My First Day Home

I know it's been a while. Your Dad and I have been crazy with your Auntie Lisa's and Auntie Meghann's weddings, the Cornelia cousins and the arrival (not yet! any day!) of your cousin and playmate Izumi. It's funny--everyone we know has a door opening--a new life. I know it means you are coming to us soon.

I wanted to share a picture with you. This is me the day I came home to your Grandpa Brand and Lola Lou. I cried all the way home in the car, but your Lola was so happy!

Gallery: Your Dad's Awesome Faces

Family

I've been spending a lot of time contemplating this word, lately. It makes sense, as our family is about to increase with you in our home, which is what we have always wished for.

Your dad's cousin Dave just found us on Facebook--this crazy social networking thing that may or not be around when you are old enough to understand it. Suffice to say I was amazed, in looking at his photographs, how much of a resemblance there was between him and your dad--not just in appearance, but apparently in spirit and demeanor--they both make the same faces and seem to have the same crazy sense of adventure. It made me tear up a little bit.

I know that you might not look like us physically, but that does not mean that you won't BE like us. I am adopted, too, and your Grandpa Brand always said that I walked just like your Lola Lou: with my nose in the air. I denied it for years until your father admitted it was true, and now I take it as a great compliment.

I received a myriad of gifts from your grandparents, most of which I can see more clearly now that they have passed on. From my mother I get my sense of fashion, my desire to have pretty things around me, and my spoiled nature, as she and I were and are spoiled by our husbands. But that's on the surface. I think that she also gave me a sense of solidity that I am now only beginning to understand. She had only a few, carefully chosen close friends, and I share that quality. She knew exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it, and by the time she was older she had no shame about stating that, every day, to anyone whom she felt was worthy of her time. I don't think I have reached that point yet, but I do see in myself that same capacity; I know what is important to me and have begun to shed those things and people that do not in some way make me a better person.

Your Grandpa Brand is easier to spot, I think. He was an intellectual that loved to read and study. He had an insatiable curiosity about many things. I see his sense of justice in me clearly, especially in my teaching. He had a fun sense of humor and a love for literature. These things were my legacy.

Your Grandpa Brand was also a bit of a loner, and in some ways I am, too. I am a social person who can carry on a conversation, but I was never a social butterfly, maybe because for so long I felt like the caterpillar who would roll up into a ball when prodded too hard. I enjoy my silence and my alone time. You'll probably figure that out as you get older.

So I am amazed and fascinated by how you will turn out. I look forward to you and Daddy making the same faces, and to you and I loving books. It may not happen in a way we expect, but I do know, from the depths of my heart, that you will be my child, and we will be your family. Blood does not matter. The heart, however, does.

Mother's Day

This is a hard day for me, little one.

You see, I am in a strange in between. My mother, your Lola, is no longer here on Earth, and you, my child, are, but not yet in my arms. So I am a woman with no mother who is still yet to be one. So what does Mother's Day mean to me?

It means a great deal. But it does point to a place that is difficult for me to process; a place of simultaneously full and empty; I know in my heart that you are close to me, but like your Lola, you exist in in a place of intangible faith. I cannot see your faces, hear your voices, or hold your hands. And that hurts.

Yet, every time I start to descend into a place of deep sadness, something in the universe happens to pull me out.

On Saturday Daddy and I went to Ala Moana, a place where your Lola and I spent a great deal of time. As I walked around doing my errands I couldn't help but think of her. And you. I wondered where you both were, and my heart twinged at every sighting of a mother and child; it seemed the mall was filled with them that day.

Then, all of a sudden, I ran into a former student of mine. She's training to be a teacher, too. She smiled widely and said, "Happy Early Mother's Day!"

I wasn't sure how she meant it--it was Saturday, the day before Mother's Day, and she might have meant it that way. She's a Facebook friend, so she might know we're adopting, so she might have meant early in that sense. Either way, she said exactly the words I needed to hear.

There are so many things swirling in my head while I wait for you. There is a part of me that is still in disbelief that I will ever be a mother. There is a part of me that knows I am. There is a part of me that worries I have not been a good enough person to deserve it. But I know that's not true.

I am so sorry, little one. I am so sorry that your Lola will not be here to hold you and play with you. I am sorry that she will not be here to tell you stories and sing to you and teach you Tagalog. I am sorry you will never taste her fried rice. I wanted so badly for you to know her.

You are not even with me physically and I am already worried about disappointing you. About not doing this right.

I guess I am a mother--your mother--after all.

Lola's sofa

Sitting on the sofa in our apartment, when it was still the way Lola left it. The funny thing is that our sofa, the one you sit on to watch National Geographic and PBS with Daddy, is in the same place. I was a little sad when this was taken. But I am so happy to live here now. Lola and Grandpa's energy is always around.

You are allowed to be silly.

Because Mommy is TOTALLY silly sometimes.

Be Nice.

Yesterday Mommy went to Kahala Mall to get a mani-pedi. She likes to have fancy toes.

Some thing interesting happened while I was there. I sat down in the massage chair and made conversation with the two lovely ladies who did my nails: Thao and Nancy. They smiled and asked me how my weekend was going. I told them, and we talked about all kinds of things, including you. They were so excited to hear that I was adopting you, and said that if you are a girl that they can't wait for me to bring you in so we can do a mommy-daughter mani-pedi (You know what? Me, too!).

The service included the basics, but I noticed that they threw in some extras--mainly Thao, who not only massaged my arms but gave me a shoulder rub, too. I was so grateful, as my neck was sore, and thanked them over and over. I asked her why she did.

Thao answered me in broken, but clear English: "Because you are nice."

I was taken by her words, and it must have shown on my face, because Nancy, who speaks more fluent English, explained further:

"You always come in and smile at us. You talk with us like your friends. Many people come in and ignore us--like we are just their servants. Like we are no better than their toejams."

The three of us had a good laugh over that, but I was still overcome with emotion.

When my mani-pedi was done (So pretty! You should see the sparkly crystals!) I went to see Daddy, who was asleep in the car waiting for me (He had the Crazy Burrito at Torito's for lunch and needed a nap) and told him about my free massage. We were both surprised. You see, your Lola Lou and Grandpa Brand, as well as your Grammie Cheryl and PawPaw Van (Grandpa Charlie, too!), taught us to see everyone as equals, and to be polite to everyone, no matter who they were. I'll never forget the time your Grandpa Brand brought home the homeless man for dinner. Lola Lou had a fit, but she understood why.

So that's why we say hello to everyone: our doctors, our teachers, our security guards, our maintenance people--everyone deserves respect.

Your Grandpa Brand didn't really have many friends that he spent time with, as Lola and I were his first priority, but when he passed away, the biggest wreath came from the people who worked on the elevators in our building. He only saw them a few times a year, but he was always kind and compassionate.

So when Daddy and I tell you that you should be nice to people, we mean it. And not because you get something in return, but because it is simply the right thing to do.

Be nice.

Grandpa Brand and Lola Lou

As I remember them. As I would like you to know them. I know they are smiling down at you even now.

Edelweiss Easter

It's Easter today. It was one of your Lola's favorite holidays.

I miss your Grandpa Brand and Lola Lou on days like this. I remember when I was little that they would hide candied eggs around the house for me so I could have my own little egg hunt. On one particular Easter, I think I was around six, our dog Zsa Zsa smelled out the eggs and started eating them, foil and all. Your Lola was so angry! Grandpa Brand and I laughed until we cried.

I miss your Grandpa Brand especially, today, and while watching TV this morning discovered that one of our favorite family movies was airing: The Sound of Music. We would watch it together, annually. Grandpa Brand would sing "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" except put in "Theresa" while I danced around the room, and then, later in the film, he would put me in his lap and sing me this song, from another part of the movie.

Grandpa Brand had a lovely tenor voice. I loved it when he sang to me.

People You Need to Know: Aunty Nicole

Your mom's a teacher, as you'll come to know well, and that means that she has had a little practice with kids. Not enough to make mothering easy, but enough to have learned some important lessons--because if there is anything I have learned, it is that my students are my greatest teachers.

This adventure in mothering has often taken a toll on me. I worried for so many years that I would not know how to be a good mother: that I would drop you or spoil you or other wise bring you to ruin. I worried that I would do everything wrong and that you would not love me.

I know better now.

One of the people who has taught me the most about mothering is not who you would expect. I have lots of friends with children from newborn to my age, and these women have given me sage advice and lovely words of wisdom. But none of them has taught me more than your Aunty Nicole.

Your Aunty Nicole was a student in my Women in Literature class a couple of years ago. She was a lovely, remarkably bright and solidly determined senior, about to graduate.

She was also about to give birth.

I did my best to make sure that Nicole was comfortable and well taken care of, but still held her to the same expectations as the other students. I knew she could take it. And take it she did. She wrote endless drafts of papers, came in for extra help, participated in class discussions and worked her way through the coursework with aplomb. The class content was challenging, but also relevant: we talked about stereotype and motherhood and sexuality; I know she was listening and thinking deeply about every concept. She had a lot to think about.

As the months went on her belly continued to grow, and I knew she was scared. I always wished I could do more for her, but all I could do was let her know I was around, and that I cared. I hope it was enough.

Let me tell you: this young woman not only gave birth in April to your cousin Ty, but took every final exam for every class. She did every line of every paper, and graduated with the rest of her class. She does not know how many tears I shed for her on that June day.

Your Aunty Nicole and I have been in touch since she graduated, and I have watched her continue to grow--into not only a mother, but one of the strongest women and people I have ever encountered. When I worry about you coming into my world, when I worry about my own ability to be a mother, I think of her, and her example gives me the strength to not only be patient, but have faith in myself.

The community in which you will grow will contain a myriad of people--aunties and uncles who will love and support you. But your Aunty Nicole will always be special, because in her I see not only an amazing mother, but a loyal friend, a kind soul and a person of unshakable integrity: in other words, she embodies all the qualities I hope to foster in you.

Observe her. Listen to her. Respect her. Love her.

I know she'll love you.

Teach Us

Being a teacher, I see all kind of kids. And lately, I see you in all of them.

I see the you I want to see, in the kids like Alex, * who is so positive and well behaved and enthusiastic, who possesses a determined, stubborn confidence mixed with impeccable manners. I see the son I wish to have.

I see you in Leia,* the down to earth intellectual who talks to me about the books she reads and the community service she performs without prompting, that she does because she is cognizant of her responsibility as a member of her global world. I see the daughter I want to hold and foster.

But I also see you in other kids. The ones who aren't as smooth. I see you in Kevin,* the boy who wants attention so badly that his quest for it makes him arrogant and false, even to those around him. I see you Ellie,* the girl who pretends to be apathetic about the world, when she really wants the world to embrace and love her. I see you in the troubled ones: the difficult child I am terrified to possibly face.

But everything is a lesson, and as I have said to many, my job as a teacher is reciprocal: I learn just as much as I teach. So when I see sparks of you in all of these children, I try my best to love them--ALL OF THEM. Even the ones who are not as easy to love.

I hope this makes me a better mother. I spend much of my time imagining what you will be like, and your father and I spend hours talking about how we will raise you into an amazing, intelligent, worldly, cultured, humble, strong, socially aware individual who will save the world.

But we know better than to hold those expectations of you.

You will be human. Just like us.

So we're ready for your lessons. Teach us what we need to know.

Your Dad

Get a load of this handsome guy.

Your Lola, First Entry

There was and never will be anyone more beautiful than you Lola, your Mama Lou.

When she passed away I was devastated. I asked a student of mine to take photos of her apartment (our apartment now) just as she left it, so you could see how she lived and who she was. I thought I was doing this for myself, but I now realize that it was also for you.

This is her bureau, in her bedroom. She was very feminine and loved her perfumes! I still have the trays. She would spend hours taking care of herself, slathering lotions onto her perfect skin, which even at 76 remained smooth and unlined. I still remember her sitting on the sofa in her pink silk pajamas (she called them panjamas), feet up on the coffee table, smoothing cream on her face. I can smell the sweetness of it.

Every once in a while, I get a whiff of that sweet smell in the house. Then I know she is there, watching and smiling.

One of Your Dad's Favorite Songs

The story goes that when your dad left the Air Force Academy that his buddies would set out a beer on the table for him when they went out on leave. Then they'd listen to this song in his honor.

That's the way your father is: a fierce friend who inspires devotion and loyalty.

To this day, he gets choked up when he hears this.

P.S. We wish you were here.

More, Not Less

Just finished study hall. Had a conversation with five of my students about adoption, of all things. It turns out that four out of the five students are actually adoptees. Incredible odds!

We talked about all sorts of things, but the overwhelming message was that they grew up happy and joyful, and no one made any distinctions between "natural" born kids and adopted ones. They are all very much loved.

It was an eye opener for me: I would not have known that any of them were adopted by face. It isn't a birthmark, so to speak. It's a situation--one that is special and treasure-worthy.

As they left, I thought of their parents at home, and gave them all a mental hug.

I can't wait to join their ranks.

The world is sometimes harsh, and not always positive, but I am optimistic about the world you will inhabit, the community you will join. My students are on their way to great futures, and it makes me more than proud to say that they will be greatly responsible for the experiences you have in life. They will be your teachers, your doctors, your government.

The more I think about it, the more I understand: to be adopted means you are chosen. It means that you are lucky. It means that you, of all people, have a responsibility to give back to the world that gave so richly to you. I, as your mother and an adopted child myself, do my best to give to the world, to be grateful for what I have.

As an adoptee I have more, not less.

And so will you.

What You're In For

What I Want You to See

Conception

...but I know it will be worth it. To be honest, I started an adoption blog a while ago, but never had the courage to continue it. It was too much, too fast, and I was not ready to share this experience in a public way.

But I'm ready now. In so many ways.

It is my hope that this blog will be both a record for my future child and a way to prepare myself for his or her coming. I have spent hours and hours thinking about this experience, thinking about my future as a mother, and now I can share these feelings with those who care to come along for the ride.

I suspect there will be rants and raves and joy and pain.

As with any birth.