In September Wesley turned five.

His day started with a cupcake for breakfast. Or, more specifically, with cupcake frosting for breakfast.

Then he went to preschool with a special homemade “Today I’m 5” badge.

He came home from school with a cool crown.

His Grammy was in town and bought him a nice Thomas the Tank Engine cake. So glad I didn’t have to make one.

The frosting was ultra-blue.

Wes enjoyed the frosting best of all.

Presents! His Aunt Tara made him a cool book with pictures of his family. He loves books like that.

His Grammy gave him a water table for outside. All the kids enjoyed playing in it.

And before the night was through a box came from Grandma and Grandpa in Iowa with a train set. A kid’s dream-come-true.

In June we had a free pool morning at this beautiful pool, courtesy of the Utah Down Syndrome Foundation. Wes loves being in the pool so we knew we had to go. It’s always nice to see other families with kids with Down syndrome. I’m used to how Wes looks; he just looks like Wes. But when we’re in a group with lots of people who look like Wes, I remember that he really does look like he has Down syndrome.

Carissa is pretty timid in the water. She warmed up after a while.

But Wes is always all smiles in the water.

John and I took turns with each kid.

The pool has a small water slide for the littles and a couple big slides. Wes kept asking to go on the giant slides but we made him stick to this little one.

Wes had fun.

I enrolled Wesley in summer preschool this year, for the first time.

His preschool during the school year is actually a free service (because of his special needs; it counts as his therapy offered through the school district), and I have to pay for summer preschool, but my hope is that it’s worthwhile because 1) Wes loves school and 2) he gets speech therapy as part of the package. His speech is improving tremendously all the time, but the more help he gets, the better off he will be. Carissa is catching up to him pretty quickly.

He started this past week. The #1 awesome thing so far about this preschool is that it’s at a university, which means they do research, which means each classroom is attached to an observation room, which means I can sit behind a one-way mirror and watch Wes in action at school to see how he’s doing.

Before preschool started I met with the director, his teacher, and three aides (it was a little intimidating! I thought I was just going to meet with his teacher) and we talked about what they needed to know to help Wes succeed this summer. Their first question: “How does his regular preschool work with him?” My answer: “I have no clue.”

Which is absolutely true, although I wish it weren’t. During the school year Wes gets picked up by the bus, dropped off by the bus 2.5 hours later, and what happens in between is a total mystery to me. My only clues are the pictures he brings home and the quarterly speech therapy report.

I can ask Wes about school but he has no ability (yet) to feed me any information. I know he’s happy and I have to assume he’s learning. But WHAT he’s learning and HOW he’s learning it–no idea.

So now I can sit and watch. Also, the week’s classroom agenda hangs on the wall in the observation room. I can study it to see what books the class is reading, what themes they’re working on, and what activities they’re doing. That’s helpful.

(Oh, and in case you wondered, the other major questions the preschool people asked were, “Is he a runner?” and “Does he have a problem keeping his shoes on?”, both of which I answered with a big “Yes.” They’ve had other students with DS and know that they are masterful escape artists and, for some reason, hate keeping their shoes on.)

So far Wes has been given a lot of one-on-one time with an aide who has been shadowing him, although that probably will happen less and less. The director purposely kept the class numbers down a little to make the teacher/student ratio a little better so Wes can have extra help if needed. I appreciate that they’ve been keeping him in mind.

I’ve seen him push a toy train around, color on the white board, pet the class bunny (he liked that a lot), sing songs (also liked that a lot), sit in large group time (a little wiggly), and eat snacks. I did one time pass by the playground during outside time and was a little heartbroken to see him standing by himself, clinging to the bars of the fence, looking out instead of playing.

But I know he likes this playground because I’ve taken him around on it. It’s a nice set.

Wes seems to like snack time. It’s interesting to see him interact with and eat among other kids. In this picture he’s helping himself to another helping of yogurt. He was one of the last kids done eating.

He has six more weeks to go, a month off, and then he returns to his regular preschool for one last year before kindergarten.

I admit, while Wes is in school, Carissa and I–when not sitting in the observation booth–have been shamelessly enjoying some mother-daughter time. One day we drove to a bakery and got a piece of bread to eat. We sat outside and Carissa tossed little pieces to the birds on the sidewalk, which totally delighted her and was fun to watch. Another day we visited a bagel shop for breakfast and ate together while she looked out the window and exclaimed “Bus!” or “Truck!” every time one passed by.

And, yes, OK, one day we went shopping. Just for fun and no other reason. Carissa is the ideal shopping companion (UNLIKE Wes). She likes to touch the clothing and try on the sunglasses and bracelets.

Trying on maternity clothes (19 weeks).

I think this week we’ll hit the library, the animal museum, and take more walks around campus. It is summer, after all!

I just had to pause tonight to write a little about our son Wes. It’s because I’ve been following the adoption journey of a local family who is preparing to bring home a three-year-old girl with Down syndrome from Eastern Europe.

They just returned home from their first of three(?) visits that they’re required to make, visiting the girl in her orphanage, before the adoption can officially take place. They’re scheduled to bring her home in August.

Every time I read their updates online I am so touched by their experiences: what struggles they’ve had making the decision to adopt (especially since this is their SECOND time adopting like this); how they’ve been touched by the amazing love and personality of their almost-daughter that they’ve only just met; and their realization that if they didn’t provide this little girl a better home her life would be far different, spent in an institution for disabled starting the day she turns four years old (which is in September this year).

I love the organization that helps get the ball rolling on these overseas adoptions of kids with special needs, especially Down syndrome. It’s called Reece’s Rainbow. Take a look.

I just find myself really thinking about what it means to have my son Wesley.

I can’t understand why so many parents give up their kids when they discover he or she has a condition like Down syndrome. Just. Don’t. Understand. AT ALL. Whether it’s up for adoption, or abortion, it makes me a little (a lot) crazy to try to comprehend this. I know much of it is born from lack of education and understanding, and perhaps some lack of compassion.

Nonetheless, I can’t wrap my head around why these moms (and dads) do not see their child as a PERSON. A whole, unique, WONDERFUL person. They’re not looking ahead two years when their son takes his first steps. They don’t know how excited they’ll be to see that. They are not thinking about how much fun it will be to tickle their child and make him giggle uncontrollably, or how awesome it will be to hear him say his first words, or to learn a new skill. They discount all these amazing accomplishments, and their part in them, when they give their child away.

I didn’t adopt Wes. He was a gift. He only cost me 36 weeks of pregnancy, eight hours of labor, and about $20,000 in hospital bills (although not really because that was back when we actually had good insurance. Thankfully).

I didn’t know he was coming as packaged, but I’m so glad he did. He is Wes. My Wesley.

We have a daughter, Carissa, who is no less amazing and wonderful. She is so fun and makes me smile every day. She is a doll. I’m just as grateful to have her.

It’s just that when I read stories like the ones from this family adopting a girl like Wes from the other side of the world, and I hear what the living conditions are like, I can’t help but put Wes in her place and wonder what it would be like if he hadn’t come straight to us.

I think about Wes living without a mom and dad to love him, and for him to love. I think about him turning four, or five, or six (depending on the country) and being sent to live in an institution for mentally disabled people. All by himself. No family. No home. No school. No church. My heart breaks to think of all that he would miss out on and never know. It aches to think of him not having a mom and dad to love him, to tickle him, to play with him, to feed and clothe him. It hurts to think of him receiving an ounce less love and appreciation than he deserves. To think of him growing up in a place like a mental institution where people are considered less than they really are. Yet there are so many kids that live this life.

Here’s a video from ABC News with Diane Sawyer about a different local family who last year adopted a little girl with Down syndrome from Ukraine. Can you picture Wes there?

I know things happen in the world that we’re not able to understand, that God understands, and maybe someday I’ll understand too. I’m just so glad that Wes is here, home, with us. Happy, healthy, growing, learning, developing new loves and talents and skills nearly daily.

Today I was tickling him and thinking that there is nothing better than his smile. I love to make him laugh.

Lately he has been becoming the expert pray-er in our house. Here’s a sample of his praying skills. (I should have wiped his nose first; sorry.)

Rough translation:

Dear Heavenly Father,
(Thank you for the) food today.
(Please bless) Mom, and Dad, Wesley, Carissa, Mommy, Gramma, Grampa, cousins, and Mommy.

In the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen

Wes and Carissa painting.

So capable. So wonderful. So full of everything good and glorious. So glad he’s here.

We crashed around 6:30 pm the day we arrived in London, England. We were all dead tired. Our hotel room was set up for families with two bedrooms. We slept in one and the kids in the other.

Carissa woke up a few times, crying, and I went in to check on her around 9:30 and 10 pm. I last remember looking at my watch at 9:53 pm and seeing Wes asleep on the single bed when I looked in at Carissa in her crib.

At 12:30 am or so Carissa woke again, and when I checked her I thought she needed a diaper change. I pulled off her pants and turned to find a diaper. And that’s when I saw that Wesley’s bed was empty.

I didn’t have my contacts in and couldn’t see well in the dark, so I ran to the other room, got my glasses, came back and flipped on the light. I looked under the beds, everywhere, and he was nowhere. I started to panic.

I woke up John and he got dressed while I called the reception desk. I reported Wesley missing. I gave them his description and they told me they’d search the hotel. Meanwhile, John headed out to look and he asked me to do one more, thorough search of our room. I did, which included the balcony outside, but he definitely wasn’t in the room. And, thankfully, the balcony was the kind with solid cement walls that wouldn’t be easy for him to fall off of if he ended up out there (which he could have, because the balcony door DIDN’T HAVE A LOCK, and it was located in the room with two single beds–obviously meant for kids).

The London Hilton Docklands is an old, historic building with a weird layout. We were on the fourth floor near the elevator. You come up the elevator and you can choose to go straight through two heavy fire doors that lead to our room and two others, or you can turn right or left through glass doors that lead to other corridors and other rooms. All the rooms wrap around a big courtyard in the middle. It’s kind of a maze, typical of such an old building.

John went down the elevator to look for Wes. We’d only ever gone up and down the elevator, and Wes likes pushing the buttons, so it would make sense for him to try it. Although if he used the elevator, who knows which floor he’d get off on?

I wrapped Carissa in my cardigan (she still didn’t have on pants, and it was chilly outside) and I knocked on our neighbors’ doors. I’m sure they didn’t appreciate this at nearly 1 in the morning, but I did it anyway. Then I went through the glass door that leads down one corridor near the elevator, calling Wesley’s name.

I can’t even describe the fear, panic, and heartbreak I felt. I’ve never panicked like I did then. I’ve never worried like I did then. Anyone who knows Wes and our family knows that we have concerns about him wandering off and losing him. He’s just prone to it. A lot of people with Down syndrome are. I couldn’t believe my worst fear was happening.

What if he was hurt, or lost, or scared? What if someone had taken him and was hurting him? My heart broke at the thought. He is my precious, precious boy. I prayed a lot.

I started down one of the corridors leading away from the elevator, but I was doubtful he actually went that way. We had never pushed through those glass doors, and I thought he wouldn’t even notice them. I didn’t stay there long and decided to head down the elevator as well to continue looking.

The doors opened to the first floor and I instantly met the night manager, talking on his intercom. He was simultaneously speaking into the intercom while trying to tell me something, and he wasn’t doing a good job doing both. He said to me, “My colleague is–” and then he went back to the intercom: “You’re outside the room?” I just wanted him to spit it out, because obviously it was about Wes.

He finally told me that his colleague had located Wes, and that he was OK. I think I’ll leave out the part where I broke down into sobs of relief when he said this. We got into the elevator together and went back up to the room.

There was the hotel employee walking toward us, carrying Wes. He handed Wes to me and I hugged him. I think it upset Wes that I was crying, but I really could not help it. He was completely fine and safe. The employee had found him wandering around one of the corridors on our floor, so he had indeed pushed through one of the glass doors and found his way out. I don’t know how long he had been gone, but he wasn’t notably cold.

John, Carissa, Wes, and I returned to our room. We decided Wes had woken up, gotten out of bed and, not being familiar with the hotel room or where we were sleeping, headed out the door. We were so dead tired and deeply asleep that we just didn’t hear him.

How did he get out of a locked hotel door? The deadbolt on the door WAS BROKEN. We didn’t notice this when we had locked it earlier that evening.

So, how to get back to sleep at 2:30 in the morning when you don’t want to leave your kid unattended in his bed? You build barricades.

We became really adept at this at every hotel we stayed in over the course of our trip.

First thing in the morning we called maintenance and told them to come up and install a new deadbolt, which they did.

This really shook us up. We always try to keep track of our kids (what parent doesn’t?), but our anxiety and carefulness was definitely heightened.

In fact, when we returned home and walked into our own house, one of the first things Wes did was go downstairs to the basement to play with his toys that he missed. As soon as he was out of eyesight and gripping distance I felt anxious. I mentioned this to John, and he said he felt it too. We were just so used to making sure we always knew where he was and exactly what he was doing, but we had to tell ourselves it was OK for him to play in the safety of our own home again.

Never, NEVER want to go through that again.

On to day two in London.

As I’ve said before, cutting Wesley’s hair is a nightmare experience for me and him and everyone involved. I used to cut it myself but I quit when I found this place about 20 miles away that specializes in kids’ haircuts. It’s worth the drive and worth the money.

There’s a slide and a video game in the waiting area. Wes gets to sit in the vehicle of his choice to get his haircut (this time he picked the airplane), and he can watch a TV program while being groomed. The best part is the balloon at the end.

I think Wes looks handsome.

I paid 50 cents extra for Carissa to get her own balloon, even though she was a bystander.

This time Wes was amazingly calm for most of his cut–the best he’s ever done. After we finished we went next door to a consignment kids’ clothing shop where I bought Carissa two swimsuits (every girl needs multiple swimsuits, right?) for the summer. (Also, I wasn’t sure what size, and one was a one-piece, and the other had a t-shirt plus shorts.) Since they were used they were very affordable. And Carissa was insistent about getting the sippy cup seen in the picture above. You can never have too many sippy cups.