Cheese Alert

I know it's kind of cheesy, but the whole time we were waiting/trying to have kids, and especially when we were matched with Sam and waiting for him to come home, I kept imagining how great it would be to see my son with my dog, Frankie. (Yes, I have two dogs, but in my mind, Frankie was destined to be a boy's best friend.)

I'll admit that perhaps I've been a bit more than suggestive of the notion that Sam and Franklin are *supposed* to be pals. Sam's big boy room is decorated in Pottery Barn Kids "My Best Friend" pattern which is, as you might imagine, dog-themed. There's an awesome watercolor of Frankie hanging on the wall. I constantly try to get pictures of the two of them together.

Alas, Sam and Frankie don't have much more than an occasional passing interest in one another. Sam's not terribly fascinated by any creature that can't talk back to him or rewind Bob the Builder at the appropriate moment. Franklin, whose main pasttime is sleeping, is none too comfortable in range of a two-year-old who's wont to tug on his tail and then wail when the dog darts off. Their most common shared experience is that of Sam shrieking for Frankie to "get away, doggie. That's MY food," when the pup gets too close to a snack Sam's enjoying. (For the record, this has happened once too often, actually. The dogs have been banned from the house when Sam's eating anything. Anyone who knows Rob and I from our pre-child days would probably gasp at the notion that we'll even consider canine banishment.)

The story has a new chapter today, and I'm a very proud mommy for it.

Frankie has become a teeny bit braver about nuzzling me when Sam's nearby lately. He's either decided Sam is predictable enough to take the risk or is just so attention starved that he no longer cares what he has to do to have his ears scratched. With Sam on my lap, Frankie came up for a pet today. Sam asked, giggling, what Franklin was doing when he lifted a paw to my knee to get my attention. When I replied that Frankie was "saying he loves us," Sam told me that he loved Frankie, too.

Then... He got down, went and got his blankie, petted Frankie's back ever-so-gently until the dog laid down (understanding that the situation wasn't dangerous) and then wrapped Frankie up. He told me that he was tucking Frankie in for a nap and then proceeded to lay his own head down on Frankie and told me to "Shhh. Frankie's sleeping now."

Sam loves Frankie. Frankie loves Sam. Maybe my not-so-subtle efforts to force the friendship weren't in vain?

He'll hate me someday

Does every parent find taking pictures of their children doing weird things fun? Why is it that I feel most compelled to grab the camera when Sam's doing something that he'll surely find embarrassing once he's a teenager?

Case in point: Sam's overly eager participation in the enjoyment of his cousin Linsey's birthday gift. We gave her a set of six totally frilly, sparkly and dainty Disney Princess dress-up slippers. The credit goes to Uncle Robby who spied them quite a while ago and knew she'd love them. Not to take credit away from him for being perceptive, but one of the more noticeable things about our sweet niece is that she loves to wear very dressy shoes. She was at our house not long ago in a regular play clothes outfit, completed with a pair of glittery pink Mary Janes that had been part of her Halloween princess costume.

Anyway, you get the point. Linsey is a completely normal five-year-old who takes immense joy in flaunting her girliness. (One of the qualities that really makes me want a girl some day... I somehow doubt Sam will find tea parties with Mommy very fun, though trust me -- I will try.)

Sam, as much as he may appear to be all boy (anyone who has spent more than five minutes with him knows his love of trains, tractors, airplanes, helicopters, trucks, cars, construction equipment, etc...) is actually a bit of a closet diva. Similar to those moments when he asks if he can "please wear lipstick, too, Mommy," he could not wait to get his hands on a pair of Linsey's cute girl shoes.

Once he slid his little feet into a purple pair of Jasmine heels, he looked around, grabbed her aqua satin purse and happily trotted off to enjoy the satisfying click-clack of his new footwear on the hardwood floor.

I enjoyed the moment, yes... But I also nearly knocked Linsey out myself trying to get to the camera. I immediately mentally filed the moment (along with the image of him wearing a soapsuds mohawk in the bathtub) in the I-can't-wait-to-show-this-to-your-prom-date-please-don't-hate-me-for-laughing category.

One Little Word

Along the lines of the "you're my best friend" cuteness, I had to "write" this down. As is usually the case, I'm sure the phase won't last long.

So, the quick story:

I got home very late last night from Orlando. Sam didn't know I was home when he woke up (VERY EARLY!) this morning. I walked into his room, causing squeals of delight. It was loud and ear-piercing, but I couldn't have been happier to hear it after having been gone since Monday morning.

I went to sit down in the chair in his room, and he came running over to me. He asked me to hold him and snuggled down, patting my face.

Then he looked up at me and declared, "Mommy, we're a family."

He's said it a few other times, but I still well up each time. Saying it to me today, after we'd been separated for a few days, made it seem like he was really thinking about why he was so glad to see me. I'm pretty sure there's not such a complex thought pattern involved, but it's the sweetest thing to hear nonetheless.

Our new toy

I'm sure it's my cold and/or the death rattle in my chest that's preventing any sort of significant, intelligent thought between my ears, but seriously... I'm about to go to bed after finally getting packed for my next business trip and the only thing I can think is that I can't believe our new camera has been sitting in the house for four days and we have only taken about five pictures on it.

A little context: we fretted over spending gift money on a camera when the one we have works just fine, we just don't like it very much. We finally did it on Thanksgiving morning, then stalked the FedEx Tracker widget on our desktop as if the man in orange and blue would be arriving with the winning PowerBall ticket or something. We knew the camera would make it to our doorstep on Thursday afternoon. I flew down the steps when the Budget truck arrived (no joke, FedEx has so many packages to deliver that they've run out of trucks, or so the nice temp driver told me when he handed over the long-awaited box) and then just placed the large cardboard box on the dining room table.

Seeing as it was actually Rob's birthday money that paid for the camera, he insisted I wait for him to even LOOK at the camera. Anyone who understands the depth of my new digisrap addiction knows that the presence of a new camera has taken on greater significance than it might have a few weeks ago...

So, I waited. I actually ran downstairs between conference calls once he was home just to watch the packing tape come off of the box. How sad is that? Rob then annoyingly read off each item on the user's guide as he pulled accessories out of the box "just to be sure it's all there." Painstaking, I tell you.

I've seen it. It's very pretty. It feels nice in my hand. I haven't figured out the auto flash yet. I've commented on about 14 things we SHOULD/COULD take cool pictures of, but alas, the fog of snockiness kept me horizontal more than vertical this weekend, so no new photos.

Speaking of vertical, off to bed now that this little diatribe is off my chest. I have to be up at 4 to catch my flight.

Let's hope...

...that Santa Claus is smarter than the "crib fairy."

Sam moved to his big boy bed a few weeks ago... The transition wasn't too difficult for any of us, but as soon as he walked into his room the first night that the crib was gone, he kept asking, "Where my crib go? Who took it?"

Being the quick thinkers we are, we replied that the crib fairy came and took his crib. We made a big deal about how he was officially a big boy now.

He seemed proud and satisfied with our answer...until we left for school this morning.

As it turns out, that silly crib fairy didn't go far with the crib. We'd "heard" that it broke during disassembly. Apparently she has no use for broken cribs and only took it as far as our curb.

As we left the house today, Sam just stopped and stared at the pile of trash. "What's that?" (he asked knowingly.)

"That's just the trash. QUICK!! Let's see if we can find a really big trash truck that makes cool loud noises!!" I replied, while mentally noting to have a word with the crib fairy after work today.

To lighten the mood

I've been deficient about blogging again lately. While it's true that my new obsession with digital scrapbooking is taking its toll on my blogging time, the real reason why I haven't posted anything here is that I honestly haven't felt much like writing. I'm happy to play with pictures of Sam for now... Writing makes me think of the other little boy in Korea that I can't get out of my head. Being denied the opportunity to look at his file has really been bothering me. I was trying to get in a better frame of mind about it when I talked to another adoptive mom this weekend who is a) collecting items for kids who are never adopted and age out of orphanages and b) has adopted two boys who are just six weeks apart. I got all fired up again that this little boy is sitting in a home...

On the bright side, I will say that I am in a holiday mood this year like never before. Our little family of three just feels so much more settled this year. We had an awesome Thanksgiving weekend. Lots of time with family, which is always the best way to spend a holiday, and plenty of time to get the house decorated to make it really feel like Christmas is coming.

Sam definitely KNOWS that the house has to be all lit up for Santa to find it. When he sees a plane in the sky, not only does he say "Hi, Big Jake," as usual, he wonders aloud if Santa and Rudolph are up there, too!

Tonight, we finished the lighting of the outside of the house. I said I was going to lighten the mood, and my thought was to share this one-liner from my husband that I'm certain will become legendary in our house: I hate when he climbs ladders. Especially the big ones. I just don't feel like my little hands holding the bottom is any help at all when it comes to the possiblity of him falling from two stories up.

When I asked him why he felt it necessary to always find a reason to be up near or on he roof, he replied quite matter-of-factly, "Big ladders make me feel like a man."

He is SOOOOO going to wish he hadn't uttered those words!

105-30 and B70

When we first "found" Sam, it was via a small picture in a blue frame labeled B70 on our agency's web site. We read the brief bit of information that was available to the general public and eventually ended up requesting his file and being matched with him. There are obviously more details to that story, but the moral is that we were meant to be together. There's no explanation short of a miracle that a child whose face we stared at on the Internet for months, who was born in another country and living with another family, is now the gleeful toddler that runs our lives.

Because we were so blessed with that experience, we have felt called to pursue our next adoption through the waiting child process. Given the circumstances of our family, we think a slightly older infant or toddler -- that perhaps would not be readily matched with the pool of prospective parents seeking as young a baby as possible -- is a good fit for us.

To that end, and because Sam has adjusted so nicely, we've slowly started to dip our toes back into the proverbial adoption pool. As with anyone's decision to deliberately add to their family, it's not a decision to be taken lightly. That's why we're going slowly. We know what lies ahead, and that amount of paperwork and the loooooong wait, is not for the faint of heart.

Now that we're braced for the years ahead (which is how long this will take!) we finally made the decision this weekend to request the file of a sweet faced little boy that we have "watched" online for nearly a year. This little guy, perhaps because he actually looks like he could be Sam's brother, tugged at our hearts from the first time we saw him. We know now not to ignore that pull, since that's how we we lucky enough to be matched with Sam.

Little 105-30 has been a single photograph and a case number to us for a long time, but when we talk about "that little boy online," we both know who we're referring to. He hasn't needed a name for us to keep him in our prayers, but this weekend, we learned his name.

It seemed like the final nudge we needed that someone on our agency's message board brought his name up in a discussion thread. My attention obviously perked up. To make a long story short, we ended up getting some additional details about him from someone who had seen his file but had to decline his case. She was incredibly encouraging to us, and he sounded like he was doing very well.

I steeled myself Monday morning and made the call to the U.S. agency handling his case. I waited all day for the social worker to call me back, not quite sure what that conversation would mean.

As much as I trust the advice of professionals, I was a bit taken aback to learn that we are not even eligible to review his file. I understand intellectually that a qualified adoption expert says two children just seven weeks apart in age are not necessarily an ideal fit. Particularly since one has slight delays in his development and one does not.

I won't belabor the details, but I ended my day yesterday saying that at least we had closure. I trust that God has a hand in making sure that adorable child will find his true family like we found Sam. It prompted us to decide what our next steps will be.

BUT.

So much for being at peace.

I went to drop Sam off this morning and saw that the box of items we are collecting for other orphans who will "age out" and have to find their way in the world on their own, never having had a family, was still fairly empty. I got in my car after noticing this to hear Steven Curtis Chapman's "All I Want for Christmas (Is a Family)" at random on my iPod.

That's when the next stage of grief -- the anger -- hit me. I know in the end that I have to trust the way this has worked out, but I can't help but feel mad and sad that some other human has the power to say that having no family at all is better for this boy than being with us would be.

I will keep praying for him in the very same way that I know more than 80 families prayed for Sam after picking up the phone to ask about him over two years ago. Some of them surely felt the same dismay at the outcome that I do in this case.

It's back to Plan A for us now. We'll put in our initial application for a sibling for Sam after the first of the year. I know that we'll eventually have our second perfect-for-us child home with us. I will hope in the meantime that this boy somehow feels that families like ours keep him in our thoughts and prayers.

I've been cheating on my blog.

With Photoshop.

I started this blog saying that I needed to somehow do something to keep up with memory keeping for Sam. I specifically noted that I was incapable of the crafty things that better moms than I do in order to catalog the lives of their children.

Well, it's a whole new day. For the sake of my family, I'm not sure it's a good thing, but I have conquered Photoshop Elements.

Maybe conquer is too strong a word. We've become acquainted. And I have spent any free moment I have since this weekend playing around with various layouts. (Look at me throwing lingo around already.)

I'm having such a good time doing it, but I should really try to keep up the blogging thing, too. This is actually faster and not nearly as costly. Maybe I'll finally be able to do away with the blogger template and make a pretty blog of my very own!

I have some catching up to do...

First, Halloween was last week. Sam HATED the thought of being a monkey, but literally followed the rule of monkey-see-monkey-do at daycare. Once everyone else was in their holiday get-ups, he followed suit and went out for the parade.

He didn't like it:


All was well when he got to go trick-or-treating and realized that we were serious when we told him people give you candy if you dress like a monkey. We were waiting for him to realize that you get candy no matter what costume you wear, but that never happened. Thank goodness, because he kept telling anyone who would listen that he was going to be Woody. He'd follow it up with "Reach for the sky!'

In other news, I'm a deficient blogger because I've been neck-deep in getting the word out that my adventures in Santa Claus, otherwise known as the taping of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, are about to hit the airwaves. We shall see if I became an offical WNA (will not air, in hip TV lingo, as I learned.)

It seems cool that this is airing the same week that my dear husband hits the fabulous, wonderful, marvelous 10-years-cancer-free milestone. He turns a year older this week, too, but in this case, that is a very good thing.

My little BFF

The words "best friend" have always seemed like a loaded phrase to me. Those two little words can be exclusionary and even damaging to fragile friendships when you're really young. They can also mean a lot to you when you make that first friend who you feel like you can share anything with.

My first best friend -- at least that I can remember -- was a cute little girl from Mill Creek Elementary School in Lenexa, Kansas. We lived just a couple of blocks apart and spent most of our free time together. We played lots of games, hung out at the pool, did our homework together, and even exchanged those necklaces that, at that age, totally meant you belonged. She had "Be/Fri." I had "st/ends."

I've actually thought about my first best friend quite a bit in the last couple of years. I wrote a "What About Me" book for school in seventh grade. My "Future Me" chapter predicted that she and I would still be BFF and living together in San Francisco. The eerie part of the story is that I also figured I'd have adopted a child named Sam from Korea. Go figure.

Anyway, as you get older, I'm not so sure you really concentrate on the "best friends" label anymore. I actually do have someone I consider to be my best bud. Despite the fact that we rarely get quality time together, he's known me longer than just about anyone and, together, endured a loss that forever changed both his life and mine.

To take my friend Joe's advice, though, I should say that there's no doubt that my husband is my best friend. I'm lucky to be able to say that and I know it. I've gotten in trouble with Joe for not necessarily referring to Rob that way, but it's the truth.

While I never want to take for granted that Rob is the best friend I'll ever have, I just might have to move on and let that title go to someone else...

When we left dinner tonight, Sam asked me to ride in the back seat with him. I climbed in and just sat next to him for the quick ride home. He sat quietly most of the way. Just before reaching our neighborhood, though, he reached over and touched my arm.

I said, "What's up, Sammy?"

He replied, "Mommy... You my best friend."

I swear, I nearly burst into tears. I think I only managed to hold back the crying because I was also simultaneously shocked that he knew those words.

He went on to clarify that he has "two best friends... Mommy and Daddy both my best friends."

I don't think I've ever been happier.

Say cheese

As I dropped Sam off at daycare this morning, I had to laugh at how spiffy all of the kids looked. As today is "Picture Day," not a single child was wearing the usual who-cares-if-it-gets-dirty playclothes. They were all decked out in their Sunday finest for the occasion. I swear I noted a bit of a swagger in Sam's step...It's like he knows he's in his fancy pants.

I had two thoughts fighting for space in my head as I got him ready for the big day.

The first? I really need to get better about the whole portrait thing. No matter how much I've tried to remain committed to keeping up with the compilation of kiddie memories on this blog, it's just not the same as having real photographs. I mean really, what kid's "lifebook" (I really despise that term for some reason) is complete without a few of the requisitely awkward JC Penney Portrait Studio shots? We've been embarrassingly lax in that department. As usual, we had great intentions, but it always seemed silly to spend money on those typical "say cheese" pictures when I know for a fact Sam will make the process difficult. He loves to take my cell phone, point it at his own face, and smile pretty, but a real camera? Not so much.

The second thought was perhaps more nostalgic. Mind you I didn't say it was all hearts and roses nostalgic... Flashbacks from my own school picture days don't exactly make me recall that my poor mother got much out of the deal, either. It didn't help that I was my own brand of tomboy and simply refused to dress up much. (An aside... I recall a certain fashion show I somehow ended up in. The other girls were all girly and twirly in dresses and ruffles. I wore a terrycloth shorts jumpsuit. I kid you not. It was turquoise if that makes it any "dressier.")

No, the school pictures I recall were the type of thing that have reared their ugly heads on things like my birthday cake when I turned 25. Let me describe: Dorothy Hammil haircut, big fake teeth because I'd fallen on the cement and needed a temporary bridge, green polyester one-piece outfits with little mushrooms appliqued on the knees. Thankfully not all of those things were in the same picture, but it's clear that, year after year, the school picture was not something that was worthy of magazines. Probably not even frames, but I could be exaggerating there.

I am sure my dear son will look back on the painstakingly chosen olive green sweater with nice navy blue pants that he's wearing today and think that his hair looks dorky or something equally frightening. But, just like I'm sure my mom did, we'll gaze at the pictures, certain he was the cutest kid in the universe at that exact moment in time.

Still... I vow to try my best not to do the mushroom on the knee thing to him. My guess is that's one that was probably never completely fashionable.

Ho Ho Home Makeover

Have I mentioned lately that there's no rest for the weary?! Perhaps someone was trying to soften the you're-going-on-the-road-again assignment by sending me not to some bustling metropolis, but to Santa Claus, Indiana. Seriously, I just returned from a quiet little village named after St. Nick himself. Our temporary address was Christmas Blvd. and my hotel (Santa's Lodge) room faced Holiday Village, down the road from the famed Holiday World. And so as not to leave Santa's cohorts out, I can't forget dear old Frosty, a giant melting snowman in the middle of a mini golf course that was on the grounds of our little resort.

I shouldn't make fun, actually... The people we met in dear old Santa Claus were incredibly nice.

In reality, we stayed in Santa Claus because it was the closest lodging to our true destination, St. Meinrad, home of an inspirational Relayer whose house was being built by the nice people at Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.

Anyone who has ever Relayed can understand what an adventure it was to hold five consecutive Relays...with just a week's notice. A very cool group of people, several of whom hadn't even met by the time everyone arrived in the the quite hamlet of St. Meinrad, managed to pull it off. It was awesome to see a town of about 800 grow to more than 4,000 when we executed a made-for-TV Relay For Life Opening Ceremony and Ceremony of Hope. I was very proud to have been a part of something that will showcase all that Relay is to the millions of faithful volunteers that keep the event going in thousands of communities each year. I also hope it launches us into the next phase of the "Power of Purple."

Having been to many Relays over the years, and having the privilege of meeting Relayers from across the country on a regular basis, it's not often that I hear a completely fresh way of describing what it is we do.

The words of Paul DiMeo, EMHE designer extraordinaire, really caught my attention last Saturday night. He said to the crowd that he couldn't figure out why we don't call Relay a "race." In his words, "Why isn't it a race to get to a cure as fast as we can?...Now I see it...At the end of a race, a single person is too tired to keep going...A Relay is about a team of people that can pick up where another left off so that the effort can continue...That is how we will find a cure." He makes pretty things... He talks pretty, too!!

A post about my adventure in Indiana wouldn't be complete without mentioning how much fun it was to be a part of this "Groundhog Day Relay" with the other people who worked on the marathon event the whole time. I made a new "BFF" in a trailer of all places. I laughed more than I have in a long time with the income development staff of the Great Lakes Division. I shared my guardian angels with new friends. I tried my hardest to recruit a producer from the show to defect to the ACS camp. I became known as the girl who wants to own her own pole driver (seriously, banner hanging has never been so much fun!) And I might have gotten over my aversion to hugging...maybe.

Building hope makes you tired

I just got back from Celebration on the Hill 2006. I'd been part of the New Jersey/Eastern Division ACS contingent back in 2002. It was the experience of a lifetime, but made me feel VERY tired! (As it turns out, I had reason to be tired from an undetected pregnancy, but I was certain it was all Celebration's fault.)

Well, silly me, I had NO IDEA what tired felt like back then. As part of the national Operations Team for this year's event, I can truly say I know what it feels like to be tired. I'm actually spending my few hours of down-time trying to coin a new term for what my muscles, bones, feet, legs, shoulders, neck, etc. are expressing. The closest I've come to describing it is "weary," but that feels like a wimpy word for the utter exhaustion I'm experiencing.

Enough complaining. I try to keep perspective by realizing that what I'm feeling is nothing compared to what someone in treatment is feeling, and some of those very people were at the same event in DC this week, sending the same message to Congress. That's what it's all about.

For the record, we visited EVERY SINGLE Member of Congress in a single day. That's unprecedented. More than 310 of them signed our Cancer Promise. Let's hope those Members remember who put them in office and follow through with unprecendented action when it's their turn to vote on the budget.

My little part of this incredible endeavor was coordinating the communications efforts. We had an insane amount of coverage. I can't wait to see the clips and pictures. Wednesday certainly was a testment to how lucky I am to have the job I do. Being bone tired is a small price to pay for really feeling like you made a difference.

Celebration was an event of incredible magnitude, but on a personal note, having my mom, Rob and Sam there with me was probably the best part of it all. Poor Sam and Rob were both sick, so they headed home pretty early, but it was amazing to stand next to my mom during the largest luminaria ceremony ever. The Capitol Reflecting Pool glowed with the light of 16,000+ candles and a very cool guy named Sean made sure the word "HOPE" was spelled out on the steps behind the pool. It was quite a moment when the "green shirts" were headed back for an after party and we noticed a small group had changed the word to CURE... clearly some dedicated Relayers. Not many were there to see the transformation, but it had great significance to those of us who live Relay For Life.

This typing is wearing me out and I hear Sam playing in his room. Time to get off of the computer and soak up more snuggles.

Is this reverse child rearing?

When you build your family through adoption, there are some things you just know aren't part of the deal. We didn't get to experience Sam's birth, see him roll over for the first time or hear his very first word.

We did, however, see his first steps on his own, heard his first English word, and give him his first taste of ice cream -- a milestone as important as any other in my book.

Another thing we did not have as much of as some other parents were sleepless nights. I'm not complaining about that. We had a few days of jet leg, then settled into a routine that generally includes about 11 hours of uninterrupted slumber a night. Sure, he has the occasional restless night because of teething or illness, but I have off nights now and again, too.

I've apparently counted this particular blessing a bit early, as it seems.

For the past two nights, the little bugger has played in his crib for the usual 45 minutes, then, rather than peacefully drifting off, he begins to scream his bloody head off.

I'm not talking about the whiny, I-miss-my-mommy kind of crying. I'm talking red-in-the-face, hiccuping, lose-part-of-your-hearing-if-you-get-too-close wails.

For FIVE STRAIGHT HOURS.

Those five hours are apparently all it takes to exhaust him. He's then passed out, only to attempt to run a marathon in his sleep. Against my left kidney.

Yes, we've learned that on some nights, only dragging the child into our bed gets anyone any rest at all. I'm sure some experts will criticize me for caving, but after five hours, suffice it to say my patience has about worn off.

I also defy anyone pure enough in their parenting technique to avoid the occasional night of co-sleeping to tell me they can also put the finishing touches on an event for 10,000+ people (and, by the way, make sure lots of media covers it) with no more than two hours of sleep, interrupted by a couple of size sixes in your ribs.

Perhaps I'm being defensive, but I'm telling you, it can't be done.

For now, my sweet boy seems to have crashed for the night on his own. We'll see how long it lasts. TGIF has taken on a whole new meaning this week.

Sam: a teacher's study

So Sam's new teacher, the delightful Ms. Mary, had a whole day filled with the joy of 18 new toddlers needing her attention today. Poor woman.

I am happy to report that she and Sam both appear to have enjoyed their first day in each other's company. That's no small feat given the fact that my child was a form of the beast that is a teething toddler over the weekend.

The word after Day 1 as a Hummingbird?

Sam had "a really great day."

"Wow. He sure talks a lot."

"He REALLY likes trucks, doesn't he?"

"The kid can eat!" (Actually, a bit curious to me. He's done more throwing of his food at home than real eating. Note to Mommy: pack the nutritious food that he really needs to ingest for lunch. Maybe he'll eat that stuff for Ms. Mary.)

And, yeah. "He really does talk a lot."

I'm a happy mommy tonight. He was excited to tell me about his day when he came home. He ate a real dinner. He took a bath, read books and was out like a light before 8 p.m. A happy boy! Just the way I like it.

Without a backward glance

It's back to the routine today... It's been years since the Tuesday after Labor Day has been a "back to school" day for me. I'm used to Rob grousing about returning to work, but this day hasn't been about kids and backpacks and packed lunches for me in a long time.

Last year, this day was about trauma and tears and guilt. Sam wailed when we took him to daycare for the first time. He continued to wail for many days after that (at least while I was listening or watching. I quickly learned that it was all a show. As soon as I got around the corner, the stinker was already playing with trucks!)

I just got home from dropping Sam off for his first year in Ms. Mary's room -- a.k.a. Where The Big Kids Play. (There are obviously bigger kids at the school, but as a graduated Sparrow, Sam views the Hummingbird room as Truck Mecca.)

We weren't too worried that the drop-off would be tearful, but we made sure to both be there and prepare him as best we could. Turns out our effort either paid off or wasn't even necessary. Sam got so excited when he walked into the school, saw two girls he used to play with last year, and remembered how many toys await him in the Breakfast Room that he didn't give us a second thought when we got to the end of the hallway.

It's so cute to witness his independent streak serve him well. (It's not nearly as cute when that same streak means throwing food because what was given to him wasn't what he planned on eating at that very moment.) Amidst all the other crying kids, Sam quietly revisited his favorite truck in the corner of the room, and sat right down with a bowl of Fruity Cheerios before saying bye-bye.

What a big boy he's getting to be.

Ma-ma-mole-y no more

We've always thought it was hilarious that one of Sam's favorite foods is guacamole. Ever since he first tasted it last year, he's begged me to make "ma-ma-mole-y" for him. I do admit, there's not much I can cook, but I do make a tasty batch of the green stuff.

Anyway, I was making it tonight at our friends' house. Sam saw me cutting avocados and said, "Mommy? Making gwabamoley for me?" We were amused at the new "translation" but alas, when the bowl finally made it to the table, he would have no part of it. I told him, " But, Sam, you LOVE guacamole."

His reply? "No, Mommy. I do not."

Oh, well... He really IS only eating beige food now, I guess!

I realized when re-reading my very first few blog entries how much Sam has changed overall. And I've only been doing this since January! I blogged about how impressed I was that he used the word "pocket." Now he speaks in long sentences and virtual strangers comment on how well they can understand him and the crazy words he uses.

Now, if only his food repertoire were as diverse as his vocabulary...

I get paid for this?!

In keeping with my life's apparent theme: Never A Dull Moment, I have spent the past few days dealing with an interesting type of crisis. I don't want to add to the Google index on the topic (nor do I need any extra spam brought on by the inclusion of certain key phrases), so I'll explain without using the actual words. Anyone who works with me will easily be able to recognize the issue.

A group of people at a clothing-optional vacation destination have joined our cause. Seeing as it's our goal to eliminate the nasty disease we fight every day, we welcome their support. It seems, ahem, as though some others see their efforts on our behalf as misguided and perhaps damaging to our reputation.

The crisis? In my world, that means helping people answer the phone calls and emails that usually go something like this: "Have you heard about this?" "Thought you'd want to know about this" and "What do I say about this?"

First, yes, I have heard. At this point, I've heard a NUMBER of times. So many, in fact, that I've had plenty of opportunity to think about how I feel about it as an individual. I agree with my organization. This is not about our personal values. While I wouldn't choose to sign up for that team, I am grateful that people from all walks of life give of their time and energy to make sure other families don't suffer.

Ours did. We were truly lucky in the outcome (and, arguably, even in the course of treatment) but it was not something anyone in their right mind would choose to face.

I've spent the last week or so helping to proof dozens of stories that will make up a monument to those who have fought the same fight. Too many of them didn't make it. For that reason alone, I say more power to anyone who is trying to do their part to end this disease.

Oh, and if the issue itself weren't keeping me busy enough, I also have just 19 days, 0 hours, 14 minutes, and 47 seconds to prepare for another rather large event that I've been working on for over a year now.

But who's counting?

You get good material on the road...

Of the past 28 hours, I spent 4 of them waiting in airports to board planes, about 2.5 of them actually flying, another hour waiting for my half empty suitcase (containing the requisite toothpaste and hair gel), and about 8 hours in a car with my coworker and blogging buddy Leslie. All of this to visit a Relay at the very tippity-top of a mountain, accessed only by a road that is curvy enough to film BMW commericals on. More on that later...

First, I have to note that you know you've officially become a blogger when something strange happens and the conversation is not about how weird the event was, but what good fodder it will make for your blog.

I never figured Leslie and I would be at a loss for words while traveling together, but just in case the tourism board of the great state of North Carolina was concerned, they peppered the landscape with all kinds of sights that left me repeating, "Well, there's something you'd never see in New Jersey." Most notable were probably the huge water tower supposedly shaped like a peach that looked more like a sunburned rear end to me and some restaurant that had a 10-foot tall set of wooden flatware marking the entrance. My guess is they want to be prepared in case The Abominable Snowman ever makes his way down the mountain for a tasty meal. A not-very-distant third was a "dairy bar" festooned with ice cream cone-shaped lights clearly not intended for outdoor use, yet precariously dangling from the makeshift roof of said dairy bar. I shudder to think of the sparks that probably fly if it rains.

Our destination, the Mountaintop Relay For Life, was worth the crazy ride... Let's just say that the road up the mountain was curvy enough that we were asked in advance if we ever get carsick... and that maybe we should pick up some ginger Altoids just in case. Turns out it wasn't a bad suggestion. We braved the road with nothing more than Diet Pepsi and wound up losing our appetites for the rest of the evening.

I came down to North Carolina to see a Relay that earns top per capita honors in its population bucket every year. Now, coming from a sort of middle-of-the-road Relay area, when I heard this Relay in this little town raises over $200,000 each year, I was expecting a HUGE event. I wasn't surprised to see traffic at the one light in town as we approached the site. Turns out that traffic was because of construction. It also turns out that we sat in it while waiting to go down the wrong road. Apparently pink flamingoes aren't the beacons the event organizers had hoped they'd be.

I digress.

We turned into the event parking lot to find an event that would probably fit into the little park in my neighborhood. In other words, not very big. However, I quickly learned that this "quietly wealthy" (as I was told)community had raised $221,00 already, and Opening Ceremonies hadn't even begun. Only $58,000 was from corporate sponsors. While that's impressive, it was more impressive to me that the funds raised were coming from things like an auction in which a coconut cream pie fetched $250 and a mountain music festival that raised $17,000+. It's stories such as those that make me remember why I fell in love with Relay to begin with. I am also reminded that I have a very cool job!

As much fun as my whirlwind tour of North Carolina was, my favorite sight was still coming home to see Sam and Rob right past Security at the airport. Sam screamed and started bouncing up and down in his stroller. I hope someday he knows how much those little squeals mean to me.

The Terrible Twos...

...are a very real thing!

Not to be naive and think that *my* kid would never act that way, but Sam's such a sweetheart most of the time that I was mildly hopeful that he wouldn't hit that terribly defiant and sometimes obnoxious phase in earnest.

He has.

Case in point: after a nice little snuggle session early this morning, Sam proceeded to very deliberately hit both Rob and I before we could wrestle him into a timeout. We literally had to stand with our backs to him, arms locked, to keep him in place. The good news is that rather than giggle the whole time -- which is typical -- he screamed like he was actually being punished. Imagine that.

I am trying to take solace in the fact that more experienced moms tell me that it's etiher age 2 or 3 that is bad. Maybe he'll be more consistently charming next year?

Fate at the Farmer's Market

Well, if I ever doubted that some things are just meant to be, I think I finally decided this morning to put the notion to rest.

I've actually experienced quite a few things in my life that were simply not accidents: I know that's how I met Andrew. I know that's how Sam came to be our son. I know I was laid off from a yucky job just as the American Cancer Society needed someone in my area (which was also a time when Rob didn't want to acknowledge his cancer experience, but I was feeling a need to find a tangible way to show my gratitiude, but I digress...)

This morning, we ran into Jodi and Eric at the Collingswood Farmer's Market. We don't go there frequently, but had only been there about 5 minutes before we ran right into them. Jodi and Eric are the parents of the adorable Cesi, their sweet daughter born in China.

We first met them when we went to Music Together class last summer. We hadn't had Sam long, but wanted to foster his immediately obvious love of music. As soon as we sat down in class, there they were, and we just clicked right away. They'd been home from China only a couple of months when we met.

Well, we didn't see them again for a while, but asked the teacher (who goes to our church) if she'd seen them, only hear they'd asked about us, too. When you think about all of the people you meet, just the fact that we remembered and asked about each other was interesting enough.

About six weeks ago, we walked into the Moorestown Mall -- where we NEVER go -- and said to each other that we should really look them up. Several minutes later, just chatting over salads, they walked up to us. They were out on a "date," yet hadn't been in that mall for five years. We exchanged numbers and decided to get together soon. Rob and I went on vacation soon after and kicked ourselves for not having called them first.

Today, we made plans while we were together just so we wouldn't let the time pass before we actually met up again. Eric joked that waiting to meet at the mall, while a strange coincidence, is sure not to happen again within the next five years.

The moral of my story is that I just know we were meant to know these people. It's also yet another example of how the miracle of adoption really does bring people together. Our now-very-good-friends, a.k.a. Ethan's parents, were just here the other day, and we met them online of all places.

Hmmm. I just had a thought. Maybe it's Sam and Cesi who were meant to be together?! I'll have to remember that thought when they're out of college...