Attachment
Loving
On vacation my girls, my mom and I wandered through the outlet mall for awhile. On various clearance racks I found t-shirts for the boys and for the little girls. So near the end of our wandering when we walked into Old Navy, I figured that might be a good place to find t-shirts for our teen daughters as well.
I should have known better; like most teenage girls, they are persnickety about their clothes and habitually get overwhelmed by choices in stores. But since I’d already found things for the other kids, I wanted to get them something. A quick cruise around the store didn’t spark their interest. To simplify things, I headed them toward a display containing basic T’s in 6 different colors. I’m always glad to have more simple t-shirts myself, and I figured they’d be useful neutral additions to their wardrobe.
“Pick something,” I said with a smile. “What color do you want?”
They looked uncertain. They hemmed and hawed. They picked up things and set them down looking disinterested. Five minutes went by. Meanwhile the other members of our party were done shopping and the grandbaby was showing signs of needing to nurse.
“Pick something,” I said. My smile was starting to feel tense, but I tried to make my voice coaxing. “I want to buy you something.”
But they couldn’t– wouldn’t — make a choice. I toyed with the idea of just grabbing two shirts and saying, “Here ya go.” But then they’d be sure to hate the choice I’d made, which would translate to clothes sitting in the closet, unworn. My mom suggested quietly that I just give them money, which I knew they’d happily take. But dangitall, I wanted to give them a gift, something to bring back as a memory from this trip, not hand them cash like this was some business transaction.
Finally we left, having purchased nothing. Yeah, I could (should?) have been happy they’d saved me a few bucks by refusing to let me get them something. But I was livid, and I knew exactly why. This was not just about a couple of t-shirts This was about all the times I’ve tried to show the girls I love them and they’ve turned me down flat.
Of the times I brought thrift store finds home, excited, hoping they’d like them, only to be met with wan smiles, and have the clothes languish in their closets until I insisted they wear them. Of the hugs I’ve given that were returned with noodle-arms. The times I’ve invited them to play games or go to the store with me and they’ve opted out.
Yes, I can force it. And sometimes I do. But it can be discouraging to feel such resistance to my overtures even now after they’ve been home nearly five years.
Sometimes things are good between us— like today when I broke the oven door and my 14 year old and I spent 30 greasy minutes trying to wrestle the thing into submission before calling the repair man in defeat. We shared some absolutely lovely laughing moments. But all too often I’m met with resistance.
I know that some of the ups and downs are normal teen stuff. Girls often have a hard time getting along with their moms– I know I did when I was 14. For awhile I fantasized about being adopted by a rich family where I could be the only child and wouldn’t have to do chores. I’ve told my daughters that, and I understand it’s a tough age.
But still–when a child home almost five years says you’ll never really be her mom, that signing papers doesn’t make it true, it is a knife to the heart. A failed shopping trip, though a small failure in the grand scheme of things, feels like twisting that knife. If we can’t even have a successful shopping trip together, what are our chances of a real relationship some day?
I comfort myself remembering how well they do when interacting with people other than me. Folks rave about how great the girls are, how sweet and fun– and I wholeheartedly agree. I’ve seen that sweetness from across the room. I just wish they’d show that loveliness to me more often. When I do sneak a real smile out of someone, almost always the shades go quickly down over that light, veiling their hearts, snuffing the connection that flared for just a second.
I’m the second momma, you see, the substitute for the one they really want. Maybe it’s anger. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe they love me way down deep, more than they dare show. (Oh, I hope so.) But it feels to me that their automatic default is to push me away than to connect.
The years have scarred me, and make it hard some days to keep my perspective. The truth is, eight of the kids think I’m just fine. But I want these others to love me too, so much that some days my self-worth as a momma feels hinged on their acceptance. I know how foolish that is; they’re hurt kids, wounded souls. It’s only a little about me. But I care passionately for them and want them to feel truly enveloped in the love of our family. No matter how wide the rift, they are part of my very soul, and I will continue to fight on behalf of our relationship.
I talked to the girls after the shopping incident, explained that gift-giving is one of the ways I show folks love– that I’d been trying that day in Old Navy to say ‘I love you’, and that I’d heard rejection in their refusal to accept my gifts. I think they understood then, at least a little, why I’d come unglued over t-shirts.
While unpacking from the trip, I came across a handful of gummy bears in a baggie. I stashed them back in a corner, thinking of a bedtime snack. A few minutes later my 14 year old came into the kitchen, spotted them, and asked for them. I said no, saying there weren’t enough to share with everyone. It was true, but really it was more that I wanted them myself.
Later that evening I nibbled a few, but my conscience wouldn’t let me forget she’d asked for them. I knotted the bag up and set them aside. The next day I came up behind her and tucked the baggie quietly into her sweatshirt pocket with a wink, then walked away quick before I could even see her reaction. Come to think of it, maybe that’s exactly what I need to do more of: quick stealth ‘I love you’ actions, without looking for or expecting any immediate reaction.
Sometimes I get so set on loving kids how I want to love them that I forget about loving them the way they want to be loved. I’m not sure if that handful of gummy bears was received as the gift of love that I intended it to be. But I’ll keep my eyes open for other chances like that. Maybe one of these days I’ll actually get somewhere. Until then, I’ll just keep on loving my kids to the best of my ability, and hold onto the faith that God is watching over us all, and that He has a perfect plan for all our lives.
_______________________________________
Mary Ostyn has been married for 25 years to the guy she met in math class at age 17. I have kids in college, high school, junior high, grade school, and preschool, 10 altogether. Six of her children arrived via adoption, 2 from Korea and 4 from Ethiopia.She homeschools, gardens, cooks, budget-stretches and takes pictures obsessively. Also she writes. Her 200-recipe cookbook/ shopping guide Family Feasts for $75 a Week came out in September, 2009. She also wrote A Sane Woman’s Guide to Raising a Large Family which came out in March, 2009. If she had to describe her blog in one sentence, she’d say it is about making the most of your resources so that you can have the greatest impact possible on the world around you, beginning, of course, with family. Visit her site Owlhaven soon!
It’s Mothers’ Week: To Mothers of Unattached Children
We are heart healers, which is so hard to be when we ourselves are broken. Our hearts are broken, too…often by the same children we are trying to heal.
We’ve been the recipients of abuse, emotional and verbal and physical. We’ve had to turn the other cheek, put up a brave front, treat others the way they would want to be treated even though they refuse to do the same for us. We have had to show love–real love, yes, but mostly fake love and somewhere-in-between love–to some of the most unlovable people imaginable, all in the name of healing.
We have the same secrets, sister. We’ve lost our tempers. We’ve parented in anger. We’ve said and done things we regret. We’ve tried, at our most broken, to make our children understand just how unlovable they are. We’ve hated a child.
We have the same fears and the same questions, too. Will I ever love my child for real? Will I ever look at her without seeing a monster? What kind of a person will he grow up to be? Am I making a difference at all?
We are tired. We are weary. Some days, we want to give up altogether, beat ourselves into the ground. And yet we persevere, sometimes because we want to, sometimes because we’ve been asked to, sometimes because there is simply no other choice.
We have good days and bad days. Days that we feel like we can change the world, make a difference, and days when we wish the world would swallow us up. End the turmoil of our lives. We are filled with guilt for the damage we’ve sometimes allowed to fester by not being perfect moms. By being selfish. By being human.
Once upon a time, my sister, you were a girl with a beautiful dream, and so was I. We were going to be mommies. We were going to share a lifetime of love and laughter with bright-eyed, dimpled children that would thrive under our care. We were going to foster or adopt and give a future to a child who had no future. Our hearts were loving, our motives were pure, we just didn’t know then what we know now. We didn’t know that damaged children take more than love and security and structure to heal. More than food on the table and a roof over their heads and clean clothes and new toys and a good education and piano lessons and band aids on skinned knees.
Our damaged children need to be loved perfectly, unconditionally, and completely. No matter what.
And herein lies the problem. We can’t do it, can we? We’ve tried and we’ve failed time and again. Our kids need the love that only Jesus can give, and we must wake up each day and surrender our mothering to Him. Or fail.
I used to feel entirely alone as a mom. Mothers of normal children simply cannot understand the depths of pain and shame and heartache and anger I have felt. The utter hopelessness. I still feel alone sometimes, but I’ve begun to hear whispers from other places…other mommies that are destitute in their despair, too. I know you are out there, sisters, somewhere under the veil of secrecy and guilt. And I need you to know something.
You are not alone. I understand exactly how you feel. You don’t even have to tell me, but I will listen if you need me to. I won’t judge you. I won’t hate you for how you feel. I won’t even be surprised. You are not a horrible mother for how a damaged child has changed you. Good days and bad days aside, you are and always have been one of the special, the few. The mommies that haven’t given up on beautiful even though it’s covered in ugliness, even though you sometimes wish you could run the other way. You have allowed yourself to be put into a place where God can use you to do miracles. And He will, if you let Him.
Your dreams are still beautiful. You are beautiful, my sister.
Once upon a time, I had a beautiful dream. I wanted to rescue children who had no hope and no dreams of their own. Be their mommy. It hasn’t worked out exactly as I’d planned or expected, but it has brought me here, to the point of surrender. And I’m discovering that this, in and of itself, is far more beautiful than anything I ever dreamed up on my own.
(courtesy of Red Letter Ink, click image to see more)
_____________________________________
Lisa Barry
I’m married to a man that makes me laugh so hard that I usually end up in tears. He was saved four years into our marriage, and then we turned our union over to God and His plans. God took our offer and blessed it with four children in two years (two through the foster care system and two through good old-fashioned baby-making), and then (surprise!) gave us another little biological squirt three years later. If you did the math, that’s five children in five years. Did I mention I’m insane? No seriously, God is good. He’s gently leading me down the paths of mothering, partnering with my incredible, Godly husband, dealing personally with impulsive ADHD, homeschooling, and helping our adopted kids overcome Attachment Disorders. I’ve got a long way to go, and most days I wonder how God could possibly love me with the absolute abandon that He does. I’m so thankful. I’m so blessed. I write about my life and my journey to overcome the worst of myself. Feel free to visit, but don’t expect perfection…the only good in me comes from Him.
In the trying times we learn
Treasures
Since the first night we were with Mia, we noticed a sweet and slightly sad behavior at bedtime. In order to fall asleep she first needs to hug close to her chest a little treasure. Her treasure is always something that has become important, valuable to her on that day.
It can be anything.
The first night it was a container of playdoh.
The second night it was a cup with milk…she never drank the milk she just NEEDED to possess the cup.
It doesn’t seem to matter what the item is, but it is certainly not about softness or cuddly comfort. It’s more about a need to hang on to whatever it is at that moment that is important to her. Her treasure.
Her desperation not to lose each item as she nods off to sleep is palpable.
And it breaks my heart.
So far her treasures have included a box of crackers, a bottle of water, a ziploc bag full of hair bows, a boot, her backpack, a marker, a DVD, her toothbrush.
Last night was our 20th night together. We went about the usual routine, snuggling close in the bed together. That night she had selected a small plastic giraffe. We sang a song, and I ran my fingers through her hair, her body started to relax, and I knew she was close to sleep.
But then she did something she hadn’t done in the previous 19 nights.
She turned to me, called softly, “ma-mee” and handed me the giraffe motioning for me to put it on the nightstand. She then took my arm, wrapped her own arms around it and pulled it close to her chest. I felt her let out a sigh and her body relax against me.
She fell asleep quickly, but I didn’t move for more than an hour. I just wanted to lie there…. enjoy the sweet moment …when my new daughter decided her treasure of the day was her new mommy.
________________________________________
Lori Printy
Lori Printy and her husband Dart recently returned from China were they adopted Mia, their 6th child. After nearly 4 years in an orphanage, their sweet daughter is learning to trust in her new-found forever family. Lori blogs about adoption, special needs parenting and orphan advocacy at Five of My Own
Letting Go of Expectations
No one ever promised us that adopting our children would be a simple thing. I didn’t expect to whisk Silas into the mix and then just go about my happy business.
I knew it would be really, really hard.
For like six months.
And then it would be sort of hard for another six.
Then we might have a few bad days over the next six months.
Then we’d be home free.
We’d be in “regular parenting” territory then, which is never a slice of pie. It always requires effort and attention. It can be frustrating sometimes, exhausting often. But the dark, bruisey days would be over.
We’ve had Silas with us for 19 months. My extremely generous timeline for unfavorable behavior has expired, and we’re still registering a solid Month Ten. At least this week.
It’s been one of those weeks that used to find me feeling bullied and defeated, but now, after much practice, I simply feel bone-tired. It has worried me, the way I’ve learned to compartmentalize. It has concerned me at times, the way my patience grips the very edge with its fingernails.
This adoption thing? It can be lonely business. It’s hard to find the kind of everyday support that I crave, not because people in my life are unwilling to offer, but simply because it’s different.
When these hard weeks come, I sometimes feel judged. She should be doing things differently. I feel inadequate. I’m tired of screwing up. I feel defensive. He’s had a difficult life. I feel exasperated. What will it take for him to start to understand how this stuff works? I feel rejected. My kid doesn’t love me.
I feel all of those things, at times. They are my knee socks, my jeans, my gray T. I wear them well. They fit just right, at this point and they’re surprisingly comfortable.
But then I pull on my love for my child. I zip certainty up to my chin. I ball up my hands and shove them into Promise.
I walk in the sunny-day truth that I often know the right thing and choose the wrong anyway. I do not always obey the very first time. I shove and kick when I’m scared, or when I think my idea was better.
And still, just as I love my angel-lashed boy, I am loved.
I could never have known for sure what this journey would look like or how it would feel. I might have run screaming for the hills had I understood that it would be this hard this long. That is the thought that threatens to break me. I might have turned my back on one of the blessings of my life. I might have missed the moment where he turns to me and says, “I lu yew Mommy”. I would have missed stifling a laugh when he looks up at me and says all mean and sassy, “I tickle yew”. (He finally understands that “I spanka yo bottom” wasn’t working for him, so he improvises now.)
So, I’m learning to let go a little. I’ll not take personal the days where he wakes up spitting mad at me and the world, because these days come in waves. I’ll ride it out knowing that maybe tomorrow, or next Monday, he’ll smile straight into my heart and giggle me through my day.
Every day is a step in the right direction, even when it’s hard.
Every day is a chance to remember that God honors this work. He honors it full. He cheers us on, reminds us that the dark days move faster if you dance a little.
Every day is one more opportunity for grace – for all of us.
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Shannan Martin
Shannan Martin is an ordinary girl who searches for and finds beauty in the everyday. She’s the wife of a man who thinks all of her jokes are funny and who regularly indulges her late-night, thinking-out-loud ponderings. They have three funny shorties, Calvin, Ruby, and Silas, who came to them across rivers and oceans. Together, they are embarking on a fresh adventure and are confident that God will meet them there. And though they no longer live on the farm, life remains a heaped-up pile of blessings, and Shannan will forever remain a Farmgirl at heart. She has blogged for three years; come take a look.
The Waiting Room
I am home. It’s been strange.
People will walk up and congratulate me and ask where the kids are. They aren’t here. I left them in Ethiopia without a choice or a say in the matter. They are now our legal children, Moses Paul Roepnack and Miriam Paul Roepnack, but we must wait for a US Embassy appointment in a few months to fly out and pick them up.
In the meantime, we got a few new pics from some wonderful traveling parents. Buried within one of the albums, we found a video of our girl, taking her first unassisted steps. As soon as it cued up, I began cheering her on… yelling into the computer, clapping, screaming…”GOOD GIRL!!! Mama’s so proud! Good girl, Miriam…!!!”
….And the video cuts out.
Not long after, Paul took the girls upstairs, and I began my nightly chores.
Suddenly, my knees buckled, I hit the floor, and I had my first BIG cry. The open-mouthed, punched in the stomach, heart in your throat, can’t even breath, big ugly cry.
I dug my fingers into the wood floor below me, and screamed silently, so that two sweet little girls upstairs didn’t have to hear what I felt.
I thought of my how she can’t hear me cheering for her.
I thought of the day I walked away and left them behind.
I thought of all these lost days.
I thought of the picture I recieved a week after I got home, of my sweet girl sitting alone on a concrete floor in a Bumbo chair (she hates sitting in Bumbo chairs) and still wearing the pajamas I brought for our slumber parties, and my insides scream for Mercy.
I thought of my son, and his brand new growing “fro”, and how I long to run my fingers through his hair and rock my strong little man to sleep.
I thought of Laura.
We were supposed to be walking this path together.
Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and a blanket of warmth cover over me on the floor, and I know it’s Him.
And He’s just in time.
You see; I’m on a God Honeymoon.
God doesn’t leave mothers alone on the floor. He loves earthly mothers so much, that when Jesus was struggling for breath on the cross, he was arranging for his own mother’s care. It was one of the last things he did before he died under the weight of our sins. He gave Mary to John, the “disciple that he loved.” And she lived with John from that day forward.
I am living in that place. I am in John’s house.
He knows how bad this hurts, and He comes down to me in the exact measure of that hurt. I can breathe in the Grace and the healing. And all the pain becomes joy and thanksgiving in an instant.
I know people want to know what it’s like to be in this limbo…
…To be in the waiting room.
They ask all the time; prospective adoptive parents, adoption blog-stalkers, ambulance chasers….And in the questions, I can feel them weighing it out against their own abilities…
They know adoption is hard…but HOW HARD is it?
For all of you who want to know: You CAN’T handle it. It’s too hard. God handles it. And He makes it easy.
He gives you the kind of faith you need to leave your two babies behind in an orphanage and fly home without them, even though after only 11 days, you love those children as much as you love the children you labored and bled for. It’s unthinkable.
AND. You go home with joy in your heart over promises to be fulfilled.
He creates even more joy in your life than you ever thought possible. You get to watch Him create beauty from ashes within your own soul without any help from you.
God gives an incredible gift to adoptive parents: He gives you a broken heart, put together in a new way. More like His. You get to undergo Heavenly heart surgery at the Hands of the Master Craftsman.
And when that heart breaks all over again, and you find yourself lying on the floor with a dishrag in your hand, He fixes it. He makes it better.
He gives you your lost days BACK.
Like the day you caught your baby boy trying to nurse your arm, so you fed him his first Mommy-bottle, and suddenly you are THERE with your boy even though you are still on the kitchen floor….
God. Thank you for our Boy.
The Heavenly Father Himself rocks you in His arms on the kitchen floor, wipes your tears, puts your dishtowel back in your hand, stands you up, and moves your hand back and forth across the counter, wiping crumbs, and setting you back into your mother-motions.
He guides my eyes up to the picture of my children’s Nannies that I hung over my sink only moments before…
And He tells me that He’s got it covered.
He tells me that nothing is lost in Him.
He tells me that He will give me back all of these “lost days” with my children 100 times over in His name.
Because there are no such thing as lost days within Christ.
All those days. All 32 years before I loved Him. Not one of them wasted.
He promises restoration.
In the van, after I left them, I felt it. I felt a small portion of what God must feel for us. And how He waits. He waits for us. I join Him.
I walk upstairs with sippy cups in hand, to love the daughters who wait for me. I take a quick peek at a decorated and empty nursery, and I thank God almighty for His perfect timing.
I breathe in the God-air that fills my house heavy, saturating deep.
It is well…with my soul…I would not trade this wait for anything.
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Missy Roepnack
Missy and Paul Roepnack live in Cary, NC, with their two daughters Lilly and Daisy. After two children, six years of marriage, and a lifetime of lukewarm to room-temperature faith, they met Jesus. They quickly realized that there were two more little people missing from their family, and found them in Ethiopia. Join in on the ”fun” as they seek the sanity and strength that will be needed to outrun four children under four years old at The Oasis.
Lots of You Asked for It, So Here You Go
Ok….like 5 people asked for it.
But since I am a stay at home mom and interact with exactly no one most days during the day
5 people is like a lot.
So here you go
my thoughts on older child adoption.
The question of how we “do” older child adoption
how the intricacies of that play out in our home
how their adjustment is
quite honestly sets me back a bit.
When asked about “Older child adoption” I have to wait for that “older child/hard to place” label that used to define them rise up from the recesses of my brain and come back into my frontal lobe….errr…cerebral cortex?…..I dunno….so that I can remember
because I truly don’t look at them as “older children”.
They just fit.
They fit perfectly into our family.
I don’t know that it is harder.
I don’t know that it is easier than adopting younger kids & cute squishy lil babies.
It’s just
well
different.
In the beginning in China it was fabulous.
They were old enough to somewhat have a grasp on what was happening.
All 3 came right to us.
(other than Joshua apparently thinking he was going to live in Italy….sorry buddy)
There were
No tantrums.
No tears.
Just pure
adrenaline induced
excitement.
For them
for us
we were one big group of really, really excited people.
Yet, ironically, if anything illustrates the udder brokenness of these orphans
it is that moment
because really,
children should not be that excited to be handed to
and walk off
with perfect strangers.
But they somehow know.
They know that what is to come
love
life
hope
a future
food
a bed
warmth
simply must be better than what they have now.
Because when I try to picture my biological children being handed over to strangers at the age of 7
and the definite opposite reaction that they would have
it illustrates just how big a void these kids sitting in those orphanages have.
There is nothing like a family.
There is
no
thing
like a family.
Practically, older kids just aren’t as needy in the physical sense and since we were far beyond diapers and nap times this worked well for us.
They could walk, go to the bathroom, understand that it was time for bed, shower, dinner.
(Man I am SO good at charades now. If anyone ever wants to play, let me know. I’ll kick your butt.)
This I knew was a key to our families successful transition.
These kids were in the same phase of life that we were already in so the adjustment on our part was minimal. (Not to trivialize adoption itself but in this specific context(as it pertains to age) it was a minimal impact.)
I think had we chosen to go back down baby lane it would have been much more difficult (for us).
We just weren’t there.
Our hearts weren’t there.
Our sports filled evenings and weekends weren’t there.
Our older kids weren’t there.
I knew how to do 7 year’s old.
Our youngest 5 are all within a 21 month block of time.
The twins are 6 minutes apart.
Push em out, push em out, waaaaaayyy out!
Sorry, that was a throwback to my brief cheer-leading days in high school.
But I digress…
Jacob is 14 months younger than the twins.
Joshua is 3 months younger than Jacob.
Joey is 4 months younger than Joshua.
If we could do anything,
we could do the 6-8 year old age range.
I knew what their maturity level was, what would appeal to them, how to speak to them.
We were there.
Granted, some of it may have been lost in translation but I think the message is this…
Kids are kids.
Red, yellow, black and white they, at their core, are kids.
Obviously
Experiences will color that,
Trauma will cover that,
Abandonment will change that,
Institutionalization will harm that
but somehow I could see right through all of that muck and mire
and I could see that underneath it all
there was a little boys heart.
I didn’t know how long it would take to unearth.
I didn’t know the hardships would come along
I didn’t know how much pain was in the process
but the heart
the heart is there
it’s just waiting.
It’s the uncovering of all of the “stuff” that comes along with adopting older kids that is where the challenge can rise up
and
smack
you
in
the
face.
So though I don’t change diapers
or warm bottles
or wake up for 3am feedings
and I don’t hurry home for nap time
I fight a battle that is larger than myself.
A battle that will consume them
if it weren’t for love.
So yes.
It’s hard.
I do sleep all night
They do go to school all day
but I have to be ever mindful that though their neediness doesn’t lie in the physical sense
there are still 3 little hearts under my roof that are still in a state of mending.
Because not only do I have my own parenting wisdom, tips, techniques and training to impart on them,
I am simultaneously un-parenting all of the bad habits, harsh words, and lack of love that they endured when I wasn’t there.
Have you ever tried un-parenting and parenting at the same time?
It’s ummmm……fun?
Nope.
Pretty sure that’s not the word I am looking for.
It’s not just “Hey buddy, this is how we do this.”
It’s “Hey buddy, I know that was how things were done before and I’m sorry that happened, ~ hug ~ hug~ but here’s why that’s not ok. Now let me show you what we do. ~ teach. train. model. ~ hug ~
Then it’s “Good job! I knew you could do it!” ~ hug~
All whilst speaking Chinglish and having about 50% of what you are telling them get lost in translation.
Repeat.
8,000 times a day.
They will be 14 years old before we ever even break even.
They will be 14 before their time in our family becomes longer than their days spent in an orphanage.
This is a marathon.
I am not who I used to be.
My patience is bigger
My heart is heavier
My joy is tempered.
Just like a normal marathon
it’s exhausting.
It takes an inordinate amount of energy
of patience
of love
of patience
of patience
of teaching
of training
of patience
of love
to bring these kids out of the darkness.
And if I’m being honest….
it.
empties.
me.
And if I’m being more honester. (yep I know, not a word)
it’s the reason I haven’t been blogging.
It takes SO much to be continually pouring love, encouragement, discipline, and training into these kids that I often find myself
empty.
And most days
when the sun has set
when 7 sleepy heads are happily snoring on their pillows
I have nothing left to give.
Are we happy?
Yep.
Would we do it again?
No doubt, yes.
Is it the hardest thing I have ever done?
A
b
s
l
u
t
e
l
y
Are there moments when I think to myself,
“Am I being punked?”
7 boys? Seriously?
Totally.
I vastly underestimated the amount of life training that they would need at their age.
Things like
A stove is hot.
You knock on the door before you walk into people’s houses, you can’t just walk in.
Seatbelts.
Walk on the sidewalk, not in the street.
Kindly do not remove the food from your plate that you don’t care for and place a big blob of it directly on the table.
Don’t walk down the hallway from your room to the bathroom stark neked. You’re 8.
Small things of course.
But when each and every moment,
each and every action
each and every transition
requires explanation it takes awhile to get the hang of that.
Rather…
it took me awhile to get the hang of that.
But last I checked my goal isn’t to take up residence on Easy Street,
I think that is a crowded, overpopulated neighborhood.
go.
serve
love.
be more like HIM
It’s what I want to do.
It’s where I want to live.
So is older child adoption really more difficult?
I don’t know.
It’s just
different.
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Sonia M.
Sonia and her husband John are an Air Force family with 7 boys. She stays at home part time and spends the other part of her time shopping at Stuff-Mart buying large quantities of food to feed said boys. Sonia’s hobbies include cooking, cooking, cooking more, cleaning, cooking, and cleaning bathrooms. They are navigating their way through life attempting to glorify God in all that they do — follow the journey here.
His Hand in Mine
One of my favorite things about being a mom of little ones is the feeling of their hand in mine.
For me, it expresses trust, protection, connection. . . . It tells the world . . . we belong together. I’m not sure I’d really thought about that until we adopted our son.
Last week, we were walking on a sidewalk
. . . nobody near us
. . . he reached up
. . . and put his hand in mine
. . . for the first time
. . . in 17 months.
Baby steps on the long road of attachment.
Grateful.
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Amy Elder
Amy and her husband David have been married for 22 years and are the parents of 4 kids–three bio children ages 16, 14, and 10 and their youngest who is 5. They have been home from Ethiopia with him for 18 months. Adoption was on both of their hearts for many years. They took the plunge to move forward with adoption after realizing that all of their reasons for not doing it had nothing to do with the calling they believed they had from God. These past 18 months, however, have been beyond difficult. Each day continues to be a struggle, yet they cling to the hope that healing is happening and will continue to as they learn to parent their youngest child in brand new ways. Amy is an occassional blogger and can be found at www.ourtable4six.blogspot.com.
I’m Not Enough
It turns out I am not enough to fix my kids. I don’t have enough love or enough tools to heal their inside hurts. I can only sit humbly and thankfully at the feet of Jesus knowing His grace is sufficient for me, for His power is made perfect in my brokenness.
Titus has started sleeping poorly. I had a melt down, verge of crazy-town, ugly cry during the night. (That’s normal, right?) I CANNOT do this again. I can’t have a poor sleeper again. My body CANNOT take it. I tried to tell God. I tried to bargain and plead and literally cry out. I’m at the end of my no-sleep rope. I do not know where to go from here. He has been with us for 5 weeks. Often after adopted kids are home and settled then the grief begins to show. I think he is showing his grief and I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT. I don’t know how to help my poor teary kids who don’t sleep. We have routines. We don’t watch TV or play rowdy games before bed. We do bath and books and bed like clockwork. We don’t have lights on. We have sound blockers. We have tried OTC drugs, herbal supplements, and even surgery (tonsillectomy for Sunita). Still my babies cry out in the night for comfort and sometimes more than once an hour. I don’t know how I’m going to do this nightly routine again with another child unless through the grace of God. I honestly can’t see a path before me, but I trust in the One who can heal my kids, even while I fall shockingly short.
Also, lately, Sunita has been asking to go live with her Indian mom, or at least her Indian caretaker. I’m ashamed to say, I’ve been irritated and annoyed by this (and even, although it horrifies me to admit it, thinking how she should count herself lucky to have a family). It bothers me in a way I never expected it would. That is, it did bother me, until I remembered that in a perfect world she would be with her biological family. And although I believe God blessed us by choosing us to be her family, it isn’t part of a perfect world, but a fallen one. Sunita’s heart doesn’t love me less because she thinks about and hopes for what God’s original plan would have given her. And I know she wouldn’t trade me for anyone else, only that she is curious and wants to know the person who gave her life. I am thankful God is big enough to handle this too, because Heaven knows I’ve fallen short (again! sheesh! get it together girl!). I am so sure of His great love to my children that I know He will give me all I need to be a broken, yet beautiful mother to them.
It is amazing to be so broken, so fallen, so “not enough” and to know the Lord of the Earth is enough, and for all of us.
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Amy Ocker
Amy is a married mother of two (and hoping for more). Her 4 year old daughter is from India, and her 2 year old son recently joined their family from China. Life@home is filled with many mistakes and loads of God’s grace.
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Bonding Over A Bucket
“Ok, Lord, this is NOT helping with our bonding!” I was screaming the words to God in my heart as I tried to murmur reassuring words to my retching son, willing myself not to gag. I do not deal well with vomit. And, ironically, I had prayed earlier in the morning for help in bonding with my new son. He had been in our home for less than two months and I loved him but did not feel that strong maternal bond yet.
When my children have colds or fevers, I love to snuggle up with them and read books. I whip up homemade chicken soup with lemon, hot chocolate and warm cinnamon applesauce. But when the vomiting begins, I want nothing more than to run away. I break into a cold sweat and hyperventilate. My stomach twists and tenses and my gag reflex kicks in overdrive. I hold my breath until I about pass out. I become a compulsive hand-washer and will change my clothes and hand towels every hour. Cuddling is not going to happen unless I am covered in towels and the child has a bucket under their chin. Impressive mothering, huh?
So we had a sick little boy who is also grieving and emotionally needy and a crazy woman drenched in sweat and gagging as she rubs his back. Not exactly the nurturing mother he needed to bond with during this critical time.
A few short hours later, the situation became very serious. My son was unable to keep down even a teaspoon of liquid and he was very lethargic and unable to speak. It was time to head to the hospital for medical intervention. In the emergency room, I cradled his little head in my arms as the nurses tried a third time to find a vein able to support an IV. He was so dehydrated his veins had become sticky, and they were unable to insert the needle. He quietly cried, but did not have enough moisture for tears. Instead, my tears were running down his cheeks as I kissed him and prayed. “Ah, there is that maternal love I was longing to feel. Thank you, God, for this gift. But please heal my baby quickly.”
That day was a huge step in our bonding process. My son was able to sense my love and devotion to him, in spite of the thick layer of towels and a bucket between us. I was able to feel the maternal stirrings for this sweet boy instead of feeling like his babysitter. Some days we seem to take a few steps backward but we know with patience and reliance on our Father’s unfailing love, we will continue to knit together as a family.
This post originally posted on Mom Life Today.
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Julia DesCarpentrie
Julia DesCarpentrie, aka: Mama, hey Honey, Jewel, MOMEEEE, yo Sis, oh Mother, Julie … depends on who needs me. I answer to the love of my life (who also just happens to be my husband), a drama tween, and three very rambunctious superheroes, and toddler diva. Several years ago we handed our safe little family over to God and told Him to take control. He buckled us in on an adventurous roller coaster that rocketed us to China to adopt our youngest child, spun us closer to His heart, and plunged us into the south where foster care once again changed our hearts and family. I can usually be found behind the wheel of ‘Mama’s Monster Truck’ (aka the family minivan) on the way to dance, tae kwon do, scouts or school. The laptop travels with me and most of my writing is done waiting in the school pick-up lane. Read more of her ramblings here.
