The saga continues, but good news for now

By now, most everyone knows that the BIG test came back with great news... No purple shirt at Relay for me! I tried very hard to be pragmatic, but truth be told, I was nervous once I heard we needed to "look for malignancy." My doctor tried to tiptoe around the "c" word, but from the moment he uttered those words, I was scared.

I think that's why, even with good news to report, it's been so hard to put virtual pen to paper and confirm that the CT scan showed no cancer. I did this with the ectopic pregnancy a few years ago... When things are that serious, I tend to talk about them when I'm actually with someone, but have a hard time writing about it. It's like the permanency of writing it down bothers me or something.

Anyway, I should get over that because for now, things are looking much brighter. I still have a fever, but I'm optimistic that with a scan of just about everything but my toes, we've ruled out really yucky stuff. I'm off to an infectious diseases specialist next week. Ironically, I'm seeing the same doctor who cared for Andrew. He was so good to Andrew, particularly as things neared the end, that I have a special place in my heart for him. I certainly never expected to see him as a patient myself, but if he can figure out what the heck my weird blood numbers mean, I'm happy to go.

I included the pic of Sam at the top of this post because given all that I've been worried about lately, I'm feeling even sappier than usual about how lucky I am to have Mr. Sam in my life. It's hard to take yourself too seriously when you have a three-year-old whose favorite thing to do is hang upside down from the couch and hum the theme song to Little Einsteins. That kind of reality check is good for anyone!

Sam's in another Nonni phase right now, too. He keeps waking up and asking what time Nonni is coming over. When she left here after a brief visit to use our computer last night he sat on the step as usual, waiting for her to give him her usual honk and yelled, "Bye-bye, cutie pie!" Even our neighbor across the street laughed out loud!

Tests

Thanks for the calls, comments, emails and prayers. I appreciate it! I'm off for a round of tests today that I HOPE gives me a real answer. I can't imagine there's too much more to check out, but as fascinating as I find medicine, there's clearly a ton I don't know... even when they try to spoon feed the info. to me!

Sam has settled into his summer at home pretty nicely. He and Daddy have a little routine going that seems to work. Up around 7, morning snack (don't utter the word breakfast or you'll get an early morning dose of the whines) and then off for an hour's walk in the wagon. Hopefully when I feel like an hour walking around won't kill me, I'll be able to join them!

They come home, have another snack, play outside, then we all have lunch together. Most days, I'm able to help get him down for his nap before getting back to work. By the time Sleepyhead wakes up, I'm winding down for the day. There are the occasional errands and playdates thrown in, but as long as Daddy keeps the schedule moving, Sam's a happy guy.

He started copying us again, which I always find amusing. I don't know what he *thinks* we've said, but if you ask him a question that he chooses to answer in the affirmative, he replies, "Absolutey positooney!"

He also must have listened to Mommy, and hearing the words repeated back were hilarious and a bit embarrassing at the same time. I sound like that?!

Rob said he was going to do something. Can't recall what it was. Sam looked up at him, exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders and said, "Are you KIDDIN' me, Daddy? You must be kiddin."

Uh Oh. Good thing we swore off swearing a long time ago...

Lyme Away

It's not Lyme that I have. I don't know what it is right now, but further, more detailed tests showed that it's not "tick disease" as my boss so nicely calls it.

I made an appointment today since I still have a fever (9 weeks and counting) after three weeks on antibiotics. He had more in-depth results that had come in. Now we know it's not Lyme, but another test that's positive isn't conclusive either.

If you're the praying kind, I'd appreciate all the prayers and positive vibes I can get. I am determined to stay calm until I know more, but this is not fun!

Gotcha Day, Take 2!

I just tucked Sam in for the night, and had the sweetest chat about how lucky we are to be a family.

It was almost to the minute two years ago tonight that we waited anxiously in Terminal D of the bustling Philadelphia airport for Sam to arrive from Seoul. The journey from his loving foster mother's home to ours in New Jersey was over 24 hours, and according to his escort, he hadn't slept AT ALL while flying. That fact alone made him none too happy when he was handed over to us. Luckily, with a little bit of sleep under his belt, he turned into a giggly, happy baby who quickly learned how to keep his parents in stitches.

As happy a day as this is for us, there's a bittersweet element, too. I can't help but think that his birth family has no idea that today is significant to a little boy they loved so much that they had to make the heart wrenching decision to place for adoption just so he'd have a chance at a life they couldn't give him. I can't help but think how his foster family, after caring for him for 11 of the first 13 months of his life, must have been so sad to hand him to an escort at Holt, knowing they may never see him again.

I know that we have become the family we were meant to be. As painful as some of the parts of Sam's earliest days are, he is forever a part of a family that loves him more than anything on Earth.

Last year, Sam was too young to understand why we were so excited about this day. It's different this year. He is still too young to understand much of what we talk about, but he did repeat several times that today is "Gotcha Day."

He gets the important parts: there's an airplane involved, the word Korea is somehow associated, lots of people waited for him to arrive and they waved flags while they waited, and we now we celebrate how blessed we are to have each other.

We started the day by watching the video from the night he arrived since Rob has to be at his school's graduation tonight. Sam's seen the video many times before and calls it "my movie." He watched intently this morning, identified everyone who was there, and waited with bated breath to see his own arrival.

He was very cute... When he finally saw a glimpse of a tiny version of himself, carried in a podaegi on his escort's back, he ran to the TV and pointed, shouting, "There I am! That's me. I'm HERE!"

He watched his reaction on the screen go from smiley, to hysterical, to calm again. He turned to us and said," Mommy, Daddy, look. I was crying, and you made me feel all better. I'm not sad anymore!"

It's so ironic to hear him say that, since his mommy cried happy tears several times today. I just keep thinking of our special night two years ago and seeing what an amazing little person he's turned out to be.

Baby James

I just peeked in on a blog that is chronicling the struggles of a family whose son, James, is battling Wilms Tumor. James was adopted from Korea and diagnosed less than two months later.

It sounds like the family has had some good news following surgery yesterday. I hope he continues to improve, though there's still a long road ahead.

Please check it out and pray for Baby James: http://jrjschrandt.blogspot.com/

Wardrobe update

I'm a bit too tired for a full Relay recap right now. I couldn't possibly do it justice in my state of exhaustion, but at least a couple of people commented on my earlier wardrobe nightmare post, so to put your mind at ease, here's a brief bit of justication for this weekend.

1. I promised no more bandannas. I lived up to that one. It was 92 degrees and ridiculously humid this weekend, but I wore my melted coif proudly. Better to have bad hair than sport a purple pirate look.

2. Mismatched clothing? I handled that one with ease, too. Regular purple polo and khaki shorts for the entire event. I do think they were a few sizes bigger by the afternoon, stretched out from the dampness of the day, but at least I was wearing coordinated colors.

3. Pasty white legs? Well, that would have been a good trend -- at least healthwise -- to continue. Not so much. The humidity meant lots of sweating. Lots of sweating meant the SPF 55 I applied just slid right off. I now look like a splotchy lobster. I have a bright red "V" from the polo shirt and patches of crazy burn on the backs of my knees! Who gets burned there?!

I'm off to apply more aloe spray and take a nap.

Here's a newspaper article on the event, for your reading pleasure:
http://www.courierpostonline.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070603/NEWS01/706030393

What was I thinking?

This weekend is one of the biggest of the year for our family. It's Relay weekend! Besides it being the culmination of a year's worth of planning, it's the time we set aside to formally recognize how blessed we are. We began Relaying five years ago to celebrate Rob's (and our dear friend Lisa's) fifth year cancer-free. We drank the purple Kool-aid, so to speak, and here we are five years later, ready to celebrate Rob's TENTH year free from cancer. Relay is not just my full-time job, it's an enormous part of our identity as a family.

It's gotten to the point that the Becker name is synonymous with Relay For Life for many people. We both bleed purple, so when it came time to film a new recruitment video for Relay nationwide, my lovely coworker decided that Rob was the perfect spokesperson for survivor involvement.

Some background: There are 3.5 million people involved in Relay, including 500,000 cancer survivors. We know that we can make a huge impact (even beyond the $400 million we'll raise this year) if we mobilize those participants to do other things year-round that fight the disease. Rob is a textbook case of someone who dipped his toe in the Relay pool, and went on to be on the front lines of the cancer fight. I'm proud, can you tell?

Back to my story... Because Rob was chosen to be in this new video, we have a four-person film crew joining us at the Relay this weekend to capture his story and footage of all of us celebrating together. Because that film crew is coming, the local paper has decided that they want to do a feature on Rob, too.

I work in PR. That means I like to promote good stuff that can help other people. It also means I like to stay behind the scenes! So, you can imagine my horror when I found out that the paper, with a circulation of 80,000+, wants background photos. I was digging through our stash, trying to find a few good shots of us at Relay, and came across the photo you see above.

Which brings me to this bit of well deserved self deprecation. WHAT WAS I THINKING?

No one should be so dedicated to an event that they see fit to go out in public, much less be photographed, like that.

I do recall that I started out the day in jeans and that tshirt. My hair was not covered, and the boots made sense in the wet grass.

Let's review what's wrong with that picture:

1. Purple bandanna? It says "cancer sucks" on the back. I promise to leave that bit of headgear to the teenagers from now on. It looks like a costume on me.

2. Since when did my ears look like I belong with the Keebler elves?

3. Turquoise shirt (that I had no control over... it was the committee shirt), olive shorts? I was not getting dressed in the dark, so that should never have happened.

4. White crew socks, brown hiking boots with that same turquoise shirt and olive shorts. Even worse.

5. How many things can I possibly attach to my body and clothing?

6. Can you tell that I am also wearing sunglasses with that outfit? All of this is resurfacing like a bad, repressed memory.

I have several quite stylish friends who will probably have a hard time forgiving me once they see this picture. They will say that years of hard work and training were clearly lost.

I will say, to redeem myself even a teeny bit, that I work for the American Cancer Society. Those pasty white legs are proof that I'm living up to our cancer prevention standards. There. I'm at least good at my job, even if I look like a nightmare doing it.

Invaded

I owe this blog a nice post about all of the birthday festivities of the past weekend, but that's bound to take some time. I'll get right on that.

However, let's just say we wrapped up Sam's final birthday soiree with a few new housemates that made me none too happy. I recall saying last week that I had NO IDEA how I got Lyme Disease. Now I know.

You don't need to live in the woods to find deer ticks. You just need to come to my house. INSIDE my house to be exact. I found not one, but TWO deer ticks (a male and female -- according to Google Images) in the house on Sunday evening. They were both taking nice leisurely strolls, one on the ledge upstairs and one on the kitchen table.

I think everyone who was here might have thought I was crazy for calling at nearly 10 p.m. to tell them to do a check, but I'd feel awful if someone actually ended up with Lyme Disease on my watch.

Rob, who's been quite nonchalant about the whole thing (with the exception of fogging the whole backyard before guests arrived. Twice. But, really, that was probably just to keep me quiet) is now stripping down to his shorts to have me check him out at least twice a day. Those little bugs are a bit more threatening when they might actually bite him!

Sam's big day!

Sam's the big THREE today! He's been waiting for this for a long time... though he tried to convince us he was about to be FOUR for more than a few weeks. He's satisfied at being just three for now, particularly since he seems to know that cupcakes, parties and presents are involved.

I woke up this morning with many of the same emotions I recall from last year... I am thrilled to have this amazing boy to call our own, but am a bit sad at the thought of how much his birth family must be missing him today. I hope that they can somehow know that he's loved by many and a happy, if mischievious, little boy.

Happy Birthday, Sam!! We love you!!

Sneaky little buggers

Five weeks of fevers, way too many needles, regular doctor visits and an xray thrown in for good measure and I finally have a diagnosis.

My doctor's office called today to say that I have active Lyme Disease. I have absolutely NO IDEA how I got it. New Jersey is a high risk area, but I haven't been laying around in the woods lately! I am sure there are other ways to come in contact with deer ticks, but I'll be darned if I know what they are.

I have to take horse doses of a antibiotics for three weeks, then see if I'm cured. I guess my fever finally going away will tell for sure.

Not fun news, but it's at least good to know what the deal is. "Fever of Unknown Origin" is not a fun clinical label. My silver lining? I get fabulous service at my doctor's office and the lab. They know my voice when I call and have been quite helpful. Let's hope I don't need their services much longer!

The doctor's office made sure to tell me to take my pills with food and get plenty of rest for the next three weeks. Um, I have a son who's turning three tomorrow and Relay is in nine days. Rest isn't exactly easy to come by in these parts!

Still no answers

Either my doctor really is worried about my "fever of unknown origin" or he's practicing voodoo on me illegally.

I got sent for MORE bloodwork. He's testing for more specific ailments now. We had a nice long chat in the office on Friday. He pretty much told me that he's thinking two things right now: it's possible that I either have rheumatoid arthritis or that I'm just plain weird.

No joke. He actually phrased it by saying, "Well, we know you're weird. This just might be more proof." Gotta love a doctor with a sense of humor.

In addition to a funny bone, my family physician also has a keen fashion sense. I own the footwear pictured in black. I had those shoes on when at the office. He was checking, ostensibly, for swollen lymph nodes in my lower legs when he stopped and said, "those are really cute shoes."

Totally deadpan. Which is not surprising if you know my doctor. To say his delivery is typically dry is an understatement. Who knew that a snazzy pair of Rocket Dogs would liven him up so?

He followed the cute shoes comment up with, "I've never noticed before that you have incredibly small feet. Seriously. What size shoes do you wear?"

All I could think was that I'd wound up in the Twilight Zone somehow. I'm at my quiet-as-a-church-mouse doctor's office for a disease with no symptoms whatsoever. A sizeable percentage of our conversation ends up being about my little feet with fancy shoes, not the underlying illness that, so far, has necessitated multiple diagnostic tests and trips to be physically examined by every doctor in the practice. (There are only two, by the way, but that sentence sounded more dramatic than if I'd said "both doctors in the practice." It's my blog. I can be dramatic if I want.)

Before I sign off, I want to wish the very best of luck to my bud Leslie... She's one of the approximately 4.2 people who actually read this sorry blog and she got a very fancy pants job with the Billy Graham Evangelical Association this week. It's the American Cancer Society's loss, but she is, after all, going to work for God. (Leslie -- I should tell you that my brother-in-law, when I was pondering my offer from the ACS a few years ago, likened working for the Society to working for God Himself. Now you'll be able to tell me if that's true or not.)

A teeny update

Frankie got out AGAIN. He must have figured that he knew the tricks now, because as soon as we tried to leave for church yesterday, he ran... Rob tackled him just two doors down, though. It helped that he had real shoes on this time. He'd been wearing mandals for the Saturday excursion.

Mother's Day was so nice. Rob let me sleep a little bit. He insisted it was because it was Mother's Day, but I also think he was tired of hearing me roll over all night, audibly wincing.

On that note, I don't heal as quickly as someone Sam's age does, but I am getting better. I will see how much fun traipsing through the airports turns out to be a bit later today. I'm grateful to have been assigned seat 2A by trusty US Airways. No bumping into my left elbow. My right knee is another story. Enough whining.

For those who have followed the great fever trials of the past few weeks, in a weird way, I have a new symptom that actually makes me very excited to know that I might get this figured out FINALLY! Now I know it could be from falling, but I started coughing a bit last night (again, normally not at all exciting) but it really hurts near my left ribs when I cough now. I sound like a glutton for punishment, but if it hurts to cough, I have a fever and my xrays turn up any fluid in my chest, I'll have diagnosis and be able to move on with my life. Yippee!!

If I bruised ribs or something when I fell, I'm going to be really irritated. I'm only turning 33, not 93. I don't need new aches and pains. I'm sleep deprived enough to make me feel plenty old enough, thank you very much.

I'm off to Atlanta now...

And he's off...

Ah, how easy it is to take for granted how well trained your pets are. My seven-year-old dogs, usually too lazy to do much other than bark at the mailman, recalled the good ol' days tonight.

I remember when they were just wee pups, all too eager to watch for the first glimpse of a crack in the front door so they could take off running, their weary humans chasing them down, screaming like lunatics the whole way. We had more than one such episode before deciding the doubts we might have had about invisible fencing were nothing in comparison to our very real fear of two adorable dogs getting squashed on the King's Highway.

Turns out there's not much warning when the batteries for said fence go kaput.

Frankie's were apparently shot, and he took off like a shot out the front door. I know it was a combination of the commotion of the company over for the evening and the thunder that was rolling through, which he is absolutely terrified of.

He got out the front door, realized that he could escape, and did just that. He RAN straight down the street, Rob chasing after him. I tossed my purse on the sidewalk, yelled at Sam to stay with Aunt Kim on the driveway (thankfully Ethan was staying, too, which helped keep Sam in place) and hopped in the car. Ted, thank goodness, was already running down the street, too.

The biggest mishap came when we got to the corner. I thought Frankie looked like he wanted to jump in the car, so I leaned over and opened the door. He ran off again, straight for the busiest street in the area. I ran around the car, shut the door and attempted to run back to drive off again, when I slipped on a few wet leaves. I was airborne long enough to think about how much it was going to hurt when I hit the ground.

In one fall, I managed to scrape both hands, both elbows and my right knee. My left knee got a nick or two, but not much. I had no idea I could hit so many parts of my body on the ground on the way down. I'm not tall. It's not like I had far to fall!

I yelled for Ted to drive the car, leaving him to frantically wonder if it was more important to run after my husband and dog or ignore my request so I wasn't left laying in the middle of the road. Thank goodness he followed Rob, because they caught Frankie soon. They even had time to come back and get me as I hobbled down the street toward home.

I did get an interesting lesson in human behavior through all of this. We must have looked like loons too crazy to help as we tore through the neighborhood. There was a couple sitting in a minivan right near where I wiped out. They didn't even roll down their window as I lay in the street to see if I was ok. Once I got up and literally drug my sorry rear back home, they did seem as though they were following me. At that point, I decided that I didn't want to deal with them, so I forced myself totally upright so that they wouldn't ask me anything. They turned around and left.

A nice lady down the street must have seen me coming because she came outside and asked if I needed ice or to sit down. That was nice, but Ted and Rob arrived just then.

I'm all patched up now, and remembering how much it really does hurt when you scrape skin off of your body. I'll remember that next time it happens to Sam.

A quick Sam funny... I told him we were going to Fort Dix to see Ethan and the airshow. After a hundred questions as to why we were going, he moved on to "why does Ethan live there?"

I replied that Ethan's daddy is in the military, so he has to live there.

Again... "Why, Mommy?"

"Because he works for the government..." (That should end the conversation, right?)

Not so much...

Sam stopped asking "why?", long enough to squeal... "EEEWWWW! I don't LIKE the GOVERNMENT!!"

I swear, he did not learn that from me.

Reason to hope???

I had stopped visiting Rainbow Kids for a while for my own mental health. Seeing JaeHo continue to be listed was too hard to see and just left me feeling frustrated and helpless. I caved today and scoured the Asia list, but don't see him on it.

I HOPE that means good news for him. I want to believe he's found a forever family to love him!

A few things have delayed our formal application, but I think we're just going to send it in now, and figure things out as we go. We ended up having to take out a small loan we're weren't expecting to be responsible for, but are going to keep working to get that resolved and focus on the exciting parts of a new baby. I think any social worker who reviews our case will understand our situation and be more than willing to see that we're capable of raising two kids.

I have proof, too, that Daddy is ready for another baby. He asked me out of the blue the other day what we were going to name the next kid! As some people know, this is not the easiest of subjects for us (as Rob only likes super traditional names or insists on the goofiest nicknames for the names we do agree on) but during a rare lunch alone last weekend, he brought the subject up on his own. Not only that, he'd been doing some thinking...He'd made up his mind on a girl's name!

I think he'll still let me vote, though.

The secret of toddlerhood... and some good news.

Being back on the road after quite a few welcome weeks at home has taken its toll. I'm tired! I've spent most of my time at home just hanging out with Sam and Rob. Someone has to be there to keep the tendencies of a headstrong three-year-old in check.

For anyone who's not a parent, there's a little secret that other parents don't let you in on until quite late in the game. The glass-is-half-full side of me thinks it's those who have been there trying to protect the vulnerable sensibilities of newer parents. The secret? The Terrible Twos? Yes, they can have moments of terribleness, but overall, it's just nature's way of inching you into the real jungle of child rearing, otherwise known as life with a three-year-old.

My adorable child has a will of steel and a vocabulary that would make any school marm proud. Sounds cute when you see it presented on a pretty blog page. When it's screaming, face down, fists pounding on your kitchen floor... not so much. The thing is, it's kind of endearing to hear Sam repeat words like "delectable" that are beyond his years. When he repeats phrases like, "Don't be fresh with me" as "No, Mommy. Don't YOU be fresh with ME," THEN throws in "1...2...3" with his finger held up for good measure, you know you're in for it!

He's also decided AGAIN that his bed is no place to spend a night alone. Why should he stay nestled in his cute Cars sheets, surrounded by puppy, blankie and about 42 of the 60 Thomas the Tank Engine trains that he holds so dear when he can wedge himself between Mommy and Daddy, randomly talk (in that one, single volume that toddlers seem to have) just as we've fallen back to sleep and flop around like a sea otter who just can't quite make it back to water?

I went to the doctor today and she asked if I have any unexplained bruises. I replied that I can explain all of them. They come from sleeping with a 36-inch-tall kid who seems to need the space of Shaquille O'Neal to get any rest.

I did say I have good news. I do.

I posted to a thread on DigiShopTalk that turned out to be a conversation about why the same dozen or so scrappers make all of the creative teams. I bemoaned the fact that creative teams should be about promotion. Ostensibly, that's something I'm expected to know a thing or two about, but apparently that credential doesn't go far in scrapbooking circles. However, one super sweet designer saw my post, checked out my gallery, and asked me to join her team. Her designs are great, so I can't wait to get started.

Maybe scrapping with nice, soft, pretty things will soften the stories of Sam's crazy antics that are bound to come over the next few months.

Leonard Revisited

You may recall reading about Sam's new friend "Leonard Lewis Lion." He's turned out to be a keeper. Sam still plays with him daily, but his name has changed. To Leonard The Lion King!

I might add that we had not yet seen the movie "The Lion King" when Leonard got this grand promotion. Aunt Jenny took care of that and sent a copy home. Now our house is a symphony of Disney/Pixar noises. We go from Lighting McQueen gutteral engine revs to a *different* engine rev representing Frank the Combine Harvester to an all-out roar in homage to Simba. Sometimes if it comes out really deeply, Sam tells us that it was Mufasa or Scar.

He either has quite the imagination or an incredibly discerning ear.

I do know that his hearing has allowed him to nearly memorize The Lion King after having only seen it a couple of times. Even though he never truly appears to be watching it.

Case in point: After Sam's bath and the ritual of where-is-Sam-I-can't-find-him-he-must-be-down-the-drain antics, I toweled off his hair the other night. Sam never likes this, but on this particular night, rather than just whining and insisting I stop, he put out his hand and said "Mommy, you're messin with my MANE!" Needless to say, I laughed hysterically, so he's repeated it hourly ever since.

We had a great weekend... Sadly, it was the first Saturday we could recall spending together in a while. We just hung out together, I scrapped during naptime, and we ended the day dyeing Easter eggs for the first time. There's a reason the boxes say it's an activity intended for those older than five years. What a mess! And even pretty colored, Cars-wrapped eggs could not get Sam to do more than lick the outside of a peeled egg. Still just chicken. Stay tuned for future protein updates.

We did a long day of family visiting today, but it was great. Sam had a blast playing with everyone and finding that the Easter Bunny locates him wherever he goes! I tried to explain that the day is less about chocolate and jelly beans and more about Jesus, but I don't think he got it. He knew he was more spiffed up than usual for church and did manage to repeat that it was "Jesus' big day" a few times, but I think the lesson about the Risen Lord will take a few more years.

JaeHo update

My hope has some basis in reality, as it turns out. There's been a flurry of activity on the Holt board when we noticed that older children are now being listed for adoption in Korea.

Under the "old" system, children were removed from any possible referral list upon turning three years old. It seems that the upside of the new rules is that older kids are being referred!

I'm SO happy to know there's still a chance that JaeHo will find his permanent home. I know he's being taken good care of where he is, but no one can doubt that a family of your own is the best place to be. He seems to be doing well, so I hope a family that can help him progress will see his file and bring him home.

Lessons Learned at McDonald's

First, to update my last post, we're sitting at T minus 5 hours now till Daddy lands and, truth be told, I'm a wee bit sad. I'm really going to be happy to see Rob and missed his company even more than I imagined I would, but Sam and I have had a great weekend together. It's been really nice to have some special Mommy time.

Well, nice except for the burst of energy he got last night that ended with me clutching a bag of frozen peas to my bloody, swollen nose. It's not broken. just bruised, but it was ugly and painful (and still is if I sneeze or scrunch up my nose!) It went like this: sticky hands needed wiping, Mommy bent over hyper son to wipe said hands, son -- apparently quite elated at the sight of a fresh wipe -- bolts STRAIGHT up out of his little chair and directly into Mommy's nose. My last deviated septum repair was no picnic. I hope not to repeat it.

So... back to the lessons I learned in McDonald's today.

After church, Sam said he was hungry (not surprising since he fed Ellie his breakfast.) A quick mental inventory of both the refrigerator and my cooking skills landed me at McDonald's for a McNugget treat. We rarely go to "Ronald McDonald's house," (we're a Wendy's nugget family) so Sam was delighted.

He behaved like a perfect gentleman, which translated into eating very slloooowwwwllly. His meandering pace left plenty of time for chat.

I learned a few things:

1. Sam DOES know how to whisper. You wouldn't know it most of the time, but the child IS capable of lowering his voice.

2. He also rather enjoys the particular brand of Muzak piped into this McDonald's location. As if he wasn't eating slowly enough, we stopped every few minutes to "groove" to a new song. It was mostly MoTown, which I like, too so it could have been worse. Each time the music caught his attention, he'd put down his nugget, swing his arms in the air, and wiggle around in his highchair with his eyes squeezed shut. He'd occasionally peek out at me mid-groove and demand that I "rock on" with him. Those quotes really are his.

3. He might possibly be getting ready to sample a new protein source. We're still all about beige food in our house, but he's starting to take notice of beef when it's nearby. He even asked if he could try another child's cheeseburger. She just stared at him as if he had horns. I don't blame her.

I also had a sweet moment with an older man who was hanging out enjoying his coffee with some pals. I am fairly used to being noticed when in public. I'd be less conscious of it were I even remotely convinced that it was my stunning good looks attracting attention or if I hadn't been approached one too many times by rude strangers demanding to know all sorts of details about Sam's place in our family. (For the record, the answer is always that I AM his REAL mom and that NO, he'll probably never speak Chinese.)

Anyway, this particular man was definitely noticing us, but not in a way that seemed offensive. He was just a cute guy trying to make Sam smile from across the room. When he got up to refill his coffee cup, he paused at our table and introduced himself to Sam. He asked him what his name was. Sam replied, "I'm Sam Andrew Becker!" in garbled toddlerese.

When I translated that his name is Sam, the man's face just lit up. He bent down to look Sam in the eye and told him that his name was Sam, too. (I later heard him marvel to his pals that he hadn't met too many kids named Sam...) They shook hands, gave each other a high five and he was on his way.

He seemed to take a few extra seconds to fill his cup and then turned back to us. This time, he bent down next to me and had tears in his eyes. He told me how lucky I was to have such a beautiful son and that he could just tell that we were going to have a wonderful life together.

Of course, I know this to be true, but it was so moving to have someone else phrase it that way. So often, people tell us that Sam is lucky to have been adopted by us. I suppose that could be true, but I know that it was Rob and I who received the real gift when he joined our family.

T minus 49...

As I type, it's just under 48.5 hours until Rob comes home, and I must say, it's actually gone by faster than I thought it would.

It's incredibly silly for me to note the length of his absence given the frequency with which I travel. It's actually beyond silly. It probably borders on obnoxious, but I figure he was a bit concerned with how things would go, too, the first time I left town and he had to manage the situation all alone.

I know people do this every day, but it's clear that I am just not very organized. Sam's fine. He's happy. His routine barely seems disrupted. I know it's all going swimmingly on the surface, but it's become apparent that I can just barely take care of myself on a regular basis.

I've always been conscious of not taking my superhuman husband for granted, but perhaps I will have to try even harder from here on out. Rob makes our house function. I am mere window dressing, and not necessarily good at that either.

Seriously, I'm feeling like I can't keep up with my almost-three-year old. How is it that someone who regularly requires 12 - 14 hours of sleep to be a civil human being can outlast me like he does? By bathtime, I'm pooped myself!

The secret of all of this is that I'm guessing the weekend will actually be more exhausting than trying to juggle Sam's schedule, my work, an entire department in from out of town for three days worth of meetings and a bunch of laundry to boot. I'm feeling a great deal of pressure to be fun. I bought him a bag of contraband Cheetos tonight, so I think we're well on our way.

Still a chance?

I swore I would stop looking at JaeHo's listing on RainbowKids, but I caved tonight. I still think about him all the time... Well, as I know the rules, children over three aren't eligible for adoption from Korea. He turned three nearly a month ago, but he's still listed. I HOPE that means that perhaps they're still actively searching for a permanent home for him.

I had the thought, too, that he's still listed as an active case because someone is in process for him. That would be the best news ever at this point. A few people have come out of the woodwork in my Holt circles to say they got the same response we did about not being allowed to view his file. The biggest blessing is that the conversation about so many families being rejected actually caused more people to take a look at him. I REALLY REALLY REALLY hope some good news will come soon. It happened when we were sponsoring Rogette... She'd been in a group home in Haiti for eight years when we started sponsoring her, and she ended up getting placed just four months later!

Cute Sam story of the day... It's not news that he adores the movie Cars. He seems to recall different lines from it regularly, then repeat them until even he can't stand the thought of them anymore. The last one to have worn out it's welcome? "To not to." Prounced "Tuh Not Toooo" by Mater. As in "Sam, what did Daddy say about touching the buttons on the TV?" Uh..."Tuh Not Toooo."

The new fave is "WAKE UP, SLEEPING BEAUTY!" It sort of sounds like "Way UP, Seepin Booty" when he says it, but we know what he means. Thanks to my never-ending rash of germiness, Rob has retreated to the guest room for the past few days, completely terrified that he'll have *gasp* sniffles while out of town for work. I want to sympathize. I do. Traveling while under the weather is for the birds. It can be done, however... Sometimes a wife just needs to know her husband isn't completely skeeved by her, ya know?!

Anyway... I woke up just as Sam did this morning and went into his room. He asked where Daddy was. I took him right to the guest room, where he proceeded to SCREAM "Way UP, Seepin Booty Daddy!!" Rob actually jumped!

I am easily amused.

Rejected

Ok, that sounds a bit too harsh. I knew it was a longshot to get chosen for the creative team of a well-known designer, but such is life... I wasn't chosen. She was very sweet, though. She just chose scrappers that have been around a while. Can't blame her. Their stuff probably gets looked at more. Being the PR guru that I am, I knew how that cookie would crumble.

I'll try not to sulk as if I was chosen last for the dodgeball team. ;-)

Seriously. Enough with sounding sad... I'm really just happy to have been considered. (I know I'm very often saracastic, but I'm really not in this instance!)

In other news, I've decided that Sam is a low-level germ factory. Well, it would be more accurate to call him a carrier... He picks up germs at school, goes about his playing-eating-sleeping life, giggling all the while MOMMY gets deathly ill.

I'm exaggerating a lot today. I'm not deathly ill, but perhaps a bit miffed that all week he's been frolicking on the playground at school while I trudge through my job with eyes too gooped up to see (now cured thanks to outrageously expensive bottles of drops) and a lovely chest bug of some kind that somehow manages to make both breathing AND thinking difficult. So, I'm off to the doctor for my second visit of the week.

I wonder if I can accrue US Airways miles for each doctor's visit? I think there's a marketing opportunity there somewhere.

Our new friend

Every night when we take Sam out of the tub, he wants to "hide" from whoever hasn't been the one to wrap him up in his lion or puppy towel. Basically, I wrap him up, carry him to his room, and tell Daddy that I've lost Sam. Daddy runs in, looks all around the room while Sam hides his face but audibly giggles, and then Sam jumps out and "scares" Daddy.

This game apparently never gets old. Ahh, what joy there must be in being two.

Well, last night it was my turn to get scared. Daddy had Sam wrapped up in the lion towel and I came into the room to search for him. When I looked on the top bunk for him, I noticed the coordinating lion puppet washcloth that we rarely use. I guess I thought I'd mix things up a bit by pretending I'd "found" Sam when I found the little lion.

Sam found this to be hilarious.

Then, he started talking to the lion puppet. Not just "Hi, Lion" like he might usually do, but Sam needed to know his name, where he lives, who his friends are, who his favorite train is, if he wanted to read stories before bed... You get the picture. They made fast friends.

When he got up this morning, we found "Leonard Lewis Lion" neatly arranged on the pillow, where he'd been sleeping. He needs more shut-eye than Sam, as it turns out.

I thought this might be a one night thing, but he was all about Leonard tonight, too. The good news is that he's decided there are no monsters with Leonard by his side. Not quite an imaginary friend, but serving the same purpose, I assume.

It's fine with me. The Monster Spray thing is only fun when you're not getting wet at every turn. Which I was.

I finally got inspired to scrap a story of Sam's arrival today. I realized that I could easily do a whole album on the subject, but I loved how the first page turned out. A nice designer who just retired a couple of weeks ago surprised me with an email that includes links to every single thing she was selling in her store, including several templates, so I used one of them to do this brief journal entry of how we "found" Sam online. People have been telling me to write the story down for a long time and for some reason, I can never do it. It's kind of like the story about what I experienced when I lost my first ectopic pregnancy. It was an overwhelmingly emotional experience and, even being a writer, I've found it hard to commit to paper. Having fun scrap stuff for this page helped me wrap my mind and words around it. Not sure there's a kit for the other story, but maybe someday I'll discover a therapeutic scrap remedy for that one, too...

An addiction gone mad...

For the approximately four people that I think may ever read my little blog, you all know me well enough to know two things. One -- I have a wee tendency to overschedule myself. Two -- which compounds the aforementioned -- I am addicted to digiscrapping. (Thanks to Noel, who totally enables the habit!)

So... I decided that, should some particular fun thing come to pass, that I will absolutely find time to live up to my duties. What duties? Those bestowed on the members of a digital designer's creative team. I am already an "Oh Girl," happily helping my friend Randi get her design business promoted, but I also decided to challenge myself a bit more. A designer I really like posted a Creative Team Call this week, and like a loon, I applied. We shall see what happens... (The curious can check her out at www.laurenreiddesigns.com/blog. Cool stuff.) I won't say more here for fear of pandering. Assuming she even looks at my blog, the URL of which was required in the application, I don't want to look disingenous.

Yesterday was our buddy Ethan's first Gotcha Day! His parents, Kim and Ted, are great friends who experienced the whole process with us. Next to Sam's arrival, there was no other travel call that got me as excited at Ethan's. We love to take silly pictures of Sam and Ethan, and joke that they'll hate us when they're 15. It's just nice to think.. KNOW... that the boys will still be in each other's lives then. And their siblings, too! Kim and Ted and Rob and I are all ready to get things moving again, so we have plenty of additional opportunities to commiserate over paperwork, waiting, waiting and waiting.

Monsters no more

Well, it worked!

Mommy's Monster Spray, along with a fierce Diesel 10 resting next to Sam did the trick!

My little boy slept like a brick for yesterday's nap and again all night last night. No night wakings, no screaming, no early morning wake-up (well.. he was up at 6, but that's normal for him!)

Let's hope it sticks! Mommy and Daddy feel like new people having gotten a whole night of sleep.

Things that go BUMP in the night

I bought Sam an adorable pair of Sully slippers from The Disney Store about a year ago. They were so cute that I bought them long before they'd ever fit him. Every so often, we'd pull them out and try them on. It should have been a clue that this day was coming that he was never very happy to see the fuzzy footwear, complete with claws.

When I say "this day" has come, I mean that we've reached the there-are-monsters-under-my-bed phase. Since Sam's bed is a bunk with the bottom mattress right on the floor, we don't actually get goblins *under* the bed. Ours hang out on the walls with "eyes" that stare at my poor kid as he's trying to sleep. They follow him to our room, too. If we bring him in to our bed to help him get some rest, he just stares at the place on the wall where a bit of a glow from the streetlight comes in, certain that those are moster eyes, too.

He's complained about it before, but not to the point of fearing his own room. He apparently was working his way up to all-out terror. I feel AWFUL about it. He's been waking up for a few nights, whining that he wants to come into our room. He usually starts at about midnight, and we have been thinking it was just a ploy (because he's gotten pretty good at those, too.)

Now I realize that he was probably just dropping off after a long time of fighting sleep for fear of being joined by monsters in his bed, and waking soon after, scared to death to open his eyes. Seriously, it would break your heart to see it.

As soon as Sam woke up for real this morning (at 7 a.m.... Hallelujah! He may have finally gotten past the 4:30 wakings, though I'm half-guessing those might be monster-related, too.) he started telling us all about the "scary, scary monsters" hiding in his room. We told him that monsters aren't allowed in our house, so it must have been his imagination, much like when he pretends to make us blueberry pie.

He wasn't buying it, so he and I went off to Target right after church today. If you didn't know, the store that has everything you'll ever need also carries monster spray, cleverly disguised in a 79-cent spray bottle that we filled with H2O at home. (Funny aside: when I picked up the bottle and held it up to show Sam in the cart, he squealed at me "Don't point that at me, Mommy! I'm not a monster!")

Just for good measure, we also got a Diesel 10 engine because Sam firmly believes that big metal claw is just the thing to threaten large monsters, and a little kiddie lantern that he can keep by his bed.

Perhaps it was overkill, but I remember being terrified of the scary old faces that I swore popped out of my Holly Hobbie curtains as soon as my mom tucked me in, too. Not gonna happen to my kid.

One more funny that's too good not to share (because there haven't been enough poop stories around here lately.) Sam's Sunday School teacher Susan saw him standing quietly in the corner of the room this morning.

SUSAN: Sam, are you ok over there?
SAM: Yes.
SUSAN: Are you poopin'?
SAM: Yes.
SUSAN... approaches Sam to change his diaper.
SAM: Stop. Please go to the other side of the room now. I poop by myself.

Spicing up my name

I'm in a hotel room in Boston (feeling incredibly guilty that Rob is home with my double-pink-eyed son... and that I made a bad call/erroneous diagnosis and took him around both his cousins and his daycare buds before the green goop arrived and confirmed the verdict.) and ran across a blog that made me crack up. Seriously, a couple of these made me laugh out loud all alone. I think that alone is a sign that I needed the break!

Your real name:

Karen

Your Gangsta Name: (first 4 letters of real name plus izzle:}

Kareizzle

Your Detective Name: (fav color and fav animal)

Purple Wolf

Your Soap Opera Name: (middle name, and childhood street)

Christine Nall

Your Star Wars Name: (the last 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 3 letters of mom’s maiden name)

Kerkaloh

Your Super Hero Name: (2nd favorite color, favorite drink)

Green Gimlet

Your Iraqi Name: (2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, any letter of your middle name, 2nd letter of your mom’s maiden name, 3rd letter of your dad’s middle name, 1st letter of a sibling’s first name, last letter of your mom’s middle name)

Achoumn

Your Witness Protection Program Name: (grandmother/grandfather’s first name and Jones)

Darlis Jones

Your Goth name: (black, and the name of one your pets).

Black Eleanor

Toddler Highs and Lows

I'm reminded tonight of the crazy joys of having a 2 1/2 year old boy in my house, as well as the, shall we say, yuckier aspects.

I'll start with cute and funny... I didn't do much to beautify today. I was lucky to have enough time for a shower, so I just blew my hair dry in any direction it wanted to go. The point was just to go downstairs without a wet head.

I had a haircut last week. Let's just say the result of going au naturel was not pretty. My hair stands in wild curls all over my head. At least it justifies the new, straight do.

Well, when Sam saw me, he just looked at me and said very questioningly, "I like your hair, Mommy." Then he just kept staring.

It reminded me of two HILARIOUS exchanges from the past two weeks.

While in Kansas City, my mom was getting ready in the hall bathroom at my aunt's when Sam came for a visit. It went like this:
SAM: Whatcha doin' Nonni?
NONNI: I'm having trouble. Nonni's having a bad hair day.
SAM: *runs as fast he he can down the hall to me...in the kitchen, working on my laptop.*
SAM: Mommy!! Come quick!! You got to help Nonni!
ME: What's the matter with Nonni?
SAM: She havin' a bad hair day!

I have not laughed that hard is a long time.

This exchange taught him the meaning of the words "bad hair day." The next week, before my haircut, I pulled my hair back to wash my face using one of those hairbands that look like a giant ponytail holder. It kind of made my bangs stick up on top of my head.

Sam was in the bathtub behind me, just watching intently. As he stared curiously, without breaking his gaze, I asked what he was looking at.

His reply? "Mommy? Are you having a bad hair day?"

Again... peals of laughter.

Now for the ultimate in gross toddler stories. I'm sure other moms have all been through this, but it was my first experience with true nastiness from my child.

A little while ago, I found him watching Bert and Ernie sans pants. I asked him to pull them up unless he needed to potty. He replied in the negative, so we went on with our evening.

I ran upstairs a while later to drop something in my office. I hear him trudge up the steps, announcing that he needs his poopy pants changed.

I take him into his room. I turn around to get a diaper. I turn back to him to find him with his pants down, holding his poopy bum. Let's just say I didn't know poop could get in so many places so fast.

I put him in the tub, thanking God that my child LOVES to play with bar soap. After applying the requisite amount of friction to actually get him clean, I let him stew in Lever 2000 (antibacterial, of course) for a good long time.

Nice night for Daddy to be out, huh?

I started the evening thinking it HAD to be better than last Wednesday, when I ended Valentine's Day in the Emergency Room passing a kidney stone. Again with the revelations: who knew such a tiny thing could cause such tremendous pain?

Tales from the road

Well, we've been in Kansas City just under 48 hours now, and I've already made up for 19 years of NOT driving the roads in my hometown. I feel like I've been in the car since we got here.

This is a very spread-out city, which becomes very apparent when you have meetings and plans to see relatives on the same day. I think I drove every single major road in the Kansas City metropolitan area yesterday... in the snow.

There wasn't a lot of snow, but for some reason, it sent everyone here for a loop. I was listening to the news on the radio, and realized that I'd seen with my own eyes at least half of the 15 accidents they were detailing in traffic reports. I was lucky to have missed the 35 car pile-up on I-35. Seriously. After less than an inch of snow. We're considering moving here at some point WHY?!

Does global warming or El Nino or whatever natural phenomenon that has given us such a warm year also take with it the collective ability to drive in inclement weather?

At least people here are nice on the roads, though. Can anyone in New Jersey recall the last time you saw an entire lane of traffic move left when approaching an entrance ramp so as to make it easier for the merge traffic to join the flow?! Everyone does it. Really weird. Nice for an out-of-town driver like me, but still eerie.

We have more playdates today with cousins. Sam has been a total champ in the travel department. Other than not figuring out how to nap at a strange house with Nonni on duty, he's been fantastic. His little body clock has been set spinning, but he's been happy and ready to entertain all the new people he meets.

His hall of fame remark so far?

My aunt asked him, "Sam, did you fly here on an airplane?"

His deadpan response, "No, it was a jet."

On the Move

We're on the move... in more ways than one.

I'm being a brave mommy according to anyone who's heard that I'm headed to Kansas City today with Sam in tow. I've got a meeting with in our High Plains office on Wednesday, so took the opportunity to use up leftover vacation time. I'm excited to introduce Sam to many of my family members for the first time!

I'm not so sure how brave I am. I think that award went to Rob when he flew to Laguna Beach with an 18-month-old Sam to visit me at another meeting. Sam had been home just five months and Rob braved two legs of air travel to meet me in Orange County. Alone.

I've got a slightly older and more experienced child traveler with me, as well as my mom. Nonni will be put to work this week, I'm sure!

Sam's very excited to hit the road. He's known we're going for weeks and keeps asking when we get to fly on "Big Jake," the freakishly weird looking passenger jet on Jay Jay the Jet Plane. I also told him we were going to visit my family, including my Uncle Bob. I relayed this bit of information while in Sam's room, seated in front of his Bob the Builder tent. There's a two-foot-tall picture of Bob on the tent. Sam leaned over to Bob's ear and exclaimed, "Bob! We're comin' to your house!"

My Uncle Bob is all prepared to fill the role. He even bought a hard hat for the occasion. Sam now asks me daily is Bob if going to show him his tools. As luck would have it, my uncle has plenty of tools in his garage to show to a delighted toddler. He has granddaughters, so I think he's secretly eating up the opportunity to show a little boy his own toys!

The other move news is not terribly dramatic for anyone but me, but will suck up naptime for a few weekends to come. I'm working on moving my blog to WordPress so that I can have a bit more creative control. It's probably some sort of clinical problem that I'm manually moving every post I've ever made just so that I can have a digiscrapped blog banner on my page.

I'll get even more ambitious once that move is made. I'm responsible for launching Relay For Life's first-ever website (with the help of lots of people much smarter than me, of course.) It's built in Drupal, a modestly amusing word for open source software. I like to know as much as possible about how things I'm responsible for actually work, so I'm going to learn Drupal by building my own webpage/blog. Rob has visions of me somehow making money that way to help fund the next adoption, but my sights aren't set quite that high. I'll be happy with some proficiency in coding as well as a pretty page to post all of the stuff I make.

I wonder when I officially inherit a "geek" title?!

Molly or Mommy?

I remember with fondness the days that *I* was my son's best friend... It was only a few brief months ago when he started declaring my position on his pedastal on a regular basis. Daddy was included, too. We were both deemed his "best friend," and he fully understands we are a family.

Apparently the pedastal is easily rocked. All it takes is Nonni and Bitty spoiling him for a weekend while Mommy and Daddy tag-team a Relay meeting in Austin, TX.

Seriously, our trips only overlapped by about 14 hours, but in those precious few hours, Nonni had purchased a new Molly train that Aunt Bitty presented to him.

This morning, while eating breakfast together (that's me, Sam AND Molly at the table) he started feeding Molly his yogurt and kissing her little yellow face.

Then, I heard the words: Molly... You're my Best Friend.

I know it's typical toddler behavior, but my delicate little mommy feelings were slightly wounded!

On the bright side, he was as kissy, huggy and happy to see me as ever when we were reunited yesterday. He was particularly impressed with the wearable blanket my ever-so-romantic husband won for me during a Relay raffle. That's a story probably best saved for Valentine's Day, though romantic it's not. Sam kept declaring that he loved my "dress." I paired the lovely frock with a headband when I'd washed my face. The whole picture was less than fabulous, but my sweet little boy kept telling me how pretty my dress and hair were. So, I wasn't totally replaced in just one weekend.

Sam's eating habits may have suffered while I was away, too, but at least he's branched out a bit from beige food... My mom made sure to inform me that she'd indulged him with two breakfasts on Saturday. The first was hot chocolate (which he called his coffee) served with a nice bowl of Cheetos in front of the TV! The second was his favorite family speciality... cinnamon bears.

Rob continued the trend on Sunday morning. When Sam pointed to a box of Chex and said "Want those," my husband somehow assumed he wanted Rob to make the Chex party mix recipe on the box for breakfast. I am doubtful that a 2 1/2 year old recognized a photo as a recipe AND that Daddy could instantly produce it, but alas, Daddy could and did. Sam ate a nutritious mixture of corn Chex, pretzels, raisins, M&Ms, kettle corn and marshmallows for his morning meal.

Try to imagine how easy it was for me to give him yogurt and fruit this morning...

I'm so indecisive

At least when it comes to this blog... Some weeks/months, I deem to do much better at keeping up than I do others.

My two issues: I get behind and then it's overwhelming to catch up... sort of like laundry, and I'm not great at that either.

I'm also still fully addicted to digiscrapping. The more I learn, the more I want to do, which has made me ponder moving my blog to some place that I have a bit more "control' creatively. While I ponder, I sort of stopped blogging.

It dawned on me that it was sort of stupid to stop all together while I decide, especially since it's January and this was last year's resolution. I guess I subliminally thought a resolution only lasted a year!

This year's resolution, now that I'm doing a better job of memory-keeping, is to actually print what I do. We've also committed to a "real life" resolution... To PLAN our budget and menus out better. Should help with finances and Weight Watchers for both of us... Wish us luck!

Now that it's already mid-January, this will be a fairly pathetic rehash of the fun family memories from the holidays, but here goes:

Christmas with a toddler was awesome. Sam really seemed to appreciate opening gifts this year. The cutest thing was that he would actually try to "read' the back of any package he got. I think he noticed us doing it with books, music, etc. He was really serious about his study of new gifts, though!



He was not a Santa fan! His first words Christmas morning were to "get that man out of my house!" He was happy with his cool train table that Santa left, though, so I'm pretty sure he'll be more welcoming next year.

We had a great New Year's... We didn't have much planned, so we went down to see the down-the-street cousins. Sam had a blast and stayed up very late.

All that's left to do to apply for Baby #2 is to get our physicals done. I'm hoping we'll luck out with the timeline again and have an early summer arrival so that we can all be home together for a while... I won't count those chicken just yet, though.

Happy Belated New Year!

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.