My conversation with Asher turned deep quickly this morning, causing me to both cry out to God in gratefulness and beg Him for mercy.
I was sharing with him that he was my only son, and that I wouldn’t trade him for any other boy in the world.
Asher: (giggling). “No other son, Mamma?”
Me: “Nope. You’re the one. My only son.”
Asher: (playfully jumping and giggling): “Like Jesus, Mamma?”
Me: “Like Jesus. God chose you to be my special, special son. And I am so, so glad.”
Asher: (practically dancing): “Me too, Mama. And I wouldn’t trade you either. Never, ever.”
Me: (dancing inside) “I’m glad”
Few seconds later, and Asher is sitting on the floor, looking serious:
Asher: “Some sons don’t have Mammas,”
Me: “I know, honey.”
Asher: “And they cross the street all by themselves. Without even looking.”
Me: “That makes me sad, Asher.”
Asher: “And some sons die. (pause) Some sons died in Goma.
Me: “I know honey. And I’m so sorry about that.”
Few more seconds pass quietly.
Asher: (up and dancing again): “I’m sure glad I didn’t die.”
Me: “Me too, Asher. Oh, me too.”
God, thank you. God, will you send more Mammas?
PS - There was also a brief exchange, he made sure, about Phoebe, and how she was my only daughter, and how I wouldn’t trade her for any other girl in the world either.
That’s what Phoebe said when she saw these guys coming:
How did she know to expect them?
Here’s what her Mama didn’t expect (and a potential note to parents of internationally adopted children):
When these guys start playing “God Bless America” and you start teaching the words, as yet unknown, to your children- and you get to the part that goes like this:
"God. Bless. A-mericAA… My home. sweet. home.”
… you just might find yourself unexpectedly crying.
And, later, when you watch your son literally skipping down the sidewalk, waving an imaginary flag, and embodying the word “parade”, causing even the grumpiest looking of onlookers to flash a grin, you’ll probably at least be tearing up.
All good. We love a parade.
So, Phoebe was humming a little Christmas tune today. Then, she sang out the words: "Change the season to be holly….fa la la la la…".you know the rest.”
"Speaking of which, Mama…. what does ‘speaking of which’ mean?"
"Look, I’m a grandhopper. I hop!"
Yes, Asher. You are a grand hoppper indeed.