I am very tired and very busy (especially with Emma and Eden off this week from school and me feeling like a waitress a bit) but I feel such a sense of happiness and peace in my life. I have worked so hard for this family of 5 and the satisfaction I feel at having arrived at this place in time is divine. I could not have wished for a better little boy in my life – a better baby to be my son, and a better little brother to Emma and Eden and a better little boy for Gary, who is so proud of having Major. Gary just keeps on surprising me

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Sometimes, like Helen Keller did in the movie Miracle Worker, Major will actually hold out his hand for me to shape his fingers if he wants to learn a sign. He is patient and allows his hand to be manipulated in this manner. He will see a sign once and know it and use it as he did for “banana” just yesterday. As an active signer with my daughters from the time they were infants, I had to wait many many months until I saw a first response. My experience signing with Major has been so different and unique. My girls may have been doing the same signs he does at much much earlier ages (for example, Emma signed “toilet” for any toileting activity beginning at 15 months) his ability to catch on and use the signs appropriately in mere minutes and in just days of being with me is nothing short of genius to me I think … or rather, I know, that his ability to communicate with me on some manner (signing being it for now) has definitely meant that his frustration at this point is kept at bay, in regards to him making known some immediate needs or feeling in control of some aspect of communication. We have yet to have any issue in regard to how we communicate together. For the most part, I feel we understand each other very well are that we are becoming a finely tuned instrument of mommy and son.

Receptive Language: I really think the kid understands everything!! Sure, I can hand him a toothbrush and say “brush your teeth” and he’ll do it, but that’s easy stuff. What shows he understands is when you are thinking out loud about something and he’ll bring over the item to you … like when my mom is searching my house looking for her shoes (saying “where did I put my shoes?”) and Major grabs her by the fingers and brings her to the foyer and points down at her pair of shoes.

He sure does love his shoes ….

Cute anecdote: I finally figured out why he *always* signs “shoe” when he eats. “Yes, I see your blue shoes!”, I kept telling him, giving him one more spoonful, or “Okay, we’ll put on your shoes and go to the park after you eat.” But he still kept signing for “shoe” throughout the whole meal and wouldn’t let up. I finally listened carefully to myself when I sit with him while he eats and it dawned on me. Every time he takes a huge bite, I keep reminding him, over and over again, to “chew … chew … chew.”

Today we went to the library to return my book. A little while later there would be a story time for toddlers. Seventeen days home, do I dare stay? I did. There were only 3 other children and their nannies. Mine was the kid whom you just want to stop moving and sit down, already. I wanted to hold up a mental sign “He’s new to the country!” but surely I know kids who do this all the time. He was standing in front of the reader and then running for the door and then climbing over the seat of the women and than trying to climb under tables and in storage bins. The other little boys, a little older than him and seeming to be veterans of the class, were all sitting and listening to the story. In this small room, we were becoming too distracting to the others though the nannies kept murmuring to my apologies “It’s okay! Don’t worry!” I think to them, and surely it seemed this way, that I was a new nanny to this little boy! Finally it was time for my carrier, or what I have come to know a the equilibrium reinstaller. I was wondering how Major would take to being contained tightly against me while in the class, but honestly, the minute I put him in he was settled and calm and was able to listen to the story being read or at least look in that general direction. This thing is a God send! Daily, for different reasons and sometimes just because, I hold Major in the Ergo carrier and a new one I have called the Patapum, which is higher backed for older toddlers. Whereas he initially struggled when we met again almost a month ago to be in this arms-free “strait jacket”, he now relishes the feeling of contentment in the carrier being next to me. I credit this baby wearing business with a lot of good stuff going on between us!

Anyway, shortly after he settled today in the carrier, it was Toy Time at the library and the kids were able to play for about 15 minutes. So there is Major interacting or playing nearby 3 other boys. He was smaller than the other boys who tried to take his toys but my little Major sure held his own! “He’s a tough one!” one nanny said to me, insinuating she thought Major would have let go of a toy after a bigger boy tried to take it. Oh no, I wanted to say, my kid had tougher beginnings than this. This is peanuts! He’s going to use this strength for the good. Overall, at the end of the 40 minutes, I was pleased that Major was able to play in such close proximity to three boys without shoving, pushing or hitting. This was a really great segue into getting him used to larger groups of children. Now as for the fact that he ran out of the doors of the library with another nanny and her charge … well that’s another issue for another time!

Overall, Major is becoming a very loving little boy. It’s the loving part of him that I wonder was ever seen … really and truly. Had he shared his love with the caregivers in the quiet way he shares it with me at bed time and when he climbs into bed with me and settles against me sharing the same space as we sleep, or has he saved it for me all along, for the one Mommy who would crack him open and let him free (emotionally, figuratively, literally) and show him how to love.

Photos coming soon … will take some new ones this weekend.

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The reality is he can be quite gentle (when he’s not being aggressive and is learning so much about affection … he is relishing being in a loving environment.

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I always said that when we came home with Major to begin our life as a family of 5 that it would be a chapter of my life in which I was solely focused on family. There would be time at a later date for dinners out and parties to attend. We’d hole up together and worry less about outside distractions and more about our little unit. Quality time and helping our children acclimate to our new normal would be paramount. We’d spend time with our dear daughters and enjoy watching them take on the new role of big sisters – and we’d baby them a bit too. We’d have set backs and we’d communicate and overcome them. We’d celebrate Major’s triumphs — big and small. Over time, we’d introduce Major to the special people in his life — his grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and family friends. It would be a chapter of my life in which I would be present to my family in a way that I wish I was more often.

As I was preparing for the role of parent to our darling little boy, how could I have known that my focus on family and its role in my life would be different than I expected during this time. Different, expanded, more cherished — in the ways I anticipated and something much more. As I prepared to become a mom for the third time, circumstances would be that my role as a child to my own dad would take on such a special significance.

We arrived home from Almaty, Kazakhstan with Major on March 23, 2010 to a small group of family and friends and three proud grandparents having been driven to the airport by my dad leading the helm. It is only in photos now that I see my father had not been well. Six hours after we fell into the joyful arms of our family and were reunited with our daughters, my father’s heart was failing and a team of doctors was saving his life. It’s been 80 days since I have been home with Major and of this time, my dad has been in his home only 10 days. He has been in the cardiac unit of the hospital with emergency complications related to heart disease and end stage kidney failure. There have been too many beautiful and glorious springtime days to count during which the front porch where my dad usually sits to read the paper remained glaringly empty. Recently, my dad’s health had taken a turn for the worse. Life changes in an instant. The heart is a fragile thing. Intubation and a ventilator saved his life, though at the time, we weren’t sure there were any more miracles to be had. The family of my origins – my mom and me and my two brothers — stood vigil by my dad’s bedside. The rabbi, a man who had become a source of solace for my dad these past two months, prayed for healing and recovery at the foot of his bed. I knew of no other prayers except to say silently over and over again in my head “please … please … please… ” I remain hopeful. I must. My dad is a man who has defied the odds time and time again. Over the years, his own doctors have called him a Miracle Man and The Man with a Thousand Lives. He has not spent enough time with Major and he wants to. I have two photos of them together but there must be more. My dad has his poker games to win and days at the beach with my mom ahead of him. I remain hopeful. It is all we have, right here, the now. And in the now, everything is okay.

My father has been one of my biggest supporters of our journey to our son. I remember the day I told my parents that we were thinking of adopting a son and my father just blurting out “We support you 100%!” and then “We will love him like our own!” Later on, there were many trips my dad took with me into Manhattan to handle important paperwork because he said I shouldn’t do this alone. When I thanked him he simply said “Don’t thank me. This is my grandson we are doing this for.” It was a given. He loved him from day one. And with the stress that our adoption preparation brought me, his support meant the world to me.

What I have discovered during this time is it is we who are the lucky ones.

What I have discovered during this time is that Major, in 80 short days, has blossomed with our love and we celebrate each small step.

What I have discovered is that my daughters are a blessing to Major and they to him.

What I have discovered is that my husband, who thought it might take him a year to bond with our son, loves him wholeheartedly and openly.

What I have discovered is that Major calling “Poppa” into the phone has been a bittersweet sound for my dad to hear.

What I have discovered is that my father has never been afraid to cry, though it doesn’t get easier for me to witness his fear.

What I have discovered is that, in the end, being strong has been my dad’s only option.

What I have discovered is that despite a lifetime of illness, my father has proven to be one of the most blessed people I know.

What I have discovered is that my mom is an unbelievable testament to what it means to make marriage vows — in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. My mother is the wonderful blessing that balances out all my father’s pain.

What I have discovered is that my dad and I have grown closer in the silence of a hospital room. Holding his hand, smoothing out his worried brow in sleep and massaging his weary back has given me a level of knowing my dad that I have never experienced before. Though his years have not been without chronic and serious health issues, we have never had reason to be this scared. Perhaps, naively, I was just never realistic enough to believe there were implications to his illness. I was too young, not yet a parent, not yet fully living in the now, to know what was truly at stake. As such, I have viewed this extra time we have been given as one of our greatest blessings. Two weeks ago, I feared the worst when I witnessed my father’s still body being aided with a breathing ventilator. Days later, though weak and still ill, he was sitting in his reclining chair reading the paper and reaching out to hold my hand. Each day, I see, has been a gift that we never thought we’d have. Despite my mother’s sadness and our constant worry, there are also moments filled with joy. We are my father’s girls, at his bedside. His advocates, his cheerleaders, his silent comrades as he sleeps. We are his hope.

Beneath the facade of his battle worn body, behind the blue and white robe and the tubes and wires and scars, I see my own childhood. I hold my dad’s hands and press my smooth cheek to his rough whiskered one, and in my mind I am still dancing on my daddy’s toes to Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” on our gray threadbare living room carpet. I am still lifted high on his shoulders to see the world as I did when I was Major’s age and my dad was my hero. I was a Daddy’s Girl, I still am. And it is my prayer and the love of our family, and our hope and faith for all that is still yet to come, that will lift my dad high on the shoulders of all those who love him. What I have witnessed the past two months — how far Major has come from the scared little boy we first brought home and how we have grown as a family and what I have witnessed as my dad makes strides towards recovery — makes me still, gratefully, believe in miracles. My father has always said to me “There but for the grace of God, go I.” It is true that no one knows what tomorrow brings. We only have the now. And right now, I have everything that I have ever prayed for.

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It has been a very long time since I have written. The idea of writing each day became overwhelming as I thought of all that has been bubbling under my surface. Much has to do with my dad as his illness has been a huge part of my life of late. Should I be writing again about my dad on what was primarily supposed to be a blog that chronicled my adoption thoughts and journey? Or is this blog a place to write about the story of my life and all that it encompasses? If that is the case, then this surely is the forum for my thoughts, hopes, fears and dreams about all that is going on in my life. In whatever way it manifests.

The last 5 months have been some of the most difficult in my life while there was also much joy. In recent weeks (a particularly bad week or two) I have yelled at my daughters more times than I care to admit while also relishing hugs and kisses and quiet moments laying in bed with them. I have been short with my husband while also craving his hugs. I have lost hair in clumps and missed my period from stress (finally got it — woohoo!!) and I have also laughed joyfully and enjoyed the company of good friends. I have stared at my son and thought he is the smartest and most handsome little boy I have ever laid eyes on. I have slept way too long in bed with headaches real or perceived dreading the thought of getting up to start my day. On other days, I jumped out of bed bright and early to head on a day trip with my family. I have hosed down my kids in the yard until we were all laughing hysterically. I have lain next to Eden in bed counting her freckles on her nose and have braided Emma’s hair and watched her talent shows. I have eaten ad nauseum from stress and eaten very little from stress. The dichotomy of what I have been going through as I simultaneously fell in love with a little boy and found strength in his hugs and kisses, balanced time for the girls and Gary and also cared for my ailing father while becoming well versed in his therapies, medications and needs has been an unbelievable stress that I only now feel I can write about. I have visited him in the hospital or nursing home up to 5 times a week, from 1-5 hours at a time, depending on what time I had available. (I am thankful I am not working now as I could never do what I have done.) This pales in comparison to my mom who sits with my father for up to 12 hours a day at times.

In all however, there has been joy … though joy is not always wrapped with a bow. Sometimes I feel that I have managed to compartmentalize all that is going on and shut off thoughts of one while I dealt with the other. Somehow, I can find joy and play with Major and not think about my dad for a while (not as true, these days, a few weeks after I wrote this.) When I am with my dad, I am very present to his needs and catering to him as a nurse would and chatting with my mom and I do not think much of what is going on at home as Gary puts all three kids (always successfully, God bless him) to bed. The crushing blows of bad news about my dad’s heart and kidneys and then the huge joy at small and sometimes all too fleeting improvements in his health only to be erased by more devastating news and then joy at two steps forward has wrecked havoc on my heart and mind in what feels like real physical ways. I have been devastated and then hopeful and then fearful again in a span of mere hours. The joy of seeing Major’s progress has filled my heart to overflowing. The balance of wanting to spend more time with my family of five in general while desperately desiring to eat breakfast and drink my hot coffee in peace without one @#$%& person calling my name has been delicate. Driving the 30 minutes in quiet to visit my dad at the hospital became peaceful despite the stress of wondering how my dad would be when I arrived.

I often think about how life might have been different in terms of me being able to help my parents better if I didn’t have a new child to care for and spend time with socializing and teaching and loving and holding. How much better and faster might I have bonded with Major if I wasn’t gone hours a day visiting a hospital or nursing home and tucking my dad into bed? Yet these moments I could not have and would not have traded. In each instance, I needed to be where I was. This is life, this is the life I was given at this time, and there is no way to wonder what if. In fact, given all these factors, I have managed to bond amazingly well with Major while simultaneously helping out my parents as much as I can. During this time in my father’s life, I have absolutely shared with him everything I ever wanted him to know about how I feel about him. There is not one doubt in my mind that he knows how truly loved he is and this has offered me solace. Though I have used babysitters at times, I am forever grateful for Gary and his lighter work schedule because often if I am gone in the evenings, at least it is still Daddy home with the kids. Or if I go to visit my dad in the mornings, Gary is still home with Major while the girls were in camp. Somehow, we have made all this work given the circumstances we are in. I have managed to feel a stronger and growing connection with my parents while also building a wonderful mother son relationship with Major. Admittedly, I’d like to find time to spend more one on one time with Emma and Eden in the coming weeks as we had always enjoyed a little extra girl time. I do it in small doses here and there but really would like to make a day of it with them. I also want a day in nature all by myself. Or even just three hours.

Though I touched on it a little bit in my last post, and surely talk about my dad’s diagnosis and status with friends, I kept a lot of the magnitude of this bottled up inside me for too long. Not because I wanted to, but because it was sort of stuck in me, like a tickle in your throat you can’t quite cough up. I don’t think I was in denial but I might have been. The truth of the matter is, in 4 months time, I had never cried much about my dad and the struggle he has been going through on a daily basis as he struggles to do something as simple as breathe. Through all this, and the pain of watching his struggle and the fearful look in his eyes, I could not for the life of me cry. I didn’t even want to be around anyone crying over my dad. Sometimes I could eek a tear or two out in the shower, but that’s it. Nothing. The well was dry. Until a month ago.

It began innocuously enough as I made a left turn where I wasn’t supposed to as I headed to the hospital. Seconds later, red lights flashed behind me and I pulled over. I had just been speaking to my brother in California (on my headset) updating him on my dad’s new diagnosis of pneumonia (on top of his heart failure) and was not paying attention. As I was thumbing through my wallet for my ID, all of a sudden, I felt this heavy breathing begin in my diaphragm and I began to cry. Big, heaping, huge sobs that came from the depths of me. I had not cried like that in four months of being worried about my dad, and perhaps not cried like that in years. The cop backed away and told me “Get a hold of yourself! Calm down! What is the matter with you??!!!” Perhaps he motioned to his waiting vehicle. Seconds later, his fellow cop emerged from the cop car behind me to check out what was going on. Drivers at the red light stopped to stare at me.

“Do you think you are the only one who cries and expects me not to give them a ticket?” the cop bellowed.

“It’s not about the ticket. Give me one if you need to. I am so sorry. It’s something else, I can’t believe this, I am so sorry, this is unlike me,” I said.

The cop asked what was going on and I told him my dad was very ill and I was on the way to the hospital and was completely distracted. He gave me the third degree — what hospital, diagnosis, etc. Who was I talking to on the phone? Show me that the phone number was from California.

He told me I was distracted and unsafe. “You are absolutely right, you are absolutely right,” I kept repeating. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The end result was that he didn’t give me the ticket. The better result is having that cop stop me was the impetus I needed to get the cry out of me that had been building up for months. Once his car pulled away, I stayed in the spot and cried some more. When I finally finished crying and continued the drive to the hospital, I felt free and light and joyous and felt like laughing. Although mortified in many ways, I was also grateful for that cop who incited such a catharsis for me. In fact, since that day, I have been able to cry freely about my dad. For a few days after that road side catharsis, I had felt better than I had in a long time.

The truth is, my dad is extremely sick. The truth is that he is the strongest person I have ever known. Three weeks ago when I originally began this, there had been progress. He walked a bit and was getting better, he was alert. I had felt hopeful that there is still a future. Tonight as I write this, he is back from another week long hospital visit that has him weaker than I have seen him in months. He is mostly sleeping. Two days ago, on his 73rd birthday, my mom and I sang Happy Birthday to him while he lay in bed, a ceremonial piece of cake on his tray. He was too weak to sit up. Three years ago, at his 70th, he danced the Lindy with me on my back deck with crowds of people cheering us on.

Am I depressed? I don’t feel depressed the way one might think of “depression.” Or rather, the way *I* have always thought of depression. I am able to go about my day, make calls sometimes (I never was great about phone calls), do errands, shop with the kids for school clothing and supplies, play in the yard with them, make play dates, have visitors. I have enough of an attention span to watch a movie or read my books daily. I don’t cook much at all since Major has been home, but when I do, I have recently made really nice meals (soups and stews, easy and good.) But what is depression really? Am I depressed? Some of Gary’s friends have thought so. Surely, I am below the “status quo” for what I’d like to be. But I also would like life to be what it was, with no worries about anyone’s ailing health. Is it normal that I am going through this given the circumstances? I’d like to be oblivious some days and take for granted that I would always have in my life all that I needed, all those I loved, healthy and safe and by my side. Reality is surely a splash of cold water on my usual “glass half full” self. For me, definitely, there is a pallor that shades everything I do these days. I sleep with my cell phone clutched in my hand at full volume. It is not the way to live but yet it is the way it is these days. I canceled and then never rescheduled any family vacation this summer because it was never the right time to go. I was always afraid that if I left, I’d be called back. I feel like I am living in limbo in many ways due to the situation. I never planned Major’s Welcome Home party because I wanted him to be able to be calm, a little older and enjoy his party. Now that he has grown so much, I can’t plan his party because I need to make sure my dad would be well enough to attend and now is not the time. I visit friends in amazing suburban towns and I’m itching to have all that convenience and space and natural beauty at my fingertips but will not even consider it at this time because being near my parents is paramount right now. It was paramount when I wanted to be near them when I had young children and now paramount so that I can be of service to them. And it’s because being able to be near them now is my greater want. Once again, there will be time in my life, other chapters, for all else.

Life is just a bit topsy turvy these days. And it’s been good to let these thoughts stream out of my brain and through my finger tips clicking at the keys right now. I figure getting this out of my system, warts and all, might help me move through this a little and enable me to be able to write about the good stuff going on in my family. Surely, there is good and wonderful stuff too and I try very hard to stay present to it. But the truth is that this is happening too. It’s been a rough road for me, but not as rough as it’s been for my dad and not as rough as it’s been for my mom. The truth is I am scared of what is to be. The truth is my dad has some major things going on with his heart, his kidneys and his lungs. The truth is, despite his weakness, he must have an unbelievable strength to endure what he has gone through the past 5 months, not to mention, since his first open heart surgery at age 14 and then beyond. The truth is that my dad’s “bad heart” is one of the BEST HEARTS I know. The truth is that feeling hopeful, but acknowledging my fears, feels a heck of a lot better than having no faith and living in denial.

I hope that getting this out of my system will enable me to write next time and focus on Major. So much has happened in his own progress and I look forward to sharing the great news and recent summer photos in my next post.

XOXOXOXO

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Written October 20, 2010

Last night I began an 8 week writing workshop. I must admit that before the class I googled a few of the names of the 7 participants and the first 3 alone had already been published, some in major magazines, some books. I thought I was out of my league. Likely I am. But just as in yoga, when you are in a class you can be with people who are just beginning and who have been yogis for years, but it doesn’t matter. You work at your own pace, stretch yourself to your own limits, look within. I almost quit before I began but thought that is not the me that I want to be. I am thinking back on this seminar I went to two weeks ago called “Living a Life with Purpose” when the leader of the presentation asked us what is it that makes us sing, makes us feel alive? What is it that people our whole lives through have consistently told us we should be doing? And what is it that I have been avoiding lately? Writing.

In class, going around the room, I told everyone that I have this blog and it is my desire to just flesh it out a little more so that I have more of a story for Major one day, perhaps with information about his country, the land, the political climate and also the adoption laws that were changed, halted, in limbo during the 2 years we went through our adoption which led us to the time and place where we were united. It is my goal to simply work on a few pieces of his story during this time, going back to my videos, photos, journal bits trying to piece it all together so I have something more comprehensive for him. As we have so little in regards to his own past, I want him to have so very much about the beginnings of his life as a Karp. I want him to know how loved he is, how very much a part of this family he is and how very much we arduously forged on to make him a part of our family and to bring him home.

Will this actually happen? I can’t be sure. I am someone who doesn’t have photo albums, who has yet to make an album for Emma and Eden yet, let alone Major. I do not scrapbook, though I have scrapbook envy. I do not use Shutterfly, Kodak Gallery or Picasa. I am so glad I have this blog, however. And I do make a nice montage video, admittedly. They say one photo says a thousand words so it has satisfied me in many ways.

In short, Major often drives me crazy because he is a typical two year old, wild wild boy who can’t stop moving, jumping and touching everything in sight, stealing pencils and crayons and slamming his hands down in defiance when I am trying to do homework and study with Emma and Eden. But oh, the mischievous grin and the squinty coy eyes when he knows he is being bad. Or even when he’s just being funny. But oh the tight embraces and smacking kisses he gifts us with each day. His laughter, hearty and deep, infects us all. And the miracle of his language acquisition — I am impressed and in awe of him daily. I love him more than I could express. In a nutshell, he makes my heart feel whole. He makes us all HAPPY.

There is not a day that goes by that I am not blown away by the miracle that brought us together. Just yesterday, picking him up from school, the kid greeted me as if I was a long lost lover, running to me from across the little school hallway as if we were on a meadow in the Sound of Music and music was beginning to swell in the background. The joy that spread across his face when I entered the school to pick him up … what a gift he gave to me with just his smile and wide spread arms. I scooped him up and silently thanked him with hard kisses pressed onto his squishy cool cheeks.

Corny and cliche, but true. This boy has fulfilled my life in so many ways and has filled my life with joy in the deepest level that I have known.

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Major Loves Latkes!

One year ago, I wrote the following entry.

Just last night I looked at the pile of Hannukah gifts for my kids and thought, well, I guess it will be next December that a little boy will get to celebrate Hannukah for the first time. Twelve hours after that thought, my cell phone rang which changed the course of events. THIS Hannukah we will meet our little boy!! This means, I will have a special gift for him to open on the day we arrive and he will be the special present for us. There was no kidding around when I was told “Expect the Unexpected!” It’s off to re-pack my electronics, my clothing, my carry on snacks and purchase books on my new Kindle that just arrived today. I still have a few days left here and I am taking Eden to see her first Broadway show tomorrow (Shrek The Musical.) It’s time to give my parents back the clothing for the kids, organize the birthday parties and playdates, purchase my winter boots to prepare for a bitter Siberian-style winter, rearrange the holiday parties, brunches and plans we had in store for us this month. It’s time to get ready to meet our little boy later than we originally had planned and now sooner than we thought. But if I am to believe what I have slowly learned to trust this past year, then this is exactly the timing for the right little boy to enter our family and change our lives forever. See you on the other side everyone!! It’s finally our turn to make The Karp Family of 5 a reality!!

Tonight, my boy and I eat Latkes and open presents with our dear family. I feel very blessed and very grateful. This year has brought me a new level of the concept of gratitude. The tangibles don’t matter at all. The health and happiness of my family, the living in the “now”, the love we share is the only thing that counts in the end. Happy holidays everyone! Here’s to a wonderful season.

Major painting a dreidel at school

Me and my dad on Thanksgiving Day — Truly a miracle

Major kissing Poppa — Two Holiday Miracles

The family on Thanksgiving (Gary and Major taking the photo)

The grandchildren with Grandma and Poppa on Hannukah — What a welcome sight after this year!

Opening Gifts

Joy on Major’s face as he opens presents

Best Sisters Ever!

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