have given up, but she didn’t. “Naked I came from my mother’s womb/And naked I shall return/For the Lord giveth and He taketh away/Blessed be the name of the Lord.” This is the song she had to have been singing in her heart, in her soul.
Before me today stands a little girl who melts my heart, who is loving, giving, caring, brilliant, beautiful. She loves her brother, her sister, her Oma, her family, and Happy (her babysitter). She deals well when her mommy brings her to work to show her off to the friends who asked about her, prayed for, thought of her before she was even aware they existed. People who told me she was a cute little baby from her pictures, who were thrilled for me and for her when we were matched and when she finally came home. People who delight in seeing the progress she’s made from the baby they made days after she touched down in the greatest city in the world. A little girl who is a complete Mommy’s girl.
I pray I was a good mother to her when she felt that she was a stranger in a strange land because I have been there. When I lived in Moorhead, when I lived in Butte, when I lived in Sliema. Every time God has sent someone or someones to me to be my friend, to be my family. I hope in her time of need I was to her what Ann and Fifi were to me in Butte, what Heather, Mike, Kelly, Scott, Kelly, and Matthew were to me in Scandawhovian land, to name a few. And what the incredible Lisa Carol was to me in Malta. You too, Peter. And what Nancy, Lisa, and Rock Star were to me in Vietnam.
When I was in Israel, standing and walking in the land of my forefathers, I thought of Abraham and how following God’s command he bound Isaac to the altar and was going to sacrifice him. He laid his son on the altar to sacrifice him. WOW! It hit me that’s what I have to do with my children. I’ve said they are the Lord’s, but would I have been able to do what Abraham did? Wouldn’t I have been trying to hide my child? Or trying to bargain with God? As much as I love Jory, Rowan, and Layla they are not mine, they are God’s. God loves them more than I can ever begin to conceive. He wants only the best for them. The paths they travel will not be the same ones I’ve traveled.
It’s so hard imagining saying, “Here God, here are your children.” I have no idea why I think I can do a better job protecting them then the One who knows the exact number of stars in the sky. Yet Regina Belle’s words float through my mind.
If I could, I would try to
Shield your innocence from time
But the part of life
I gave you isn't mine
I'll watch you grow
So I can let you go
If I could, I would help you
Make it through the hungry years
But I know that I can
Never cry your tears
But I would, if I could
God has loaned these children to me. They are His just like I am His. I need to give back to Him, what He gave to me and stand firm in Jeremiah 29:11. “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” God has plans for Layla, Rowan, and Jory to prosper and grow. I’m working on having the strength of the women I admire.
Strength. It can only come from God as I walk down this road called parenthood. The words from the brilliant Toby “DC Talk needs to put a new album out” Mac reminds me of the failings I will have as a mom because I am only human, which is why my children need God so they can trust in the One who will never fail them. And it reminds me that the love I have and feel for Jory, Rowan, and Layla can’t even begin to touch the love He has for me and for them.
This goes out to my man his name is True Blue
For all the nights that your Daddy spent away from you
For all the days that I told you "Maybe next time"
Laid up in the studio consumed with my next rhyme
What kind of lyric can I drop to make you think twice
About the trials that you're gonna face in this life
I can lullaby even point you to the Most High
Prayin' every little thing is gonna be all right
Someday my love isn't gonna be fulfilling
Try as I may, human love it hits a ceiling
But I can sow the seeds, say a prayer, this I know
If faith can move a mountain
Surely God can make His spirit grow in you
This goes out to my little man T Mac
For all the junk you've been carrying on your back
My burden's easy and My yoke is a featherweight
And this you know yet you're still a man of little faith
What can I do to spring your knowledge into how you roll
Don't you have the Spirit and the letters that My people wrote
My love stretches farther than your mind can conceive
I've got a hand full of grace, a heart full of mercy
Someday My son, your gonna find My love fulfilling
Hope as I may, you've got to turn in when you're willing
I'll take you as you are and just to add a human touch
I gave to you a son so you can understand the Father's love for you
I thought about entering the terrific trio in the Gap Kids contest cause at the very least, if we had made it to the semi-final round, we would have gotten a free trip to visit Miss Ashley in SF. And she could have come and stayed with us in our swanky hotel room. The following photos show why we didn't enter. Thanks, Layla.
See, she can open her eyes for a photo, but obviously not when a chance to vacation on some tropical island Mommy has never been to is on the line.
Nine Month Gotcha Anniversary
You take sugar and spice
Everything nice
And you got a little girl
You take snakes and snails
Some puppy dog tails
And you got a little boy
That`s what love is made of
That`s what love is made of
Labor Day weekend was the best holiday weekend at the end of the summer ever. Friday, the kids came to visit me at work and got to show off how big they had gotten. Afterwards while Jory continued his Olympic swimming quest, the girls and I went to pick up our car from the shop. Let me tell you nothing beats returning a rent-a-car with two sleeping babies, three carseats and a double stroller to move. Everyone should experience it just once.
After we got the car back and straightened the mess the men made trying to put the double stroller in, we made a quick stop at my aunt’s to refuel. I love living in the same city as my family. I love that we can see family, get some drinks out of the fridge, ask if our favorite aunt is bar-be-queuing for Labor Day, to which she says a resounding “Yes,” and off we go.
Being a daring family, we decided to go to the mall after dinner and Oma said words that touched my heart. As we walked out of the door, she said, “Is the stroller in the car?” (This from the woman who had an attitude when we were putting together the double stroller. “What do you need this for?” “They aren’t going to be little kids always.” Yada, yada, yada. Now after a few trips to the mall, she sees, to quote the genius and beautiful Jen “the children act like escape convicts” when they are at the mall. With two contained, there’s only Jory. And since our Baby Bjorn holds up to 25lbs, a restless Layla can quickly get moved, Jory can take her spot, and all three are contained.) I didn’t gloat or say I told you so, I just answered, “Yes.” And we were on our way.
The shopping trip had unexpected highs, finding “Little Sister” shirts for the girls, and unexpected lows. Hanes doesn’t care a size 5T in t-shirts so I had to buy my baby a size small. A size small in the boys’ section of the store. Did you know a size small is 6 – 8? Why are the evil clothing manufacturers trying to push my sweet, innocent, precious Jory to the next level? Why can’t we stay in the toddler section? He’s still a little boy. Just a little boy.
On Saturday, we ventured out for swimming lessons, errands, but most importantly Rowan left the house in big girl panties. Can I tell you how much I love little girls who don’t have to wear diapers and don’t pee on themselves? I love them. Love them.
On Sunday, we went to Fisherman’s Village or Wharf or whatever it was called in Marina Del Rey and took the waterbus. The waterbus was a boat which took you from one side of the Marina to another side. A bus on water. I thought Jory would be over the moon on this excursion, but instead he was like, why can’t we ride one of the bigger boats. I explained to him why and he seemed to be happy. He enjoyed the boat ride and the stop at Mother’s Park, where he got to splash around in the water with Rowan. Note to self, next year dress the kids in the swimsuits.
Layla had her first experience with sand and wasn’t digging it. But with some time and help from Oma, she took her shoes off and seemed to tolerate the sand. She did much better than Rowan did her first time. Rowan refused to let her feet touch the ground and wouldn’t even sit on the blanket on top of the sand. Luckily Miss Sarah had grapes to entertain her while she watched her brother play in the sand and water.
On Monday, we enjoyed fabulous bbq at my aunt’s. My aunt is the best cook in my family and really someone in my family needs to step up to the plate and become the new family cook. Maybe the new cook will be Mona when she finally moves back home.
Jory and I had to dash out after he ate for a haircut and to buy some shirts for school, which was starting the next day. As I walked out the door, I realized how I’m living the live I dreamed about. The life where my kids grow up knowing their cousins, aunts, and uncles, like I did. A life where I can run a quick errand, which ended up taking an hour because someone had the audacity to get a perm when Jory’s stylist was the only one in the shop, and know my kids are safe, well loved, and hanging with their family. It was a great family filled Labor Day weekend. I think we set the standard pretty high and Layla might think every Labor Day weekend should be as great as her first.
And my Koala Bear had another two firsts.
Crying. Crying. Rustling. Crying.
“What’s wrong Layla?” I ask sleepily.
“Eat. Eat.” (Yes, somewhere along the line Rowan passed on her ability to ask for food and drink as soon as she woke up to her little sister.)
I move the pillow and look over at the clock. 1AM. I pick her up out of her crib and lay her next to me. “Layla, it’s too early for milk. Go back to sleep.”
A minute later the crying stops and she falls back asleep.
Mission accomplished - - Operation get out of crib and into bed with mommy.. Successful.
Crying. Crying. Crying.
“What’s wrong, Layla?”
“Eat. Eat.”
I move the pillow and look over at the clock. 3AM. I lay her across me. She doesn’t like to lay on top of me, but instead enjoys placing her head on my right shoulder and her hip bone touches my hip bone. “Layla, it’s too early for milk. Go back to sleep.”
A minute later the crying stops and she falls back asleep.
Mission accomplished - - Operation laying across mommy. Successful.
Crying. Crying. Crying.
“What’s wrong, Layla?”
“Eat. Eat.”
I move the pillow and look over at the clock. 5AM. “Okay, you can have some milk.”
Layla scoots herself on top of me and puts her arms around my neck, waiting for me, to wrap my arms around her, get up, and carry her to the kitchen to get some milk.
Mission accomplished - - Operation get milk. Successful.
As we walked to the kitchen, I realized if Layla understood me at 1AM and 3AM that it was too early for milk and to go back to sleep, then there really was no reason for her to be up. And it was really, really time to give up the bottle. Saturday, September 4, 2009, Layla had her last bottle.
I woke up on the day after Labor Day with a feeling that something was wrong. Something was off. I racked my brain to think what it was. Then it came to me. It was 6AM and no one had awakened me in the dead of night. SIDS ran through my mind. My baby was dead. I ran to her crib and put my hand on her chest. I couldn’t feel it moving. I put my hand under her nose, but couldn’t feel any breath on my fingers. I tickle her neck and she bats me away. Ah, my baby is fine, she just slept through the night. Look that only took nine months. If only it happened every night.
It’s been an interesting nine months since Layla came home. When I think about it we were like the ultimate blind date. Granted I saw a picture of her, but that was about it. Within the second hour of ever seeing other, we became legally connected for infinity and beyond. We were still feeling each other. All we knew were we connected for life and I was playing the role of mommy and Layla was playing the role of baby. On her first full day in Saigon, I dressed her in a t-shirt which read, “My heart belongs to Mommy.” I thought the red and white outfit was adorable and couldn’t pass it up when I saw in Target, while I was buying matching Christmas PJs for Layla and Rowan. But the words on the shirt were meaningless at the time. She didn’t know me. We had only been together for a little over twenty-four hours, but each subsequent time she wore it. The words started to have meaning. And if Koala Bear could still fit the shirt, without looking like Baby Huey, everyone would agree that there was truth in advertising.
Layla is 100% a mama’s girl. She may not know tons about life, but she’s knows I’m her mama. I’m her mama, those other two people who call me mommy, I think sometimes she’s suspicious of them. And after nine months of being home, she is always delighted to point out to Rowan and Jory to whom I belong.
It’s as if she senses when I’m holding her brother or sister or about to pick them up or let them sit on my lap because out of no where she appears.
On her good days, she’ll ask to be picked up. And the rest of the time, she’ll give a little shove as if her tiny self can push either of her older siblings off my lap. Or she’ll squeeze in whatever space, regardless of size, that exists between Rowan or Jory’s back and my front. Lotioning down Rowan, who is standing in front of me, Layla will dive underneath my arms to sit in my lap. Sometimes I cave and pick her up or make room for her on my lap and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I tell her, “They are my babies too and I can hold them.” She never likes this response. Tears and sometimes stomping of the feet occur. Sometimes I’ll agree with her and say, “I know. Life stinks.” But seemingly that never makes her feel better. If she could morph into a dog, she would definitely pee around me to mark me hers and hers alone.
Rowan’s outright stubbornness, her penchant for screaming, her tantrums, and the endless tears are like nails on a chalkboard to me. Maybe it’s the overall drama queeness of it all. (Snap! No wonder she’s Aunt Whitney’s favorite, like recognizes like.) But there’s this voice inside me that whispers, “It’s not Rowan who you should be considered about. It’s Layla.” What does that crazy voice know? Although Miss Layla has started to hit her hands against her thighs, would stomp her feet, if she could figure it out, and gibber gabbers angrily when she doesn’t get her way. But how could this adorable, sweet thing ever be anything but perfect?
Since coming home, my baby has gone from being a baby to a full fledge toddler. I’ll be honest I miss some of the babyness, but I’m enjoying who she is. And for the first time, I can enjoy each and every moment. My attention isn’t torn between watching Layla grow and change and planning the next adoption, like I was with Jory and Rowan. I can just indulge in all things Layla because she’s my baby and this is my last go round on the baby train.
When she first came home, she could crawl but would never crawl into another room, unless you walked beside her. Slowly over time, she would venture to another room by herself. And today, she toddles to another room stealthily and you have to search for her. The darkness bothers Rowan, but not Layla. She can happily play in the dark or hide from you.
Layla couldn’t hold a bottle and feeding herself was a goal I wanted her to accomplish in her physical and occupational therapy. Today, she happily sits on her high chair, eats all of her food, tells you when you finished. She can drink from a cup, but I’m not completely comfortable with that so we stick with sippy cups. Rowan once again passed down to her little sister her ability to find food any and everywhere.
Clang!
“What is she doing?” Oma asks.
“Playing with the pots and pans. Layla, put the lids up and close the cabinet,” I yell from the family room into the adjacent kitchen.
Silence greets my command. Is she once again pretending she doesn’t know her name? She’s great at that. (And when you call her on it, suddenly she pretends like she’s playing hide and seek with you. Uh, no, but nice try, kid.) I get up, walk into the kitchen, and my jaw drops.
Layla had pushed Rowan’s chair to the stove, climbed into the chair, taken the lid covering the cornbread off, and was using the butter knife to cut herself a piece of bread.
WHAT IN THE WORLD?!!? Of course part of me is like my child is a GENIUS! And score! How many extra points does she get for knowing to use a butter knife, instead of her hand. But quickly, my mother instincts took over and Layla was redirected and reprimanded. Through it all, my Koala Bear hung on to her cornbread. She is good at keeping me on my toes.
From the baby who choose to sleep rather than look out the window or at me, as we drove away from her orphanage, to the little toddler who places her hands on the side of my face, pulls me towards her, makes a kissing noise, and kisses me on the lips multiple times, I have truly witnessed a transformation in Layla. I have been so blessed to be able to parent this little girl, her brother, and her sister.
All three of my children are so loving, so smart, so kind, and so incredibly beautiful that I borrowed James Blunt’s song and created a version for the kids.
You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
It’s true
I saw your face
When you were eleven-months-old (six-and-a-half-months-old or five-days-old)
And I fell deeply in love
Cause you’re my greatest dream come true
I do not know all the things God created me to do, but I do know for sure one of them was to be a mommy to Layla, Rowan, and Jory. I thought at one time it to be a mommy to Sasha, but that was only for a season. Mel and Johnny were created to be that beautiful girl’s parents.
I look at my dynamic trio and know I should be the best, the strongest believer there is because every day I see three miracles of God. In all my dreams and visions of motherhood, I never imagined loving my children this much. Or enjoying those moments that completely take my breath away. Like when Jory sings the theme song to Psych or the chorus to Monk. Which then makes me think I need to teach him theme songs to all the shows (why have theme songs gone away from shows?) so it could be his thing when he gets older. We’d start with the greatest theme song of all time… Believe it or not, I’m walking on air… Though with our family’s fondness of cruises maybe I should teach him…The Love Boat, soon we’ll be making another round. Or when Rowan, smiling brightly, hands me a speck of dust or a piece of lint that she so proudly found and wants me to put in the trash. (Church daycare workers have been impressed by this gift of hers.) Or when I squat down, call Layla’s name, and watch her turn around, smile brightly at me, stop what she’s doing, walks into my arms, and gives me a kiss.
Said I loved you but I lied
'Cause this is more than love I feel inside
Said I loved you but I was wrong
'Cause love could never ever feel so strong
Said I loved you but I lied
On the water bus
Mother's Beach
And why yes, those two people in the distance are Oma and Layla. Layla wasn't liking her first feel of sand, but as you can see or almost see from the pic Oma got her to walk in it.
The shirt says, "My heart belongs to Oma." Auntie Heather had this one and one that says "My heart belongs to Auntie Heather" made for Jory. I can't believe that's been over four years ago now and that everyone has gotten a chance to wear them.
Layla is doing one of her favorite things: getting on top of the dining room table.
Jory's first day of school and last year of pre-school
The big brother standing next to his little sisters on a school day.
Layla not wanting her picture taken, then finally letting the hunger overtake her. She's eating at the table I once had tea parties on. I love keepsakes.
You know what I love? Absolutely love? ....Having twins. Okay, so technically they aren't twins in these pictures, but in four short months. It'll be on and hoppin'. They are just breathtakingly beautiful.
Everything nice
And you got a little girl
You take snakes and snails
Some puppy dog tails
And you got a little boy
That`s what love is made of
That`s what love is made of
Labor Day weekend was the best holiday weekend at the end of the summer ever. Friday, the kids came to visit me at work and got to show off how big they had gotten. Afterwards while Jory continued his Olympic swimming quest, the girls and I went to pick up our car from the shop. Let me tell you nothing beats returning a rent-a-car with two sleeping babies, three carseats and a double stroller to move. Everyone should experience it just once.
After we got the car back and straightened the mess the men made trying to put the double stroller in, we made a quick stop at my aunt’s to refuel. I love living in the same city as my family. I love that we can see family, get some drinks out of the fridge, ask if our favorite aunt is bar-be-queuing for Labor Day, to which she says a resounding “Yes,” and off we go.
Being a daring family, we decided to go to the mall after dinner and Oma said words that touched my heart. As we walked out of the door, she said, “Is the stroller in the car?” (This from the woman who had an attitude when we were putting together the double stroller. “What do you need this for?” “They aren’t going to be little kids always.” Yada, yada, yada. Now after a few trips to the mall, she sees, to quote the genius and beautiful Jen “the children act like escape convicts” when they are at the mall. With two contained, there’s only Jory. And since our Baby Bjorn holds up to 25lbs, a restless Layla can quickly get moved, Jory can take her spot, and all three are contained.) I didn’t gloat or say I told you so, I just answered, “Yes.” And we were on our way.
The shopping trip had unexpected highs, finding “Little Sister” shirts for the girls, and unexpected lows. Hanes doesn’t care a size 5T in t-shirts so I had to buy my baby a size small. A size small in the boys’ section of the store. Did you know a size small is 6 – 8? Why are the evil clothing manufacturers trying to push my sweet, innocent, precious Jory to the next level? Why can’t we stay in the toddler section? He’s still a little boy. Just a little boy.
On Saturday, we ventured out for swimming lessons, errands, but most importantly Rowan left the house in big girl panties. Can I tell you how much I love little girls who don’t have to wear diapers and don’t pee on themselves? I love them. Love them.
On Sunday, we went to Fisherman’s Village or Wharf or whatever it was called in Marina Del Rey and took the waterbus. The waterbus was a boat which took you from one side of the Marina to another side. A bus on water. I thought Jory would be over the moon on this excursion, but instead he was like, why can’t we ride one of the bigger boats. I explained to him why and he seemed to be happy. He enjoyed the boat ride and the stop at Mother’s Park, where he got to splash around in the water with Rowan. Note to self, next year dress the kids in the swimsuits.
Layla had her first experience with sand and wasn’t digging it. But with some time and help from Oma, she took her shoes off and seemed to tolerate the sand. She did much better than Rowan did her first time. Rowan refused to let her feet touch the ground and wouldn’t even sit on the blanket on top of the sand. Luckily Miss Sarah had grapes to entertain her while she watched her brother play in the sand and water.
On Monday, we enjoyed fabulous bbq at my aunt’s. My aunt is the best cook in my family and really someone in my family needs to step up to the plate and become the new family cook. Maybe the new cook will be Mona when she finally moves back home.
Jory and I had to dash out after he ate for a haircut and to buy some shirts for school, which was starting the next day. As I walked out the door, I realized how I’m living the live I dreamed about. The life where my kids grow up knowing their cousins, aunts, and uncles, like I did. A life where I can run a quick errand, which ended up taking an hour because someone had the audacity to get a perm when Jory’s stylist was the only one in the shop, and know my kids are safe, well loved, and hanging with their family. It was a great family filled Labor Day weekend. I think we set the standard pretty high and Layla might think every Labor Day weekend should be as great as her first.
And my Koala Bear had another two firsts.
Crying. Crying. Rustling. Crying.
“What’s wrong Layla?” I ask sleepily.
“Eat. Eat.” (Yes, somewhere along the line Rowan passed on her ability to ask for food and drink as soon as she woke up to her little sister.)
I move the pillow and look over at the clock. 1AM. I pick her up out of her crib and lay her next to me. “Layla, it’s too early for milk. Go back to sleep.”
A minute later the crying stops and she falls back asleep.
Mission accomplished - - Operation get out of crib and into bed with mommy.. Successful.
Crying. Crying. Crying.
“What’s wrong, Layla?”
“Eat. Eat.”
I move the pillow and look over at the clock. 3AM. I lay her across me. She doesn’t like to lay on top of me, but instead enjoys placing her head on my right shoulder and her hip bone touches my hip bone. “Layla, it’s too early for milk. Go back to sleep.”
A minute later the crying stops and she falls back asleep.
Mission accomplished - - Operation laying across mommy. Successful.
Crying. Crying. Crying.
“What’s wrong, Layla?”
“Eat. Eat.”
I move the pillow and look over at the clock. 5AM. “Okay, you can have some milk.”
Layla scoots herself on top of me and puts her arms around my neck, waiting for me, to wrap my arms around her, get up, and carry her to the kitchen to get some milk.
Mission accomplished - - Operation get milk. Successful.
As we walked to the kitchen, I realized if Layla understood me at 1AM and 3AM that it was too early for milk and to go back to sleep, then there really was no reason for her to be up. And it was really, really time to give up the bottle. Saturday, September 4, 2009, Layla had her last bottle.
I woke up on the day after Labor Day with a feeling that something was wrong. Something was off. I racked my brain to think what it was. Then it came to me. It was 6AM and no one had awakened me in the dead of night. SIDS ran through my mind. My baby was dead. I ran to her crib and put my hand on her chest. I couldn’t feel it moving. I put my hand under her nose, but couldn’t feel any breath on my fingers. I tickle her neck and she bats me away. Ah, my baby is fine, she just slept through the night. Look that only took nine months. If only it happened every night.
It’s been an interesting nine months since Layla came home. When I think about it we were like the ultimate blind date. Granted I saw a picture of her, but that was about it. Within the second hour of ever seeing other, we became legally connected for infinity and beyond. We were still feeling each other. All we knew were we connected for life and I was playing the role of mommy and Layla was playing the role of baby. On her first full day in Saigon, I dressed her in a t-shirt which read, “My heart belongs to Mommy.” I thought the red and white outfit was adorable and couldn’t pass it up when I saw in Target, while I was buying matching Christmas PJs for Layla and Rowan. But the words on the shirt were meaningless at the time. She didn’t know me. We had only been together for a little over twenty-four hours, but each subsequent time she wore it. The words started to have meaning. And if Koala Bear could still fit the shirt, without looking like Baby Huey, everyone would agree that there was truth in advertising.
Layla is 100% a mama’s girl. She may not know tons about life, but she’s knows I’m her mama. I’m her mama, those other two people who call me mommy, I think sometimes she’s suspicious of them. And after nine months of being home, she is always delighted to point out to Rowan and Jory to whom I belong.
It’s as if she senses when I’m holding her brother or sister or about to pick them up or let them sit on my lap because out of no where she appears.
On her good days, she’ll ask to be picked up. And the rest of the time, she’ll give a little shove as if her tiny self can push either of her older siblings off my lap. Or she’ll squeeze in whatever space, regardless of size, that exists between Rowan or Jory’s back and my front. Lotioning down Rowan, who is standing in front of me, Layla will dive underneath my arms to sit in my lap. Sometimes I cave and pick her up or make room for her on my lap and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I tell her, “They are my babies too and I can hold them.” She never likes this response. Tears and sometimes stomping of the feet occur. Sometimes I’ll agree with her and say, “I know. Life stinks.” But seemingly that never makes her feel better. If she could morph into a dog, she would definitely pee around me to mark me hers and hers alone.
Rowan’s outright stubbornness, her penchant for screaming, her tantrums, and the endless tears are like nails on a chalkboard to me. Maybe it’s the overall drama queeness of it all. (Snap! No wonder she’s Aunt Whitney’s favorite, like recognizes like.) But there’s this voice inside me that whispers, “It’s not Rowan who you should be considered about. It’s Layla.” What does that crazy voice know? Although Miss Layla has started to hit her hands against her thighs, would stomp her feet, if she could figure it out, and gibber gabbers angrily when she doesn’t get her way. But how could this adorable, sweet thing ever be anything but perfect?
Since coming home, my baby has gone from being a baby to a full fledge toddler. I’ll be honest I miss some of the babyness, but I’m enjoying who she is. And for the first time, I can enjoy each and every moment. My attention isn’t torn between watching Layla grow and change and planning the next adoption, like I was with Jory and Rowan. I can just indulge in all things Layla because she’s my baby and this is my last go round on the baby train.
When she first came home, she could crawl but would never crawl into another room, unless you walked beside her. Slowly over time, she would venture to another room by herself. And today, she toddles to another room stealthily and you have to search for her. The darkness bothers Rowan, but not Layla. She can happily play in the dark or hide from you.
Layla couldn’t hold a bottle and feeding herself was a goal I wanted her to accomplish in her physical and occupational therapy. Today, she happily sits on her high chair, eats all of her food, tells you when you finished. She can drink from a cup, but I’m not completely comfortable with that so we stick with sippy cups. Rowan once again passed down to her little sister her ability to find food any and everywhere.
Clang!
“What is she doing?” Oma asks.
“Playing with the pots and pans. Layla, put the lids up and close the cabinet,” I yell from the family room into the adjacent kitchen.
Silence greets my command. Is she once again pretending she doesn’t know her name? She’s great at that. (And when you call her on it, suddenly she pretends like she’s playing hide and seek with you. Uh, no, but nice try, kid.) I get up, walk into the kitchen, and my jaw drops.
Layla had pushed Rowan’s chair to the stove, climbed into the chair, taken the lid covering the cornbread off, and was using the butter knife to cut herself a piece of bread.
WHAT IN THE WORLD?!!? Of course part of me is like my child is a GENIUS! And score! How many extra points does she get for knowing to use a butter knife, instead of her hand. But quickly, my mother instincts took over and Layla was redirected and reprimanded. Through it all, my Koala Bear hung on to her cornbread. She is good at keeping me on my toes.
From the baby who choose to sleep rather than look out the window or at me, as we drove away from her orphanage, to the little toddler who places her hands on the side of my face, pulls me towards her, makes a kissing noise, and kisses me on the lips multiple times, I have truly witnessed a transformation in Layla. I have been so blessed to be able to parent this little girl, her brother, and her sister.
All three of my children are so loving, so smart, so kind, and so incredibly beautiful that I borrowed James Blunt’s song and created a version for the kids.
You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
It’s true
I saw your face
When you were eleven-months-old (six-and-a-half-months-old or five-days-old)
And I fell deeply in love
Cause you’re my greatest dream come true
I do not know all the things God created me to do, but I do know for sure one of them was to be a mommy to Layla, Rowan, and Jory. I thought at one time it to be a mommy to Sasha, but that was only for a season. Mel and Johnny were created to be that beautiful girl’s parents.
I look at my dynamic trio and know I should be the best, the strongest believer there is because every day I see three miracles of God. In all my dreams and visions of motherhood, I never imagined loving my children this much. Or enjoying those moments that completely take my breath away. Like when Jory sings the theme song to Psych or the chorus to Monk. Which then makes me think I need to teach him theme songs to all the shows (why have theme songs gone away from shows?) so it could be his thing when he gets older. We’d start with the greatest theme song of all time… Believe it or not, I’m walking on air… Though with our family’s fondness of cruises maybe I should teach him…The Love Boat, soon we’ll be making another round. Or when Rowan, smiling brightly, hands me a speck of dust or a piece of lint that she so proudly found and wants me to put in the trash. (Church daycare workers have been impressed by this gift of hers.) Or when I squat down, call Layla’s name, and watch her turn around, smile brightly at me, stop what she’s doing, walks into my arms, and gives me a kiss.
Said I loved you but I lied
'Cause this is more than love I feel inside
Said I loved you but I was wrong
'Cause love could never ever feel so strong
Said I loved you but I lied
On the water bus
Mother's Beach
And why yes, those two people in the distance are Oma and Layla. Layla wasn't liking her first feel of sand, but as you can see or almost see from the pic Oma got her to walk in it.
The shirt says, "My heart belongs to Oma." Auntie Heather had this one and one that says "My heart belongs to Auntie Heather" made for Jory. I can't believe that's been over four years ago now and that everyone has gotten a chance to wear them.
Layla is doing one of her favorite things: getting on top of the dining room table.
Jory's first day of school and last year of pre-school
The big brother standing next to his little sisters on a school day.
Layla not wanting her picture taken, then finally letting the hunger overtake her. She's eating at the table I once had tea parties on. I love keepsakes.
You know what I love? Absolutely love? ....Having twins. Okay, so technically they aren't twins in these pictures, but in four short months. It'll be on and hoppin'. They are just breathtakingly beautiful.
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