What do you do when you start the week by getting bullied by a McDonald's semi truck and end it by getting stuck (along with 3 Smalls) in a hospital elevator for 20 minutes?
I'll tell you what we did: We kept on partying.
Yesterday's festivities were girly and giggly and pink.
Today's were spicy.
6 years ago today, in the Detroit airport, Cory and I were handed a screaming baby boy that we did not know. He had owies on his face and a faux-hawk. He was wearing a girly outfit (hence the tears?) and he stared at me like he was memorizing me for life.
What this means, if you want to get technical, is that we added two babies to our family within one calendar year. 364 days, to be exact. Or, as I like to think of it, further proof that one just never knows what God might have up his sleeve.
We prayed for Foster Mama and Birth Mama throughout the day, then capped it off with dinner at Sunny's, our favorite Korean restaurant.
Nana and Papa and G.G. (great-grandma) came along for the fun.
It turns out, we all love Korean food. At least Korean food cooked up in America. But I have to wonder, would we love it quite as much if it didn't help stitch us together with the other halves of two lives that make our own so bright and funny and soul-achingly beautiful?
I'll take every opportunity I can get to crawl into the first world of my babies.
This one has a hankering for cucumber kim chee.
"Picy cumbers", as he says.
Homeboy downed them by the plateful with his sippy cup of water in hand in case of emergency. He rubbed chili paste in his eyes, bit his tongue in all his urgent fervor for more picy cumbers, but it never slowed him down.
I've never seen anything like it.
(Also, he threw an entire plate of turkey sandwich, strawberries, watermelon and Cheez-Its on the floor today at lunch, so I think I'm still a bit wounded over that.)
That's a big part of the gift of these kids.
It's not really the birthdays or the celebratory dinners.
It's the frisbee'd lunch and the 2 hour fits. (I'm talking 'bout you, Calvin!)
It's the crying jags over the injustice of exiting the van last and the reminders to put the seat down.
The gift is that I am their Mama.
Every single day.
I love you, Mr. Lee. I want to fold you up inside of me and carry you with me forever.
I'm all yours, forever. Like white on rice.
I'm so glad I've gotcha.