Then and Now

 http://makingmemommy.blogspot.com/2015/06/back-to-story.html

Three months ago I wrote the above blog, trying to keep up with the telling of our story as we awaited our adoption court date. That date has finally come, and gone. As of Monday, Sophia is officially our daughter!!

Over two years have passed since the moment I wrote about above, but I remember it like yesterday. The two years in between however, are a cluster of moments....some amazing, some extraordinary, some mundane, some sad, difficult or trying...but in those two years, I've seen a girl and her brothers grow from this....

5 months, 2, 3, 4

To this...

2, 4, 5, 7

It has been a spectacular journey for our girl, and for our family. She was diagnosed as 'failure to thrive' as a 2 month old when she was first removed from home and placed into another foster home. She was in that home for 3 months before being moved to ours, still with the same diagnosis for a second time in her five months of life. In only three weeks she had met the goals set for her by a developmental interventionist triggering a flood of, "You guys are amazing parents" type comments, not just from the therapist, but many in our lives who were seeing the changes.

Before anyone thinks I'm being awfully braggadocios, fear not! This is not a 'praise be to me' blog! We loved her. That is all. And even that came after God dramatically changed our hearts following a difficult first week (http://makingmemommy.blogspot.com/2015/04/feeling-suffocated.html).

After that, she was just one of us. The boys had already bonded and taken ownership of their new sister, leading the way for us, and giving her no slack. Sibling rules applied. They, no doubt in my mind, are who lead the charge in her development. They played, yelled, ran around, tugged on, tickled, encouraged, cheered, cuddled and loved this girl right out of her failing to thrive diagnosis.

To this day, they are her greatest fan club and loudest cheering section when she masters something new. They stand between her and strangers they feeling are talking to close to her and inform them, "That's not your Sophia!". They brag to everyone when she learns a new word. They let me know when she's hurt, needs help or has pooped. They share with her, they fuss when she takes a toy from them, they laugh when she's silly and hug her when she cries. She is their "best Sophia", and it fills my heart when they tell her so.

'Ta-da!"

As for Sophia, she has a such a sweet spirit. She is a gift and a joy to all who know her. She loves pretty shoes, baby dolls, playing ball and hot wheels. She calls the boys either "brothers" or "guys" and chases after them all the day long, never more then a step or two behind. She is still delayed in her speech but otherwise, has caught up completely! After a second set of tubes in her ears and more intense speech therapy, the new words are coming daily, and she is thrilled with her newfound ability to communicate! She's still not big as a minute, just under 25 lbs and 2 feet tall, but nothing slows her down. She will climb on anything...jungle gyms, counters, tables, brothers bikes...and is tough as nails. I'm glad for this because, as a coach once told me, when your smaller it means you just have to work harder. She's not unlike any of our other children really, we all overcome obstacles, or struggle through the first few times we try something new, and the celebration of success is always there, every time. But when I remember those first days, failing to thrive right before my eyes...unable to hold her head up at 6 months, not smiling, not interacting with the toys around her, not holding her own bottle... And then suddenly, with her brothers' encouragement, she reached for that first toy. Her eyes followed mine. She lifted her head to watch them play. She smiled at their silly songs. She held out her hand and touched mine. She recognized her daddy when he came home from work. And then she thrived. She worked hard to sit on her own by 11 months, and to walk by 16 months. She's my little mighty mouse, making her mommy, daddy and brothers proud with every new victory. It's not by accident that she is here with us. Not a mistake that she ended up in our family. It was by design, because she needed these boys. She needed us, and little did we know, just how much we needed her.

I thank God for the conversation Scott had with a social worker during lunch at a Subway two and a half years ago. (http://makingmemommy.blogspot.com/2015/03/our-subway-baby.html) It changed our lives and our family in a way we never could have imagined that day. What great joy, what huge love, what challenges and triumphs, what grace and beauty, have all come from such a tiny, underdeveloped, undernourished little baby girl. My girl. Our sweet Sophia.

6 months old

2 1/2 years old

Adoption Date, Finally!

It will be two years and five days shy of two months since our sweet girl came into our home, and two years, one and a half months since we fell in love with her. But, at long last, she will officially be our girl! My cup runneth over. She could no more be my daughter if I had spent nine months feeling her grow inside me, the boys, no more her brothers, and her daddy, no more a daddy's girl. The love she has for them, and they have for her....it's a beautiful thing. A wondrous thing. She amazes and delights everyone she comes in touch with. Her joy, her laugh, her hugs...my goodness her eyes that dance and sparkle when she smiles. She's a pint sized punch of sweetness, and in three days she will share our name, along with our hearts.

I know there are many ways to come to adoption, but all I can speak on is what I know from our adoption journey's. Choosing to foster to adopt, is knowing you may fall in love, give of your time, resources and life to a child, then have them go home. It's saying 'yes' with all you have to offer, knowing that may only last a day, but for that day, a child will know love, safety, kindness, boundaries, family, nutrition, health...they may stay a day, they may stay forever. And that can be hard. It can be very scary to wonder, what will I do if they go back? If another family member takes them?

We've had a new child enter our home on seven occasions. The first time we knew was only two weeks. The second was our oldest son, joined by his newborn baby brother five months later as our fourth placement. Third, in between them was a baby boy who stayed the weekend. The fifth, a little girl who stayed just 24 hours. Not long enough I'd say we loved her yet, but long enough I know I wish she had stayed. The sixth, was the sweet girl we are about to adopt, and the seventh, a little girl who stayed ten days earlier this year.

Of those experiences, the hardest ones to get through, were the three kids we adopted. With all three we fell in love with them early on and believed that God had brought them to stay. Even knowing that, we still had to get through the process set fourth by the system. A process that allows visits with parents, that takes years, that gives chance after chance, even when it's obvious to all what is best for the child. And that waiting, the visits, the asking other family members, running checks every time a long lost uncle or cousin speaks up wanting them, while you wonder, 'will they move the baby?', is scary.

We've known for ten months now that we would be able to adopt our girl, but paperwork got lost, slowing the process big time, making me wonder if this is in answer to an earlier prayer for patience? God is funny like that, you know!

So, now it is here, and excitement is high! She has no idea, of course. She won't be changed by her court appearance on Monday, but in light of the significance I can't help but remember adoptions in our distant, and not so distant, past. Beginning with my own...

My dad adopted me when I was eight. He and my mom met when I was three and his daughters where three and seven. They married three years later when my sisters, Shanon and Jaime, were 10 and 6. Jaime and I are only four months apart and have had fun our whole lives telling people we are twins. Why, then, is she six inches taller with blonde hair and blue eyes? I was born four months premature, of course! (You would not believe the people who have bought that line! Maybe it's happened...I have no idea, but it was not the case with us. Ornery fun, I suppose.) Our little sister, Andrea, was born nine months later, making us a family of six, and me the only one 'who wasn't dad's'. But then two years later, he adopted me. I don't remember much of that day, other than I got to miss school, which was awesome, and that the judges chamber was big with lots of wood furniture. (I think, or maybe I made up that memory?!) The night before, I remember I got in trouble for something and dad was getting on to me. I said I didn't want him to adopt me, and I remember my mom telling me to look down the hall at dad. He was in a chair, heavy hearted at the words I just said. You don't realize how hurtful you can be to your parents when you are young, but now I see how harsh those words must have been for him. I didn't mean it, of course, just mad and making sure he knew it. It makes me sad to think I ever said that, because him officially becoming my dad was one of the best things to happen to me. He gave me a home, a family, three sisters....I love the life I had as a child. Not perfect, but mine with the family God intended for me. He is still the best dad a girl could hope for, and I'll aways be grateful that he gave me his name, and made me his, even if it was a different path from my sisters.

Then there is the adoption of our first two boys, Timothy and Mason. Timothy was with us for two years and three months before it was official, Mason five months less. To our surprise and utter amazement, I ended up pregnant during that time, so baby Elijah was just four months old. It was the best day! We entered in as parents to one son, and foster parents to two, and left the proud parents of three wonderful sons. It was a great day.

We have used the adoption of our girl to begin the conversation with our boys about their own adoption, since they were so young and have no memory of it. Mason, who is now five, has little interest in what happened four years ago, but is so excited that his sister will now share his name. Timothy, however, is beginning to understand and ask questions. Last night, during our bedtime snuggles, I asked Timothy if he remembered his adoption day. He said he did not and asked how big was he. I told him he was three and Mason was one and that Eli was just a new baby. His eyes shot up to mine and he said, somewhat unsure of the impact of his words, "Mommy, I wish I came from your tummy."

Wow.

So, I said, "Son, sometimes I do too. But, then I remember those days and I remember how long we tried to have a baby, and how hard your daddy and I prayed for a baby, and then God brought us you. It wasn't an accident or a mistake. It was just as He had planned from the very beginning, that you would need us and we would need you, and the same for Mason and SoSo. We are just the family that God wanted us to be. I am the same mommy to you, as I am to May, as I am to Elijah, as I am to SoSo, and nothing with ever change that."

There were a few more deep questions that come with answers difficult to process at the age of seven, but I hope what he left with was the truth that my dad told me several times throughout my childhood when insecurities would arise, 'I'll always be your dad (or mom), no matter what'. And, at the end of the day, just as I couldn't imagine a life without my family, I hope they see what a gift we have, no matter how we came to be. The gift of family, of a history we can't erase, of blessings beyond measure, and love that chooses each other, all of our days.

I love this line (slightly modified) from the book, Stay With Me, by Sandra Rodriguez Barron, "If they are bound to one another, it is not because they share common blood; but rather, because God has given them the chance to be essential to one another, and they have chosen to accept that invitation."

A Not so Happy Birthday

Last Thursday was our oldest sons birthday. Timothy turned 7, marking six years and one week that he has been with us, that I have been a mom....amazing. With all the blessing this boy brings with him, he can also be a bit of a handful. I've said before, he is loud (really loud), and goes 0-60 from sun up to sun down. On his birthday, or anytime he's especially excited, these characteristics increase to extreme degrees, which is cute on one hand, and ridiculously exhausting on the other. The day still has to happen....school, grocery store, allergy shots....but in his overcharged excitement he can single handedly make these things impossible, getting in trouble and turning up the dial on my irritation and anger and increasing his consequences with each indiscretion. And that is exactly what happened on this highly anticipated 7th birthday, and it wasn't just Timothy...it was his youngest brother Eli right along with him, running, yelling, grabbing, name calling, hitting....  It was devastating and heartbreaking for everyone, and incredibly embarrassing for me. 

I have eluded for about four months now that something happened bringing hurt and harm to our family. This 'thing', that I'm still not supposed to talk about, has hovered just beneath the surface of life for almost 5 months. This thing has been called small. We have been told there's no reason for us to worry about our kids, they are fine. This thing has basically been swept away at the place that it happened, forgiven and forgotten. But in our home, for Scott and I, this thing looms heavy. It hurts us, it scares us and it infuriates us.

The tie between Timothy's 'bad birthday' and this 'thing' is difficult to explain, but very real. God is working on our hearts daily...the anger, the hurts, the fear...but it doesn't mean the anger isn't still there. And, wrong as it may be, sometimes my anger gets misdirected at the very little ones my heart is set on protecting. Why? I have no idea. Probably because they are the ones in front of me. And mostly likely, even though my anger about this 'thing' is not directed at them, they are unknowingly poking the bear. On this most distressing of birthdays, the behaviors that had me on edge would have been annoying under the best of circumstances, but this 'thing', the effect it's had on me, I don't like it.  It has heightened every negative emotion within me. The things that scared me before, make me panic now. The things that would draw out anger, get me there much quicker. Hardly noticeable social anxieties that existed before, threaten to keep me home now, nestled in with my kids where I know they are safe.

My response on this birth day grocery trip? Take them to the bathroom and have a stern talking to of course. And that birthday dinner at the 'fire restaurant' that he'd been looking forward to for a month?? Yeah, mad mommy cancelled it. While that's a little embarrassing to admit, and it was awful for all, I'm not sure it wasn't the right thing to do, I just wish I hadn't been so mad when I did it.

That night was tough, and a hard lesson was hopefully learned. After a much improved day, we did in fact go for that birthday dinner the next night, and enjoyed a wonderful evening with our four delightful children! Our grill master that evening, carried on about how polite our boys were, how well mannered, how sweet, how smart. He said our beautiful daughter obviously got her looks from her lovely mommy and great-grandmother, and that we were just the luckiest family to all have each other and be so happy together. Of course, I didn't tell him she wasn't ours biologically. I didn't tell him we finally had an adoption date after more than two years, and that our excitement over that was barely containable! I just went with it, taking delight at the smiles on my kids faces and the calm in my heart.

Mason and Timothy at 'the fire restaurant' 

It was as if he knew I'd been mad mommy for a while now, and was doing all he could to remind me to enjoy my precious gifts....even if things are tough right now.

Emotional collisions similar to this, are the norm these days, it seems. And what I'm beginning to see, and attempt to deal with, is that parenting out of fear and anger isn't working. These kids are worth the best I have to offer, and while that may be changed just a little now, it shouldn't include my misguided anger over the actions of another. It should include the joy I experience when I look upon their beautiful faces. The wonder that wells up inside me when I hear them pray to God with wisdom beyond their years. It should share in their excitement as they show me how fast they are or how big their muscles are getting. It should encourage their moments of success, and teach in their moments of disobedience. It should mirror the grace and mercy I have received and reflect the unending love I have for them.

Today was another grocery day, and while it wasn't perfect, there were no stern talks in the bathroom and my blood pressure remained within normal limits. It's a team effort, and we're learning together.

Progress in motion.

In Honor Of....

Tonight I hugged the neck of a daughter about to bury her mother. Sherry is Scott's Aunt, her husband, his Uncle Doug who is his dad's brother. We were there to say goodbye to Ms. Janice, a lady who, made very clear by the line of visitors, lived her life serving, inspiring, encouraging, supporting, and loving those around her.

Standing about 45 minutes in line, you catch snip-its of peoples connection to her, or the family. Things like, "My granddaddy and her great-granddaddy were brothers", or "My sister would always say 'Ms. Janice...'", or "We always talked at church". There are her grandchildren (the two I know), Scott's cousins, Aleshia and Taylor whose love for her reminds me of my own Gram. They were strong and brave, most likely drawing from a strength in Christ they learned from the very lady they were all sad to have lost.

Then there's me, I've known Janice about 7 or 8 years and been around her maybe only 5 or 6 times at family gatherings. One of the first conversations I recall, she was asking Scott about his retirement from the service and beginning his career as an educator, something obviously dear to her. She showed similar interest in the educational path I was on as I worked toward the classroom as well. After the kids came along, she was always quick to ask about each of them. Our conversations were generally short, usually because I had to chase a kid out of something, but always caring.

But, the connection to her that means the most to me, that stands out when I think of her now, is how much she loved my blog. She almost always responded with some form of approval, either a smiley face, a heart or a simple line expressing her joy in reading our story. I will tell you that I don't write this story for anyone other than myself, but I find myself now realizing how much I will miss her endearing affirmation. How much I loved seeing her name come through on email with another smile, another note that she 'just loved reading our story'. I would tell Scott, 'Well, Janice liked it, so I'm good.'

So, in my excitement to share the news that we finally have an adoption date (3 weeks from today!!!!!!!!!!), I am saddened that she won't get to read it. She would have sent a big smiley face.

To her family, our family, what a woman. What a legacy. Sherry, your love for her is something special. I consider it a blessing that I knew her, that she loved us, even if it was just a few short years.

I'm heading to bed tonight with thoughts of the first time I held my girl. The first time I knew I loved her. The two long years it's been waiting for this time to come that she would finally share our name. My mom holding my girl. Picturing our court date, when the judge declares her officially ours. In the midst of all these mommy, daughter moments in my mind, is the way you let go of a few tears tonight as we hugged, tears full of exhaustion and grief over the loss of your mom, and I think...

what a special gift it is to have, and to be, a daughter.

I Would Walk ALL the Miles for Them

I was thinking last night about how, before I had kids, I just knew how much I'd love them. I knew I'd do anything in the world for them. And while you 'know' things won't always be perfect, in those pre-mommy daydreams, I never imagined the hard stuff...not really. Of course I always had opinions of what I would do "if that were my kid", but you realize pretty quick into it that, "I had no idea". No one really does. There's no real way to understand completely until it happens. Until that tiny bundle of amazing hits your arms, or a birth family chooses you, or...however it happens, those little eyes look to you and know you are their everything. And then you realize, wow, I really would walk to the ends of the Earth if need be. What ever it is, you know you'll give 1000% of you to them. And, while you always knew you'd love them, the weight of this is profound. It will crush you and strengthen you all in the same moment. It will break your heart and bring you joy in the same breath. It is an amazing gift of love that comes in those moments.

And then 'that thing' happens that requires the first mile of you. And it doesn't matter what it is, what yours was versus mine, or ours versus another, because it's ours. One is not better or worse, even when we say things like "it could always worse", to try to make ourselves, or others, feel better. It's the mile you've been called to walk and it's hard. It hurts sometimes. It can bring unexpected joy, and unbearable grief, but you walk it because that's what you've been called to do. And, because they need you to.

We've been on a few walks during the last almost six years as parents, some short and intense, others mild, but stretched out for a while. But they've all tested us, worn us thin, made us stronger, strengthened the ties that bind. They make us fall into bed at night exhausted, and frustrated and motivated us out of bed the next day, pulling ourselves up by our boot straps, not willing to give up, or give in. It's these times, I think that God makes us humble, and gives us strength. He renews our hope and gives us courage. He whispers, if you listen, that He is with you and will never forsake you (Deut 31:6), that He is your strength and your shield (Psalm 28:7), and that He will comfort you as a mother comforts her child (Isaiah 66:13).

The current 'walk' we're on has been a difficult one and for now, has no end in sight. I know it will come, just not sure when, or what that may look like. It has taken all I had, in the beginning, to breathe, and now it takes all I have to trust. Trust in those around us, trust in a system I don't fully understand, trust that God will bring truth and justice. It's taking all I have to be calm for my kids, and family, to show restraint when I want to completely freak out. Obviously (as you can tell by the things I share on this blog), I'm not one to hold much in, so this restraint I speak of is stretched thin, but I will hold on, because it's the mile I'm walking right now. And they need me to.

I have no way of knowing what all this walk may require of me, of our family, before it's over, but I will keep walking. When the trials come, and they will come, share your burdens when you can, and bare with another when they let you.... high five, give a hug, say a prayer and keep walking, because they need you to.