Jason's Adoption

The morning after a March Nor'Easter we stood in a crowd waiting for the courthouse to open.

Friends and family from as far as Lousiana braved the cold with us for this moment that was years in the making but would take only minutes.

The social worker who educated and licensed us as foster parents, first told us of our son, and walked with us through his first months at home came to be with us.

The social worker who advocated for Jason for the past two years and told us when this day would be was also present.

The Judge directed her questions to Sophia. "How old are you?" and "How old is your brother?"

Jason was given his adoption certificate to sign.

We were told purple is the color of adoption and Jason got to keep the purple pen that lights up.

To make it official, the gavel was hit three times, first by the Judge, then by Sophia, and finally by the little boy who now has a very long name. 

His lavender bow tie was lent to us by a friend who has a heart for adoption and has been a strong supporter of our family.

We were surrounded by loving cheerleaders.

After the ceremony, our crew of 15 shared lunch at the cafe across the street. 

Jason loved going from table to table to visit.

He fell asleep on the drive home and slept in past 7:00 the following morning, something which almost never happens. 

We hadn't really talked with Sophia about what the day meant, but her prayer that night was, "Thank you that my brother and me are now official brother and sister."

In addition to a new last name, the Judge gave Jason a teddy bear, but he seemed to like the lollipops she gave him the best.

He is loved by the Mother who gave him life and by the many he has met since that day.

May he always feel secure in the love that is his. We are so fortunate to belong to him.

Accepting the Invitation

There is a lot of parenting advice out there and I have nothing new to add.

I can say that the best advice I have heard involves prioritizing one thing while deferring another. While, "sleeping when the baby sleeps", is nearly impossible because of all that could be accomplished, I never regretted one of those naps. 

These days I'm often still doing the task, it just takes a lot longer. Such as saying yes to reading a book while making dinner. This entails the book next to the food prep and telling Sophia when it is time to turn the page, alternating between reading a recipe and "Amelia Bedelia". 

Sometimes chores or desirable activities are deferred because a little boy with chocolate eyes is looking up at me with arms outstretched. The frequent invitation to pick up this ever growing person means I find myself without arms to do whatever I had in mind. 

Despite a weight which necessitates shifting him from one hip to another, I am honored by his trust to display this vulnerability with his entire being. One day I will no longer be able to lift him and sooner than that he will no longer want to be held. 

I have never been invited to play more often than I am right now. 
Often there is something else I'd prefer to be doing (frequently the "game" consists of my watching a train move endlessly around a track). 

I am reminded of when my own mother was uninvited. 
I always invited her to play dolls with me (because otherwise the dolls didn't talk). Until one day, a young friend of mine told her not to play with us. 
To this day, I think I am more heart broken by this than my Mother was. 
A day comes when the invitation to play is no longer so readily extended. 

Often there is emphasis placed on how quickly the years go, but perhaps more importantly it is that they happen only once. 

It is why I say yes to a little girl who wants to tell me "just one more last thing" before bed and why I extend my arms to carry a little boy who is capable of running.