This was our second day with S. And it was even better than the first day.
(Wondering who “S” is? Read this.)
I won’t tell you the hard stuff in this journey of ours. At least not in real time. And not for a long while. But you should know there is some of that stuff. I don’t want to add to those nasty questions all parents flirt with at times: Are we the only ones? If you’ve ever adopted a child, or you have a four year-old yourself, and things haven’t always been sunshine and rainbows around your house, well, you’re not the only ones. But I just won’t be talking about those moments on-line at the moment and quite probably ever.
We’re focussed on the positive. And staying that way. Present and grateful. And hopeful S will someday be our son.
He seems genetically engineered to be. I mean, the kid has fantastic rhythm. I collect instruments, mostly drums, from all over the world. And his favorite thing to do each evening is to play the piano with me or play drums from around the world while I strum the guitar and make up songs with his name in them.
And then there’s his taste in food. So far, Chick-fil-A is his favorite. See what I mean? Destined, folks! As we ate today he asked if we could live there. I know the feeling. I. Know. The. Feeling. And I’ve asked the Chick-fil-A people about that possibility in the past. No dice. Maybe if a cute four year-old asks though…
There’s something about being around kids that can awaken a big person’s soul. Any kid. If we notice. Or if they make us notice. “Come!” he says. And we sit in the grass together blowing dandelions and watching the little parachuted seeds float across the yard. The yard I work hard to keep dandelion free. And at the moment I truly didn’t mind. I surprised myself.
Swinging in the backyard wearing 3D glasses. Riding bikes around the cul-de-sac with cousins at dusk. Tickle attacks on the rug in the den. A head on my lap. Reading books in a row on the couch before bed.
And watching big brother act like a horse for hours, carrying this new little person around the house on his back and, though exhausted in the end, still saying, “This is a dream come true.”
And watching my youngest daughter play a game with S – speaking loudly and slowly as she explains the rules, careful to annunciate every word so nothing is lost in translation. This is hard for a fast talking girl with a Cindy Brady lisp. But she does it. “Again!” Again and again.
And awed at the maternal skills of our oldest as she bends to get at eye level and explains that our elderly cat, Josephine, is only a cat and not a lion, no matter how fat she may be, and that she will not eat little boys. And then she carries him across the garage to safety.
Present. Grateful. Amazed at these kids. All of them. Awakened.