February 19-
It seems like not that long ago when I was single, working in the aerotechnologies industry and I got the call. I rushed very quickly, breaking every speed limit on the way, to see you born. You were this tiny little guy, a little blue, with a cute smurf nose. You were a sweet new spirit from Heaven.
I know your birth mom tried. It's just so hard to be a mom and at 15 it was even harder. So you bonded to grandma. You knew when she was home. She was your rock and she is the one you chose to call mom. She's my mom, too, so I know of her greatness. She read to you. She taught you to pray. She made sure you had enough to eat and she protected you as much as she could from your birth's mom sporadic intervals of parenting.
There came a time when your birth mom took you from grandma's home and you didn't want to leave. You didn't want to live with her. You wanted the woman you had called mom, the woman to whom you had bonded. Then the police came and brought you to my home. It was just Me, Mr. Monkey, Monkey Wrench and you. You were 6. He was 3. This wasn't a strange place for you. You had gone camping for your first several times with us. Your first several trips to the zoo were with us. You had spent many nights with us. You moved right in and found a place. Immediately you called Mr. Monkey, dad. This was your choice. You had so many things forced upon you we wanted you to have some say in your life. You continued to call grandma "mom." She was the only real mom you had known. After 2 years of waiting to see if your birth mom would be able to make the changes needed to have you back and seeing that it wasn't going to happen, we adopted you.
I remember the day we sat you down to ask if you wanted to be adopted. You started to cry and told us,"NO!" We were puzzled. You had said that you wanted to live with us. After exploring more about your answer we realized that you though being adopted meant having to leave our home. Once we assured you that you would be staying you were all for it. This is when you started calling me mom, too.
You have had some ups and downs as you have grown up. Some normal. Some because of experiences in your early life that were out of our control.
You are the favorite brother of your little sisters. You are the loving one who plays with them. Spoils them. You got through High School and then you went to Massage Therapy School.
When Mini-Me came to me last night and asked if I was buying you a cake for your birthday I replied, "Not today. Maybe this weekend when we celebrate it." She was so excited and said, "Oh good. I want to make it." She went right to work and put a lot of love in that cake. Tree Monkey wanted to make you a card. She came down and got all the supplies from the craft bins she thought she might need. She made you a card filled with love.
Monkey Wrench is still trying to figure out what he can do for you. Dad and I are waiting for this weekend when we will all have more time.
Until then- "Happy Birthday, Massage Monkey!!!"
You're not a teen anymore. You are the BIG 20!!
It seems like not that long ago when I was single, working in the aerotechnologies industry and I got the call. I rushed very quickly, breaking every speed limit on the way, to see you born. You were this tiny little guy, a little blue, with a cute smurf nose. You were a sweet new spirit from Heaven.
I know your birth mom tried. It's just so hard to be a mom and at 15 it was even harder. So you bonded to grandma. You knew when she was home. She was your rock and she is the one you chose to call mom. She's my mom, too, so I know of her greatness. She read to you. She taught you to pray. She made sure you had enough to eat and she protected you as much as she could from your birth's mom sporadic intervals of parenting.
There came a time when your birth mom took you from grandma's home and you didn't want to leave. You didn't want to live with her. You wanted the woman you had called mom, the woman to whom you had bonded. Then the police came and brought you to my home. It was just Me, Mr. Monkey, Monkey Wrench and you. You were 6. He was 3. This wasn't a strange place for you. You had gone camping for your first several times with us. Your first several trips to the zoo were with us. You had spent many nights with us. You moved right in and found a place. Immediately you called Mr. Monkey, dad. This was your choice. You had so many things forced upon you we wanted you to have some say in your life. You continued to call grandma "mom." She was the only real mom you had known. After 2 years of waiting to see if your birth mom would be able to make the changes needed to have you back and seeing that it wasn't going to happen, we adopted you.
I remember the day we sat you down to ask if you wanted to be adopted. You started to cry and told us,"NO!" We were puzzled. You had said that you wanted to live with us. After exploring more about your answer we realized that you though being adopted meant having to leave our home. Once we assured you that you would be staying you were all for it. This is when you started calling me mom, too.
You have had some ups and downs as you have grown up. Some normal. Some because of experiences in your early life that were out of our control.
You are the favorite brother of your little sisters. You are the loving one who plays with them. Spoils them. You got through High School and then you went to Massage Therapy School.
When Mini-Me came to me last night and asked if I was buying you a cake for your birthday I replied, "Not today. Maybe this weekend when we celebrate it." She was so excited and said, "Oh good. I want to make it." She went right to work and put a lot of love in that cake. Tree Monkey wanted to make you a card. She came down and got all the supplies from the craft bins she thought she might need. She made you a card filled with love.
Monkey Wrench is still trying to figure out what he can do for you. Dad and I are waiting for this weekend when we will all have more time.
Until then- "Happy Birthday, Massage Monkey!!!"
You're not a teen anymore. You are the BIG 20!!
No comments:
Post a Comment