Sitting in the kitchen with the bread board pulled out for a table.  I watch as my mom prepares her morning coffee.  She sits down at the bread board with me.  She has something to tell me.

I am about five or six years old (I think - possibly younger).  She starts to explain.  She and my dad are not my real mom & dad.  I am adopted.  This makes me special because I was so wanted.  This news doesn't make me sad.  It really did not affect me at the time at all.  I do remember going to school and telling everyone how special I was.

I am bringing this up only because I have been trying to remember my earliest memories.  This one stands out.  It must have been hard for my mom to have this conversation.  I had heard that if my dad had his way they would not have told me.  I've always wondered if it was his choice not to be there when mom told me.  I'm glad they did.  It did not change my love for them in any way.  These two people gave me a life I would not ever have had if I had stayed with my birth family.  I am very grateful to them.  And as far as I've been concerned my whole life they are my real mom & dad. 



My dad holding me.  My cousins are looking on.  I've always loved this picture.



Me ... love the hair ...   My cousin emailed me this picture.  Guess the dots are caused by age?  


I did find my birth mom about 8 years ago now.  We don't speak anymore and will probably blog about this whole searching process someday. 

Thanks for checking in.  Hope everyone has a good rest of the day .... Peace.   J.