A Typical Conversation

Unfortunately for me this is the kind of conversation that comes up on a very regular (much too regular!) basis:

Gabe: I love boysenberry syrup!

Me: Me too and that's the exact same kind I ate when I was a little girl!.

Gabe (a bit too startled): Wait a minute, diiiiiiid you have stoves back then?

Me: Yes, believe it or not we had stoves all the way back then.

Gabe: No mommy. What I'm trying to say is did you have tv with ACTUAL different channels?



This is like the time, not too long ago, when he asked me if I was born when pencils had been invented. 


When does this kid think I was born? 1877?

วันแม่แห่งชาติ

 

Happy Mother's Day to a girl far away from here.  I am watching our daughter play with her new Barbie right now, deep in concentration as she combs the long blond hair just so.  She is growing into such a big girl, you wouldn't believe how much she resembles you.  Especially those feet. 

Oh those feet! Every time I look at them, tickle them, marvel at their stomping power I think of you.  I remember when we received the first picture of our little girl, I took one look at those long feet that ended in longer toes and I thought to myself surely they are the biggest and ugliest feet on a child I had ever seen.  And sure enough, the shoes that I had so carefully chosen, packed and carried thousands of miles across the ocean did not fit those toddler feet. 

We are blessed to have two pictures of you holding our baby.  She was only a month old, you a child yourself, and what struck me first was your somber face.  What you must have been thinking while you stood there in front of a camera to document the day you let her go.  After looking at your face and trying to discern the expression in your eyes I quickly moved to the bottom of the picture and gasped as I thought, "My gosh! Those feet!!".   I remember that it made me smile.  I love that she will one day look at this picture of you two together and think that she has feet just like yours.  That she shares something so pronounced with her mother.

Our daughter is beautiful.  She had the biggest brown eyes, the sweetest smile and this little athletic body all carried by my favorite part of her.  Her feet.  I pray one day these feet will carry her toward her dream.  I pray that the feet that mirror yours will direct her towards a peace and faith in God and eventually a family of her own.

And maybe one day, those feet will carry her back to you....

I Know You Were Adopted But...Part 1

I know you were adopted but don't tell me how to be an adoptive parent.


How do you like them apples?




To be continued...

Love and Adoption

A friend of mine had her baby last night.  A big, healthy baby boy that will change her life forever just by his presence outside of her body.  I want to tell her how his smile is going to burrow deep into the secret places in her heart.  Or how she will cry when he takes his first steps because there is no turning back from that kind of independence.

Parenting is an amazing metamorphosis of the soul.  I think if you took the fabric of my being, the cells that sustain my life, and looked at them under a microscope before and after becoming a parent, there would be a physical and noticeable change.  You can not bring another human being into the world and remain stagnant.

I remember when Prim came home.  I had an exhaustion both physically and emotionally as if I had given birth.  But instead of a sore body (and leaky boobs) I had an aching heart for a little girl who did not feel like my own because she had not claimed me as hers. 

It's one thing to parent and love a child that was birthed from your womb.  A child that you pridefully look at and boast the obvious physical connection from you or your spouse.  The lips, the hair, the eyes.  The way they wrinkle their nose in their sleep.  And, oh, those sweet baby fingers and toes.  But to hold a child that is-quite honestly-in the depths of despair, takes no solace in your soothing words or loving embrace, will change you.  Big time.

Let me go back to what I said about Prim not feeling like mine until she claimed me as hers.  It had nothing to do with not feeling like she was my daughter.  That girl was mine all right.  Look at her cross eyed and I'd turn into a version of myself that would probably leave you speechless.  She was mine from the minute I saw her.

But what I mean is is that I had to earn the privilege of being her mother.  I had to endure the crying, the screaming, the anguish.  I had to bear the brunt of her grief, her anger and loss.  I was not entitled to her love just because I was given the title of mother.

I had to wait.  My heart had to be patient.  I was on her time table, not my own.  You see, her DNA has changed.  She was a girl, living a sweet life with a big family.  She didn't understand that she was not theirs for keeps.  She had custom, language and routine that comforted her for twenty two months.  She had familiar mommy kisses and older sibling coddling.  She already had a family that she had faithfully given her little heart to.  And then we came.

And we left.

Together.

All of the familiar was gone.  All of the comfort taken.  We did not have to change our lives but she had to alter everything she knew to fit into our family.  I know that in many ways-ways in which I may not anticipate or foresee-it changed her.  Maybe not for the worse.  Maybe not for the best.  Change can often be a mixture of both. Oil an vinegar or cinnamon and sugar.  Only time will tell.  But sometimes, in quiet moments,  I think about that baby in Thailand and wonder who she would be if she were still there and not here. 

I don't know when it was that the real healing began.  I can't put a date to it, there was no message in the sky that announced YOU DID IT! in fluffy white letters.  But slowly, after seasons had changed, a few birthdays celebrated and many tears shed, I was still a life vest but Prim was no longer sinking.

She moved from surviving to living.

Gasping to breathing. 

Being.

And after a while, when she called me mom, I knew she meant it.  I knew she felt it.  There is room in her heart for me and that my friends, is a sweet place to be.


This post is dedicated to K & J and their beautiful baby boy 'Kawika'.  May God bless your journey with all of the joys and challenges that come with the privilege of parenting.   We love you.

Ho Hum and A Bottle of Rum

Totally kidding about the rum.  Got 'ya thinking, though, didn't it?

My mother is here.  She came last weekend and will be here through the end of this month.  Could there be anything more wonderful than sweet mommy hugs when Husband is gone?

Already the time seems to be flying by even as I think to myself this next six months is going to take forever.  I think doctors appointments and shuffling to and from school are keeping my mind busy.  It's almost a good thing that I am side tracked by follicle size and injection dosages.

Speaking of all things infertile, things in the baby making region seem to be going much better on Follistim than on Clomid.  Already we have surpassed last months stopping point and it looks as if we can go ahead with the IUI within the next week or so. Right now I waiver between the excitement of becoming pregnant (God willing) and trepidation at the thought of possible multiples.

Jesus take the wheel...

The PCOS medication, Metformin, thankfully! has been almost side effect free.  Happily the dry mouth is lessening and the craving for sweets has diminished significantly.  My RE says that being on Metformin can help lower the risk of hyper-ovulation so for that reason alone I am thankful that I'm taking this medication.

What else can I bore you with today? There are no hot topics jumbled up in my mind today except for politics but I've decided not to go there. 

OH! My brilliant son got accepted into the Gifted & Talented program for 2nd grade.   I'm so happy he got Husband's smarty pants and still shows creativity and a love of books from me-his most right brained momma.

Prim has gone almost four days without a temper tantrum.  Now to some of you, you may think-And your point is? 

Let me tell you, I am a much calmer mom on the inside without the screaming and feet stomping.  She has shown wonderful self control but I must admit that it is mostly me taking that extra breath and anticipating her sensitivity to certain situations that may be helping most.

Not to say, It's all about me and look how great I am for being patient.  It's really more of it's about time you started paying more attention to the little things dummy.

One day I'll catch on.

And seriously, don't you love the picture??  Babies on the brain...

Striving for Pefection: A Lesson in Futility Part II

If you haven't read Part I please head on over here before going further.  It's for your benefit not mine-I tend to babble and it will keep things fluid...

If you're back for more of my ugly, imperfect self say a quick prayer that my words will be completely of the Lord.  My purpose in writing about challenges in our marriage is to acknowledge and testify that we stumble when we put ourselves before God.  And marriage is not a race but, hopefully, if we are blessed enough to grow wrinkly old together, a marathon of joys and challenges. 

Now. Where were we?

I often wonder why I had this attitude of needing things to be perfect.  I certainly was not perfect and really didn't expect it of myself.  If I did I would be a meticulous housekeeper and that, my friends, is not the case.

Did I expect mediocrity for me?  No.  Did I hold myself to the same standards as my spouse?  I said I did but probably not.  Secretly I thought he should be more like me.  More sensitive, more understanding, maybe even more passive for the sake of my pride.

I can remember being a child of the 80's. I know, just saying it gives me jelly bracelet, Madonna and side pony tail flash backs.  For me, growing up had everything to do with how I envisioned my future.  I was one big, romantic mess thrust in front of a television or boom box to be schooled in relationships.  Put upon by evocative music lyrics like "I Want Your Sex" and "Like a Virgin" my perceptions of love, maturity and marriage became distorted and out of sync with what I had been taught by my parents.  I saw perfection played out in ninety minutes on a movie screen and thought to myself, "I want that".

Am I blaming society or Hollywood for my unrealistic ideals of love and marriage? Absolutely not.  But I can honestly say, as a young, impressionable girl, when you begin to romanticise a thin, legs-up-to-here prostitute that is swept off her feet by a rich, seemingly perfect man-there is room for cracks in the foundation.  And don't even get me started with Top Gun.  That movie was just one big falic symbol rolled up in Tom Cruise goodness (before his couch jumping and weird religion gave me the heebie jeebies).

But I digress.

Let's leave the 80's and move into 1998.  Marriage day.  White dress, white gloves, white chapel.  Vows, not-so-first kiss, bubbles (rice was no longer fashionable or safe for bird consumption).  Cake, friends and family, the Ritz Carlton Hotel.  Back to work on Monday for new, darling husband.  Reality hit on Tuesday.

Forever.

And ever.  Oh crap.

I had no idea how to be a wife.  I was a amazing girlfriend-rocked the casbah in that department.  Loved his friends, loved his job, loved his mess. Our long distance, weekend relationship had been effortless and our four month engagement even better.  Fresh, exciting, new.  Now there were *gasp* expectations on both sides and not a single one spoken out loud.  Just.  Expected.  Quietly, painfully, brewing beneath the surface expectations. 

H had been an amazing boyfriend as well.  Thoughtful, generous, PATIENT.  Wow did that patience win me over.  He thought of me as quirky sometimes but loved the role of "I know better than you, but aren't you adorable".  I can't blame him-I put him there.  I loved how tough and stormy he could be because it made me feel safe.  He was, in some ways, an extension of my father.  I made him my solid rock and expected him to never waiver.

I began to change my way of thinking shortly after the birth of our beautiful son.  Our miracle.  H was deployed and I delivered with the support of friends and family. But there was no husband to welcome our son with a kiss and no looks of adoration for the bride who gave him his first child.  It was extremely painful to have that experience without him and soon after, the creeping, nagging thoughts whispered to me in those quiet moments alone with our new baby.

I did this all on my own.


I didn't need you after all.


You left me and I was still fine.

I am a good mother even without you here.

My pride began to grow, filling every void that had been opened with loneliness and insecurity.  That pedestal slowly made it's way into the earth's atmosphere and I established myself as martyr extraordinaire.  I was blameless and faultless because I had been (in my mind) abandoned.  Again and again and again.

How could he compete with that?



I know you might be wondering where God is in all of this but stick with me. We're getting there. Come back tomorrow as I finish Part III of my futile journey in perfection. 

The Heart Wants What The Heart Wants

I know we are not special. We share the burden of a deployed father and husband with thousands and thousands of families across the world. Yet, very selfishly, I feel like it is particularly unfair for my children. It's not that I feel a sense of entitlement, that we should be spared the pain of separation when others have done it longer and more frequently.  I'm not saying we shouldn't have to endure it.

It's that I have to look into the watery eyes of my children and explain each and every day why Daddy is not home and it breaks my heart. Why he can not be here for birthdays, holidays and their Clone Wars weekend cartoon marathon.

Daddy always makes pancakes on Saturday mornings so I can sleep in. It's a ritual I started last deployment and have since passed that early morning baton to my husband who in turn pretends to grumble and groan about being a slave to small children each and every Saturday. He loves it and so do they, secretly triumphant in their power of persuasion over their father.

I hate stepping in and having to replace him. I'm not good at it and it's why he's the Dad and I'm the Mom. I don't do cool tricks on the trampoline and frankly after ten minutes I feel like a chain smoker and my toosh is sore for a week from the *ugh* exertion.  Don't judge me, it's really hard (that's what she said) and the kids bully me to keep jumping until I cry Uncle.   I have no one to tag in.  It's just me and my sore butt.

I can't make paper airplanes that fly like Daddy.  I'm not fluid in Star Wars speak and I definitely have no skills in the Lego repair factory that is our playroom. H literally super glued some of G's larger Lego sets for fear they would break and I couldn't repair them during his absence.  I don't think ahead like he does.

I can't throw them in the air as high and little miss Prim notices that she can't touch the ceiling when I do it.  I also don't have the same stamina.  My husband has the energy and endurance of a ten year old in his pinkie finger alone.

I shouldn't have to be their everything.  They should have the best of both of us, the balance that we bring to each other.  They are learning so early that loss can be messy, even the temporary loss that deployments bring.  Sometimes I feel incredible guilt.  Especially for Prim.  Every time he goes away she regresses.  Emotionally she goes back to that place where life is not safe and the earth no longer spins around our home but is extended to a place across the world that is not tangible or understandable.  Iraq may as well be a fairy tale land far, far away.

It breaks my heart to hear G say that he wishes there were people in the world who don't need Daddy's help anymore.  But then, at night when we kneel to say our prayers, I know that God is working a miracle in our home because he prays:

Dear God
Please help Daddy to do a good job.
Keep him safe and his soldiers safe (still doesn't get that Daddy is a sailor :)
and help him to be a good example
to everyone around him.
Please help everyone in Iraq to see you
so that they can find peace.
Lord, be a light to my Daddy.
Amen

My kids are wiser than me because they see God without tarnished self imposed glasses.  While I scream unfair!! for the sake of my children, God sees fit to give them early, precious lessons in humility, mercy and grace.  While I pray that they are too young to carry such a burden, God responds firmly that they most certainly are not.  He has seen fit to develop them in this way for His divine purposes.

And I may not see why now.

Or ever.  But take comfort in the fact that He does.

Let me carry your burden He whispers.  Come to me as a child He beckons.   Cast your worries on Me.

To all of the men and women serving this nation and the cause of freedom throughout the world-I thank you and pray for your safe homecoming.

For the families who serve just as honorably at home, here and abroad, I thank you for being an inspiration and comfort to me.  May God use this time to bless you and grow you in deeper fellowship with Him.

Adoption: A Path Paved With Good Intentions

As part of my morning ritual, instead of drinking a cup of coffee, I sit down to catch up with my favorite bloggin' Moms.  This morning I headed over to Tonggu Momma's, she's had A LOT to say recently about adoption and I can't help but silently cheer on my end of the computer.  If you're interested, head on over here to read how she feels about God and adoption-the comments alone will keep you busy for hours.

The longer I have been an adoptive mom, the more convicted I feel about adoption itself, both positively and negatively.  Most of the negative stems from the intentions of adoptive parents themselves. I have met too many that just want a child.  Period.  It doesn't matter how it happens, the credibility of their agency or the manner in which their children were relinquished.  The ends justifies the means and to them they rescued a child that needed to be saved so where's the rub?

I am a big on research.  So not only am I uber prepared for family vacations, I am a self-taught hypochondriac doctor and a Google maven.  For Prim's third birthday we went to Disneyland and I had printouts and maps out the wazoo for our big trip. I had scoured the 'net for all things Disney and tackled our three days at the park with military precision.  I loved the fact that all of my tedious preparation had saved us time and effort.

When we started the adoption process I read and read and read.  Opening myself up to criticism I will admit that international adoption was more alluring to us for two reasons. One, my husband is from Vietnam.  We thought it would be amazing to give a child a home where they would be surrounded by family that not only looked like them but shared the same history, language and place of birth.  We thought the transition would be less traumatic if H was able to communicate with our child in their native language.  Second-and here's where I may get hate mail-we did not want the stress of knowing that our child could be taken away by the biological parent or the bio mom could change her mind at the last minute.  We knew families that it had happened to and after years of infertility I could not handle the thought of this kind of loss.  We knew that international adoption provided-in our minds-the safety net of anonymity. 

As it turned out God had different plans for us and Prim was a waiting child from Thailand.  After our referral was official, it became apparent that we would no longer be bringing home an infant but a toddler and I felt a small part of my heart break.  Not only was our wait going to be almost a year until we traveled to get her, but she was not going to be the baby that I had imagined in my mind.  I prayed fervently each day that God would prepare her heart to accept us as her parents and to give us the wisdom to help her transition into our family.

I had researched attachment, broken attachments, re attachments, insecure attachments.  Some books I read two and three times, highlighting, turning down pages of significance to refer back to later.  I was, in my mind, absolutely prepared to receive my daughter and all of her baggage with complete confidence.

I couldn't have prepared myself for the depth of her grief. No book can put into words the raw emotion that Prim experienced.  The unadulterated fear, the crying, begging at our hotel room door to be let out.  We were not her parents and she was terrified.  I felt as if we had torn her from a happy, adjusted family and for the first time felt selfish and ashamed. Was this okay?  I remember crying while she slept on top of me, exhausted from grief, asking H if we were doing the right thing for this little girl. 

This July will be three years since Prim has been home.  Now, as a mother parenting a child who has experienced trauma, I see my intentions for adoption differently.   Knowing that Prim may never meet her biological mother makes me incredibly sad.  As she grows, she may need that communication as another part of her healing and I don't know if that will ever happen.  I think about her biological mom and wish we could send her pictures.  I wish I could tell her that the baby she had to leave is now a beautiful little girl.  I wish I could tell her that she is not forgotten and that I see her in the face of our daughter. 

You see, I went into adoption with the best of intentions.  We wanted more children, knew God had put that on our hearts and found a way through adoption to build our family.   I think now what I realize is that intentions are just that. Intentions.  It's what you do after the fact that makes the difference. Do you pretend away the broken heart of your child and put on a perfect smile, or do you do the hard work and become the parent that your child needs, not expecting him or her to become the kid you wanted?

If you ask me today if we would adopt again I would say yes! Will we? I don't know.  God will have to be in the driver's seat of that decision. Would I now consider domestic adoption? Yeah. I would.  My heart is not any different but maybe my intentions are.  I can only pray that whatever our decision, through infertility to adoption, we follow God and His plan for us.

Have You Lost Your Mind?

This is a common, almost redundant phrase in our house touted by mean mommy.  I can't remember exactly when I started saying it but I believe it happened right around the time our darling daughter ripped the fan from her bedroom wall and hurled it at me over a baby gate.  I remember looking at her and thinking in all seriousness that she had, indeed, lost her little mind.  And *wow* freakishly strong.

So when my kids hear me say have you lost your mind?! they know they have done something extraordinary-and I don't mean in a good way.  I mean the sneeze, look right at me while you wipe the huge booger off your face and then eat it while smiling kind of lost their minds.

For example, I was at the mall with a friend of mine and well into our marathon of shopping she says to me "umm...A....Prim isn't wearing any panties...."  How did she know that? Because a certain little girl was wearing a dress and had her legs from here to there and girl parts were all over the place.  I was mortified and when I asked her  Prim, have you lost your mind? WHERE are your panties?  she responded What? I didn't feel like wearing panties today mommy! Cue big adorable innocent smile and a bit of eyelash batting thrown in for good measure.

Like Ricky Ricardo always said "AYI-YI!"

I know our children make mistakes and, yes, some are bigger than others. Many, in fact, seem to come from a planet I like to call Crazy but relatively speaking they are acting as they should. Like kids.

But I have to remember, too, that there are times-like in that moment when I came within kissing distance of a wall fan- that our dysregulated children can have moments when they do in a sense 'lose their minds'.  It's not purposeful and it's definitely not always controllable. It is a moment driven purely by chemistry and instinct, not logic and reason.

In that moment of crying, screaming and feet stomping, when I wish that life has a mute button and I'd give anything to hear nails on a chalkboard over my daughter's tantruming, I have to check myself.

Self? 

Yes?

Check 1. 2. 3

(breathing)

....sometimes more breathing.....

Remind myself how we got here because it's certainly not about asking her to put on sneakers instead of flip flops.  Attachment, separation, attachment, separation, attachment. 

What I love after the initial chaos is being a part of the process.  The calming, the breathing, reconciliation, the hugs.  Watching her come from a place of fear and of being completely lost in the moment to waking up to the reality that I'm still there.

She did not push me away.  I am still loving her and will hold her in my arms.  She loses her mind but I help her find it and those are the times when I know that, oh yeah, this is pretty awesome.

Knee Jerk Reaction

I am grieved to read that Russia is suspending adoptions to the United States in the wake of the firestorm created by  Torry Hansen.

I have spent days thinking about this situation and to no end can I see the logic, reason or justification for this mother placing her child on a plane back to his country of birth.  This is a mother-who had resources available to her through her adoption agency or social services-methodically purchased a one way ticket to Russia, packed her son's belongings, wrote a note relinquishing herself of the responsibility for his welfare and sent him on his way-alone.

Already speculation abounds in the media as to the procedural validity of international adoptions, this article going as far to describe it as a "cottage industry" and Americans the "leading importer of children" as if the desire to grow families is the equivalent of acquiring a new car or piece of furniture.

While everyone is busy casting blame and pointing fingers, there is only one person who can be held responsible for this tragic situation and that is the mother, Torry Hansen. Regardless of the circumstances, the emotional stability of the child, the alleged misinformation about her son from the orphanage or the desperate feelings that pushed her to act in this manner, she alone made the decision to abandon her son. 

Although I have so much to say about this story time will not allow it today so I will end with this. For all of the outrage that the Russian people and their government have expressed over the abandonment of this little boy, where is the outrage associated with the living conditions of institutionalized, homeless and orphaned children in their own backyard? Why do we not hear the screaming protests, the demands for justice for the almost 700,000 children currently living in substandard, cramped, government run facilities?

Thank you to the families all over the world willing to open their home and their hearts to a child in need.  Do not be discouraged by this, but know that God in His wisdom will use this for His glory and honor.

You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives. Gen 50:20

What Does Love Look Like

When I saw Prim's picture for the first time on Holt's waiting child page I thought, there's my little girl! She looked so serious and those eyes! Oh my her big brown eyes!

Did I love her right then and there? Yes. But it was more the idea of her that I fell in love with. She was our daughter in every sense of the word but I did not know her. I prayed for her with ceasing, I dreamt of her coming home. I longed to hold her and get to know every curve of her body. I knew God had chosen us to be her parents and she our daughter so I loved her in the way you do in faith.

Love is like a garden, flourishing with tender care and devotion. It is weeding, pruning, watering, nourishing. It is hours upon hours of dedication, coaxing and encouragement and love is not always reciprocated. Prim came home angry, afraid and confused. She did not love us but clung to us out of a primal need for survival. We had to earn her love slowly over time. We loved her by acting in love; doing for her what needed to be done so that she, like a withered garden, would bloom and grow.

We did not make our love for her dependant on the love she showed for us. Her heart was broken and her need for a safe place to fall superceeded our need to feel validated as adoptive parents.

I believe that love can heal any wound. But not just any love. Not the love you see in movies or feel after a first kiss. It's the love described so beautifully in 1 Corinthians 13: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Hyper Vigilance and The Adopted Child Part 2

I know a lot of us struggle with our parenting choices whether we have biological or adopted children. For adoptive parents, however, there is the added emotion of "am I doing it correctly?" How is my parenting going to effect the outcome of this child's life? Will my impatience today be reflected in the face of my child ten years from now? Could I be doing more to foster a closer bond?

First, let us take a deep breath and recognize that we are not perfect. Not even close. For just one minute, close your eyes and reflect on the fact that God's perfect hand is over your child. He will be the Bridge for the gap that is our imperfection and weakness. Lean on Him in the moments when you are unsure or unable and then give yourself the grace to realize that every single moment is new. How you responded a minute ago does not have to be how you respond now! It is like living 24 hours of second chances. Use them and build on them to strengthen your skill set and resolve.

The next time your hyper vigilant, hyper aware little one tantrums, disobeys and all-out tests every shred of patience you have, take a quick minute to assess and then plan. Make each moment purposeful and non reactive on your part. Remember, match intensity but not emotion.

This is what I have learned to say to myself before going forward:

1. Prim's did not wake up this morning with the intention of getting under my skin.

2. She wants my approval so her reaction right now is obviously not desirable for her either.

3. My goal is to get her regulated, not to make her obey.

4. I can not have a teachable moment until she is calm and focused and that may take time.

5. I am not 'giving in', just GIVING. (repeat this over and over again!)

Our little ones (and big ones!) have a deep desire for peace. The conflict of emotions that they feel on a daily basis to stimuli and stress is confusing, stressful and frightening. Our job is to give them a safe place to fall and acceptance during these moments of dyregulation. We don't have to like the behavior, but we can love the child for who she is. Even if this is the fifth or twenty fifth temper tantrum, approach each without the emotion carried over from the first. It is exhausting but you will see results!

Here are some tips for effectively modeling regulation:

1. Learn to breath! If your child is too young or unwilling to take deep, cleansing breaths when they become dysregulated show them that mommy and daddy can do it as well. Even in the face of screaming and crying, let them see you taking deep breaths before responding to them.

2. Bubbles!! This is a great way to practice breathing and a wonderful opportunity for distraction. Have them on both floors of the house so they can be reached easily. I will never forget the day I asked Prim in the middle of a temper tantrum "where are you bubbles??". I was that desperate!

3. Bubbles are not just for the kids! They are for you too! Sometimes it is enough to sit close by, open the bubbles and slowing start blowing. It is amazing how 1) calming this is for YOU and 2) how distracting it can be to our little one.

4. Words of affirmation. Again, we don't have to approve of the behavior but we can certainly validate the feels and give them a name. "Yes, I understand that you are angry. I can see that you are frustrated. That seems to make you sad". Giving words to feelings will eventually help them to connect their emotions in a healthy way.

5. Holding. What our children often desire in the midst of their emotional chaos is safety and acceptance in the form of a hug or rocking. For me this was hard as I felt I was 'giving in to bad behavior'. When I started holding instead of separating myself, however, the melt downs have become much, much shorter in duration and intensity.

6. Distraction. Prim's whining has gotten better. What I realized is that I was becoming a part of the problem instead of the solution. Instead of telling her to stop whining (which only escalated her response) I try and switch gears verbally to stop her brain from taking that next step in her emotional response.
For example: Prim starts whining that she really, really, REALLY wanted that snack before dinner. Me: I understand you are hungry and dinner will be ready in five minutes. Since you do such a great job, can you give the dogs a treat for me? I really need a helper right now so I can get dinner ready for you because I know you're hungry." So in just a few sentences I have validated her feelings and tried to redirect her while letting her know that I am doing my best to meet her need. For Prim this big of a phrase is usually ok. Sometimes she can only handle once sentence at a time so I slow it down. I understand you are hungry. Dinner will be in five minutes. Can I hold you?


Don't ever, not ever never ever, forget that God knew that YOU are the perfect mother for this child!! You are what they need! Remember: assess, plan, breathe and when all else fails-love. God does not love us because we are lovable. He loves us because He is love and we are created to be in relationship with Him.

Hyper Vigilance and The Adopted Child

Hyper vigilant is defined as: an enhanced state of sensory sensitivity accompanied by an exaggerated intensity of behaviors whose purpose is to detect threats.

Aha! moments are becoming a more frequent occurrence in our house. Our latest session with Sarah began with a progress report of the past two weeks. Did we use bubbles to practice breathing when Prim became dysregulated?
Yes! Bubbles are a fun way to distract Prim and allow her brain to shift gears so that she can begin to self regulate.

What methods worked best to comfort, soothe and promote regulation? There is no doubt that holding/snuggling works for Prim. If she can be held almost immediately after the start of a tantrum and then redirected by asking a question or making an observation about our surroundings, she is more likely to become calm more quickly.

One prominent character trait that we have established as a major contributor to Prim's behavior is her hyper awareness. She is intelligent, clever, bright and notices even the most minute change in personal appearance, facial expression or intonation. Because of this hyper awareness she becomes what Sarah referred to as hyper vigilant.

Prim needs to know where each member of the family is at all times. Every morning she makes sure that Daddy is, in fact, at work. Yes, G is going to school and we will pick him up at 3:30. Can she play in the bathroom while I take my shower? Will Daddy stay with her when I go out? She often wakes up in the middle of the night and comes into our room for a drink of water or a hug. H and I joke that she is doing her nightly head count but we see truth in the humor and understand that it is her way of staying connected. Her many questions need to be answered directly and honestly in order to ease any lingering fear or doubt and may have to be reiterated multiple times throughout the day. This was especially true when H was deployed last year.

Prim's world still needs to have boundaries that she can anticipate. Her hyper vigilance-as a result of broken attachments-can cause intense reactions in moments when she is apprehensive or fearful. She is more sensitive to change in bedtime routines or overnight trips and her vigilance requires us to be that much calmer, that much more in control of our reactions during these times.

The common denominator in graduating from intense, emotional reactions to rational cause and effect processing is our own reactions and intensity as parents. If we match our child's emotional response (those we perceive to be negative) than we have missed an opportunity to share what regulated looks like.

Sarah didn't just give those bubbles to Prim. She gave them to both of us because my emotional regulation is just as important as hers. In order to be the teacher, I must be able to be taught as I continue to seek out ways to best serve my daughter.

What Gets Me

Death is a hard subject for me. It always has been and I have a sneaking suspicion it always will be. I tend to hold onto this world a bit too firmly, have myself a little too rooted in my earthly home. While in the past few years I have begun to long for the peace of Heaven, (I will write about this another time) the kisses and hugs of my children and our family's future together are more real to me. God has asked me to face this discomfort by blessing me with children who speak their minds about everything-including death and dying.

G said to me recently, "Mommy, I want to be famous". Famous, huh? I replied. My first thought? Sweet. Retirement-taken care of! Oh! and I'll definitely show those stage moms a thing or two..... Then I pictured a sullen, scrawny, cigarette toting Lindsay Lohan and one of her bohemian looking boyfriends/girlfriends and thought I'd better reengage in this conversation so I can stop this before it starts.

Honey, why do you want to be famous? I ask. So far G has his career choices very carefully narrowed down to police officer and/or scientist. I see my parenting flash before my eyes in anticipation of his answer and hope he doesn't say something shallow like 'for the money'. Of course that was MY first thought but that's neither here nor there (do you buy that?).

Well, I should have known. I should have predicted that MY son would have a reason beyond the wisdom of his seven years at the ready. His answer was, I want everyone to remember me. Remember you how? I asked. When I pass away, he continued, I want people to remember me forever. Just like people remember Abraham Lincoln and George Washington. I don't want anyone to forget me.

As a mom who teaches my children that our earthly home is temporary, I shouldn't have felt jarred but I was. Just hearing my son mention himself 'passing away' left my throat feeling tight and my eyes moist with tears. I gave myself five seconds to silently say to him what I felt but knew was not the truth; you will never pass away! You will be here long after I am gone. You will watch your grandchildren grow up and die at the tender age of 99 asleep in your bed next to the woman you loved your entire life!

I must admit that when I finally opened my mouth I tripped on my words a bit and quickly turned this conversation over to God. I closed my eyes, quickly prayed for guidance and continued with the Holy Spirit firmly in the driver's seat. I told him that no matter what, his family would always, always remember him. That one day his children's children will remember the amazing man he will become and that they are going to remember him for the love he had for God. And most importantly, I said, while we are here on this earth, God will never forget us or forsake us. We are precious in His sight and loved by Him each and every day and He will never forget what we have done in His service. I told him that he does not have to be famous to be worthy of remembering, especially in the eyes of our Heavenly Father. Thankfully G let me know he was satisfied with this answer with a kiss goodnight and he's not brought it up again.

I get all choked up because I can not bear to think of my children not within arms reach of me. This conversation was a gentle reminder that my children are not my own. They are the Lord's for His keeping and I must learn to eventually let go. My prayer is that H and I will be there to greet our children at the gates of Heaven, not the other way around.

In Steven Curtis Chapman's new song he sings:

Heaven is a sweet, maple syrup kiss
And a thousand other little things I miss with her gone
Heaven is the place where she takes my hand
And leads me to You
And we both run into Your arms

........it gets me every time.

My Learning Curve

I'm following Lisa's lead over at A Bushel and a Peck and pondering my "learning curves". I can't think of a season in my life when-out of sheer necessity- I have had to undergo such a huge paradigm shift in my parenting philosophy. For the past couple of months I have felt myself rebelling, pushing back and shaking my head 'no' with the same veracity as my four year old. I was committed to MY way even in the face of chaos just for the sake of being right.

Albert Eisnstein said, "We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used to create them". I know I didn't create Prim's fear, but I also know that there have been moments when my sense of being 'right' was more important than her need to be soothed and comforted. It's a tough pill to swallow when I think of how I could have made some things easier for all of us.....if only I hadn't been so intent on parenting according to my needs instead of her needs.

Sarah is teaching me that 'giving' is not the same at 'giving in'. Now when Prim asks for her second or third glass of milk at dinner, she receives it with a smile and affirmation that I am happy to get it for her because I understand that it is comforting. In the morning when I ask her to get dressed and she resists, crying that she doesn't want to go upstairs by herself, I put down what I'm doing and accompany her instead of trying to convince her there is no reason to be scared. I am trying to anticipate her needs before she vocalizes them, ( i.e. crying or whining) just as I did with G when he was an infant. My learning curve continues to expand.

Yesterday we only had one (short lived) meltdown. I felt empowered because I didn't resist the physical embrace Prim needed to calm herself down. I took her into my arms without conditions and loved on her as she cried. I have had to learn that doing this is not indulging her defiance but giving her the tools she needs to become regulated so that later we can have a teachable moment.

I have said this so many times but my children are teaching me how to be a better person. If it weren't for my daughter, my strong-willed wild orchid, I think I would have become stagnant in my parenting, stuck in a self-imposed idealistic box. I can't imagine this life without them and the lessons they teach me daily.

Justifiable Pornography

This was the magazine in the check-out line AT EYE LEVEL to my children at the commissary today. I was absolutely mortified. Call me prude, old fashioned, stuck in the 50's-I don't care. This was not what I wanted my seven year old son to be looking at as I hurriedly loaded groceries onto the conveyor belt.

How can we complain that women are objectified on a daily basis when we are raising our daughters to think that this is okay? I see this magazine cover and wonder why anyone questions how we came to this place where the female body MUST be sexualized to be appreciated. We allow our boys to be exposed to thousands upon thousands of television and print images that border on pornographic yet expect them to grow into men who will enter into healthy, monogamous relationships.

It is difficult to teach modesty is today's age. It will be even more difficult (but not impossible with God's guidance) to teach purity to my children when it is not revered by society. Instead we have Planned Parenthood fighting for the right to teach ten year old children that they are sexual beings:

"Young people's sexuality is still contentious for many religious institutions. Fundamentalist and other religious groups the — Catholic Church and madrasas (Islamic schools) for example — have imposed tremendous barriers that prevent young people, particularly, from obtaining information and services related to sex and reproduction. Currently, many religious teachings deny the pleasurable and positive aspects of sex and limited guidelines for sexual education often focus on abstinence before marriage…"

If you've ever watched The Duggar Family in '19 Kids and Counting' you may notice that they do not dance. I always wondered why and recently happened on a rerun where they answer viewers questions and this topic came up. The parents believe that dancing brings attention to the body and not the face so their family chooses not to do it. I thought about this for a while. The Bible mentions dancing on many occasions in ways of both praise and worship so why the fuss?? I know I'm getting off topic from the SI cover so I'll make my point quickly. What is dancing? Intimate, touching, gyrating, bouncing, enticing maybe unknowingly. I get it. I see why they choose to take an extra step in protecting their children's purity.

I know the world can't (and shouldn't) conform to me. But what I wish is that there was a return to decency. That this cover of a beautiful young women would be just as successful for her face and heart as it is for her breasts, hips and thighs. I wish my son didn't have to see something that may stir premature desire in him. He's only young for such a short period of time and in these times when kids are boyfriend and girlfriend in the first grade, and oral sex is happening in elementary school, I wish for him the opportunity of just being a child. I want to do it my way without the world's help.

When I Grow Up...

Do you ever feel like you're at a crossroads inside of a perfect life? How is it possible, I ask myself, to feel uncertain when I am doing what I most desire and have dreamed of since I was a child? I am a wife and a mother. There is nothing that makes me more proud than to say that I spend my days taking care of our family. Why then, do I sometimes ask myself if "this is it"?
G asked me THE question I have been (silently) avoiding/dreading for many years. "Mommy, which college did you graduate from?". He knows that Daddy went to the Naval Academy and realized at the UVA bookstore this weekend that he didn't know where I went to college. (Because we have made it the natural next step in education after high school, our children have yet to realize that college is a choice, not a requirement). Oh my how my heart fluttered with trepidation in that moment. My honest-to-goodness gut instinct was to pretend I hadn't heard him and distract him with a counter question regarding Star Wars. That would have thrown him off of the trail for a while but I knew, inevitably, that I would have to answer for my lack of a college Alma Mater. I stumbled over my answer, balancing my pride, ego and shame all in one sentence. He seemed satisfied (after pointing out that I am too old now to go anyway) and went back to shopping for tshirts. I had tears in my eyes on the drive home because I knew that my answer wasn't good enough for him because it has never been good enough for me. I quite. I am a quitter. I stopped because my life was messy at the time, I was distracted and self absorbed and didn't care to sit in a lecture hall with hundreds of other students knowing I had to work until midnight that very same night to pay for the same class I couldn't stand. It wasn't worth the effort and I have regretted that decision ever since.
H held my hand the entire way home. He knows how much this subject gets me. He has encouraged me time and time again to start over and to do it for myself. What would I do? Why go back if I know I will stay home anyway? I ask him. I feel like it is my responsibility as a mother to be here for the children we chose to have. And what about the deployments, long hours and work travel. What could I do that would allow me the flexibility I needed? H's next obvious question was-well, what is it you want to do? What will make you feel more satisfied? I have what I want! To be a mom! I say and around and around we go. It's not that I'm dissatisfied with "mothering". It's that I wonder if I should be doing MORE. Is it okay to go back to school if it takes time away from our children? If I fill myself with more of Him and less of me won't I feel complete? Do other Christian women, who try to live according to His desires for our lives, feel this way too? Is it really okay that I'm not college material or am I just taking the easy way out. Sometimes it seems easier to assume I can't do it than to actually do it.
I am a mother who deep down still dreams of being a kick-ass, gun carrying, life saving, bad-guy-getting agent of the law. I should be satisfied. Right?

I Made It All About Me

I have two children. One biological and one adopted. The funny thing is, with my son, I never wonder if my love is enough to take him through life. I can honestly say that no matter what, I know that my kisses and hugs can cover his boo-boos and heartache, first crushes or broken bones. Prim, however, leaves me wondering if I can love her as much as she needs to feel whole. For every kiss or cuddle she clings to me tighter and I think, "how can I lover her more?". Lately my little one is more demanding of my time. I will walk by her and she will throw herself in my direction, hanging on to my leg or begging me to hold her. I have begun to cringe in anticipation of her fierce need for my affection. The more she presses the more I feel myself pull away.

Last week I asked Sarah, our counselor, about this. What can I do, how much more can I show my love for her? I feel selfish, insecure in my mothering. Her reply was that I am (at times) parenting out of fear. That my expectations, my validation as a mother is married to how well I perceive Prim to be adjusting. I confessed to her, in the way you might confess your darkest secret, that sometimes I see my daughter and parent her as if she is going down the road of promiscuity and drug use. I see the road before her with only two clear choices-normalcy or inadequacy- and feel ultimately responsible for both. One way I do right by her, the other I fail.

How can I possible think this way about my four year old? She has her entire life ahead of her with as much possibility for success as her brother. Why then do I jump to fear? Mostly I guess because I have seen the stories, read the admissions of some adopted children who go through life feeling incomplete and lost and I see the worst case scenario for my daughter. I see what the trauma of two broken attachments has done to her. I couldn't protect her from the pain. I can't take away what has already happened to her, what she has lost and it breaks my heart into a million pieces. She is beautiful and funny and loving and yet I can see in her eyes that she fears being left. Again.

In these moments, I forget that I am not the center of the universe. I forget that there is a bigger part of our equation. God. He is the love that will bridge the gap. He is Who will fill in for my failures. After talking with Sarah I realized that my pulling away was not because I did not want to hold my daughter, but because I feared doing it and failing anyway. How simple I made Prim's life. Do this and she succeeds, don't do this right and she is lost to her circumstances. I forgot the God Who created her. The God who brought us together and I feel ashamed. He used Sarah as a reminder to me that she will be blessed because of Him, not in spite of Him. Thank you, God, for your mercy and patience during my learning curve in parenting our remarkable gift.

Anti-Adoption-What?

Call me naive. Maybe my head has been stuck in the sand or in unending piles of laundry. I had absolutely no idea that an anti-adoption movement was alive in this country.

I love reading blogs. On the one hand I have to admit all blogs and social networking is a bit voyeuristic. It's fascinating to peek into the lives of strangers or garner a deeper understanding of friends and loved ones. The Internet in general gives us a false sense of anonymity. We can write what we'd never say out loud or share with strangers online what we'd never tell the check out girl in the coffee shop. Blogging has-and continues to-open my eyes to the endless world of opinion and perspective of entire groups of people that I did not know existed.

It was by stumbling on one of these blogs that I read a women's devotion to the anti-adoption movement. I was immediately fascinated in the same way I would be by watching a broken arm being reset-a bit horrified but unable to turn away. I felt compelled read what she had to say. I set aside my very immediate and very defensive preconceived notions and read. And read. I read bits and pieces of blogs that she follows and found a common thread among them that broke my heart and left me shaking my head at the same time. That common thread was heartache. Heartache from giving up a child and living with constant regret and heartache at being abandoned by biological parents.

I can't say that her feelings are not justified. As a mother myself it is difficult-no-unimaginable to think of being in a position where the best interest of my child would be to give him/her up for adoption. Of course the very strong argument from her being that adoption is never in a child's best interest. That it is a money driven and damaging institution that tears apart families and destroys the lives of adopteess and bio parents alike. She also takes the position that adoptive parents are looking for "replacement" children. Either replacing a biological child who has been lost or for those unable to conceive. She maintains that adoption should be halted and banned. Positive adoption language is taught to further a lie, young girls are forced to give up their white babies for rich Americans looking for the picture perfect family. Infertile women use other people's children as a band-aide and instead of adoption advocacy it should be pro-family togetherness.

I can't even decide which to tackle first. First, I do not disagree that at some point in our history many young women had been forced into giving up their children through pressure, unethical practices and downright lies. I do believe that women have had to make the decision to give up their child under extreme duress. To argue, however, that women are now taught by adoption agencies that to give up their child for adoption is the "noble" thing to do in order for said agencies to meet the supply and demand of infant girls for rich white folks is insulting. We can not and should not deny any history that crippled women and families. I do not believe that by allowing adoption in this country is to encourage the abandonment of children.

Not only do I not think that my daughter was a "band-aide" for my infertility, I did not think that adoption would be the easiest way to grow our family. Our decision to adopt was done through prayer. We did not take lightly the knowledge that our adopted child may face issues that stem from a broken attachment(s). We did not adopt to make ourselves seem more highly regarded or noble. We did not buy a designer child that fit our specifications.


As those in the anti-adoption movement argue, adoptive children are traumatized and live with the effects of being abandoned for the rest of their lives. They maintain that adoption is unjustified in any case because of the irreparable damage it does to children. I do not disagree that with adoption can bring challenges. I have met parents who have had a picture perfect experience (to me that means the transition for the child not the parent) and then there are those children, like my Prim, who still have deep-rooted fears associated with broken attachments. And yes, (this may come as a shock) she may have to deal with some of these feelings for the rest of her life. Do I pray that God heals her heart and that she finds peace? Yes! Will I do everything in my power to guide her and comfort her? Absolutely!!

What I don't hear is what this movement proposes to do about the unending number of orphans. I am so thankful that there are young women, old women, poor women, rich women who decided to give birth to their children even if it means adoption is the end result, instead of having an abortion. That's where I stand and don't make apologies for it. To argue that it would be better for a child to be aborted rather than face the life as an adoptive child is futile. I can not imagine a world where it would be better for a life given by God to be terminated instead of facing the many challenges that life can bring. For better or worse we are all a product of our upbringing and circumstances and can only find true healing and wholeness in our Savior.

I think I could go on and on. I understand where many of these woman are coming from. They were a generation forced by society and greed to give up a part of themselves. I can not imagine or pretend to comprehend the pain associated with giving up a child for adoption. I think of Prim's mom often and wonder if she really had a choice. Would she have kept her baby in a perfect world? I don't know. I'll probably never know. What I do know is that there was a little girl that needed a family. God spoke to me and called me hers and I answered.

You can argue with me about this until you are blue in the face. Children deserve families. Kids orphaned by illness, abuse, death or neglect deserve an opportunity to experience unconditional love, hope, and safety . You could not convince me otherwise......

Braids, Bribes and Therapy

This morning's hair request was braids. Braids JUST like her doll Katie. Prim loves Katie's beautiful, thick, glossy braids. She wants braids that look just as pretty as Katie's. Unfortunately for my sweet girl, she has not grasped the concept of actually needing a substantial amount of hair to achieve her desired look. After much pleading with her wide liquid eyes we came to a compromise and did piggies, braided them and banded them at the bottom. They did stick out quite a bit and she struck me as an Asian version of Pippi Longstocking but she was tickled pink and that meant my morning got a little bit easier.
Our first stop of the day was an appointment with a family counselor I found who specializes in adoption. It's been a long time coming and a part of me wishes I would have done this while H was deployed, but I thought I could handle it on my own. For seven months her days were fine but her stress manifested again in night time dysregulation. When H came home it immediately subsided but began again after we moved (twice in three months) and now that we are stable but have more visitors it has been an issue. I don't know what it is about her nights. All of her fears, all of her worries and insecurities create a deep, intense reaction at bedtime. It's either fighting bedtime or waking up in the middle of the night temper-tantrumming because she can't sleep in our bed and feels alone. First, let me say that she shares a bedroom with her brother-she is in no way alone. She says this because she is apart from me and I am her security blanket. Second, Prim has this bizarre internal clock that will wake her up at midnight on the dot (my mother was amazed) and the struggle begins. Of all of the things I wish I could give my daughter as her mother, I wish I could give her peace. Peace in emotionally understanding that when she goes to bed at night we will still be here in the morning. Peace to be able to be in a room by herself and not feel insecure or abandoned.
To get to the point I need guidance. I want to be the best mother to her that I can and I don't have all of the tools to do it on my own. I don't know how to get past her fear. I don't know how else to assure her, to love her, to comfort her. Maybe it will just take time but I need someone to tell me that, too.
Our counselor is nice. A Christian, a wife and a mother. She recommended an AMAZING book that I myself had just finished reading (I'll blog about it soon) and was hoping to put into practice. Thank you God for giving me a clear sign that I was on the right track! Prim was great and watched Tom and Jerry on her portable DVD player. She ate a fruit roll up for snack which I soon regretted b/c I didn't bring a drink and her thirst became a quick topic of discussion. A very LOOONG topic of discussion. Did she not understand that I was paying by the hour for this session? I tried the compromise: "Please give mommy ten more minutes and then we'll discuss getting a drink". Five minutes later when she exclaimed that she was 'weally, weally, WEALLY thirsty!' I went straight to bribe mode: "Prim, since you have been sitting so patiently what do you think about mommy getting you a special treat after we are done talking to Ms. Sarah?". I swear my daughter must have a mental list of the bribes she is willing to accept at any given moment. She quickly whispered in my ear: "How about chocolate milk?". I agreed, she was satisfied and it only cost me ten minutes of billable time and a chocolate milk.
As we were leaving the building a few young girls walked by and giggled, whispering how cute Prim was with her braids. I smiled because her braids today suit her. They are little but strong (they stayed put all day!) and even though they stick out straight off the side of her head they are nothing if they are not endearing. That's my girl.