2006: A Suction Odyssey

Yesterday was a banner and confetti day for Jeremy. The Webkins got a new 12.0amp Hoover Twin Chamber Bagless Windtunnel Vacuum!!!!!!!!

The theme song from Stanley Kubrick's movie would have been perfect background music during the moment the machine emerged like a monolith from the box. Yes, a fifteen-month-old can be in awe. Jeremy has been enamored of vacuums since the beginning. Anything with a hose is first-rate (garden hoses, bicycle pumps, Mommy's Water Pik). Also, Jeremy loves anything that cleans a floor, including dogs under his high chair, brooms (tall and whisk), Swiffer products, and ... vacuums. His foster mom introduced him to a vacuum early, pushing one back and forth under his swing while he was napping. The roar continues to soothe Jeremy; the absence of it makes him cry. Seriously, the kid cries when we turn the vacuum off. "More, more! Don't stop!" he wails. And, oh, this new Hoover is a beauty. You can actually SEE the crap that has been lurking in the carpet, and it whirls around and around in the wind tunnel with hurricane force. Oh happy day!

Our Sun/Our Son

Sadly, the anniversary of when Jeremy was placed with Barb and I slipped by without much fanfare. The three of us were too immersed in the medicines, coughing, fitful sleeping and fevers of our collective bronchitis. I guess, though, in some ways, there is no greater evidence of a close-knit family than a shared illness.

I have been wanting to say something about adoption, lately. But I keep forgetting. And that is what I want to say. That, most of the time, I forget that we adopted Jeremy. I don't mean that I forget that a baby-emerging-into-a-toddler entered the front door on February 20, 2005 and completely upended and reorganized our lives. No no no. There is not a minute, awake or in my dreams, that I forget that. I mean that I often forget that Jeremy is adopted. He is our son. Thoroughly, one hundred percent, undeniably ours. He is ours when he laughs with glee at the sky. He is ours when he cries when we leave the room, even for an itty bitty second. He is ours when he runs with outstretched arms to his grandparents. He is ours when he hates us cleaning his runny nose. He is ours when he falls asleep so sweetly in our arms as we softly read Dr. Suess's Sleep book. He is ours.

At the same, I constantly, quietly celebrate adoption. Without adoption, the love that is embodied in Jeremy Paul would be absent from our lives. And that would be an empty life indeed. I can't imagine that life, now. Because of that, adoption is perhaps the most important thing in my life. I will never forget that.