Odds & Ends

The mail truck just went by and picked up our outgoing mail. A few pieces of business were in there, and this year's letter to the Tiny Tornado's birthmother. It's a short letter this year; I just told K that TT is doing well and will be starting school this fall, but that there are things going on in our lives right now that make both TT and me uncomfortable sharing details or photos. We don't have a fully-open adoption; these annual letters are our only point of contact. Even so, and although I promised to write again when TT turns six, I feel like I have just closed our adoption.

I would expect to feel some regret at this. Again and again, I have fantasized that K would respond to one of my letters, use the enclosed SASE to write to the Tiny Tornado. That she would send a picture. That there would be more connection between us, not less.

This is primarily a self-serving fantasy, wanting K to signal, "I'm healed! Everything is OK and I'm fine with this now!" Just in case you thought I was thinking of some wish of Tiny Tornado's to know his birth mother, or of some desire K might have to be in touch with her third child. Nope. Mostly I just wanted to be relieved of any residual guilt about K's broken heart.

But, today, I don't feel regret. I only feel tremendous relief, that this year Tiny Tornado decided to live as a boy, giving me an excuse not to write a long, friendly letter to a woman I've never met, a woman who hurt my child and lied to us.

I'm glad not to have to do it.

I told K I'd write again in a year, and that maybe we'd be willing to tell her more about the Tiny Tornado's life. And a year from now, I will write. I will write in good faith. If I can, I will tell her details. If I can, I'll include pictures. But today? I feel like being honest about how much I hate this obligation, and how glad I am to have a year off from it.

The incoming mail included an unexpected compliment. I got a form letter thanking me for working at the summer gathering, but it included a personal post-script from the conference coordinator saying she appreciated my "patience, creativity, and initiative." I have a file of unexpected, sincere compliments I've gotten, to counter the occasional negative voices in my head. This one is going in there.

Leftover notes jotted down during the gathering:

A friend says to me, "That's a really cute water bottle. I don't think I've seen [a Kleen Kanteen] that small before."

Me: Well, it originally came with a sippy cup top, if that tells you anything.

I pick up Word Boy and a friend of his from their gathering in the morning. As we stroll along, they are discussing a dead bird they found and closely examined that morning. They used the word "dissect," but I doubt they really did. Anyway, a friend passing in the other direction overhears and says, "Doesn't the impromptu dissection worry you?"

I say, "Eh, I'm getting used to it."

One of a million things I've decided it's not worth fighting about. Word Boy knows: Do not touch any dead animal with your hands. Be respectful of the dead animal: you may examine it but do not whack it brutally with sticks. If possible move the carcass somewhere it won't be further harrassed. Wash your hands after.

I trust him to follow these guidelines. Beyond that, there's just really no stopping a kid who is so fascinated with bodies and how they fit together.

Speaking of trust, I was thinking of the Tiny Tornado this morning. First, as I was sweeping up dog hair clippings from the living room floor, I was thinking about how much easier life is when I just accept that he's going to do things like trim the mats from the dog's ear hair, draw himself a bubble bath, or (as he did the other day) glue his feet to the floor. I'll live longer if I don't go through the roof when these entirely predictable things happen.

On the other hand, I was musing as I listened to him show a friend how to feed pumpkin seeds to the hamsters, there are things he is entirely trustworthy about. For instance, he is allowed to open the hamster cages and play with the hamsters whenever he wants, because he is always gentle and appropriate with them, and reliable about closing the cage. He can be trusted with animals in general; he is interested in how to care for them, and takes the information he's given to heart. The worst sins he commits against the dogs, for instance, involve dressing them up, and sometimes needing to be reminded that even dogs get done playing with their friends and need to be allowed to have some quiet time.

I popped into an old blog of mine earlier, looking for something, and got sucked into reading about life with the Lego Savant when he was a baby. Here are a few things I found fun:

My first day alone with the baby

A Day in the Life: A log of our day at 8 weeks old

A bad day at the dentist. Lego Savant is 2; I am pregnant with Word Boy

On birthing plans

Word Boy's birth story

And this was just kind of funny. The references to Montana: dear friends' home had just been burned down by an arsonist, and I had flown out to help them during the days after the fire.

I think I'll go do something productive. This day is flying away from me. Fortunately, the Lego Savant and I put a pot roast in the slow cooker this morning, so dinner is taken care of.

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