......is so hard! Our little guy is sweet, and thoughtful and loving. (But, not without his moments like everyone else's child!) But he is having a hard time being instantly thrown in to a new family, a new routine, a new sleep schedule, and a whole new realm of existence. He has been strong and brave, even in the face of an unexpected extension. And the hard thing is that the "hard time" is not something that he expresses in words openly. It just seeps in by way of unexpected comments, puzzling behavior, or moments curled up under his sheets in silent tears. It's just hard. It is. He is being loved and doted on by two of the most amazing people and their two awesome children, and it's still hard. For him. And for us. And I'm sure for them! (Don't get me wrong, he is also having more than his share of giggles, smiles, laughs, goofiness and good times!)
And it's so good too, and it is growing him and us in many ways. And it is important for his independence, and to know that even apart from Mom and Dad there are people that love him and care for him. And we are doing something good by giving Ruslan a family. And we'll all be back home together soon. And we know all that. And we know people mean well when they tell us that. But it's still hard.
I miss my little boy, and all the big and little moments we normally share. I miss checking his backpack each day. I miss seeing him at soccer, and waiting for that big yellow bus to turn the corner. I miss reading with him at night, cuddled up together. I miss sleepy mornings when he wanders in to my room and we sneak in a snuggle before the day starts. I miss movie night, and family game night, and dinner together at the table. I miss hearing about his day, and hearing what's on his heart, and telling what made us "mad, sad and glad" each night before bed. I miss praying with him. (We do some of this over Skype, but it is somehow not the same!) I miss the random "I love you's" that pop up during the day from both of us, rather than the scripted ones that come at the beginning and ending of Skype sessions. (Though those ones are nice too!) And each night on that screen we are right there with each other, and still a million miles away. And I can't tousle his hair, or give him a hug, or a high five, or tuck him in.
And it is easy to forget, despite our best intentions, that in this grown up world of things happening around us-things are happening TO him. And it's so important to be sure to take the time and explain. Because leaving our son behind to come on this trip wasn't our choice, we never thought about the fact that he could look at it like it was. Because this delay is in NO way our fault or our choice, it is easy for a little guy to misconstrue and think that it is because of some action or inaction on our part. And Ukraine is some crazy, abstract vacuum of a place where his parents show up on a computer screen each night. (Thank you Sullivans though, for the geography info that makes it a little more concrete for him!) and we were so busy and wrapped up with all the preparations of raising funds, and completing paperwork, and just getting here....it never occured to either of us to take out a map or a globe to talk about it.
And he is there. And we are here. And you can't do any of the things you want to do as a mom when you are a million miles away. At least not the way you want to. And it's hard. And finding the right balance of expectation and grace is hard. And I can only pray that I get it right. From a million miles away.
And it's so good too, and it is growing him and us in many ways. And it is important for his independence, and to know that even apart from Mom and Dad there are people that love him and care for him. And we are doing something good by giving Ruslan a family. And we'll all be back home together soon. And we know all that. And we know people mean well when they tell us that. But it's still hard.
I miss my little boy, and all the big and little moments we normally share. I miss checking his backpack each day. I miss seeing him at soccer, and waiting for that big yellow bus to turn the corner. I miss reading with him at night, cuddled up together. I miss sleepy mornings when he wanders in to my room and we sneak in a snuggle before the day starts. I miss movie night, and family game night, and dinner together at the table. I miss hearing about his day, and hearing what's on his heart, and telling what made us "mad, sad and glad" each night before bed. I miss praying with him. (We do some of this over Skype, but it is somehow not the same!) I miss the random "I love you's" that pop up during the day from both of us, rather than the scripted ones that come at the beginning and ending of Skype sessions. (Though those ones are nice too!) And each night on that screen we are right there with each other, and still a million miles away. And I can't tousle his hair, or give him a hug, or a high five, or tuck him in.
And it is easy to forget, despite our best intentions, that in this grown up world of things happening around us-things are happening TO him. And it's so important to be sure to take the time and explain. Because leaving our son behind to come on this trip wasn't our choice, we never thought about the fact that he could look at it like it was. Because this delay is in NO way our fault or our choice, it is easy for a little guy to misconstrue and think that it is because of some action or inaction on our part. And Ukraine is some crazy, abstract vacuum of a place where his parents show up on a computer screen each night. (Thank you Sullivans though, for the geography info that makes it a little more concrete for him!) and we were so busy and wrapped up with all the preparations of raising funds, and completing paperwork, and just getting here....it never occured to either of us to take out a map or a globe to talk about it.
And he is there. And we are here. And you can't do any of the things you want to do as a mom when you are a million miles away. At least not the way you want to. And it's hard. And finding the right balance of expectation and grace is hard. And I can only pray that I get it right. From a million miles away.
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