When we hear a certain call
And the world must come together as one
The world or Oma, mommy, big brother, and big sister. Picture it, late March 2005 around 4AM PST, an adorable, brilliant young Jory rolls over for the first time. I was beside myself with glee. I called Oma in to the room so she could see her husband’s namesake show off his amazing new skill. Then I called Mona, who being the killjoy that she can be, wasn’t thrilled like I was. In fact, she said she thought something was wrong since I was calling her so early. Hello! Did she not hear that I said her favorite nephew (yes, I know Mason & Austin existed then, but those are our brother’s kids and that’s not the same as your sister’s kids. Though Jory, Mijo, and Tigger will be the exception to this rule) rolled over. Well, she had heard me said it was great, but the utter joy that should have been dripping from her voice, was still missing.
How did I go from this feeling of euphoria to a feeling of dread, a little over a year later, when Jory showed off his latest learned skill? When I saw him open the refrigerator by himself; I thought this can’t be good. Somewhere along the line, maybe after they learn to walk, the bliss of them learning a new skill is tempered with an “ugh.” We are there now with Miss Layla.
Oma was beside herself with trying to get Layla to walk. Only those $45 Stride Rite walking shoes could be on her grandbaby’s feet, even though part of her was wondering if maybe it was taken so long for Layla to walk because Stride Rite was no longer selling the old school walking shoes. You know the ones with the bottoms that could crush the bones in your toes and fingers to oblivion if the child wearing those shoes stepped on them. Daggers were thrown if you dared mention children learn to walk better and possibly faster with their bare feet, who suggested that cavemen? Aunt Roxanne called it when she said we’d be in for it when Koala Bear started walking. How right she was. Oma definitely misses the days when she only had to chase after a crawling Layla.
Uncle Peter accurately described Layla as the adventurer and that she is. There were three crawling babies in the house before she arrived, but not until Layla did locks have to go on cabinets, drawers had to be taken out and placed higher. Who know how many times poor Jory has to put things back into cabinets or drawers. Ah, the downside of being the eldest. Though in Layla’s defense, at first she was required to help Jory put the times back. But I figured he was better off without her “help” since every time they put away items, she would take out the one he put away.
This month I cringed when I saw my baby girl had discovered her tiptoes. Now we’ve gone from things being safe at the back of the stereo in the family room to now anything that can be pulled is pulled and used to get the object or objects of her desire. Everyone is aware the bathroom doors have to be close because she can now lift the lid on the toilet. Leave the fridge door open and guess who’s standing inside the fridge looking for things to eat or just bother with.
While she still can’t say the word “no”, she’s an expert at shaking her head. And while she refuses to sign “all done”, occasionally she’ll say it when she’s finished eating. But when she can’t be bothered to sign or talk, the head shake and some very vocal babbling, plus an empty plate, is her other way to signal she’s finished, she wants out of her high chair, and she wants her sippy cup. And yes, in that order.
Eight months ago when I held Layla for the first time I had no idea what she would be like. I gave no thought to who she would be or what her personality would be like. I know for sure, I never imagined a baby- - toddler with such a love for life. She is into any and everything. Under tables, under desks. Nothing can go unexplored. Drawers need to be opened. Contents need to be taken out. Said contents need to be put in mouth. You know to test them out. To test mommy out to see if she’s watching. Standing backwards in a chair is a must. Can you ever really get sick of hearing your mommy say, “Layla, turn around and sit down.”? Pushing a child size chair across the kitchen floor to open the cookie jar, reach for things on the countertops, try to figure out how to turn the stove on before mommy or Oma swoop in, give a stern “NO!” and redirect to another activity. Can I just say neither Jory nor Rowan were ever this adventurous. Never this into things. Never this constantly busy.
Maybe being this busy would be okay, if she would take a nap longer than fifteen minutes and would sleep through the night. Hey, I thought she was on some sort of schedule. I am pretty sure I remember being handed a schedule. Maybe I was dreaming because a baby on a schedule for the first eleven months of her life shouldn’t be able to ditch said schedule after only one day with her mommy. I think somehow that’s against the law of nature, that’s how I know she wasn’t on a schedule.
I would love to say Layla wakes up every morning with a smile like Sasha did, but that’s not true. She wakes up in two moods, crying, asking for something to eat, and wanting to be picked up or neither smiling or crying- - just sort of content. Eat is a new word she’s learned. But you learn pretty quickly it has multiple meanings. It means, “I want something to eat.” “I want something to drink.” Or just plain, “I want something, but either I don’t know what that something is or you have to figure out what that something is.”
Layla’s usage of the word “eat” reminds me of Rowan learning the word “because.” When Rowan first used the word, I was surprised and delighted and then the other shoe dropped.
“Rowan, why did you take the truck from Jory?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
Silence.
“Rowan, why did you get a cookie when mommy told you not to get one?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
Silence.
“Rowan, why did you push Layla?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
Silence.
Do you see a pattern? Yes, she learned the answer to “why” was “because,” but she doesn’t know and still hasn’t quite mastered the ability to give an explanation. I’m positive there should be a law that you can’t use “because” until you understand and know how to use it correctly.
My kids are growing up right before my eyes. Layla is this walking, sometime talking, active toddler, who has now mastered the skill of taking off her diaper. Uh, can we start potty training now? So now gone are the days of her walking around with a t-shirt and a diaper.
Since Lisa Carol gave me the wonderful tips on how she potty trained Emma, we’ve taken her idea, added a twist to make it work for Rowan and we seem to be doing well. I think I’m starting to believe that my oldest daughter will be potty trained before she starts school. I guess now we can tackle the thumb sucking. Ugh, another battle of wills.
Sometimes my Principesa is under the illusion she lives in a democracy. Is there a children’s book about dictatorship? Because that’s the world she lives in until she’s off doing her Jack Bauer job. I seem to think she might need to be reminded of this periodically through the years. My baby girl can be as sweet as sweet can be at times, but she’s as stubborn as I don’t know what. The stubbornness is not a blessing or a gift I asked God for, but I guess in His infinite wisdom He thought I could handle such a blessing/gift.
The SS Jory was and is my maiden voyage into the world of parenting. I am constantly in awe of the new things he learns and says.
“Mommy, I don’t want you to make me my oatmeal because you don’t make it jammin’ like Oma.” “Jammin’” really Oma should stop creating words in order to seem cool and hip. And is this four-and-a-half-year-old really saying he doesn’t want to eat my cooking. Cooking that consists of putting water into a bowl which contains oatmeal, putting the bowl in the microwave and letting it cook for two minutes, then putting it in the fridge or the freezer for a few minutes for it to cool off, before serving. That’s all I have to do and he doesn’t want me to do that. I’m sorry Mr. Jory that I don’t add two pounds of butter and fruit to your milk laden oatmeal, like Oma does, but somewhere I once heard that oatmeal was supposed to be healthy. But really it’s a good thing his saying this didn’t bother me in the least.
I watch Layla lift her arms so I can take off her shirt. I watch as she tries to take off her Velcro sandals (I see now why Kayla was never allowed to wear sandals until she was four. My sister is a genius.). Or as she tries to put on her pants. And I’m in awe at how far we’ve come. When she first came home, although she was dressed every day in Vietnam, she never assisted in her dressing. She would just sit there and let me do all the work.
As Rowan puts on her training pants and her shorts on, I’m proud to see my oldest girl become more independent. And when I observe the second greatest Christmas present I’ve ever received dress himself from top to bottom, then I look at the girls, I realize how far Jory and I have come and what the future is like for Rowan and Layla. It gets so frustrating at times, but no one said growing up was easy or simple.
Continuing on the language kick because for some reason children want to learn how to talk before they start school, sometimes I think that really isn’t necessary, particularly if you have more than one kid. Rowan’s favorite word is “wait.” She loves to ask questions, then answers her own question with “Wait?” Actually she reminds me of Bob Patterson. Once Bob said, “No is just yes to a different question.” In Rowan’s world, “Wait is just yes to the same question at a later time.”
My principesa also loves, I’ve discovered, showing off her new vocabulary in conjunction with the word “hurt.”
“Mommy, my stomach hurts.”
“My tongue hurts.”
“My toe hurts.”
“Baby arm hurt.”
I’m beginning to think I should take my dad’s biology book out of the garage and teach Rowan all about anatomy. How cool would it be for this two-and-a-half-year-old to say,
“My tibia fibula hurts.”
“My Flexor Pollicis Bevis Muscle hurts.”
I might have to bring that book inside.
If Rowan’s favorite word is “wait,” then for sure Layla’s is “hot.” I came into work so excited that not only did Layla say “hot”, but she also knew how to use and knew what was hot. She saw the stove and said, “hot.” She tried to sit on my laptop and said, “hot.” Well, yes genius baby, the back of mommy’s laptop is hot. My baby is a genius, the next Einstein, until Aunt Louise destroyed it when she insinuated aka said Layla was just saying “hot.” Nothing more or nothing less. Was she saying my baby wasn’t the most brilliant baby ever? Yes, she was and sadly she was right. The door is hot. The toilet is hot. The couch is hot. Her car seat is hot. Everything is hot. Occasionally she uses the word at the right time, but mostly it’s just the greatest word in the world to say. And say often and sign often.
Not only have Jory, Rowan, and Layla grown, but I’ve grown since I embarked on the motherhood journey. I care more. I feel things more deeply.. I’m more aware than ever what God sacrificed by sending His only Son….cause yeah, I know another little boy who was born on Christmas and yeah, he wouldn’t be sacrificed for the likes of me. Yikes! I’m more conscious than ever of how much God loves me, loves His children. And I’m also more aware of just how little I understand the depths of God’s mercy and love. I thank Him and praise Him that His ways are not my pitiful human ways.
My mom has also grown. She has always been anti-adoption. She doesn’t understand why people adopt. I’ve tried to explain the whole eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil to her, but I could have saved my breath. But there was one thing I did know and that was whatever child I was blessed to parent, she would love unconditionally and completely. Jory came home and a light was turned on in her which had been dimmed since the death of her husband. And while she is the greatest Oma in the world, she did and does have her moments.
I remember when Jory was seven or eight months old and we were at a family bbq. Jory was reaching for her soda or her food and someone said, oh just give him some. To which my mom replied, I don’t know his bloodline I can’t share my food. Four years later, she has to fix herself two plates. The first to share with all three of her grandchildren and the second for her to eat herself. Does she get why I eat when everyone is sleep? Why does food look extra good when someone else is eating it?
Before the adoptions were finalized, she did remind me that I could change my mind. I just took a deep breath and reminded myself adoption is a gift that not everyone is born with. Sometimes I would say it out loud to remind my mom and she would either remain silent or say, “It must be.” It is.
If Rowan is the stubborn one, then Layla has proven herself to be the strong-willed one. It was bath time. I took off her shirt, noticed she was holding a Lego, so I told her to put the Lego up before I took off her onesie. I guess she heard a bell ring and the fight was on. Tears flowed from eyes and more tears and more tears. “Layla, just put the Lego in the Lego table.” The Lego table was literally four inches away from you. She walked towards me with her arms open for a hug. One hug is all you get little girl. “Put the Lego up, Layla.” More tears, sweat slowly mats her hair to her head. She tried to sit on my lap. “Nope, put the Lego up.” She walked around me and to her Oma, who somehow had missed this whole meltdown though she was sitting on the other end of the dining room table.
Oma picked up her baby and asked her what was wrong. I get Layla and return her to the ring. “Layla, put the Lego in the pocket of the Lego table.” The shaking began. Wow, this chick was so not happy. Then finally, finally she walked to the table and put the Lego up. As she walked back to me for a hug, I noticed a Lego next to her foot. “Baby, can you pick up the Lego and put it up.” Round two. More of the same, but this round ended with Oma picking her up, and trying to convince her to put the Lego up. With Oma’s assistance, and by assistance, I mean she almost physically put Layla’s hand on the Lego, then closed said hand around the Lego, the Lego was picked up. Then from the continuous comfort of Oma’s arms, she was leaned over the table and Oma “helped” her let go of the Lego. Once Layla finished picking up the dreaded second Lego, the shaking stopped, the tears went away, and my little girl was back. Yeah, strong willed.
Thankfully Aunt Dee Dee has a book about rearing stubborn children. I wonder what the title is, “How stubborn children make it to the age of eighteen?”
The other day Jory said to me, "I can't find it, Mommy, so I might as well go and play." So I might as well go and play?!?!? Who is this kid that says that? Not my baby. Does he know he's my baby? Does he know he’s not old enough to say things like that? I’m going to have to break it down to him one of these days about who he is in my life like I did my oldest nephew this summer.
For ten-and-a-half-years aka his whole life, including utero time, my oldest nephew has been Mijo to me. Presents had tags on them saying Mijo. Books had Mijo written in them.
But lo and behold this summer, he says to me, “Auntie, I’m not Mijo, I’m Tank.”
I refrained from saying that’s a dumb nickname. Gotta love my restraint and instead asked, “Who gave you that nickname?”
He told me the kids at camp called him Tank.
I told him I could call him mini-Leonard, after his dad, or mini-Mona, after his mom, or Noel, which was going to be his nickname before MIjo came on the scene thanks to Felicity.
He declined all those options and insisted on being called Tank.
So I had to spell it out for him. “You were Mijo when you were born. You will be Mijo, if you’re 6’5 and I have to climb up on a ladder to give you a kiss and a hug. You’ll be Mijo, when you bring your awesome, on-fire Christian girlfriend, who you want to marry, to meet me for the first time. You’ll be Mijo when you’re holding your first child in your arms. And when I’m in my 80s and you’re in your 60s, you’ll still be my Mijo.” I guess my speech worked because I haven’t heard the name Tank again. I’m sure it helped when Grandma agreed that everything I said was true and I would do it. And really, who does he think he is telling me what to call him? I should have asked him if he bumped his head.
My babies are growing right before my eyes. Jory can tell my cell phone, call Oma, and have a conversation with her. Rowan and Layla are turning into big girls more and more each day. I’m so incredibly blessed to have three such wonderful kids to call my own.
For your patience and kindness
And favor and mercy
And honor and glory
Because you are worthy
We can't live without You
We can't breathe without You
We can't sing without You
Hosanna Hosanna
Rowan and my beautiful niece Kayla
Kayla and Layla...and no that wasn't intentional at all. God just so loves me and sees the beauty!
From left to right: Jory, Kayla, and my very first baby, Mijo, and Rowan in the front
Back row: Tigger, a "I don't want to take this picture Mommy" Layla, Kayla, Mijo
Front row: Jory, a backwards looking Rowan, and my brother's oldest son, Mason
If Oma catches you, you're going to be in troubbbbleeee
My big kids loving their sunglasses. You gotta love Children's Place and their .99 cent glasses. Layla has a pair that matches Rowan's, but this year she didn't get that she was suppose to leave them on. Maybe next summer.
The many faces of Jory....
I'm not sure what this face is saying
I remember being in Pic n' Save, talking to Stephanie on the phone, and seeing these t-shirts that came in a pair... "I'm a Big Brother" and "I'm a Little Sister" and I quickly snapped them up for Jory and Sasha. Although Jory's was a little too small now, I stretched so he could wear it with Layla. They look so cute even if she wasn't being so cooperative in these photos.
Yes, it was dress alike time. Everyone is rockin' the Hawaii t-shirts I bought in Hawaii. If only I had known Layla would be home a year after the cruise I would have bought 3 white t-shirts, instead of 2. And yes, everyone has a Star Wars t-shirt except Layla didn't want to stand next to her sibs to show off hers.
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