Summer's last hurrah

Labor Day signals the end of summer, regardless of what the calendar says. The pools close. Kids return to school. And you put away those white shoes until Easter if you ever listened to what your mama told you.

So what better way to usher out the dog days of summer than a trip to the beach?

I spent a dozen years in New England and didn't appreciate what I had -- the ocean at my fingertips, some of the best seafood in the world and history galore. But what I did appreciate was my dear friend who anchored me through relationship storms, fed me more meals than I can ever repay, helped housebreak my dog and shoveled me out from a foot of snow one Christmas as I was flying back from a trip to see my folks. They just don't make them better than the Fabulous K.

K and her delightful hubby J hosted the Three Whos, Mama Who and Grandma Who this past week, and a grand time was had by all. We zoo'd it, did a cookout with seven kiddos under the age of 5, checked out the Children's Museum, went north to Beantown and -- oh, yeah -- hit the beach. Ate my favorite foods, drank my favorite frozen lemonade and scarfed down the best cinnamon rolls in the land. But mostly, I had quality time with the Whos. And maybe, just maybe, they'll be Mama's girls for at least a week!

Gold medal questions

Watching the Olympic Games with the Three Whos has been an experience. I cried at the opening ceremonies -- lip-synching and fake fireworks beside the point. It was amazing to watch, to remember standing across from the Bird's Nest less than a year ago as I waited anxiously to get the heck out of Beijing and go meet Baby Who.

But the Big Whos have lots of questions about the Olympics. They want to know at every commercial, "Is it over now?" The wanted to know what all the performers were doing at the opening ceremonies, why they were flying through the air, how things worked.

But the burning question is one of fashion, prompted by our first viewing of women's gymnastics.

"Are they wearing panties, mama?"

Go figure.

A whole lotta 'tude

Baby Who has entered a new phase. At least, I keep telling myself it's just a phase. Surely it can't last. SURELY. (Yeah, yeah, who am I calling Shirley?)

It started innocently enough a few months ago with the single utterance of the word "No." Not just "No," but "Nooooooo," drawn out like a whoopee cushion losing its air.

That single act of defiance has escalated this past month into what I fear is full-fledged independence. Get this: She does not like the clothes I pick out for her.

Mind you, this child is Not Yet 2.

I am doomed.

So our morning pleasantries have given way to battles as she shakes her head in rejection as I pull out one outfit after another. Today she agreed to wear the short overalls I chose but didn't want a T-shirt. I tried it without the shirt and she looked X-rated. Sorry, kid, but you've gotta cover those baby boobies.

She was not pleased.

Maybe this is her early rebellion at the realization that, as the youngest, she's going to inherit a LOT of hand-me-downs. Maybe she's just mad as hell.

Or maybe she's going to be a fashion diva.

You be the judge.

Adventures of Bubble Butt and her trusty sidekicks

OK, technically it's still spring. But when the mercury hits 94 degrees by noon, it sure feels like summer. So what better way to spend the day than in the new shark-shaped wading pool? (Can I hear some "Jaws" music, please?)

The little mermaids, led by Queen Bubble Butt (no little swimmers small enough, so a regular diaper had to do) went at it with gusto. I'm not sure the pool will ever be the same.

Conversations

Some of the best conversations I have with my big girls occur in the car on the way to or from preschool. No, it doesn't make me mother of the year. But it seldom fails to entertain, or make me think.

This is where I get the reports on who did what to whom, on whether the classroom problem child pulled a stunt, on what made them smile -- or what they're looking forward to.

Today's ramblings would have made an existentialist proud: We covered everything from death and funerals, sparked by the recent, unexpected loss of their Grandma Janie, to mommy's "boo-boo" (recent surgery that's put me out of the lifting game for six weeks) to the perils of cigarettes to how Santa landed his sleigh in our front yard and ate the cookies we left before he brought in his bag of goodies. Who I announced she's going to ask the Jolly Old Elf this year for a monkey, a giraffe and a lion -- oh my!. Who II, nicknamed Loudly for her lack of volume control at times, announced that the next time she's upset, I'm to tell her, "Cry in your quiet voice." And Baby Who joined in with the primal grunts that have earned her the nickname Puma, for the way she screeches "Noooooooooo!" like a jungle cat when she doesn't want to do what she's told.

These conversations with the Whos often resemble a tennis match, my head bobbing back and forth between them as I try to catch Every Single Word while keeping my eyes simultaneously on the road in front and the rear-view mirror. The other drivers must think I have a nervous tic. I'd rather think of it as the Mommy Mojo, multi-tasking as I bee-bop in my minivan down the highway.

It's not always a peaceful ride, to be sure. Sometimes (gasp!) they fight. Sometimes I'm playing the same song on the CD over and over to keep the peace. Some days, my thoughts are elsewhere -- on the work day ahead, worries at home, the pain people I care about are struggling with, the idiot who cut in front of me. But on a morning like today, when the sun's shining brightly, everyone brushed their teeth, their hair doesn't look like rat slept in it and all are fed and happy, life is so, so sweet.

Even IF daddy put Baby Who's shoes on the wrong feet.

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.