The Gift

Two nights ago Trevor had a dream that we were running on the roof, running away from something, and while he was concentrating on carrying Berit, I fell. I "just exploded" when I hit the ground, he says. In his dream, he started throwing up, he was so immediately upset.

Not a regular dreamer, Trevor has been shaken ever since.

***

There have been complications with Korea. Without writing the long list of recent challenges (just the thought of them all have my hands and fingers tired; we have been over and over and over them too much), I'll say this: we are officially in a new position, which is hold.

Too much has been sent our way and we cannot act in the best interest of everyone - Berit and Marta, the new child, Trevor and me - so quickly. We have asked to be put on hold.

Here is what that means: We will not lose our "place in line," which I am not allowed to discuss in detail, but can say that it is very, very high on the list. (Place number one is the next family to get their child, etc.) We will continue to climb this list (though there is very little climbing to do), but we will not get a referral (The Call). People on the list under us will, and when and if we say we are ready to progress, we will be in the same or higher position to receive a referral.

Once we made this decision... well, let me back up. I don't think I can talk about what happened after without at least a notation about making this decision. It was hard. It was hand-shaking, tear-strewn, dream-having hard.

And once we sent our official request to be put on hold, something happened that no one expected. It was almost physical, a sense of a wrapper being taken off, or a tie being broken. Not that we were free, not at all. That's not what I'm getting at. It was like we took our sunglasses off - that's a better way to put it.

And I'm not saying that we weren't good parents before, because we were. I know this. But - our kids! They are so, so cool. They are so big! Marta is writing her name. Writing her name! No one has ever thought to even teach her to make a circle, and she's drawing pictures of people and writing her NAME.

Berit is reading books and riding horses now, too. She is braver today than she was yesterday. She is staying up later and problem-solving and working things out with Marta instead of always fighting. She's getting shy in a group of new kids.

I have never seen my children in the way I do now. No longer do I look at them and instantly wonder how I'll handle a particular situation with three. No longer do I envision going to three at night, or driving three in the car, or feeding/bathing/dressing/shopping with three.

And this is OK. It's amazing that it's OK. It's laugh-and-cry-at-the-same-time OK. Because my God, look at my two funny, smart, brave and great girls. They are so fun to be with.

We go exploring and play games and just talk now, and there isn't a second current running behind my thoughts, wondering how we'll get to Korea. It's just us. We're good.

Of course we are mourning the loss of this current, too. But the gift we have been given is remarkable. We are lucky, not flailing. Everything is going to be alright.