Over on the International Adoption Blog I've been writing a lot this month on my children's birth country, Cambodia.

April is a big month for Cam-related events and topics in my house, from Cj's birthday to Khmer New Year.

Sam, of course, is an enthusiastic participant in everything that goes on around here, so not only did he make sure that he was on hand every single time Cj needed "help" opening a birthday gift, he's also tried getting into the swing of the idea, at least, of Cambodian New Year.

I had fully intended to put together festivities for the occasion. I'd planned to to plan a get-together with the other families with Cambodian-born kids, get Mark to pull out the cookbook and try his hand at some of the less challenging dishes (challenging for those eating, not him cooking, meaning NO FRIED SPIDERS), and dressing the kids in their best Khmer outfits for photos.

Well ... the best intentions of mice and women, as they don't say.

No excuses. I did nothing. I pulled off no hoopla at all, and even if I was so inclined I won't be able to bring anything together for this weekend, either, which would be the last chance to pretend that I have my act together well enough to celebrate the Khmer New Year.

Boo! Hiss! Bad Mommy!

Maybe next year.

Holidays just ain't what they used to be, not to me, anyway, and I spend some time wondering why that is.

For sure, living on this island has taken a lot of the Hallmark out of me. The level of rah-rah for any given occasion is miniscule here in comparison to celebrations of just about anything in the US. Because he grew up here, Mark is about as underwhelmed and underwhelming over holidays as you can imagine, and it's taken strict training over thirteen years to teach him that birthdays do NOT come and go without a big deal being made, but carrying the burden for every bit of eagerness required to make one day that much more special than another has taken more than a bit of my zeal.

When my first batch of kids was small, whole hog was my style, but now I have trouble working up the enthusiasm of one little chop. Christmas gets my little spinning tree and birthdays will always have cake and gifts and a few rousing renditions of the old, familiar tune, but Easter comes and goes, Thanksgiving is sorely missed and Halloween doesn't get as much as a nod at a Milk Dud.

I should be coloring eggs or making costumes, but although I really do intend to go through grand motions of celebration, the holidays always seem to sneak up on me, catch me by surprise, then pass me by without so much as a "Trick or Treat" to be heard.

As jaded as I know this sounds, there is an element of "been there, done that" that I hate, but is as real as the hour-chewing agenda that rules my days.

I'm reminded of a fact of life my youngest brother, the fourth of four kids in my family, has had to deal with. In obvious existence, zillions of photos of me as a baby took up space in my mother's house. Of the next born, there are fewer, but plenty ... most with me in them, as well. By number three, the supply dries up considerably. But of poor little number four child ... now a successful and well adjusted 45-year-old, so a survivor of this flavor of ignored and unphotographed ... there is only one.

Sam and Cj are numbers three and four for me, and although I really do fully intend to make a huge deal out of every occasion while I can, and while they're small enough to get a big bang out of family events and have traditions imprinted upon them, I'm falling short while the list of celebrate-able events has grown.

Maybe next year ...

Artwork provided by Sam. He didn't like the idea of drawing a pig for New Year, so we get a dragon under a shining sun saying, 'Chaul Chnam Thmey!'