Twos

For three days, I have two two-year-olds. But, today, I have one with a birthday.

I really love this kid. Because none of what makes him amazing can be genetically attributed to me, I feel very free to brag about him. I tell everyone how smart he is and how he is talking so much earlier than my other two were at this age. How he can count to, like 17, depending on the day. How I've been too busy to teach him one darn thing, but how he knows absolutely everything, as if his brain is extra-spongey.

I look at him, and the ease with which he accomplishes everything, and it is easy for me to predict what he is going to be when he grows up: a soccer play, a football player, an actor, a singer, a dancer. So, pretty much he is going to have a very risky career path, but it will ultimately be very fulfilling and make lots of others jealous.

When he was still in the orphanage, our friend/advocate wrote to me and said "He loves to smile." I was filled with a moment of pride (as if I, having never met this 6 month old baby, had a thing to do with it) and then the cynic in me took over and I was filled with dread. What if that goes away? I thought. What if he comes home with us and he doesn't smile and I'll know it wasn't just his melancholy personality but that he used to love to smile and then he met me and never smiles again? 

Over-dramatic much?

When a child has a birthday, the mother usually posts some pictures of what they looked like on their birth-day, and goes through a series of "A year ago, I was rushing to the hospital" or "Two years ago today I became a mother." Even with my other two, there's a sense that their birthday is more than a little bit about me. In fact, Ben used to give me presents on Simon's birthdays because I did all the work.

Hmmm. Two years ago, a child was born but I was not his mother. His birthday is not about me. But it's no less sentimental. It's a celebration of the day his story began. It's a recognition that we don't need to know the details of those beginnings to hold them sacred. It's a prayer for his birth mother and for Charlie that God would heal any hurt that took root two years ago.

When I picked him up from childcare at the Y today, he yelled "Mommy!" An older boy looked at him and said emphatically, "That is not your mommy." I said, "I am his mommy." The boy looked at me, looked at Charlie, and said, "But you're white and he's black so I didn't think you could be his mommy." I explained to him what adoption is, and have never been so proud to say, "So, I am his mommy."

Because it's his birthday, and I don't need memories of his birth to know it happened and to know that it changed my life.

It's Time

Your sister has become obsessed with her baby book - what she looked like as a baby, how she dressed for her first halloween, what Mommy looked like with her growing in my belly. She sleeps with the book, wants it read to her as a story. So, Simon dug his book out too, searching out the matching bracelets we wore in the hospital. Taly doesn't understand why her picture isn't in his book, doesn't understand the concept of "before I was here."

So, it's time. Time for me to sort through mental pictures and digital ones. Time for me to make my way through the beginning - your beginnings. I know so little, and some of what I do know isn't to be put in a book, but to be guarded over in my heart until you ask for it. I'm blessed, and you are so blessed little one, that I have nothing wretched to tell you someday. I have no knowledge of darkness or evil that was once a part of your world.

But in about a year or less, probably less, maybe even now - you'll want your book. You'll want me to read it to you a million times and remind you how much we wanted you. You'll scour those early pictures, sent across the ocean from your auntie's phone, for traces of truth about your home - before you were here.

Oh for God to give me the grace to write it well. Your story, our story. Oh for words that speak to your heart and answer your questions. Oh that you would know how beautiful this story is, that you would see God's creative grace weaving across oceans and through the land of a thousand hills.

Gotcha Day

What a week. E is a rock star at recovering from surgery. I saw her today and she looked better than I did. The doctor did find cancer, but feels confident he was able to get it all and that the chemo will kick that crap out of her for good. Keep praying!

January 24 is the day we met our Charlie. I've spent all day today going through videos and pictures and I can't believe how much he's changed - how much we've all changed. We are beyond thankful that he is a part of our family. There is no us with out him, and we feel like the luckiest family in the world.

I mean, I know there are 8 other families who think they won the Miracle of Adoption jackpot too. Want to meet them and relive all of our moments? Visit my friend Adrianne's blog for a sweet little slideshow that details the process and joy we've shared together.

Adoption really is a miracle. It is with wonder that we have watched someone who was Not Ours become every bit Ours. We've felt our family be redefined and re-imagined by the Creator of the Universe. Every time I stop to think about what has taken place over the past year, I am in awe that it is all real, that our home is filled with joy birthed in Africa.

But it is not THE miracle. Seems like a weird day to be a downer, I know. But I can't think of our process without being entirely aware of the brokenness and inadequacy of adoption. Charlie was given family while many of his crib buddies have since moved to the toddler room. From there, they'll move to the big kid room. From there, they'll age out of the orphanage, and I don't know the rest of the story.

Adoption was our answer, but it is not THE answer. The problems of at-risk children, poverty, women who lack education and choice, governments who make laws that are well-intended but can't bring about real change, these problems are complicated and huge. More answers are needed.

It is too easy for those of us who have experienced this miracle to want to make it everyone's miracle. To want to apply our answer universally to the problems of the world. And I do hope that more people will seek room in their hearts and homes for children who need it. But there have been two things that have smashed my tendency to think I have simple answers for complicated problems: living overseas and adopting.

Looking at Charlie, I will always be torn between my joy in being his mother and my heartache that he can't know his birthmom. I will always be thankful that God has cast us in Charlie's story, while recognizing that what I want most for my son is for him to have never needed us in his story. I am glad he is mine, but if I could take away the heartache that brought him to me, I would. Or maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I'd be too selfish for that. (It's a good thing I'm not God, that's for sure.)

Ahhhh, lots of rambling that probably doesn't make sense. (Well, it probably does to Adrianne. Like me, she likes to make things complicated.) The point is this (I think):

The world is full of crap. It's broken and things don't work, and in the process of universal break-down, kids are falling through the cracks. Hearts are breaking. Mothers are weeping and children are dying. And God redeems this crap. He does, I believe it. God has redeemed Charlie's story. But the redemption - The Miracle, The Answer - is not that we adopted Him. There is too much pain and brokenness, potential for corruption and systemic holes for this to be The Answer. It would be arrogant and short-sighted for me to believe that I am his Happy Ending. Our adoption of Charlie is a piece of the story - a taste of real redemption, a shadow of real family, a glimpse of true love.

The Happy Ending is yet to come.

But this Gotcha Day is miraculous just the same.



Remember this?

Sometimes there are issues others don't understand

In adoption, sometimes there are issues. Sometimes they're not major at all, but they are issues that you as the parent have to be aware of/ on top of, whatever.

Usually, non-adoptive parents don't understand. It's not their fault. Would you read articles about attachment and institutionalized behavior if you didn't have to? Me either.

Stacey at anymommy has some of my favorite posts about adoption, attachment, and dealing with it all as a mommy. I know, I know, it borders on annoying how much I link to her stuff, but each post really blows me away with her ability to put things into words that I only vaguely know how to express with rambling and ummmms, and studdering, and hoping people will understand what I'm trying to say.

The fact is that it's hard to explain this stuff to people. And, no, I don't really have a responsibility to explain it all the time, but there are people in our life who genuinely love us and our children and want to be supportive. And for those people, information helps.

So, for all of you who are adoptive mamas and want to read something that you'll truly "get," here you go. And for those of you who are friends with us weird adoptive mamas and want to know why we act like it's a problem when our kids hug you and not us and wonder if we're just being insecure or jealous, here you go too.  Especially if you're dealing with sending your newly-bonding child to school or childcare, this post is a great resource. And then just read all of her stuff because it's all either hilarious, poignant, beautiful or thought-provoking. And if you just read all her stuff then I can stop bugging you with the links.

Sticky Adoption Thoughts: the Birthmom

Oh my, we've been all obsessed with capes and crafts around here, and still - life continues to whir on with the important things needing attention.
I've been reading some adoption literature lately, and blogs of course, and something's been kind of troubling me. It's sticky and might not come out right, but I'm going to take a shot at giving it words.
The Birthmom.
We adoptive mamas I think feel a collective sigh of gratitude and respect for these women who bore our children and made certain choices that brought these babes into our lives. We talk about Her as selfless and courageous. And, probably? She is.
Here's my concern though (I'll just make this specific to my situation, because this seems like an area where generalizations are not good): She may not be. She might be a true hero - someone who sacrificed a lot of ridicule and stigma to carry her child to term, someone who went to great lengths to leave her child in a safe place, someone who carefully evaluated the kind of life she wanted for her son and whether or not she could give it to him.
But, maybe not. She might be someone who was reckless, who put her child in harm's way to protect her own interests. She might be someone who, attacked on every side by hunger and abuse, wasn't able to truly comprehend the choice she was making for her and her son. She might be someone who was intimidated and threatened into doing something she didn't want to do - relinquish a child she loved. She might not have even had the capacity to really love him, or to make any decisions motivated by love.
I'll never know. 
I do know that regardless of the choices she made or the motivation behind those choices, she is a beautiful child of God, as fiercely loved by her Creator as the child she birthed. I know that she is worthy of respect and dignity. I know that she deserves the benefit of the doubt. I know that God created her for a life of perfect relationship (with Him and with her child) that is impossible every day she walks in this broken world. I know that she is special, smart and beautiful - that much I can see for sure every time I watch my son play or study his gorgeous brown skin.
My concern isn't that we assign gratitude and respect to the birthmom - she certainly deserves it - it's when we connect it to her decision to relinquish her child. In some cases, it might absolutely be connected - her moral character might have been what led her to make her tough decision. But, in some cases her choice may not have been a great one, motivated by integrity and honor.
When I was visiting Adrianne in the spring, we met with a social worker just to chat about attachment and sharing the kids' story with them in an appropriate and healthy way. To tell the truth, she was kind of mean and scary, but on this subject I thought she had some great thoughts. She talked about the danger of connecting the birth mother's love for her son with her choice to relinquish.
She asked us to think ahead to when our kids were 12 and started questioning things and asking the hard questions. If you'd been told your whole life that your birth mom "loved you so much that she relinquished you for adoption," and "I love you so much..." might that not instill fear in a young heart?
I don't intend this to be some kind of soapbox - this is just me processing through how to best be the caretaker of Charlie's story, me trying to stay a step ahead my own tendency to want to give "nice" answers that might not be true.
The same mean scary social worker warned us to talk to our kids about their story much like we might talk to them about sex (she was incorrectly assuming that I'm mature and don't call private parts "hmmm-mmms," but that's another post for another day) - only give age-appropriate information but never, ever lie.
So, in my case, I don't actually know anything about Charlie's birthmom or the choice she made. I need to be careful to not say things like, "She loved you so much that she wanted a better life for you and wanted you to have a mommy and daddy who could do things for you that she couldn't." That may be true, but I don't know that it is. And someday he's going to realize that I don't know that.
Instead, I can say things like, "I don't know Charlie, but I know that God loved her and you so much that even when she was confused, He made sure that you were kept safe until He brought you to us." I can say, "I don't know why your birth mom chose this, but I do know xy and z about poverty in Rwanda, and I can imagine how this may have made her feel scared and uncertain."
I can teach him to love, respect and be thankful for his birth mom, regardless of the choices she made. I can teach him that she is worthy of his honor, not because of the choice she made or in spite of it, but because God created her and only His grace makes any of us "worthy." I can teach him that I have made difficult choices too - some good and some bad, and that he will too, and that all of us need forgiveness and grace as we do the best we can to navigate the brokenness of this world.
Please forgive me if I've gotten it all wrong. What are your thoughts?

********

In other adoption news, Charlie is doing awesome. He's showing great signs of attachment - clinging to me when new people reach for him, crying when I take him to the nursery, playing independently while repeatedly "checking in" to make sure I'm still there. He's growing and running and laughing. This week, though, there have been some interesting incidents - cuddling with my friend while glaring at me, hitting me when I tell him "no," jumping into the arms of strangers. It's a good reminder that while things are progressing well, it's not over yet. And I'm totally okay with that.

Proof how normal we are

Part of the adoption process is follow-up with your social worker. This is not mandated in the sense that no one can take Charlie away if we don't comply, but it is required, begged of us, encouraged, and emphasized by having us put down a thousand dollar deposit that we only get back if we do this. It's fine, I'm happy to do this because we really like our social worker and I can't wait for her to meet Charlie. (She doesn't know about this little bloggy-blog, so don't read this as kissing up.)

Anyway, our first follow-up visit is in a few days, and being the responsible adoptive mother that I am, I just opened up the paperwork that we were supposed to fill out ahead of time. I thought it was a quickie form, but it turned out that we have to pretty much write the whole report, and it took a lot of time.

And then, in some sort of weird dossier deja vu, I realized that we have to submit "picture pages." I assume this is to show anyone who is interested that we are all normal, happy, and functioning as a family. It's required that one picture shows Charlie with his parents.

You'd think this would be easy, seeing as he is perfectly adorable and his parents are also quite cute. Turns out, though, that Charlie would rather look at anything than a camera, I look more tired than I feel, being dressed before noon is optional, and the only photographer I have on call is 4 1/2.

So, here it is. A series of pictures that proves to anyone who wants to know that Charlie is in excellent hands.

I don't feel bad though. Becky is a professional photographer, and look at her family portrait. Judah doesn't look super happy.

One Month Home

Charlie has been home for a whole month. Like with all things, in some ways it seems like forever, and it seems important to me as his mother to reflect on how short it's been, how fast it's gone, and all that's happened to my son in the 6 weeks since I first met him.

One day he woke up in the home he'd always known: a crowded, dusty orphanage. He was held and fed by the nannies who always cared for him and his 25 baby roommates. Then, all of a sudden, a woman came down, picked him up out of his miniature crib, dressed him in unfamiliar clothes, and marched him and three of his roommates out into the sunshine, where he was plunked into new arms.

He didn't cry. He stared at us, and appeared to be simultaneously confused, blinded by the sun, and interested in what was going on. He didn't cry for 2 days, just stared at us and enjoyed the attention. As the shock wore off, he woke up more at night, waking up between his new parents, who were sharing their bed with a child for the first time.

In the following couple of weeks, he spent hours on a bus, got stuck with needles, flew across the ocean, met his new siblings, got placed in a new crib that probably seemed enormous, and had to start eating vegetables. America - his new home - was a freezing place and everywhere he went he had to get strapped in a car seat and bundled in blankets. Where was the sunshine now?

I feel like the mother of a 6 week old baby - beyond tired, beaten down by sleeplessness, and thank goodness you started to smile just now or I couldn't go on. Charlie's been smiling for the duration of our time together, and his friendly nature has gotten me through many a weary day. His smile, though, has changed, become new in this last week. It's gone from a charming, attention-grabbing smile with which he greets new people (the smile we knew for the first several weeks) to a familiar, peaceful, content, joyful smile that seems saved just for us. I could live off of that smile alone (well, plus diet soda and baked goods).

The nights have turned a corner, and not a moment too soon. For weeks we were getting up several times a night and there were periods of screaming at night-time, exacerbating all of my mothering insecurities. My familiar, stand-by tools of motherhood (breastfeeding and cry-it-out) weren't options to get me through the middle-of-the-nights, and I was getting a bit stressed.

Big sigh of relief - things have calmed down. He usually wakes once before we go to bed for a snuggle and once in the middle-of-the night for some milk and peaceful rocking. Once I drag myself out of bed, I actually enjoy the quiet moments... I play solitaire on my phone to stay awake, dragging myself further into a severe iPhone addiction (which I've sadly passed on to my 4-year-old) but that's another post for another day.

In my most frantic moments, other Rwanda adoption mamas have been my voice of encouragement and perspective. Sometimes because they're struggling more than I am, sometimes because they've made it to the other side, and sometimes just because they get why I'm not going to let him scream at night just so I can sleep, and always just because I trust that they get it.

The most valuable piece of advice that I've been letting sink into my heart is the idea that two of them have passed on to me, via blog comment and email, that there is a cost to being this family. Some days it costs me my blog/email time, or a work-out, or time to take a shower. They shared this with me in love, I think knowing that I would instantly agree that any price for being OUR family of five is worth paying.

Every child added to this family has taken a bit of my free time, my independence, and my previous pre-kids identity. It hurts each time, and I would be lying to say it doesn't.  But of course it's more than worth it - I love being the mommy of each of these cuties and I love our family of five, and there is not a price I would not pay.

Gotcha Day Video

Oh Happy Day!

Jiggity-Jig

We're home again.

I'm trying to see the entirety of the sweetness of it all through the haze of jet lag. I am so tired. If my mom wasn't here, life would be rough. As it is, I'm not sure I can envision the day that I'm not wearing these red pajama pants.

But, it is so sweet. Simon and Talya are so excited to have their baby brother home, and Charlie is handling the dramatic increase in affection quite nicely. Watching Talya meet Charlie was hysterical. She simultaneously tried to smother him in kisses while ensuring that he didn't touch her at all. Simon insisted on holding him, feeding him his bottle, and sharing his room with him right away. He continues to be worthy of Big Brother of the Year award.

We can see the jet lag taking a toll on Charlie as well. He just seems a little out of it, except at 3 or 4 in the morning, when he is the life of the party - my thanks to Ben for being willing to attend that party while I try to sleep.

We took Charlie to the International Adoption Clinic at Cincinnati Children's Hospital, and everyone there was fantastic. It was amazing to talk to people who are experts in the health and well-being of children brought home from overseas. Charlie hammed it up for all of them, and convinced them that he is perfect. Tests run on stool samples (um, gross) and blood will let us know if we're dealing with any problems. The only sad part was trying to draw his blood. It took two techs and lots and lots of screaming to determine that they couldn't find any veins. So, we still have to figure that out.

While we were gone, my kids grew like crazy. Especially Talya. She is huge. Yesterday, she was my baby. Today, I stare at her and think, what the heck is she doing in diapers - she's a giant! More beautiful than ever, but big enough to take my breath away every time I pick her up.

Simon is even smarter than I remember. When I woke him up on Superbowl Sunday, I said, "Today is the day of the biggest football game of the year!" He said, "Really?!? Are there going to be three teams playing?" Now seriously, people, why has no one else thought of that?

So, Nairobi.....

Everything was going soooo smoothly. Charlie, officially ours, bonding with his new mommy & daddy. Us, getting to know more about him and the place that he called home for 5 months. Paperwork, getting finished and forwarded to the appropriate places.

Charlie, officially a member of this traveling family, got his passport, his first stamp (Kenya), and slept through his first flight. The hotel we're in has cribs, so we are all sleeping better now that we're not afraid to move.

We've gotten a little taste of what it is like to immigrate to the US, and if I could just be permitted a few moments on my soapbox: It is hard. People have to go through SO much, jump through so many hoops, hope for so much luck, just to get a chance to come to the US. We owe everyone who works through these impossible channels a lot of respect! I've spent the past few days watching Africans be grilled by Embassy Officials, accused of lying (maybe rightly so), turned away left and right. It was a little sad.

Even our sweet Charlie is being held up before he can get his visa. There is one more screening that none of us knew had to happen. It has something to do with the guy from America's Most Wanted and a law he had passed years ago. While I'm *sure* it's a great law that does a lot of good, since it has me stuck in Nairobi away from my sweet kids, right now I hate that law!

We have been told it could take 2 days to do, could take 1 week, someone even mentioned 2 weeks. I'm trying not to think about that right now and am just praying we can get Charlie's visa tomorrow as planned.

In the meantime, Ben has developed a weird ability to watch dumb British movies on the one English channel we get. Right now, he's watching one about a little girl who misses her best friend. I'm feeling like the internet connection is totally worth the $20 a day we have to pay for it! I need to check the Bachelor Recap.

Here's a pic of Charlie practicing sitting up...

Practice makes perfect?

How we're doing

Charlie is asleep on the bed next to me. He's starting to get attached to the blue lion that we brought him, and seems to take comfort from it when he wakes up. It's been five days of knowing him, and we are still overwhelmed with thankfulness.

Sorry I stink at updating this....I have been reminded that there are people waiting for an update! (I'm sorry, Adrianne's friend!) Well, here's an attempt at it.

As a mother, I am at a loss as to how to parent a boy I just met whose situation requires that I don't jump into my default motherhood tasks - cry it out, independence, boundaries, etc. (Who am I kidding? I don't have many boundaries other than when it's naptime, you need to stay in your freaking room please.) However, I am secretly loving living life on the other side of the great Mommy-hood divide: attachment parenting. I am loving holding him all the time, picking him up when he cries, and accessorizing all of my outfits with the Ergo Baby Carrier. I don't know what the heck I'm going to do when I get home and need to adjust back into life with a schedule, but for now, this feels really great.

I am also overwhelmed with learning and experiencing so much of the heavy reality that has brought Charlie to us. I have been awash in Rwandese history (see, all this time, I've been saying "Rwandan"), and that is tough stuff. Today was spent at the genocide memorial, which is a beautiful tribute to the lives lost during one of the most horrific 100 days on this planet. All I could think about was the fact that Charlie's birth mom lived through this (I assume. I don't actually know anything).

We have learned a bit more about how Rwandese orphans can get put up for adoption, which makes his being part of our family seem all the more miraculous. There is only one orphanage in Rwanda that puts the work into getting their kids adopted, and Charlie was brought to it. In Rwanda, it is illegal to abandon a child, and children can only be adopted if there are no relatives found. It is sad to me that he will probably never know his specific family, but I hope to always help him know and love Rwanda and the Sisters who cared for him.

Yesterday, we went to visit Home of Hope and say goodbye to his caretakers and friends. It was a blur of activity, but I got to see his crib, and see the faces of those still waiting for families.

Charlie is doing fantastic. In the five days we have known him, he has grown to recognize us and get comfortable with his. Yesterday we had a major victory when a friend picked him up and he started screaming. When I went to get him, he settled down right away. Score 1 for progress in attachment.

To us, he already looks like he's put on a bit of weight, and we're working on building strength in his legs and trunk. He started waking up in the night to eat, which I think is a great thing (though not fun for sleepy mommy) because it shows me his appetite is growing.

He babbles and giggles, and says Dada all day long. Right, I know he's too young to talk, and if he could, he wouldn't magically speak English just because some Americans picked him up. We're still taking it as a sign that he loves us.

We are an Indiwandan family. (Kirsten, is there a cuter way to say that?) And we are loving it.

Very Few Words, Very Full Heart

Thank you isn't enough

The car is packed. It's almost time.

But I can't go without saying thanks.

Thank you to everyone who has been happy for us, who felt the urgency with us, who tried to understand why waiting for a piece of paper could drive us absolutely insane.

Thank you to those of you who sent stuff for the Bloggy Baby Shower for Charlie's orphange. I got stuff with no information identifying who sent it, but know that I am so thankful!

Thanks to our parents & siblings, who have loved us in a way that has shown us we always have enough love to give. We make crazy decisions often that you are dragged along behind, but you always do it with so much enthusiasm, which makes it infinitely easier.

Thanks to Lindsay & Megan. Without you, I'd be up til 3 am packing and cleaning. Megan, when I put Sy to bed tonight and thanked Jesus with him for Megan, he interrupted me to correct, "No Mom - Megan Aunty." You are indeed an aunt to all three of my kids. Lindsay, you cleaned my bathroom, is there any greater love? Yes, there is - peanut butter smoothies, and you brought me one of those too.

Adrianne, Ben calls you my adoption wife, which I think might be slightly overstating matters, but I can't imagine having done this without your voice on the other end of the line. Becky, Suzanne and the rest of you, I can't wait to meet you either.

Thanks Elizabeth for showing me that adoptive moms don't have to be weird (although right now, I think I'm evidence to the contrary).

Thanks John & Lisa for easing the burden and loving us like family.

Thanks Pop-Pop for lending your name to our son. We hope you are as proud to be his as he will someday be to be yours.

Thank you to Ben for always listening and obeying, which makes it a little easier for me to obey when I don't want to.

Thank you to the Inventor of Adoption for allowing me to be a part of Charlie's story.

To my baby's first mama

I know nothing about you, whether you've passed from this world after birthing a baby you grew inside yourself, or made the excruciating choice to allow others to care for him. If you're alive, and you chose this path for your baby, I'm sure you have hopes for him - high hopes for his new life with a mommy & daddy who can place fresh meals in front of him and keep the mosquitoes at bay.

I think of you often, and only in part because of the gift that I hope to receive from you someday soon. I think of you because I want to know every detail of your life, of the moments that brought us to this point, where our lives begin to anonymously intersect for eternity. I want to know your favorite memory, the sound of your voice singing lullabies, the comfort food that you ate from your grandma's kitchen. I want to see your eyes smile.

I want to promise you that I'll always love him, and that I'll tell him how much you loved him too.

Someday we'll bring him back to visit the land of his mother, and I believe he'll feel the familiar comfort of your breath in the smell of the breeze.

You know, he'll so badly wish he could know you, even if he doesn't want to talk about it. I won't make him, but I'll listen if the words escape. I'll tell him how I prayed for you, how I loved you in a way I can't express with words.

When he's older, I'll try to explain the complicated things. How though I love him as sure as I breathe, I really wish for him that he never had to leave you. How I will always be grateful for his sweet voice calling me "Mommy," but how I know it comes at a cost for you and for him. How my gratefulness will always be mixed with a tinge of guilt (no....regret or wistfulness, I'm not sure what the right word is here) for being the one that held him tight on the airplane as it climbs towards the sun that shines down on you.

I'll explain so that he knows I that I know. Not that I understand, because I never will, completely. But that I know these things are not easy to fathom. I want him to know he never has to have it figured out for my sake.

He's going to grow up, our little boy. He's going to surpass those expectations you treasure in your heart right now. And when I'm cheering him on, I'll give him an extra pat on the back from you. But someday, his heart will break, and mine will too. And as the tears fall down my face, I'll cry for you too. I'll cry the tears you would cry and I'll wonder if your mother's heart would know just the right thing to say.

Some days I will think of you with longing, and wish I could channel the instincts that took root as you felt him kicking around inside you. Other days I know my fragile heart will fear you, and the prominent place you will hold in my son's dreams. But every day I will remember you, and every day I will thank you.

To Us a Son is Given

Charlie Iranzi Thomas is our little boy always and forever.

Iranzi, his given surname, means "God Knows Me" and we rejoice that He does, and has known him always.

Charlie is my Pop-Pop's name. Ben and I both love Pop-Pop so much and are honored to pass his name down through the generations.

All I want is to post his picture, but Ben and I are currently in negotiations about that. Ben doesn't want to post pics of Charlie until he's united with his family. I think that is sweet, but no fun. Right now, he's winning. Two more weeks, people and you'll be screaming at me to put away the camera for goodness sake.

Counting Down

Less than a week until I know if he's really, truly mine forever, and if I get to be really, truly, forever his.

Less than three weeks until I hold him and introduce him to his new Mommy and pray like crazy that he likes me.

One month until my kids meet Baby Brother, and we begin to sort out what all that means.

About 15 days of Life As I Know It before we pack up the car again and drive into Something Else to catch a plane to Change to fly back to Home Rearranged.

New Year's Resolution time has come and gone and it's inconveniently coincided with a time in my life that I am working towards personal growth. So, I don't resolve, but I do re-focus and mentally take stock in preparation for the year's first meeting with the women who help me grow.

The last year has been one of piling on the things that make life fun - blogging, working, working out, time with friends, getting out, taking advantage of a babysitter, sewing, learning new things, errands every waking moment. (So, for me that's kind of fun)

This year brings with it Child #3, and the realization that growth might mean shedding some things piled on. I want this year's growth to mean a more focused, present, calm mother for my children. Less stress. Fewer moments with frustrated, frazzled mama, and many more moments of serenity. Maybe we'll watch more movies, but hopefully we'll watch them together. Maybe we'll eat cereal for dinner, but hopefully because I skipped the store to read some stories.

I want to do this year with grace, for the sake of all of my kids who watch me so close. I want to find contentment within the walls of this house. I will still enjoy the museum, the library, the gym, but I don't want to need them for my sanity. I want to see Home through my baby's eyes, and get a kick out of staying there.

And for the next 15 days, I want to remember that this is the easy time.

Yesterday we were at the allergist, which meant another round with my son, pinning him down so he couldn't kick the nurse, while Talya stood on the sideline with nothing left to do but join the screaming. I didn't cry this time. The nurse probably thought I was crazy (even though I totally saved her from a kick to the teeth) to see the smile on my face - but I was playing the mental loop - reminding myself that in another month, I'll have three kids, and I'll look back on this horrid moment and laugh at myself for not knowing how easy I had it.

This is the easy time - when I only have 6 sippy cups to wash at the end of the day, and 4 laundry baskets overflowing, and one set of poopy diapers to step out into the frigid winter to dispose of.

I'm counting down many things, so I can remember to enjoy what I've got while I look forward to what's on its way.

Happy 2010!
(This year, I'm going to have to be okay with being late a lot.)

Learning to want the good stuff

The parallels just keep coming. There’s a small voice inside me that tells me I’m stretching, reaching too much. But there’s another voice that I’m going to listen to that says, If you’re not going to stop and learn the lessons, why bother?

There are about a billion reasons we decided to adopt: some spiritual, some altruistic, some common sense, some personality-based, some lifestyle, all mysteriously rooted in my heart.

As we’ve gotten closer, I’ve been soaking up the Truth that’s cloaked in Process. Process is annoying, but when it houses truth, it’s so worth digging through.

You hear a lot about attachment – how important it is, and how difficult it can be to achieve in adoptive families. You want to believe that Love is enough to solve all problems, but in our broken world, it’s just not sometimes – not on this side of eternity.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and thinking about other things and how they relate: nursing, feeding, weaning, baby-wearing, etc. In my quest to educate myself on adoptive nursing, I spoke with a wonderful mom who tried to nurse her baby boy adopted from a similar situation as Charlie.

As she told me her story, I was surprised with how much I hadn’t thought of. She told me that she abandoned the nursing when it became clear that it was a big enough job just to teach her baby to be full. Just to teach him that he could eat a whole bottle, undiluted, full of goodness, and that it would take away that nagging hunger.

I have grown in awe of my coming responsibility: to teach a child to crave the good things I can give him – food, love, comfort, things that he has had doses of, but hasn’t experienced in the consistent waves of a family.

I haven’t had to teach my other kids these things. They were born knowing I would feed them, that every three hours there would be a whole tummy-full of milk available for them, that they could drink until they spit up and then drink some more. They were born knowing that I would obsess over their intake, diapers, tummy time, soothing, routines, temperature and cute baby clothes.

But with adoption it’s different. In adoption, the cycle of dependence is (generally) interrupted. Kids have been taught that these things aren’t true, and so they need to learn or re-learn, which is what we refer to as attachment.

<<<<<>>>

Here’s the point, the parallel that has been making itself known to me.

I can identify a bit with these kids – who need to relearn love, consistency, security, and full-ness. I’m adopted too, spiritually. As a once-orphan, now treasured, favored daughter, I am given an inheritance, access to a Father who will pull strings for me, a legacy of family to which I have no blood relation but can still call mine. I am offered full-ness. Over, and over again, it is offered to me. Sometimes I take it. But sometimes, I resist. I revert back to patterns learned in the orphanage, coping mechanisms that maintain my control, even if they do leave me dry and hungry.

I do this because I am adopted – the relationship has had to be learned. I was a stranger to God, and He made me His own, but that doesn’t automatically take away the scars, wounds, and patterns of destruction I learned as an orphan. So, I fight it – the fullness and the good stuff.

There was more to the story told to me by my fellow adopted mom. She told me that once her baby learned what it was like to be full, he started waking up ravished in the middle of the night, craving FOOD like a newborn. He gave into his hunger, over and over again, and found full-ness.

Oooooh, I so want to be like that, and I am sooooo excited to teach my baby to crave the good stuff.

When God Builds a Family: a letter to all my kids

When God builds a family, He doesn’t always like things to be all matchy-matchy. It’s not like when you’re redecorating a bedroom and you go buy the bed in the bag because that’s the easiest and you know for sure that your comforter will match your shams which will match your valance.

When God builds a family, he doesn’t care much that the shams match the valance.

God doesn’t build a family the way some people shop at JCPenney’s for ensembles. God likes to build families like the seasoned, well-traveled buyer for an exotic boutique, who with an unlimited budget, scours the Earth for the perfect pieces that come together to tell the perfect story at just the right time.

Did you know that when God set out to build our family, He criss-crossed oceans to find us all? It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. You see, for God to build our family, He had to get Mommy and Daddy together in the same place so that we could fall in love.

Well, in many cases, it’s not that big of a deal for God to arrange a meeting between Mommies and Daddies. But, our story was a little trickier – it took a lot of advanced planning to make it work out just right.

You see, before Daddy was born, when He was just God’s Really Good Idea, your Amma & Appa lived far, far away in India – where jackfruit grows rampant and elephants walk the streets. And, before Daddy could be born, God had to bring Amma & Appa together so that they could get married.

That was a tricky case too. Things started of smoothly because Amma & Appa lived in the same town. But, when Appa got to be a little bigger, he had to go fight in the army. He traveled all around India and China and Bangladesh fighting for his country. It was very dangerous, and a long time went by when no one knew where Appa was. Everyone assumed that he had died.

This is what we call a “turning point” - because at this point in the story, Amma’s family was looking for a match for her. They looked at many boys, but they never looked at Appa because they thought that he was dead.

Now, God knew that if He was going to build our family, He was going to have to get Amma & Appa together. So, he saved Appa during that dangerous war, and one day, Appa walked back into that hot Indian village. A match was made, and your Amma & Appa got married.

Well, I’m sure that God was pleased that He’d accomplished that tricky match that almost never was. But, He still had a big job ahead of Him.  God knew that if Mommy & Daddy were going to meet, it sure wasn’t going to happen if Daddy lived all the way over in India with the jackfruit and the elephants.
God knew that Daddy had to be born in America.

There are people who will tell you stories that will make you believe that it’s easy for immigrants to come to this country. But, the truth is that your Amma had to work really had to come here, and even after all of her hard work, she still needed some miracles to make it all happen.

But, God was building our family, so He made those miracles happen. And, finally, one day your Amma flew to America with eight dollars and the hope that a letter she had written months before would result in someone picking her up at the airport.

I know it seems like the hard part was over. But Grandma & Pop-Pop weren’t easy to get together either. And, if Grandma & Pop-Pop didn’t get together, there would be no Mommy. And, if there had been no Mommy, then you wouldn’t be here either.

Grandma & Pop-Pop look like they match, which makes it seem like they were easy to put together, but back when Mommy was just God’s Really Good Idea, they didn’t match at all. You’ll have to see pictures to believe me, but basically, the point is that God had to get Pop-Pop into the churchy world if Pop-Pop was going to meet Grandma, and Pop-Pop was nowhere near the churchy world.

Pop-Pop had decided just like Appa to join the army. Like Appa, he didn’t have the opportunity to go to college, and so the army seemed like the next best thing. This was when God saw His opportunity to get Pop-Pop over into the churchy world where Grandma was. God sent a man named Bob to tell Pop-Pop that Jesus loved him. Pop-Pop eventually believed him, but Bob thought that if Pop-Pop didn’t get into the churchy world, he’d probably get himself into some trouble in the army.

So, Bob got Pop-Pop a chance to play basketball and go to college at the very place that every single person in Grandma’s family went to college.

When Grandma met Pop-Pop, he was scraggly and skinny, and a little uncomfortable having just been transplanted into the heart of churchy-ness. The odds were stacked against them, for sure, but Pop-Pop moved fast and married Grandma before she could even finish college.

So, now, the stage had been set and most of God’s preparation work had taken place. Mommy & Daddy were still just Really Good Ideas, but ideas that would at least be born in the same country.

I don’t know how old you’ll be when you realize that Mommy & Daddy don’t look the same. We’re alike in a lot of ways, but we’re different colors. For the most part, no one really notices, but there will always be people who think that’s a big deal. You know what? I actually think it’s a big deal too.

I think it’s a big, cool, amazing deal.

The fact that we don’t look alike is my little reminder that God had to work extra hard to match us together. It reminds me that we are not a bed-in-a-bag family, but that we were hand-selected to coordinate and complement and make each other shine.

You too, kids. You are all amazing, interesting products of an extravagant treasure hunt that has spanned the globe. We are not a matchy-matchy family, but we are a family a built by God.

Advent Thoughts as I Wait for My Son

Advent hangs over me thick this year - like a bulky, itchy cloak when you're 9 months pregnant and can't get comfortable and feeling like I've been riding this donkey for-freaking-ever.

I think I get it a little more this year - how Mary might of felt, what advent means. How it's not a celebration as much as it is a Waiting. A hopeful waiting to be sure, waiting for a son. But we both wait in uncertainty, which makes the uncomfortable and scary hide the hope sometimes. I wait in the uncertainty of when, and how big and what are his needs. She waited in the uncertainty of when and where and what will all of this mean, and I better not have been dreaming that Angel Thing.

But we both wait for the Promise. Of a son.

Finally, for Mary, it happened. And as blood soaked the hay and she felt her stretched-out skin settle back into place while shepherds crowded her desire for modesty, I wonder if she thought: Is THIS what I've been waiting for?

And when He said to her, this son whom she birthed and nursed, "Woman what does this have to do with me?" did she wonder with indignance - Is THIS what I waited for?

And when she heard with horror of His arrest, did her wonder turn to anger? Did she shout at the God who moved over her in conception that this is NOT what I've been waiting for!

And when she went to visit the tomb, feeling mournful, lost, hopeful, crazy, and heartbroken - what was she waiting for then?

How many years went by after she buried her Son? How many years more did she have to wait before her own death could finally bring her answers....

....and open arms
and a mansion
and a warm embrace that would know no end
and golden streets
and vanquished enemies
and an end to oppression
and a faithful son's promise that "Mama - THIS is what you've been waiting for"

This Advent, I don't celebrate the past as much as I accept the invitation God has given me to know what it's like to wait for a son. This son I don't look to as my Savior - I won't put that kind of pressure on him - but I can identify with another woman and a nation's long, arduous, mostly hopeful and but too-often hopeless Wait.

There's sadness in waiting because it's a constant reminder that what you're hoping for isn't here... yet. But there's hope too, and that's where my celebration rests.

A Bloggy Baby Shower!

I have no doubt that as exciting as it will be to pick up Charlie in Rwanda, there will be a few infinitely difficult aspects. The first will be leaving Sy & Taly behind, and I'm sure another will be saying goodbye to Charlie's orphanage, and all the other kids who are still waiting for families.

From what we've learned, Charlie's orphanage is fantastic - full of love and care. But, can you imagine the amount of diapers, formula, clothes, and medicine that are required to adequately care for a large number of children of varying ages...without a Target down the street? Shudder.

I'd like to use our family's joyous occasion to throw a baby shower - not for us, but for Charlie's friends that he will be telling goodbye. Below is a list of items that are frequently needed by orphanages. Would you take a look at the list and consider sending contributing a needed item?

When we travel, we will bring along all of the donations. If by some small miraculous chance, our travel plans come together so quickly that we leave before we can collect everything, we will take care of making sure that it does get sent along with another traveling family.

Donations can be dropped off at or mailed to:

651 Taylor Drive
Xenia, OH 45385
Attn: Susie T.

I would be happy to collect funds to buy food when we get there, but I don't have a tax-deductible place for you to make it out to, and you'd just have to trust me. If you're fine with that, I am too.

Any questions, just let me know!

LIST OF NEEDED ITEMS

• Children’s clothing (new or slightly used); Boys and Girls; sizes 2-8 years.  Clothing needs include day clothes, pajamas, underwear, and shoes.
• Diapers size for up to 30 pounds
• Toys to stimulate babies such as colorful objects, rattles, etc. that are appropriate for babies up to 2 years
• Unscented baby wipes
• Powder formula with DHA/RHA
• Lactose free formula
• A + D Original Ointment, Diaper Rash and All-Purpose Skincare Formula; 
• Hand Sanitizer 
• underwear for older kids
• clothes(especially trousers, dress)
• DVD player and CDs( children movies, educational, spiritual movies, songs)

Medications/Medical items families can bring:
•       Multivitamins
o      Tri-vi-sol (o to 6 months)
o      Poly-vi-sol (6 months to 2 years)
o      Chewable multi-vitamin (2 years to 9 years)
o      Adult multivitamin (9 years plus)
•       Syringes for giving medicines (5mL)
•       Plastic disposable gloves
•       Baby nose saline spray
•       Neosporin
•       mouth and nose masks
•       Benadryl liquid/elixir
•       Permetherin for scabies
•       Lice kits
•       Toothbrushes, toothpaste and floss

If taking formula, the requested brands are:
Enfamil
Similac

OR the following Generic Brands with identical nutritional value as Enfamil & Similac

1.    Parents Choice formula from Wal-Mart
2.    Target’s generic Formula
3.    Kirkland formula from Costco

Please stick to these five if you really want their donated formula to be put to use as that is what all the children are used to.   You can also donate soy based or other special formula as long as they are these brands.