I was knee deep in Christmas decorations when the phone rang on the day after Thanksgiving. I recognized the ringtone as the one that belonged to D and I flung myself across the room, tangling myself in lights and garland on the way. I answered the phone expecting to hear D’s voice.

It was the Munchkin.

She told me that she had watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade the day before and had seen my oldest son’s favorite Toy Story character as a BIG BALLOON and she wanted to tell him. Melt my heart. Except that he wasn’t home. My parents had kept the boys as both FireDad and I worked (fire department and newspaper respectively) on Friday. I felt bad but she took it well.

Anyone who knows my oldest son knows that he wishes he could be Buzz Lightyear. He runs around our house exclaiming things like, “TO INFINITY AND BEYOND,” while lasering his little brother. It’s just part of who he is right now.

And the Munchkin knows that.

We have had visits this year. Three, to be exact. And one was without the kids. But she remembers. She thinks of him, of us. She knows what he likes, what moves him right now. And she thought enough to give him a call. I don’t even call my brother when I see something that he likes. Mainly because he annoys the bejeebus out of me and buys my children obnoxiously loud toys but, you know, I do still love him.

I’m just so moved that she would think to call him over something like this. She’s an amazing little girl. Amazing.

Life is made up of the little moments. I love when I catch those little moments and recognize them for their true worth. Sometimes a hug is more than just an embrace. Sometimes a passing glance is more than just the catch of an eye. Sometimes these small things are pivotal in our lives. All too often we don’t recognize them for what they are until they have passed and faded a bit in our memories.

Occasionally we recognize a moment for what it is and we watch our lives spin a bit.

The phone rang the other day. I never can find my phone when it rings, or, if I know where it is, I can’t seem to get to it before it ceases ringing as I’m busy tripping over construction vehicles, small figurines from Toy Story and children, all strewn about my floor. I picked it up just as the last few notes of the Peanuts theme song sounded and saw that it was D who was calling. I immediately returned the call. She answered and informed me that the Munchkin wanted to talk to my oldest son.

I probably don’t need to interrupt the story here and tell you that my heart soared. But I will. Because it did. While I present myself as a pretty confident birth parent, I have my fears and worries and doubts. Does she think of me? Does she think about her brothers? Do we matter to her at all? It’s harder, of course, when they’re very young and you’re just another face in the ever evolving door of their life. As they get older and begin to develop their own sense of self, the questions are answered in small spurts. While our relationship has been splendid for awhile now, this phone call was a welcome pick-me-up as we near the most difficult season of our separation. (Her birthday being just around the corner, smack in the middle of the holidays.)

I called my oldest son into the room and handed him the phone. The conversation was brief, my brand new four year old more interested in his new toys than in a lengthy conversation with the Munchkin. She wished him a belated birthday and told him a few things. He responded with a thank you and a few sentences before announcing, “I LOVE YOU,” handing me the phone and running off to his room to play with whatever had his attention in the first place. I talked with the Munchkin for awhile and then with D. Then my younger son said hello to Munchkin and we all got off the phone.

A lovely little moment.

The moment was prompted by the Munchkin remembering, in passing, that my youngest son had been stung by a bee earlier this summer. No one specifically told her. D was just telling M about it the way that couples talk when children are about; assuming they’re not listening. They do. Munchkin stored that information and pulled it out of no where.

She was thinking about us.

I don’t know why this particular phone call and the realization that she thinks of us has gobsmacked me in such a way but, really, I’m in awe. A good awe, of course, as it is always a lovely thing to realize that you are loved and thought after by someone that you love as well. Perhaps it is the fact that even though we’ve been through a lot of stuff, separately and together, as an open adoption family unit, something seems to have worked. She is secure in her everyday family. She thinks of us and is free to communicate with us. My children know and love her. I hesitate to call this scenario having “done something right,” because that’s usually when the other shoe drops but, yes, it almost feels that way.

Almost.