Tag Archives: adoption

June 18, 2012

Today is The Day

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

So… today, this happened:

We added a new pair of shoes to the blog.

This sentence is meaningless to most people, but to us, it means that today is The Day We Have Been Waiting For, for three years. Today we became the proud parents of a bouncing baby boy!

Actually, a bouncing toddler boy, and I really must emphasize the bouncing… lots and lots of bouncing from our little live wire!

Today we brought the boy home. We filled drawers with tiny shirts and pants, unpacked baby snacks and plastic bottles, played a rousing family game of mini-hockey, and waited for it to finally sink in.

There is no one waiting for him to come back at the end of the day. No more schedules and no more handoffs and no more shared parenting. Only friendship and occasional visits with those who have carried him this far and are an important part of his story.

But this is his home now. The boy is ours. And we are his.

Because forever family goes both ways.

This January, I joined the One Word project, choosing one word to pursue for the year (a sort of abbreviated new years resolution). My word for 2012: DREAM.

I expected I would be finding a new dream for my life, since adoption was so clearly not working out. I expected soul-searching and Plan B’s and making the best of things. I expected less… less than I wanted and less than I hoped for.

Instead, I get everything I dreamt of and more. Instead, I get wrestling matches and grass stains and 2 am wake up calls and sticky hugs. Instead, I am overwhelmed with the depth and width of this dream come true – our very own boy.

So here’s me, tired and nervous… and so very grateful to God and foster family and everyone who gave us today!

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in adoption

June 13, 2012

Happy Family Honeymoon

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe even the first one. There will definitely be shoes. And they will be dropping.

I’m not sure where this saying came from or why the dropping of shoes sounds so ominous, but it’s the best way I can think to explain the mild concern I have lurking in my subconscious. I’m holding my breath, because everything is going so well right now.

The boy prince (aka – my son, the little brother and Daddy’s new best friend) has been making himself at home with us. Last night was our first sleepover and he did remarkably well. There is an occasional wariness and some quiet, somber moments, but he rallies quickly and jumps right back into the fray.

Things have been going so well, we’ve been able to move the transition forward. He’ll be back again tomorrow night for the whole weekend. So many exciting firsts to look forward to: lazy Saturday mornings on the couch, Father’s Day with his new Daddy, and our whole family to church for the first time!

So, what’s with the dread?

This is a honeymoon period.

Right now, Daddy is the star of the show! He is working from home and taking time off whenever S is with us. I’m still the second string parent: okay for a few laughs, but not the go-to comforter or cuddler. When all else fails, Daddy to the rescue! We double-team the chaos. When we’re not sure what to do, we bounce the questions back and forth: Do you think he’ll eat this? Is he getting overstimulated? What IS that smell?

That’ll end.

Right now, he is the most exciting new toy our girls have ever gotten! The big girls debate who “gets” to play with him while I get dressed and clean the kitchen. They spend hours crawling around on the floor with him. They compete to coax the biggest laugh out of him. Even B, who is needing a lot of extra attention and playing “baby” right alongside her brother, is happy to share her favourite toys and pose for the endless photo shoot that is now our life.

That’ll end.

Right now, everything he does is charming! Even the occasional temper tantrum is pretty darn adorable: “Look how determined he is! Did you feel that grip… he’s super strong!” But most of the time he is full of smiles and soaks up the attention. All the toys and games are new and exciting to him. He is sleeping and eating and feeling just fine. He fusses a little bit when foster Mom drops him off, but is quickly distracted by all the fun times. Although we’ve talked about it and show him pictures and put words to what is happening, he doesn’t really understand that his whole world is about to change.

That’ll end.

Someday, it will be just he and I. And I will scramble around trying to figure out what he needs, and what he wants, and what to do with a toddler all day long, and how to be the safe person that he can always rely on. Praying that he will realize that this makes me “Mommy”, not just because it’s my name, but because I am HIS person, the one that will ALWAYS take care of him. Even if that means putting playtime on hold to change a diaper or making the busy road off-limits or collecting rent from him at age 20-something.

Someday, his sisters will realize that little brothers can be a real pain. And a busy pre-teen calendar of primping and bickering and thinking up new strategies to convince the parental units that texting is, like, ESSENTIAL at age 11… will seem more important than playing with the boy. And he will get into their stuff and decorate their new outfits with snot and throw their iPods down the stairs. And the child formerly known as “the baby” will realize that the competition is getting attention when she wants it (or possibly getting attention and THEN she’ll decide she wants it), and the fireworks will begin.

Someday, he will notice that this is more than just a visit. Perhaps when his foster family says good-bye and hands him over to us that last time. Perhaps when all his belongings are here. Perhaps when he stays night after night after night with no sign of return. Perhaps when they visit a couple of weeks later, but he stays here with us… Who can know? But toddlers do grieve. It’s part of a healthy transition and there is no short cut. He may not have the language to express it, but his heart and mind are mature enough to feel it. So it is coming.

Honeymoons don’t last forever!

BUT, they are meant to be enjoyed. Why focus on someday, when today, everything is going so well?

So I will breathe. I will enjoy. I will quit searching for signs of trouble and jump into the fray myself. Because everything is going so well and we are ridiculously happy.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.

Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Matthew 6:34

The Message paraphrase says “give your entire attention to what God is doing right now” and I can’t think of better advice for parenting, or work, or life for that matter. Right now, that means attention on our changing family and all the fun we are having discovering each other.

So here’s me, letting the shoes drop where they may, because I’m not going to borrow any more trouble today!

Leave a comment   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in adoption

June 11, 2012

Test Driving a Person

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I test drove a human being today.

Or, to be more accurate, he test drove us.

Our first day spent together, just our family, in our own home.

Altogether, we handled beautifully.

Of course, there were a few glitches. For instance, we made him leave the park to go home for lunch… NOT cool. Also, Daddy ate the last bite of (his own) garlic bread, despite the fact that his son was clearly eyeing it for himself. To be fair, Daddy had shared almost everything on his plate already… but STILL.

It should be noted that this is a huge upgrade over the past versions of the man. 2000-2011 Daddy models DID NOT share food, AT ALL . He also brings some high-tech gadgets to the table (iPad, smart phone…), but it’s the standard features that we love best: swinging through the air, tickle games, carrying heavy things, general doting and, of course, keeping Mommy happy.

But the real question is: how does it idle? It’s one thing to fly down the highway of fun family time, but what about nap time? This is where the rubber really hits the road.

We used bedding from his other home. We stuck to the same routine. We followed the manual.

Superior engineering on the part of foster mom has ensured a set of reliable sleep cues: warm bottle, sleep sack, soother, blankies and lullaby music (Bach, because he’s classy like that).

Mom of the Year! A snuggle on the rocking chair and then right off to sleep. This was definitely the highpoint of MY day – holding a sleepy bundle of sweet, sweet boy in my arms, in the room we had so carefully prepared for him.

Pause to soak in this incredible moment…

He slept over 2 hours in his new bed, without complaint. Through the tantrum his big sister threw. Through the fight that ensued when she hit one of the other big sisters on the head with a book. Through the wailing. Through the extra tv/cuddle time as she changed into her pj’s and demanded milk in a sippy cup, along with HER blanket. It bodes well for us that he sleeps deeply.

There were several moments today that felt utterly surreal. We have been frustrated with the long wait periods, the endless streams of paperwork and the strange bureaucratic rituals we must complete. But suddenly they seem like so little, considering what’s at stake here. They are giving us a human being. And we get to keep him forever. How weird is that?

I remember feeling this same way at the hospital as we walked out with our brand new infant. “Seriously, they’re just going to let us walk out of here with this tiny person? They aren’t even blinking. It’s like it’s not even a big deal.”

But it is a big deal. Every time. And adoption is no different. In fact, it is a bigger deal, since our little person already has a personality and a routine and the ability to leap off the very top of the staircase and a desire to climb onto the counter and a need to rummage through every drawer in the house.

As we packed up all his things to take him back to his other home for the night, it was bittersweet. We’re big believers in the gradual transition, especially at this age, and so blessed that we are able to do it at all. But more than ever, it feels like he belongs here with us.

So here’s me, completely sold on the new kid. He does come with a warranty, right?

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in adoption

June 7, 2012

Snapshots of Adoption

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Life is moving at warp speed these days. I should probably be running alongside, trying to keep up, instead of blogging. I should probably be doing the dishes or installing child proof latches on our valuables (by valuables I mean 23 Wiggles DVDs and 14 lbs of scrapbooking supplies I may never use again). I should probably try to catch up on sleep. I should probably be siphoning gas from our neighbours’ cars (driving 2-3 hours per day, often in two separate cars, is pricey).

But instead, I’m going to introduce you to the cast of a little show I like to call “Adoption Transition: Awkward is an Understatement.”

First up, Stranger Mommy

Not my favourite role, I’ll be honest, but a necessary part of the process. My son’s initial reaction to me was the same as to any stranger in his life. For a shy little boy with stranger anxiety, this means a few smiles and tolerating the briefest of touches. He doesn’t mind me, but he doesn’t welcome me either.

This is actually a good sign. He is very securely attached to his foster mom and caregiver. One day he will transfer that complete trust and reliance to me, which is infinitely easier than creating attachment where none has been before.

This is a test. I am not Mommy to meet my needs, but his.

The Other Women

Fortunately, I’m not the only one who feels this way. The other women in his life (foster mom, foster-sister and caregiver) are going against all their natural instincts: backing off so we can step in; spending time away so we can grow closer; letting him go so he can be part of our family. It is no small sacrifice, and they are grieving.

People who work in foster care have a bad rap. Some rightly so. But there are many others who are better than saints. Better because they are flesh and blood people who struggle and hurt and do their best and sign up to do it over and over again. All so children like my son can have what they need.

The Other Other Women

Three big sisters. An embarrassment of riches for any boy. They are getting a bit sick of playing the bit parts. The dialogue is repetitive “When do we get to see him? It’s not fair. You get to see him all the time… She took my iPod! It was just lying there. Moooooooom!”

The past 2 Saturdays have been spent with foster family, having a great time, sad to leave… B has decided her brother is okay, which is good since he is fascinated by her. L is angling for the role of second Mommy. C completely overlooked a TRAMPOLINE she was so focused on playing with her new brother. Now that’s love!

Reluctant Snuggler

Which brings us to the real star of our show – my son. He is charming. He is ridiculously cute. And he knows it. He can handle an adoring public, but he likes to stick close to home base.

Suddenly, we are changing the rules on him. And he’s not impressed, but he is beginning to rally.

Our first night alone got off to a rocky start: screaming and reaching for the door, then crying in heartbreak. But we both calmed down after about 15 minutes. He let me comfort him and there was some definite snuggle-age. We played and read books and sang songs until bedtime. After a brief protest, he cuddled with me and his bottle. And I rocked my boy to sleep in my arms! I can’t say that enough – I rocked him to sleep in my arms! And in fact I rocked this sleeping boy in my arms, long past him falling asleep.

The Daddy

Our final cast member is the hero of our story. On his second visit, his son went up to him, lifted up his arms and proceeded to snuggle with his new Daddy. That’s right, on day two! He still flinches away from me, but he LOVES his Daddy.

He runs to him when we arrive. He chooses him above everyone else. He climbs all over him. He plays “hockey” with the mini-sticks. He recruits him to swing him around in a big, green Rubbermaid. He rubs his scruffy face with his hands. Yesterday, he found a hairy belly under Daddy’s t-shirt and found that endlessly fascinating. This is the only Daddy he has ever known.

There are moments when I’m slightly envious, but altogether, I am thrilled! Glen was worried about bonding. He wondered if he would love this child the same as the others. He wondered if this child would love him.

When will he learn that I am ALWAYS right? 😉

So here’s me, at the end of our second week “visiting” S at his foster home. On Saturday, the whole family is coming to our house. The next two weeks, he will come home for increasing visits: 2 hours, 4, 7, overnight, 2 nights… until he comes home for good.

P.S. Sandra and John – I’m totally kidding about the siphoning gas thing, especially since I know you’re reading this. A dark parking lot where no one knows me is much more my style.

11 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in adoption

May 28, 2012

Obnoxious, Thy Name is Mommy

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’m pretty sure it’s time for me to start meeting new people. Oh, there’s nothing wrong with the ones I know, but most likely I’m getting on their nerves. Or very soon will.

The problem is, they’ve seen them. The pictures of my son. More than once. But I can’t help but think they should want to see again. We aren’t allowed to post them online so we are forced to disseminate these amazing images the old-fashioned way.

I showed the waitress at Red Robin.

I showed every staff member at school.

I whipped out my iPhone at church, at school, in waiting rooms, the dance show and even the grocery store.

“Have you ever seen a more adorable child than this… my new son?”

I can’t help it. I’m excited! After all, I am an expectant mom!

Unfortunately, that cute belly is just last nights Habanero and Lime Tortilla chips (far too delicious for my good). And I would rather you didn’t rub it, thank you very much. The glow = a new moisturizer I picked up for the summer (SPF 15, tinted for fair skin). The emotional outbursts… well, I can’t blame hormones (much), but it certainly seems to be part of the process.

Does this need I have to show him off demonstrate an unhealthy narcissism?

Possibly. I’m often embarrassed by the attention. Yet I still feel the need to talk about him, read and reread every document in his file, relive every minute with him, and show him off to the world.

Perhaps it’s a way of coping with a very sudden and somewhat unnatural family addition. We missed all of it: the pregnancy, the birth day, the cooing over a sweet newborn… We’re trying to catch up on missed years.

Most of all, it is a way to claim him as my own. Every time I say it out loud I confirm to the world, and myself, that he belongs with us: MY son. I’m trying to stop acting like the world, and the foster family, and the social workers are doing me a favour by letting me have him. I AM his Mom, and I am entitled to be.

I spend a lot of time feeling insecure and awkward, something I haven’t associated with parenting since that very first solo bath with my eldest child.

It’s difficult to “visit” my own child; to try to get to know him as he eyes me warily from across the room. So I try too hard and I fumble my way through familiar stories and every song or finger play seems SO very important and I probably am doing just fine but I question myself at every step and I hate to leave and I’m worried about stupid things and I’m kind of a neurotic mess… But then he gives me that huge grin and it seems like nothing.

And he loves his Daddy already! Reaching out for him, snuggling on his lap, following him down the hallway and waiting outside the bathroom door until he’s done. The feeling is quite mutual, and the two of them just laugh at nanny and foster mom and I for getting all teary and sappy about it.

Already with the eye rolling. “Girls…” Daddy shrugs. He’s just glad to finally have a compadre.

Don’t worry, I took some pictures. And a video. If you see me on the street I’ll be happy to show it to you. And to the neighbors. And the speech therapist. And for the first time I look forward to the J.W.’s knocking on our door.

So, thank you world for confirming it to me. That he is adorable (he really is). That he is precious. That he is mine.

So here’s me, and apparently my new catch phrase is “awww!” Hoping to bring him home for good in a couple of weeks…

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in adoption, parenting

May 24, 2012

P.S. Did I Mention…

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I have a terrible sense of direction. Even in familiar situations, I can get completely turned around. I can handle “Left” and “Right”, but if you try to tell me “East” or “West” it makes me laugh.

You may as well be speaking Mermish.

Once I picked a friend up from the train, got distracted talking, and turned the wrong way onto the highway. In my defense, it had been a long time since I’d seen him and we were having a Great Discussion. After 1 1/2 hours I realized that we should have been home by now; we had to turn around and didn’t get home until 3 hours later.

I’ve adapted. I am quick to ask for directions. I leave a little extra “getting lost” time when I go to a new place. I don’t panic, just calmly turn around again, and again, and again, until I finally get where I’m going. Or call Glen in tears, cursing the creators of GPS and the idiots at Mapquest, when I’m mostly just mad at myself.

We all have abilities AND disabilities. Some are more obvious than others, but everyone has both. There is no perfect human specimen (and if there was, who would want to be around such an obnoxious know-it-all?). We all try to maximize our strengths and struggle through our weaknesses. And often it is our struggles which form the Very Best Part of who we are. God likes to use our DISabilities most of all.

Our children are the same. We love them for Who They Are, not What They Can Do. In fact, their disabilities are part of their unique make up. And while we wish life were easier, we love even those parts too.

All our children have Special Needs.

L needs to be reminded to let things go, to take risks and to quit bugging her sister.

C needs help to regulate her emotions, to behave selflessly and to not let her sister bug her.

B takes longer to learn new things, has low muscle tone and a speech delay (aka – Down Syndrome).

S was born 3 months early, he has a rare genetic syndrome and a moderate hearing loss.

The truth is, we don’t know the extent of our new son’s special needs, but he does have them. We haven’t spoken about them to many people, because, to us, they are beside the point.

Oh, I know they will very much affect our lives. We have researched and continue to do so. He is doing AMAZINGLY WELL so far; his developmental assessments use words like “surprising” and “remarkable”, especially about his cognitive abilities. But he will have learning disabilities his whole life. He will take a longer to catch up in milestones. He may never be “just like everyone else.”

But so what?

He is our son and that is the most SPECIAL thing about him.

If you are person who prays, please pray for our boy tomorrow. He is having surgery on his skull. They assure us that this is a fairly common procedure with quick recovery time, but it is still upsetting. Especially since we can’t be there with him every step of the way. He needs familiar people around him and, as much as we love him already, we are strangers.

So here’s me, praying.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in adoption, special needs

May 22, 2012

Oh Happy Day!

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

It’s never taken me this long to figure out what to say. Ask anyone who knows me: I am rarely at a loss for words. Possibly never… until today.

There are no words. Just love, love, love…

Seeing my best friend at the end of the aisle.

Hearing my daughter’s cry for the first time.

Watching the new big sister put a gentle kiss on the baby’s head.

Celebrating those very first steps after years of physical therapy.

Holding my son in my arms for the first time!

We come bearing gifts. Not just for S, but for his 6-year-old foster-sister. They wave to us from the window. Be cool. Be cool. It’s a bizarre blind date. Please, please God make him like me!

We hug foster mom and then meet his nanny, a lovely woman who has been with him all his life. We sit around the living room while he hides his face in her neck, peeking out at us with a little grin.

He is leery of us at first, especially the noisy little girl who seems determined to hog the spotlight. He pulls out the book we had given him last week, the one with pictures of our house and each one of us. I wonder if he recognizes us?

Small talk, trying not to stare like a creepy stalker, getting to know the sweet family who was raising my son and keeping my hands to myself. Be cool. Be cool.

I will be content with the smiles. I will be content from a distance. I will not overwhelm this shy little man.

We play a game of ball – rolling it between all the sisters and parents – new and old. A strange kind of family. There is nothing natural about this situation, but it is not as awkward as I expected. We all love him. We all want what is best. And they are so welcoming to us. Even when B starts up with the tantrums.

Oh no! Not today, of all days! But that is the reason, I’m sure. She knows that changes are afoot. We have pictures of him everywhere. We set up his room yesterday. We talk about the new baby brother daily. And now we bring her into this strange situation, so many new people, each of us keyed up and excited. About someone else. Unacceptable to the one we sometimes tease is “Queen of the Universe.”

As the afternoon wears on, the kids begin to play more freely, talking amongst themselves, wandering from room to room. B and S have a few very sweet moments. We even catch some on film. And our little guy pushes the stroller all around the room, beaming at everyone. He has a smile that lights up the room.

He literally throws himself across the room, looking to all the world as if he is going to pitch right over, but miraculously staying upright. He moves faster than he should, an unsteady, almost drunken gait, each step fueled by pure determination. He buzzes around like a happy little bumble bee, checking in with his Foster Mom from time to time, touching her face, sitting on her lap, then back into the fray.

He chatters constantly. Occasionally there is a word we can understand – usually “ball.” He reminds me of the Swedish chef from the Muppets. So much to say. Such a happy boy.

But he doesn’t have ANY trouble making himself understood. B helped L make banana muffins this morning and they are a big hit. He eats everything put in front of him and demands more. After three picky eaters, this is a revelation. I can live like this.

Naturally, B says “No” to every question, insisting she does NOT want to eat, but clearly dying to. Sometimes her words express her feelings and not her wishes. At one point I end up taking her to a room on her own. We listen to some music, play just the two of us… the lovely nanny steps in to play with her so I can join the rest. Attention is attention. She is happy again.

Foster-sister has “helped” S make a picture for me. It has my name and several x’s and o’s. Some may see a scribble on a scrap of cardboard, but it looks like a masterpiece to me! I’m pretty fond of that kid too! I think we’ll adopt the lot of them.

All the kids find their way to the bedroom, bouncing a balloon between them. S plays with each of the girls. He lets C pick him up and carry him around. He holds L’s hand. When it is time to go, he joins the crowd by the front door.

I’m pretty sure the puddles and the Great Outdoors are the biggest draw, but we’ll take it. He lets Glen pick him up and hold him for pictures, while we get our shoes on. I am closest to the door. He leans over and jumps into my arms.

I was going to be content with smiles. I was going to be content just to see him. So holding him is such a gift!

He stays quite happily in my arms while we put his coat on and make our way outside. When we put him down he grabs my hand and we walk around the garden, splashing in puddles along the way.

It is so hard to say goodbye.

But I get to see him again tomorrow. So, I’ll reset my countdown clock right now.

This gospel song has been looping through my head today. Celebration. Grace. A gift we can never earn, but can’t live without. It seems appropriate.

So here’s me, happy.

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in adoption

May 17, 2012

Friday Favourites: Adoption

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’m busy on Monday afternoon. Just in case you wanted to hang out, or needed help moving a sofa, or something. I’ll be busy.

I’ll be meeting my son for the first time!

App

Thanks to my T-Zero app I am able to report that we will be meeting him in:

2 days, 23 hours, 45 minutes and 52 seconds…ish

 It is possible that keeping a running countdown on my iPhone is a BIT over the top, but Life Changing Moments don’t come around everyday. He’s a bit shy and has stranger anxiety, so I’m practicing my calm, cool, non-traumatizing faces in the mirror.

Song

When B was born, it was 3 weeks before we were able to bring her home. Glen and I took turns sitting by her incubator, and eventually, snuggling her and her many tubes. There were so many big worries on our plate: Down Syndrome, a leukemia scare, muscle tone, feeding difficulties, but the one that seemed to matter most was, GETTING HER HOME! It was so hard to leave her at all. This song was on the radio all the time those days. I used to sing it to her under my breath and imagine smuggling her out with me.

These days I have the song on repeat again.

Book

As we ALL prepare for a big change I have been on the lookout for “Big Sister” books to read with B. It has been surprisingly difficult to find preschool level books which work for our situation. There is no baby in my tummy, we are bringing home a toddler, not an infant AND we are not going to a far away country to do it. Apparently, we’re not a big demographic.

I was thrilled to find On Mothers Lap. It is a great sibling book about a parent’s expansive love. We read it while we rock “back and forth, back and forth” on the rocking chair Glen bought me for Mother’s Day. The final line of this simple story says it all: “there is always room on Mother’s lap.”

Blog

More than just an adoption advocate, Kristen of Rage Against The Minivan is both funny and challenging, with a huge range of guest posts about every topic under the sun. I feel like I actually KNOW her family, who are awesome, even though I’ve never met them. When I first read her Form Letter Apology I knew we were kindred spirits.

Also, she is one of the creators of the Pintrest You Are Drunk board, which is one of the reasons I get SUCKED in time after time. So there’s that.

Genius

Honestly, this one has nothing to do with adoption. But it makes me smile. And hug my kids. And shrug my shoulders about my own “struggles.” It’s an old 60 Minutes segment about an amazing musician, who is also happens to be blind and developmentally delayed. I’m not sure what is more inspiring, his musical genius or his sweet personality.

Definitely, his personality!

Quote 

One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a long time.

~Unknown

So here’s me, T minus 2 days, 23 hours, 23 minutes and 6 seconds until we set eyes on a new land.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in favourites

May 15, 2012

Painting the Pink Room Green

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

She had her sulky face on. This is how it started. Petulant frown – check. Furrowed brow – check. Disgusted sneer – check.

Don’t ask me how she manages to sneer AND frown at the same time. It’s a natural talent. Thanks so much hereditary traits (yes, Glen, I’m looking at you).

“But it’s too crowded already…”

“We’re MUCH too busy…”

“But that is MY room…” (nevermind that she has been living in her NEW room for almost a year)

Then the kicker:

“Riley says that little brothers are a pain.”

And what do I know compared with Riley? Nine-year-old wisdom is unassailable… to other nine-year-olds, anyway. At the end of each conversation, she would grudgingly concede that maybe, just maybe mind you, it might be okay to have a little brother. She was willing to tolerate the situation, but wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.

Different words, different excuses, but each one a tentacle of the same monster. The I-Don’t-Like-Change-a-Saurus has been stalking our family for many years.

How We Feel About Change

She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t want it. And she sure as heck is not going to enjoy it.

Five-plus years after our move, her face still morphs into a mulish expression when we discuss the topic. It doesn’t matter that she LOVES her new room. Regardless of the fact that her BFF lives only 3 houses down. Completely overlooking the huge backyard and playroom. “I liked my old house. I don’t know why we had to move.”

She cried for weeks when we bought a new van (I did too, but mine were tears of joy and relief).

She orders exactly the same thing each time at the restaurants we frequent. Kraft Dinner at White Spot, really?! I can barely stand to allow it. But she likes what she likes, and frankly, it’s not worth the fight.

I knew this adoption would be hard for her to accept. Even a good change, but especially a challenging one is a hard pill for her to swallow. I knew, because she comes by it honestly. She is cut from the same cloth as her Dad, though he orders the burger platter with a ceasar salad. And, I’m not going to lie, I’m part of the club too (orange beef stir-fry, in case you were wondering).

She inherited a double dose of stuck-in-a-rut-itis. It’s hard to explain the angst and discomfort of change to you who fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, taking life as it comes with a smile of your face. You may wonder, “Why would he fish those raggedy old boxers out of the trash?” or “How come she chooses to stay home and sort laundry instead of joining an impromptu dinner party?”

Because there is nothing as comfortable as what we know. And what we expect. And what we’ve done a thousand times before.

That shiny new thing may be better: more fun, more interesting, more tasty, less drafty, even more life-affirming, but it is NEW, and there is nothing scarier than that.

What Made All the Difference

So, how did we turn it around? What was the twist that unlocked her sense of adventure? How did we get to the place where she is now: proudly displaying pictures of her new brother to everyone she meets, pestering us to find out when we can finally meet him and scrounging through the toy box to find the perfect stuffed monkey?

CONTROL

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. If change is frightening, control is soothing. She needed to be in charge of something, so this change would be HER choice, HER endeavor, and suddenly, HER adventure.

When Glen left on business a few weeks ago, he told us that we should paint the pink room. At the time it was a step of faith, trusting that this adoption would continue to move forward. Inching our way toward bringing him home.

I decided to turn the project over to the girls. A friend took B for the day and we set out on our mission. They were calling the shots.

First step: suss out the situation. I introduced them to a little obsession I like to call “Pintrest”. Before long, I had two opinionated interior designers debating the merits of blue vs. green. We discussed the concept of neutrals, but they discarded that ridiculous idea immediately (apparently it is not a concept that either 9 or 11-year-old girls embrace readily). They nodded their heads sagely as we discussed the need to decorate in increments – let him come home to a simple, uncluttered space and we will add to it over time.

We read through every e-mail from Foster Mom. He is a busy boy; he loves to climb and is into everything. He loves nature walks and playing outside in the dirt. And so, the concept of a jungle room was born.

When our little neighbour, the third member of their 3 Musketeers, came over with a dossier of ideas she had printed up, the ball really got rolling. Seeing how excited her friend was worked wonders for C’s enthusiasm.

Before I knew it, I found myself in an empty room with a full can of paint and three eager, though inexperienced, helpers. I’m not usually one to hand a loaded paint roller over to a 9-year-old (not even one with 10 and 11-year-old cheerleaders to advise her). But this was IMPORTANT. It was their first act as big sisters.

I wrote this in my journal that night:

Dear Little Brother

Your sisters painted the pink room green today. They looked at every single paint chip in Home Depot and picked this colour especially for you. They sorted through all the stuffies we own to find “jungle animals” for you to play with. And they set aside a few special ones that they knew you just HAD to have. Because all the babies in our family have had them.

They painted your room themselves, with help from our neighbour-friend P (who spends so much time with us she’s part of the family too). There were a few spills. There are more than a few touch-ups needed. And it doesn’t look exactly perfect.

Except it is. Because they did it for you. They were so careful. And they worked hard all day long. Your big sisters love you already and they can’t wait to show you your new room!

So here’s me, pretty sure that this blotchy green paint job is the best one I’ve ever seen.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in adoption, parenting

May 10, 2012

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Today I hid behind a rack of ugly drapes in the thrift store and wept. Not because I found a brand new Gap rain coat in L’s size for only $5.99. Well, not only that.

Today I saw a picture of my son for the first time.

It was a beautiful sight!

Obviously, this is not one of the actual pictures of S.
We are adopting through foster care
and are unable to post any pictures online.

My Little Possibility is coming home next month! He is 1 1/2 years old. And he is the one we’ve been waiting for.

Clearly, he will fit right in. Just like all my other children, he is insanely adorable! It is clear to me why they would NOT let us see a picture until we had finalized our decision. His huge smile and bright eyes are irresistible!

We were open to children of any race and prepared to throw ourselves into the fray of inter-racial politics and soothe the heartache of a child who “looks” adopted. But he looks just like us. He has the same colour hair as his sisters. The same colour eyes as his Dad – his new Dad, that is.

I can’t help but feel relieved that the only time it will be obvious to others that he is adopted will be the innate talents and personality traits that we clearly can’t take credit for (for example, great mechanical skill or a love of rap music). It’s just so much easier this way. Another part of me wants to declare to the world that we are part of this confusing, bittersweet, but miraculous world of adoption.

We took the family out for dinner. With plates and real silverware… super fancy for our crowd. They were so excited to see him for the first time, immediately asking to text the picture to friends and get copies to put up in their room. The people in the table behind us were not-so-subtly eavesdropping on our excited discussion, so I made sure to hold the picture up high enough for them to take a peek. It’s pretty exciting – of course the public is interested.

Then, over nachos and hamburgers, we discussed the name issue.

Long ago we decided to leave our adopted child’s name as it was. I totally understand why some people do not, but we felt that it is just one more change for a toddler who has established their identity. Also, it is one of the only things birth parents can give to their child and we want to respect that. I was bracing myself for something wretched or bizarre. What if it was “Albert”, like that kid in grade 1 who used to chew erasers and then stick them in people’s ears? Or poorly thought out like “Debree”, which sounds pretty until you realize it is also the word for garbage?

Fortunately, his first name is perfect for our family and we love it!

But we will add to it; so tonight we picked out a middle name. Still honouring his roots with the first name his birth Mom gave him, but claiming him as our own by adding a special family name. His middle name will be the same as Glen’s and his Dad’s; the first name of both my Dad and Glen’s grandfather. There will be no escape – he will be part of us, too. “S. William”

I immediately put his picture in the place of highest honour – the home screen of my iPhone. And I have spent the better part of the day staring at it. And showing everyone I meet.

This is my son.

So here’s me… Happy Mother’s Day to me!

13 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in adoption