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.