In anticipation of being left to our own devices for a one July week, my son suggested an agenda packed with his favorite things: swimming, eating french fries, playing at the park and going to a movie. “With popcorn!” he demanded, and I didn’t say no.
Let’s do something even bigger, I suggested. His mind could conceive of nothing grander than forbidden food and having Mommy’s complete attention. I consulted the ‘net and with the help of a friend cobbled together a road trip whose attractions included a big-city zoo and a botanical garden currently hosting an exhibit of the boy’s favorite creatures.
“We’re going to see real dinosaurs?” His eyes took up half his face.
They’re just pretend, I assured him. I’m not sure he was convinced. He’s brought it up at least seventy-four-ninety-six-hundred-forty-nine-twenty-seven-thousand (his concept of “the biggest number ever”) since then, including at our latest visit with his birthmother N.
“Take me with you,” she asked.
“Can N. really go with us?” the boy immediately asked, his face all aglow, an in an instant the character of our little get-away changed.
Once I picked my wits up off the ground I laid out some ground rules. You’ll have to pay your own way, I told her, and made my best guess as to what that would entail. And no staying up ’til 3 in the morning. I’ll be in bed by midnight and you’ll have to be too.
She agreed without question, then regaled her son with a rapturous account of the marvels our destination held. “Do you love dinosaurs too?” he asked. She allowed that dinosaurs were, in fact, the bomb, and yet another connection was built.
Oh what have I done? I thought on the way home from the visit. Is this really a good idea? Am I capable of supervising an energetic little boy and his mother all at once? Dear Christ no one mentioned anything like this in any pre-adoption class. Why didn’t I say no?
I fretted all the way home. I fretted through the unloading of the minivan, through the foraging for snacks, through the sending kids off to play. I was still fretting as I settled down to work, a fretting which only stopped when I went to upload pictures of our visit onto Facebook and found a message from N. posted just minutes after our departure. “Thank you for letting me go on the trip,” she wrote. “This means more to me than you know. I’ll have memories of this forever. I could not have picked a better mother for my babies.”
I guess I’m glad I didn’t say no.
I have to say that I am in complete agreement with her.
Wonderful perspective. You are an all-around amazing person.
(Also, modern dinosaurs are all around. They’re the birds. ;) If you ever get a chance to meet a smaller accipiter (Cooper’s Hawk, Sharp-shinned hawk), you’ll see it in the head motions… Somehow, ye olde animatronic claymation folks got it right before even the scientists suspected.)
You are a saint, no doubt about it.
Not hardly.
I beg to differ. I couldn’t have said yes. I was uncomfortable just reading this. Maybe saint is too strong a word (or your idea of what a saint is differs from mine), but you are absolutely an extraordinarily good mom and person – all of this you are doing because you feel it’s what is best for your kids.
Aren’t you upset that this great bonding time between you and your son won’t be there? I always coveted “mom and me” trips where I got the undivided attention. I think I would have been upset that she asked right in front of him, guaranteeing her the answer she wanted.
I don’t know… when I read it I felt more of your loss than any excitement. Maybe I’m not cut out for adoptions. :)
Life is long. We’ll have plenty of other chances to bond, I’m sure.
Hey! Regular reader of your blog, I just don’t comment much.
It was a generous action on your part, but maybe the next trip *should* be just you and your children. It seems from your writing that this woman often makes her rounds when things seem fun and light, but you should be able to have those moments with your children and only with them because you are the one who’s there for the rest of it- when it’s NOT all fun, when it’s 3 in the morning and they’re cranky and you’re covered in kid-throw up and you can hear the crunch of cereal under your feet. Those trips are the salary you are paid for this full-time job and I hope you aren’t skimped out of it.
I reckon I’m pointing out the obvious, but just in case it isn’t obvious… The Facebook message is a not so subtle attempt at manipulation. Kind of like the whole situation with her inviting herself along on the trip. I suppose there’s some sincerity mixed in there too, but…I’m just saying. On the other hand, don’t mind me, I’m just a cynical pessimist ;P
WHOA!!! This is gonna be fun. Can’t wait to SEE YOU!!!!! And (birth mother) dinos too!!!!