Halloween - Joyful, Cheesy and Bittersweet

Halloween is my Hubs' favorite holiday.  We met in August and started dating in March so we were an established couple by the time our first Halloween rolled around.  By the time I discovered he was “one of those Halloween people” I already liked him enough to want to keep him around.  Costumes and pumpkins were not my cup of withes brew but Hubs was a keeper.  When he started making noises about pumpkin carving and matching costumes in mid-August, it became clear Halloween definitely was his thing.  I hadn’t touched pumpkin pulp since Sissy was in elementary school.  I was perfectly happy to keep pumpkin guts from touching my hands,ever.  When my new boyfriend seemed excited about carving pumpkins my reaction was lukewarm…but in the spirit of “new relationship” I went with it.  If I were a hash taggin’ kind of gal it would look something like this:

#stilltryingtoimpresshimsopumpkinsareawesome

Six years and two kids later, we are “Halloweenies”.  I’ve come to accept it, even embrace it. I can roll our 2013 Halloween experience up in to three words:  Joyful, cheesy and bittersweet.  

The Joyful

Sharing Halloween with two little boys is magic. Costumes, candy, monsters...what is not to like?  Remember this little guy?

Doodlebug's first Halloween - he was cooperative with the whole costume thing accepted the candy, but he had his guard up. He had fun, though.  Hello?  There was sugary goodness involved and he was smart enough to hold out that bucket (albeit warily) and get in on the action. 

Fast forward one year.

 

Holy pumpkin patch, Batman!  There’s two of them now!  Where did that other kid come from?  Seeing Halloween through their eyes is amazing.  I got the costumes last minute.  I grabbed what I thought would fit from the "what was left" rack.  The Superman costume was too small for Zack.  Good thing he had a cape because it gaped open at the back.  I tried to convince them to switch, but they weren't having it. "I Yoda" said Kyle firmly.  Never mind that he has never seen Star Wars.

Trick or treat was a pushing, shoving candy free for all.  It was pretty cool.  Doodlebug did great and said both "trick or treat and thank you" nine times out of ten.  Peanut was a little star struck.  It was hard for him to watch where he was going when there was so much going on around him.  All of the lights and decorations and crazy costumes enthralled him.  I try to imagine what it is like to see Halloween through his eyes.  It probably seems very strange to him.   

Doodlebug understood the need to keep the candy in his trick or treat bag and keep movin' on but not Peanut.  Every time someone would put a treat in his bag, he'd fish it out and look at me with this pleading look "eat?". 
 
The costumes looked great.  Peanut was the only Yoda we saw.  Everywhere we went, it was "oh, look, it's Yoda".  except for one lady who called him a bunny...she might have been drinking, though.  Trick or treat was a success.  We came home and ate a ton of candy.  We skipped baths and I put my hyped up on sugar kids to bed, threatening to throw the candy away if they didn't go to sleep.  I am expecting the mother of the year award.  If I can't make a formal acceptance, I'm figuring they'll just mail it to me.

The Cheesy

I threw the (hopefully) sexy witch together at the last minute.  We put this picture up on Facebook and someone commented that Hubs looked like "Burger King".  Doesn't he? 

Halloween is inherently cheesy, but we have fun with it.  We had some cheesy-in-a-good-way family fun the Sunday before Halloween.  The weather was yucky so we took the cars out of the garage and set up pumpkin carving shop.  Carving pumpkins with Hubs is quite an experience.  He tends to scoff at the generic triangle eyes and snaggle toothed jack-o-lanterns.  Those are for amateurs.  Around here, we get our pumpkin patterns off the internet and do it up fancy.  It takes some patience, which I do not have. Hubs finished my pumpkin (the one in the middle).   

The boys rode their tricycle and played with the small pumpkins fought over their tricycle and vigilantly maintained pumpkin equity while Lee, Laura and I carved.   We had a gourmet lunch (PB&J and hot chocolate).  Later that evening, Sissy and I made popcorn balls to put in to the boys’ treat bags they took to nursery school to share with their friends.  

I have never made popcorn balls before.  We used the recipe on the Jolly Time bag and it was pretty easy.  Messy, but easy.  Sissy helped me whip up two batches and we had a good time making them together.   

Cheesy costumes and fun family moments involving pumpkin art, comfort food and the smell of popcorn.  Who doesn’t like that?

And finally, the bittersweet

Hubs and I went to a Halloween party the Saturday before Halloween.  This is an annual party hosted by a friend of ours. Anytime we can get out and just be us – no wiping noses or butts, or chopping food in to really small pieces it’s all good. I love my boys but grownup time is good.  This is our friend Bonnie’s annual Halloween to-do, and although we missed last year’s event, I remember Bonnie’s 2011 Halloween party with a great deal of clarity. 

The 29^th of October in 2011 was a Saturday.  We were about three quarters of the way through with the “great paper chase” that was the beginning phase of Zack’s adoption.  We had most of our vital records and background documents gathered, stamped, sealed and notarized and were pretty much ready to get our home study knocked out and get our dossier sent to China.  The dossier is a collection of documents that introduces a family to the adoption authorities in China.  This is the information China uses to grant formal permission to adopt children from their country. 

That Saturday morning, I received an email from Kathy at our adoption agency.  It contained the file of a little girl, just twenty months old.  Were we interested in adopting her?  The file contained basic medical information and a photo.  This baby had a repaired heart defect and was reportedly in good health.  The one picture showed a sad little girl standing in a metal crib.  What grabbed my heart about this picture is that I could literally count over thirty other cribs in the picture.  She had a beautiful face – one of her eyelids was just a little bit droopy, but she was such a sad and pretty little girl.  She needed a family.  Were we going to be that family?  Mild heart problems were a “special need” that we said we’d be open to, so after talking it over that day, we decided to submit a “Letter of Intent”.  This would essentially “lock” that file so no other family could move forward with her.  We’d have to be granted “pre-approval” from China to proceed with the adoption but as we left for the party that night, I was super excited about this little girl.  We enjoyed the party that night but I could not get that little girl off my mind.  I’ll admit it.  I was daydreaming about hair bows and smocked dresses.  

We got an email that Monday morning.  Kathy was very apologetic, but in a nutshell, she had sent us the little girl’s file in error.  We were not qualified to adopt that child.  For those unfamiliar with China adoption, I will spare you the explanation of “Log in Date Only”, special needs versus special focus and the waiver process. The bottom line is we’d been shown a file for a child that China had pre-determined that our family wasn’t qualified to adopt. 

I was crushed.  I literally felt my stomach drop as I read that email.  However, Kathy told me not to give up.  Our agency’s China facilitator wanted to push the paperwork through and see if China would say yes.  Make an exception.  We were warned not to get our hopes up, but our agency didn’t want to pull our application back without trying. 

And, China said no.  It took them a whopping 2 days to give our agency the answer “rules were rules”.  In looking back, I think it was quite merciful of them to come back with their “no” so quickly because I was having a particularly difficult time waiting it out.  At the time, I was upset because I didn’t feel we’d been given a fair look.  But rules are rules and if I’ve learned anything in the past three years it is that China is a stickler for adoption rules.  Black and white and very little in between. 

China said no…and I grieved.  I grieved for that little girl who wasn’t meant to be my daughter.  Although we hadn’t really discussed names too much, in my mind this little girl was Rachael.  I cried many, many big ugly tears, most of them alone where no one saw.  Our agency and my husband knew I was upset but I don’t think anyone knew just how upset.  I don’t think anyone understood what a loss it was for me. 

I am sure this little girl’s family has found her by now.  She is about the same age as my boys – she’d be right in between them, if my memory serves me correctly.  There are many families in line to adopt young baby girls with minor heart problems, especially if they’ve been corrected.  I can’t imagine that she would have been hard to place.  I can’t imagine there was a shortage of families who’d raise their hands and say “Yes”.

I hung on to her picture for the longest time and finally deleted it only a few months ago, while we were in the process of waiting for Kyle to come home.  I came across the email trail from Kathy when I was attempting to organize some of my adoption correspondence (like that actually happened) and took a big, deep breath and hit the delete button.  I never opened her picture between the time China said no and the time that I deleted it.  But, I knew it was there. 

This little girl that I called Rachael was not meant to be my daughter. I hope she has parents who tuck her in to bed at night and comfort her when she is afraid.  I hope the room with the many cribs isn’t even a memory for her now.  I thought of her a lot this weekend while I was at the Halloween party.  I hadn’t been in that house in two years and I remembered so vividly being there and sneaking off to find a spot where I’d get cell phone reception to see if there was an update from our agency.   

Remembering her and remembering how excited I felt at the prospect of being her mom was bittersweet. But, I don’t have regret.  Things are as they are supposed to be and all is right with the world.  There is an old Chinese proverb about an invisible red thread connecting those who are destined to meet and my read thread and hers probably aren’t connected.  Hitting the delete button and sending her picture in to cyberspace made the severance of that connection pretty final, although you never know how and when people are going to touch your life. 

Letting go of that child in October 2011 was painful.  It is only now that I can even admit that to myself.  But time marches on.  In early November, I opened my email and saw that Kathy had sent us another child’s file.  I opened up the picture and laughed out loud.  Usually pictures of babies elicit the “awwwww” response but when I saw this e chubby cherub in pastel green ruffles I literally laughed.  It was hard to look at that child’s picture and not feel happy.  She had the most adorable little cheeks that I just wanted to SMUSH! 

Reading through the file, I learned that she was a he (pastels and ruffles are not exclusively for baby girls in China) and after some reading and discussion, we decided to submit a Letter of Intent.  And this time, China said yes.  This little guy’s red thread was most definitely destined to cross with my red thread.  Of course, this was Zack.  And although that little girl crosses my mind from time to time, I have no regrets.  There is no “what if” or “if only” going on. 

My heart is full. 

So there you have it.  Halloween is a decidedly unemotional holiday.  Pumpkins, sugary treats and spooky stuff are not typically triggers for deep feelings but as I look back at my 2013 Halloween experience, the three words that best describe it are joyful, cheesy and bittersweet.  And, I’ve even learned to embrace the smell of pumpkin guts.  It doesn’t get much better than this. 

're thd my read thread and thisestined to meet and my read thread and thisre is an old Chinese proverb about an invisible red t

 

On Sensitivity

"She is soooo sensitive about adoption”. 
 

“She is really sensitive about China and Asians.”

I wonder how many times these words have been said over the past 3 years.  I am not in the habit of keeping track of what other people say about me, but I am willing to bet that my “adoption sensitivity” has been commented on a time or two by people I know. 

We’ve all heard the stereotypical funny about the Chinese restaurant serving up "cat foo yung".  We may have snickered about “flied lice” being on the menu and attempted some sort of Chinese accent.  A few years ago, I might have thought those things were mildly amusing.  I don’t now.  My perspective is different.  Does that make me sensitive? 

I don’t think I’m particularly sensitive about our adoptions, adoption in general, Asians or China.  I have a different sense of what is and is not okay to say than I did a few years ago. 

I “un-friended” someone on Facebook a few months ago because she posted something that made reference to Chinese children coming from a “vachina”.  I decided I didn’t want to see stuff like that on my wall, so I “un-friended” her.  I chanted “I un-friend thee” three times, clapped my hands and so it was done.  Kidding…it’s a simple click of a button.  This person got a little aggressive and complained that I should have let her know that the post offended me.  It wasn’t a positive exchange and it ended with her calling me the “S Word”.  "You’re just so sensitive". 

People, there is a difference between sensitivity and calling BS.  I am not the sensitivity police, nor is it my obligation to “gently explain and educate” each time someone says something dumb.  Or posts it.  Or tweets it.  You get the picture.  Anyone who gets a chuckle over a reference to one of my kids coming from a “vachina” isn’t someone I want to interact with on any level, and I can make that choice.  I shouldn’t have to explain why that is offensive.  If slapping a big "S" on my chest somehow mitigates the level of offensiveness of things like that…rock on.  But I don’t buy it. 

I don’t find it even slightly amusing when someone suggests my kids might find a household pet tasty if served up in a stew.  I don’t find it cute when someone calls them “Wang Chung, Ching Chang, or Jackie Chan”.  I don’t react particularly well to the question “how much did they cost”.  Or “OMG that is the cutest thing ever, I want one”.  Or “I wish I would have known you were going to China, you could have picked up an extra one for me.”  I am not sensitive because I take offense to things like this or call you out for saying them.   

The comments above are tacky (and yes, I have heard them all firsthand).  Whether or not they’re mean spirited is not the point.  They’re offensive and I’m within my right to be hurt or angry when they are said.  I’m under no obligation to stop what I’m doing and explain the obvious to someone because they’re thoughtless or ignorant. 

I’m sure I’d probably get some stink eye if I asked other people about their credit score or if they dye their hair.  If I asked someone I’d just met “say, I hear you just got a face lift!  How much did that set you back?  Just curious”; I’d probably be perceived as very rude.  My retort of “aw…you’re just sensitive” probably wouldn’t fly. 

My kids aren’t things.  To compare them to cartons of milk we can grab of the shelf at a store is wrong.  Tacky.  I take offense to the comparison.  That doesn’t make me sensitive. 

Yes, my skin is a lot thicker than it was a year ago.  I can often blow off “well meaning” comments and questions just as easily as I can bite someone’s head off…but truly, that does depend on my mood and the situation.  There is a line between ignorance and offensive.  My anger or hurt over something that crosses that line shouldn’t be interpreted as sensitivity. 

Firing back with the “you’re so sensitive” defense is nothing but an attempt to deflect something that was thoughtless, if not necessarily hurtful.  I call foul.  A simple “I’m sorry” or “I shouldn’t have said that/asked that” might be a better response. 

I am not an overly “politically correct” person.  I’m a mom protective of her kids, like most moms are.  Am I going to rid the world wide web of thoughtlessness and insensitivity?  Uh…no.  But I believe I owe it to my boys to stand up for them and teach them to do what is right.  To have no reaction to someone putting a picture up suggesting my kids came from a “vachina” sends the message that it is OK to post, share and giggle over something like that.  I highly doubt my reaction made any real difference to the number of people who posted, laughed at or shared that picture. But did it make one person think twice about clicking “like” on that picture or sharing it with a new group of people?  I will never know.  But I’d like to think it did. 

I will do the best I can to see my boys grow up as strong and confident men.  They may someday have enough angst over their beginnings in life without having to contend with someone telling them “hey dude, you came from a vachina.”  My “sensitivity” isn’t going to protect them from every situation where they’re going to need thick skin.  Just like their mommy.
 

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Language

One of the most common questions I was asked about both of our adoptions was “do they speak English?”

The answer of “no” seemed to surprise a lot of people I know.  Not sure why – Chinese toddlers living in China being cared for by Chinese people?  The average person in China does not speak English.  On both of our adoption trips to China, we relied heavily on the guides our adoption agency provided for us for anything beyond the most basic point and grunt communication. 

My unconcerned “no” seemed to baffle a lot of people I know.  Here I was about to be handed this child (forever) who I did not share a common language with and this did not even register on the list of things I was prepared to be worried about.  There were a lot of things I was worried about with both of my boys, but language was never one of those things. 

When we were preparing to adopt Kyle, we got a lot of questions about how the boys were going to communicate with each other.  Mostly by people who’d never seen two small children “play” together.   There seemed to be a lot of curiosity over whether or not Zack’s Chinese would come back to him.  More than once, I got a concerned comment about them ganging up on me, speaking in a tongue I don’t understand.  Boy, would I be in trouble. 

My boys’ ability to adapt to the English language amazes me every day.  Some of their ease has to do with the fact that they’re so young.  The fact that they are probably brilliant doesn’t hurt, either.  Seriously, if your small child were suddenly thrust in to a home environment where the family spoke only Mandarin (or Spanish, or Swahili, you get the idea), they would very quickly learn to understand that language.  Their ability to speak that language would come pretty quickly also, and, after the passage of enough time, they’d forget how to speak English.  After more time, they’d no longer understand it. 

I try often to consider our adoptions from our boys’ perspectives.  They were both too young to really understand what was going on at the time and probably couldn’t grasp why the people that were familiar to them were pushing them toward strange looking, strange sounding people and saying “they are your new family.  Go with them”.  I can’t imagine how funny we sounded to them and wonder if they were frustrated or just puzzled that our mouths were making sounds that were so unfamiliar to them.  "These aliens are my parents...what, what?"

With really young kids, communication is not that hard at first.  There is lots of pointing, lots of gestures.  The words are pretty basic.  Potty, cookie, night-night, bye-bye…you get the idea.  So considering that, it’s not such a stretch to realize that these brilliant, resilient children pick up English so quickly.  With both of my boys, receptive language came really quickly.  I am convinced they both understood three quarters of what we were saying to them by the time we left China. 

I will tell you that learning “banana” took about an eighth of a second - possibly less.  Learning the meaning attached to “no, don't do that!” accompanied by the mommy stink eye took a little longer.  Shocking. 

Kyle has been home for a bit over two months now and he astounds me with how quickly he’s learned to speak English.  To be sure, he is going to be a little language delayed because he’s not a native English speaker, but he will catch up, as Zack has.  If how far he’s come in two months is any indication of how quickly he’s going to learn, then he’s going to learn fast!  Did I already mention the whole brilliant thing? 

Of course, Kyle was a full year older on adoption day than Zack was.  I’m not sure if having more Mandarin language skill makes it easier or harder to get used to English.  I really think having Zack around to lead him astray show him the way is helping him learn to speak English more quickly. 

For all of you Kyle watchers out there, I will post a more comprehensive report of how he is doing when I write his 90 days home post.  For now, here is a bit of what he is saying:

-      “That way”

This is meant to establish direction (I think I said this before, but he and Zack are HUGE backseat drivers).  “That way” is also meant to show me where to put something or where something is at.  He uses the phrase synonymously with “right there”.  If I’m dishing up mashed potatoes, he points to his plate and says “that way”.  Fair enough, kid.  

-      “I do it/I did it”

Kyle is a typical independent three and a half year old who wants to dress himself, climb in to the tub by himself and pour his own milk.  He doesn’t have all of the motor skills to do these things yet (although he can dress himself pretty well, given enough time) but he sure has the enthusiasm.  I love seeing that look of joy that accompanies “I did it!” 

-      “Ohhhh, Mommy” – this means several things depending on the tone.  It can mean he’s excited about something we’re doing or disappointed in something I’ve told him “no” on.  Sometimes his tone resembles a reprimand, like I’ve somehow failed him.  He is just one step away from that “so disappointed in you” head shake.  He’s probably already contemplating the quality of my “assisted living”. 

Actually, in the three days since I’ve began writing this post, Kyle’s language is really taking off.  When Lee came home from work yesterday, Kyle ran up to him and told him very clearly that Zack had fallen down and had hurt his back.  I think the sentence went something like “Didi fall down, owie back. Did owie back at school.”  He is amazing.  It just blows me away every time I think of it, to see how far he has come in such a short time.  And yes, Zack fell over a chair in our house and bruised his back.  It is our little “school” table in the house where we do crafts and learning games with the kids. 

I was playing Simon Says with the boys last night (and they don’t 100% get the concept of Simon Says but they really like the mimicking) and Zack’s words really amazed me.  I know I keep typing different derivatives of the word “amaze” and its getting redundant, but really…there is no other word that fits.  Zack was saying stuff like “hands on head”; “touch nose with both hands”; “kick your feet”; and my personal favorite “wiggle wiggle your booty booty”.   I had a little bit of a bad day yesterday, and honestly people, there really is no better cure for grumpiness than playing Simon Says with two three year olds.  Try it sometime. 

Like all little boys, Zack is making his venture in to “bathroom humor”.  Snippets like “I eat poop” followed by gales of hysterical laughter are part of our dinner conversation.  FYI, he doesn't really eat poop.  SOMEONE that lives in our house told the littles that the jar of Nutella was a jar of poop.  They really like Nutella and all attempts to explain to them that their dear father was KIDDING when he said the Nutella was poop have not really been successful.  Sigh.  Anyhoo...this past weekend, I was stationed at my usual stove-side post (these kids are eating machines) and asked Zack if he wanted some more scrambled eggs (after he inhaled his serving in about 3.7 seconds).  He indicated that he was receptive to my offer by holding out his plate and saying “more egg booty please.”  Oh, lucky me.  At least he said please. 

International adoption is a crazy, stressful, wild ride.  I can’t even compare it to a roller coaster ride because this crazy train I’m on makes a roller coaster look like the merry go round at Chuck E. Cheese (and I’m totally an expert on Chuck E. Cheese now…true that).  My kids are miracles.  To see them bloom and flourish because they know the love and security of a family is something that I can’t quite put words to, and people, if you’ve read this far, you know that I usually don’t have problems finding words. 

Thinking about international adoption?  Afraid of the language barrier issue?  It isn’t an issue.  Yes…with older kids lack of common language is initially a bigger deal, but something that can be learned shouldn’t deter you from something wonderful. 

Know someone who is in the process of international adoption?  Support them.  Love them.  Make them some picture cards or gift them with some paint or art supplies that utilize the senses beyond the spoken language.  Resist the urge to ask “but how will you communicate?” 

I totally wish my boys could retain their Mandarin.  I totally wish I could speak their “mother tongue” beyond badly pronounced “Nee How”, “Shay Shay” and “Say Jan”.  Someday, maybe I will be in a place where we’re able to remedy that.  I have not forgotten their Chinese heritage, nor will I allow them to forget it.  But…we’ve had to focus on a common language for the here and now and English it shall be. 

My kids don’t speak Chinese to gang up on me.  They don’t need to.  I think there is an unspoken “bro code” at work that totally takes care of that.  Case in point – this morning, I was greeted with the site of our “trainer potty” sans the bowl with the toilet seat flung to the side with two sippy cups nesting inside.  Seriously….is there some kind of frat party going on in my house at 6AM?  When I asked (okay screeched in my yucky “pre-coffee” voice) “where is the rest of the potty?” they both looked at me like I was speaking….well…Chinese. 

All is well here.  I’m outnumbered by boys and am plotting on how to even the odds (and part of me says that just to keep people guessing).  And...to end with a quote from the awesome movie Parenthood:  "It was just so interesting to me how a ride could make me so frightened, so sick, so excited, so sick, so thrilled all at the same time.  Some didn't like it.  They went on the merry go round.  That just goes around.  Nothing.  I prefer the roller coaster.  You get more out of it."  I prefer the roller coaster.  Most definitely.  Cheers, people. 

Bitterness

Bitterness doesn’t become me.  I guess it doesn’t become anyone, does it?  How many times have you heard someone say admiringly “oooh check her out!  She is totally rocking that whole angry, bitter thing.”  Uh…no.    

I have recognized some bitterness and anger in myself lately.  It feels funny, like shoes that don’t quite fit.  It isn’t quite my style, but I am wearing it anyway.  I try to shrug it off and sometimes I succeed, but it continues to creep up on me.  I find myself doing the “okay Jill, you’re going to stay positive today” self-talk in the mornings and then getting frustrated with myself because I fail.  The “Negative Nancy/Debbie Downer” hat is new to me.  I have always, always been a “glass half full” sort of girl.    

It is no secret that our adoptions have been a huge stressor for me.  It’s also no secret that Kyle’s adoption was rich in stress in ways that Zack’s adoption wasn’t.  We were not prepared for the scope of his medical needs and we were absolutely not prepared for the horrible way our trip ended.  Our homecoming hasn’t been smooth – there have been insurance/personnel snags with trying to get Kyle squared away.  Our finance office made a $7,000.00 error in my pay, which could not have come at a more inopportune time.  Our tenant moved out of our house in Illinois, leaving us about $10,000.00 in repairs that need to be paid before the property can be shown for sale or rented again.  There’s more…I could go on, but I won’t.  The events of the past couple of months have definitely created conditions favorable for bitterness. 

I am usually very able to let minor (and even major) annoyances go very quickly.  I’m a big believer in not stewing over stuff I can’t change and my mantra has always been “am I really going to care about this in 5 years?”  Thank you, Granddad Dutch for that one.  But lately, little things have been getting to me.   Stupid little things like a taxi being late or my 2+ year-old super cheap vacuum cleaner shorting out.  I think little things are getting to me because I’m not dealing with the big things that are bothering me (yes, people, I do have a psychology degree, no joke). 

I am smarting over the lukewarm support we got from our friends and community, and even some of our family members, for our boys’ adoptions.  I am certainly not saying everyone was unsupportive.  We have some wonderful friends and relatives who have bent over backwards to help us, and to welcome our boys.  But…it has occurred to me lately that as our family size grows, our relationships with people outside our immediate family deteriorate.  Fizzle out.  That “hey, we’ll have to get together” never happens.  Maybe that is normal, especially considering that most couples our age do NOT have two three year old “twinadoes”. 

I have been raised to believe that envy is bad.  I remember my mom explaining to me in second grade terms what the word “covet” meant.  To drool over someone else’s stuff or station in life was bad.  I have always believed it is right to rejoice for others when good things happen to them.  I have always believed in looking inward, sucking up, bucking up or perking up when something bad happens to me.  Maybe it was my fault.  Maybe it wasn’t my time, my turn, or meant to be.  This line of thinking has gotten me pretty far in life and has minimized my periods of wallowing over stuff that doesn’t go my way.  Until recently. 

I follow several other adoption blogs, just as I know those who follow this blog are other parents adopting from China.  I’ve read posts about how families report being “so blessed” to have such “amazing support” from friends, neighbors, coworkers and family members.  I see pictures posted of showers and other events to celebrate the arrival of a soon to be adopted child in to their forever family.  I see posts that rejoice over the fact that a family raised $12,000.00 in a month with a “puzzle pieces” adoption fundraiser.  I read blogs where the family has received such outstanding fundraising support and received so many grants that they have a surplus to donate to other families in the adoption process – paying it forward, so to speak. 

And I covet all of this.  These other bloggers are women who are walking the same path as me.  I’ve met some of them in person.  Some of them are just “online adoption friends”.  But, instead of rejoicing for these friends that their adoptions have been so well supported, I am bitterly envious of their blessings.  I’ve coveted every baby shower, every “sprinkle”, every airport homecoming party where the community gathers with “Welcome Home (insert name of newly adopted child)” signs and balloons, and every fundraising post where the family trills about how blown away they are that their friends have considered it “a blessing to help us bring our child home”.   These scenarios I describe have been so very far from my own experience.    

 
Adoption is hard, no matter which way you look at it.  Even the families who have their “villages” firmly behind them still agonize over the waiting and uncertainty, have headaches with paperwork and deal with undisclosed medical issues.  Many of these families struggle with initial rejection by their adopted children.  No one has it easy in this way we’ve chosen to build our families.  To admit that I grow angry and bitter over reading how good things have happened to good people that I have things in common with doesn’t make me feel great about myself. 

My two little boys were brought in to our family so deliberately.  They did not come to us by accident or on a whim.  But outside of a very few people, their becoming a part of our family wasn’t celebrated.  In Kyle’s case, it hasn’t even been acknowledged by many.  “Congratulations” is something I’ve only heard a couple of times.  And that has made me feel hollow.  The hollowness has turned me in to a resentful and bitter person who gets way too upset over a broken vacuum cleaner.    

I probably shouldn’t take any of this personally.  Although I’ve always been “that person” who organizes the showers, signs up to take meals for the families of new babies, buys a candle or a candy bar for somebody’s kids’ school, church or sports fundraiser, or raised my hand and said “I’ll watch your kids for you today”, I have never made a helpful or kind gesture just because I thought someone would reciprocate for me one day.  I’ve spent my entire life in service to others in some way, shape or form.  It is very difficult for me to raise my hand and admit that I need to be on the receiving end; that my family needs help and support.   

The fact that I’m bitter and hurt doesn’t improve things for me.  With a couple of exceptions, we were not well-supported and those in my close circles didn’t choose to celebrate the arrival of my boys. They may have intended to and dropped the ball.  They may not have known that I wanted or needed that.  They may have been busy with their own lives.  They may have just not thought that was the “thing to do” for people who adopt toddlers.  Maybe the “outside looking in” of international adoption is that you fly to the foreign country and are handed a child who is exactly what you expected and delighted to be in your family.  You fly home and life pretty much returns to normal.  Ha. 

Our fundraising wasn’t successful.  I probably don’t need to dig too far in to why because I don’t think it matters and I don’t think it would make me feel better.  We filled out 7 grant applications and received 1 small grant.  On a good day, I tell myself that the time I spent filling out the applications and gathering letters of references was worth it to receive the award we did.  I know the foundations that distribute adoption grants have many more families apply than they can help.  From where I sit, it does seem that having little to no plan for funding other than to believe that God will somehow make the money appear in time is what the foundations that give grants like to see.  I’m sure we’re probably not seen as having as great of a financial need as some families and our backup plan if we didn’t receive funding was pretty solid.  My bitterness over these things will decrease with time.  Yes?  Won’t they?   

I can conquer the bitter or channel it in to something positive.  I have a wonderful husband and a wonderful family.  It is an amazing blessing to have all of my children under one roof and I am thankful every day for the time I have with them.  I am super lucky to have our kids.  There are probably many who’d trade places with me in a heartbeat. 

I share these words for a few different reasons.  I write these words because I just needed to.  I guess it is part of the letting go process.  I share because it’s part of the uglier side of adoption…at least part of the ugly side of our adoption story.  I don’t think anyone’s adoption story is all unicorn farts and marshmallow cream.  Some families have to deal with the after effects of abuse and institutional neglect.  Other families struggle with bonding and attachment or are having to deal with relatives who are openly unaccepting of the new family member.  And finally, I share this in the hopes that one person reading this will have an “aha” moment and fuss over the next person they know that is adopting like crazy.   

There is no remedy for the anger and bitterness I feel, other than time, and maybe just giving myself permission to let it go and to more fully focus on the riches I have in my life.  So, I make that choice and I move on to see what is next.  It just might be something wonderful. 

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And my makeup is in the kitchen...

I’ll begin this post by saying that I don’t regret for one second having any of my children.  But, I’ve got to tell you, two 3 year olds are a heck of a lot of work.  Yeah, just call me Princess obvious. 

I was doing pretty well with the “mom of one toddler” gig.  This past July, I was just about to the point where I was thinking “hey, I am sort of rocking this thing.”  I’d almost gotten the “up in the morning, kid dressed, me dressed, coffee slurped, out the door” routine down.  Almost.  There were still some glitches, but overall, it was taking shape.  If I were a hash tag using kind of gal, it would look something like this:

#makeupapplicationwhiledrivingrockstotallysafe

Or like this:

#beststalepoptarteverfoodpyramidwhatever

Seriously, what is up with the hash tags?  I don’t need more social media in my life.  If I take the plunge and get a Twitter account, I’m sort of expecting to start thinking in hash tags.  I have enough trouble trying to keep it all together upstairs, so I don’t think Twitter and I are destined to be BFFs.

Anyhoo…parenting virtual twins is the most crazy, hectic, often frustrating and sometimes wonderful thing I’ve ever undertaken.  Not long ago, I said to Hubs “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”   It was as if one of those little cartoon balloons appeared up over his head with the word “DUH” written inside. 

In adoption land, kids who are placed together in a family with less than one year between them are commonly referred to as “virtual or artificial twins”.  There are some commonalities with bio twins:  built in playmate, struggle for their own identity, competition.  They will be in the same grade in school and they might even share a classroom at some point (although I will try to avoid the same classroom thing).  On occasion, they might have to put up with being dressed alike (just because it’s so stinkin’ cute).  But they are different than bio twins, and not just because they don’t share DNA.  They didn’t share the first years of their lives.  Growing up together started less than 60 days ago.  Perhaps more importantly (although this is a selfish perspective), I didn’t parent them from infancy together.  I’ve never raised twins from “square one”.  I will venture to guess that having “insta-twins”, especially of the 3 year old variety is harder…at least for a bit. At least for the short term, before the dust settles.  We are still all figuring each other out. 

That’s my right now – a big, crazy dust storm.  Getting them (and me) out the door to go anywhere should seriously be an Olympic event (Rio 2016 here we come). I am a slave to snacks and poop.  I have settled many squabbles over toys, TV and cups (nothing worse in 3 year old land than being forced to drink out of a blue cup when you want the red cup your brother has).  I could legitimately add “professional arbitrator” to my resume. All of this is usually accomplished before 7 AM.  Seriously, it's the wild west at our house in the mornings.

At least once a day, one child will be upstairs and the other will be downstairs and they will both need to sit on the potty.  Yes, potty training is going very well, but they both need help.  And yes, this whole potty dance in stereo ALWAYS happens when I am alone with them or when Hubs is asleep or in the shower.  They’re guys…I know they plan it this way. 

I’ve been back at work for a week.  Trying to find our new morning groove has been a challenge.  It might work out okay if my boss would say it's cool for me to be 3 hours late every day.   

#onlyinmywildestfantasies

I’ve had to make several adjustments in my morning routine.  I’ve had to start getting up a little earlier and forfeiting a little bit of my personal time.  Gone are the mornings where I can enjoy a quiet cup of coffee and ease in to my day slowly. I don't even remember what that was like. Getting my two little squirmy dudes up and out the door injects a big chunk of time in to my AM routine.  I know.  Duh.  Princess Obvious.  Where is my tiara?  I thought it would be simple.  I really did. My mornings are filled with important tasks like deciding who gets the last orange vitamin and digging through the underwear drawer until we settle on something that fits Zack's mood du jour. Really, you can't have your mom slap Thomas skivvies on your behind when you are clearly in the mood for Sponge Bob.  That would not be cool. 

I’ve always been fairly organized. My “night before” habits are probably saving my sanity right now.  The gym bag, school bags, dry cleaning pile, outgoing mail pile (you get the idea) are assembled with amazing, OCD precision by the door each night. Someone else that lives here starts organizing about 20 minutes before walking out the door.  I won't say who. 

My mornings are all about frenzied multi-tasking.  You would be impressed at the amount of stuff I can accomplish while brushing my teeth.    Any breakfast I eat is done in between breaking up skirmishes over the toy they both want and loading up my car.  Take a bite of oatmeal and run to the garage and open the door.  Run back to the kitchen and take another bite of oatmeal and then run to the garage and back the car out of the garage (no, I don’t have a garage door opener.  I miss that).  And I really can't lie - I don't eat oatmeal for breakfast.  If I eat breakfast at all, it's peanut butter out of the jar or cookies (because oatmeal requires a microwave and a measuring cup and ain't nobody got time for that around here). Lest you think I'm a really crappy parent, the boys eat at nursery school. 

Early on in my “mommy reign”, I decided that I wouldn’t sacrifice cuteness or, at the very least, not look totally gross.  I might wear combat boots and camo stuff every day, but I can still attempt cute, can't I?  For me, this equates to actually looking in the mirror to put my hair up, and a little face powder, mascara and lipstick…nothing too crazy.  I’ll admit to being a little more vain than I ought to be, but hey, it is what it is.  I feel better about myself if I’ve made a little effort.  Not “Lady Gaga” lashes and glitter eye shadow effort, but still put together. 

Motherhood and family life are about give and take, being flexible and willing to compromise.  Between slurps of coffee and oatmeal (OK, cookies) and running loads of stuff out to my car, I might find some time for a coat of mascara.  Slurp coffee.  Eat cookie.  Wash it down with whatever is in Kyle’s cup.  Briefly consider whether the “red cup versus blue cup” has merit.  Eat another bite of cookie, slurp some more coffee.  While masticating the cookie/coffee sludge, open the garage door and take trash out.  Run back in the house and slap some more mascara on. 

Proof that we actually CAN get out the door appropriately dressed! 

 

I have decided my “desired state” is for me to be 90 percent ready to leave the house by the time I start engaging with my boys to try to get them ready to leave the house.  That has not worked super well for me so far – maybe 50 percent.  I’m getting there. 

I am enjoying my boys.  Yes, they are a lot of work but for each time I want to pull my hair out and drink at lunch, I have spontaneously sat down on the floor and laughed with my children.  Sometimes this involves monster noises or letting them “get me” which involves lots of tickling and kissing.  My boys are seriously a handful.  They are.  But I love their cuddles.  And they seem to think I'm a pretty cool cookie, too. 

This is hard, no doubt about that.  There is a lot more laundry and a lot less sleep.  Yes, this surprised me.  Don't laugh.  I am coming to grips that my adjustment in to this crazy life I’ve chosen is not going to be seamlessly easy.  My expectations are out the window and yes…my makeup really is in the kitchen. 

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