Today Might Just Be the Day...

What happens in the daily life of the family.. the drama of foster care, the adventures of parenting, & pictures to share with everyone!

But, It’s Not Your Child

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Where to start?

I am very pro-adoption. I think it’s an option that’s overlooked far too often.

I think it’s an amazing way to build a family and can be the greatest gift given to a child.

That being said, I don’t think it should be forced on a father. If a dad wants to raise his child, that is his right. And it’s not about the best parents. It really isn’t. If it were, then would anyone you know be a parent? Are they really the “best” option? There are people out there with more money, more resources, more education that I have. Certainly, there are women who have cleaner homes… You get the drift. It can’t be about the “best”.

It’s an odd thing.

Foster parents fall in love with their children and they often are quick to judge the biological family. The truth is that life is complicated. There are so many choices each and every day. Who knows what life could have in store? There are exceptions, but, by in large, most of these biological parents love their children. Many of them weren’t loved or didn’t feel loved when they were children. They weren’t taught how to love themselves. How do we expect them to love and care for these children? And even when they’re doing how, how do we expect them to live up to our impossibly high standards?

It’s easy to write off the biological parents as losers, addicts, generally horrible people. But, where does that get us? What does that do for the child? And how do we know?

If you were judged by the worst decision you ever made every single day, what would your life be like? Think about the lies you’ve told, the feelings you’ve heart… Think about when you were young and dumb and self-centered. How do you look next to the young mom who made bad choices? Sure, maybe yours didn’t cut as deep or hurt for so long, but you’ve still made mistakes.

The bottom line is that these aren’t our kids. They’re not “yours” until the adoption.

And that can be hard.

You have to love them like your own. You have to give away your heart knowing that it’s going to be broken. You have to be the bigger one out of the whole situation. The one who gives without expecting to receive. And, if you’re exceedingly lucky, maybe that child will get to be a part of your forever family. But, even if they aren’t, they’ll take a piece of you onto the rest of life. They’ll have been given the gift of a parent who loved without judging. And I think that is a pretty precious gift to give.

Frustration

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So, we have news. This is the big announcement. The adoption date for our little guy is… (drum-roll,please)…. in forever and a day! Whaaa-whaaa….

I wish it were really funny, so I could at least laugh about it. But, it’s not. The courts made a mistake with paperwork and at this point one of his parents still has his/her biological rights. Now, the question you may have on your mind is, what does that mean? Basically it means that they’ll do the whole severance trial all over again. And that takes time. Likely it’ll be several more months until the severance is completed again. Once that is done, we can file a petition for adoption. Once the petition is filed we’ll have about 60 days until we can have our adoption hearing. You should know that 60 days is the expedited adoption date.

So, our wait is now longer. By at least a couple months.

It’s really not fair.

I think that it would be an easier pill to swallow if the same thing hadn’t happened before. When our older boys were in foster care we had to go to three hearings that were all the exact same. One time papers hadn’t been filed correctly, the next time the mom didn’t show. When you’re a foster parent in the court room, you’re meant to be seen and not heard. And I did a really good job following those rules (surprisingly) until the second continuance of that hearing, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. In case you were wondering, that is not a good idea. The judge totally saw me do it and he addressed me (and the court) saying that it’s very important to follow the details so that his findings wouldn’t be overturned upon appeal.

So, logic dictates that I hold my tongue and be peaceful about this latest stall. I have no worries about our future. He will be my forever son one day. And that has to be good enough right now.

Now what?

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So, last night was class number two on attachment disorders. And I’m a little out of sorts now. Before the class last night I felt like we were doing well. I felt like I almost didn’t need that class. Then I started talking about our little guy’s behaviors… And I think we have a long way to go.

Oh, how I wish that love would truly fix everything.

Feel that Love!

Can you feel the love through the screen?

Attachment

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Attachments are like a spider web. They build one upon another. Just like making friends. You make one, then you meet their friends and add to the group.

One of the most common issues (in my opinion) that foster and adoptive kids have is attachment disorder.

So, I’ve started to educate myself. I’ve taken classes in the past about infant brain development. And the common thread is always that the first three years are crucial. That children need to trust by having one primary care giver.

But, what happens when they don’t get that? The short answer is that their brains don’t form the same as typical kids. Parts of the brain that aren’t used, don’t develop the same way. With neglect, the brain is often physically smaller than a typical child.

I’ve seen the slides and the photos and the evidence.

I’ve never had anyone tell me what to do after the fact.

Last night I was given hope for the first time. This damage can be reversed! I took the first class in a four part series on attachment disorders. The leader is a therapist that specializes in attachments and I’m so excited. I am hoping that this training will help me be a better parent.

Already, I feel better just thinking that I can actually undo some of the damage.

I hate people.

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If you know me, you’ve heard me say, “I hate people.” The longer you’ve known me, the more often you’ve heard this phrase.

Today, it was tossed around on a website that I frequent. They were talking about a woman who put her adopted son on a plane, alone, on his way back to Russia. At first, I agreed. Adoption is forever. There are no give backs. When you commit to adopting a child, it’s not a short term commitment.

But, then, as I have thought more about this story–and I don’t know how it’s possible to block it from your mind–I cannot have anything near hatred for this woman. I can only imagine the pain and heartache and tears that she’s been going through. To get to a point that you’d make such a horrible decision, what do you have to go through? I can only imagine the sense of loss and failure and pain that she and her family are going through right now. And, it’s not a hurt that left with the child. She’s lost her dream, her child, her identity as a mom. I am not saying that I agree with her choice. I cannot fathom my life without any of my children.

But, I do understand how easy it is to be fooled. I watch new foster/adoptive parents enter our classes and they all have this picture in their minds. They can actually see the little girl or boy who they will love openly. They have nothing but hope for the future. The hardest thing for me to do is get them to realize that love is not enough. These are children who have been neglected, abused, abandoned. They’re survivors who learn how to cope at far too young an age without the guidance that they needed. Love is essential, but it’s just not enough.

I don’t think that I’ve met a foster or adoptive parent who wasn’t doing it for the right reasons. They all have these amazing hearts and homes that they are so willing to open. I just wish they all had the tools to deal with the junk that will come with these hurt little ones.

Some things are worth sharing…

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This was on a message board that I frequent this morning and I really liked it…

Hanna, my seven year old from China, was in the tub. I was helping her rinse the shampoo out of her hair when she asked,  

 

“Am I a little bit Irish?”

My mind swept over some of our recent conversations about our family heritage, and I answered, “Well, ethnically you are Chinese. But since I’m a little bit Irish, then culturally, you are a little bit Irish, too.”

“When did it happen?” Hanna wanted to know.

“When did WHAT happen?” I asked, concentrating on her soapy head.

“When did I become a little bit Irish,” she explained patiently. “Was it when you kissed me for the very first time?”

I paused, shower wand in hand, and watched my daughter squeeze water out of her hair. I thought about the tiny, bundled baby that had been handed to me at the Anhui Hotel seven years earlier, and I remembered how her head felt against my cheek. I hadn’t wanted to scare her; my baby-kiss was soft and swift as I cradled her upon my shoulder. Unremarkable, it was the first kiss of many thousands, yet now, through Hanna, I see it with fairytale eyes:

My first kiss to my adopted daughter infused her with my love, my world, and the generations of my unknown ancestors! Like Sleeping Beauty wakening with a kiss from her Prince, the mother-daughter kiss called forth a magical intermingling– a covenant leaping past genetics, it bestowed Hanna and me upon each other…

My pragmatic daughter had chosen to make sense of the vast, familial complexities of international adoption with a powerfully simple symbol of promise and connection.

“Yes” I said finally. “I think that’s when it happened.”

We were SWAK.

~ Jean MacLeod

Copyright 2006, MacLeod, All Rights Reserved

Now the fun starts!

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The attorney said the end of May for little dude’s adoption!! Time to start planning the party and making the announcements!

Any inspirational ideas?

Dan’s party is today and I still haven’t finished the blog post that I started for it two weeks ago. Next week is Spring Break for the kids so I don’t foresee any extra time in my future.

What a b-b-o-o-o-r-r-r-i-i-n-n-g-g blog!

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Where are all the pictures?

Here are just a couple of the Bean. More to follow soon of my boys! I have a ton that are very cute that I can’t share because my little guy is in all of them. On that note, his *adoption* caseworker was supposed to be here today, but ended up running late. So, tomorrow she’ll be out and we’ll start on the next batch of paperwork. The end is near!

My Thoughts on Our Open Adoption

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Where do I start?

Is it any wonder that I get *nothing* done around the house? I start in one place and end up clicking through blog upon link upon blog. Somehow I ended up reading several blogs on adoption this morning. And I almost feel like I’m the newbie. What do all of those words mean? Is my vocab wrong?

There are “first moms” and “second moms”… what happened to birth and adoptive? Or biological?? Are those offensive now?

In the classes I teach, we call our foster and adoptive families “resource families”. I don’t know that it properly explains anything though.

Recently, I got a letter from the bio-grandma of our boys. I was shocked. It was a good surprise though. I never expected to hear anything from that biological family. We’ve left the door wide open and hope that we can help our boys fill in the blanks when they’re older…

And I am thankful that she wrote. The letter and its contents will be for them in the future, when they are ready (or, when we think they are ready).  I am so glad that she has chosen to stay in their lives, at least in some small way.

I have amazing children. And it’s not all Brian and I parenting that has made them so. They didn’t come from a void (this is one of my famous quotes…). They came from parents and families and cultures that are different from ours.

And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

I want them to grow and love themselves. I want them to know both who they are and where they came from. And I don’t really know any way to do this other than having an open adoption. I’ll never be able to answer their questions about their biological families. No matter what I do or how hard I try, they will likely have doubts and fears that I won’t be able to fill, only their biological families will be able to fill those voids.

At the same time, I can’t force the relationship either.

We can only open the door, we can’t pull anyone through.

This letter from bio-grandma was the first contact that we’ve had from any bio-family in years.

Sigh.

I don’t know that I’ve really been able to state my thoughts. But, maybe I’ve been able to provide a little food for thought?

He’s getting a tattoo, yeah, he’s getting ink done. He asked for a 13, but he got a 31…

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TattooAs most of my friends know, I have a tattoo on my lower back. I got it when I was 20, before the term “tramp stamp” was coined. It’s a Woodland Violet. I picked it for a few reasons. One, it stands for my sorority. Secondly, it reminds me of my mom–she always had African Violets. And it’s pretty and girly and I just liked it.
They say that tattoos are addictive and once you get one, you’ll get more. Well, I have no clue if that’s true or not, but I’ve always wanted a second. I wanted a lion for the longest time. However, I could never find the right one. They always looked angry or mean or cartoonish (is that even a word). I couldn’t find one that looked like it was simply strong.
Then, as we started adding our children, I wanted a tattoo that would represent them.
We have had two foster children who have come and gone from our home. And both of them have had a huge impact on me. And, I think, we have had a similar impact on them. One little guy came to us not speaking at all. He had food issues and behavioral issues. Each day that he was here was a struggle for us. When he left, however, he was speaking in 3-4 word phrases. He wasn’t eating out of the trash anymore. He had come a long way. And I was his mom for the short time that he was here.
Our last foster kiddo was much the same. While there weren’t the huge issues at the surface, there were trust issues right below the surface. There was a sadness that was there in the beginning that had all but vanished at the end.
How could I think of my children without counting those two in the flock?
Anyhow, as I contemplated, someone suggested birds to represent my children. And I thought it so appropriate. All of my kids are only here in the nest for a time. We are growing them all to be able to leave as adults. And they will all take a part of my heart with them–just as our other kids already have.
So, each of these birds is for one of my children.