All In

A Window

2013-08-05T07:40:00.000-07:00

Today I got home from work to find 1 extra child in the house. Apparently there were 2 others just 30 minutes prior for a total of 3 guests. On Wednesday night, 1 child will be having 1 friend over for a sleep over and another child will be having 2 friends over for the same. Even when it is only the family, our house is rarely quiet.

That noise is often arguing, often yelling up and down the stairs at someone across the house, sometimes the sound of someone in trouble, and so very often laughter. Tons of laughter.

Our kids are happy kids. Good kids. Fun kids. Enthusiastic kids. So much has happened over the past 21 months. We have watched the kids learn English, learn about The United States, learn about me, learn about Josh, learn in school, learn more about God, learn, and learn, and learn, and learn. We have fallen in love with them and them with us. We have watched them get comfortable in their new lives and in their new family and in their new home.

Every once in a while I catch a glimpse of the hurt in their hearts. Tears shed. Words written. Feelings allowed to escape in the form of words. That look upon a little face. Aching for the friends left behind. Broken for the family so far away. Crushed for the ones lost to the grave.

It hurts to see their tears. It's difficult to find words to ease their pain. I tell them that I am happy to see these windows because it tells me that they have not forgotten those precious people that mean so much to them. I tell them that I am happy that they trust me enough to see it. I am thankful that they were loved so much, long before we ever met.

And then as quickly as it appeared, the window closes. The laughter resumes and life continues.

Obviously this is very personal. I only share the generalities because the specifics are private. I thank you for respecting that. And I thank you for wanting to learn more about this journey. A marathon of epic proportions. The path is beautiful, fun, blessed, and happy but we didn't get here easily. I tend to forget that this is a decades long journey.

In Lovish

2013-06-27T17:37:00.001-07:00

We have told our kids that they are not allowed to get married until they are 30. The person they marry will impact their adult life more than anyone else, including us. Love is such a powerful thing. It can bring warmth, friendship, partnership, and great delight. Or it can bring pain, sorrow, and even danger.

We had been married for 2 or 3 years when my father-in-law shared something with me and my sister-in-law. We were camping and sitting at a picnic bench. He told us that he started praying for the women that his sons would marry when Josh was very little. It was likely before I was even born. It is something that has stuck with me all that time. He knew how important a good marriage is. He was preparing his sons for not only their grade school or even high school or college years, but for their adult lives.

I was just a couple months shy of being 20 years old when we got married. I was so very young. I didn’t yet know who I was or what I wanted in life. But I knew I was in love. I had found a man who was kind and patient and loving and shared my same core values. I knew that we could build a life together.

Josh has always been a good husband. He looks out for me and takes care of me in so many little ways. Now he is a stay at home Dad. His patience now extends to our kids. His provision for his family is not in bringing home the paycheck but in making sure that we use it wisely. He reads the Bible daily, out loud so I can listen as I put on my makeup in the morning. His love now covers children who were not born of his DNA but joined to him in a journey of healing.

A couple weeks ago we traded in our 7 passenger SUV for a 12 passenger van. The purpose in doing so is to be ready for more kids whenever our 2nd adoption takes place. That evening, after buying the van, I told Josh thank you for buying the van and agreeing to another one of my crazy plans. He replied that he has talked me out of the really crazy stuff. I laughed that he thinks adopting 2 more kids is not the craziest thing I have ever tried to talk him into. Ok, there was the sibling group of 7 that I tried to talk him into…. And then the sibling group of 5…. But how many men would be willing to agree to skip trying for biological kids, go from 0 to 4 kids overnight, be a stay at home Dad, AND adopt again?!? He is an amazing man.

Recently our kids decided that we are “in lovish”. They defined in lovish to mean being too much in love with too much kissing and too much touching. Apparently we hold hands too much and cuddle too much on the couch during a movie. I’m happy to be in lovish. And I hope that one day, each of my kids will be in lovish too.

Mommy Self Doubt

2013-03-30T22:57:00.000-07:00

Oh the pressure! SO much pressure! Am I doing it wrong? Am I good enough to do this? Am I capable of loving enough? Am I teaching the right ethics, the right behavior, the right work ethic? Am I stifling her? Am I encouraging her too much? Will she grow up to have self esteem? Will she do good in school? Am I helping enough with her reading? Am I using the best methods? Is our discipline approach working for this kid at this time? Should I take her to a doctor for that? Are her chores appropriate for her age? Are we feeding them the right things?

I think all Moms feel this way. In fact I'm sure of it. I do think that adoption adds an extra layer. Maybe the total amount of pressure is the same. I don't know. But I do know that I ask myself questions that are not "normal". I have found that the only thing that lessens these feelings is talking with others who are feeling the same things. I am so very thankful for the moral support that SO many face-to-fact, long-distance, and virtual-but-real friends have given to me repeatedly again and again.

Parenting has taught me so much about my relationship with God. He wants me to come near to Him. He wants me to ask for help. He wants to give me good things. He wants me to tell Him my fears and hurts. He wants my trust. He wants my heart. He wants me.

Not again!?!

2013-03-23T23:41:00.000-07:00

Well, it is time to come out of the closet with our secret. If you haven't figured it out already, we are preparing for the possibility of adopting again. Yup, you heard me. Again. In fact we have completed a new home study through DSHS.

Now you are probably thinking "this is the same nut who has totally scared me away from ever adopting!" Well first, I truly hope that I haven't scared you away. But I do realize that is possible with my overly raw and graphic posts about the realities of adoption. Why do I write in this way? I don't know. It's just how the words come out. I guess it's my own way of processing these thoughts.

I have struggled to articulate why we would want to adopt again. Heck, I can barely explain why we adopted the first time. Because it was the plan. Because I visited an orphanage for a couple hours when I had just turned 18 and it was clear to me that since God had not built me with a desire for bio kids or the whole prego experience, that adoption was where I would aim. You will hear adoptive parents say that you can't adopt because you want to do a good deed and "rescue" a child. Good deeds are one time acts. This is a relationship. A commitment. And yet, I have found myself thinking "well yes, I did want to rescue a child and I want to do so again, what is so bad about that?"

The Blind Side is playing on TV. I have watched the whole movie twice now but I can't bring myself to watch the first half anymore. Michael picking up leftover popcorn and washing his clothes alone at the laundry mat breaks me down. It makes me want to go out and adopt 20 more. It makes me cry so hard that I can't really think much of anything. I have been pondering this question of "why" for a while now. Tonight, the movie was playing in the background as I worked on some stuff when I heard it. The answer.

Mrs. Tuohy: So what happened?
Michael: Why'd you do it?
Mrs. Tuohy: What?
Michael: All along you wanted me to go to Ol' Miss.
Mrs. Tuohy: Well of course I did. We love Ol' Miss.
Michael: Why did you do this for me?
Mrs. Tuohy: What?
Michael: Everything! Was it for you or was it for me? Was it so I would go to school where you wanted? Was it so I would do what you wanted?

Why did you do it? Was it for you or was it for me? There is the core question. I'll be honest, this started being for me. It felt like the right thing to do. Why create another child when I could save a starving, scared, and alone child? I am a good person. I am that good. Ha! What a load of crap! I'm not "good." I fail. I fail often. Regularly. I don't deserve my kids. They are loving and kind and strong and they are good. I don't know why God would see fit to entrust me with such precious cargo, but he has. And if He is willing to entrust us with more, how could we ever say no? We did not decide on looking for a sibling group of 4 so that we would be put on a pedestal. People often say how impressed they are. I have even been called a saint. Me! A saint! Oh Lord help us, if I am what a saint is, then the whole world is doomed! I often think that God called me to have 4 kids because nothing less would teach me any degree of patience. And now I am starting to think that God is saying "well if 4 won't do the trick, we can keep going!"

Throughout my life, I have struggled with asking God what is my purpose in life.

I have asked Him why He made me so aggressive and strong willed? I'm not sure we ever would have made it through all of the adoption process if it weren't for this fire in my soul that has caused me to ask "why" so often.
I once lived as a missionary kid in a country that was so very different from America. I now have 4 kids who want so badly to fit in with their friends. And I really do know first hand what that feels like.
I work in a comfortable office and have a comfortable job. If I really believe in God, why am I not out on a mission field somewhere? This comfortable job of mine pays the bills for our family. My family is my mission field for the next 13 years minimum.
We bought a large house (3100 sq ft finished plus another 1200 sq ft unfinished). Why would God give us a bigger house than we need when so many people have no home at all? This house is big enough for more kids. Many more kids!
I have a BA in Linguistics. Why on earth did I spend all that time and money pursuing a degree that I don't use? I have 4 kids for whom English is their second language. I had NO idea how often I would use my phonetics class.
My husband has the patience of Job. He is so patient that it drives me nuts. Well it did. Now I am just in awe and learning from him everyday and so very thankful that God gave me this amazing man to balance me out. Seriously, we complement each other in our strengths and weaknesses so much, it's amazing and divinely designed.

During the most difficult times in our adoption journey were the times when I felt the most clear about God's plan and design for my life. In all of my failures, in all of my flat on my face moments, I have been clear on what my aim is. I know how far I am from the mother that God wants to be and that my kids deserve, but I know. I know where God wants me. I know why I am here, in this moment, in this day, in this place. I have prayed more, confessed more, begged for strength more, apologized more, and loved more than I ever knew possible. And here is the greatest part, I know that there is so much more to come! I will learn more. Grow more. Love more.

Would more kids create more stress? Yes!

Would more kids be a financial strain? Yes...

Would more kids require our 4 kids to adjust? Yes.

Would more kids involve a major adjustment period for those new kids? Yes.

Would more kids feel overwhelming? Yes.

Would more kids push us as still fairly new parents? Yes.

Would more kids bring more little people to love? Yes!!! And LOVE is the bottom line.

This picture is my little Ryan dressed up in his sister's bathrobe. He is a ball of fire, full of energy and always good for a laugh. His tears are so infrequent that when he does cry, I feel like my heart breaks in half and it is so very hard for me to say no to something if I see those bright eyes well up. He rarely stops smiling even when I threaten to duct tape him to his chair at dinner time. We try and try to get him to stop running but his feet just don't know how to slow down. He LOVES life and he has so much to teach me. Just look at that smile!

So I guess my intentions are selfish again. I want to be immersed in God's plan. I want to cling to Him because I can't do it alone. I want to pull close to my husband as we strain to grow quickly to be what we need to be. I want to be in the deep end. I want to be in the ocean.

Broken?

2013-03-10T15:28:00.000-07:00

Are my kids broken? Well that is a very loaded question.

My kids' bodies are covered in scars. They were not beaten when living with their extended family prior to the orphanage, and while corporal punishment is common place in Ugandan culture, I don't think that they were hit to the point of leaving any scars even at the orphanage. Their scars are from living in a rough life where kids gathered fire wood, worked in the garden, carried water daily, hung around open fires, and toys were rocks and sticks and metal playground equipment that knocked out teeth when play got carried away.

My kids' hearts have been broken, yes. We actually just talked about this today. We talked about how just leaving their extended family in Uganda broke their hearts, and then getting word 6 months later that their beloved Grandmother had died, broke their hearts all over again. And while that brokeness is healing, there will always be a scar on their hearts in that place.

Adoption comes from brokenness. A child would never need adopting if it weren't for the fact that we live in a broken world. Children are all too often the ones who pay the price for the sins of adults. It's not fair. Nothing about it is fair. People often say "your kids are so lucky to have you." I know what they mean. They are trying to compliment us for being good parents. But are they really lucky? Lucky to lose their first mother? Lucky to leave behind all their friends who they still miss to this day? Lucky to be forced to live with strangers who look funny, smell funny, speak words that make no sense, and have expectations with which they are not familiar?

Adoption = Scars. It's just a fact. Even a child adopted at birth, given up by a teen who is a good girl that found herself in a situation that she wasn't ready for, and given to loving parents who adore her, will someday be forced to face the brokeness that lead to her story.

I challenge you to look at my kids. Look at their faces. Are they broken? Their hearts have scars but that is not the theme of their lives. Look at their eyes. Do you see pain? No. They are happy kids. They love life in a way I didn't understand until I fell in love with them. Do they still hurt? Yes. Deep wounds take the longest to heal. But their wounds aren't the end. They are the beginning. My kids run wildly, jump like bouncy balls, laugh loudly with their whole bodies, and they love. They love with all their hearts. They love me. Even though they know all my faults, they love me. Even though I lose my temper and yell, they love me. Even though I am not the perfect Mommy that they deserve, they love me. And that is our story!

Can You Imagine?

2013-03-04T22:35:00.000-08:00

Sometimes people pretend that they know what our life is like. They assume that because it has been over a year now, that we are "normal" now (whatever that means) and that we don't deal with adoption related/caused stuff anymore. It's true, the "stuff" becomes less over time. But so much is still there.

Sometimes people say "I can't imagine." Many times people say "I can only imagine." I always appreciate these words. I appreciate when friends acknowledge that we deal with some tough stuff. And just as much, I appreciate that friends do relate.

Recently I spent some time getting to know a couple of women who asked questions about my life, my family, my kids, and all the stuff that is not so "normal" (whatever that means) in our lives. They often hedged their questions with "if it is ok that I ask" or "I hope I'm not asking too many questions." My reply is that I am happy to answer questions. I'm thrilled that people are interested and want to understand.

There are so many things that never get said. Once you are on this side of the fence, you hear about all kinds of "stuff" that families deal with. It's not generally shared because these children are people. Small people. But people nonetheless. Their deepest pain and suffering does not belong on a billboard over their heads. That said, I know that many adoptive mamas wished they could help the world to know more about the "stuff" without betraying their children's trust.

So I am going to try to give you an idea of what I am talking about. Please know that this is not a contest. Parenting is difficult no matter which way you go about creating your family. This is just the only way I can find to share these things. Some of these apply to us. Many of them don't. All of them are real issues that real families are dealing with right now. So here we go:

Can you imagine your child literally throwing herself into walls because she is so desperate for attention that she will injure herself to get it?

Can you imagine your child slamming her head into the tile floor when she doesn't get her way?

Can you imagine your child biting you, kicking you, spitting at you, aiming to hurt you?

Can you imagine your child dumping her entire closet and refolding every item twice a week? It sounds nice until you realize that it is because she thinks it will make you want to keep her and not send her back.

Can you imagine your child just walked into the area where the dog just peed and so you yell at her to stop but she keeps walking into it and so you snatch her up and plunk her down 6 feet away and then you see that she is now shaking from head to toe?

Can you imagine your child flying into a full blown rage multiple times per day because her entire world has just been flipped upside down and you just said the word "no" (to a 6th cookie) reminding her of how hurt her little heart is?

Can you imagine video taping your child's tantrums and keeping records of every bump, bruise, scratch, and owie because they are so violent that they have led to questions of abuse in the past?

Can you imagine trying to explain to your child why her first mother kept her siblings but not her?

Can you imagine trying to explain to your child why she was thrown away like garbage, left to die in a pile of trash?

Can you imagine trying to explain to your child why she was abandoned, why she wasn't wanted?

Can you imagine knowing that your child was a prostitute prior to coming into your life?

Can you imagine knowing that your child was raped by her step father with a plastic bag over her head because she screamed too much and that she was forced to participate in the sexual abuse of her sibling?

Can you imagine your child scarfing down adult sized portions into a toddler sized belly until she cries with pain but still wants more?

Can you imagine your child eating until she pukes?

Can you imagine knowing that your child was witness to murder?

Can you imagine your child telling you about laying in bed next to her first mother while her mother prostituted herself in order to feed her child, your child?

Can you imagine your child flying into a rage when the food is over even after eating extreme amounts because she still feels the hunger pangs from months prior of going without food for multiple days?

Can you imagine your child wanting you to go to school with her because in the orphanage she went to school without any food for 12 hours and she knows that if you go with her that she will have food?

Can you imagine your child needing to sleep with a water bottle in order to be able to sleep because her survival fears just won't let go of the hold that they have on her?

Can you imagine your child needing to have some canned food under her bed in order to feel safe because she only knows survival and the canned food provides her with the feeling of a safety net?

Can you imagine everyday tasks suddenly triggering painful memories? Like throwing out coffee grounds triggering memories of eating leftover tea leaves. Or a storm reminds her of having collected hair to eat. Or clipping toenails reminding her of the time that she was so hungry that she sat at the feet of women and ate their clipped nails.

Can you imagine knowing that your child doesn't truly love you, yet?

Can you imagine knowing that you don't truly love your child, yet?

Can you imagine your child asking you point blank on day one "will you beat me?"

Can you imagine your child puking up her food so she can chew it again?

Can you imagine your child being consumed with fear when you loose your purse because your keys were in it and now the "bad people" can come and steal her and even though you find your purse, her confidence is shaken to the core and takes weeks to repair?

Can you imagine knowing that you will never know the exact date on which your child was born?

Can you imagine your child peeing all over her books and toys because she is so desperate for control that it consumes her and her pee is one of the very few things that she can control?

Can you imagine your child leaving a little pile of poop for you to find every morning, her brain compelling her to do things that make no sense to you or I?

Can you imagine your child posing a threat to animals or other children?

Can you imagine seeing your child's little body covered in 50+ scars?

Can you imagine not knowing how all of the scars on your child's body took place?

Can you imagine changing your child's diaper only to find live worms wiggling around in her poop?

Can you imagine your child having giardia so bad that you layer 3 diapers on her at night and yet her little body is so inundated with this parasite that the effects still cannot be contained and this goes on a night after night for months?

Can you imagine your child sexually stimulating herself while sitting on your lap?

Can you imagine your child asking to touch you in very inappropriate places?

Can you imagine your child telling you about specific events that lead to the scars on her body and how they were intentionally done to her?

Can you imagine listening to your child tell you about being hit with multiple strikes, multiple times per day, every day?

Can you imagine your child being so very traumatized at such an early age that it has essentially rewired her brain but because of her age at the time she can't even tell you what happened?

Can you imagine your child telling you about going days without food?

Can you imagine knowing that your child was sold by her first mother; sold into the orphanage where big American dollars would be spent to come and get her but now the damage is done and can't be undone?

Can you imagine your child telling you about how their first mother didn't want to place them for adoption and how extended family took them from her home in the middle of the night? Can you imagine how you would feel when she told you that her mother wanted her back but she was instructed in the orphanage to call and tell her that they were already in America?

Can you imagine your child saying, "Every night I prayed that you would come. And I waited. And I waited. And I waited for you. But you didn't come. Why did you take so long?"

Can you imagine holding your breath each time your child says "one time..." for fear that this will be the time that she tells you about being raped?

Can you imagine?

Mommy Wars

2013-02-17T17:22:00.001-08:00

Mom's putting on a show in public. Soft sing-song voices that may or may not persist behind closed doors. My kids are cuter. My kids are smarter. My kids are dressed better. Your kids are covered in food. My kids' birthday invitations are hand crafted, the cake from scratch, and the favors expensive. I look so rested and relaxed. {Hemmm, no bitterness from me on that one... nope... none.} My husband is so sweet to me, gives me gifts, is better to me than yours is. My kids do the cutest things.

What does first place get you? Does it make you better? If so, better how? Does first place make you a better mom? Does it matter how stiff the competition is? Why on earth do we do this? It's like we are hardwired to fight this pointless fight.

I have learned that adoption has a way of bringing this out in full force. Our journey was more difficult. My kids have more labels, more diagnoses, more "stuff." My kids were older when adopted. We adopted more siblings at one time. My kids' tragedy is worse than your kids' tragedy. My kids are more difficult than your kids.

We had been home about 7 months. We were still so very overwhelmed. We were drowning every day. Every single day. Months 1, 2, 6, and 7 have been our most difficult thus far. It was then that someone said "well whatever you are dealing with is nothing compared to what she (she being a new mother of a tiny infant) is dealing with right now." Whose days were more difficult? Hers or mine. I don't know. I've never been there. I'm guessing that this new mom was probably thinking and feeling many of the same things that I was at that time. But it's too difficult to compare that apple to that orange. In so many ways it was the same and so different at the same time. But the bottom line is, why does it matter? Does her struggle make mine feel less painful? Does it make me any better?

Please let me say clearly that I do not consider myself better than, more special than, or more dedicated than someone who has adopted 1 child, adopted an infant, adopted domestically, or decided not to adopt. Single kids need adopting. Infants need adopting. Kids in foster care need adopting. Bio kids need loving. People with no kids are valuable. God brings us together to accomplish His will. We have been so very privileged to be a part of others' lives. By helping. By encouraging. By giving. And we have been so very privileged to be the recipients of so much support. By helping. By encouraging. By giving.

I wish we could stop competing. Keep in mind that you can always say more later, but words spoken in judgment cannot be taken back. So many words spoken serve so little purpose other than to be hurtful. Some words spoken are said with malintent. Others are said in innocence but still cause hurt. This is just going to happen. It's life. But why do we engage? Why do we join in when we could forgive and move on? Why do we perpetuate that which we know in our hearts to be so damaging? Because we are human. Flawed. Insecure. Selfish.

Embracing Adoption :: Video

2013-02-16T21:57:00.000-08:00

This is a video that we did for adoption awareness month.

https://vimeo.com/53040092

We wanted to communicate our belief that everyone should be involved in adoption. But not everyone is called to adopt. There are so many different ways that people can support adoption without being the ones to adopt. I can't imagine having done this without the large amount of support that we have received. And I certainly cannot imagine considering adopting again if it were not for knowing that we would have that support again. It makes all the difference in the world.

The Racism in Our Lives

2013-02-12T21:59:00.000-08:00

I never expected the racism that we would face. It showed up very early on, but the surprising thing was who showed the most racism. The kids. Our kids were racist, very racist, when we first met them.

I remember one particular day, being in Uganda and washing dishes (by hand people, you know, sink, soap, water, and sweat running down your back in the Ugandan humidity). JoAni straight out asked me, “Do you have black people to wash your dishes for you in America?” I wasn’t ready to try to explain a dishwasher given the level of English we were using at that time. So I just said “no” given that if our dishwasher died, we certainly would not be hiring a black person to come wash our dishes for us. Can you imagine that Craigslist ad? “Seeking an African American female to perform dish sanitation.” Yeah, no!

JoAni asked about our President and how he was chosen. I told her that our President is black. She told me that someone had made a mistake because a black man couldn’t possibly be the President of a country full of white people.

EVERY single time we left our guesthouse, our kids would ask us over and over if we would be coming back. They were so scared that we were going to ambush them and just dump them off somewhere. One day we were in the car, almost back to the guesthouse and JoAni said “oh we are here!” So I was teasing her and said, “Oh we are? I will ask the driver to stop so you can get out since we are back already.” We were still a ¼-½ mile away. She replied by saying “no, no, no, I am the child of a Muzungu (white foreigner) now, I can’t walk.”

In Uganda, you see dark brown faces walking, and walking, and walking. Ugandans walk. Then you look at the motorcycles. More like dirt bikes. Fondly known as boda bodas. No helmets. Swerving and careening in between cars., up on sidewalks, on road, off road. Young brown men drive them with their paying passenger perched behind them. Women ride boda bodas side saddle style. I have absolutely no concept what it is that keeps them from flying through the air each time they hit one of the thousands of massive bumps in the road. In their full length skirts, one hand holding some kind of wares to be sold in the city, one hand holding the bike, and their faces looking completely calm. The day that I took Ryan to the hospital for malaria, my car passed a boda boda with 3 adults on it. As we came parallel beside them, 3 little toddler faces popped out from between the larger bodies sandwiching them on. Can you imagine? It wasn’t uncommon to see. No car seat. No helmets. No crush zones or air bags.

Occasionally you would see a Muzungu on the back of one of these death traps on wheels. A stupid Muzungu. You know who you are if you are reading this. I work in auto insurance claims…. Yeah, stupid Muzungu. So why is the Muzungu stupid for riding on the boda boda and the Ugandan is not? Well it’s simple. The Muzungu has a choice. The Ugandan does not. Cars are so very expensive in Uganda. Fuel and maintenance are expensive by American standards. Very few Ugandans have the financial resources with which to hire a car. We didn’t just need a car for the 6 of us plus a driver. We had to have a station wagon or minivan. Resident cockroaches or not, a minivan was a luxury among luxuries.

So there you have it. Muzungus ride. Brown people walk. There was no arguing what they saw day in and day out. We didn’t even try to explain racial equality. We knew that they had seen injustice and they would have to see equality before they would ever understand, much less agree.

Since we have been home, we have only run into one flat out negative experience. I picked up the kids. They had been playing at a park with a splash pad with their cousins. Half way home Sylvia’s voice came from the back row of the SUV. She was seated on the left side. “Mommy… child say my skin is black and is ugly.” I asked her to repeat herself a couple of times. Surely I was hearing this wrong. Her English was still not solid. Maybe she was saying something different. Maybe she misunderstood what the other kids said. I came to understand that their cousin B had been with them and had tried to warn the kids to stay away from that mean kid. Their cousin was old enough and smart enough to have understood the whole deal. So I knew it was true. I drove a little more with my mind racing. What would I say?

I turned off the radio. I even turned off the fan. I barked back into the rear view mirror, “Listen up! Can you hear me?! I need you to hear me. That child is stupid. It’s not nice to call people stupid… uh… But some people just are. Your. Skin. Is. Beautiful. Do you hear me?! That boy does not get to decide. Your skin is beautiful. If you let him decide, he wins. If you decide, you win. He is stupid! Got it?” A solemn, tentative, and relieved chorus, “Yes Mommy.” Oh how I doubted myself after that. I felt that I handled it horribly. Of all the mommy-doubt-moments, that was one of my worst. I posted on Facebook about it. And a high school classmate of mine who happens to be African American, complimented me saying that I had done well. I can’t begin to explain to you how much her words meant to me.

Recently the kids learned about Martin Luther King Jr. Last year their English wasn’t good enough to understand what was being taught about him. This year they were FULL of questions. I pulled up some of his speeches on YouTube. They struggled to understand between the vocabulary and poor audio quality. And I struggled not to cry. We have explained segregation and the fact that we would not have been allowed to be a family 100 years ago. They get it. They definitely get it.

Tonight Sylvia called up to me from the bottom of the stairs, asking me to teach her how Rosa Parks sang. I told her I had no idea what songs Rosa Parks sang. Sylvia said “I only know♪ Free at last ♪ Free at last ♪." I told her that was not Rosa Parks singing but was Dr King speaking. Standing at the railing I said “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!” And with that I went into my room and cried.

God's Timing Is Perfect

2013-02-10T21:26:00.000-08:00

God's Timing is Perfect. It's a platitude for the suffering. You had a death in the family. God's timing is perfect. You can't get pregnant. God's timing is perfect. You can't find employment. God's timing is perfect. You have cancer. God's timing is perfect.

Let's first clarify something. This is my blog. My place to write what I think. And so here is what I think about "God's timing is perfect:" What a freaking load of CRAP!!!

Now before you decide that I'm going to hell, just hear me out. If you still disagree, well then I refer you back to my prior statement. This is my blog. My place to write what I think.

I'm not big on getting into the nitty gritty of theology. I think that far too many Christians get wrapped up in the details while failing to get the primary point, LOVE. But... this is one detail that I am willing to get wrapped up in.

Do I believe that God is sovereign? Yes, absolutely. Most people think that my prior statement and this one would fundamentally oppose one another. God can do anything. God can influence people. God can defy the laws of physics. But (and this is a big but) God allows free will. It is the foundation of all of Christianity. The idea that we can choose God or not. In order to allow that choice, there has to be free will.

So does God ever exercise his powers to control our world? Yes. I think so. I'm not totally sure. I think He does but I have no idea to what extent. I pray. I pray often. Very often. God help me. God show me what to do. Help me hear you. Those prayers I believe that He certainly answers. Usually not in the way that I am hoping. I prefer lightning bolts. I've made that point clear. But God is God and He has yet to agree with me on this point. What about when people pray for other people to be influenced? God lead the judge to approve our case. God guide the embassy to handle our papers quickly. Well these requests are a bit different in nature.

God's timing is perfect. I know that people have heard this phrase or even uttered this phrase in hopes of comforting themselves or others. My experience has mostly been around adoption. The process is taking so very long. God's timing is perfect. We think we are supposed to be looking for a group of 4 but there aren't any so do we wait or did we misunderstand. God's timing is perfect.

Yes, God's timing is perfect. But adoption is full of people. Brilliant, I know. Sometimes stupid, (my theory on the stupidity of the human race and the miracle that we are not extinct yet is a different subject for a different time), many selfish, all human, and all FULL of free will PEOPLE. People, with free will, all along the road of the adoption journey.

I do believe that God uses all things for His purpose. I do believe that He can take even the biggest mess and find the beauty in it. I do believe that God has plans that I can't see. But there is a huge difference between creating the mess and finding the good in it and using that for His purpose.

God didn't create death. It wasn't His plan. He doesn't design pain. He doesn't inflict illness. He doesn't cause pain. He doesn't want children to lose their parents. He doesn't want parents to lose their children. He doesn't want you to suffer with disease, physical pain, and suffering. He doesn't facilitate miscarriages. He doesn't orchestrate for children to live in institutional settings for years on end. He doesn't. He just doesn't. No. You can point to verses in the Old Testament. We could go round and round. But I am firm on this subject. My conclusion is No.

God did not plan for my kids to be orphans. That's right. I'm the back up plan! God did not design the pain and fears and hurts and scars in their lives. I believe with every bit of my being that He will use all of these things for His glory if they let Him. But this wasn't the plan.

So when things are going to hell in a hand basket DON'T feed me that line of crap! Yes, I will understand that you mean well. Yes, I know that you believe what you are saying. But no, I won't swallow that pill. No.

PURE Evil

2013-02-08T07:00:00.000-08:00

While still in Uganda, I realized that Ryan's ears had been pierced at one time. I asked the girls about it and they said it was so that the bad people wouldn't take him. That was as much as they could tell me. I thought that perhaps it was to look like a girl so that the LRA wouldn't try to kidnap him to be a child soldier. But he was too young for that, the LRA hadn't been active in Uganda for years, and when they were in Uganda it was primarily in the North and, to the best of our knowledge, our kids had always lived in Southern Uganda.

After getting home to the States I tried asking the kids again but didn't get any more information. So I posted on one of my support group sites for families that have adopted from Uganda. The person who replied was our friend Sara that accompanied me to the hospital in Uganda when our Sarah was so sick. She ended up spending a year in Uganda in order to bring her babies home. She told me that it had to do with witchcraft.

I started googling it.
Ears pierced. Witchcraft. Uganda.
The sites popped up. Words bolded.
Human sacrifice. Abduction. Child sacrifice.

I read as fast as I could. Skipping from one page to another. Eyes wide. Mouth open.
I couldn't breathe. I struggled to not throw up.

Children are often kidnapped. Their genitalia, tongue, or head cut off and used in witchcraft rituals. Or the child is buried alive under a construction site to bring luck and fortune to the new shop owners. It is estimated that every year 3,000 children disappear from their homes in connection to witchcraft.

There are other witchcraft practices like removing a babies eye teeth (canine teeth) before they grow in. This would involve a parent taking a child to a witchdoctor where they would use sometimes unsterile knives or bicycle spokes to dig the teeth out of the gums; A practice which can damage future adult teeth, leave gums mangled, and even cause death due to the unsterile and dangerous conditions. We know that our kids' Grandmother, who had been raising them, was a Christian. Our kids' gums show no evidence of this. Obviously we are thankful for this in multiple ways.

A person is considered to be impure for human sacrifice if they are circumcised or their ears are pierced. So Ryan's ears were pierced to make him impure to witch doctors and therefore protect him from being kidnapped. Our kids asked us within the first week of meeting them in Uganda if there were kidnappers in America. Of course we didn't understand what they really meant by this. Actually, it does not seem that our kids know about the horrible things that a kidnapper might do to them. But it is very clear that it was beaten into their heads to be afraid of kidnappers and to not let strangers lead you astray.

This fear is ingrained in them so deep. I know that their Grandmother did not give them these fears to be mean. She did it to save their lives. They had to be on guard. They had to be careful. The fear is still with them. A couple of months ago the deadbolt broke on our back door. Sarah instantly started trembling. She was terrified. She just stood there trembling from head to toe. When our kids were first home, they wouldn't go alone into any room at any time for any reason; they HAD to have someone with them at all times. Ryan had been potty trained before we ever met him. He has never once had an accident during the day. But up until just a month ago, he wore pull ups at night. He would wake up if he had to pee. But he was SO very afraid of the dark. He could not bring himself to get out of bed in the dark. It just wouldn't happen. We are so very proud of him for overcoming this fear. But I suspect that it will linger, at least to some degree, for a long time. He has to actively fight his fears. All of our kids have flashlights under their pillows. I only wish we had known to give them flashlights in the very beginning. We had no idea that our kids were sitting in their beds trembling with fear every night; their whole bodies rigid with fear.

How evil does a person have to be to cut the genitalia off of a child or to throw them down in a pit and fill in the dirt over their little bodies? Maybe the children are drugged and not conscious; I sure hope so. But the image I have is of screaming terrified children. Screaming or not, THAT is PURE evil! And that scar is physically on my son's ears to this date.

Link to a BBC article on witchcraft in Uganda.

I Wish I Was Just Paranoid

2013-02-07T20:34:00.000-08:00

I feel like a hawk sitting on a tall power line. I watched all of the activity around me when it comes to my kids. I watch who is doing what. I watch who is looking at what and for how long and in what way. I watch hands with fingers in relaxed positions or balled up in fists. I watch for who is talking, or more telling would be who is not talking. Body tension. Rigid responses. Tone. Any exchange of touch. Anything. Everything.

I thought that my kids were sensitive to where they stood in the extended family pecking order. Did they see themselves as true family members? Did they really believe that they were loved equally? Did they believe that they were valued equally? Did they feel like full fledged members of the family. I had started to think that I was paranoid, overboard, overly protective, and extreme. Was it just a case of being a new mom? Did I really know what I was talking about?

A couple of weeks ago we were all piled onto the couches watching a movie as a family along with a couple of guests. Josh had the bright idea to show the kids African Cats. Their homeland. Africa. Yah... our kids were raised in the suburbs. They hate wilderness. They hate "the bush." It scares them. So there we were, snuggled under blankets, people piled all around, watching the movie while being subjected to a thousand questions!

Where are they going? Why are they fighting? Is she going to die? Is that one bad? Do they eat people? What are they doing? Why are they digging? Why are they chasing that animal? Why are they running?

The mommy cheetah had several cubs that had been the center of the movie for a while. She was trying to distract a lion away from her cubs to protect them. She was risking her life. And then it came. Sarah was nestled near me. She turned to me and asked, "if you had kids, would you die to protect them?" I thought I knew what she meant but hoped that I had misunderstood. "What do you mean Sarah? I have kids." Her sweet little voice carefully clarified "No, I mean if you have kids like B, E, and C." (Their cousins who are biological products of both parents.) Kids... bio kids.... if you had kids of your own. "Sarah, I have kids, I would die for you."

I was sort of stunned while at the same time not surprised. My head spun for a while. For a day or two actually. I had hoped I was wrong. I had hoped that they didn't perceive any difference. I had hoped that I was paranoid. It was a dull aching pain.

I had initially not wanted to share this story with anyone at all. It is certainly painful. But we have received so much support from so many people. People with genuine questions, genuine interest to understand our lives in order to better support us.

So what can you do? Trust that while an adoptive parent's demands and actions might seem excessive, they are likely considering more factors than you are aware of or even can imagine. Know that older adopted kids pick up on EVERY thing, even if it doesn't seem like it.

I have heard SO many stories of well intentioned friends and family causing significant harm without meaning to do so. So many stories of parents packing up their kids half way through an event because others have ignored their requests to not feed their child and these well meaning people overfed the child to the point of being truly painful and accompanied by tears. Or in many cases food speaks love and provision to a child with a traumatic past and now that child is reaching to someone else for love instead of his/her parent. So many stories of sweet little faces being scooped up and carried around only to wrench away from their parent when returned to their rightful place. Have you ever heard of parent shopping? It's when a child is so much in survival mode that they will literally smile and coo at strangers, looking for the next provider. Their past has taught them that these actions are necessary, required, imperative. It's NOT cute. It's NOT sweet. It's NOT entertainment. It might look like all of these things but if you could read that child's desperate thoughts, it would break your heart too. What might look like normal childhood behavior on the outside isn't always "normal," or more importantly healthy, on the inside.

PLEASE know that adoptive parents are often dealing with SO much more than you see on the surface. I share these over generalized stories because so often these things are not known because it simply isn't respectful to lay out a child's... a person's... deepest struggles to the world. So some of these struggles are our own. And some of them are stories I have heard from others. But ALL of them are things I hear over and over and over and over again from other moms of kids who were adopted at older ages.

Does any of this make you feel paranoid like you are afraid to make a mistake? Let me tell you, if you say to your friend "please tell me if you would like me to do anything differently around your kid as I want to support you in your attachment process" and then follow that with your actions, you will probably have a friend for life. I recently asked a friend "when your son does x, how should I respond?" NOW, the one caution is that you can NOT ask this in FRONT OF or within earshot of any kids. That would negate your good intentions.

So let me tell you a story of someone who did an AWESOME job in supporting us in this way. I'm not going to go into the details of the story because this post is open to the world. Josh's parent were in town. There was some behavior that needed immediate attention. I pulled that child aside, discussed why the behavior was a problem, and examples of what is appropriate. Then I needed Josh's parent's buy-in. I gave his Dad the run down on what was going on and the specific behavior that was and wasn't okay. His reply was "okay, if he/she does that around me I will just say 'would your mommy consider that to be appropriate?' and if he/she continues I will ask her to go see you." He mirrored the vocabulary that I was using which would show this child that we were all on the same page. He immediately accepted our request, trusting that we had good reason. His support meant the world to me.

I don't share any of this to criticize you. I don't share this to hurt you or point fingers. I share this because the consistent theme we have seen is people wanting to support us and they want to know how we need that support.

Drowning

2013-02-05T23:45:00.003-08:00

I just came across this. I wrote it just over a year ago. I never posted this. Please don't read a tone of anger into it. I was trying to communicate that I was hurting more than I ever knew possible. So much has happened since then. What a journey this has been and continues to be.

Written on January 19th, 2012.

I have heard that if you are ever trying to rescue a drowning adult, that you need to wait until the person stops thrashing and truly begins to drown, otherwise they will fight you and take you down also. (Please don't take actual water safety advise from this blog. NOT smart!) Over the past 3 months, I have often felt the sensation of drowning. The thing is, I haven't had the energy, strength, time, or presence of mind to thrash around. The feeling of sinking. The feeling of suffocating. While my body was standing, my soul was on its knees. I could physically feel it. I have no idea how to describe it and I suspect that you don't understand because I certainly would not have understood a year ago. And this is when you rely on God. You rely on God like he is standing right next to you in person. I have no idea how people do this without a faith in God. I'm not saying that non-Christians can't handle adoption. I'm just saying that I have no idea how they find the strength to do so.

So many people have helped us out and I don't know what we would have done without it. So many people have offered to help more. It's so difficult to know what to ask for. So many things just have to be handled by us. Our life has been in fast forward. In the "normal" world, at the 3 month mark we would have ONE baby who is just learning to roll over and recognize our faces. At our 3 month mark we are learning how to put dishes in the dishwasher x4, entering into a phase of trust that is very different than before, learning how to fold clothes, learning how to zip up coats, explaining snow-appropriate clothing, developing a bedtime routine, developing a bath routine, explaining what we use tissues for and what we don't and how many to use and where to keep them and on and on...

Yes, you taught your kids to tie their shoes, I know, every parent does. But did you teach them just two days after putting their foot into a closed shoe for the first time? And did they understand the language that you were speaking? When you took your baby in for her first immunizations, did you have to fully lay across her chest while another nurse held her legs down in order to keep her still so that a second nurse could administer 8 different shots? Did she scream like you had betrayed what little trust you had earned? Did she pull away from you afterwards? Did that moment do true and lasting damage to your relationship? Did you then proceed to do the same thing 3 more times? Did you sit on the couch and sob for an hour afterwards? Yes, all parenting is difficult. But when you go "traditional", at least you get to take things one step at a time as opposed to all at once. Please don't tell me that this is normal. I might be new at this but I know that it's not.

I'm sorry, many people do understand, and many people don't.

Taking a Bath

2013-02-03T22:52:00.000-08:00

We are so blessed to have been able to buy the house that we are in now. We bought at just the right time when the market was low. It was cheaply built but has tons of space for kids to run around. And we are working on home improvement projects here and there.

One of the things I love most about this house is my bathtub. It is a big soaking tub. And it just so happens that where we put our TV in our master bedroom, lines up perfectly so that I can see it while relaxing. So every night I run a bath. Josh puts on a show that he has recorded. And I unwind. I truly believe that having an en suite master bath is critical for surviving parenthood!

Every night I turn the water on full blast. It takes about 8 minutes to fill that big tub full of water. Full of hot water. EVERY day. The water is crystal clear and safe enough to drink. EVERY day.

My kids tell me that they enjoyed fetching water. The liked it because they were lucky enough to have a borehole only a 100 yards away. They would go to the borehole and jump up and down holding on to the pump lever. They didn't really have toys but they still found ways to play and have fun. I remember the girls telling me how many liters of water they were capable of carrying. They informed me that Ryan had not been required to carry water because he was too little. When we met them, he was 4 years old and wearing 18m and 2T clothes. If I remember correctly, Sarah could carry 3 liters (just under 1 gallon). At the time, she was 6 years old and wearing size 4/5.

Every night in Uganda we used to give the kids a bath. We would wash the red Uganda clay dirt off of them and get everyone into pajamas. They had never really had baths in the past, just scrub downs in a basin. Oh how they loved a bath! They always wanted a "hot bath". I would get the water running, tell them to get in, and then I would often go to grab something or do whatever only to hear shrieks of "guyochye! guyochye!" meaning "hot! hot!" At which point I would start yelling "get out! get out!" as I rushed over and yet they didn't understand what I was saying so they would continue to stand until I would wave them out to safety until I could cool things off. Their definition of a hot bath and my definition were two totally different things.

Just a few days ago Sylvia was saying that at times they got to take a "hot" bath while in Uganda. I asked her how they got hot water. She looked at me like I was ridiculous and silly at the same time as she said "we cooked IT!" Duh me!

3.4 Million people die per year due to a lack of clean safe drinking water. And here I sit in 50+ gallons of clean water EVERY day. I can't feign a lack of knowledge. I can't pretend that I don't know these facts. And this is just one example. In Uganda we made 6 hospital trips. Any fever brings the fear of malaria. Going to a "regular" hospital in Uganda cost $7 with medication (the private hospital was about $30 with mediation). This sounds so cheap but remember that most Ugandans live on a dollar or two a day. On one of these hospital trips, my driver shared with me that he had lost a daughter to malaria. She came home from school and had a low fever. They didn't go to the hospital. By morning she was too far gone.

I have struggled with how to live this life of privilege. How does God want us to deal with all of this? Last year we got home from Uganda 5 days before Thanksgiving. I went out in the wee hours of the morning of Black Friday to get bargains on hats and mittens for the kids. Just 6 days after bumping along the rough dirt roads of Uganda on our way out of the country, I found myself crying all the way from Walmart to Target. I was so very lost.

I know that God wants us to be happy. I know that He wants us to enjoy life. I don't think there is anything wrong with enjoying a hot bath even though people are dying every minute due to a lack of water or a dinner out at a restaurant even though $30 can feed and educate a child for a month. A couple years ago I received a big award at work which included a very lavish trip to Boston. They provided us with $125 for each dinner. I had always wanted to try a Boston lobster. That first night we went to a place that was way beyond our normal world. I had my lobster and Josh enjoyed a very nice steak. It was great. It was $150. Was that a bad thing to do? No. But we did decide that we were not comfortable doing that again. That became a part of our line. Do I think badly of you if you like going out for $150 dinners? No. Do I think that we all have obligations to help others? YES! Do I think that we are responsible to God for our actions? Yes. I sure hope I can find my way and keep my feet on His path and live a life that is pleasing to Him.

My compass is summarized by saying this:
If my heart breaks for nothing, my life has no breadth.
If my feet don't follow, my life has no depth.

Do you have any kids of your own?

2012-06-16T13:00:00.000-07:00

Do you have any kids of your own?

I get this question often. I don't usually get too hung up on word choices. I try to listen to people's hearts and not the individual words. But this one really gets to me. I know what people are asking. They are trying to understand our story. Have you been pregnant before? Have you ever had an infant? Are there more kids in the picture? Do you have anyone to carry on your DNA? I'm not sure why any of these underlying questions matter enough to imply that my kids aren't real enough.

Just once I would like to answer by saying: "We walked through hell and back to be a family. What more would make them my own?"

I do realize that there is a difference. The fact is that I have no idea what it is like to have an infant or even a toddler. I have no idea what it is like to have just one kid, or even 2 or 3. I understand that.

Thankfully so far, the kids haven't picked up on this... yet... I think... but they probably wouldn't let on if they did. They know that we are not the same color. Shocking, I know! Approximately 27 years of life occurred for them before we ever met. They know that they are different, that our family is different. Does it really need to be pointed out, clarified, and confirmed?

I promise you that I can't remember which people have asked this. If you have said this before, please don't apologize. I realize that you probably meant no harm at all. But because you don't mean any harm, please, just promise me you won't ever use these words again. Would it be better to ask if we have biological children? No, not really. It just isn't worth risking making a child feel like less a part of the family. So what is okay to say? What if you want to show your support? What if you are interested in possibly adopting someday and you just want to get the conversation started? Try: I would love to hear more about your family and each of your kids.

Most adoptive families are willing to share their story if it can be done without negatively impacting their kids. So if someone declines to chat, just know that it probably has nothing to do with you personally.

Materialism in America

2012-06-15T22:37:00.001-07:00

Our kids came to us with nothing. Absolutely nothing but they clothes on their backs. No keepsakes, no change of clothes, no pictures, no toys. They had lived with next to nothing for as long as they could remember. Now they have everything the need and much of what they want. The only way that I can think to understand what this might be like for them is with this analogy.

Imagine that tomorrow you are told that Donald Trump has chosen to adopt you as one of his own children. The assumption is made that this is something you want and overnight you are flown to New York City. You have never seen a private plane before so you jump up and down at the sight of the airplane sent just for you. And you have never eaten caviar before so you turn your nose up at it not wanting to even taste the expensive luxury.

You arrive and are picked up at the airport but you show no appreciation for the fact that Donald Trump himself made the time to come in person because you don't understand how valuable his time is and the sacrifice he made to be there. When you arrive at his penthouse, you are given a room but you had assumed you would have a suite with a separate living room and a balcony on which to enjoy some fabulous view of the city. Your disappointment is obvious when you realize that it is simply a very large bedroom with an adjoining bathroom. And while the furnishings are lavish, they are not to your taste and so you ask to redecorate.

You start to wonder if it is okay to ask for a car. Maybe a Mercedes CL? Would a Bentley be asking too much? And what you don't know is that there is an entire collection of ultra luxury cars down below in the parking garage and you can pick any that you can use at any time without even asking. It was just assumed that you would know such a thing.

You wear the same shoes all week because they are just so beautiful. You even wear them in your room and around the house for fear that the housekeeper might remove them for some reason. You don't know why she might do such a thing but so many things around you are beyond your understanding and, well, they're your favorite. Finally someone speaks up and explains that those shoes aren't suitable for this occasion.

You use your towels one time and then throw them on the floor, expecting someone to come pick up after you. You are told that while the staff will come clean your room once a week, you are expected to keep your room tidy and pick up after yourself. You are completely indignant. Even though you scrubbed your own toilet just 2 weeks ago, you feel like this request is completely unreasonable.

Dinner tends to be food that you aren't used to and you really crave a basic hamburger and your favorite beer in the bottle. So you ask for a custom dinner to be prepared for you, not realizing that the meals are planned out weeks in advance by one of the finest chefs in town and that you are appearing altogether ungrateful by asking for a hamburger when you are being presented with the finest steak that money can buy along with a 100 year old bottle of wine which you are entirely clueless as to how to enjoy.

You see bars of soap being thrown away after they start to lose their decorative shape. They are scented just slightly in the most delicate way. So you sneak around collecting them. You don't know what you are going to do with them but you know in your heart that such a lovely thing should not go to waste.

A big party is coming up. You are instructed to pick a dress from a selection that is delivered to your room. But you thought that something like this would merit a couture original. You become convinced that the other Trump kids have all of their clothing designed personally. Clearly this is a sign that you aren't a real member of the family. As a result you act bent out of shape for days. No one else knows why.

Are our kids grateful for the things they have? Yes... and no... But what kid is?

A Dance with the Devil

2012-06-04T21:59:00.000-07:00

This isn't easy to write. Where on earth to start? Let me start by saying that I am only writing about my own experience and what I observed. This is my view from my view point. Every adoption is different. And every experience is different. I know nothing about domestic adoptions, or even adoptions from countries other than Uganda.

For a year and a half we jumped through hoops. We did a state background check and an FBI background check. We wrote about ourselves. We asked our friends to write references about us. We answered detailed and personal questions about ourselves. Our doctors answered questions about our physical and mental health. We laid our lives bare. We did everything but a DNA test (which I am convinced they will start doing within the next 10 years). We signed over money, lots of money; personal checks, cashier's checks, wire transfers.

When we started all of this we didn't really understand what we were getting into. Oh, we had researched it. We had researched adoption for 11 years when we submitted that first application. But you can never really understand something until you have been there, done that.

Naturally the questions get raised. Why is adoption so difficult? Why is it so expensive? If kids need homes and it costs money to raise them in foster care, group homes, or orphanages, why don't they just give them away when people want them? Well you see, it's a dance with the devil.

During the adoption process I heard a lot about the importance of ethics in adoption. But the stories are deeply personal, painful. So they aren't really told. Not publicly at least. Until you get to the other side. You become part of the club. Then you are admitted to conversations that just aren't open to the public. Why? Would you share your deepest pain with the world? Would you share your child's? And yet when you hear these stories you realize that all along you were locked in a dance with the devil. All those prayers you prayed for guidance were said in the shadow of the greatest enemy.

I am going to tread lightly. To give you a glimpse of this secret world, all the while trying desperately to protect the innocent. My deepest hope is to bring understanding without losing trust and friendships. While the names aren't given, the stories are true.

Adoption ethics.

We have all seen the made for TV movies where the desperate, childless couple hands over tens of thousands of dollars in exchange for a perfect little baby. And never once do our minds fathom the extent of this dark truth. We never think about the small children kidnapped from their loving parents. Parents too poor to protect their most valuable cargo. Too poor to fight back. Left to forever wonder about the fate of their precious babies. These little children are then sold to traffickers. Somewhere along the way the children are put in orphanages. And sob stories are sold to their unsuspecting, well meaning, adoptive parents.

Or perhaps their new parents aren't as unsuspecting as they would like to think they are. Maybe they see a red flag or two but choose, against the intuition seeded deep in their hearts by the greatest Father of all, not to believe. Perhaps they justify this away with reasons like "even if they were kidnapped, they still need homes now."

While this might seem clear, what about the mother in extreme poverty who is told "if you really love your children you will give them away. Sure you feed them but you can barely pay their school fees. You can't do enough for them; give them to someone who can give them everything." Or maybe she is told "give your kids to us; they will go to school in America and come back when they are 18. You will see them again and they will bring you lots of money." If you were working 16 hours per day and sleeping on a dirt floor and feeding your kids nothing but empty starches, would your weary bones believe these lies?

Some people believe that all orphanages are bad. You see, many children in orphanages aren't orphans. Many have parents who simply can't feed them. Or maybe they can just barely feed them and they know that in the orphanage they will at least get some schooling, the only hope out of poverty. Some people believe that orphanages create orphans.

Now let me pause. When you think about poverty, do you think about the poverty line as defined by the U.S. government? Or do you think about a woman who makes actual mud pies and feeds them to her children in hopes of easing their tears of hunger pains for just a little while, all the while knowing that the parasites in the mud will only serve to kill them faster? Do you imagine a woman who used to make a living in prostitution who makes a choice to follow the Lord and forgo her only profession and watches her baby die, slowly, painfully, day over day, as a result of no longer having that money left for her after the deed was done? Do you imagine a child dropping out of school to care for her younger siblings while her own age still sits well in the single digits and the burns on her body show the results of an inexperienced child cooking over a real and open fire? Do you imagine young girls choosing to sell their own bodies to passing truckers in exchange for the school fees, thinking nothing of the morality of it, because the facts are that these choices promise the possibility of a better life?

I paint these pictures for you because I want to caution us all against the judgment of others that so freely flows from our privileged mouths. I do believe in right and wrong. I believe it is black and white... to God... but not to us. I am not saying that because we don't understand first hand, that we can just let these things happen. In fact quite the opposite. We do owe a duty to do our best as we are each responsible for our own actions.

Now if it's wrong to give money in exchange for a child, is it wrong to financially help a biological family after you have adopted the children that their poverty forced them to give up? What if that help later put the family in a position to now care for the children? Should you ever have adopted them? Should you have just helped them to begin with? Let's turn it around. Is it okay to adopt children and on your way out of the country say goodbye to the family saying "God bless you, I hope you are well" knowing full well that they have no food and no money and need for medical assistance which they can't possibly afford?

We met our kids' birth family. I received the blessing of their Grandmother who told me with her eyes that she trusted me, that she was thankful for me, that they were mine now. And even with that fear has filled my heart. What if they were paid? What if they lied? What if they forced our kids to tell lies upon threat of living in an orphanage forever? What if? What if? There is so much about my kids' past that I don't know. So I ask questions all the time. Open ended questions in hopes of a moment of sharing. I have hung on every word. And at times the words have frightened me. Did she just say that someone gave them money?!?! Who was it?!?! Why?!?! My additional questions have only served to conclude that my first reaction was a misunderstanding. I feel like my kids are finally at a point that they are now able to tell me about their history, when they want to, without much misunderstanding. And my fears have come to rest. Especially now that we have started calling "home" about once a month. I can't tell you the delight in their voices and their families' voices. It is the sound of love. We are truly fortunate to have this.

Countless families have learned questionable details and have elected to walk away from an adoption. Now it is a very real risk that the children could suffer from this. But I have no doubt that they did not take this action lightly. I can't imagine the pain that would have come with this choice. When we thought we had found our 4, only to find out that they had been split up already, I grieved. It was an adoption miscarriage. We were only 11 days along. Early term. But painful none the less.

Some parents have hired private investigators in Uganda to search out their kids' history. They have done this in hopes of being able to hand their kids a tangible piece of their past, their story. Often they have come up with more information about the family. But the sacrifice these families make when choosing to do this is immense! You see in doing this, they have to first decide that they were willing to deal with the truth if it turns out that their child was kidnapped and also belongs to someone else.

So what is right? And what is wrong? And so you see, you are in a dance with a devil. While my words are figurative, the subject matter is real. God adopted all of us. Some of us chose to refuse the love and shelter that He offers. But the offer is there... to all of us. And so while God did not create death and God did not create orphans, He did create adoption. And why wouldn't the devil want to mettle with all that is good?

Not Orphans, Not Anymore

2012-06-03T16:26:00.000-07:00

I've gone to Zumba classes at my church, off and on, for about a year now. I have always found it uplifting to be in a room full of 100+ women all moving together (sort of), having fun, and letting loose. A little while ago, I took the girls to a fundraising event called "Zumba for 1." About 10 Zumba instructors in our area came together to do a Zumba class to raise money for a family preparing to adopt internationally. A sweet friend provided us with 3 tickets so I could take my girls with me. She even had 3 jingle skirts for them to borrow so they could properly shake it. They had SO much fun. Sarah said it was the most fun she had ever had in her whole life.

When you finalize your adoption, the judge (in America) says "do you realize that from now on these kids will be yours just as if they were born to you?" While all of that is true on paper, I often wonder how long it will take for all of us to get to that point emotionally. It's a slow process, but we're getting there.

During the intro at the Zumba fundraiser, the mom got up and spoke. She talked about the many orphans in need of families. It was very emotional. My girls know the word "orphan." I pulled them close and whispered in their ears over and over again, "you are not orphans, not anymore, you are not orphans."

Hell Week

2012-05-21T20:32:00.000-07:00

In college, the week before finals was called "hell week." During that week you sprint for the finish line. Presentations are due, papers are submitted, and a quarter's worth of notes are reviewed. I have now affectionately nicknamed our first week home after adoption as "hell week." But the reasons are the opposite. It's the start of the marathon but at a sprinting pace . There is no end in sight. The intensity is overwhelming. The emotions are so high that the pain can be felt physically. I remember literally looking at the ground because I could physically feel my soul collapsed to the ground but I didn't have a free minute to let my body join my heart.

There we were in the Spokane airport parking lot. We were more fried from sleep deprivation than I had ever known possible. And I was trying to wrestle a 7 year old onto her booster chair. She had never worn a seatbelt before and she certainly had no idea what that doohickey was sitting in her seat. She kept moving the booster out of the way and I kept moving it back. Her English wasn't very good yet so naturally I just kept saying louder and slower "sit here, ssiitt hheerree, SIT HERE, SSIITT HHEERREE." The poor girl wanted so badly to please me and no clue what I was talking about! Then I wrestled 4 sets of seat belts onto kids who didn't even know how to how to anticipate where that belt was going to go.

The jet lag wasn't helping. We weren't sleeping. We could barely get through the day. The children all wanted to go to school that Monday. We had been home for 36 hours... we had woken up at 2am... and we hadn't figured out who had pants and who had shoes that fit.

I spent two days just trying to figure out what clothes belonged to which kid. At first I stacked all the hand-me-down clothes in the middle of the room and had them start trying things on to figure out what fit and what didn't. That turned into a mass free for all. Kids were grabbing clothes, throwing clothes in no sort of order as to what fit and what didn't, taking clothes that another kid had already claimed, and trying to defend their stash. It all ended in "stop stop STOP STOP EVERYbody STOP! Mommy messed up. It's not your fault but stop, put it down, just walk away, everyone downstairs." I spent the next 2 days, one at a time, having kids try on every item of clothing. They didn't know what fit. They tried to claim things that were ridiculously short or 3 sizes too big. They tried to throw things that did fit into the "no" pile. They argued with me about what fit. I was exhausted to the core and we were debating over whether or not capris were appropriate for snowy weather.

In the end we got through all the clothes. Sarah and Ryan were so excited about their *new* shoes that they made Josh take a picture of them wearing each and every pair.

Our 3 bedroom townhouse had shrunk overnight. We had seen a house earlier that fall that we both liked that was much bigger. We knew that if we were going to move, that we needed to make the decision before enrolling the kids in school. So we made the decision and made an offer... on another house... because our lives had apparently gotten boring for a minute and a half so we had to tackle yet another hurdle.

We found out that in order to enroll in school, we would have to have the kids vaccinations in order. So on Monday I begged and pleaded and got us an appointment for all four kids together that Wednesday. We didn't warn them. Instead we ambushed them. We told them that we were going out to do what we needed to do in order to get them in school. The first step an eye test. The problem was that Sarah and Ryan couldn't do the letters. So they had pictures available for kids too young to do letters. But they didn't know the words for the pictures. Half the pictures were of objects they had never seen before in their lives. When Sarah couldn't complete the eye exam, I told the nurse that I wasn't sure it was really an eye issue but likely a language issue and that we would just keep an eye on it but that I wasn't too worried. Sarah didn't understand what we were saying. We had told her that we had to do this to get them in school. She was near tears. "No school Mommy? I no school?" When I realized that I had set her up for this misunderstanding, I felt horrible. I told her that she would go to school but I'm sure that she wasn't confident. I'm sure she questioned her understanding. She wanted so desperately to go to school for the first time.

We went into the exam room and waited for the doctor. Each minute that passed was more torturous than the next. Their fear was real and consuming. When the doctor came in, they whimpered in unison every time he reached for something or turned slightly. With every movement, they assumed that he was getting ready to jab them with a needle. Then the dreaded vaccination time. They needed 8 shots... each! 4 in each leg. One at a time, I held them down. I laid across their chest, positioned my head to avoid a head butt, used my hands to hold their arms down, and repeated over and over "shhhh, its ok, I love you, I love you, its okay." One nurse held their legs down while a second nurse did the poking. They screamed like they were watching someone being murdered right in front of them. And I am not exaggerating. I have no idea how they screamed that loud because I was smashing all the air out of them by laying across them. 8 shots, one by one, then on to the next kid, 4 times. People tell me all the time "oh yes my kids cried too." Yeah! Let me tell you... this is NOT the same.

Then we were told that we would need to re-do their HIV, HepA, HepB, etc, etc tests. As Josh and I discussed with the doctor in the lobby whether or not to do it that day and get it over with or stretch it out into another day, I started to cry. Either choice felt so horrible. Every part of me broke. We went home. The kids could barely move. They were in so much pain. I remember the kids all being around the table and Josh in the kitchen. And I just sat on the couch crying and crying. I couldn't stop. I must have sat there crying for 20 minutes or more.

After a couple hours at home, we headed out to deal with the blood draw. We went to a local PAML location. Again, we ambushed the kids. As soon as they realized what was up, they all started crying. The technician was the most merciless person I have ever seen. She snarled "they will have to sit still, I can't do this if you can't control them." The kids were scared. Coming back another day wasn't going to change anything. We had to do this. I understand that you have to be able to hit a vein in order to be able to do the draw. And I understand that you have to avoid endangering the technician from a stick. But she never tried to help. She did nothing to calm them down. I pleaded with the kids, explaining that moving around would make it hurt more. JoAni and Sylvia did well. While they cried, they did hold still and we got it over with. Josh was out trying to console the other 3 while I did the restraining so I was so thankful that the older 2 did so well as I could not have restrained JoAni if she had chosen to truly fight me. She is just too strong. Sarah and Ryan didn't do as well. I needed Josh's help. He came and used one hand to lock their shoulder in place and the other to hold their wrist out, all while trying to position his grasp so as to allow the blood flow. While he did this, I did the full body wrap with my legs and arms wrapped around their little bodies.

After 3 hours at the doctor's office and an hour doing blood draws, we went home for a post placement visit. That's right! Just an hour or two after it all, just 4 days after getting home, our social worker showed up to evaluate our new family. The kids could barely walk from all the shots. Their elbows were all wrapped up from the blood draws. Ryan would just stand up and then cry when he needed to go to the bathroom. They barely ate any dinner and I specifically remember it being something that they really liked. Ryan was the first to fall asleep, shortly after the social worker arrived. I picked him up and told her that I was putting him to bed. She needed to see their rooms so I told her to follow me. Clothes were scattered all around their rooms. It was a disaster area. And I didn't apologize. We were beaten down and weary. We were home. We were safe.

This is the edited version because I don't even remember it all anymore. I think I have blocked it from my memory. But writing this has brought back little waves of those raw-rock-bottom-exhaustion, on-your-knees-pleading-for-God pain, sinking-in-the-middle-of-the-ocean feelings of fear and inadequacy. When those waves of emotional memory hit, I can barely breathe. It was only by the grace of God and the support of others (which I will write about later) that we made it through those first days.

The Long Trek Home

2012-05-12T22:55:00.001-07:00

It was finally time to head home. We flew home on our originally booked flight, 5 weeks and 6 days after we left the U.S. Our agency told us that leaving on your original flight, without having to change plans and re-book tickets, is rather rare. We bathed and packed up. The kids were so very excited.

We left our hotel at about 6pm. It took about 2 hours bumping along roads worn down by the torrential rains of the rainy season. The station wagon we were in was taking on roads that appeared to be straight out of a Jeep commercial. The back was full of our luggage so the back seat/bench was filled with me and all 4 kids while Josh rode up front. Ryan was on my lap and I quickly learned that you have to carefully position your head so as to avoid a headbutt with each giant natural speed bump.

Our driver knew the streets of Kampala backwards and forwards. He took us on plenty of short cuts. We drove down roads lined with rows of small houses made from corregated tin. I kept seeing images of movies where people were being smuggled out of the country. Why did we get to jet away to a "better" life and all those people we drove past didn't? One day I was talking with one of our drivers about the U.S. vs Uganda. He said that he loved his country but if a plane landed tomorrow that would take anyone and everyone that wanted to go to the U.S., that no one would be left in Uganda. We talked about the fact that the U.S. is not perfect and there are poor people. But we agreed that the defining difference is opportunity. Not everyone who works hard in the U.S. achieves their dreams, but there is a lot more opportunity to do so.

When we got in the area of the airport, the kids asked every 2 minutes where the airplanes were. They had never seen one before. The driver finally promised, in Lugandan, to tell them when he saw one. We got to the airport with about 4 hours until departure (it's not too safe to travel after dark in Uganda and we didn't want to take any chances of missing our flight). We were so early that we couldn't even check in. So we waited in a waiting room for foreigners. We never saw the waiting room for Ugandans. I would have guessed that it was not as nice. Foreigners always got preferential treatment. We spent our last bit of shillings at the little cafe stand.

Finally it was time to check in. We had 2 full carts of luggage to push. Thankfully we had opted to only do backpacks for carry-ons. We had planned ahead and brought a carry-on for each kid. They LOVED their backpacks. We gave them to them about 3 or so weeks early. Let's just say that we had to institute a "no backpacks at the dinner table" rule. The backpacks were a huge help as I had told the kids that they would be totally responsible for their own stuff. We purposely didn't pack much in them knowing that they would have coats they wanted to take off and other things that they would want us to carry for them that we would have to tell them "no put it in your backpack." We simply couldn't handle juggling junk on top of everything else.

Thankfully I thought to keep a copy of the court decree with us. But I failed to make a copy. So I was allowed into the terminal in order to walk to the far end to make a copy. I was told that I owed 200 shillings. I told the guy that I would come back with the money. I returned, handed over the papers, and informed Josh that we owed 200 (about 8 cents) shillings for the copy. He reminded me that we had spent all of our shillings and didn't have any dollars with us. A very kind American man behind us tapped me on the shoulder and slipped me a 500 shilling note as we waited for our "all clear" to enter the terminal. Later we would cross paths with him at which point I gave him his 300 shillings change and thanked him.

We went into the terminal and then into another secured area where our plane would board from. However there was no bathroom in that area. 4 kids, 0 bathrooms, you do the math! The security guard got annoyed with my frequent trips in and out and told us no more. Another American told us "he can't say that, you just do what you need to." My thought was that I wasn't going to test it and risk missing our flight, even if it was just a slim chance.

The kids were SO very excited. Looking out the window at the airplanes, they weren't even sure what they were looking at. I had to clarify what was part of the plane and what was the food cart unloading and what was the luggage ramp. They stood at the window looking at the airplane for over 1 hour. Sarah kept bouncing up and down, over and over and over and over.

Our flight was scheduled to depart after midnight. At that point we had been awake for 18 hours! As the departure time got closer we realized they weren't going to have the traditional early boarding for parents with young children and those needing extra time. So we figured out where the front of the line was. By then at least 50 people had lined up. We walked to the front, cut in front of everyone, and sat down. We didn't explain ourselves, we were too exhausted. But I think our reason was pretty clear, even to perfect strangers. They didn't say a single word. In fact, they backed up and gave us room.

Upon boarding the plane, I spotted a toothbrush and a teeny tiny toothpaste for each person. I almost cried! Oh to have a clean toothbrush! (For those who don't know me personally, I put my toothbrush(es) through the dishwasher every day. You wouldn't eat off the same fork for a week without washing it, would you?!) I was sitting in between Ryan and Sarah while Josh was directly in front of me with Sylvia and JoAni on either side of him. EVERYthing was new. We showed them how to put on their seatbelts. We tried to answer their 10,000 questions about everything they were seeing. We explained that they each had their very own remote AND they were allowed to press the buttons! I started hearing a sound. I was looking all around when I realized that Ryan was pressing the flight attendant button over and over. Ooops! Ok, not THAT button Ryan!

It was a 9 hour flight to London. It was EXHAUSTING! Going to the bathroom was a major ordeal. They didn't know how to walk on the airplane with the floor being angled and moving. The door to the bathroom kept shutting on them every time they tried to open it. I showed them to knock on the door when they wanted out. They didn't know how to flush. They didn't know how to turn on the water, get the soap, or get paper towels. Oh and did I mention that there are 4 of them?!? All the food had to be explained in terms they could understand. Mostly it consisted of us saying "meat! that meat! bread! that bread!" They wanted to eat the little sugar packets that were for the coffee... and we let them. EVERYone knew we were on that plane! At one point Josh was trying to explain the movie selection to Sylvia. He was trying to explain the Smurfs movie and I was yelling over the seats "little blue people! They're little blue people!"

We had about 8 hours in London. We went in one elevator and they just looked at each other confused. Then we went in a glass elevator. WHEEEEE!!!!! We took lots of rides up and down the escalators. About 4 hours in, we saw a sign that there was a play area. It was an area full of toys AND babysitters. We both sat 20 feet away, wished we could sleep, continually reassured the kids that we were right there, and just slumped over in our chairs.

The second flight, from London to Seattle, didn't go too smoothly. Our tickets had 4 seats together and then 2 single middle seats. This made for an impossible equation. I approached the gate agent and asked if we could board early in order to get situated and asked if they could help us with the seat situation. They told us to ask a flight attendant once on board about the seats and to just come over when boarding. Next thing you know, boarding had started and we were out of luck. Once on board, I had the kids sit down in the 4 seats and asked a flight attendant for help. Right away the kids were on edge that we weren't immediately sitting with them. Now at this point we had been awake for about 34 hours. My fibromyalgia was definitely not helping. I could feel the pain throughout my body. The flight attendant responded to my request for assistance by saying "well this is going to be a little tricky because it would involve a person giving up a window or aisle seat." Looking back at it, I think he was going to continue by saying "but I'll see what I can do"... but he never got that far. That's right, I came unglued! ALL RIGHT THEN! YOU CAN TELL THAT PERSON THAT THEY CAN SHOW MY KID HOW TO BUCKLE THEIR SEAT BELT, HOW TO UNBUCKLE THEIR SEATBELT, HOW TO EAT THEIR FOOD, WHAT THEIR FOOD IS, HOW TO USE THE MOVIES, and on and on! He cut me off by agreeing to help. A very nice man agreed to give up his seat. When I said thank you he replied by saying "I have 4 grandkids, if you can adopt 4 I can change seats." So it ended well, but all of this stirred up my chronic pain. Hours later I ended up puking my guts out in a tiny airplane bathroom.

For weeks we had been telling the kids that we would need to take 3 airplanes to get home. So it created mass confusion when we told the kids upon landing in Seattle that we were in America. For months they would refer to Seattle as America 1 and Spokane as America 2. At this point we had to pick up our luggage and re-check it in and pass through customs. This involved a bit of a distance and so we had 2 luggage carts piled up with no free hands to keep track of kids. The very last thing we wanted to do was lose track of someone, even if for a moment. So I instructed JoAni to hold onto my backpack and Sylvia to hold onto JoAni's backpack and Sarah to hold onto Sylvia's backpack and Ryan to hold onto Sarah's backpack. There we were inching along like ducklings. People literally stopped to watch.

All along our voyage, people watched us. We were certainly a spectacle. None of the looks or questions were negative. People were just very curious. Every security checkpoint was an ordeal. JoAni's English was improving. Sylvia was understanding basic instructions. But we could barely communicate with Sarah and Ryan. They didn't understand what was happening. I would go through first. Then Josh would attempt to restrain the remaining kids, releasing one at a time, while I stood on the other side trying to wave them through. At one point either Sylvia or JoAni tripped one of the alarms so they wanded her. I wish they had waited just a moment so I could try to explain it to her. I just remember a very worried and confused look.

By the time we landed in Spokane we had been awake for about 58 hours. Once we got home and got the kids in bed it was late at night and 60 hours of being awake. We were nearly delirious with exhaustion... and we all woke up at 2am! Josh and I tried to force ourselves to sleep more but it didn't work. By 4am the whole house was up.

I had imagined our trip home a thousand times. I thought that when the first plane finally took off, that I would cry with joy that we had made it, but I didn't. We were too busy attending to 4 very overwhelmed kids. And it didn't feel safe to celebrate yet. I thought I would cry when we landed in the U.S., but I didn't. Too busy and not safe yet. I thought I would cry when we successfully passed through immigration in the U.S., but I didn't. I thought I would cry when we landed in Spokane, home sweet home, but I didn't. I thought I would cry when they were all tucked into their beds for the first time, but I didn't. It was such an extremely overwhelming trek home. I was and am so thankful that we made it. The entire travel experience, including the 6 weeks in Uganda, was extremely intense. And as extreme as it was, I am just glad that we made it through. We survived.

Time to Say Goodbye

2012-05-07T22:09:00.000-07:00

The day before we were to leave Uganda, we set out to say goodbye. We made the long, smog filled, trek from Kampala to Jinja. We were in the roach coach again. The vehicle that was infested with cockroaches. If a crumb hit the floor, the roaches came running. Per the kids' request, we brought 2 bunches of bananas to the orphanage with us. When I went to grab for them, I had forgotten about those nasty bugs until I saw one darting between the bananas. I'll admit, I was a weenie. I got one of our kids to grab them which they did without noticing my reason. Yuck!

When we arrived at the orphanage, it was too early and our kids' friends were still at school. So we went to lunch and came back. We took lots of pictures. Finally we told our kids that it was time to say goodbye. Our kids especially miss their oldest friend. She showed them the ropes about life at the orphanage. They played games with her and teased her with games of keep-away. After our girls, the next child in age would be about 5+ years younger than her. They worry about how she is doing.

Then we headed to Mukono, the town that their grandmother lives in. Throughout Uganda we saw people walking between cars in traffic with buckets of fried grasshoppers. Our kids were always drooling over them. At a stop on the way to Mukono, a man went by the car with his bucket of grasshoppers for sale. The kids asked if they could take some to their Grandmother. I motioned to the guy that we would buy a little tin of them. Now let me say, at that point I had a splitting headache and felt pretty sick. I looked away, probably talking to one of the kids, and when I looked back, he had reached through the window to deliver my purchase. There, about 8 inches from my face, was an open tin of about 50 or so grasshoppers. I started furiously shaking my head "no" and making "mmmm-mm-mm-MMMM" noises. The poor guy was standing there looking so confused! He had a look on his face like "you crazy American, you just asked for these." I motioned for one of the kids to grab the tray and I think he figured it out at that point. Not trusting the kids not to dump them, he pulled his arm back, put a lid on the tray, and handed it back to one of the kids.

We spent time together as one family. We all plopped down on the floor along side Grandmother's mattress on the floor. That white sheet looking thing is her mosquito net (critical to the defense of malaria) which was attached to the wall and rigged to make a tent like structure at night. The kids showed us all around the house, the rabbit hutch, and the (outdoor) kitchen. There was one moment that took place that was especially important to me. I was interacting with Grandmother. She was particularly focused in on me. My theory is that in Uganda, having a mother is critical to your survival while having a father is less central to the family structure (due to so many Dads not being present). There was a moment when I was holding her hand and there was no one to translate. I didn't really think much before doing so, but I kissed her hand. I wanted to show her our love and respect. And I wanted to make a promise to her that we would take good care of her beloved little ones. That was the only way I could show her without words. And then she kissed my hand. It felt like a hand off, like she was saying "they're yours now, you have my blessing." And as quickly as it happened, it was over.

Hospitals in Uganda

2012-04-18T20:26:00.000-07:00

Round 1: On the first full day of custody, Ryan came down with malaria. I already told you about that little welcome to parenthood.

Round 2: Soon after court, Sarah got really sick. She was running a fever and, given the constant fear of malaria, we went to a nearby hospital. Our agency arranged for a driver to pick me up. This driver and I were talking about how in America, parents would just give a child Tylenol. He then shared with me that he lost his own daughter to malaria. He helped me carry Sarah as I registered at the desk, went down a ways to the cashier's office to pay, came back to registration, and then to the waiting room. The hospital, IHK, was a private hospital that was very different from our first round. They determined it was a bacterial infection (no idea what kind). I went to the pharmacy on site, then to the cashier, then back to the pharmacy.

That night I posted this on facebook: I have 1 sick kid sleeping in my bed, Josh has been kicked out and will be sleeping in the other bed in the same room, and 3 jealous kids sleeping in the other room. This can't possibly be a good thing... I think I just failed a parenting pop quiz. :( October 29, 2011 at 11:27am

From the other side of the world, 11 time zones away, my friends encouraged me. They told me I was doing the right thing and not to second guess myself. As a brand new, rookie, green as can be parent, this really did help. My connection can't keep up with me trying to "like" all of your comments. Thank you for the encouragement. October 30, 2011 at 1:30am

Round 3: A day or two after round 2, Sarah was still sleeping in my bed where I could keep an eye on her. I had given her antibiotics and Tylenol to control the fever and put her in bed that night with faith that the medication would do the trick. When I came to bed at about 10pm, Sarah was burning up. Her fever was no longer under control. I called our contact, but he lives in Jinja, which is easily a 2 hour drive away from Kampala where we were. He called me back and told me that he was unable to arrange a driver for us. He suggested that we go down the street to the Italian Market and hire a driver as they tend to gather in the parking lot there. This was a good 1/2 mile walk, in the dark, carrying a sick child. Now this is the kind of situation that Ugandan's face. Walking much longer distances trying to get help for their ill, potentially dying of malaria, children. This prospect was overwhelming to me and felt impossible.

We were staying at a guest house that had multiple houses and cottages within the compound. I went down the hill looking for a woman I had briefly met for only a moment. There was no answer at her door. So I went back up the hill and spotted a light in the small cottage. I knocked on the door not knowing who was staying there. An American woman answered the door and I explained that I needed to get to the hospital with Sarah. She and her husband pulled out their phones and started calling multiple people. On the third try, they were able to arrange a driver. I was confused by how they had so many contacts but didn't think too much of it. And then the woman offered to go with us to the hospital. I stammered. At first I was about to decline the offer given that I had just met her and it was 10pm and it just seemed like to much to ask. Thankfully I agreed. She came with us and sat through the full 2 hour process.

Sarah did not take well to the hospital. She screamed bloody murder when they pricked her finger for a few drops of blood. She fought against me. I had to use all my strength to hold her down. She went into a rage. This wasn't the first time and it wasn't the last. From a comical perspective, I did meet my first Ugandan rat while waiting for the blood draw. We were sitting in a chair and I was watching a rat outside running up and down a railing. Then it disappeared. A minute later that same rat came around the corner and into the door of where I was sitting. I jumped and it started and ran away. I was so thankful it didn't want to hang out!

We returned to the compound at midnight. This woman who so kindly accompanied us was and is, our Auntie Sara. She gave Sarah a little plastic turtle from her purse and a piece of gum. While waiting she shared a bit of her story with me. She had been in Uganda for 8 months at that time. They had been denied guardianship of their daughter. So they stayed. At that time I felt like I was drowning, all day, every day. It was taking all of our strength to stay afloat. We felt like we were hanging on by a thread. We had been in Uganda for just over 2 weeks. It took my breath away. I couldn't even fathom how they could survive this. In the end, they came home with all of their kids. But not before spending a full year in Uganda. We prayed every night for Auntie Sara. Sometimes my Sarah still prays "Auntie Sara babies go to America soon" and I remind her that Auntie Sara is already in America with all of her babies.

Round 4: Then I began to feel ill. I posted on facebook: Want a laugh? I was trying to explain to JoAni that I was really too sick (this was a few days ago, now I am really sick) so I told her that I had boogers and pointed to my nose. I said that "I just feel boogery." Not long later, she scolded Sarah by saying "SARAH you put the boogery on Mommy!" I couldn't stop laughing. She was so confused by why I found that so funny. November 2, 2011 at 12:59pm

During the time that Sarah was so very sick and was sleeping in my bed. She would cuddle up to me and grab my face and put us nose to nose. There we would sleep (sort of, she is a pretty wild sleeper). Soon I became very ill. It got to the point that I was of no help at all to Josh. I just slept all day. Finally I went to the hospital where I was also diagnosed with a bacterial infection.

It was approaching Thanksgiving and I wrote on facebook: TODAY I AM THANKFUL for access to medical care. Today was my 4th visit to a hospital in Uganda, although it was the first time that a trip was for me and not one of the kids. I am thankful to have the option, to be able to afford it, to not have to choose between medicine and food (not that I have an appetite right now). We tend to take these things for granted but they are not accessible to everyone in this world. Everyone gets sick but not everyone can afford a doctor. November 4, 2011 at 5:00am

Round 5: Then Ryan got sick. The germs were all being shared between Sarah, Ryan, and myself. I was still very sick and carrying Ryan around was so, so difficult. But it had to be done. TODAY I AM THANKFUL for a little bit of cake. Actually it was more like a small muffin. Purchased from the hospital cafe, it was just the right thing to bring a twinkle back into Ryan's eye. The crumbs covered his face (which was still tear stained from having his finger poked for a little blood testing), his shirt, his shorts, my shirt, and my lap. I think he lost 1/3 of it to crumbs but he enjoyed it SO much. It was the most fun to watch and I am thankful for that. November 5, 2011 at 10:34am

Round 6: Ok, I don't mean to be all negative, but I am still pretty sick. I'm not sure if I am getting better or worse. Based on some googling that I did last night, I think I had (hopefully had and not have) bacterial pneumonia or acute bronchitis. At this point Josh is saying that he wants to ship me home if this doesn't get better soon. It feels like a no win situation. Please pray that I get better and soon. It really is the only good scenario. November 6, 2011 at 12:41am

I went back in to the hospital to make sure that it wasn't getting worse. I was still so very tired. I couldn't allow myself to get any worse given that we had 4 kids to take care of and more severe symptoms could become life threatening due to the status of available healthcare.

I am feeling much better today. I am still tired easily but am able to help out with kids and life. :) Thank you for all your prayers. But still no passports. We are starting to feel very anxious and are struggling to be patient knowing that if we do not get them by noon tomorrow, I will likely have to fly home to the States alone on 11/19 in order to get back to work and earn money to cover the cost of a longer stay. But that would leave Josh alone with 4 kids in Uganda. Not ideal to say the least. November 8, 2011 at 2:15am

The whole process was very overwhelming. Adopting 4 kids all at once, having an "instant family", going 0 to 4, would have been overwhelming enough. The medical stuff piled on top stretched us to our very limit. We were giving every ounce of ourselves. We were beaten down and all out of steam. I am so very thankful that the in country process didn't take more than 6 weeks as I just don't know that we could have handled it. Which brings me back to thinking about Auntie Sara. 1 year! 1 year! While I barely knew her, my heart was tied to hers.

Bicycles!

2012-04-16T21:36:00.002-07:00

On Easter we did church and family. We saved the candy and gifts for this past weekend, explaining that while the eggs and candy and gifts are fun we don't want to forget that Easter is about so much more. The kids were okay with this as long as they got their share of candy in the end too. We did do a small bit of candy. And then we explained that this is not normal but because this was their first Easter, we had a special gift for them...

Bicycles! They have been hoping and wishing and praying for bicycles! They dreamed about them. They longed for them. Oh to have a bicycle!

Now at an average of at least $80 plus another $20 for a helmet, we were looking at $400 at least. While we do have that much in our savings account, we would actually like to retire someday and there is an endless amount of kiddie gear that could stand between us and that goal. So as a compromise, I did some checking around on Craigslist. There I found a guy a half hour away that buys old bikes and gets them back in full working order to then sell them again. Upon arrival at this guys' house, JoAni asked why we were buying used bikes (she had been drooling over the ones at WalMart). I explained that we could buy them used now or wait another year or so and buy them new then. She quickly agreed that this was a good thing and even gave the other kids the same speech when the conversation came up again later. This guy probably had 60-80 bicycles in his yard, most of which were children's sizes. Before we arrived, I told the kids that they would have to be patient as we tried to find the right size for each of them. But the allure was just too much. They were overwhelmed with excitement. Sarah kept telling the guy "I'm Sarah! I'm 6 1/2 years old!" For $140 we purchased 4 very usable, good quality, just what we needed bikes.

Then we needed helmets. For that we did go to Walmart. We let them pick out whatever they wanted (almost). They were so excited that they put the helmets on and wore them up to the counter.

Yes, that is the cardboard still attached to the helmets. They wore them that way all the way through WalMart, the 20 minute ride home, and around the driveway until we could cut them loose.

Isn't my daughter beautiful with that big smile? She is 100% happy to the core in this picture!

For well over an hour, I ran back and forth and up and down the driveway propping up a kid and trying to explain the basics of bike riding. JoAni and Sylvia are learning quickly. And Sarah and Ryan are determined to figure this out too. And when all else fails, they just walk their bikes around the driveway. Sylvia even talked Ryan into helping prop her up when I got too tired. But she returned the favor, running along side him and holding onto his bike while he tried to figure out how to turn those pedals.

Today on the other hand is a different story. The kids, Ryan especially, were very disappointed that their bike time got rained out.

New Things

2012-04-15T22:06:00.000-07:00

I do have a heavy heart about the significant amount of things my kids face and have faced that children just shouldn't have to deal with. But I was a little surprised by the comments I got regarding what I posted yesterday as it didn't really stand out to me as unusually heavy. That's just our life these days. So today I thought it would be good to reflect on something a little less serious.
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Now days it is less so, but in the beginning it seemed like we and the kids were encountering new things every day. Here is just a very small sampling:

Lights - Ryan was fascinated with light switches at first. We would be sitting in our guest house and we would see a light going on off, on off, on off. Usually this would be coming from a different room and we would just be able to see the glow going on and off. Without even looking we would yell out "Ryan stop playing with the lights!" I'm not sure why we didn't just let him have his fun. They had experience with electricity. But this was the first time that they had direct access to something like this.

Baths - They had always bathed in a basin. This means a little plastic tub of cold water which you would squat in and splash water on yourself. Bathing time in Uganda took a full hour for me. They had so much fun! It was a few months before they learned how to change the temperature by themselves. I can't tell you how many times I told the kids to get in the bath only to turn my back or go into the next room for a moment as they got undressed and into the tub only to come in to see them standing at the far end of the tub saying "guy-O-chye!!," meaning hot, at which point I would start commanding "get out! get out!." Given that hot water was a new thing for them, their idea of a warm bath was a little different than mine.

Enclosed Shoes - As soon as we got home to the cold of Spokane, we had to teach our kids how to shove their feet into tennis shoes.

Tying Shoes - Every parent goes through teaching their kids how to tie their shoes. But not every parent does this within 1 week of their child ever seeing shoes that lace.

Zipping up a Coat - This was pretty tricky. Coats are especially difficult because you have to line up the start just right. Do you know how much time it takes to help 4 kids all put on enclosed shoes, tie shoes, and coats.

Booster Seats - We had been awake for 48 hours. We were in the parking lot at the airport. I was crawling into the 3rd row, trying to get Sarah and Sylvia situated so we could finally go home! Sylvia kept moving her booster seat out of the way. I kept putting it back trying to get her to sit on it. Her English still wasn't so good and instructions about sitting on a booster seat are full of prepositions. We went round and round and round. She couldn't figure out why on earth I wanted her to sit on this weird thing.

Seat Belts - They had never used seat belts before. They had only ridden in cars a handful of times ever. It took a good month or more to get all the girls to be able to buckle themselves. Prior to that I had to crawl in the back and buckle each kid. Then we got to a point that Sylvia and JoAni could do it and Sylvia would then help Sarah. About a month ago, Ryan learned how to buckle his own 5 point harness. I can't tell you how good it felt when just the girls learned how. Recently Ryan learned how to buckle and unbuckle his 5 point harness. It took so much time and effort to buckle 4 kids every time we wanted to go any where.

Forks - The first time they had ever used spoons before was when they came to the orphanage. The first time they ever used forks was with us. We still use spoons a lot.

Biting into Food - The kids were used to food like rice and beans. They were used to biting into food like bananas. But when it came to sandwiches or pizza, they did not like it at all. One time we made sandwiches that we knew the kids liked but Ryan refused to eat his. He was willing to go hungry. I went and got a knife and cut it up into little bite sized pieces and he quickly ate the whole thing. Same thing went for pizza. The first time we had it, it was in slices and they hated it. The second time, Josh and I were desperate. We were exhausted and pizza was the only food we could have delivered. So we made the call. The motorbike arrived with the pizza bungee corded to the back. I distracted the kids while Josh snuck it into the kitchen where he chopped up and entire pizza into little bits. And they liked it! Towards the end of the meal they realized that it was the same food they had before but they were okay with it.

Turning on different faucets, flushing different toilets, what different kinds of soap look like, opening a zip lock bag, using the ice/water dispenser in the fridge door, putting dishes in the dishwasher, what IS a dishwasher, how much soap to use, how much toothpaste to use, how much toilet paper to use, when to flush (yes, at night too), and where clothes go (we had underwear in the closet and shirts under the bed and a backpack in the dresser).

Again, this is just a small sampling of the full list! Lest you think that all of this is normal with any parenting which is true, keep in mind that this all took place over just a few months and times 4 kidse. :) It's been intense. Often funny. Often not.

The Things We Didn't Know

2012-04-14T20:44:00.000-07:00

There were 10,000 things that we didn't know when when we started all of this. But more specifically, I am thinking about the things that were going on in our kid's heads.

I shared before that we didn't know that all the prior parents had taken the kids on the first day. The kids had to have been so confused when we left without them that first day.

A week or so into things in Uganda, Josh told me that he heard JoAni telling the other kids that they better be good or we would send them back to the orphanage. I was so angry with her. I assumed that she was manipulating the other kids. Thankfully there was some reason that I didn't have a chance to talk with them about this for a little while. So when I finally had time, I sat them all down. At this point their English was still very limited and I had to keep it super basic if I wanted Sylvia to understand me so that she could translate for Sarah and Ryan given that at that moment I was not trusting JoAni to translate properly. I told them "if you have good manners, I love you, and if you have bad manners, I love you, no orphanage, no more." Much later, I learned that a pair of siblings had been picked up from the orphanage by a muzungu (white) mommy and daddy. Later those kids were returned to the orphanage without an explanation. Our kids had reason to be afraid of this happening to them. They had seen it happen. JoAni was trying to protect her siblings and herself when she told them that "bad manners" would get them sent back to the orphanage.

Just recently Sylvia told me that those parents packed up in the night and left without saying goodbye. I have no idea what their reason was. Maybe there was a good reason. The information I have is all through the eyes of children. When Sylvia gave me this extra detail I suddenly realized, we had moved hotels multiple times while with the kids while in Uganda. I asked her what she thought the first time we packed up all of our stuff to change hotels. I asked if she thought they were going back, she said a rather firm "yes." Remember when I told you about Sarah going into meltdown after the first time that we packed up and changed hotels? She cried herself to sleep. I thought she was just stressed out. I had no idea that she was completely utterly and totally terrified.

I often wonder what I will learn months from now about what we are dealing with today.