Little Flashes

"Mom, I'm not adopted".

These last few months, I've heard those words a lot. The first few times, I attempted to engage in careful, considerate conversation (not for nothing did we read all those adoptive parenting books and articles), only to have Owen move quickly on to another topic, usually Minecraft or a snack. And so, after a while, I started responding with a nonchalant, "OK".

I figured that this was just part of Owen working through his feelings about being adopted, about being "different" than his friends at school, about making sense of his world in his own way.

We've always been open with him and did all the things we are "supposed" to do. Owen knows he didn't grow in my body, and that another mother, halfway around the world, gave him the gift of life. I created a glossy life story book for him complete with pictures of his hometown, the doctor who delivered him, the first time we met him. His room is decorated with mementos of Kazakhstan and we never miss a chance to point out if a Kazakh is in the news, or cheer like crazy when their Olympic team takes the podium.  And beyond the fact that we are truly friends with many adoptive families, we make it a point to vacation together so all of our kids develop a bond and connect with others who share similar journeys. So while Owen has never asked a lot of questions, or brought up adoption for lengthy discussion, we thought we were doing well.

"Mom, you know I'm not adopted", he said again last week as we played a game.

"Well Owen, we did adopt you. It's perfectly OK to have been adopted".

"No, I'm not adopted".

A flash of wisdom finally makes it to this mama's brain

"Do you know what it really means to be adopted Owen?"

"Yeah (pause). Um, what?"

"It simply means that you have another mother - you could call her your first mommy, or your tummy mommy, or your birth mother, or just mom. It just means someone else gave birth to you, but Dad and I are your parents because we love you and raise you and take care of you, and we always will. That's all."

"Oh. I wonder what my other mom looks like".

"We have a picture of her if you'd like to see it".

"She better not be weird looking".

"Oh, she's not. She's beautiful. Do you want me to get her picture for you?"

"Maybe some other time. Can we play the game again now?"

"Sure. I love you buddy".

"I love you too mom".

And that was it. For then, for now.

I'm sure one day soon we'll have a similar conversation, and I'm equally sure one day he will want to see his birth mom's picture. We are so very lucky to have a black and white photocopy of Owen's birth mother's country ID tucked in our safe for just that time. That will be an interesting time, for Owen does not look like his birth mom, and I do wonder how he will process that. But we'll take it one step at a time, and pray for guidance and grace.

And more little flashes of wisdom along the way.

New Years Resolutions. Or Not.

I can't remember ever making a New Years resolution. Over the years there may have been some half-hearted, 11:59 PM murmurs of "go to gym regularly, eat better, clean out that junk drawer", but I've never put in the time to consciously reflect and plan. Same with a manifesto. Or a word for the year. I don't have a word (and have no idea how you pick just one).

It's not that I don't feel a bit lacking and lazy when I read others proud declarations of their intentions. I do. But I've also realized that it's OK I don't join them; I'm just not that person.

I've never had a 5 year plan, vision board or goal setting session. Once my childhood aspirations of being a veterinarian were crushed by the realization one actually had to put animals to sleep (and be good at biology), I never quite came up with a new career goal. Never thought or planned to become a proposal writer, a contracts manager, or a marketing director; but I did, and I was good at it.

As a young girl I didn't play bride and dream of the day I'd marry Prince Charming in a big puffy dress. If I had, I doubt I would have conjured up marrying a divorced man with a child at the age of 29. Yet that's worked out pretty darn well too.

I wasn't much for playing with dolls, or dreaming about how many kids I'd have.  I certainly did not plan on traveling halfway around the world to bring home the child of my heart. But, as you all know, that's exactly what made me complete.

So while I do occasionally envy those who write their goals on paper and cast their dreams into the universe, I'm good with being who I am. I don't look too far ahead, I don't dwell too far behind. I prefer to keep my soul open and take things as they come. Perhaps that's really my new years (and every day) resolution - be happy with who I am, where I am.

Wishing you all a happy 2015, in ways that make you happiest.