In for a penny, in for a pound.

Well.

As it turns out, we went to Maine.
I know, I know.

My "perfect on paper" plan fell by the wayside once we realized how much we all--especially YH--missed the big kids.

And so we packed our bags and followed them north.
And it was lovely.

It was the kind of vacation that defies a linear narrative--you know those experiences that seem to happen beyond the scope of time and place? It was one of those.


****                       ****

YH at the lobster pound.

It is hot inside our rental car and the sun is shining so bright. The heat is unusual for this part of the country, this time of year. We laugh because it is rainy and gray at home in the South and so so sunny bright here in the North.

We have decided to surprise the big kids--they do not know we are coming. We are giddy with thoughts of our subterfuge. We stop at our favorite lobster pound (Lunt's) for lunch and place a call to my parents' house.

We talk to Sweet Bubs, who is busy helping my father build a set of stairs down to Ghost Hollow. We tell him we will call him back at 5pm--make sure he is at home. Make sure Miss A is there as well.

We kick our feet with anticipation as we eat our lobster rolls. YH sticks to french fries and lemonade.

****                          ****

On the ferry.

 When we arrive at the ferry terminal the line of cars stretches down the road and over the hill. So many! We slide into a "reserved" spot and wait for the chance to board.

On deck there is a new ferryman guiding us into parking spots. He looks like the character "Skinny Pete" from Breaking Bad. He has a New York accent and fidgety movements; he is not who we expected. He parks the cars four across instead of three (as is custom) and we find we are trapped in the car for the duration of the ride.

Sean scoops YH into his lap and lets him "steer" the car. We roll down the windows to let the smell of salt water and kelp in. It stings my nose and fills my lungs. We are so close!

Once we reach the island we roll off of the ferry and begin the short drive to my parents' house. We remind ourselves to wave at each car we pass--island etiquette requires it.

I see all the "For Sale" signs dotting the roadway. Taxes on waterfront property were raised last year. Blue realtor signs sit askew at the edge of the treeline up and down the road as far as the eye can see. Gravel roads lead into the pine trees, cloaking houses that have sat vacant for months. Years.

We turn onto our street (peeking to see if the trailer at the corner of the road is occupied this year) and into my parents' driveway. We stop short of the house and call the kids.
Sean says to Miss A. "Hey--you should go look outside." She is skeptical. Why should I go outside?

The door opens as our car drifts into view. Miss A comes spilling out with the receiver pressed to her cheek. She sees Sean and grins. I jump out of the car I am so happy to see her. YH yells out her name and struggles to be free of his car seat. Sweet Bubs is not far behind and he gets swept into the love crush.
My family. My beautiful family.

****                    ****

The secret place

It is dusk. I follow the kids down a narrow path into the woods. They are taking me to their secret spot, their clubhouse. We wind through saplings and fallen trunks. The hollow, with its briny tides, is to our left--barely a glint peeking through the trees. The path is soft with pine needles. It dips and rises on a whim, trying to trip you with a lattice of slick tree roots.

This way, the big kids say. They are impatient with my cumbersome adult form. They slip through the brush with the ease of hares--I am not so swift or fleet of foot. My parents' dog, Nina, stays behind to make sure I stay with the pack. She has become Sweet Bubs' constant companion over the last two weeks.

Suddenly we are there. Carpets of moss unfold around large gray boulders that reach to the sky. Rays of sunlight break through the treetops and warm patches of the moss, creating magnificent spots to curl up with a book. I catch my breath--it is the most perfect secret spot ever.

The kids spend hours here. Miss A is a queen and Sweet Bubs is her royal guard. He works for a three hour shift, wielding a staff to ward off intruders. After his shift is done he gets a two hour break, during which the Queen throws him a party--complete with cake.

It sounds like a good gig.

****                     ****

Sweet Bubs has gone feral. When he wakes he runs out the door, hurtling towards the trees, the mud, Ghost Hollow. He clutches swords made of sticks and brandishes them at imagined foes. He scampers up and down the rocks and over the tree stumps. He is agile and fearless in a way I never noticed before.

At the quarry he leaps into the deep water with abandon. He dog paddles furiously, and hauls his little seal-form onto the floating dock in the middle of the expanse. He knows the other boys there by name and soon they are engaged in an elaborate effort to wrangle an inflatable raft from one end of the quarry to the other. His laughter bounces off the sheer granite walls that surround his swimming spot.

He discovers something new and amazing at Fine Sand Beach. He walks over the rocks that ring the beach until he comes to a quiet and sandy cove. "Secret beach! I found a secret beach!" There are submerged rocks a few feet off shore that keep the water in cool, shallow pools made vibrant by seaweed and schools of bright green eel-like fish. There is a large flat rock that tilts toward the water-- it becomes a water slide for the intrepid at high tide.

At night, after YH is in bed,  he insists on playing ruthless games of Disney Princess Uno. He plays by his own set of rules--a trait that was encouraged by his grandparents, but that drives his father crazy. Sweet Bubs says things like "Pretty savvy move there Dad, pretty savvy." When one game concludes he says "Ok, ok--just 100 hundred more..."

****                         ****

Miss A waiting for her musical number in  the island review

.

If Sweet Bubs has gone feral, Miss A has become shockingly civilized. Shortly after we arrive on island my parents hand me a piece of paper dotted with colored squares. It is Miss A's calendar--the schedule of all her social commitments. She attends Rec Center two times a week, Library Program two times per week, and rehearsals for the Hockamock Players Musical Review. She also has playdates with her friend Sage.  Where the rest of us retreat into solitude on the island Miss A is taking after her paternal grandmother: a woman who loved to socialize and entertain.

At the beach she hones in on any other child around her size. She walks up to her target and says "Hey--do you know how to catch a hermit crab? Let me show you!" and soon she and her new best friend are thick as thieves. One dy she manages to get a group of six Quebecois kids (who are only speaking French) to help her round up as many hermit crabs as they can find. The little tribe builds an elaborate habitat out of sand and water and fills it with over thirty terrified crabs.

"Mom", she says, "I don't care that my new friends aren't speaking English--we're having fun anyway."

Miss A helps us clean out the barn. She comes across an old blue metal trunk in the corner. Inside are old furs, a musty silk pillow, and several dusty scrapbooks. There is also a yearbook from an international school--class of 1958-59. She studies the signatures on the inside cover intently, determined to solve the mystery of who the trunk items belong to.

She makes lists and cross-references them with the black and white pictures of girls and boys in tightly lacquered hair-dos. She comes up with several theories about who might own the treasures--the most plausible being a member of an island family that owns several houses near us. She makes up her mind to go to the closest such house and ask if they might know who the owner is--she has figured out a first name based on the looping scrawl in the front cover.

She marches up the drive and knocks on the door. A woman comes and Miss A asks if she is the homeowner. The woman says no, hold on...And then she turns and yells out the name from the yearbook cover! Another woman comes to the door and against all odds, it is her. The trunk's rightful owner.

****              ****

YH is thrilled to be with his siblings again. They all play together in new ways: scampering across the front yard down to the harbor, collecting rocks at the end of the lighthouse trail, curled up together with books.

His sleep is rocky at first. He wakes in a strange place and calls out for me. I scoop him up and bring him into my bed. He presses his cheek against mine and kicks his feet in a rythmic thump...thump...thump until he falls back asleep.

He loves the beaches we go to, alternating between warm sand and cold cold waters.

It wasn't such a dumb idea to come here after all.

****                    ****
We leave the island with sand in our pockets and heavy hearts. Sean and I have a list of things we need to do to the house next summer; it is overwhelming in the best possible way.

When we get home things are not so great. A big storm has delayed our flight so that we don't get into our home until 4 am. One of our dogs has had high anxiety in our absence and she is wounded. Our loved one is struggling with his/her addiction again. We realize our careers in education are unlikely to fund all of our dreams...

It's life. It's ugly and it's beautiful all at once.
We are together again, and that's the best thing we can hope for.

Up in the air.

Over the course of our first night together YH slept reasonably well--but as morning drew near he began to thrash. First his legs kicked, then his arms flailed, then his head whipped from side to side. His not-quite-awake little body rolled, and punched, and tried everything it could to make us (his new reality) retreat.

Eventually his mind caught up with his limbs and he opened his eyes.

Hello.
Hello small child.
Hello small child I have known for less than 76 hours.
Hello small child.
Hello.

He was eager to get out of bed. To run and explore and eat. To do anything but think about what was going on.

We had several hours to kill before we headed to the airport, so we ate breakfast and headed out to the closest palace to wander.

YH didn't want to be carried. He struggled in the ergo. He wanted to run, without holding anyone's hand. We didn't approve this plan. He screamed. Heads turned. We scooped him up quickly and walked. He struggled and then fell asleep in Sean's arms. People stared openly at our family. It was uncomfortable. I worried that passers-by were judging us, and we were falling short.

We entered the palace and I took YH from Sean so that he could go procure drinks and a snack for everyone. The big kids played hopscotch on the ancient paving stones as I sat on a nearby bench with YH on my lap. He woke up, and leaned into my chest. I stroked his back as he watched Miss A and Sweet Bubs laugh and chase one another.

On the bench next to me sat a young Korean woman in her late 20's with her companion--an older Korean woman. They stared at us. I smiled at them and looked away, resolute in my desire to escape any harsh glances.

The younger woman got up from her seat and came over to us. She said, with an American accent, "Your children are beautiful. All three of them."

I nearly wept at her kindness. She will never know how much that meant to me.


***                  ***

Our flight was scheduled to leave Incheon airport at 9:30pm. We opted to leave the hotel at 3pm and take a taxi-van to the airport. We would run the kids ragged in the airport in hopes that they would all sleep on the first, longest leg of the journey home to Texas.

Luckily our departure gate was very close to one of the indoor playground at Incheon. YH ran and played for four hours straight. Four hours.

At this point it was clear that as long as his body was moving, his wounded heart would be ok. If he allowed himself to sit still for more than a minute a look of pain would settle on his features. He would literally shake it off and jump up to run off somewhere.

I watched him and worried about what this would mean for the arduous flights ahead.

***                 ***

On the first flight--Incheon to LAX--YH had a seat between Sean and I in a middle row. My mom and the big kids were in their own row, just to the left of us. After an initial resistance to the seat belt YH settled down in a nest of blankets and tiny airplane pillows. Against all odds the plan worked and he fell asleep. He slept off and on for the majority of the 11 hour flight. It was supremely uncomfortable for Sean and I--as our arms were trapped by his heavy snoring body--but magnificent to behold.

When he would wake up he would fuss and mess around with all the knobs and headphones and buttons he could reach. He would loudly protest any restrictions to these activities.

I mention this because that behavior was in character with the YH we had come to know; and it was in stark contrast to his behavior on the second flight, from LAX to Austin.

***                ***

By the time we were ready to board our flight in LAX we were all hungry, tired and cranky. We were dirty and smelly. Our hair stuck up in weird tufts. We hated to be around one another but we were glued to one another in collective misery.

(Ain't travel grand!)

Little did we know that the 7pm Friday night flight from Los Angeles to Austin is in fact a giant happy hour in the clouds. A giant happy hour at the grossest bar you can imagine--and not gross in a fun dive-bar kind of way. No-- it was gross in the "Hey, is that the cast of the Real World over there?" kind of way.

A man and woman in the row in front of me began flirting with one another before take off. They downed several drinks in quick succession and their pre-coital banter grew ever louder. Her hair flipping was violent.

Across the aisle and behind Sean and Sweet Bubs sat a group of dudes who appeared to emulate the cast of "Entourage". They hooted and hollered and lived large over the duration of the flight.

My mom sat with Miss A several rows ahead of us. Their heads were barely visible in the sea of well coiffed youngsters discussing which bar in the warehouse district was the best.

And in the middle of all the boisterous, sexual energy-fueled, power hungry partying sat me and YH. Tired and wrinkled. Bags under my eyes and a travel-zit emerging on my jawline. Ignoring the seeping warmth on my lap from the leak in YH's diaper. Feeling the frenzied beat of YH's little mouse heart against my collarbone.

YH had shut down.

As soon as English became the only language being spoken around us he shut down.
He refused to sit in his own seat.
He was not leaving my lap.

His fists clenched my shirt with superhuman strength. He buried his face in my neck and refused any offer of food or drink. He scrunched up his eyes and hummed to himself until he fell asleep.
He did not move or shift position for the entire three and half hour long flight.

The woman in the window seat of our row said, "Wow--he's a great traveler! I hardly knew he was there."

A great traveler. Hardly knew he was there. How wonderful.

No.

Not great, not wonderful.

Sad. Scared. Blocking it all out.

I have never not enjoyed a child's silence on a long flight--but this time, YH's motionless form broke my heart anew.

I said a prayer to the nameless deity in my head: "Let him get through this. Let him come out of this. Let him get through this."

***                   ***

And then we were home.
And he got through it.
And he came out of it.

And each day is better than the one before.

Second meeting.

Once we arranged a time for the second meeting, Mrs. S scooped up YH and prepared to take him down the hallway for a last doctor's appointment. Before they left she had him give Sean and I each "po-po" (kisses). That little guy did exactly what his Omma told him to do; he walked resolutely over to us and put his tiny warm hands on our shoulders and leaned in to press his lips on ours.

YH's self-portrait, taken when he commandeered Sean's camera

I might have died a little in that moment. I might have held my breath in fear of scaring him away.

We walked out of the agency stunned and giddy. It was like the aftermath of a great job interview, or a fabulous first date. We kept saying things to each other like "He seems really smart, don't you think so?" and "I know Mrs. Shin is concerned about (x factor of his development) but I think once he's in the right environment..." and "Did you see when he hugged that teddy bear? He's so loving..." and "His smile is incredible".

And underneath the giddiness that buoyed us through a shopping trip to Insadong, was creeping dread at our role in turning this boy's life upside down.

The next morning we left the hotel early in order to fit in a ride on the Seoul city tour bus before we had to be back at ESWS.

The big kids took the tour very seriously and listened with great care to the pre-recorded spiel for each stop. Based on the recordings, Amalia decided Itaewon must be the most exciting place on earth and begged for us to stop there. We conceded and decided to hop off for lunch--and immediately regretted it. Not so much a great place to take your kids. Unless your kids like restaurants and clubs geared towards the recreational pursuits of single servicemen. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

After our brief gritty detour, we got back on the bus and headed to Namsan Mountain, in hopes of putting a "family love locket" on the fence at the base of the N Tower.

We bought our lock and wrote all five names of our family members on it, added the date and a message of love forever. Then we locked it to one of the "love trees". And of course I cried.

We rushed home with just enough time for everyone to get changed into their best clothes for our meeting. We picked up Nana and headed over to ESWS. We hoped our squeaky clean exteriors would help to show Mr. and Mrs. S that we were going to love YH. We really, really were.

When we arrived at ESWS Mrs. Shin and Mrs. S cooed over how cute the big kids are. Mr. S and YH sat in the playroom already; as soon as the big kids came in they began valiantly trying to win over their littlest brother.

They did a good job.

While the kids played the adults talked. Mr. S wanted us to know that we must be consistent with YH; we can't give in to his tantrums. He wanted us to know that YH probably wouldn't sit still on the plane ride home--we should know that beforehand. He might scream, he might try to run away. He will get frustrated if we don't understand what he is saying because of the language barrier--we should know that ahead of time.

Were they telling us he is a bad child? A difficult child?

No--he's a child they love very very much and they don't want anyone to treat him with anything less than kindness, especially if he doesn't live up to our expectations. I understand that, and I understand why they felt the need to fill us in on his behaviors (pretty typical for a two-year old behaviors) beforehand.

I asked Mrs. Shin to tell the S family that I appreciate all they have done to raise YH, to love him. I promised them that we would love and support him forever--no matter what. That we have prepared ourselves to help him face any future challenges and to meet him where he is; not to push him to be something he is not. I asked her to tell them that we would like for them to be a part of YH's life forever--that we will send them pictures and updates frequently.

They watched YH play with his new brother and sister, and give his new halmoni (grandmother) kisses.

At the end of the hour we took pictures together--pictures of all the people who are united by our love for this little boy.

Umma and the big kids.

Umma and Mom

Appa and Papa

And the whole of TEAM YH.

I can't even describe to you how important this meeting was for us--for the S family--for YH. I think it made a big difference in everyone's comfort level about the upcoming custody transfer.

I know it helped the S family to meet our big kids; to picture how YH's life will be enriched by having them at his side. To see that they are healthy and smart and well-cared for. That we can raise children who are loving and funny. That he fits in with them, and with us.

 Saying good-bye was hard; especially since we knew the next time we saw each other our motives would be opposing. Sean and I would be so happy to hold our son, while the S family grieved the foster child they were  losing.

Hard all around.

First meeting

I do finally stop worrying long enough to sleep--for a few fitful hours. None of us can sleep past 6am so we are up and bickering with each other for an hour or so before breakfast begins. We wrap the million gifts we have for the foster family and social worker and pack them carefully away in subway-proof backpacks.

I try to remember what each task feels like:

This is taking a shower on the day you meet your son.
This is putting on a dress on the day you meet your son.
This is trying to fill in your eyebrows with hands made shaky at the thought of meeting your son.

My mom comes up to hang with the big kids while Sean and I nervously stuff our pockets with "essential" items that we will forget about as soon as we leave the hotel.

Suddenly we are on the street. We are on the subway. We are at the right stop, searching for the appropriate exit. We are stricken.

We are early--about 40 minutes early for our assigned "check-in" time.

We sit in the cafe at ESWS, our placing agency. The cafe employs single mothers; thus helping to support women who choose to parent their children (women who are largely seen as "unemployable" due to their single-parent status). We are nervous and self-conscious as we order iced americanos. We are overly thankful to the barista and we sit and sweat in shamed silence as we sip our drinks.

Finally it is time to check in. Our assigned social worker is busy in appointments all day, so another woman guides us through paperwork. It is so busy at the agency that we are seated in a waiting area outside of a room where a family is meeting their child for the first time. My eyes water as the door to the playroom opens. A tall and beautiful woman steps shakily out--her eyes are damp too but she is laughing. I know who she is immediately--an Australian woman I "met" through the internet. We greet each other and laugh and cry together.

We are led on a tour of the agency.

We are taken up to the floor that houses that baby reception room. Currently there are 50 babies there, waiting for foster or forever homes. About 15 of the babies are sick and are in a separate room to receive extra care. The babies are SO small.

Next we (about 10 families in total) file into a room to listen to a presentation by Dr. Kim, president of ESWS. Dr. Kim tells us about the history of her country, the history of adoption in Korea and the many projects that ESWS runs to care for at-risk families/women/children.

I am trying to pay attention, but in my head I am only thinking about the fact that we will be meeting YH in two hours.

Now one hour.

Our social worker finds us and chides us for not bringing Nana and the kids to the meeting. She leads us to a playroom and we sit nervously on the floor.

The door opens and we see this.

Oh.
Oh.

Mrs. S pulls a package of crackers out of her purse and immediately starts feeding snacks to YH as a way to ease him into the room.

He looks around at us and then dives into the toys. He plays and plays, leaving each toy after a few seconds of attention. I try not to reach out to him, hoping that his ambulatory circuit will bring him naturally to my side. I try to ask Mrs. S the questions I formulated months ago, when none of this seemed like a real event.

Mrs. S answers in paragraphs with sweeping arm movements. I look at her while she speaks, waiting for our social worker to translate.

He is very busy. He gets bored with toys easily. He isn't interested in books. He waits for his Appa to come home each night, and then leads him through his evening routine. Appa, take off your shoes. Appa, wash your face. He loves smart phones and can use a touch screen readily. He drinks a few ounces of water or milk each night before bed and then goes to his room. He lies down and waits for Mrs. S to rub his back until he falls asleep. He is sensitive to the word no, and does better with redirection. When he doesn't get his way he screams. He climbs onto everything, opens every drawer, hides bits of paper int he corners of the apartment. He loves flowers, trees and big dogs. He is attuned to the moods of others and will comfort those he thinks to be in distress.

So many details about his life. And I haven't even touched him yet.

Finally, he wanders my way with a balloon in his hand.

 This is it. This is my son.

****

Later, Mrs. Shin will ask us questions about why we didn't pursue a "standard" referral (ie: one without identified medical needs). "You qualify, right?"
We explain what led us to the waiting child program.
She asks us why we want to parent this boy--she has another child with a similar background/profile who is almost three. This child will be transferred to a government orphanage soon, with no hope for being adopted, because no families have expressed interest in his file. (For the recond *YH* is almost three; this boy's fate could easily be his own).

We talk a bit about how we have prepared ourselves for his potential needs, and the personal connections we have to his "risk factors".

She asks us how he seems to us--developmentally.
I say he seems perfect, exactly the boy I was hoping to meet.

****

In the middle of our hour-long meeting, YH's foster brother calls his father (YH's "Appa") on the phone. YH talks animatedly to him in gibberish. He smiles at the phone and listens intently to his beloved Appa's responses. This is a routine for him; talking to the man he loves best, in a language noone can understand.

Mrs. S asks if we can come back the next day. Mr. S has the day off from work and wants to meet us.
Yes, we say, of course.

Seoul Day 1 and 2

When our plane landed at Incheon, after a 14 hour flight from Dallas, I was groggy. Too groggy to really *feel* anything, you know? I fussed over the big kids--were they ok? Did they get any sleep? And focused on getting our luggage, getting my mom the phones she rented, and figuring out the best way to get our tired selves into Seoul.

Then, as our taxi-van pulled away from the curb, I started to feel stuff. I started to *think* stuff. Thoughts like:
Is that guy related to my son?
Is that old lady his great-grandmother?
Is that his mother?
His uncle?

Every person we passed became a potential genetic link to the child about to join our family. It was overwhelming and sad, and made my heart race.

We checked into our very very nice hotel, and gawked at the view from our 2 bedroom suite on the 15th floor.

The windows wrapped in a boomerang shape along the curves of our apartment; through each frame a different urbanscape pulsed with noise and light.

We all crashed that night, barely managing to eat some take-out bibimbap that Sean found at a neighborhood restaurant.

The next day we woke up early--4:30am early--and watched Pororo cartoons until the breakfast service began. After we gorged ourselves we ventured out into our neighborhood--the financial district. I didn't have high hopes for the "interesting" factor of the area, but was pleasantly surprised to find a winding tree-lined street that led us to Deoksugung Palace where the changing of the guard ceremony was underway.

We stood and watched the elaborate process as little old ladies pointed at Sweet Bubs and Miss A and smiled.

It costs about a dollar for an adult to enter the palace, and that dollar is well spent. We wandered the grounds and peered in the ancient buildings. Several school groups were there and teachers and students alike stopped to talk to the big kids and take their pictures with them.

I watch the school boys with particular interest--will my son look like them when he is older? Will he work diligently on his assignment like that boy? Or goof off with friends like that one? My eyes fill with tears for no reason. For every reason.


Later that night we take the subway for the first time.

It is so clean, and so easy to navigate. There are special seats for the elderly, pregnant women and women with small children. Invariably someone gives up a seat for my snow-haired mother. Someone else smiles at the big kids and laughs when they respond with "Hello" in Korean. We teach them to give up their seats if an older person gets on a crowded train and is without a place to sit. They watch with eagle eyes for any opportunity to leap up and bow to an elder. This cements their position as most popular foreign children in Seoul.


We get off at our stop just before dusk and set off to find the Lotus Lantern Festival, an annual parade that celebrates Buddha's birthday. We think we are lost and ask for directions. We pass a hundred coffee shops (thank God Koreans love their coffee as much as I do) and finally find ourselves in the thick of a crowd. We go with the herd until we see this:

And this:

And then we are scrambling for a curb to stand on, to watch the lanterns swirl by:

It is one of those events that is so beautiful you can't believe you are really there. Sweet Bubs falls asleep and snores on my lap through the whole thing. He misses bright lights and loud cheering. He misses his sister's eyes wider than I have ever seen them, and hundreds of Buddhist monks marching in throngs illuminated by lotus shaped globes of paper.

We try to leave early to beat the rush but the joke is on us, because this is a big city and there is ALWAYS a rush.

The next day we wake up and plan to visit the COEX mall aquarium. The COEX mall is the largest underground mall in Asia, and the aquarium is massive. We see manatees and electric eels and manta rays with wingspans as wide as I am tall. We have the dead skin on our hands nibbled off by tiny ravenous fish. An older woman fills Miss A's cupped hands with homemade snacks and strokes her cheeks. Miss A says "kamsahamnida" and bows, because she is a polite girl and then looks at me with a bewildered smile. "Why do people keep giving me stuff?" "Why am I allowed to take food from a stranger here but not at home?" Oh, you got me with that one child. You got me. "I think it's because they are giving me things as a way to say welcome to my country? Do you think mom?"

As we leave the aquarium, my mom and Miss A fall ill. We find a pharmacy and pantomime the symptoms, leaving with bags filled with bottles and pills labeled in hangul. Miss A's fever burns through the night and she sleeps hard for the rest of the day.

I am burning too--but with the nervous energy of knowing that it is the last night I will ever spend without knowing what my son looks like face to face. The last night wondering what his hair smells like or what his laugh sounds like.

Our first meeting with him at Eastern Social Welfare Society is the next day.

I think of the worst case scenarios. He will be totally withdrawn. His development will be vastly different from what we expected. His FM will hate us. He will hate us.

I can't sleep.

I am terrified. I want everything to slow down or hurry up.

I can't do this. I have to do this.

Big feelings.

Our household is boiling over with big feelings this week. It should come as no surprise that beneath the excitement of our trip, and finally meeting our son/baby brother, we are each struggling with some less-than-happy feelings. Complicated feelings. Miss A described them as "purple feelings".

For Sean and I, the big feelings are expressed through spurts of manic activity. For instance: on Monday I decided we absolutely could not go to Korea unless I cleaned and organized our hall closet. Obviously. We keep our hands moving so that we don't have to listen to the nagging worries in our heads. We act like we have it together because we *have* to have it together--for the kids.

The kids, blessed creatures, are free to wear their big feelings on their sleeves. And they have, in impressive ways.

Yesterday was supposed to be Field Day at school and Miss A had a very specific idea of what the required dress code should look like. The knee-length shorts that I picked out for her (to protect a healing patch of poison ivy rash) did not fit her definition. And we battled over it. And I saw her frustration mounting, and I saw anxiety taking her over. Instead of insisting "Put on the shorts--no argument. I am the adult here." (or some related directive) I put down the shorts and wrapped her in my arms. I asked if she was nervous that she would get into trouble if she didn't wear shorter shorts, and she nodded her head. I offered to write a note for her to give to her gym teacher, explaining the wardrobe choice; would that help her to feel less nervous? Yes it would. At that point her anxious little body softened in my arms and the angry tears turned into just straight up tears. I said "It's hard to be seven, isn't it?" and she said "It's hard to be seven when everything is changing!" She talked, I listened.

(It's hard to be 36 when everything is changing, too.)

Sweet Bubs is usually harder to read, but this week he has made it very clear that his feelings are muddled. During the day he is loud, clumsy, quick to argue with his sister. None of these traits are his norm. At bedtime he becomes softer and quieter; for the past several nights he has skipped reading Harry Potter with his dad and sister. Instead he walks up to me and says "Mom, can I invite you snuggle?" We cuddle up together and he tells me about his day and burrows his head into my neck.

Yesterday a friend generously offered to have Sweet Bubs over for a playdate after school. When I went to pick him up he was like a different child: angry, crossing boundaries, not following any directions I gave him. It was a struggle to get him out of the friends' house and I was pretty embarrassed. On our evening walk he brought a toy sword and furiously whacked at every signpost we passed. This morning he told me he had nightmares, but didn't want to talk about them.

I tell him I love him, he will always be my boy. I tell him I am a little nervous about our trip; is he nervous too? He doesn't answer.  I hug him and rub his back.

Big feelings can be scary feelings. Scary feelings can creep in when you least expect it. It can be surprising to feel sad, angry, or worried about something that everyone else tells you is a happy event. I get it son; I really, really do.

Travel nerd alert

Peoples. If you know me in real life, you know that international travel is one of my favorite things. There are few places in the world I wouldn't jump at the chance to explore, and I've been fortunate to travel for both work and pleasure. Over the years I've honed my packing strategy to travel light under pretty much any circumstances. Once, I went from three days at a conference in Arizona (where I was presenting) to one month in Mongolia--in November. That was probably my most challenging itinerary in terms of differences in temperature/purpose of each destination.

For this trip we've learned that the temperatures will be in the high 80's low 90's during our visit. Higher than expected, but overall not a problem for a family of Texans on the go. We have been advised to pack "dressy" clothing, especially for our official meetings and to not show shoulders/cleavage/back.

Now, I know a lot of people who have come back from traveling to Seoul and said that the above advice was off-base--that in fact you would be fine in your yoga pants and sneakers. And while I am sure that this is factual feedback, I'm still going to pack along the "official" guidelines. My travels around the globe have taught me that nobody, and I mean nobody, does "casual" like Americans do casual. I would wager that the average person in most global big cities dresses in a more "put together" manner than the average American tourist. I can say this because I live in Austin--people here wear flip-flops EVERYWHERE and it makes my eyeballs hurt to look at them.

In my professional life I have had many an argument with a study abroad student who is miffed about a suggested packing list. Said student will invariably complain about the "stuffy" nature of the list, and then come back and tell me how people *totally* wore shorts in Barcelona. Fine, student, fine. I grant you that *some* people wore shorts in Barcelona--but chances are, if you dress in white sneakers/shorts/flip-flops/yoga pants/tank tops and the majority of people around you are dressed more conservatively, you are not adhering to the cultural norms of your host culture. This carries the risk of offending the host culture--but it also makes you an easy target for the petty thieves that thrive in every big city.

For me, appearing to dress in accordance with my host culture's expectations of a woman of my age/social status makes me feel more comfortable when I travel. I learned this quickly when I studied abroad in Madagascar as an undergrad. I packed cargo pants, hiking boots, button-down shirts with mesh inserts--all manner of trekking attire. And I looked the fool, because in fact I studied in the capitol city, Antananarivo, not the rain forest. And my many shades of khaki and my clunky footwear looked absurd next to the smartly pressed skirts and dresses of my Malagasy peers.

So yeah--I'm making my whole family dress fancy. Not uncomfortable mind you--just with a bit more care than we might exercise on a typical Saturday morning stroll to get breakfast tacos.

For myself I've put together a capsule wardrobe built around the colors black, royal blue and gray. I'm taking black ponte skinny pants, a black ponte knee-length skirt, a blue/black/white print dress, a gray jersey cardigan, a gray t-shirt, a royal blue waterfall cardigan, three short-sleeve blouses, 2 scarves, bronze flats and black flats. And a bight coral trench.

Our travel itinerary has us landing in Korea on Friday afternoon. We did use a travel agent to book the tickets, mostly because our travel party is so large. Feel free to email me if you want to know who we used.

 Once we clear customs we will board a bus that takes us to Seoul. We decided to stay at Fraser Place Central--a residence hotel that offers 1-, 2-, 3- bedroom apartment/suites. The hotel also has an indoor pool (the kids demanded this amenity) and an indoor playscape. This will come in handy when Sean and I are at our Korean placing agency (ESWS)--Nana can hang at the hotel with the kids if she doesn't feel up to taking them out. We used a booking agent to secure the rooms--for traveling families I highly recommend checking in with Phil Yeo at khrc.com about availabilities/discounted room rates.

We have a list of fun, non-adoption related activities that we hope to do while we're there:

Night-bus tour of Seoul
(http://en.seoulcitybus.com/sub.php?PN=course_boarding&mainNum=2&subNum=21)
Baseball game (Go Doosan Bears!)
Lantern parade and festival
 (http://www.visitseoul.net/en/article/article.do?_method=view&art_id=53202&lang=en&m=0003001006003&p=06)
Food Tour
(http://www.ongofood.com/?page_id=4)
Going to a "cat cafe"
http://www.visitkorea.or.kr/enu/SI/SI_EN_3_1_1_1.jsp?cid=1060094


Not to mention visiting the aquarium in the Coex Mall, Lotte World, wandering through Insadong, visiting a palace....

And oh yeah, meeting our son.

8 days is definitely not enough time.

We leave in the evening on Friday May 25. We'll be leaving as a family of five. I have very low expectations for how the flights home will go. Luckily my eldest child was kind enough to make it so that we will never again be embarassed by a child's behavior on a flight--when she was 7 months old she screamed for the entire 8 hour flight to Amsterdam. Not an exaggeration: the.entire.flight.

We survived that experience, so I think we can survive anything.

We will be arriving in our home city at 11:30pm Friday. We have decided against having a big airport "welcome" party. None of us will be at our best after a long day of travel and we want to minimize the amount of outside stimulation for our YH. We'll head home and try to get everyone to get some rest, and then wake up and start the rest of our lives. Together.

I do intend to blog while we're gone, so stay tuned.