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.