Thursday, February 10, 2011

Things we hold onto.

About two years ago I opened a fortune cookie. An activity I've enjoyed for years, I mean who doesn't love the rush of learning some Chinese? There are very few food items that teach you valuable life skills, like asking, "Is the duck roasted?" and "math is happy." Or my favorite that I just made up right this second, "delicious cricket." all in exotic mandarin! (I'm very worldly.)

I can't honestly remember if Mr. P had received the fortune or if it came from my cookie or if we found it under a piece of broccoli. All I know is we've had it crudely taped to our refrigerator for two years. With each move, it gets slapped with a new piece of tape onto a new or gently used refrigeration unit. 

In the beginning we would look at it, stare at it, take it all in. "Did we really get this in a fortune cookie!?" What does it mean and what mythical powers does it hold? It was and IS so special to us. I think it's one of those items that if the house was on fire I would have a kid under each arm, and one danging from my teeth, I would grab the fortune on the way out. Sorry, Emma. 
Jeez, just kidding!
The fortune, to us, wasn't just a coincidental, random event of nature. To us, it was decided upon at the fortune cookie headquarters that the Potter's shall receive this message of hope in their hour of despair under a piece of broccoli. And so it was done.
The reason it's so significant to me today, the reason it's getting it's mention and the reason I found the camera and took the time to set it on "auto" and snap an awkward angled picture of because I had kind of forgotten about it. 
It just sort of became lost in the jungle of artwork and over time became more of a fridge adornment than our message of hope that it once was. 
I'm sorry little shred of paper, I truly am. 

March brings the two year anniversary of the day we were told that our son would, "probably need a wheelchair." Two years since we were apologetically told that "it's too late to terminate." Two years since we became parents to Roman. Two years since Isabelle became the world's best big sister. Two years.
Two years ago I would say I would never be this comfortable, I would say "You're crazy!" if you told me that I would look back with fond memories of March and the following year after that. But I honestly do. I can't fix or cure or change Roman's Spina Bifida. I can embrace it and kiss him. I can watch Isabelle pretend to be a pediatrician and wonder, "Will she be?" I know Roman will beat odds and I know he will make his mark on this earth. I know Isabelle will be tolerant, caring, and hopefully a hardcore advocate for people with disabilities. She certainly has the volume for it. 
I wish I could speak for baby Sullivan but, I honestly don't know him that well. Right now he just hiccups a lot and gives me a solid boot to the bladder when he thinks I'm getting out of line. 

These are just a few of the things I hold onto. My heroic children, my adoring husband, my supportive, Chinese-food-buying family and my shred of paper. 

*sigh* General Tso....won't you find your way into my tummy? 

**Afterthought. I realize it's just February 10th, I haven't lost it. Although, I'm always very close. 
 I wanted to write about March NOW, before I had too many emotions in the air to write as upbeat and optimistic as I have here today. I meant to explain this much more poetically in a paragraph that was appropriate. But, it's 5:31 AM-you're pretty lucky you even get this afterthought, to be quite honest.