Mother's Day blessings

On Mother's Day weekend of 2005, I stood in front of a group of people considering international adoption during a meeting at a local church. I was about to mark my first Mother's Day as a mom to a beautiful, zany, squirmy 18-month-old girl, and all I could think about was how that miracle never would have happened if I hadn't sat in their seats and if DH and I hadn't taken the biggest leaps of faith of our lives. It never could have happened if, a world away, a woman I'll never meet hadn't made a choice -- to give her child life, then leave her, for reasons we'll never know.

This year, my thoughts are heavy with that woman, and the birthmothers of my other two daughters, as well as Who II's first adoptive mom, who so tragically learned that the concept of a "forever family" doesn't always prove to be reality.

I wonder whether Who I's zany sense of humor comes from her first mother, whether Who II's attention to detail and quiet play are inherited or the product of environment as she watched her adoptive mom fight a horrific health battle. I watch Baby Who soak up the world around her, then cackle with delight as she figures something out, and can't help but think of the families who'll never know these girls, who cannot possibly fathom the joy they bring to our lives, even as we shoulder the sobering knowledge that our joy is likely built on someone else's painful circumstances.

I often think that if those mothers and I could have just 10 minutes together, I could get some answers to the questions my daughters will ask, to the questions I have. Ten minutes to capture the choices and experiences of a lifetime, boil them down so three beautiful girls whose lives were dictated by circumstances beyond their control can know not just where they come from, but make peace with the decisions that brought them to us.

It'll never happen, of course. So we're left to find other routes. We talk about those first moms on a regular basis. We validate whatever our girls are feeling, and if that means we talk about death and dying more than any 4-year-old should, so be it. We're also creating a mother's garden, a quiet place in our yard where we can go to think about those other mothers. I hope it will be a place where we can gather our thoughts, be they happy or sad, and know that no matter what journey brought us together, no matter how painful the path, we are richer together than we ever were apart.

And even when I'm tired or frustrated, I try to remember to tell my girls what I told them today: The best thing about my life is the fact that, despite all the mistakes and bad choices I've made over the years, I was still given the chance to do the most important thing I'll ever do: become their mom.

It's the best Mother's Day gift of all.

Photo Ops

Today was family picture day. We figured Baby Who has been home nearly eight months and it was time to get all five of us in a picture taken by someone who knew what they're doing. First mission -- finding matching dresses. Check. Second mission -- clearing all noses of boogers. Check. Third -- getting the photos taken without either parent having an apoplectic fit. Check (but it was touch and go there for a while!).

Getting good expressions on three kiddos in the same frame is, shall we say, a challenge. A big, freakin' challenge. The pricier place we've had photos taken offers to take the head from one photo and plunk it onto the body in another to ensure you get all the expressions you want. All this for a mere $15 a head. It just sounds so cannibalistic to me that I haven't had the guts to try it. "Cut off the baby's head and plop it over here, whydon'tcha?" Eeew.

So all heads are intact. No heads rolled. But as you can see from this outtake, at least ONE head may be short a few strands after the shoot.