On (Re)naming an Adopted Child

The boys have been talking about what their names would have been had they been girls. Gray would have been Ana (these were pre-Frozen times, people). Reed would have been Fern. And Miles would have been Brooke. Funny how, even though they are boys, those other names still seem to suit them. Or maybe mother dreams just have a way of sticking.

I’ve thought about names a lot lately. We submitted our last piece of adoption assessment paperwork last week. (By this point, I feel we should be cleared for jobs with the FBI or CIA — we have been fingerprinted NINE combined times and evaluated from angles I didn’t know we had. Wondering why I haven’t been writing much? My hand is still cramped up from recording my relationship history from the 90s to the present day on more than one form. But I digress.) 

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May the Fourth

My three boys (okay, my four boys) were way into the MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU pun yesterday. They donned their Star Wars gear and waved colorful light sabers in my face at every opportunity.

Is anything more exciting to young boys than a battle between Darkness and Light?

But as much as Light vs. Darkness seems a game, a fantasy, to them, it’s been pretty real for me lately.

Have you ever felt that when you’re on a mission to carry out some weighty work, the powers of Darkness launch a full-out attack on your hopeful, bright-eyed self?

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