I think of her often and I thank God for her daily. I just can't say the words, yet

With Thanksgiving right around the corner I have been having a lot of conversations lately with my big four and a half year old about what we are all thankful for. He has been pretty much right on with his thankfulness - his preschool mind has him thankful for monster trucks and Halloween candy. The other day though, out of the blue, he said this to me : "Mommy, today I am thankful that you and Daddy went all the way to China to adopt me when I was a baby." Totally unprompted and totally sweet.

Tuesday night I was sitting in the cafe at church with both my boys waiting for Daddy to pick them up so I could attend a meeting. I asked my daily "what are you thankful for?" question. His reply: "Mommy, I am thankful for that other woman who carried me in her tummy and then took me to that place where I got in the van and drove to you and Daddy." OK, so he has a few of the details wrong, but oh. my. god. Total heart stopping moment. "I'm very thankful to her as well, Doodlebug.", I answered. And I am. I am so thankful to her. This woman who I will never meet, who has given me a piece of her- I owe her everything.

Which is why I feel guilty sometimes, when I think of this woman. I am thankful to her for so much. I am thankful that she went against years of violence against newborns to let a disfigured baby boy live. I am thankful that she placed this baby somewhere he would be found. I truly owe her my life. The connection I have to my oldest son is unexplainable. Sometimes my love for him is so strong it feels as though I am suffocating. I know what he is thinking. I know that he is a very sensitive soul wrapped up in an all boy package. He is in every breath I take. He is mine. All mine. And I know that. Both my boys are my boys.

So why is it so hard for me to say these two simple words: birth mom. I have yet to use these words with my oldest son. I feel as though there is no going back, once those words are out there. I tell myself that my little man is too young to understand, which is probably partially true. But I know the real reason I have yet to utter those words. I don't want to share him. He is mine. And I know that how we handle this will set the tone for how we handle it the next time around, when our tiny toddler is old enough to begin to understand his adoption story. We have danced around the subject. We read Motherbridge of Love by Xinran. We talk about the two women, the one who gave him life and the one who is teaching him to live it. He knows that some mommies have babies in their tummies and some grow their love for their baby in their hearts. He knows he wasn't in my tummy and neither was his little brother.  And I know I am probably over thinking it. It will come in it's own time. But still, I feel guilty. I owe this woman. I feel connected to her through this beautiful boy. I wonder all the same things my son will most likely wonder one day. Did he get his beautiful features from her? His sense of playfulness? His love of music? Does she have long fingers just perfect for playing the piano? Is she sensitive and caring? I owe her. And I want my son to know as much of his sketchy story as possible. She deserves to be remembered. And he deserves to have the keys to his start in this world. So I sometimes feel guilty that I haven't uttered those two little words yet. Birth Mom. I think of her often and thank God for her daily. And one day I will give her the title she deserves. Birth Mom.

football, fish, and fun

The Wilkison's had a great weekend! We took Matthew apple picking, something he has looked forward to since we went last year. Last year before we visited the orchard Matthew rarely ate apples, except for applesauce. He simply would not try a fresh one. He did, however, enjoy practicing picking the apples off the tree- even as a two year old he had a great imagination. Last year he grabbed an apple and sat right now on the grass to eat it. Ever since then he has been perfecting his love of all things apple. He has been bouncing around the house for weeks, unable to contain his enthusiasm for his upcoming apple picking trip. This year he was a tad more scientific about his fruit. He helped me put the bag in the large handled basket we brought and he carefully selected which grove of trees to head towards. He took his time choosing which apples would make it into his basket. And he found exactly the right one to eat right then.

We picked out the perfect pumpkin and headed to lunch. We went to City BBQ and did our normal routine - Matthew and Brad sat down and I went up to order. There was no line so I wasn't gone that long but by the time I found my way back to my boys the two of them had taken nearly every item out of the old diaper bag back pack that we  now use for sippy cups and extra underwear. The table was full of match box cars, monster trucks, wipes, sunscreen, and a very old and long forgotten bag of apple dippers from McDonald's. Yuck. They had also found a small tin of peanut butter cups that Brad's mother gave him last time we were in Cleveland and so were already eating dessert. sigh...

After lunch we walked around Easton and hit up the book store. We were looking for a foreign language book but instead came away with two books for Matthew. Typical, right? The good news is that the long walk around the outdoor mall helped push me towards my goal of 8,000 steps. What an awesome excuse to head to Easton!

Saturday night brad built a cozy fire in the backyard fire pit and the three of us played football. Our little guy is quickly becoming a fast runner! At one point in the game Brad threw the ball to me while Matthew was heading towards me at top speed, head down, ready to take me out. I threw the ball back to Brad to avoid being knocked down by my three year old. Imagine my surprise when on Sunday I saw the Cleveland Browns execute nearly the exact same play!

Sadly, when Brad left the backyard to take Matthew up to bed I somehow managed to kill his beautiful fire. Little did I know how he would retaliate...

Yesterday we visited Mom, who didn't seem to remember that earlier in the week she hung up on me in her anger over my cancelling her dentist appointment to "fit my schedule". I didn't cancel any appointments. I tried to explain to her that I did not know why she had the appointment on her calendar, but she slammed the phone down before I got the chance. Yesterday she was in a great mood, happily listening to her grandson share his apple picking story. She then asked why we hadn't brought her any apples. I have not one memory of that woman eating an apple. the whole process of Alzheimer's Disease is amazing to me. My mother used to hate coffee, most fruits, especially berries, and Chinese food. In the past year I have seen her eat all of those things. When I asked her about these changes in her tastes she insists that she has always eaten them. Kind of makes me think I am the one with the memory issues...

Despite spending hours making a Thanksgiving-like meal and watching an amazing football game, the highlight of Sunday came when Brad accidentally poured Matthew's fish, Stuart, down the drain. My boys headed up to the bathtub while I cleaned up the kitchen. Here is what I hear: laughter and water splashing, then Brad's slightly panicked voice asking me if I can come upstairs, right now. By the time I hit the top of the stairs he is asking for tweezers. I am picturing a huge splinter in Matthew's hand or something even worse, when Brad tells me that Stuart is in the drain. Oh. My. God.

By the time I find the tweezers and race to the bathroom Matthew is out of the tub, covered in soapy bubbles, trying to climb up to the sink to see what Daddy is doing with his fish. Long story short- Daddy worked on that sink for quite some time but in the end we found ourselves explaining that Stuart was most likely heading towards the ocean. Like Nemo. Of course, Matthew was appropriately saddened at the loss of his fishy friend, until he decided that he will name his next fish "Peeps". And no, I do not know why.

When I think about my weekend the pictures that jump into my head are my smiling little guy jumping up and down picking apples and running back to drop them, one by one, in the basket. I see the table at lunch covered with the entire contents of the backpack. I see the look on my son's face as he races towards me with determination in his eyes during our backyard football game. I see the look on my husband's face when he walks back onto the patio and sees that his once blazing fire has cooled to softly glowing embers. And I will always remember my husband and I sitting on the sofa after tucking Matthew into bed, trying not to laugh at the thought of poor little Stuart slipping down the drain. They say these are the moments we will always remember!