Category: After Adoption

It was an answer to prayer that we were with our Little Man to celebrate his 2nd birthday today.  There were many times during the adoption process that I doubted my baby would be in my arms by September.  Thank you Jesus for sparing me the pain of missing this milestone.  He probably wouldn’t have known any different.  Like any 2 year old, he treated it like just another day.  He was confused by the wrapped gifts, ate his ice cream with gusto, and didn’t really take note of the extra attention.  (Heck, all the toys in our house still feel new to him and he still is surprised at every meal by what we set before him.  Today seemed like any other surprising day in his new life.)

For me today marks the beginning of a lifetime of celebrations.  I vow to be behind my camera cheering on my boy from here on out.  I have missed his first tooth, first birthday, first word – I don’t intend on missing anything else.  If I have my way the blank pages in the photo album marking the first two years of his life will not reflect the days to come.  It is a new year.  We are putting hard beginnings behind us and looking forward to memories created together.

Today at church when I stood up front sharing the communion devotion a little voice was calling from the congregation.  “Ma!  Ma!”  The same little boy took off down the church hallway, stopped and turned to make sure I was following him.  My gifts on his birthday.  It might not seem like a big deal to others – but for a momma praying and hoping for bonding and asking God to heal a young grieving heart, these two simple acts mark a significant beginning.

He is ready to claim me as much as I am ready to be there for him.

All four kiddos are tucked in bed….all here, in this house, all together. Could it get better than this?! Ahhhh. I am one content momma. How could I not be after a sweet day (day one of all six of us together)?

Spent the day watching the antics of the big kids who are desperate to win over Little Man. Somehow they have not realized that he already adores them and laughs at their every move! He belly laughed at Soccer Dude who was showing him how to do a header with the soccer ball. Not to be out done Big Girl followed him around all day meeting his every whim. “It is like the baby I have always wanted!” She declared. God did grant her the desires of her heart by providing us a little guy who loves being spoiled, carried and entertained.  We will see how long this lasts.

Now, when it came time for the park he was all about going up and down the slide on his own. Swings not so much. Daddy finally was able to convince him to give it a try. He sure is becoming a daddy’s boy.  See the sweet telling photo below.

Our very active 2 year old is totally more fun at the park then he is on an airplane for 16 hours.  We managed – actually I can’t complain.  We had very few meltdowns (talking about myself here!)   None of us slept well.  Little Man really does like to sleep on his back with his arms flung over his head….not really possible in my lap in a small seat on an airplane.  We tossed and turned.  He uses his short leg like a lever to raise himself up.  Smart when he is trying to get around – painful in mums gut when used to try to get comfortable in his sleep.

We might just need to name the short leg “lever” much better then stump, nub, short leg or even hook don’t you think?  😉  Yes, I realize this could cause a few people to be offended.   Learning to laugh with, be endearing and embrace rather than be offended by all the staring has made us rethink what is offensive.  Thought the staring would end when we left China.  Not so much.  Parents you should tell your kids not to point and whisper loudly.  Just come out and ask if he is missing his foot.  Then we can say yes, introduce you to Lever and all be friends!  Ohhh, that was like a post within a post all for free!

Enough for tonight, I should give in to jetlag and and go to  bed.  (Jetlag is evil. Twice within 14 days is pure torture!)

First a few photos from day one as six.

The Mother’s Tea at Little Monkey’s pre-school caught me off guard.  I had the event penciled into my calendar and squeezed in between work, errands and other craziness – something to check off my list.  When my girl walked in with her class holding my gift my crazy day stopped.   I froze wanting to capture the moment – taking in her cute ponytails and broad grin not wanting to forget.

She was so proud of her gift.  As she handed it to me with adoration and love in her eyes I almost started with a single thought that came from no where (or maybe it came from the depths of my heart.)  “This gift shouldn’t be for me.”

Grief welled up in me like I can’t explain.  There is another woman out there that should have been honored by Little Monkey on Mother’s day.  A woman who is missing out on the hand potted flowers, cute poems, and sweet smiles.

Little Monkey was called forward by her teacher and interviewed in front of the small tea crowd.  “What is your mom’s favorite color?”   She replied with confidence, “all the colors because she is an artist.”  Her eyes were trained on me the whole time looking for my approving smile.  Her head tilted as if with a question.  “Right, Mom?”  I nodded and she beamed.  She ended by telling the crowd that she loves me because I play dress-up with her and cook her Chinese food.

Oh, how my little monkey knows me.

My grandmother used to cry at church often and call them her “happy tears.”  I never really understood that.  Can happiness and sadness go hand in hand?  Really?  I always thought that true happiness would somehow squeeze out the sad parts.

Adoption has shown me how sorrow and grief can be so closely tied to joy and blessings.  It stinks that Little Monkey couldn’t be raised by her birth-mom.  Could there really be a greater injustice for us to mourn?  And if I am being honest, I hate that somehow I am profiting from that injustice.  How do I reconcile that in my heart?

I can’t.

These flowers should not have been for me.  I am not the mom she should know.

But I am.

Me….I am the mother who missed the joy of carrying this jewel in my womb, of knowing her as she was formed.  I miss knowing how she came into the world and what circumstances brought her into mine.

Grief and blessings bind me to a stranger somewhere in China.  We grieve for parts of our daughter that we can not know, yet are blessed to have known her at all.

Two white women sitting at a Chinese buffet, eating our rice, using our chopsticks and having a good old chat about……ethnicity.  Now, that is not our normal dinner conversation!   But, it has spurred my thinking.

Even though I am white – I have lived the life of being the minority.  I chose to live in Asia – with my stunning red head of a husband, charming tow headed children, and my pale skin and blue eyes.  We didn’t exactly blend in.  There is nothing like being starred at all the time, being singled out, being different.   But, that was the life we chose.

Our adopted children haven’t had a choice.

Growing up I really thought if you pretended ethnicity didn’t matter – well, then it didn’t.  I took the good old fashioned “color blind” approach to life.  I was the blind one.  Ethnicity does matter.  It does affect our families and I feel like my journey to understanding that has only just begun.

“Where is she from?” a well meaning father asked me over the top of Little Monkey’s head.  She pipes up, “Kentucky.”  I smile at the man and hope he will move on.  “No really.  You know what I mean,” he clarifies.  Yes, I did know what he meant.  But did he understand the meaning behind his question?

She is not a foreigner.  She is my daughter.  She belongs here.

The next week while eating at a Chinese restaurant (theme here, yes we eat Chinese a lot.) Little Monkey has a totally different perspective.  I am chatting with the owner in Chinese when I notice the frustrated look on my dear girl’s face.  “What is it sweet pea?”  She wails in response, “How can I not understand what you are saying?  I AM CHINESE!”

She has a foot in both camps.   She is a Kentuckian – but she is Chinese.  She is my daughter – but our heritage is different.  I am in the majority.  She is in the minority.

For her sake I need to explore ethnicity.  What is it like to be an Asian American?  How does it affect how others view her and treat her?  Taking it a step farther – How does it affect her when others realize that she is adopted?

More than anything I want all of my children to be secure in who they are.  I want them to understand that their identity is rooted in Christ.  They were made special in His image.   They are His children, fearfully and wonderfully made.  The lesson is the same, but their journey in figuring that out will be different.   For our adopted children I know that ethnicity, adoption and growing up in a white family will affect their identity.  I am not color blind any more.  But how do I help them?

“My skin is dark.  Yours is peach.”  Little Monkey said to me in the bathroom as I did her hair earlier this week.   “What is the same?”  I asked her.  “You have two eyes.  So do I.  You have a mouth.  Me too.  We both have ears.  We love each other.”

For now our journey is about embracing the beauty that diversity has brought to our family.  We love more deeply because we are not the same, but we are a family.

The conversations about ethnicity have only just begun for this momma.

My heart is heavy this morning – burdened by families who I know and love who are struggling with their adopted children.

These kids come into our families from hard places where they have experienced unthinkable traumas.  We have hope for our kids to heal and to learn how to be a part of a family again, but sometimes the road to healing is a long one – which isn’t always understood by folks watching from the outside.

I will never forget the day I taught a painting class at the orphanage in XN, where we lived for 4 years.  I had paint kits for each child – with extras so they could choose which kit they wanted to work on.  I stood before the class telling them they could choose.  That is when all hell broke loose.  There really are no other words to describe the chaos that followed.  A fist fight broke out and I stood in shock.  The nannies who were helping me pulled the “bullies” off of the other children and I ran to comfort the child who had received the worst of the blows.

I bent down and scooped up the 8 year old boy – who was one of my favorites in the class.  I cradled him in my arms and began to softly speak to him as I rubbed his head.  That is when the tears came in full.  He pushed me away and began to scream and roll on the ground.

I recognized my mistake quickly.  I am a mom at heart – I wanted to comfort my sweet little friend, but I had caused him more pain than the punch of his classmate.  Being held in my arms was to much.  He didn’t know how to respond.  Didn’t understand the love of a mother.

His reaction haunts me. But it helps me to understand the hard work that is ahead of most adoptive parents.  Our children, for many different reasons, have been denied the basic needs of feeling loved, safe and cared for.  It hurts them in depths of their souls.  One hug after a punch won’t fix that.

What would?

only a miracle from God the Father.  I am watching God work that miracle in our little monkey.  Nightmares slowly cease.  Trust is built.  Love is learned.  But man –  have we needed a bucket full of grace and a lot of prayer as those things have happened.

I guess that is what this post is about.  Grace & Prayer.

When I am carrying my 5 year old on my hip – don’t look at me like I am an over indulgent mom.  Understand, my girl was never carried as a baby.   When she throws a temper tantrum over being left at Sunday school, understand she doesn’t trust me to come back to pick her up.  When my little monkey spits out the food you serve our family, please remember she never had tasted cheese till a few months ago.  Her new life is so foreign to her.  Please show her grace and pray for our family.

Grace.

Thankful God has extended it to me – so that I can extend it to my dear daughter – so that I can pray for other adoptive families and extend it to them as well.   What a gift it is (and will be) to see the healing and transformation take place in the lives of our kids.  Daily I am thankful that God has given me a front row seat to watch his hand at work.

It is the question that makes parents shake in their boots.  I am no exception.  Armed with some good tools (God’s Design for Sex printed by NavPress) I think we have handled the questions fairly well.   We lived through the “announcing in the grocery line what body parts everyone has or doesn’t have.”  I didn’t have a heart attack when Bryan sat down and had the “talk” with Samuel.  We managed our years in China where the children wear split pants so that it all hangs out.  (No, we did not embrace that part of the culture!  And yes, I still wonder how little boys don’t freeze off their potential future children during the winter.)

All of those notches in my belt, you would think we could handle the recent string of questions.  But the new direction of our talks have brought me to tears on more than one occasion. (Hormones from the paper pregnancy maybe…)

The topic of conversation around our house now is “do you get babies by doing paperwork?”  I actually remember Ruthie asking that same question when we were going through the adoption process for Beth.  Actually, Ruthie’s kindergarten teacher sent a note home that she and her friend (whose mom was pregnant at the time) got into an argument on the playground.

Ruthie – “You get a new baby by doing paperwork!”

Friend – “I haven’t seen my mom and dad doing any paperwork.”

Frantic K teacher interrupts the conversation!

Presently, we have a little girl who knows we did paperwork to bring her home and is asking why we didn’t do paperwork for Ruthie and Samuel.  We have been very open with our sweet girl – explaining adoption.  We thought it had sunk in until she asked us if we could adopt her best friend from school so they could be “twins.”  Hmmm.  Back to her adoption story again with a few more details and a bit more pain.  Which has brought on more questions –  how are we are able to do paperwork to bring Isaac home?  How does he need a family?  Could anyone do papers to bring him home?  How is our family lucky enough to do the papers?  Could someone do papers to take Sam, Ruth or Beth from our house?  BIG questions for a little person.

To be honest, I don’t know how our family is being SO BLESSED as a result of the deep pain of a birthmother who couldn’t parent and the trauma of a child who is abandoned.  It haunts me at times.  How do I explain all that to my adoring daughter?  I am afraid NavPress hasn’t written a book about that.  It is a question I will hold in my heart for a lifetime and hope God is able to answer it for me and my sweet Asian children when I see Him in heaven.

“I can’t believe how much she has changed!”  I have heard that statement from Little Monkey’s ballet teacher and then again at library story time.  Folks who haven’t seen much of our Little Monkey over the summer are amazed by the changes.  They are TOTALLY right.  It seems like her face is less round and more grown up, the shyness is evaporating, and her language skills are multiplying by the hour.    At the one year mark of joining our family, I feel like we are seeing a whole new side of her personality – bossy confident, defiant comfortable, talkative expressive – you get the idea!

There is a down side to her adjustments and comfort.  She actually is forgetting China and loosing her ability to express herself in Chinese.  She now sings “Jesus loves Me” with great ease and can’t remember the words to “Liang  Zhi Laohu.”   Am I sad about that?….I guess not.  Little Monkey now will come up with an English word faster than the Chinese.  Okay, I am sad about that one….come on, I spent four years trying to learn Chinese.  I was hoping to save her the pain later on in life!    Just months ago I would ask her to remind me of a Chinese word and she was the one telling us vivid stories from her foster home and life in China.   I will treasure the stories and memories that she has shared with us.   You can imagine my surprise (and dismay) when her little voice came from the back of the van asking me to tell her a “China story.”

It’s not easy to find a balance.  We prayed that she would adjust to her new life in our family, but we hate that it may happen at the expense of her culture and background.   She is forgetting what life in China was like and only remembers the stories and photos based on my retelling of her stories.  The inevitable (?) has begun.

We try hard (and would love any other ideas you all might share with us)!  We cook Chinese food once a week, go to cultural events in our area, have Chinese friends, have Chinese lessons, celebrate Chinese holidays – I even have learned how to cook tofu!  It is what all the books state we should do as a multi-cultural family, but I still wonder where her identity will land and if it is enough.

As I am typing this she has run in asking for dinner.  “Can I have rice and a peanut butter & jelly sandwich?”  I guess that is the answer isn’t it.  She will be a blend of both worlds.