Pinki

The same week that we got the joyous news about our new son, we got the terrible news that my Aunt Pinki (Patricia) had passed away.  The youngest of five daughters, she was the one who pushed the envelope, who loved and lived bigger than most.  The stories about her life are epic and entertaining; her sense of adventure was not to be outdone.  Her loss hits me in waves; it is terrible and too soon and very, very sad.
Sitting with the picture of my future son and the picture of the loved one we have just lost, I know this to be true:

Joy and sorrow grow in the same garden; we would not know one without the other. 

I’ll always miss you, Pink. 

Desmond!

He is gorgeous!   We have been studying his tiny fingers and toes, admiring his hairline (so similar to Harrison’s at the same age), and trying to imagine how soft those sweet cheeks are.  Our revised timeline gives us hope for a December or January arrival, sooner if things speed up, slower if they become more backed up.  We will wait with all of the patience we have in our souls for this little one and we will be overjoyed whenever he makes his arrival in our lives.  Until then, we know that he is in very good hands (his foster mother has been taking care of babies since 1980!), being loved and spoiled and delighted in on the other side of the world.  There is an amazing peace in my soul with this knowledge, a well-being that sits in my heart while at the same time my head plays with dates and timelines and what-ifs.  Oh, the Wait…the hardest part, but the part that teaches us so much about ourselves.

In this first picture he is probably 2 months old.

At five months old (above and below).

Sitting with his Foster Mom, whom I have cropped out for her privacy.
So many people have told me they couldn’t do it…they couldn’t wait ten more months for the arrival of a baby that is already ten months old.  And maybe they couldn’t, but I know that we can.  I know that all of us are stronger than we know, more patient than we seem, more able to endure hardships and challenges than we think we are.  I know that all babies come when they are good and ready or when all of the proper stars or paperwork or contractions come together at the right time. 
We know that all children, however they make it home, are well worth the wait.  But I would certainly not complain if he somehow made his way home this summer!

Joon Song

In the hall closet, on top of a suitcase and behind my black pea coat, I found the bag I was looking for.  It is just a plain white garbage bag, a little tattered and torn in spots, something I packed a long time ago for a friend but never actually got around to delivering.  I dragged it out of the closet and brought it to the couch, reached inside, and found them: the softest, most well-worn and beloved pair of tiny overalls.  They were the first thing I bought when we were waiting for Harrison to come home from Korea; I found them at a yard sale for a dollar, perfect and soft and just the right size.  They looked brand-new back then; now they have worn little knees from the crawling babies that Harrison and Emma once were and the straps are beginning to fray just slightly.  They hold so many memories for me: crawling, first steps, little adventures around our old yard, and even the earliest memories of when they hung on a hanger in an otherwise empty closet, a symbol not just of hope but of promise.  We would be parents.
And next fall, they will crawl (or walk?) again!
In what can only be described as a whirlwind, we decided for sure to adopt again 12 days ago.  We called and asked for an application packet 11 days ago.  We got the packet 9 days ago.  We emailed with our social worker 8 days ago, who came and updated our home study 6 days ago.  We filled out mad amounts of paperwork and made endless photocopies and finally sent it all off with a kiss from big sister Emma 4 days ago.  It arrived at our agency 3 days ago, and we were called that very night with the news that we had been matched with a gorgeous baby boy in Korea. 
I haven’t seen his picture, I know only a little more than his name, but my heart knows that he is beautiful.  I know that he is perfect, the perfect fit for our family.  I know we’ll have growing pains and fits and starts until finally our lives are intertwined, woven into a new and different fabric that will be ever the more richer for having known each other. 
Those soft, tiny pants are getting washed today and hung in the closet that our Joon Song will share with his big brother Harrison and once again they will be my token not only of hope, but of promise.  We are all so very excited!
A few details:

• Korean Name:  Joon Song  (Joon means “superb”)
• American name:  we’ve got it narrowed down to three options, but need to see his pictures before making the final call.  Once we know we’ll share!
• Born May 2010
• Will come home in the fall…October, perhaps?
• We had been thinking of adopting again for a LONG time before making this decision.  Options were weighed, lots of programs were looked at, lots of research went into it.  We are not rash people, at all.  In the end, we followed our hearts while making sure the logistics would all work out.
• Yes, we will gladly accept hand-me-downs!  He will be roughly 18 mos. at arrival.
• We pick up our referral packet on Monday the 14th…pictures after that!

VIP (very important papers)

At our house, this is what “baby-making” looks like. 
More details soon!

Fire

We used to joke, back in my art school days, about the day you go home and tell your parents that you want to be an art major.  That instead of  more lucrative degrees like accounting and engineering you are going to spend four years learning how to paint portraits, how to manipulate clay, how to make a block print.  We used to joke about it because it was a way to fight off the internal panic that set in whenever we thought about actually having that conversation in real life.  And once a semester the professors in our art department actually put on a special lecture entitled “How to survive telling your parents you are going to be an artist”. 
Somehow I survived those conversations (which proved less scary in real life than they were in my imagination, but did end in the sad shaking of heads by the four adults that are my parents), graduated with honors, and left college to make a life in the art field…and fell flat on my face.  I never wanted to be a teacher of public education, the obvious choice for artists who need to pay their bills with something else.  I wasn’t particularly interested in marketing.  Truthfully, I wasn’t exactly sure what I would do with my degree, I just knew that what I was good at, what I enjoyed and felt passionate about, was working with my hands.  Taking raw materials and forming them into something functional, useful, beautiful, thought provoking, or at least intentional – this was what I was good at, this was where I felt at home.  This was my fire.
Simply knowing what your fire is or feeling at home in your own skin does not pay the rent or buy a new car or help pay for the paint that you just know will transform your house, and so like many people who identify as artists, I got a real job…or several.  And when people asked me what my profession was I told them “I am an assistant preschool teacher, but I went to art school” or “I am a craft store manager, but I went to art school” or “I am a transaction coordinator for a mortgage broker (and later, a real estate agent), but I went to art school”.  I stopped identifying as an artist and started justifying my current, non-glamorous positions with the fact that I had made a mistake and gone to school to learn about art.  Away from the college setting there was no studio space, no group of fellow artists to support and critique my work, there was no more fire.
Fast forward many years.  We live in a house with studio space, an entire third floor that can be whatever I need it to be.  My hands are kept busy with textiles…knitting and sewing replace paints and pencils.  I feel good.  And then my mom convinces me to take a felt making class at the Troy Shirt Factory Building.  I walk in the door of the Luckystone Studio and I can feel it, that long lost sensation of being at home.  I almost don’t recognize it at first, but I find myself grinning, overly cheerful, my adrenaline pumping at a much higher rate than normal.
Do other people feel this way about the thing they love to do?  Does it make them feel as though they are burning from the inside out?  Does it light them on fire?
It didn’t seem to matter that I had never tried felting before.  The colors, textures, surroundings, and process were so familiar, deep in my bones.  Working side by side with other like-minded people, our work different but our goals the same, brings me such immense joy.  I love the easy camaraderie and chatter of people working at their own pace, trading ideas, offering up suggestions, and just that comfortable silence that comes with mutual artistic concentration. 
The felting process is harder than it looks, takes more patience than I am used to directing at my projects these days, but it was entirely invigorating.  For the first time in a long time I feel like an artist – I think I could even say it out loud with a straight face, without even a hint of apology in my voice.  I came home today with a scarf that is on fire with color…reds, fuscias, and oranges.  I also brought home a huge bag of wool roving, silk, and mohair fibers; my head is swimming with ideas, things to try, places to take color and form and concept. 
My fire, I think, has been rekindled.
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It’s Madhouse Wednesday again.  These are the others who participate…check them out!
Allison – Allimonster Speaks
Barb – Spencer Hill Spinning & Dyeing
Batty – Batty’s Adventures in Spooky Knitting
Dave – Notes from the Field
Eileen - Art Deco Diva Knits
Evil Twin’s Wife – The Glamorous Life of a Hausfrau
G – Not-A-Box
Haley - Aimless Tangents
Jennifer – Ask Poops, Please
JMLC – Daydreams and Ruminations
Kate – One More Thing
LC – LC in Sunny So Cal
LeeAnne - This is the life...
Lisa - As If You Care
Louise – Child of Grace
Marcy – Mittentime
Melanie – usually, things happen
Nikki – Land of the Free, Home of the Depressed
Peri - knitandnatter
Sara – yoyu mama