For twenty plus years, Mother’s Day has been bittersweet for me. It’s lovely to remember Mom, but because she’s gone it’s also a lonely holiday. I help celebrate my wonderful step-mom and friends who are moms. But my mom I celebrate privately, internally.

Of course now I see this is small potatoes compared to what my daughter faces at this holiday. Her mother is alive, probably living within 20 miles of our house. The birth mom does not try to contact or see her, does not respond to or acknowledge cards, photos, drawings she makes and sends. We know almost nothing about how her mom is living, and the truth is knowing more might be even worse.

Our county social worker always felt she represented a proxy connection to the mother, so even when the mom was not in contact, she kept alive the idea that she sees the mom, can tell the mom things. I never agreed with this, since if it were me I’d be infuriated mom would see a social worker but not me. I didn’t get a say at that time, but that social worker has transitioned off our case now that we’re in the adoption track. Things are more in our court.

I’ve decided on strict honesty, at the appropriate level. “We have an address for your mom but don’t know if she gets the mail–we can send it to her. I hope she’ll get it. I bet she’d love it. I know she’d be so proud of you, seeing how big, strong, smart, pretty you’re growing.” Not very satisfying, but it’s as true as I can make it.

The kindergarten teacher offered to adjust his lessons this week to be “Parent’s Day,” which was kind. But our daughter’s in a bind. She has a mom. She knows and remembers her mom. Every other kid would be making mother’s day cards for “Parent’s Day.” So I decided to let her choose, telling her that she can make a card for her mother if she wants to, but she doesn’t have to. She can make a card for an aunt, grandma, anyone she likes. She can skip it. Of course she wants to make her mother a card.

What she really wants, or part of what she really wants, is something none of us can give her.

But there are continuing good signs that she’s settling into her two-dad life. Even during this challenging week, she’s doing great. She told Jay that “this is the best family I’ve ever been in.” She won a t-shirt and sweatshirt for selling raffle tickets for the carnival. This week Jay miraculously learned a trick of intervening before she goes off in a meltdown. He’s been so skillful helping her navigate her upsets, it’s magically wonderful. They’ve been brainstorming what might help when she’s worried or upset–a kid in her class has a plastic pea he chews on when things get upsetting, something like that. What’s my dad always say? “Things are looking up!”

So here’s to a peaceful, thoughtful mother’s day, celebrating what we can, mourning the rest. In this week’s worksheets our daughter has a Mother’s Day card which says “thank you for” and has a blank. I suggested she write “giving me your beautiful brown eyes and hair.” From myself I’d add, thank you for giving us two beautiful children.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Huge news, the hearing was today, and the judge terminated the mother’s parental rights and set adoption into our family as the “permanent plan” for the kids. Now the adoption phase begins. This means a new social worker and I’m not sure what else, but it sounds like mostly dotting the I’s and getting everything in order before the finalization.

I guess I’m in shock. As upset as I was when this legal result was delayed, I expected to be elated, and that must be bubbling up somewhere. But today I feel overwhelmed, verging on blank.

Suddenly I’m incredibly sad for our kids’ mom, and the tragedy of the situation. Hopefully on some level she is or will be glad that her kids are in good hands. Some part of her has got to want that. But she didn’t show up at the hearing she requested, and hasn’t been in contact with her lawyer, so we don’t have any idea what’s going on with her. I know we can’t do anything to help her, but it still feels odd to bring the kids into the family while saying “there’s nothing we can do” about their unwell, nonfunctioning mom. For now they aren’t asking about this, but it seems inevitable that at some age they’ll ask why we didn’t find and help their mom, and all I can say is I’m glad I have a little time before I have to answer that question.

It’s also strange to pass this giant legal hurdle and be planning to celebrate tonight, when the kids don’t know what’s happened. Everyone involved agrees keeping them out of the details right now is best for them. They know adoption is coming down the road. I guess we can tell them it’s getting closer. We can talk about how we’ll celebrate the adoption and the legal confirmation of our family. But the truth is the kids would be devastated to know that the court severed their mom from them today, and that she didn’t even show up to fight for them. At least I think they would. Like answering them about why we’re unable to help some people, they will have to formulate how they feel about all of this at some point in the future, when they can better understand it. Can one ever understand something like this?

And weirdly, aside from the knowledge that this will be legal and binding (which is a plenty big deal, of course), the truth is nothing will change in our day-to-day life. We’ll be free of the social workers and the sense we’re being evaluated and are on probation. That’ll be great. No, it’ll be fantastic! But it’s not like there’s some sense that we’re “testing out” being a family and adoption will let us say, “yes, let’s do this thing.” It’s not an engagement that will become a permanent commitment, we’re doing it already, and these big leaps are only removing the threats and uncertainties.

It’s clear to me: we’re a family, and I’m so grateful for all the circumstances that brought us together. That it’s a blend of hard work, tragedy, love, and serendipity makes perfect sense. And I guess that’s reason enough for a big, joyful celebration.

I’m not surprised, but proud as can be to report that the kids’ developmental assessments, required as part of the foster care adoption process, showed them to be completely age appropriate in their motor, social, and academic skills.

Not surprised, because these kids’ resilience and ability to thrive has thrilled me since I met them. Despite a daunting start, they had sparkle and life in their eyes. And they’ve eagerly grabbed every opportunity in this new chapter, soaking in school, friends, a stable family.

Also not surprised because, at every turn where we’ve fretted whether something was “normal” or “because of their history,” other parents have cheerfully told us that their kids do just the same things. Meltdowns? Zoning out? Oatmeal smeared in their hair and flung on the floor? Check, check, check. One thing I never suspected but love about being a parent is the glee with which dads and moms dish their kids whenever they get the chance. A bit like Ricky Gervais, mean yet hilarious.

But I’ve got to be careful about this urge to be like everyone else. Having spent much of my life thinking kids, marriage, and some other core experiences of our culture would be impossible for me, normal is really seductive. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great. And I am thrilled that they’re on track developmentally. But I also want to be open to their complete, wonderful selves, which as they differentiate will likely include strengths and weaknesses that don’t make them average, but vivid, interesting, perhaps exasperating or surprising.  I don’t want to lose the gift I got from my own parents, the freedom to be something they completely didn’t expect, but they loved me for it anyway.

So cheers that any damage from the neglect and abuse isn’t stopping their developmental milestones and ability to learn and grow. I hope in that way from here forward they have the most boring, predictable, and stable upbringing two nutty gay guys can give them.

Yet I also hope they’ll feel the freedom to really become their best selves, not constrained by some “norm,” but free to fly whatever flag their hearts desire.

We had three social workers visiting the kids one afternoon this week, and I was a mess. I realize that it’s time to deal with my authority issues.

There are big things at stake, of course. About 18 days from now, a judge will settle the main legal question remaining before we can adopt the kids. She will rule on whether the kids’ birth mom should have her parental rights terminated, and their foster parents (us) be made the “permanent placement plan.” There are things that have to happen after this, and these can take another 6 months, but my understanding is that this is the last serious hurdle remaining before we’re legally fathers.

All indications are that this outcome is a near-sure thing. The birth mom asked for a review on one previous ruling, but didn’t show up for the hearing. She’s not made any attempt to visit the kids in a year. There’s little chance this could go any other way.

But it’s not the court date that I’ve been focusing on. All week leading up to the three social workers’ visit, I couldn’t stop fretting what they would be looking for. Two of them were new to us, one representing the kids attorney, one subbing for a vacationing worker who represents the kids. So there’s the unknown. And the rules for Foster care homes are overwhelming. Anyone who wanted to try “gotcha” could surely find some technicality awry. Are all medications locked away or did I leave out the dog’s allergy pills? Does that visit to the swimming pool (documented in a cute picture) run afowl of the water certification requirements?

Yet again, these fears make no sense. If at any time I felt like anyone in the system was out to nitpick us into trouble, I might have reason to worry. But while there’s been some inefficiency and poor communication, no one we’ve dealt with has been anything short of thrilled to have the kids in our home. Everyone loves how the kids are doing, and wants them here. Every worker we’ve met is clearly dedicated to the wellbeing of the kids.

This brings me to my lifelong fear of getting caught shoplifting. If I’d ever stolen anything it would be smart to worry. But since early childhood, I’ve been terrified of being accused. Accidentally bringing a book into a bookstore, or some other pocket object into a place that sells the same thing. “But I bought this somewhere else!” I always cry in my nightmare. And I did.

Is there a name for feeling guilty about something you didn’t do?

While all this worry is understandable, and probably displaced from the big things at stake, I think it’s time to get a grip and admit that there’s no truant officer out to get me. Time and again I’ve been blessed to have mostly people who want to see me succeed and be happy. Straight friends were incredibly kind to me when being gay was controversial. My parents let it be known that I was free to be an artist or a bohemian or a hobo if I wanted to be. (“We know you’d be a classy hobo,” my dad once told me, and I’ve always taken solace in that thought.) Friends and clients rallied to my side when I fell apart and had to take some time off a few years ago.

And now the representatives of the State of California want me and my partner to be the forever family for two incredible little beings. How much fantastic luck has to hit me over the head before I take it in? I do not want to have wasted my life worrying about the end of the world if everything turns out more or less ok.

So for the record, here it is: I may have committed infractions and omissions. I’m not always pure of heart or clear on my motives. My misunderstandings and shortsightedness surely equals that of everyone else. But I’m a solid, good person. Who loves his kids and his partner. And is ready to do his darndest to be a good dad.

Let’s dot the i’s and cross the t’s and get this thing legal. Every indication is, there’s nothing to worry about, and everything to be thankful for.