Sick of IA Critics

I'm sickened. I'm angry.  I am down right pissed. And I WANT TO JUST THROW THIS COMPUTER ACROSS THE ROOM.


 This beautiful little girl is being allowed to waste away in an orphanage.

And while my heart breaks for her and the family that wants needs her home NOW,  I can't help but think about all these self appointed IA  "activists" who deem (oh so academically, because none of them are serving in China or Ethiopia or any other "victimized sending country") international adoption to be evil and adoptive parents the evil doers.

(oh sure they don't say all...they begrudgingly allow that some adoptions (as if they are the minority) are necessary last resort options and of course some AP's better than just evangelizing dolts out to save the word as they conspire with child abductors. But just some. Grrrr.)

What did they call it now?

cultural genocide?


colonialism?


innately corrupt?
 

What was that they accused me of being?

Overly dramatic for suggesting children "rot" in orphanages?

A rich woman with an Angelina Jolie celebrity fixation preying on the poor women of the third world?

Didn't they chastise me because I wanted to march in DC to bring attention to the unnecessary bureaucracy in the IA process? Because unnecessary bureaucracy and delay is a good thing...for this child?

Well right now, as I type with tears still in my eyes I say to you... broad brush, anti adoption "activists"...

until you can fix THIS....


SHUT UP!


Until you are really willing to talk about how to protect children.... from trafficking and laundering and inappropriate separation from birth families WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY &  WITH EQUAL EMPHASIS protecting them from the abuse and starvation and institutional neglect they suffer, I don't want to hear it. 

No, IA (like this world we live in) is not perfect, but in many cases it is necessary.  And no, international adoption is not the first option, but once the better options are eliminated it is a good option-in fact it can be a very good one.

A solution that balances the overarching issues that cause children to become "orphans" with the real time needs of children already "orphaned" is required... because we can't shouldn't ask Katerina to DIE WAITING for a politically correct solution.  Anything less is about promoting an agenda...at the expense of children in crisis.

At Katerina's expense.

Is that enough 'NUANCE" for one evil adoptive parent?

...to my fellow AP evil doers's please reach out to this mom and give her your support.  Pray for her and her daughter and for the staff at this orphanage. 

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A Perfect Dad

Fathers Day.

It wasn’t always a celebration in my house.

In fact for much of my life it was at best just another Sunday.

Because I did not have a father.

At least not that I can remember.


Four months before I turned four years old my father died, killed himself to be more precise; a single gunshot to the abdomen according to the death certificate.


It was the 70’s and frankly my family wasn’t the most functional to begin with so no one talked about “it” or him at all.  Ever.

Instead I spent many years imagining what he might have been like; what it would be like to have a “daddy”.  While most other girls dreamed about the prince who would marry them one day, I fantasied about (and prayed for) a father who would walk me down the aisle.

In my school girl imagination my father would be the perfect combination of strong and sweet. He would do all the “usual” things a perfect dad would do like kiss me on the forehead and swoop me up in his arms to dance me around the room. He would toss me high in the air and catch me in his big arms. He would build me a swing, tighten the handlebars on my bike, give me rides on his shoulders, help with my math homework, teach me to drive, turn the porch light on in the middle of my first kiss.

And he would be my first love, tell me I was beautiful, be the man I compared every man to evermore.

He would be perfect.

(Honestly it’s a wonder I’m not (more) dysfunctional than I am.)

My only sense of a father was the one I conjured up in my child like imagination.  A little girl's fantasy.  An mythical creature of impeccable, impossible,  paternal perfection.

But don’t feel pity because here’s the point of my sharing this with you.

20 years later I met and married and built a life with a man who, as fate would have it, turned out to be the perfect daddy to our children.

And he healed me.

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Making the Sky

Today proved to be a very emotionally difficult day for me.

Going on a mission trip and visiting with special needs orphans while I'm waiting for my own child to come home from her special needs orphanage hit me hard and unexpectedly.... like a big ole sucker punch in the gut.

******

We finally made it to the Chen Zhou SWI and this morning we spent the day meeting with the orphanage Director, touring the facility and rocking babies. The Director was welcoming and the nannies seem to work hard and care for the children here. The facility is clean and fresh and all and all a nice facility (as much as any orphanage can be "nice" and for as much as we could hope that what we saw was typical.)

The babies and toddlers were (no surprise) darling. We got to spend several hours with them in the morning. Some were happy and willing to come to us right off while others started to cry at the sight of us.

Who can blame them? What a sight we must be to them; a pack of baby snatching, white faced foreigners with cameras aimed straight at them.

Our first morning was exhausting.  Not sure if it was the jet lag or the emotional stress of finally getting to the orphanage but I was glad when at 11am the babies went to lunch and naps.... and so did we.

We returned to the orphanage at three o'clock this time to visit with a classroom of "older" kids. The children were age 4 through 8 and each had obvious disabilities. At first we thought there were boys and girls in the class but we were informed that despite the cropped hair and boyish looking clothing they were in fact all girls.

**I DIGRESS**
I'm getting them all hair bows before I leave this place! Shallow, silly, superfluous? 

You bet but EVERY GIRL should feel pretty. 

We decided to do a craft project with them that involved gluing cotton balls and glitter to a blue piece of paper...we were "making the sky".

I thought our project might not keep their attention but I was quickly corrected. We spread out a Disney princess table cloth and that alone drew "ooohs" and "aaaahs" from our young crowd, (one child clapping and shrieking in unbridled joy) .

Instantly I realized what I should have known all along: these were not my kids (accustomed to a
routine trip down the Target toy aisle) they were institutionalized kids and ANYTHING novel would be received with wide eyed amazement.

The simple joy of a pink table cloth... 

I already had a lump in my throat.

One little girl who was the most severely disabled sat motionless at the corner of the table. She was older apparently brought from another room. Her body contracted so that her head folded down to her
knees and it appeared she had cerebral palsy though I could not be sure as none of the nannies knew her medical need or sadly even her name.

While the other children moved towards the art materials this little girl stayed still her head bent to her knees. I knelt beside her and lifted her hand to the table. To my surprise she responded right away by sitting up and moving her hand. She WANTED to play just like the other girls she just needed help

And so...

we made the sky together.

As we were finishing she (my girl with no name) reached forward and dropped her hand onto mine.  Her movements were clumsy and spastic and yet she seemed to do it intentionally but I wasnt sure until... she squeezed my hand.

And then I knew.

She could not talk but she could communicate.

A heart full of love to share.


I was caught off guard when the tears surged through me and I had to get up and leave the room to compose myself.


The babies were very cute but I think I was meant to meet THIS child. One with a more severe but similar condition as our daughter who was waiting for us just to the south of this place. This sweet child beside me was an angel sent by God to cast away the nagging fears I had about parenting a child with CP.

And, I know that I can handle anything that lies ahead.

Even if Mia never talks or is significantly delayed I've learned that communication, LOVE, can be found in the simple squeeze of a hand and I now know that is good enough for me.

Such a blessing from a gentle girl I will forever call, "Sky".

Don't forget to click the banner...need to keep this blog high in the rankings if we want s lots of potential families to see our Chen Zhou kids.  (Pssst: Pics are coming soon!)

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6 Reasons NOT to Adopt a 6th child

1. your house is too small
2. you will never be able to retire and just relax
3. you’re too old
4. 6 kids is too many, they wont get the time and attention they need
5. it’s expensive and your kitchen needs to be remodeled
6. you can’t save them all

When we first announced we were going to adopt a child most reactions were pretty positive.   I think it was easy for people to understand the motive of a family with three boys wanting to add a daughter to the mix.

The reaction to a second adoption was less enthusiastic but at worst I would categorize it as neutral.  Perhaps people were able to rationalize my family by concluding our first daughter needed a playmate her age.  Who knows?  

But wow when we mention a possible third adoption, a 6th child,  the negativity is unleashed. 

Maybe it was there all the time.

Most are polite in their condemnation.  Their thinly veiled criticism coming in a form of a question masked by a tone of “concern”. It is not hard to hear their real message,  “You have too many kids and need to stop all this adoption nonsense!”.

*****

YOUR HOUSE IS TOO SMALL
This one usually comes to me as “where is the next one going to sleep?”  or “wow you already have such a full house”. 

Now we don’t live on the Never-land Ranch but our house is far from small.  At almost 5,000 square feet I actually think it’s on the larger side.  Certainly it’s way bigger than the house I grew up in. 

And while it’s true we “only” have five bedrooms, I find it slightly ridiculous that the thought of a kid sharing a bedroom with a sibling is pushing some sort of upscale suburban occupancy limit.

But from the comments I get from some people you might think the fire marshal is ready to shut us down. Of course since the fire marshal actually has to inspect and approve us to adopt, those of you concerned about the space in our house can rest easy.  We all fit.


YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO RETIRE AND RELAX
Who says I want to? Believe it or not, kids or no kids, I do not EVER plan to retire.  Work a little less, travel a little more sure maybe that. But retire to a 55 plus community where I play golf and trade gall bladder stories everyday? NEVER.

Besides I have to say I am truly enjoying my children. They are not a trial to be endured with a reward on their 18th birthday.  Sure child care involves work but it is work that pays incredible dividends-right now and later too.

One thing I think we have gotten right is we have balance today.  We do not feel like we give up too much to have our children.  We have time as a couple, travel with and without children, enjoy individual pursuits. We have all the good stuff right now...no need to wait until we are 65!

YOU’RE TOO OLD
Some days I agree with this but not usually.  When I look around I see plenty of younger moms with a whole lot less energy than me.  Plus I know the kind of mother I am today at almost 45 is way, way, waaaaaaaaaaay better than the mother I was at 25 or 35 for that matter.

And while I agree it would be better to be younger so my children can enjoy the most time possible with us (and perhaps to that point a younger mom would have been better), the hard truth is I didn’t exactly have to beat away a pack of 30 somethings to adopt a child.

So maybe they have point but maybe better old decrepit me than nobody?

6 KIDS IS TOO MANY, THEY WON’T GET TIME AND ATTENTION THEY NEED
Exactly what is the limit then? And if the logic is fewer children means more time and attention for each child and THAT equals better parenting than what?  Anyone who has more than ONE kid is less than best?

Any kid joining this family will get ample time attention and love from 2 parents AND 5 sibs!

IT’S EXPENSIVE AND YOUR KITCHEN NEEDS A REMODEL
Agreed. 

Lot’s of people we know have bigger and nicer homes.  Their kitchens gleam with granite and marble and commercial grade stainless steel appliances. 

My kitchen simply feeds a family of seven...who gather together at a large dinner table every night. Which really is what a kitchen is supposed to do. Yes it is in need of a makeover but a Sub Zero fridge instead on Nina or Viking range in trade for Macy.??? Ummm no thanks.

YOU CAN’T SAVE THEM ALL
First and foremost I adopt because I want to parent another child.

Secondly, any saving that goes on is both mutual and secondary. 

And lastly I agree I can’t “save them all” but which one of my daughters would you suggest I should have left behind?



Oh and for the record WE COULD save them all.

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A Girl Called Sara

Before she was Macy our daughter was called by several different names.

The orphanage director (we think) officially named her Fu Li Ping, ("Fu" being a made up surname to indicate her status as an orphan).

Later her Chinese foster mother called her Ping Mei.

Did her birth mother name her?  We may never know.


We do know that shortly after she was born she was lovingly called Sara.

We do not know everything about the day our daughter was born but we do know that within hours of her birth a young American girl whose family had worked tirelessly to minister to the needs of orphans in China was walking by the orphanage just as a police car drove away.


The girl knew immediately why a police car would be at the orphanage.

first photo/only hours old

A new baby.


So she went in and found the newborn girl just hours old, her hair still matted from birth.  The tiny baby was still dressed in the printed sleeper she was found in and she had a very wide cleft lip.

The girl took her to her family's home that day and Praise God the baby never spent even one night without the love of family.

And they named her Sara



Over the next few months the girl and her family provided Sara with love, food, medicine, prayer.

The family lobbied the Chinese officials to provide for her surgery as soon as possible. (They understood that the sooner a cleft affected child has surgery the better they do.) They were granted their request and they saw Sara through the surgeries to repair her lip and palate.

Sara was blessed.

Hannah with "Sara" just prior to surgery

There is no doubt that "Sara" was already a happy baby and that she loved Hannah.

Years later Sara has become our vivacious Macy Bel.

In fact it is already the only name she remembers.

But yesterday once again she was lovingly called Sara.


Because THE GIRL...

the one who will always hold a special place in our dear daughter's life,

the one who God led to the orphanage that day,

Came all the way from China to visit the girl she once called "Sara" .


And we were all blessed.

The seeds of Macy's sweet personalty were planted by this gentle woman.

Somehow Macy understood that Hannah was someone special to her.

Macy looks on as Hannah shares photos and video of her as a baby.

Both girls were drawn to Hannah who has a genuine gift with children.  Macy was very sad that her
"China friend" had to go home.

Please keep voting...

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Accord

My husband rocks!

Or he has rocks in his head?

No, definitely he rocks!


After much discussion, we have finally reached an accord on China II. We have agreed to wait, to think, to pray for clarity over the next six months. Why six months? No particular reason other than it seemed like a reasonable amount of time to make a thoughtful decision.

Last month when I learned we could reuse our dossier in the special focus program I got excited.

OK I went a little nuts.

However you want to diagnosis me the bottom line is I moved way faster than I probably should have and certainly faster than my husband was prepared for. I got caught up in a timeline that was not our own. That was a mistake. A big one.

So we (together this time) are taking a huge step back. I am going to cool my baby hunting jets for at least the next six months. BUT (there’s always a but) we have agreed that IF I still feel as strongly about adding another child to our family six months from now then we will move forward again. Of course we will have to complete a new dossier and we likely won’t go through the special focus program where the children’s needs appear to be beyond our comfort zone but these are concerns for a later time.

To be honest I find it hard to believe I will feel differently in six months but you never really know which way life will twist and turn. I will say that after working through this not so minor conflict in our marriage I have come away even more impressed and in love with my husband than ever. His capacity to love me is astounding.

Possibly superhuman.

So for now we are NOT talking about new additions…well at least not new kids. Instead we’re going to have some fun. We have this awesome spring break trip right around the corner. And a new motorcycle and few weekend trips to the Finger Lakes are on our list. I still have my half marathon to run (and train for –eesh) plus I have a trip to Kazakhstan planned and I think I might go to India next month for business. We continue to remodel the house.

Yup there are plenty of non adoption distractions to keep my attention and who knows perhaps even pull me in another direction.

But I don’t think so.

Not yet anyway.

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Advice On Reluctant Husbands

I have been struggling for weeks now with my desire to adopt a 6 year old from China and my Husband’s desire to …well…NOT adopt a 6 year old from China.  It’s a conflict as old as time no different in adoption than it is in pregnancy.  I see pink bows and butterfly kisses; he sees sleepless nights and doctor visits.  We are both right.

Truth be told, RH (reluctant husband) wasn’t so keen on having ANY of our kids, well at least not at first.  Excepting the two kiddos that surprised the both of us, each time we discussed having another child it was always ME bringing up the subject followed by him (with deer in headlights stare) saying “NO”.  Of course each time he changed from reluctant husband to relenting husband and our family grew into the mostly happy brood it is today.

**Insert Disclaimer**

Dear Old RH reacts this way to most new ideas.  He likes to take his time and get good and comfortable with an idea before moving forward.  However once the reality of a child sets in and  there is (for instance) a beautiful  little girl standing in front of him he is THE best, most affectionate, loving and committed father you can imagine.

*****

So here remains the Printy family bus stuck in neutral; one ready to give it the gas, the other clutching the emergency brake! 

And while we work it out, I am trying hard to remind myself that we are not opponents in some competition, the prize a darling daughter.  We simply have different needs (at least for now).  

I selfishly want to mother another child, a desire rooted in my female DNA.  

I won’t apologize for that.  

But RH has his own desires, equally selfish and equally valid.  He too should not apologize. (I need to remind myself of that more often.)

**Insert Random Thought**

One thing that is really different about adoption vs pregnancy is you really can't get paper pregnant by "accident".  A less than wonderful wife (like me honey, in case you are reading) could "forget" to take her pill one month:) but not so easy for the adoptive mom.  I'm just saying, I think he might notice the social worker and the fingerprint card?

*****

Ironically this subject was discussed just a few days ago on a China adoption blog I read called Ni Hao Y’all.  Here by the way is a woman with 10 children (including 6 SN kids adopted from China) who is still lobbying her husband for another child. She asked her readers "What do you do when your husband doesn't share your desire to adopt?" 

Well now, I thought that was a great question!  So I jumped into reading the numerous comments, eager to learn the secret to turning Hubbie's "R" status from Reluctant to Relenting!  More than 50 responses later what was the the conclusion?  

PRAY.  

Huh, what?  You mean there isn’t some sort of Venus butterfly move I can do in the bedroom to get him to say yes?  Maybe some fabulous meatloaf recipe?  A scheme perhaps involving alcohol, muscle relaxants and a notary on standby?

Pray??

Then I read another comment; “Every child should be desperately wanted by BOTH parents”.  

(gulp) 

and that was it for me. So... 

I’m praying.

 

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Where My Kids At!.....No Really Where My Kids AT?

I heard a comedian once joke that the minivan was a way to say to the rest of the world, (I'll clean this up)..."I never plan to get lucky again".


I love my mini van.  There I said it. And I mean it, my mini van rocks!

Now I know a lot of you wouldn't be caught dead in one and truthfully I too was once a MV hater but with five kids I've got to say nothing beats it for convenience, comfort and all around practicality. 

Of course I've been through my "I'm too cool to minivan" phase to be sure.  In the past 10 years I've driven a BMW 3 series convertible (with a spoiler thank you very much) and a BMW SUV (my nod to my complaining kids who were being blown away in the back of the convertible) and then back to a BMW M Roadster (vroom, vroom drive THAT to the PTA meeting).  

But when we started down the adoption path and faced the reality of transporting a family of seven with two kids still in car seats, I finally had to succumb to the "dreaded" minivan.  

(BTW I considered doing what a lot of my similarly situated friends did to avoid the ridicule of the MV: I almost bought an SUV.  But who are we kidding? You and I both know those are just people who need a MV but are "too cool" (read as too insecure) to buy one. Yeah, yeah, driving in the snow...whatever... be honest, the only off roading you do is when you drive over the curb trying to park at the mall. Guess some of us just have a little more self esteem. I digress.)

So just when I had completely resigned myself to the leagues of minivan driving supermoms and accepted my fate of being a chronically unhip soccer mom, Toyota goes and makes MV's ( and me) cool again.  (OK if you are sneering at my Sienna being cool you and your turbo engine can leave.)  

Yes my minivan is no longer a shameless concession to a life filled with cheerios and diaper bags.  It is (drum roll please) my SWAGGER WAGON, complete with it's own rap. Dig it.

I am PROUD to drive my Swagger Wagon to the kid's schools, to the hockey games and ballet lessons, to the grocery store and to work AND to the hottest night clubs in town (once I figure out where they are). 

I do not need a sports car to be cool. 

My Swagger Wagon makes a statement...it tells the world I have kids-LOTS of KIDS (see the stick figure family on the back windshield-yeah they're ALL MINE). 

It lets everyone (behind me) know I love Kazakhstan and China and Cyclone's Hockey and Brown University and the University of Akron too.

Try to get your Porshe to do all that!

I'm glad Toyota is getting the message out that Swagger Wagons are cool.  In fact I was so inspired that today I ordered this final bit of flair for my own sweet ride...

And just for the record SWAGGER, SWGR WGN, SWAGWAG, and a bunch more were already taken so I am clearly not the only minivaner proud to be Swaggin my Wagon!

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Resolutions...

My 2011 New Year Resolutions

1.

<insert cricket chirp>

Fit into size 4 jeans again

Limit time on Facebook, blackberry, Blogger

World peace

<more crickets chirping>

Well after 20 minutes that’s how far I got. Nothing, nada, zero.  I guess I could say I will lose weight, that’s a popular one.  But how would that be different from just about every Monday morning when I step on the scale?  I thought about a vow to run a half marathon (which really I’m going to do) but I think that was last year’s resolution so no good for 2011. Bad enough to break your resolution but the same on two years in a row, well that’s just pathetic (but really I’m going to run it this year).  Maybe I need to think beyond myself, past my waistline and limited lung capacity…nahw that’s crazy talk.  That’s what New Year Resolutions are, a chance to take stock in yourself and set goals for how you want to live the next year. 

Ok so let’s try this again; here is how I want to live in 2011…

1.       I want to sleep more (how’s that for ambitious?).  I know it looks like nirvana over here but I’ve got a secret, I’m EXHAUSTED.  Now to get the sleep I crave I first need to get the girls (you know who you are) OUT OF MY BED!!!!!  No more sneaking in at 2am and laying perpendicular between me and daddy: kicking and squirming until the floor seems more appealing to me.  I spent a small fortune decorating a perfect little bedroom for you, complete with your own beds to sleep in.  STAY THERE!

2.       I’m going on a family vacation this year….without the family.  I miss my girlfriend getaways.  I need them back.  Yes I know I’m 44 and acting like a drunken co-ed on Spring break isn’t exactly becoming but guess what IT”S FUN.  I hereby request a little more fun in 2011.  Where my girls at?  Are you ready to party??  Let’s get going! (of course you remember that I prefer the Four Seasons  and I can’t really drink more than two glass of wine and I need to be in bed by 11 right?) OK, PAAAAAR—TY!!!!

3.       Screw work and family balance (that’s so 90’s anyway), I need MORE.  No not the ever elusive “me” time, I need more than even that. I need a passion.  I need to find one or one needs to find me! Now accepting applications for the position of Lori’s passion.  Maybe it will be charity work, that would be noble or it might be stamp collecting (ok probably not stamp collecting), the point is I need something of my own that feeds my soul and allows me to express the creative energy and talents I have (well I think I have them).  This will be the hard one since I tend to be a little ADD, jumping from one shiny idea to the next. A true passion, I'm guessing,  should hold my attention for more than a week.   I see myself as an artist with no particular talent mind you but an artist none the less. There must be something, someway to express myself (beyond coordinating outfits for Nina and Macy). Let’s call this my stretch goal for 2011. 

So there you have it my ideal 2011…sleep, party, and discover my passion: probably not much different than my teenagers ideal 2011. Not saying much I suppose about my own personal growth over the past two decades but hey it’s honest.

Happy New Year everyone… here’s wishing you your own version of an ideal life in 2011.

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Ping Dong Square...Lost and Found

The day after we met Macy we traveled with her to her birthplace, Xingyi City.  One of the highlights of that trip was our visit to Ping Dong Square which was Macy’s finding place.  This is the place where Macy’s birth mother left her just hours after her birth almost four years ago.  Since this is a public place and it was a warm summer day we can assume her birth mother intended her to be found and in fact a Xingyi police officer did just that. The finding place is a very important place for Chinese adoptees.

Mr Wu the Orphanage Director and our guide Michael took us there.  While they explained to me that the square is a place for public events and where people come to do ti-chi in the mornings, Macy ran gleefully around the square.  Such a moment to see my beautiful, happy daughter running around the place where HER adoption journey began.

Later that day I realized we lost the pretty pink flowered headband Macy was wearing.  I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where it was or how we could have lost it UNTIL I looked at our photos from Ping Dong Square.  I gasped when I realized what I was looking at. There it was a splash of pink against the colorless stone tiles... left in the same place she herself was once left... Macy’s own poetic farewell to Ping Dong Square and to life as an orphan.

Something small and beautiful lost to a place where once someone small and beautiful was found.

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The 24 Hour Woman

This is a bit of a tangent but I've had this conversation with a few friends and I am interested in your take. I believe this has been a unique time for women of our (my) generation. I truly believe we, the 40-something’s have blazed new trails and in many ways redefined motherhood. Unfortunately in doing so we created a culture of guilt that has been hard to escape.


If you were born before 1970 or so most of your mothers we're SAHM, cripes that wasn't even a term-it was redundant. In their generation moms stayed at home-that was the job description. It was a time when woman quit jobs when they got married, certainly by the time they were pregnant. A working mother was a near scandal in middle class America. In the sixties only about 12% of mothers worked outside the home. Most of these jobs were lower end factory or clerical jobs, very few women had high power/decision making positions.

By the time my generation entered the workforce in the 1980s the number of working mothers had increased to 57% and in the 90's hit a high of 59%. With the new regulations that called for equal pay, equal rights and greater access to education, many more of those women had important jobs paying substantial wages. By the 90's I think the SAHM vs WOHM battle was fully on with each group feeling the need to justify their choice to work or stay home.

In my opinion the tension between the two groups was caused by the new phenomena of the middle class woman working outside the home and the politics of that not yet being worked out. After all who did we have to show us the way? The truth is we all drank the Kool-Aid back then when we bought into the fiction that we could have it all. Do any of you remember the commercial with the sexy woman singing about being a  24 Hour Woman " I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan and never never let him forget he's a man" How exhausting is that?  That's really what we aspired to? (I mean I get it if you are a guy but women wanted this?) And yet, THAT was my role model. Talk about setting yourself up for a monumental failure. No working mother OR stay at home mother could live up to this. I think quite naturally our feelings of inadequacy caused us to turn on each other. In a frustrated, emotionally charged "logic" we (women) decide; if we couldn't do it all, we’re gonna damn well prove we're doing what’s best! Let the battle (and the anitdepressants) begin.

Beginning in the late 90's,  the numbers of working moms has actually decreased and there was a small movement of professional woman "opting out" to be SAHM's and yet another perspective was gained for mothers. Today about 55% of mothers work outside the home with many of us serving time in both camps at point or another. The debate is nearing an end (at least I think/hope it is). We battle weary 40-something’s having had enough war wounds to know there will never be a clear winner, are starting to gain a sense of acceptance. Most women no longer believe they can have it all. Compromise and trade off and BALANCE are the new reality.

AND YET (and this is the part I don't get), the old feelings of guilt hang on. I mean I am the CEO of a $50M company, my husband is the SAHD/homemaker so why do I stress if we have company and the house isn't Home & Garden's perfect or the meal isn't made from scratch with ingredietns from my organic garden...more accurately why do I feel judged by that rather than by my other accomplishments?

I think we are blazing the trail still. The two camps have for the most part come to a truce with one another but there is a final epic battle yet to be waged with our own egos. Somehow we need to free ourselves from our first models of motherhood (set by the baby boomers) and allow ourselves to enjoy our own chosen path, free from guilt or justification or competition with other women.

OK 40-something’s what’s your take? Do you still feel pressure to explain your choice to stay home, go to work, put your kid in preschool or day care, clean the house, call for take out, etc? Does your husband feel the same pressures?

How about the 30-something’s...is it any better for the Y generation?

PS: I'm really interested to know if your husbands feel any similar pressure to do it all? Based on conversations with my male friends I believe this is largely a girl on girl hate crime and that men are immune. Maybe they are judged on their pay check or golf swing or how big their girlfriend's boobs are, but SAHD vs WOHD, I don think so.

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Choice

As I have shared we are pursuing a special needs adoption in China. On Thursday night we received the file of a beautiful little girl to review. Without getting into specifics this child’s particular condition was more than we felt we could handle and we did not accept the referral.


We declined the referral approximately 36 hours after first seeing this beautiful little girl’s picture. Not a particularly long time but enough time to imagine myself with a baby girl on each hip, mentally rearrange furniture in the “girl’s” bedroom, check to see if the double stroller was still in storage and review my calendar for estimated travel dates. Really 36 hours is enough to change an entire future-it almost was.

It occurred to me this morning as I lay in bed retracing the events of the past two days that losing a referral is heart wrenching but refusing one dredges up emotions that are far more complicated. Beyond sadness, disappointment and loss I feel guilt, shame and more than anything a sense of disloyalty as an adoptive mother.

When I adopted Nina I was pleasantly surprised how the emotions of the adoption process mirror the feelings in pregnancy. While I knew I could love a child who did not share my DNA, I hadn’t realized I could love her exactly like I love my bio kids. I know we all said we could/would but I didn’t KNOW until she was mine. At times I physically ache for her. I love her so much, she is so intrinsically part of me, there are times I simply can not reconcile that fact that she was born to another woman. She is mine and  like any good mother I would walk thru fire, lift automobiles, donate a kidney and generally go to the ends of the earth to keep her safe and healthy- exactly the same that I would do for my bio kids. But then we were faced with accepting or rejecting a special needs child and it was clear that this is where bio and adoption parenting differ; adoptive parents get to choose.

There is no doubt in my mind that if I were pregnant and gave birth to a child with the same medical condition as the child we just declined or if God forbid, Nina or the boys developed a similarly serious condition I would do everything possible to make them well and give them everything they needed for as long as they needed it. There would be no choice, none. As a mother that’s just what you do. But in adoption I don’t have to do this, I could choose to take a pass, “thanks but no thanks, I’ll just wait for a better one”. The more I think about it the more it sickens me. A mother accepts and loves and fights for her children. What happened to walking thru fire? If adopting a baby is the emotional equivalent to birthing a baby (which I do believe), than a lost referral (I am guessing) would feel much like a miscarriage. What then is a rejected referral, an abortion?

Now I am not unaware of the morbid and dramatic tone of this post and I am not even going to pretend that I’m not still mourning this child but I just can’t shake the question: How can I claim adoptive love to be the same as bio love when I am permitted the unnatural luxury of choice?

I know I am going to be OK. This too shall pass and all. Logically I am certain that we made a choice that was in the best interest of our family. I recognized my own limits and our family's needs and I believe I made a good decision based on practical, unemotional facts. I don’t think anyone would fault me on that but, I can’t avoid the reality that I did get to choose and I am far less certain of the ethical, moral and emotional consequences of this. Well perhaps that’s not entirely true; I do know the emotional consequences.

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Proof Positive That New Adoptive Moms are Hormonal Too...

It is hard to believe that it has been one month since our “Gotcha” day. It seems like yesterday and years ago, all at the same time. It is an odd thing to want something (or in this case someone) and then to finally get it. There is a space inside you that was filled by the wanting that suddenly is gone and in a strange way missed. I’m not saying this is a bad thing just that it is an abrupt change. You have to figure out how to stop living in the future and start living in the now. So much of my emotional energy went towards getting our daughter and it went on for so long I think I got used to it. Longing became my constant companion. I am not saying I am sad or anything like that, and certainly I would not want to go back to a time without Nina. It is just an observation. I have moved from one stage to another, adopting to adopted.

Of course, if I’m feeling like I have a lot of changes to deal with can you imagine what Nina must be going thru? We keep talking about the little girl we met that first night in the Baby House. Who was she, certainly not the same child we know today? The baby we met was terrified. The trauma she endured over her short 21 months hurt her so deeply we wondered if we could ever get thru. I remember saying she was my little broken bird. For 20 days, Nina cried at the sight of us. Cried and walked, head down, eyes averted, ever compliantly to us. She was vacant, emotionally withdrawn and she did what she was told. She was scared, so very scared. And for 20 days, we wondered if we could mend our little bird. We worried if in 90 minutes a day we could reach the heart of the beautiful baby we were already completely in love with. Only the last couple of days during that first trip did we have even a glimmer of hope. We clung to it, imagined an entire lifetime of love around it.

A month after Gotcha day, we are just amazed at the change we have seen in Nina. The girl who never spoke in the orphanage and was labeled as “speech delayed” already has 25 English words including two word sentences. She knows the sounds that the; cow, pig, bird, owl, dog, cat and horse make. Over the past couple of days, she is even counting to five. I would describe Nina as happy, giggly even. She loves her Mommy and Daddy, her brothers and her puppy. I don’t even recognize her as the same child we first met, and I can’t help but think if there is this much progress in a month surely she can accomplish anything.

It scares me to imagine her being in the orphanage, unadopted, lost in the “groupa”. I didn’t request a toddler, I wanted a baby like so many others. I should not have even met Nina. My agency called me on the “off chance” that I might consider an “older child”. I said yes. Thank God, thank God! I am told that many of the children in Nina’s group, the “older children” are never adopted: too old, undesirable, risky. Nina is proof these children are so much more resilient than we can imagine.

I know I am rambling. I guess sometimes it is hard to believe how all these twists, turns, and giant leaps of faith worked out so perfectly. I think about our journey. I imagine all the things that could have gone wrong but didn’t. I look at this beautiful child. I know God is good. That place that was once filled by waiting is now overflowing with love and I wouldn’t change a thing.

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Dasvidania

This is my last post from Kazakhstan. I can’t say I am sad to leave. I miss home. I miss my family and friends. I miss English, driving my own car, and diet Pepsi. I am sick of smog, restaurants, and hotels. I will not put Kazakhstan on my list of places to which I must return. Nevertheless, I will always be grateful to this country and the people we have met along the way. After all, I am leaving Kazakhstan with the most wonderful little souvenir ever!

Best Souvenir Ever

Today marked the final step in the international portion of our adoption journey. We went to the US Embassy here in Almaty and obtained the final paperwork and approvals to bring Nina home. The appointment itself was once again lacking in any pomp and circumstance. No fireworks, champagne corks or releasing of doves but we did get Nina’s Kazakhstan passport complete with US Immigrant Visa and a sealed brown envelope which we have been told to deliver to US Immigration unopened. That’s it we are done.

Our little Immigrant

Tomorrow morning Nickoli will pick us up at our hotel at 5:30 in the morning for our 8:20am flight. We are again going through Amsterdam and then Detroit before arriving in Cleveland at 8:35pm on January 7th. We don’t have very long layovers at any one place which is both good and bad. The whole trip is only about 24 hours (I know “only”) but if we have any delays well that will not be good. (Think good thoughts!) The 7th is also Kiefer’s 18th birthday and with all the travel it looks like his 18th will last 36 hours-that’s pretty cool. It’s funny even the prospect of 24 hours of plane travel with a very active 2 year old sounds appealing when home is the destination.

I love my Daddy

I keep thinking, “what a long strange trip it has been”. To be certain adoption is not for the faint of heart (nor is adopting a 2 year old who has spent most of her short life in institutional care). So many times in this process, I was despondent, certain “she” would never come. Sometimes I muscled thru my sadness on pure stubbornness, determined not to let the “process” beat me. Mostly though I just couldn’t bear the thought of not having a daughter and therefore endured whatever pain, lack of control and disappointment that came my way. This has been the single most exhausting test of my patience and emotional fortitude. I am much stronger than I knew. Kazakhstan Car Seat

Now nearly on the other side I am like all new mothers, suffering from blissful postpartum amnesia. I catch myself saying all those things that used to sound so cliche, like; “she was worth the wait”, and “she is the child for me”, and “I would do it all over again” and of course, it is all true. I once was certain my daughter was in China, and perhaps a second daughter is there for me, but today I know the delays in the China program and the seeming host of setbacks were part of the incredible set of circumstances that led me to this daughter, one I was destined to mother…My Nina Bea.

This will look great in my room

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It's my turn (and it's a long one)

While we are in this excruciating holding pattern, I thought it would be a good time for my first post. I haven’t jumped in before mainly because I didn't want to taint the amazing work Lori has done with this site. But the time has come for me to pontificate as only my father’s son can do.
I feel I can answer the question I have heard (and asked myself) about adopting -“Can you love an adopted child as much as you do your biological children?” Absolutely, you can, and I do. Love is not a byproduct of pregnancy, labor pains, or Lamaze classes. Nor is love restricted to those you share a DNA profile with. In fact I have been surprised by how exactly the same it feels. Nina will soon have me wrapped around her little finger just as tightly as if she popped out of Lori in a delivery room. I just got to avoid cutting the umbilical cord (very over rated) and a whole lot of messy diapers.


When I am asked what Nina is like, the only thing I can say is that she is the daughter that you pray you will get when you start this whole process. She is not the child that you expect or fear you might find in an orphanage halfway around the world. Rather she is the child that I was afraid to dream of . I think what I have enjoyed the most while getting to know my new daughter was seeing how similar Nina is to Lori. She is intelligent, willful, stubborn, vulnerable, and by the end of our stay, happy.



For me, the upside to Nina being afraid of me at the beginning (and middle, and maybe the end) of our stay was that I got to watch Lori at work. And work she did. She hugged, carried, caressed, sang, talked, bounced, swung, kissed, played, and raspberried the sad right out of Nina. In less than 36 hours spread over 3 ½ weeks she was able to turn a terrified little orphan into OUR happy, playful little girl. She was amazing. Nina went from burying her face into Lori’s neck to avoid us, to jumping into Lori’s lap for tickles. Lori knew exactly what Nina needed, not just what she wanted. I know the nannies were worried that Nina’s crying would scare us off, but that was never going to happen. They obviously didn’t know Lori or they would have let her take charge of the entire place. While we were going through the bonding period the day-to-day changes in Nina were not always noticeable. But when I look back at the pictures, Nina looks like a completely different child. I am in awe of what Lori was able to do with her. I shouldn’t be surprised though. She is the center of our boys’ lives. They worship their mother. And they should. Her impact on their lives is immeasurable. Nothing scares me more than the thought of losing her and having to raise the kids by myself. The potential for disaster is enormous. They would emotional stunted, socially inept, and badly dressed. I don’t think Nina would ever be invited to a prom (that might work actually).


I have joked that the only orphans luckier than Nina were the kids adopted by Angelina Jolie and Madonna. But really I think Little Orphan Nina is the luckiest. While Angelina and Madonna may have more money and fame, they are not as beautiful nor could they possibly be as great a mother as my Lori. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow. The sun will come out tomorrow.” Our tomorrow is December 23rd. I can hardly wait.

Dart

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From Kaz with Love



In Our Arms...November 3, 2008

Forgive the long post, so much has happened, we are forever changed.


This is my “birth story” for Nina….


We are here and well. All tolled it took 36 hours to get here and we ‘lost” another half day with the time change, but we are here.

We arrived in Almaty just after midnight and passed through customs fairly easily. The airport in Almaty is relatively small but not overly friendly to this ignorant non Russian speaking American. No problem just stay calm, smile and nod and we figure it out. Once we retrieved our bags we went out to the airport arrivals area and were immediately surrounded by about 50 or so people asking if we wanted a taxi. We did not since our driver Nicolai was there holding a sign that read“PRINTY”. Yup that’s us. Full of naive trust, blind faith and a whole lot of jet lag, we got into his van. He then drove us in the dark of night to a small hotel about 20 minutes away. Described as “simple with uncomfortable beds but affordable” it did the trick. Think the Almaty Hampton Inn complete with breakfast buffet in the morning and you get the idea.

We returned to the Almaty airport at 10:30am for our flight to Ust-Kamenogorsk. Once again we had a little confusion as we navigated the baggage check in process and figured out how to pay the extra charges for our overweight baggage –in Tenge (which we had none). Just another situation where even the tiniest little bit of Russian would have spared me from feeling like a complete idiot. Oh well viva la ugly American. Idiot or not we did make it.

Dart said the Ust-Kameogorsk airport was something straight out of a cold war spy novel, I had to agree. No jet way here: we walked down the stairs, across the tarmac to a fenced in area outside (mind you it was about 30 degrees) and waited for our luggage to be dropped off via dump truck, thank you very much. We were delighted though that in the outdoor baggage claim was our coordinator, Alma along with a driver Arman. As we collected our bags (which all made it unscathed) Alma said we could go to the baby house immediately. My heart started racing with excitement and I had that weird feeling of anticipation in my stomach.  

We are meeting her today.


The driver takes us first to the hotel where we literally dump the bags in our hotel room and go right back to the car and to the baby house. We get there but no Alma. We wait in the car, literally I am staring at the blue and white building that houses (to me it now feels like imprisons) my daughter. LET”S GO!!! Then a call from Alma. There is a problem. The “inspectors” are at the baby house. We must wait. The driver is instructed to take us to Pizza Blues a restaurant around the corner and wait. We do wait, eating and making small talk and pretending to be calm. Then nearly 2 hours later Alma calls. "Come now, hurry" is her command. We practically run.

In less than 5 minutes we are back to the baby house following Alma who is moving so quickly I am afraid I might lose her in the baby house halls. The whole place smells like cabbage, I think it is dinner time. It is dark and all the lights are not working. We come to the director’s office and are told to sit, they will bring her. A few minutes go by and Alma is now saying something to the orphanage director and social worker. It sounds angry to me but the truth is pretty much all Russian sounds a bit angry. I am sure there is a problem. Dart takes my hand and tells me to calm down, its OK, she’s here he reassures and a moment later she is .

No pomp and circumstance, not at all like I imagined it a thousand times over the past year. Instead a nanny just brought her in and matter-of-factly sat her down on a chair.

So now the good part... Nina, Ni-nee-shka as she is called here, dressed for show in a yellow dress and tights sat on that huge chair as still as can be. She was clearly scared but did not dare (it seemed) to cry or whimper she just pouted her little lip and darted her eyes around the room. There were 4 people from the orphanage along with Alma in the room with us. One of them tells Dart to sit down- away from Nina-she hasn’t seen a lot of men - she is afraid of them. Then the same person tells me (translated by Alma) to pick her up.

My God she is small: about 15 pounds, I 'm guessing the size of the boys at 12 months. But oh she is beautiful-the pictures don’t do her justice-really. At this point I am quietly crying and cradling this amazing child. I feel conspicuous that I am being watched but still the tears roll down my face. I rock with her, call her name softly, cry. It is all surreal.

We are told Nina’s birthday is  “twenty five December”. “You mean she was born on Christmas day?” we asked. One of them goes out to get a calendar, “Dah twenty five December...Christmas.”

After ten minutes or so, we must have gotten the thumbs up from the social worker because we are told we can take her upstairs to “bond”. We then spend the next 30 minute rocking, holding and kissing her. Nina is still very unsure but hugs me around the neck and when Dart tries to hold her she lunges into my chest. She seem to love cuddling together. I know I do. And then much too quickly we are told in a breath; "time to go, come back tomorrow and bring pampers".

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