Other mothers....

My other mom.

It's a phrase we hear often in our home. "My other mom bought me that" or "my other mom used to [fill in the blank]." One Friday as we were walking from the zoo to the parking lot, one of my girls nonchalantly said to me, "I have lots of moms."

Lots of moms.

Oh sure, many children might say the same thing about their best friend's mom or a special woman from church who mothered them. I know many families who refer to special friends as their "adopted sister" or "adopted son."

But, my kids mean it. I am at least their fourth mother.

Four moms.

Can you imagine? For my second youngest, that means he has been in more homes than he is years old. He has missed out on crucial bonding experiences that can only be restored by God's grace.

The other day we were listening to the Frozen soundtrack. At one point, my 5 y/o tells me that "this is the part where her parents die on the boat, but that's ok because she can get a new mom and dad, right?"

That makes sense, though, through the eyes of my children. When one mom is gone, another becomes available. Normal, right? For them, yes.

We talk a lot about family in our home.  Our children don't all come from healthy families, so they often simply don't know what a healthy family looks like. We find that we are regularly having to define family to them. ("Families walk together at the zoo." "Families have good days and bad days." "Families help and support each other.") My kids know that I while I am not their first mother, I am their last. But knowing and deeply understanding aren't always the same. I am frequently reminded that it takes thousands of positive experiences to counterbalance only a few negative ones.

A few weeks ago, we had a wind storm that knocked a big oak tree into our house, causing damage to our roof and attic structure. Oddly enough, on the outside the tree looked quite healthy. There were no bare limbs and the leaves were full and green. But, there had been some rotting due to insects and animals, and that was precisely where the trunk broke. What's outside isn't always what's inside. That's why God looks at our hearts.

On the outside, my children are beautiful and look normal, but on the inside, there is so much unseen hurt. This hurt permeates our days and turns even the most benign occurrences into triggers. Not getting a glass of water before bedtime can result in a 45 minute tantrum. Choosing the wrong park for a morning play time can inspire a screaming fit coupled with hitting or biting. But underneath it all is hurt - pain too deep for words. And, this is where things sometimes breakdown. It is also why we sometimes rock our oldest at nighttime or spoon-feed our almost 4-year-old. Emotional ages in our family do not mirror chronological ones.

One of my girls will frequently tell me she likes me. She has not yet told me she loves me, although she often says she is glad to be in our home. In a way, I admire her honesty. She isn't ready to love me, and that's ok, because every other adult that she has loved is no longer around. But, she also isn't ready to say it just to score points with me. I give her credit for that.

The other day at my parents' home, my son looked at my mother and said, "Mommy belongs in our family." So profound for him. Here is an almost 4-year-old whose vocabulary consisted mostly of parroting words back to us just five months ago. He struggles with sorting items such as shapes or colors. And yet, somewhere deep inside, our gracious God is beginning to heal his heart. Not only was our son able to initiate such a thought, he was able to understand what it meant to belong.

"And I will restore or replace for you the years that the locust has eaten...." 

(Joel 2:25a)

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Fear of man, no more

The other night, Peter and I met with a prospective adoption therapist. During our time together, she said something to me that was so very freeing.

She told me that adoptive moms are the most "looked-down-on" kinds of moms. 

How scary! And, yet for me, it was freeing. It was as if I felt the chains falling off of me.

I grew up with a wonderful family in a relatively small community. Most people knew my dad and/or mom, and my last name was familiar. It was not uncommon for me to introduce myself only to be told "your dad took care of my mother when she was ill," or some such thing. I was raised to remember that my actions reflected my family. I believe that was a good thing, especially because as an adult, I recognize the parallel: if I carry the name Christian, my actions reflect the God I serve, albeit imperfectly.

Whether rightly or wrongly, people do get a picture of Christ by what His followers do and say.

But, somewhere along the line, I began to care what others thought, and that's not good. Even though I know what is True, I still struggle with people's perception of me on occasion today.

And, I'm being honest here....

When I know I'm in the right, I can handle when people attack me or try to shame or manipulate me. Generally, in those situations, criticism stings for a moment, but then it rolls off my back.

But, when I am uncertain about a decision or an action, I will be often be concerned with what people say or think. I know this is a trap (Proverbs 29:25), so I resist the temptation, but if I'm honest, it can be a battle.

One of my concerns in going forward with this adoption has been the judgement that I know will come from others. I have been amazed over the past two years with not only how opinionated people have been since I became a mom (is it me, moms? or does everyone seem to have an opinion on how I should raise my kid?), but also at how much liberty even strangers take in asking personal questions about my transracial child.

Just. Wow.

Most of the time, though, I try to take questions as an opportunity to educate on adoption, but sometimes I just want to shake my head and ask 'really?' (Well, honestly, sometimes I want to do more than that...)

Through NO fault of their own, our children have and will have issues that differ from what children raised by biological parents face. Some of these are visible now, and some we may uncover later. Much of our parenting is the same, and much of it is different. We still deal with toddler tantrums and little girl drama, boo-boos and bedtime charades.

But, when my little ones don't want to be left in a nursery or in Sunday School, it is not because they are experiencing age-appropriate anxiety; it is because they are not sure that I will ever come back. It is because that has been their experience.

When my ten-year-old someday throws a temper tantrum in the middle of the mall, it is not because we don't set appropriate boundaries at home or because she is spoiled; it is because her body may be ten-years-old, but her emotions are still three-years-old. Or, when my six-year-old is afraid to go over a friend's house for the afternoon, it is not because he is sheltered; it is because he has seen too much.

Children who have experienced trauma (and that's just about every child in foster care) are stuck in a fight or flight pattern. You and I have that adrenaline rush when faced with a danger (think being approached by a scary animal). Our bodies see the danger and make a choice to fight it or to flee it.

Children who have been exposed to the various unsafe and abusive conditions that warranted their removal from their natural parents are often in a constant state of fight or flight (or freeze). Their little brains and bodies often don't know how to relax and feel safe. A kiddo in this situation may see dinner being prepared, but may still worry about not having enough food. This is why it is not uncommon for children with these experiences to hoard food. Healing is possible, but it takes time. We've been told that for every one year in foster care, children need at least one year in a stable home in order to overcome.

Believe me, this is a learning experience for us. We have to rethink our parenting style. It isn't going to be easy, and people may think we are too permissive, or too strict, or just plain crazy. And, maybe we are. Or, perhaps there is more to what most people can see. Maybe, my husband and I are privy to information not known by others, and just maybe, we are doing something right.

So, if you happen to see us when one of my kids is having a meltdown over the wrong kind of pizza (and it's happened), please don't tell me how you handled it with your kids, because that just may not work with mine. Mine might need me to order a different kind of pizza so she can begin to understand that moms make sure their kids have food. Or if one of my children uses an inappropriate word or doesn't yet know how to tie her shoes, please refrain from passing judgement. Maybe I need to keep tying them for awhile so she learns that moms help care for their kids.

And, if you just can't help but judge me, know that I forgive you. I once judged moms, too, before I understood.

Instead, please offer a prayer on our behalf. That will help more us than you may ever know.

We have a date

In both our adoption experiences, we have had moments that mark our journeys...moments that stand out as memorable. There are the obvious ones--the first time we held the little pickle, our first night as parents, meeting birth mom, getting "the call." Then, there are the less anticipated ones--meeting our social worker[s], mailing in a completed home study packet, choosing an agency, submitting on and interviewing for specific children...the list goes on.

Saturday was one of those moments that fell somewhere between the obvious and the surprising. We called our kids to give them the actual date that they would come home with us. It was a nice thing to be able to do on Valentine's Day. The children were cautiously optimistic.

They've been disappointed before.

Foster mom said they had begun asking her questions about the summer unsure of when they'd finally be clear to come, so she was grateful we could give them a countdown. She felt their excitement had diminished a bit with all the waiting they've been doing.

I can't blame them.

When we went into this match, we did so knowing that it was a legal risk placement. Usually, that means either that the natural parents' rights have not been terminated, or in our case, that an appeal to the termination had been filed. In part, this is what held up the transition from the sending state to ours. Our kids don't know that part...

Some good has come out of all this waiting, though. We heard just over a week ago that the judge (who had given himself an extension at the end of December) had ruled that the state had met the standard for rehabilitation services and that the termination of parental rights was upheld.

I received this ruling with mixed emotions. Anyone who has read the background on my children would wonder what took so long for the state to intervene. It would be so easy to hate their first parents. And yet, I can't bring myself to do so. Somewhere along the line, they were hurt, too, and unless someone stops the cycle, hurt begets hurt, abuse begets abuse, and sin begets sin. My kids' natural parents are paying dearly for theirs.

Make no mistake - I justify no behavior that harms children--physically, emotionally, or spiritually.

Yet, bad parenting perpetuates bad parenting unless something or someone stops it. The judge made the right decision. It is past time for my children to have the promise of permanency.

In addition to being able to put to rest the legal risk in our minds and hearts, we have been able to construct the wall needed to add a fourth bedroom upstairs, and we have [mostly] been able to organize our home. Peter and I will be homeschooling, and I have been excited to open the boxes of school books as they arrive.

Tomorrow, we meet with our social worker to go over behavior awareness tools, and Thursday, we have a consultation with an adoption counselor. Things are coming together.

We are buckling in and bracing for the ride of our lives. I'm not sure how we would have come this far without the amazing support of both our natural family and our church family. We owe them many thanks.

Thanks also to my readers for "virtually" joining our journey. Please continue to pray for us! The hard  (yet rewarding) part is yet to come.

Amazing Love

I don't believe in love at first sight.

Sure, when I met Peter I thought that I might like him, but I don't think I really began to understand what loving him meant until after we married and I watched him go to work tired in order to provide for me. Or even more so when I saw him get up during the night to change our infant daughter or watch him forego some much needed downtime so that I could have some instead. It's fair to say that the more I learn about Peter, the more I love him.

So it is with our children.

The first time I met A, she was two days old. I was drawn to her, and I cared about her. I even thought I might love her, but I really didn't even know her. I didn't have nine months of her growing inside me or even two or three months of getting to know her through a match with a birthmother. I met A about 18 hours after I found out she even existed. I had to learn to love her. The feelings followed the choice.

This time, I am much better prepared and have no notions of falling in love with cute faces. It's a good thing, too. It is hard enough for me to feel any love towards people I already know when I'm exhausted, and exhaustion doesn't even begin to describe what we experienced during both times our children visited us over Thanksgiving and Christmas. It certainly wasn't the normal exhaustion of parenting five children (with the holidays mixed in). I can adjust to that.

No, this bone-deep weariness was the result of parenting five children, four of whom come to us from a place of great hurt. Emotional ages don't match chronological ones.

Adoption = trauma. No matter how you slice it.

Even my little A--who came to us at birth from a very loving first mom who still rejoices with me over the many milestones--she was taken from the familiar and thrust into the unfamiliar.

I am not my new children's first mom, or even their second.

Or third.

When they call me mom, it isn't because we are bonding. It is because they don't attach the same meaning to the word that you and I do. They will have to learn what a mom is.

There is loss. And grief. And a great need for grace.

At one point, one of my kiddos had a rebellious encounter with poop. She smelled. She was full of angry tears and wanted me to hold her. Needless to say, I don't like the smell of poop. In fact, it turns my stomach (I still hold my breath while changing diapers). I had to summon every ounce of strength I had to snuggle with a stinky, defiant, disobedient, (did I mention smelly?) kid. Oh how I really wanted to run into a shower.

And then it occurred to me. That was me. That is all of us in our sin. We stink. We are repulsive. We are messy and ugly.

Yet God, in His great love for us, lowered Himself to come to us in the midst of our defiant stench because He saw something redeemable in us. He hugged me when I was covered in poop.

And so, I wrestle again with love, as our children prepare to join us within the next several weeks.

But this time, while I know I may not feel love or even want to express it, I must choose to give it.

Because I have received it.

Alas! and did my Savior bleed
And did my Sovereign die?
Would He devote that sacred head
For such a worm as I?

Was it for crimes that I had done
He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!

(Isaac Watts; Hymns and Spiritual Songs, 1707-09, Book II, number 9)

Trusting

Well, it turns out that little girl isn't part of this adoption. That doesn't mean that the family chosen for the boys won't be able to adopt her; it just means...well...I'm not completely sure what it means. But, I know my heart hurts. Of course, I don't really have the right to be disappointed just yet. After all, we haven't been chosen to parent these precious kids. But, there is still sadness knowing that the children may have to be separated, even if for a little while.  Foster children have already experienced so much loss in their young lives, it's hard to know that more may be coming.

On a brighter note, in the midst of the craziness of the past week - the different information depending where I call, the challenge of filling out another comprehensive set of paperwork, scheduling fingerprints (two separate times, days apart), and trying to manage our crazy calendars to fit upcoming trainings and interviews - I got an email yesterday from a social worker who is our appointed representative at the matching conference next month. This was a nice surprise. Basically, as I understand it, her job is to get to know us and then be our advocate when the committee meets to choose a family for the boys.

I suppose I didn't expect so much involvement before being chosen. When we adopted A, we submitted our home study a number of times (two dozen maybe?) before A's birth mom chose us. Those rejections weren't fun, but they were pretty straightforward: we read background info and decided whether or not to submit; birth mom either chose or didn't choose us.  We didn't have any contact with the birth family; we didn't even have any real identifying information - just first names and states of residence and some generic health and situational info. No "real" connections.

In this, our second adoption experience, we get to see pictures of the children before we even submit, and we get to hear a bit about their backgrounds and personalities. Most often, we don't hear anything unless we are being preliminarily considered. In the case of these boys for which we are one of three families, we have seen pictures, spoken with foster mom, read background info, heard their stories, etc. My heart started to attach long ago, and nothing is certain yet. Except the most important thing: God is in control of this whole situation.

From the first time I saw these boys, I have prayed that the Lord would place them in the home that HE has chosen for them.  Of course, I hope that home is ours, but more important than what I want is what He wants, after all, they do belong to Him first. So, when we pray, we ask that the Lord would place these children in the home where they best can receive what they need to become what He created them to be. If you feel so inclined, we would welcome your prayers to that end, too. With all our kids we really need to remember that they first belong to God Who then gives us the privilege to raise them. Just as Hannah gave Samuel to the Lord none of us really can lay claim to our children.

So...as we wait to see how this unfolds, we will do our part to update paperwork, attend trainings, compile family picture books, and research necessary resources. And, we'll trust that God knows the end from the beginning.

Foster Mom

I think I may have been a little unclear in my last post. Nothing is definite yet. This isn't the first time a caseworker has contacted our social worker to ask if we are still interested in certain children. In fact, several months ago, I spoke at length with a caseworker about a specific young girl in whom we had expressed interest. Another time, we were asked to answer several questions about a trio of children to see if the caseworker wanted to continue considering our family. We've gotten a second look in a handful of cases so far, but for one reason or another we either didn't make the cut or we withdrew our names. 

My heart breaks often in reading what some of these precious children have had to handle in their short lives. It really is unthinkable. And, to be honest, there is a bit of guilt for me in this process. Sometimes I think adoptive parents get to make too many choices. It took me a long time to be able to be honest about what I couldn't handle...things like severe autism or sickle cell anemia. 

Several times we've had to complete pages of checklists asking what kinds of behaviors, family histories, illnesses, and handicaps we would consider accepting. In many cases, we even get to decide gender. That last part seems a bit unnatural to me. Of course, if I gave birth to a baby with Down Syndrome or a cleft palate, we would love and care for that baby. But, as a mom through adoption, I get to turn down those kids. That's sometimes tough to handle.

But, back to caseworker inquiries... In reality, since each state is so very different, a caseworker asking if we are still interested generally just means that it has been some time since our initial contact (in this case about seven weeks), and she is just checking to be sure we haven't been matched with other children so that she can continue considering us. So, while I was very excited to receive the email, I spent about two days trying to temper that excitement.

I originally intended to call foster mom after the holiday so as not to disturb her Memorial Day weekend, but I couldn't help myself, so I phoned her on Saturday. What does one say to a foster mom? I generally don't find myself at a loss for words, and goodness knows I've made plenty of phone calls to people I don't know, but somehow this was very, very different.

It turns out that foster mom, R, put me right at ease. In fact, we talked for an hour and twenty minutes! She told me that we are one of three families being considered for the children, and she answered my questions and asked some of her own. I found her to be a wonderful resource, especially since she has fostered them for quite some time.

One of the biggest questions I had for her had to do with whether or not she would want contact after an adoption. We have a semi-open adoption with A's mother now. Basically that means we email and text each other. I would welcome an open relationship with R should we be chosen for these children.

One important thing that came out during our conversation was that the family chosen would need to be dually certified both to adopt and to foster since at least one of the children is a legal risk placement, meaning that the parental rights have not yet been terminated. That means another layer of certification for us. I can see that the next few weeks will be quite busy.

Paper pregnant - Part II

I hate roller coasters, both the physical and the emotional kind. It's funny how God works in our lives to help us trust Him. I'm thinking He put me on this roller coaster so I could learn that true stability comes from Him.

Our daughter (now 17 1/2 months old) was a surprise. We found out about her the day after she was born and within twelve hours were at the airport ready to fly across the country. We took her home from the hospital and lived in a hotel for just over a week while waiting for our ICPC clearance (Interstate Compact Placement of Children). Adoption is very much a state issue, so we needed permission to leave one state and enter another. In fact, until our adoption was finalized 6 months later, we were required to notify the agency whenever we left our home state.

Meanwhile, here is A in her first crib while waiting for ICPC clearance:

And my favorite is on the hotel room's couch (since I think she is so adorable):

What a roller coaster ride those first few weeks were...

This paper pregnancy is quite different, and it makes our first adoption feel like a kiddie carousel ride. When our little A was about 3 months old, we began talking about the process of adopting again, knowing that it could take a long time.  The average estimated wait for waiting child adoption is 18-24 months. We learned, however, that we could not start a new home study until our first adoption was legally finalized, and that was set for just after A's 6-month birthday.

While we were waiting, I was still researching, and we fell in love with a sibling set of three boys. Naturally, this prompted us to work as hard as we could to complete the mountain of paperwork required. We signed up for classes, got fingerprinted, submitted our police and child abuse checks, wrote our autobiographies, asked friends for reference letters, and pseudo-cleaned our house for our social worker's visit. :) As an aside, social workers ought to have a day reserved just to honor them (mine especially). I can't imagine working daily with such emotionally charged families!

Our home study was stamped on October 4, 2013. We were approved for up to three siblings ranging in age from infant to 16 years. Step one, done.

So, I submitted our home study for this sibling group. A week later we found out that the caseworker had stopped accepting home studies and that she never got ours. There had been an administrative glitch. I think I cried for three days. I was so sure these children were supposed to be in our home. Being rejected because we aren't a good fit is one thing; being rejected without ever having a chance to be considered is entirely different.

Fast forward to April 1st. (By then, we had submitted our home study to 38 other situations and had heard back from only a handful. It's quite rare to hear back from a caseworker unless she is interested. So, in this situation, no news is not good news.) We got an email update from our matching service listing new available children, and these three boys were again on the list! I immediately submitted our home study and then told Peter afterwards. :)

Then, the waiting began anew. We inquired about ten more situations, submitting our home study for most of them. As of this post, our total submissions number 49, for over 120 children.

One of the emotionally challenging things about this process is that for each submission, we picture particular children as part of our family, so we discuss various factors such as logistics (schooling, bedrooms, etc); and we talk about how we could meet any special needs and build relationships, transition the children into our home, etc., only to have to do it all over again the following day for another child or children. Another difficulty we've discovered involves scheduling. Not knowing when our "due date" is makes it difficult to make commitments, since we don't know if we'll be able to keep them. I've turned down a number of opportunities that I could have done because I don't know when we'll have to be ready to go.

Recently, my social worker encouraged me to contact other agencies specializing in waiting child adoption. For a number of reasons, we had our home study done through an agency that does mostly domestic infant adoptions, so our wonderful social worker wants to make sure that we have all the necessary support in place.

In my next post, I'll share some of the twists and turns my research unearthed and why adoptive families need to learn early to ask questions (lots of them) and become proactive advocates ....

Paper pregnant - part I

We're expecting. But, I'm not showing. In fact, I'm not even pregnant (but I do have odd food cravings, just ask my husband).

Actually, my husband and I are in the middle (beginning? end?) of our second adoption - we're paper pregnant. With our first baby, we kept everything quiet for a number of reasons. Among those were: it was unchartered territory (for us); people ask odd (and by odd, I also mean rude) questions; we have no due date (a biggie); it seems strange to have a baby shower without a baby bump; we knew the possibility of a failed adoption; things either happen at a snail's pace or in a whirlwind and updates get wearisome; etc.

Up until now, few people have been privy to our process, but I recently read a statistic that 75% of families who begin the adoption process get discouraged for lack of support. I know that discouragement. So, with my husband's blessing, I will be writing more about this new experience as we go through it, when the emotions are raw rather than forgotten. Hopefully, someone will read and be encouraged in the midst of what can be a discouraging and lonely process.

Our first adoption was relatively smooth as far as adoptions go, I imagine. Every situation is different. Sure, we had some rough spots (paperwork, clearances, more paperwork, more clearances, interviews, references, classes, waiting, rejection, home visits, legal paperwork, and other things I seem to have forgotten as a pregnant mom forgets the pains of labor...). But, all in all, we had smooth sailing after we [finally] settled on an agency. Within roughly four months of going active, we were matched.

This time around is definitely different. About a year ago when our daughter was around 3 months old, I began researching. We like to say around here that I am the gas pedal and my husband is the brake. It was on my heart to adopt siblings from the foster care system, but I knew that was something that the Lord would have to speak to my husband. I can argue a good case, but bringing home hurting children (and more than one, at that) would require teamwork and complete commitment on both our parts. Imagine my surprise when one day my husband informed me that he thought we should adopt siblings!

So, we started the process last July, shortly after our first adoption was finalized, and were approved in early October. I read a blogger who referred to the paperwork part as the first trimester. Six months ago we entered our second "trimester."

This process is definitely more of a marathon than a sprint. Stay tuned....

The real face of racism

I'm offended. Generally speaking, it takes quite a bit to offend me, but this one really takes the cake. An MSNBC panel led by Melissa Harris-Perry recently made fun of an adopted baby whose race is different from his adoptive family's. This hits close to home. My daughter does not share my ethnicity. Apparently MSNBC thinks she's less my kid than if she had come from my body. Thanks. I'll try to remember that next time I have a sleepless night because little 'A' isn't feeling well, or the next time I have to hold a screaming baby still while a nurse draws blood, or perhaps the next time baby girl throws herself a little tantrum in Target. Yes, she's just a token. Clearly my husband and I adopted her to prove we aren't racist. Thanks for clearing that up, Melissa Harris-Perry, et. al.

By and large, I'm aware that people are generally curious about adoption, and I try to be open so people can ask me questions. In my own little way, I like to help dispel some of the myths. In my experience, most people are genuine and mean no harm. I have been asked all sorts of questions like "where is your daughter from?" "what is she?" and one sweet person even told me she had reservations about our raising a child of another ethnicity. Hey, so did we. It means we choose to explore cultures other than our own. Not something most parents have to do. I get it.

So, let me clear something up for the hatemongers at MSNBC: Adoption is hard. I know. I've done it. And, for the record, I've talked to parents with both adopted and biological children, and they've confirmed the difficulty as unique. Yes, I didn't go through labor and delivery, and any weight I gained I couldn't blame on a baby (my big regret). But, I've had strangers walk through my home and inspect it, counting fire extinguishers and asking for maps of escape routes. I've had to provide dozens of pages of private financial and medical information, numerous FBI and state fingerprint checks, records on every address I've had for the past 20 years, and health history for a dozen of my closest relatives. Oh yeah, and I had to find six people who thought I was qualified to parent and ask them to write reference letters. Then, once our application was in, we had to take parenting classes, CPR and first aid, read books, write reports, and provide several hours worth of interviews. The list goes on. And, if that isn't enough, we had to answer questions about parenting style, sign piles of affidavits, and have special approval to adopt a non-caucasian baby. Yes, you read that correctly, we had to have special approval to adopt a non-caucasian baby. The agency had to feel certain that we weren't racist and that we were prepared for raising a baby of a different skin color and ethnic background.

All of that before we were approved to adopt.

Once we were approved, we had to submit our profile to potential situations that we thought were a good match. We were denied numerous times. 

Finally, we were matched with a baby, with whom we lived in a hotel away from our families for the first week-and-a-half of her life. Then, within two weeks of 'A's' birth, we had to visit an out-of-state court and answer questions under oath before a judge, argue repeatedly with our insurance company to convince them that they had to cover our daughter on our policy, wait for permission from the court system to go home, and have a social worker come into our house and make sure everything was ok - all before I was a mom for two weeks. 

Over the next six months, we had to provide letters and documents to the agency updating them on our daughter's growth and medical care, notify our agency whenever we went out of state, have three more social worker visits to make sure, again, that the state would be comfortable granting us permanent custody, and get re-fingerprinted to keep all our clearances current until our finalization.

All of that before our adoption became final six months after 'A' was born. 

And, guess what. We'd do it all over again. Because our daughter is worth it. 

But here's the point. The parents of this beautiful little boy being referenced on MSNBC had to go through pretty much the same thing that we did. And the best this news panel could do is call the baby a token, suggest that 23 whites and 1 black accurately represent the GOP, and sing "one of these things is not like the other" while looking at the family picture and then suggest how humorous it would be if this baby grew up to marry Kanye West's daughter making the Romneys and the Wests in-laws? REALLY? How disgracefully sophomoric.

Here's the reason, though, that what they did was apparently ok: the beautiful family in the picture, the family being mocked for having a token black kid, the family whose precious little adopted baby is a token is none other than the Romney family. Yup. So, that makes all of this acceptable. Apparently all of the "black conservatives" in the GOP are only tokens - Allen West, Herman Cain, Condoleezza Rice (notably, the first female black Secretary of State), Mia Love, Angela McGlowan, Star Parker, Thomas Sowell, and Clarence Thomas, to name a few. According to some on the progressive side, the only black people that can think for themselves are liberals. And, the only white people who aren't racist are liberals. 

Lest I be misunderstood, I think there is racism on both sides of the aisle just like I think there are good people on both sides. And, I am aware that Harris-Perry apologized. Big deal. 

The over-arching problem is that racist and bigoted behavior is tolerated when it comes from the left. Tea Party Americans can be called by sexual slurs (teabaggers), Sarah Palin can be referred to as a pig, President Obama can say "typical white person"...hey, some liberals even make fun of their own, suggesting that Obama previously could have been fetching coffee (Bill Clinton to Ted Kennedy) and that he wouldn't know how to sell watermelons (Dan Rather). 

But, I suppose when you don't really have an argument that holds water, the next best thing to do is to sling mud. 

Advent

From the Latin, Adventus, which signifies a coming, Advent is that time of the year when the Church prepares for the celebration of the birth of the Christ child. I have always enjoyed this season of preparation. As a child, I loved lighting the candles at dinner time, and I remember a year or two when my mom gave us Advent calendars with little chocolates behind each door. In most of my years, the waiting was full of anticipation and was fun.

Last year was a different kind of waiting. I have discovered that there is the "can't wait!" kind of waiting and then the "when will this ever happen" kind. Last year, we were in the middle of the latter. Our home study was active and we had been presented with dozens of situations, had applied to about half, and had been summarily rejected. So, waiting took on a completely different meaning. Our expectation was to be matched with a birth mom about 2-3 months before her due date (as was the practice at our agency), and then the former kind of waiting would begin.

And yet, as is often the case, contrary to what we thought (read "carefully planned"), we were notified with no time to spare. I was outside hanging Christmas lights, and Peter was out of state on a business trip. I came in the house and noticed a missed call from the agency. When I called back, they informed me of a born baby girl not yet a day old, healthy, and "I'm bringing profiles to the hospital now, do you want to submit?" Short version - yes.

That was around noon on the 12th of December. We didn't hear anything for the rest of the afternoon or evening, so we assumed that another family had been chosen. It wasn't the first time, so we knew the drill. Around 10:15 that night, my husband called from his hotel (did I mention that he was out of state?) to tell me the agency had contacted him (he was the 2nd contact; I was supposed to be the first) and said they had been trying to reach me all day! (For the record, AT&T did give me a credit once they found out that their service had almost cost me a daughter). Around 10:20pm that night we heard the words "congratulations and Merry Christmas - you're parents!" (or something like that...it's all fuzzy now...but I do remember I was in the kitchen).  What a whirlwind! We spent the night making travel and contingency plans, and flew out the next day! Best. Christmas. Ever.

All of this to say that my husband and I are no strangers to waiting (we waited years before we even met and married!). But, waiting takes on a different meaning as life unfolds. And, this year, as I think about what it means to wait for the Messiah, I remember this time last year when we didn't know that soon we would have a baby (most people know for 9 months, but I've never been good about doing things the normal way). :)

Our lives changed in moments. One moment I was hanging Christmas lights, running a choir rehearsal, playing an Advent service, and talking to my husband on the phone. The next moment, I was a mom. Wow. And, as all new mothers know, no matter how prepared we think we are, we aren't.

For Christians, waiting for the Messiah during Advent has a second, and even more important, meaning. In a sense, we are still waiting, for our Messiah did come, but when He left, He promised to come back. And, if we believe His words, we don't know when He will return. I, for one, know I need to be more prepared for Him than I was for my daughter, because there won't be time to make plans once that moment arrives.

All trials shall be like a dream that is past,
     Forgotten all trouble and mourning.
All questions and doubts have been answered at last,
     When rises the light of that morning.

The heavens shall ring with an anthem more grand
     Than ever on earth was recorded.
The blest of the Lord shall receive at His hand
     The crown to the victors awarded.

(Magnus Brostrup Landstad, 1802-80; tr. Peer O. Str ömme, 1856-1921, adapt.)

The best things....

Irving Berlin may have thought that the best things happen while you're dancing, but I disagree. Before I challenge his statement, however, I'd like to insert a shameless plug for the Off Broad Street Players' production of Berlin's White Christmas opening this Friday in Millville, NJ: You can buy tickets online at Levoy Theatre. So, get your seats and make sure to peek over into the pit and wave at me on the piano!

Back to Berlin's maxim, though. I love dancing. Even minored in it in college. And, I would agree that some pretty amazing things can happen while you're dancing (not the least of which is that you get some good exercise and burn some calories, but I digress). Dancing is romantic, whimsical, rhythmic, poetic, euphoric, and the list goes on. But something happened to me today that was far better than dancing (and again, I love to dance - even forced my hubby into lessons so he could dance with me). My little girl put her head on my shoulder and gave me a big hug. As I carried her upstairs to take a nap, she snuggled into me, and for a moment, I was about as happy as I have ever been.

Motherhood is a blessing, and maybe in a future post I'll tackle what I believe is society's war on motherhood, but for today I want to piggyback on my last post about adoption. I hope that in talking about what a positive experience adoption can be that I did not inadvertently imply that it is, as the saying apparently goes, all rainbows and unicorns. In fact, it just so happens that I visited two blogs today that indicate just the opposite: one from an adoptive mother, who is using November to list 30 things (particularly difficult things) she knows about adoption, and the other from a birthmother, who honestly rethinks her approach to celebrating this month, choosing instead to honor it.

The truth is that adoption is hard, and it is not always the right answer (but it is ALWAYS the right answer when the only other choice is abortion, if that dichotomy truly exists). Adoption brings with it loss that belongs to each member of the adoptive triad: the birth parents, the adoptive parents, and the child[ren]. We more easily recognize the loss experienced by birth parents. But, one thing that society tends to overlook is that these first parents experience this loss in perpetuity. Even in an open adoption where phone calls, pictures, and emails keep everyone connected, the birth parents miss out on first steps, sloppy kisses, baseball games, and other important milestones. Pictures just aren't the same thing as physically being there.

Then, there are the adoptive parents. They often, although not always, are in the adoption ring because of infertility issues. So, they grieve the loss of parenting their own DNA. And, even if infertility isn't an issue, we know that we are parenting a child that was once loved by parents before us. Or, in the case of the adoption of older adoptees, we parent children who come with a history that we won't ever share that is highly likely to include abuse, neglect, and other serious hurt.

Not to be forgotten are the children. Even though A was adopted at two days old, someday, she will still have to navigate her feelings about not being parented by her biological parents. Experts (who these people are, I don't know) suggested that even infants who are adopted must grieve the loss of the familiar. I'm not sure how provable that is, but there is definitely a sense of loss shared by all. Young children may wonder why they were "unwanted" (not true! see last post), and older children will deal with the trauma of being removed from the family they know, the loss of familiar neighborhoods and friends, and the separation from foster families who have cared for them.

Other family members often forgotten include the birth grandparents and other extended family. One of the hardest things for me to see was A's birth grandfather hold her while he memorized her every feature. We didn't have the chance to speak for long, but I could see his grief in losing a granddaughter (I'm telling you my little girl is loved by her birth family).

But, while adoption is fraught with loss and difficulty (we were rejected at least a dozen times before we were chosen, and we know what it is like to fall in love with children only to have our homestudy misplaced and therefore miss the window to submit it), I can say without hesitation that it is all worth it. Life is a balance of loss and gain. Adoption is no different. But, the good most certainly outweighs the bad. And, as I was walking A upstairs again today for her nap, and she snuggled herself into my neck and put her arm around me (sometimes she even pats me), I forgot the mounds of paperwork, the years of waiting, the seemingly endless educational sessions, the long background checks, and the numerous invasive questions. In the moment, I was a mom, and yes folks, that's better than dancing.

National Adoption Month

I read a statistic today that six in ten Americans have a personal connection to adoption. A year ago, I may not have believed it, but it's funny how becoming part of that world opens ones eyes to just how big it is. Over the past year, I've had the privilege of meeting many folks whose lives have been touched by adoption.

So, in honor of those wonderful people, I would like to wish everyone a Happy Adoption Month!  Since this is the month for giving thanks, I want to chime in with my appreciation for adoption - for the social workers who work with emotionally charged people for long hours and with little pay to help build strong families, for the many people across the world who take the risk of parenting another man and woman's child, and also for the unsung heroes in the adoption equation - birthmothers.

Somehow, it seems easy to thank the social workers and the agencies and to elevate adoptive families. After all, no one really has ever asked me anything about my social workers, and many people have told my husband and me how wonderful it was that we adopted. Yet, society still has some confusion regarding birth moms and the incredible sacrifice they make. I've had some interesting questions come my way regarding my daughter's birthmother. Most have come out of sheer curiosity, and who wouldn't be curious? After all, mothers usually care for their own children. It is unnatural not to, really. Oftentimes the nature of these questions revolves around the curiosity regarding just how a mom can give up her kid. Many people mistakenly think that most birth moms are teenagers who may have been forced into unwanted situations, and sometimes there is judgment about the nature of their decision.

I'm writing today to try to help dispel that myth. Let me be clear, I am not condoning actions that put birthmothers into situations where they have unexpected pregnancies. Many times, it is due to selfish reasons that people become pregnant in the first place. But, and I mean a big BUT, we all make decisions that place us in difficult situations. It is how we handle these difficult situations that set us apart. And, in a culture where abortion is often heralded as the right answer, I applaud the women who CHOOSE to give life. (Funny how that choice isn't celebrated.)

There are many reasons that parents choose to make adoption plans for their children. My husband and I were surprised as we went through the process to see those choices. We were also surprised at how many birth moms whose profiles we read were not teenagers. Some were already parenting (dispelling the myth that anyone who has raised a child would really understand what she was sacrificing); others were married. Several married couples were on birth control, but were surprised by a pregnancy and simply did not have the resources. One married couple was already parenting but the mom had a degenerative disease that rendered her incapable of caring for a young child. All had one thing in common, though. They all loved the life growing inside of them and knew that they could not provide adequately for the needs of that child. They loved beyond themselves. How many of us can say that?

Last Mother's Day, my husband and I visited a diner with our little girl. Our waitress wished me a happy Mother's Day, and I asked her something I almost never ask any women. I asked her if she had children. She paused, and then opened her folder to take our order, but instead pulled out a picture of a beautiful little girl who was about 7 years old. Our waitress said to us that she had a daughter that she placed for adoption as an infant, but that the adoptive family sent her updates and pictures. It was crystal clear to us that she loved her little girl and that amidst her sense of loss, she was grateful that her daughter's parents were able to provide a solid home to the child she carried. That's love, folks.

When my husband and I flew to Utah to meet our newborn daughter, A, we had the privilege of spending time with her birth mom, M. It was so clear to us how much M loved (and still loves) our daughter. M is about as selfless a person as I've ever met. When our little one was three days old, the hospital became aware of a skull fracture that probably happened at birth. A was born with a head full of hair, so the indentation wasn't visible to the eye. M had already signed away her parental rights, so the hospital was not permitted to update her on the status. I found M in her room crying with fear at the possibility that something was permanently wrong. We hugged as I told her that everything was going to be ok. (fyi... A's skull fixed itself as she grew).

When we arrived back home in NJ, we were met with an email from M wanting to make sure that we arrived safely. She has told me that she is so glad to have met my husband and me because she wanted to know that her baby was going to a good home. She praises us as parents and is so glad to know that A is growing well. She rejoices with me at the milestones and supports us as we learn to parent. Does this sound like a mom who didn't want her kid? No, she is in the line of women like Moses' mom who loved her son enough to keep him safe, so she made an adoption plan.

As we all prepare for Thanksgiving, let's take a moment to think of those who have sacrificed beyond themselves. Yes, I'm thinking of birth moms, but there are also many others: dads who have made adoption plans alongside the moms (if birth moms are viewed skeptically, birth fathers are all but forgotten!), servicemen who are unable to be home for the holidays, public servants who work to keep us healthy and safe while we eat turkey at home, and the list goes on. It is good to be thankful for the things in our lives, but it is also worth remembering to be thankful for the things that make the world a better place for others. And, while you gather around your table to say a prayer, please thank God for the selfless men and women who chose to give life. Someday, that life may change the world.