After Matt and I were engaged, there were some rumblings from ourselves and others about whether Matt would one day adopt Ben. At the time it seemed too big so we stuck a pin in it until a later date.

As time went on, and regardless of any formal proceedings, Ben starting calling Matt “Dad” on his own long before we were married. And Matt truly become Ben’s father, more than any piece of paper or DNA could prove differently.

That was then.

A few weeks ago Matt and I met with the same lawyer that helped me in 2001 to start the process of Matt adopting Ben. To say this has made all the hearts in my family and friends swell to three times their original size would be an understatement.

And to say that this will be an arduous task is also an understatement.

Because Ben already has a blank space in the “father” column, our lawyer said we could do this on our own. If we wanted to pay him $500 to do the paperwork for us he would take our money but a lawyer wasn’t necessary. (See? They aren’t all snakes.)

Once I started delving into this adventure, I got confused if I was trying to adopt the entire population of Zimbabwe or was just trying to have my husband adopt my son.

We have to go through an adoption agency (luckily we don’t have to wait for a child. I have a great one in mind who’s available with a room already all set up…) which includes a home visit, a substantial fee, a 46 page questionnaire for Matt, a physical for Matt and Ben, copies of our financial statements, insurance, Eddie’s vaccinations and all our Facebook statuses for the past three years. (I’m kidding about the Facebook stuff… although, shit, maybe I just haven’t gotten to that page in the packet yet.)

None of the above includes the Dane County court paperwork, their court fees and the hearing.

Let’s review some facts, mmmkay? Ben is not an orphan. He’s my child. I have 100% legal custody of him. Matt is my legal husband. We have all lived together in harmony for over two years now.

I understand and completely support protecting our children but I did legally marry the guy without anyone seeming to care there was a child in the mix.

Welcome to bureaucracy!

Sure we could forget about all this hassle and continue to live happily ever after as is, BUT, this is worth it. So worth it to all three of us.

This adoption will mean that Matt is legally Ben’s and Ben is legally Matt’s. Ben will be Matt’s heir, if something happens to me there will be no question where Ben goes and the very most important thing that gives me chills and makes me automatically cry… my sweet boy who has never deserved this Jerry Springer life I’ve brought him into, will finally, after twelve years, have a name in that “father” column. Legally and forever.

It’s a complicated age.

He can stay home alone for over an hour, sit in the front seat of the car, make himself a snack and sometimes dinner (“dinner” being cereal), he can entertain himself.

I’m no longer his hub for amusement. He doesn’t rely on me to play with him or set up his play-dates.  He doesn’t have “play-dates” anymore.  He has “hangouts” that he organizes by texting his friends.

To those mothers with toddlers, this may sound like heaven.  And for awhile it was.

Until one day I realized how much I missed my son.

Missed him with a physical pain.   Sure he was home. Yes, I knew where he was at all times but I wondered when was the last time I really looked into his beautiful hazel eyes.  When had we had a decent conversation not about his homework or what time his soccer game was but how he FELT about school and hell, even soccer.

Mostly the pain was the realization that I was the reason for this divide.  I’m the adult, dammit.  I’m the one that needs to say “Hey, get off the computer/video game/phone and let’s DO something.”   He’s almost twelve.  He wouldn’t stop on his own accord and say, “Mom and Dad, let’s spend some quality time together, yes?”

When you have a child who’s almost twelve you might relish in the quiet until you wake up and see the quiet as lonely and scary. Soon he won’t be almost twelve, he’ll be almost sixteen and really out of arms reach.

Which is why on Sunday morning, after a freak March snowstorm, I declared that my Almost Twelve and I were going sledding.

His face lit up; even more than beating the high score on his latest game.  ”When?  Now?”

So often it’s “later in the afternoon…” which then turns into “Shoot! Sorry.  Tomorrow.”

Which is why I said, “Yes! Now!”

We bundled up in our dusty snow gear and headed for the hill.  We only had one saucer but didn’t want to waste time in Target’s clearance aisle to purchase another.  One would work.  One was perfect.

It was an hour of joy.  Pure happiness that doesn’t happen all the time.

We took turns on our saucer.  Sometimes we piled onto the saucer together like we used to.  I screamed, I laughed, he laughed, he screamed.

When we were finally packing it up, I looked at my boy with his cold colored cheeks, grabbed him close and kissed the top of his head. (An action I soon won’t physically be able to do.)  And the best part?  He let me.  Right out there in the open.

And then he said to me, “You know what my favorite part of his morning was?  Hearing you and all the little kids out there giggle and scream like that. It was the best.”

I knew that I may have lost him in the recent past but he wasn’t really gone.  My sweet boy was right here all along.

And now I know where he is and won’t need breadcrumbs to find my way back to almost twelve.

Linking up with Heather of the EO’s Just Write.

Yesterday my son, my baby, my one and only child went off to Junior High.

That actually sounds more romantic than it was, Diary. It was more like, my son, my baby, my blah blah, myself and the dog lugged five bags of school supplies and one small bag of poop four blocks to school. Saying goodbye to him was anti climatic as I was trying to corral the dog to not follow Ben any further.

“Eddie, we have to go.  We can’t embarrass him…”
“Mom! Stop talking to do the dog. GAWD!”

Oh Diary, how is my boy 11? How is he in sixth grade? How did this happen? Where did his chubby diaper and pacifier go?

You see Diary, my problem is this… I don’t remember being a baby. I don’t remember my first daycare. I have maybe 4 memories of preschool (getting my Preschool of the Arts Tony award for the starring role as Sleeping Beauty…).

I have memories of elementary school, however faded they may be; but Diary, I remember middle school vividly!

I remember having terrible hair and such bad acne that Chris Simmons called me “Pizza Face”. (When I told him this 20 years later he apologized profusely and says he doesn’t remember. I believe him, Diary. He looked sincere.)

I remember being a Mean Girl. Despite the acne and frizz I could boss the best of them around.

Until 7th grade when I only had two friends left. When Kristin called me one night and said, “Wasn’t Gwyneth being a bitch today?” “Oh totally. For sure. Major bitch.” And then I heard Gwyneth pick up another phone at Kristin’s house and yell, “Becky! You just failed the friend test!”

I remember then having no friends in 7th grade.

I remember Chad Valenza telling me and Molly Wallace he was going to ask one of us to “go with him” that night. We had to wait by the phone. My phone never rang. Molly’s did.

I remember having such a crush on Greg Esser when I sat behind him in Spanish I thought he could hear my heart betting and when he picked up my dropped pencil I SWEAR we had a connection. We didn’t.

I remember being so jealous of Amy Biddle. She was the prettiest girl in our grade. Greg Esser was her boyfriend.

I remember writing with Sharpie, “Dead Kennedy’s” “Clash” “The Circle Jerks” on my Converse high tops. I had no clue who these bands were but I knew it was way cooler than writing “J Geils Band” or “Huey Lewis and the News”.

I remember playing flute in the band.  As I took private lessons I was actually good.  Although it wasn’t cool to be good at an instrument so I fought it every step of the way.

I remember making excuses why I couldn’t go on the ski trips because I had not a clue how to ski and wasn’t confidant enough to try to learn.

I remember loving Home Ec but telling all my friends it was “totally stupid…”

See Diary? I remember it all. And now my son is going into that ring of social awkwardness. The gauntlet of heartbreak and insecurity. And I just let him, Diary. I didn’t hold him back and say, “Forget it. I’ll home school you.”

Because maybe Diary, maybe he’ll be the Greg Esser who gets the Amy Biddle. And maybe there will be no Chris, or Gwyneth and he’ll just have his own experience. One that he needs to have.  No matter how painful or wonderful it may be and it will have nothing to do with my own three years in middle school.

So I’ll be here. Waiting for him every day after school. With my dog and my poop bag. Trying beyond hope not to embarrass him.

Thanks for listening Diary.

Love,
Me

However when the boy was old enough to know what “Dad” was, he would ask from the backseat of the car, “Do I have a dad?”

In the front seat, hidden from the boy’s view, the woman would flinch. Promising always to tell the boy the truth, she’d say, “You do but we don’t know where he lives.  And you know, you don’t need a dad.  You have Grandma and Grandpa and a Mommy who loves you as much as two parents could love a boy.  We don’t need a dad.”

The answer would always appease the boy in the same manner as if you were born without an arm.  You would never know what it was like to have an arm… and therefore never miss it.

As the years went on the woman’s boyfriends came and went with no one being “Dad” material.  She knew it from the rough way they would act around the boy or the fake smile they would put on for him.  But mostly it was the boy himself that would tell her in his own quiet way.

Along with the years came bullies who asked the boy, “Why don’t you have a dad?” or “Where is your dad?”  These questions always socked the woman in the stomach more than they bothered the boy because again… he never had an arm to begin with.

Then came that one unseasonably cool summer night where the woman met a man.  A man with a genuine smile, an infectious laugh and a good soul.  It wasn’t just the best first date ever, it was the beginning of something wonderful.

Despite hesitation from others, the woman introduced the boy to the man within a matter of days.  She knew the boy was the best barometer of character.  And instantly the woman knew this was different.  They played ball.  The man was patient with the overthrows and complimentary of the boys skill without being saccharine.

Time went on and the man and woman became closer.   Time went on and the man and boy became closer.

After just six months the man asked the woman to marry him.  He made sure to propose during a time that the boy was around.  Because in truth the man was hoping that both of them would say “YES!”

Soon after the engagement, the boy said words he had never uttered in his ten years of life.  The boy, of his own volition without want or coaxing from anyone said to the man, “Hi Dad.”

The man smiled his warm smile, paused and simply replied, “Hi Son.”

On this first official Father’s Day the man will watch baseball and play catch with his son.  And the boy will grab on to his dad and ask him to play.

And all the while, the woman, the wife, the mother will smile a smile that is of pure light from her very happy heart.

There is no “The End” to this story.  There is just “The Beginning”.

A little background: at the end of 4th grade when Ben announced he wanted to be in strings the following year, my mom lost her mind with happiness. “But!” he said, “I want to play the bass. If I can’t play the bass then I might not want to do it.”

The bass is a coveted instrument for 5th graders. Number 1, because there are only three and #2 you have to be a certain stature of person to be able to handle this large instrument. Luckily for Ben #3 happened. His grandmother is good friends with the string teacher’s wife.

Since then strings has been a great experience for Ben. And he really liked it as he practiced every day after school (this is a bold faced lie) and couldn’t wait for this concert (we almost forgot about it as he had a baseball game right before and had to change out of his uniform in the car.)

Seeing as this was such a spectacular event (and it was held in a gym. A small 1930′s gym) it was standing room only. Which was fine with Matt and I because we got a great view of our proud bassist who was just a couple feet away.

However, apparently standing during a concert is against PTO rules because a man scurried up to us with two chairs for us to, “sit! sit!”

Ooh front row seats! Now we’re talking.

Except this was then our view.

Ben’s partner was so into the music with his hands flying up and down the strings.  Was my music stand masked child also as equally into it?  Only the good Lord knew.  Or someone with a better view.

Before the music started I was worried this was going to be an hour of wet cats screaming. (Do cats scream? Well if they did, and they were wet, they would sound like this warm up.) But when the first round of “Pop Goes the Weasel” came I was pleasantly surprised. They weren’t bad!

Much to Matt’s horror, in between songs, I tried to get Ben’s attention to move his music stand so I could see him.

And it worked.

Sorta.

Finally gave up any hope of actually SEEING my boy play and instead focused on the music.

And the fact he really needs new shoes.

I have to say the concert was really good and can’t wait to one day see Ben playing the bass in the Madison Symphony Orchestra.

Except that after the concert when I told Ben how great he was and how good he could be at the bass, especially in middle school, he informed me that he’s taking band. And playing the saxophone.

Right.  OK.  So then we can’t wait to one day see Ben in the neighborhood 4th of July parade playing his kazoo.

*Please forgive the ridiculous quality of these Blackberry pictures.  One who almost forgets the concert surely can’t be expected to remember a camera.

Since then she has increasingly gotten stronger everyday and the pain lessens daily.  She is also now talking up to 4 walks a day around the nurses station.  Next up, Ironman.

And! She’s coming home today. Amazing.

She still has a long road to go with many bad days ahead, but she’s my mom.  She’s mighty.  And I know, later this summer, she’ll be better than ever.

We survived the move.  Barely.   But we are IN OUR HOUSE!  OURS!  And I love it.  So much.  And just like my mom, every day it gets better.  (Wait, did I just compare my messy house to my mom’s open heart surgery?  Listen people I’m lucky to be able to speak in complete sentences after that weekend.  Perhaps the world didn’t technically end on the 21st but by Saturday night you could have fooled me.)

Oh and also?  Today?  Is my kid’s 11th birthday.  For the past decade it has been a national holiday in the Mikkimoto home.  Countdown’s, fireworks, parades down the street.  This year, it’s like a Wednesday.  But for my sweet innocent boy’s sake I’m trying.  Therefore, his birthday letter will be late but as those whose lives have become complete unmanageable say, “better late than never.”

Tomorrow we are having a family birthday party for him in our new home.  Which still has boxes everywhere, no pictures on the walls and the computer is currently residing on top of a dresser.  Blogging while standing is the new wave of social media.   Our home is sort of like shabby chic with just shabby.

People say to me lately, “Wow, you have so much going on. How are you doing?”  and I can’t even stop to think about it.  Or I’ll collapse.  In a heap in the corner sobbing.  It’s too much.  It’s all too much.  But as my dad said last night, it’s all uphill from here.  (Or is it downhill? Whichever way we are going on the hill, it’s the good way.) After we are done with this month we will have accomplished so much.  Until then, I’m dancing as fast as I can.

So thank you again for all your thoughts and prayers for my mom.  I truly believe they worked.

It seems his cute upper jaw (it’s totally cute) doesn’t have enough room for all his teeth.  If we did nothing his canine teeth wouldn’t be able to come down or he might channel his inner shark and have some crazy double teeth action.  This wouldn’t bode well for his future acting career.

Yesterday morning I was an internal wreck but was outwardly strong for Ben.  Who, it appeared, didn’t need strength.  He even said, “This is going to be a great day!”  I think he was more referring to not going to school and getting a toy afterward but I can guarantee that ten year old Becky wouldn’t have thought there was anything good about the day.

Once we got there they moved fast which I was grateful for.  And again, he was SO brave sitting in the chair being hooked up to heart monitors (Um, WHAT?!) and other gadgets I blurred out.

The thing I was most worried about was the IV sedation.  I know how much he hates needles and I also know first hand how painful IV’s are.  But again, he was amazing as I held his little hand.  He said “Ow!” but didn’t freak or cry.

And then the dentist/doctor/surgeon/teeth robber said in a stern-ish voice, “OK Mom. Off you go.”

The nurse lead me down the hall further and further from my boy as I tried so hard not to cry.  I didn’t but I swear I burned 100 calories just trying to hold it together.  This was the first time I’ve ever had to leave him for anything medical.

I waited in that lobby for 6 years.  I read through two “People” magazines which were three weeks old.  Did you know Cox and Arquette are divorcing?  Did you know those Chilean miners got out?

I texted and tweeted and tried to play some game on my phone.  And when all else failed I made a friend with the young guy next to me who’s girlfriend was getting all four wisdom teeth pulled.

When they finally said “Ben’s mom?” I ran at full speed towards the nurse.  Just in case she changed her mind.

Back down the hall I found my boy laying in a bed looking like a drunk chipmunk with ice packs on his cheeks packed with nuts for three winters.

The nurse gave me instructions as Ben fist bumped about getting to ride in a wheelchair.  This child continued to amaze me.

And that’s where the good times ended.

I had a prescription for a pain killer that I wanted to fill and thought I could run into Walgreen’s since Ben was seemingly feeling so good.  I pulled into the Walgreen’s lot just as Ben managed to say through all the gauze, “I don’t feel well…”  I ran to his door, got out the bloody gauze just in time for him to puke all over Walgreen’s parking lot.

It was not pretty.  I had to run to a waste basket on the other side of the parking lot with the gauze and leave my crouching child by the car.  Awesome! Hi everyone!  No, he’s not dying and no I’m not really running AWAY from him.

Needless to say I gave up the shopping trip and instead called my dad to come get the prescription and fill it for us.  I got my kid home where he puked again in the driveway and multiple times the rest of the afternoon.  He couldn’t keep anything down.  After hours of this I had enough and called the dentist/doctor/surgeon/teeth robber who prescribed an anti nausea medication.

Which worked and my boy began to perk up.

It’s days like yesterday that make you really work out your motherhood muscles and pull from inside you that amazing strength of parenthood.  The strength that allows you to handle blood, puke, snot without a second thought.  Rinsing out the puke bucket is like rinsing out any other dish.  That instinct that demands someone help your kid.

And also that inner voice that says, “Holy crap that was awful.  Thank God it’s over.”

It’s so nice.

And honestly, BORING as hell.

How do people LIVE like this? My idea of a wild night lately is switching my tea from chamomile to a new vanilla Sleepy Time. (Those kids from the Jersey Shore could learn a thing or two from this crazy night life.)

My other new favorite pastime is sleeping. All I want to do is sleep. Not because I’m depressed or sick but because I can. Sort of like someone who breaks their leg, after the cast comes off they want to run or dance. Me? I want to sleep. “Dudes! Check me out… zzzzzzzz” Rock star. RIGHT. HERE!

So in order to get some juices flowing other than a wild night of pajamas donned at 7:00 pm and an episode of Glee, the boy and I decided to break out the Halloween decorations.

How festive!  How fun! How innocent!

and then I heard a voice say “Hi…” and I looked up to see….

and my heart stopped.

Yes folks, this is what happens when Grandma takes him Halloween costume shopping.  The grandma that has never seen Steven King’s “It” at a sleepover.  The woman who has never peed her pants in front of friends while watching a psycho clown kill people.  I mean I totally didn’t do this either but I heard it happened. To someone.

So yeah.  I get to live in the same house with this mask for the next couple weeks.  If you think it’s disturbing on, wait until you see it just laying on the dining room table.

I think I’d rather stick to boring.

Someone wake me up on November 1st.

Wordless Wednesday

Speaking of back to school, if you want to laugh until you are rendered useless, check out my friend Ann’s spot on memory of the first day of school circa 1986.
“You might wear your brand new jeans and turtleneck and wool sweater from the Menswear when it is fall but it is 85 degrees.”

Like last year we both cried a little when he left.  Even though there is someone else in the mix, my kid and are still very close; like sticky gooey tape on paper.

Unlike last year we didn’t worry about whether he’d have fun.

Unlike last year I wasn’t consumed with dread and panic on how I would fill my week of childless quiet days.

However just like last year it wasn’t easy to say goodbye and let go.

As my boy continues to grow and become more independent I know it’s inevitable that the day will come when it’s his time.  His time to find his own voice, his own path and his own crooked messy corner of this big world.

And just like the past ten years, this mother of that boy isn’t ready.  Not yet.

Thursday can’t get here fast enough.