Love Hang-Over

Just before Valentine’s Day, the Steenky Haus was hit with a monsoon of sickness. Both Henry and Reese caught nasty colds, complete with explosive sneezing and gusts of non-stop whining. Once they hit the road to recovery, they insisted that with all-day cartoon marathons in mom and dad’s room, and unlimited access to their left over Valentine’s candy, they would recover quickly.

A couple of times I heard Henry upstairs coaching his little sister on what to say when summoning me and the exact tone to use when requesting a shot of juice with a side of Sweet Tarts. In Henry’s mind this elaborate drill was necessary if the kids were to avoid the pediatrician’s office, an unfortunate lesson he learned a year ago when he pressed the issue of a stomach pain with me when, in fact, he was just trying to avoid cleaning his playroom.

Nice try little boy. I think the doctor diagnosed him with pretendanitis and told him not to play tricks on mommy.

Although, half of me is giving my son a silent high-five, because, really? He has developed deceptive organizational skills at such an early age? We have managed to raise a truly gifted child. I can’t wait to collaborate with him in the future on projects like What did daddy get mommy for Christmas? or the ever popular When did the toothless lady down the street start raising goats in her back yard? After all, I am growing very tired on being the mastermind on all these fact-finding missions. I could really use a partner.

So back to the kids…

Ten minutes has passed and I still hear Henry helping Reese go over her lines and just what to say when it becomes her turn to beg for candy. They are using her room for rehearsal since it is the only suitable area upstairs for such an activity. Reese’s area has all the princess dress up clothes and the lighting concept in that room? Is. To. Die. For.

A few minutes later, Henry and Reese emerge. (slowly, very slowly with blankets in tow - Henry has now incorporated props! I am so proud!) They come downstairs (still very slowly) to hit me with their plan. But before Henry, who is clearly leading this thing, even gets a chance to begin, Reese interrupts and excitedly shouts, SUCKER! SUCKER! over and over again.

I can only assume she was referring to the candy stash and she hasn’t picked up name-calling at such a young age. Although…if Henry and I ever find ourselves in a situation where we need a third man to get the job done, we could use Reese to run interference.

Lessons in Love and Spandex

Hold on tight. The Steenkster is taking you back old-school for a minute. For those of you that have known me for a while, you recall that I used to put up posts with pictures of the kiddos and stories of our adventures as a family. Well, this is one of those posts.

Now before you go off thinking this is one of those posts, a post featuring some bland story about my kids at a park, blah, blah, blah...let me tell you two things:

1. No story about Henners or Reese could ever be bland.
2. No man should sport the spandex at a public park without good reason.

Sometimes cousins go to the park, hold hands and do stuff.





And then sometimes cousins just walk away.


Sometimes you're not even two year-old and your hand-holding cousins leave you with all the tall people over age 30. This makes you scared.

But you are only two and you are easily distracted. You spy a chunky, yet handsome toddler boy just across the way. You decide to make eyes at him.

The eye thing isn't working. The boy is too busy checking out his socks. You quickly grab a ball and use it as a prop and peek at him ever-so-coyly in an effort to gain his favor.

Okay, so now he's eating his socks. You are understandably grossed out, but remain undeterred in your quest to be noticed by him. Grandma swoops in and you use her as a "wing man" in order advance your position with the round mound foot fetish-having boy.

Okaaaaay. Granny is clearly not the babe magnet you were hoping for. Your off to try something else. You spy Aunt Karly, a single-ready-to-mingle twenty-something who's got the skills to seal the deal with the dudes. Surely she can throw you some pointers...

...as you use yours to dig. So. Busted.

My friends, the sock-eater and the nose-picker never made contact. Frankly, this strange dance was the highlight of my day at the park with family.

Unless you count this guy...

...which I totally do.

I Carried You in My Heart

Today's post is part of a group post of sorts. I recently found out that my good friend Heinous adopted his son from Korea. I immediately emailed him and asked him way too many questions. In an attempt to get me to leave him alone, he suggested that we each post our adoption experiences on our own sites today. My story, rather, my children's story is below:

Did you know that you picked mommy and daddy to be your parents while you were in heaven? You saw us and you said, “There they are! That’s my mommy and daddy.” But mommy couldn’t grow a baby in her belly. She could only grow the hope for you in her heart. Soon, you met a very nice young woman named Bailey. You made each other a special promise. She promised to love you and keep you safe in her belly while she found your mommy and daddy. You were so little and needed her help. One day, she found your mommy and daddy. (That’s us!) She placed you in our arms. Then mommy and daddy made a very special promise to Bailey. We promised to love you and protect you always. Then mommy gave Bailey a piece of that hope she had in her heart. Now, mommy carries you in her arms, and Bailey carries you in her heart.

Henry loves to hear that story. It’s his story. His baby sister has a similar story that one day she’ll grow to love as well. It’s the most straightforward and honest way we can think of to explain adoption to them while they’re so small. People are often surprised that we talk to our children so early and so freely about their stories. We’ve made a conscious effort to make sure that Henry and Reese know their stories now. We want them grow up NOT remembering an awkward moment where they discovered they were adopted.



For anyone who hasn’t adopted, you’re likely to hear stories from couples who have journeyed down this road. They’ll speak of mounds of paperwork, parenting courses they attended and the emotional roller coaster ride of the whole process. All this can be true, if you let that be the memory you keep.

I like to think we’re just like everybody else. Remember your first sonogram? Remember how excited you were? Well, I remember the first phone call from the adoption agency telling us that we were approved. Remember that sugary gunk you moms had to drink to test for gestational diabetes? My version of that was turning in background clearance paperwork. My labor? The phone call we waited months to receive. Congratulations! A birth mother has selected you, but keep in mind, she can change her mind at any moment. Now wait for two more months. Good luck with that.


See? I’m just like you. I may not have gone through the physical parts of pregnancy, but I have some of the same battle scars. After we adopted Henry my hips spread about two inches. I’M NOT JOKING. I even cut my hair in what I thought at the time was a sassy mom bob. Turns out is was way more “mom” than it was sassy. After Reese came along, I purchased some expensive go-to-town sweats and suffered a long bought of postpartum depression. It’s true. Adoptive moms can have depression and dress in fancy sweats just like you!

Both of our adoptions were domestic, meaning they were conducted inside the US and both took place in Utah. As a matter of fact, Henry’s birth mom (Bailey) lives only thirty minutes away from us. I find myself looking for her when I’m out shopping.


Reese’s mom (Keely) only lived in Utah for a short time while she was pregnant. About four months ago, she moved back to her home state in the southern US. Even though she’s hundreds of miles away, I still look for her when I’m out shopping too.

The first time I laid eyes on Henry he was swaddled up and in the hospital nursery. There were two baby boys born within minutes of each other that day. Jeremy and I stood together, our faces and hands pressed against the glass trying to figure out which little creature was our son. Something drew me in closer to one baby in particular. I can’t describe fully why, but I just knew the little loud one on the right was mine. Although my eyes didn’t recognize him, my heart certainly did. I pointed to him, with tears in my eyes and said, “That’s him. That’s our Henry.” Jeremy hugged me and said, "God I hope so".

Reese came into our lives a little differently. We believed, along with her birth parents and two ultrasound technicians that Reese was a boy. When our caseworker called to tell us that Keely had given birth to a little girl, we were stunned and thrilled. (Mostly thrilled.)

Keely and Tim (birth father) waited to name her until we arrived at the hospital a few hours later. The four of us had grown closer so it felt only right that we should name this baby together. Her name is Reese, meaning lively and energetic. Her middle name is Michelle. I don’t know what it means and you know, it doesn’t really matter. It’s Keely’s middle name. That’s all I need to know.

I remain in contact with both of our birth moms somewhat. We reunited with Bailey when Henry was just ten months old. She was able to hold him and finally spend some one on one time together. We send her updates yearly and she has our blog address.

Keely and I email a few times a week and I send her updates as well. We’ve reunited with her twice since Reese was born. Keely is also a frequent reader of this here blog. (She even sent me the nicest message yesterday after reading Reese's post)

I have no doubt that my path will cross with these birth moms at some point during my children’s lives. Will it be a chance meeting at the grocery store? Will it be long awaited reunion when the time is right? Who knows? But whenever or where ever it is, I will welcome these women with open arms. They loved and carried my babies when I could not.



Be sure to visit my good friend Heinous (Jim) over at Irregularly Periodic Ruminations today. He has a touching adoption story about his six year old son Jacob. It was his idea to post together today in a tribute to our children.

(This week has been an emotional one for The Bee Family. I'm rounding the corner for regularly scheduled nonsense soon.)

Reese

Reese, today you are one year old. This weekend we celebrated your special day while you were surrounded by friends and family. Everyone that loves you most in the world was there. All except for two.



Two people, who will play a big role in your life without you even knowing it, your birth parents. You see, bug, you didn’t grow in mommy’s belly, you grew in Keely’s belly. She took you in and took care of you before you were born. She felt your first sign of life. She was the first one to hear your heart beat. She was the one that you kept up at night while you kicked and hiccuped inside her. It was her voice you heard first. Her voice that told you that she loved you and would forever. And ever. For nine months, you two were connected in a way that I will never know. You were there with her always. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Keely gave you that smile, those pouty lips, your little laugh, that beautiful head of blonde hair. She gave you long fingers and two big toes that continuously curl upward. She gave you your curious nature and your ability to work a small crowd and make them love you instantly.

Your birth father, Tim, gave you your love of adventure, sense of humor and beautiful blue eyes. We often hold him responsible for the times you take off in a high speed crawl down the hall while we chase after you or when you climb up the stairs faster than I could ever imagine you should. You are an independent spirit and so full of life. You have received all of these wonderful traits from your both of your birth parents.

But, perhaps the greatest gift they gave you, is the one I never saw coming. When they placed you with your daddy and me, they gave you the opportunity to have a big brother. I know it sounds strange to say that Henry might be the greatest gift, but hear me out. It’s unexplainable, the expression on your face, when you see him for the first time in the morning. Your little eyes just light up and begin dancing right in front of me. I know it’s typical for the younger child to look up with fondness to their older sibling, but somehow I feel this is different. At such a young age, I could see love registering on your face. Love. It’s so powerful, and I see it whenever you see your brother.


Sometimes I catch the two of you playing together in your room. I watch Henry as he hands you toys and describes them to you. Sometimes he steals them back from you, and then some. It just doesn’t matter to you, little bug, you still have the same look of adoration on your face as you watch him.

Yes, there are times, more often than not, that he complains that you are too loud or he protests if you even so much as look in his general direction. But, little girl, there are so many times, when he hears you fuss that he bolts into his room to grab Lightning McQueen, his most favorite toy of all, the very one he keeps out of your reach. He hands it to me and tells me “Reesie wants this. This will make her happy.”

Reese, I’m so happy you found us. It took a strange twist of fate, a long journey to the Rockies and two people who loved each other very much to bring you to us. My life changed the day I opened that deli door and saw your birth mom standing there waiting to meet us. She had your little grin, your nervous giggle and your contagious laugh. As we talked over lunch, she ran her hands over her belly and talked about you and her as “us” as a “team“. I loved that you two had a bond already.

I can’t bear to know what it was like for her those last few days or weeks before you were born. My heart doesn’t dare to go there. I can’t imagine her journey knowing that she would soon have to say goodbye and trust someone else to love you just as much as she does.

Reesie, today is your day. It always will be. But every October 14th, a piece of my heart will be tugging for someone else. Someone who loved you, someone who was brave for you, someone who stood up for you, someone who protected you and someone who took care of you before I could. Reese, it is my wish, that somewhere in the back of you mind, you will always hear Keely’s voice whispering that she loves you forever. And ever.

Happy Birthday, Reese. I will love you forever.
Love, Mommy & Mama Keely

Reese's Reign of Terror Would be an Awesome Wrestling Name

Sometimes you're a baby and your family takes you camping. Also, sometimes you are awesome, but you already knew that. Sometimes, in the middle of camping and being awesome, your dad wants to steal a little smooch. He's alright, so you let him.



But sometimes, as alright as he is, he invades your personal space. This is totally unacceptable.



And you're all, Nuh-uh. Step off, old man. Why you gotta steal my flava?



Being a baby and as awesome as you totally are, you look him straight in the eye (while pulling his hair) and tell him who's boss.



Just then, you hear cackles of laughter from behind you. You quickly turn and focus your attention on the wise-acre hecklers behind you.

Who's there? Is that you, internets? Are you talking to me?

I said, ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?



Yeah, you don't want to mess with our Reesie. There's a whole lotta awesome and feisty packed into those size four pampers. She'll get ya. She'll get ya every time.



Internets, you've been warned.

P.S.: No dads were harmed in the making of this post.
P.P.S: Did you all see my awesome pedicure? It's so not that way anymore.
P.P.P.S: If you scrolled back to see my toes, please don't judge the messy camper. I was busy documenting the domestic violence you just witnessed. There was no time to tidy up.

A Life Lesson For Henry

Sometimes you're three years old. And sometimes your dad is an architect and you think he is the coolest guy in the world. You want to be just like him. You decide that you will build tall buildings just like your dad does.

But first you need a backer with some financial resources.



Enter your little sister. She's sunk everything she has into Cheerios. Fortunately for you and your project, Cheerios is the only market not affected by the recent "adjustment" on Wall Street. Your financier seems eager to get the project rolling.



So you start to design and build...



...and build some more.



Excellent work. You are within your budget. The design is breathtaking.

Oh no! Structurally unsound! Your building comes tumbling down.

Your client is not pleased.


You are distraught. This will definitely cost you some serious change orders.

But you're only three. You don't know what change orders are. So you throw caution (and a few jam packets) to the wind. You start rebuilding.

The client keeps a close eye on you.

Frank Lloyd Wright would be so proud.

You get side tracked. Just for a minute.

Your client is not amused.



But you soon regain your momentum. You finish your work. You take a moment of pause to reflect on your masterpiece.

It's not only visually stunning, but it's functional as well.

The client is very pleased.

But, her financial backing has fallen through because her money is all tied up in a legal trust. Also, she never obtained to proper permits for the site. Besides the zoning ordinance states that you can't build a structure over three stories tall on this property. Your design clearly does not meet this criteria. You put a lien on the property and you're now held up in a legal battle that wages on for years. Your practice is suffering and your business partner ran off with the secretary. Things just aren't panning out. You're left in shambles with only the memories of your jelly-filled skyscraper.

Because Sometimes Girls Have Cooties...Real Or Imagined

Henry loves his little sister. Sometimes he even dotes on her. When people try to approach her, his first reaction is to stand in front of her and tell the person (often his own grandparents or a neighbor) "She is MY Reesie. Not yours." Yes, most of the time, this is what the interaction looks like between the two of them.

But other times, this is what the end result of an interaction between the two of them looks like.


Yes. Tears. On my kitchen floor.


For some reason, lately, Henry has mandated a three feet dining distance between him and his baby sister while he eats. The rules, according to him, are quite simple. Keep Reesie away from him and the wailing and gnashing of teeth (by him) will be kept at a minimum. Notice how he keeps a watchful eye on his sister as he eats his ham.


He's obviously afraid that his sister is the carrier of cooties. We've tried to talk with him, reason with him about it. He's hearing none of it. To him, girl cooties are a real and viable threat.

Here, Henry contemplates all the horrible things Reese could do to him and his food should she breach the three foot parameter.


Here Reese struggles with mixed emotions such as, "Why does my brother reject me so?" Also, "What is up with my hair?"


Henry is determined to not make eye contact in any way.


Very determined.


Okay, okay. We get it. You don't want her looking at you.


Reese just looks innocently at her older brother. See that look of adoration? Let's see that from another angle.

Oh my. It seems that Reesie DOES have some sort of a cootie. She directing those cootie beams right in Henry's direction.


See how she stares him down even more? Notice the firm grip on her eating apparatus. She's going in for the "cootie kill". (Seriously. What is up with her hair?)

Oh, Henry. You gave it a good fight.

But your sister has cooties, and hair gel on her side.