don't you hate it when someone in another stall in the bathroom laughs at you?

My big five year old has a Cleveland Browns pillow pet named Scruffy that goes absolutely everywhere with us. This stuffed animal sees the speech therapist every week. It rides in the car with us every day to school and has eaten out with us at restaurants all over town. (And by "eaten" I mean "eaten"- the dog usually gets his own plate and silverware.) We tear the house apart at bedtime looking for the last place Scruffy was left. Because Scruffy travels everywhere with us I am constantly reminding my big five year old, "Don't forget your dog!"

I am used to this, because when he was a toddler this same boy attached himself to his sleep sheep, brilliantly named "Sheepy". This sheep had Velcro tabs to attach to the crib and a hard plastic insert where the "brains" played soothing sounds. Shortly after the sheep started traveling with us the "brains" were removed in an unfortunate middle of the night hotel room bed sharing incident. Sheepy quickly became much more comfortable to roll over onto...

After Sheepy we had "Froggy" join us for a while. The day we left Froggy in the library and didn't realize it until after we had walked 3 blocks back to the car, buckled in the tiny toddler, and stashed the stroller in the trunk was a sad day...

So now we have Scruffy. He is much larger than the other animals who have joined our family over the years. He knocks over drinks and takes up valuable real estate in the grocery cart. But he goes everywhere with us.

Which is how I wound up in a Walmart bathroom yesterday with a 5 year old, a 3 year old, a large purse, and Scruffy. I don't like Walmart and I try to never go there, but one of our banks is located inside this store so occasionally I find myself there. My boys, on the other hand, LOVE this store. They beg to visit the toy section. Yesterday my tiny toddler added the holiday section to his list of favorite places insides Walmart. He has a thing for "Ho Ho". If it were up to him our front yard would look like an elf threw up.

My entire entourage shuffled into the large handicap stall and my big five year old immediately threw Scruffy on the floor and then sat down next to him.

"Get off the floor!" "Why?" "It's dirty! And pick up Scruffy!" "His name is Huntley!" "What?" "His name is Huntley, Mommy!" (Obviously his little brother's new addiction to Curious George has rubbed off on him a little. If you don't know who Huntley is then you do not have small children addicted to curious monkeys.)

"OK, you and Huntley need to get off the floor, now!"

"Alex, don't flush the potty. No, Alex, hands down." Alex, NO!"

"Mommy, if  I have to turn around anyways and not watch you pee then why can't I just wait outside?" "Because this is a big store and you might not be safe outside the bathroom. You have to stay with me." "I'd be safe, Mommy. I would just chop anyone who tried to talk to me!" He karate chops the air, showing me the moves he is learning in his martial arts class at China school. "OK honey, I am glad you can karate chop your way out of stranger danger but you are staying here with us!"

"Pee? Me pee! Me pee!" "OK honey, you can pee in a minute." "Me pee NOW!" I know better than to get in the way of a 3 year old in the throes of potty training, so I abdicated the throne, so to speak.

"He doesn't really have to pee, Mommy. He just wants to do it because you are doing it." "Well we're not taking that chance!" "Mommy, Huntley has to pee too!" OK, now I have to draw the line there. I really had to pee, and letting the tiny toddler jump ahead of me in line was one thing, but a stuffed dog? No way!

"Mommy! He really has to pee! Uh oh, Huntley just peed all over the floor."

After helping the tiny toddler off the very high potty and sending him to the other side of the large stall to work on zipping up his pants I started the process all over again. "Turn around, honey and get off the floor! Pick up that dog!" "I have to go potty now Mommy!" oh. my. goodness.

Five long minutes later I have finished helping the tiny toddler zip up his pants. I have stood with my face in the corner in order to give the big five year old "privacy". "Mommy! I need PRIVACY!" I have picked up Huntley off the floor countless times. I have taken my wallet out of the tiny toddler's hands no less than 6 times and figured out why the toilet paper wouldn't unroll. By the time it is finally my turn to go my boys have worked together to strap the tiny toddler into the child seat hanging off the wall. Which was no easy feat seeing as he was holding Huntley, so technically both of them were strapped in. Feet swinging, no need to pee, he was obviously one happy little guy, and what do happy little guys do? That's right. "Jesus lubs me, tis me know. Fo the bible tell me so..."

"Mommy? Does Jesus like Huntley too?" "Jesus loves everyone." "Not bad guys who steal and hurt people." "Yes, honey, everyone." "Well, he likes Huntley more." "Yes, sweetie, I am sure Jesus has a special place in his heart for Huntley."

"Mommy, if I threw Huntley into those bushes in front of speech therapy do you think the bees would come out and sting me or sting Huntley? Because it was Huntley who flew into their bush, not me. So I don't think they would sting me. Do you think they would sting me? Mommy? MOMMY?" (Mind you, we haven't been to speech therapy in over a week. We haven't been anywhere near the building, and no one was talking about speech therapy, Bridget the therapist, or bees.)

"Well, I think if Huntley flew into the bushes the bees might fly out and sting you, so let's not do that, OK?" My happy tiny toddler stopped singing Jesus Loves Me  and starting buzzing like a bee. Like  a  loud bee. A loud, angry bee.

Suddenly, in a very Incredible Hulk kind of move, the tiny toddler broke free from the straps holding him into the baby seat and leapt out of the seat, landing on one knee on the floor, like a tiny little buzzing rock star. The stuffed dog, which had been strapped in the seat with him, goes flying up in the air, towards me. I catch it, prompting my big five year old to loudly shout, "Wow Mommy! I have never seen you do that before on the potty!" The tiny toddler clapped and cheered.

And then I heard it. Laughter. From another stall.

The next time I am out alone with both my boys, and Huntley, I think I'll just hold it until we get home....

mother of the year takes shoeless kid to Walmart to buy, well, shoes...

It was a sitcom kind of morning at the Wilkison household. I cannot shake this cold that I caught from my germ ridden  loving boys. The older I get the less my asthma bothers me, but give me a cold and it kicks right back in. I was up during the night with an asthma attack which found me rummaging around in my sock drawer for an inhaler. And before you judge me about keeping meds in the sock drawer let me tell you that I used to keep my inhaler in my nightstand, before the kids and their hands that touch everything came along.

Thursday is one of the two week days that both my boys go to daycare/preschool. Both my boys. Gone. All day. I get to be home, alone.  No diapers to change. No demands for juice. No playing with cars on the floor or singing Itsy Bitsy Spider 17 times in a row. I love my boys and this unplanned time at home with them has been a true blessing. I cherish my time with them. But like everyone else, I still need a break. So I live for Thursday. Nothing will stop me from driving those two boys to that school. How far will I go? This morning I nearly had to teach my big four and a half year old how to dial 911, and I actually dragged the boys into Walmart, one wearing only socks on his feet, to buy a pair of shoes to replace the pair missing in the sea of toys in our living room. I am exhausted just thinking about it.

In one hour this morning I managed to:

• take enough asthma medicine to feel as though I ran a marathon.
• feed my babies cheese puffs, fruit gummies, and Halloween candy for breakfast. (don't judge me. I worked hard to get them to school by morning snack time, which included apples today, so if we count that they also had fruit.)
• tear through my living room, which is covered in toys, looking for the baby's shoe. he is wearing hand me down shoes and currently only one pair of my older son's shoes fit him, so if we lose these shoes, well, that is how you end up racing through Walmart at top speed.
• race through an empty Walmart, at top speed,  with the tiny toddler in the cart seat and the big four and a half year old race walking next to me, repeating "Mommy, I can't walk this fast. Mommy slow down!". The tiny toddler must have sensed the urgency because he did not attempt to stand up in the cart, his usual trick, one time. oh, and while I was there I remembered why I dislike Walmart so. Even empty that store annoys me.
• get my boys to school before 8:45 am, with coats, shoes, and lunches. score!

I feel much better now but I'm not going to chance it. I'm going back to bed...

at least I didn't get another ticket

I had a little run in with a very nice police officer on my way to pick up my big four and a half year old from preschool today. I hate being pulled over. I get nervous, my heart starts to beat too fast and I feel as though I might burst into tears at any moment. I hate it so much that you would think I would just slow down. Which, despite what my husband thinks, I have. I have really slowed down. There are times that I have caught myself so wrapped up in what the boys are doing in the backseat or in having a conversation with them that I am surprised to find that cars are passing me, some not too happy. So I have slowed down. Today was not one of those days...


A while ago, maybe last summer, my oldest son and I were on the way to Amish country for a family "girls and small boys under 4 years old weekend". I was within inches of getting off the highway when I was pulled over for speeding. My son, ever helpful, leaned forward in his car seat and very loudly, but politely informed the officer that the other cars were driving faster than Mommy. The officer, not missing a beat, replied, "Well, I didn't pull over the other cars, I pulled over your mommy. And now I am giving her a ticket."


At least today I didn't get a ticket. As soon as I saw the lights come on behind me I started to shake a little. I just have this thing about being in trouble. I don't like it. It's a weird personality trait, seeing as I am perfectly capable of taking down a store for poor customer service or holding my own when it comes to messing with my kids. But authority is different. You should have seen how sweet and nice I was in all of those immigration offices on my way home from Russia. I knew the laws stated I could travel in and out of their countries with a baby Russian immigrant, but still I held my tongue and bowed to authority. Which, of course, is always the right thing to do when in a foreign country. But back to today.

After a quick trip to the bank located inside my least favorite grocery store, (or my second least favorite, I should say. Walmart tops my list as least favorite places to shop in many categories.), I tied down lovingly strapped my screaming two year old into his car seat and got in the car. I am not driving the favorite car this week so I had to take some time to mess with the air conditioner, which comes and goes in this car. I fought with the seat belt because it is stuck down inside the seat belt thing in the door and so doesn't pull out properly. Which means that when it is finally latched it is so tight that I can barely turn my head to back out of the parking spot.

564 radio stations later my sweetie is still screaming. It would seem that he had other plans for this afternoon that did not include running errands and riding around in the backseat of the car. Maybe he was missing his favorite XM radio stations. Maybe he likes the toys in the favorite car better. Maybe he was just working on his plan for world domination. Who knows why he was screaming. All I know is we needed to get to the church to pick up his older brother like five minutes ago. I swear, I didn't realize I was speeding. And to be honest, I was barely speeding. Barely.


So there is the officer at my window, which doesn't stop my tiny toddler from screaming. The officer pokes his head into the window and asks me if everything is OK, ma'am. Ma'am? No time to worry about that now. Look at this car, officer. There is a screaming two year old in the back seat. There is another car seat, so clearly this family has at least two small kids. There are toys, clothes, books, and crayons covering the entire floor of the backseat. My hair needs washed, there is a  mystery stain on my shirt and I am sweating due to the a/c issue. There is a shoe and a pacifier resting on the dash - where they landed after being launched at my head from the backseat. OK, officer, I do not need a ticket. Clearly I am being punished enough today.


Of course I didn't say any of that. It didn't seem as though the officer had a sense of humor. Or maybe I am just not all that funny. Who knows. Instead I looked around me, mentally inviting him to do the same.


It seems he agreed. Or he didn't want yet another strung out mommy to burst into tears on his watch. After being told to "slow down but have a nice day" he sauntered back to his car. My tiny toddler stopped screaming long enough to strain his neck trying to see where the man with the shiny badge was going. As soon as the officer ducked into his car and was out of sight my little man started screaming letting his opinions be known again. And didn't stop until we pulled into the church, which he recognizes as the place we go every day to pick up his favorite big brother. Suddenly he was all smiles and sweetness. Me, on the other hand, not so sweet. At least I didn't get another ticket a ticket...

if I judged you, I am sorry, or, why every mother of a toddler needs to learn the football carry

Last night was a particularly trying evening with our new little guy. We have been having a fair number of these trying times lately. It is normal, I think. Not that I am an expert on the behavior of newly adopted toddlers or anything but it seems to me that it is normal. He is coming into his own. He is very comfortable in his new surroundings. He is bonded with his forever family. His every need is now, finally, being met, and he feels safe. Now is the time for him to try out his new found independence. Bundle that independence up with the language deficit and communication struggles, toss in teething pain and an an occasionally jealous older brother and you have got a recipe for disaster.

I woke up a few times throughout the night last night thinking about my boys. We have certainly had our share of trying times these past few weeks. But we have also had our share of really great, really chaotic, really fun times. And it made me think of all those harried moms I have seen out in public, and all those thoughts I have had, mainly along the lines of "I would never do that!"

To all those moms I unknowingly judged in the past - I'm sorry.

Dear Moms:

I just have to say I am sorry.

I am sorry for judging when you speak tersely to your children in the WalMart parking lot. First of all, WalMart will make anyone cranky. And second of all, I now know what it's like to carry a screaming two year old like a football under one arm while trying to hang on to a four year old's hand, all while carrying slippery plastic shopping bags and attempting to stop the four year old from jumping that puddle up ahead and soaking me from the knees down.

I am sorry for those toys I bought your children that had ink pads and stamps in them. Even if the box said they were age appropriate. Oh dear God, I am sorry! I know you have no reason to be nice to me now, but if you have a secret for getting little inky stamp shapes off the bathroom floor, please, I beseech you, tell me!

I am sorry for looking at your children and thinking, "I would never dress my kids like that." Even as a toddler my oldest son had very definite fashion ideas. And most of them clashed with the Land's End and Old Navy looks I expected any child of mine to be sporting. And now, thanks to the joys of hand me downs, my youngest son will be sporting the same trends that I didn't like the first time.

I am sorry for being disgusted when you took your child out in public with a wet cough. Oh how little I knew! If we stayed inside until the four year old's cough was gone we would spend eight straight months trapped in the house.

I am sorry for thinking you looked disheveled and judging your stained shirts and wild hair. I did not know that a clean, fresh shirt could become wrinkled and stained within thirty seconds of putting it on. I swear, the shirt is clean when I walk down the stairs in the morning. By the time I sit down at the breakfast table every substance in the room has found it's way to my shirt. And don't even ask me about my hair. The two year old won't let me shower without throwing open the door and pushing his way into the shower with me. And his constant tugging at my clothes and pulling at the hair dryer cord while I try to dry my hair makes for a quick dry job. And I have no clue where my mascara is. I did find a tube of Burt's Bees lip balm under the car seat the other while trying to dig out the pacifier, so there's that.

I am super sorry for buying your child any toys that had small parts. Why on earth do all of these toys come with tiny swords, tiny animals, whole tiny villages complete with tiny trees and tiny villagers who, I swear, are mocking me from the toy box. All of my Tupperware is now in the toy box holding Lego's, board game pieces, and other miscellaneous toy pieces that I don't think are even an integral part of the playing but that my son would notice if even one tiny tree got "lost". I have nothing to hold leftovers. Nothing.

I am sorry for thinking, "when I am a mother I will not tolerate those crazy kid behaviors." I open that bathroom door every time the two year old is out there crying and banging on the door. I let him climb in the shower with me. I watch my four year old occasionally roll, yes, I said roll, all the way from the classroom to the door at day care pick up.

I am sorry for judging you when you let your child watch a DVD or play a handheld video game at dinner out. My family was going to sit nicely in their chairs and talk about their days. Right. My family knocks over drinks, drops countless matchbox cars on the floor, throws sippy cups across the room. One time, when Matthew was a toddler, he actually threw an entire piece of buttered toast across a very crowded restaurant. True story. I would consider letting my kids watch reruns of "Oz" if it meant I could sit quietly and talk to my husband while eating my dinner when it was actually hot, without having to fend off flying tiny cars.

And, lastly, I am sorry for thinking you were crazy for not wanting to leave your child, even for a night out with the love of your life. I had no idea how hard it would be. No. Idea.

I'm sorry for thinking my little blessings would be different. Turns out, they're not.

how do you capture who you really are in a handful of snapshots?

My little family had a whirlwind of a weekend. We started our Saturday at my son's Chinese language class, across town. No matter how early we get up or how well we plan the night before we always seem to be participating in some sort of evil family olympics event as we race to get out the door. Our race to the finish line Saturday morning included packing an overnight bag for all three of us as we prepared to leave for class and not come home until Sunday evening. We made it to class with time to spare.

Our little guy is doing pretty well in this class. He is a little younger than  his classmates and so every week we hold our breath waiting for the moment when his age gets the best of him and he can no longer contain his three year old  enthusiasm. While he has his moments, overall he is doing very well participating in the class.

After class we met with a mom from our fu social group to notarize some (more) paperwork for our dossier. If we use a lawyer to notarize the documents we can skip the step of obtaining state certification, which is a huge time saver when you are attempting to pull together a dossier in three weeks. (three weeks!)

While we were hanging out at class we got to see another mom from our fu group who just came home from China last month with two beautiful toddlers. Two! That must have been quite a trip, coming home with two new little ones!

Documents notarized, Chinese learned, we headed to Cleveland. On Sunday Brad and Matthew headed to the Brown's football game. I had my own to do list to complete.

I set up shop in the Border's cafe to finish our photo collage for our dossier. I don't mind sending pictures of our home overseas for unknown strangers to view and pass judgement on. I really don't. I love our home. I like the way we have decorated it- it truly is a reflection of us. I like the toys mixed in with the books in the living room. I like the child's artwork hanging from the cupboards in the kitchen. I like the painting one niece completed on the mantel and the one another niece painted in the dining room. But these photos of our home threw me a little. They did last time also. How do you capture who you really are in a handful of snapshots? When I look around my spacious living room this is what catches my eye: the grouping of framed photos of our son and his cousins hanging on the wall, small for now, but with room to grow as our family does. The photo I took of the Great Wall of China, framed and hanging by the fire place. The wooden doll bed hand made by my great grandfather and passed down from child to child over the years. My mom, my sister, me, and now my son have all put dolls (or stuffed dogs in my son's case) to sleep in this bed. I see the big overstuffed chair that we bought when we still lived in Cleveland and the floor lamp that we received as a wedding gift. I see the photo's I took of Coney Island and Radio City Music Hall framed and sitting on high shelves in the hallway. I see my books scattered throughout the room mixed in with toy cars and stuffed pandas. But as I sat in that cafe placing those pictures into the collage I didn't see any of that. I saw a clean room, a sofa, a chair, a fireplace. How will these pictures accurately tell our story?

There are so many unknowns in the adoption process. Do they want the photos of our home to prove we have the space for another child? Are they looking for signs that we will be good parents? Every step of the journey is taxing, invasive, and, often, frustrating. With every task completed there is a whisper in the background reminding me that not everyone has such hoops to jump through. Babies leave hospitals everyday with biological mothers and go home to unsanitary or unsafe conditions. We have all seen those parents in the crowded aisles of Walmart who certainly would not have passed a home study. Those whispers are there and they are real. When this week is over and my mad rush to finish our dossier is over, the whispers will quiet again and my mind will retreat into thoughts of what color the new baby's room should be and how will we ever agree on another boy's name... I like it when the whispers are quiet and my heart can hear what is truly important- that we have the children we are meant to have.