Back to work.

I only know this because another high school friend revealed that Mo’nique used to bring her to tears on a regular basis in drama class, teasing her mercilessly for being… Fat.

It’s kind of nice, actually. Quiet and warm, with Internet access (at least while this battery remains charged) and some pretty good reading material.

What do they say? People plan, G-d laughs. (it sounds better in Yiddish: Mensch lacht, G- tt lacht.)

He went from this:

and this

to this

My beautiful, wild baby is now an ordinary little boy. Beautiful, but tamer. I expect quieter, more settled, more mature behavior. I’m shocked that he’s still three.

Nothing, of course, has really changed, except that he no longer has all the hair he’s ever had. But the haircut also marks a transition into his childhood of formal schooling, with its reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmatic, as well as expectations that his moral training begin.

I fear that he will be cut less slack for being incapable of understanding, empathizing. But he is still three, despite the haircut. The internal changes will not come as quickly and dramatically as the external ones.

Not going to do that. At least not right now.

Instead, go look at this blog, especially Unpackging the Jewish Knapsack.

We have a family bed — all of us sleep together in a king-sized futon and have each night since Butternut was born.

About a year ago, we got a twin-sized futon to put at the end of the big bed. Our goal was to slowly move out of that room and eventually discard the king-sized futon.

Last night, Butternut declared that he wanted to sleep in his own bedroom. “Do you know what that means?” asked Pumpkin. “I will sleep for hours and hours by myself,” said Butternut.  Actually, we were thinking about the part where he goes to sleep by himself and told him so. I did not tell him how my heart leapt with joy (followed by a twinge of mama guilt) at the hours of evening we might suddenly be gaining.

We’ve talked with him sporadically about having him have his own room, but this feels really out of the blue. After leaving him for about 15 minutes, Pumpkin went up to find Butternut lying still but awake in the quiet dark and sank into bed next to him after cries of “Papa, I need you.”

Still, the precedent has been set. We are progressing toward having adult time again. I am losing the closeness of his small body snuggled next to mine after hours of separation during the day. This phase of separating from our son is bittersweet.

5:30 a.m. Shower, dress, etc.

6:10 a.m. Make smoothie, coffee, pack lunch

6:30 a.m. blow hair dry

6:40 a.m. Leave house to pick up van pool

6:50 a.m. Drive van to work.

7:50 a.m. Analyze, argue, read, consider, discuss (10 %). Oh, and meet and write memos (40 %). Also, put out fires (50%).

noon Over lunch, hit the interwebs or head to yoga, if not continuing with 7:50 a.m. pursuits.

1 p.m.  See 7:50 a.m. Repeat.

5 p.m. Leave for van

5:10 p.m. Ride home – hit the interwebs or read or fail to escape chatty van rider.

6:15 p.m. Eat dinner with family. Endure tantrums, enjoy giggles, clean up. Possibly go for a short walk.

7:30 p.m. Begin bedtime routine.

9 p.m. End bedtime routine. Good night: climb sleepily out of bed and clean dishes, fold laundry, pick up house, clean until 10 p.m. Most nights: fall asleep and fall woefully behind.

Rinse, repeat. Weekend variations include longer walks with kid during the day, play dates, playground visits and menu planning and grocery shopping. W00t.

Yesterday, the day before, the week before, for a while, I could not find the gratitude.

That’s why there are blessings. That’s why there are religious and meditative practices. Gratidtude must be cultivated. I must cultivate gratitude.

Must?

Only if I want to be happy. And I do want to be happy. I want to be happy.

I’m grateful for the sunshine of the last few days.

I’m grateful for this long commute, which is allowing me to check things out, write, think. (I am also grateful for the other vanpool driver.)

I’m grateful to be headed home — my beautiful home with my loving partner and sweet, healthy Boo Bear.

I’m grateful to have had the luxury of spending my lunch hour practicing yoga.

The thing I like best about this is how normal it is — at least, if I don’t think about it too much. R. comes over periodically. Sometimes she comes alone, sometimes she brings her girlfriend. They are, in many ways, just another couple in our lives. Butternut knows R. is special — he talks about and interacts with her differently from the other adults in his life. We don’t talk often with him about adoption, and he does not seem that interested himelf in talking about it, but we look for opportunities. (“Look, Butternut, here’s a picture of R. when she was carrying you in her uterus.”)

I am reluctant to draw conclusions from this, but I am also drawn to writing about it. I am so curious how Butternut is experiencing his adoption, and I get very few glimpese into it. Having R. around, in our lives, helps.