Chasing Cyrus--Again

Been around Cyrus much? If so, you have seen firsthand what a wild man he is. At 2 1/2, his shenanigans eclipse Jasper's shenanigans at this age--and that's saying much. As busy and fast and wild as you expect a toddler boy to be, he is more so.

I just made the dumb mistake of trying to take him with me to my volunteer gig reading with kids in Ruby's fifth grade class every other week. There is a reason--a major one that starts with C and sounds like 'ryrus'--that I only agreed to do this on the days I had babysitting. But a friend asked me to trade her this week, and I owed her a favor.

"What's the worst that can happen?" I thought. I see moms at the school with toddlers all the time. And I know Cyrus loves watching the iPad, so that should do the trick--not.

Right when I walked into the classroom he wriggled out of my arms and took off down the hall. And this kid is FAST. We are talking get-up-on-your-toes-pump-your-arms-and-sprint to catch him fast. The teacher asked, "Which student do you need first?"

"Ruby! To chase her brother down the hall," I replied. Ruby took off down the hall, only to find him in the sixth grade classroom.

We made it through a few students with him watching the iPad, eating every piece of gum in my purse, and unraveling a whole container of floss. Phew. Survivable so far, right? This is number 5, and I'm beyond embarrassment for such little things.

But then when he started spitting the gum out on the floor and running away every time I turned my attention to a student, it was too much. The worst of those was just all the way down two halls, trailing floss, with only a janitor and another mom to stare at me as I ran by. After that one I decided to tell Mrs. Thompson it was a lost cause and I'd have to leave. But as I tried to clean up he wriggled away from me and ran away one more time. I put on my best sprinter form and took off after him, but it was too late! I watched him round the corner into the sixth grade classroom and heard the giggles begin. I ran in only to be caught in a ridiculous game of dodge-mom-around-the-desks with Cyrus. The giggles got louder as the kids saw I had no chance of getting to him. Finally I cried "It's not funny! Stop him!" One boy took mercy on me and cornered him. As I picked him up and ran out of the room, I heard the torrent of laughter erupt behind me. I think I heard the teacher say something about how I just made their day. Good thing she saw it that way:)

Just another day's work with Cyrus. This number 5 is giving me a run for my money!

Too Much

I am so tired of being utterly maxed out every. single. day. I long to live a less eventful life.

OOPS! Sorry—Head over next door . . .

UPDATE: I just made my private blog public for now. I haven't written much there, and looking back on the few posts I don't feel there's anything all that private. I'm working on a book about our story now, so blogging more at my writing blog, everymagicseed.com.

Sorry sorry sorry, everybody! I finally pulled the trigger and went private, and then immediately didn't feel good about it. There are so many struggling adoptive families out there getting no real, true perspectives that I hated the idea of all my old posts suddenly being harder to find. I decided to create a second, private blog instead. So that's why your email got bombarded again. I invited you all next door to my"quiet" blog, at swensensaysitquietly.blogspot.com.

This blog will continue to stay public, and will include all sorts of different things, especially about our upcoming house build. The other blog with be invitation only, and will contain the more difficult stuff that is harder to share publicly, especially about difficult parts of our adoption. Again, I am happy to let anyone read it as long as they email me and ask, and are reading in the right spirit. It's all just about protecting my kids' privacy.

Thanks.

Emily

Private: the Sequel

Ok, Ok, so it's a little ridiculous that it took me six months to get around to taking my blog private. I had to let it simmer, right? I apologize—thanks for sticking with me. I extended an invitation to everyone for whom I could find an email address.

If you would like to be added at any time—even if you're a new reader I haven't met before—shoot me an email at emilymabey@gmail.com.

There were a few of you whose email addresses I couldn't find:

Percy2626
Stephensen Celebrations
Diane
Jennifer Bruner (didn't know if you wanted me to use Garths?)

Just email me and I'll add you.

Thanks, everybody!

Private

Hey All,

There is so much in my heart that I would like to share, but feel I can't if I don't want my children's lives to be completely public. Maybe it doesn't matter, but it worries me enough that it keeps me from posting. So, I've decided to either take this blog private, or create a new, private blog. I have no problem with anyone who is interested following me there--I just want to be able to know who is reading.

I don't want to quit blogging, because now more than ever I need a place to record what's in my heart. But for the past couple of years my blog hasn't allowed me to do that freely, because I've been too afraid of violating my kids' privacy. So, if you'd be interested in following our journey, go ahead and comment. I'll add you when I make the blog private.

Thanks so much for all your love,

Emily

Persecution Complex

I think the main difference between having a persecution complex when you're younger and having one when you're older is acknowledgement. When you're young and naive and new to the world of persecution, you are positive you don't have a complex—you are sure it's true. People are, in fact, conspiring to judge you harshly, and the world really is out to get you. Fast-forward a decade or two, and you've got a lot more life experience under your belt. You are quite sure that you're too mature and secure in your own skin for persecution complexes, thank you very much. And then, one day, you realize you are knee-deep in one. This happened to me today. I have spent the past little while feeling frustrated and alone in some ways, and thinking lots of people were judging me and my family harshly. How could this be? I have tried hard to be kind and honest, and I'm pretty much an open book. Aren't people less likely to talk about me if it's easy to talk to me? I thought I had accumulated enough good will for people to give me the benefit of the doubt if they didn't understand my decisions, or something they heard about me or my children. But then you hear whisperings of things said by people who don't even know you, and the immortal words of Buffalo Springfield come true: paranoia strikes deep. After a few weeks of paranoia, you're in a full-blown persecution complex. So, here it is, but this time I'm admitting it to myself. I'm feeling a little persecuted by the world. I want to run away. So, what's the psychological antidote learned from all those years of life experience? Having been raised by my particular mom and grandma, it's not hard to come up with a bunch, and quickly: "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I'll go eat worms!" "I'm sorry for myself, so sorry for myself." "There's only so much pity to go around. Best not to waste it all on yourself." I can sing these antidotes over and over to myself, and hope the persecution fever breaks. It will. It's silly! Shouldn't the very acknowledgement of it render it powerless? Ah, but there's a twist I didn't recognize. When I was young, I felt persecuted on my own behalf. That's just plain self pity. Now, I feel persecuted on behalf of my children, and my efforts to do the best by them. That's a new strain of the virus entirely. It's tougher to beat. It's still self pity—I'm aware of that. But it's a lot more potent. So what do you do? How do you shake it? I can't run away. And I can't let myself wallow.

You've got to see this amazing video. It will make your day. While you're at it, read my article too, and like or share it:)

Driveway Sledding

Driveway sledding, after dark, in 6 degree weather: pretty darn awesome.

Having your grandpa join you on the hill: unforgettable.

21-month-old Track Star

Cyrus is a crazy fun baby. He ran all the way from Disneyland to our hotel (half mile) in his squeaky shoes. People just starred and chuckled all along the route. Jasper made this video of it.

Recent Assignments I've Been Given at Work

Surf YouTube
Surf Buzzfeed
Surf Mashable
Spend more time on Pinterest

Yep. My job is pretty cool.