Whine and Cheese

As anyone with girls can attest, those female hormones kick in early creating mood swings that can change in five seconds flat. We add to that, in S & K's case, previous lack of discipline for the formative years of their lives and we have had some first class meltdowns around here.

S is usually very cheerful, eager to please and to be noticed for what she does. But when she wants something and doesn't get it (mean mom won't let her ride her bike without shoes on), she sulks and pouts and starts whining at a decibel level that Army intelligence could use for torture at Gitmo. You know the kind that hits that one nerve at the base of your neck just right and makes you long for Valium. Then, when she is really wound up, it goes to the next level which makes the dogs in the neighborhood bark like mad.

K, on the other hand, while usually a happy, sunny kid who thinks she can do anything her big "stister" can, will lose all skeletal structure and slide to the floor like a wet eel when she is told "no". I am forced to pick up her and try to place her in time out, at which point she slides off the chair like a runny egg slithering onto your plate. While you would think my 100+ lbs weight advantage would allow me get her to bend her legs and sit in time out but she can be freakishly strong for a four year old.

So these days, we are establishing structure, routine, and discipline and as for the moods, well, if we don't like the current mood, we only have to wait a few seconds and it will change. Pass the Valium.

Biker chicks

This weekend was very exciting for S & K. Renee and Mary gave us bikes their kids had outgrown. Darren made a quick trip to Wallyworld for some training wheels (which only halfway work) and spent Saturday morning patiently wrestling with the bikes to get them on. The girls have not had a lot of experience riding bikes as evidenced by the fact that little K kept alternating between pedaling forward, then reversing which brought her bike to a screeching halt. So it was pedal, pedal, SCREECH, pedal, pedal, SCREECH! Reminiscent of my attempts to learn how to drive stick shift in Darren's big black Chevy pickup (my apologies to anyone who has to wait behind me as I lurch out onto the highway from a dead stop and to my father-in-law who braved one trip with me and had to have his fingers surgically removed from the dashboard).

Of course, we don't have the best setup for riding bikes either...we managed to build on a hill so on two sides of the driveway pad in front of the garage, there is a death drop down a steep hill which at this point has Roundup-laden thistle (still awaiting some grading work to be done). But the girls were nonplussed...they merrily pedaled to their hearts content. Pedal, pedal, SCREECH!

Living black in a white world

Foster care training really hammered home to us to maintain the cultural identity of our adopted children and to provide for a multi-ethnic experience to broaden their horizons. So I gleefully set off to the toy store to look for dolls/games/books that would show a plethora of skin colors. Alas, I realize how sadly lacking the toy industry is in catering to the non-Caucasian child. There would be 14 Barbies but the only African-American one had a boring dress and a hair style that looked like Diana Ross on heroin. The baby doll aisle was no better - only one choice.

Multi-ethic books? You have to know specifically what you are looking for and Amazon.com has become my book mecca. (The "Grace" series by Mary Hoffman are fabulous!)

It's not just a lack of African-American toys..iIt's no different for Asian or Latino children either. How many children, really, are blond and blue-eyed in the totality of this world? Far, far less than those that belong to the wonderful other colors of the rainbow. This mama hen votes for DIVERSITY in the toy stores of America.

Tastes like butter

All the reading I have done concerning adoptions have talked about reactive attachment disorder which can happen with children that constantly have ties broken to the point where they no longer know what a mother is or how to properly bond. The advice is to use lots of hugs, cuddling, skin-to-skin contact (within the realm of what's appropriate according to DCFS guidelines) - almost bringing them back to the point of a newborn and re-establishing a child-parent bond...so I have been loving on these girls quite a bit.

I was cuddling K today and asked if I could "nibble" on her - which sent her into gales of laughter. It's one of her favorite things when I give her lots of kisses on her cheeks. I tell her she tastes like cinnamon. She then decided to start nibbling on me. I asked her what I taste like and she said "Butter.".

Oh dear.

No place to hide

So we know that S & K have TONS of family on both maternal and paternal side...and that whenever family sees them, they remind the girls of how much their mom and grandma miss them. We worked with the agency to really try to get them away for now so they could heal from the severed tie and start bonding with their adopted family (that being us). When I say they had family everywhere in their old hometown, I mean every school, doctors' office, store, etc.

So I thought taking them to a different town 45 minutes away would be safe. Alas not...we went to the local cosmetology college to get advice on stying "black hair"...only to run in to someone who goes to their grandma's church. The lady said, "I know you! I go to church with your grandma. I'm going to tell her I saw you."

We suffered a night of regressive behavior following that. We figured it would happen sometime, but three days into the transition was a bit too soon. These little ones have had more to deal with in their short lifetime than any of us should have to face. We are praying for hope and healing for our new daughters.

The N-word

I about cried yesterday...little K goes to pre-school in the afternoons in town and rides the "big kids bus" home from the high school. Our teenage neighbor girls rides the bus also and she told me that some kids were staring at K and one called her the n-word today. Of course, K has no idea what a nigger is and when I asked her about her bus ride, she thought it was awesome and the kids were her friends. I feel like getting on the bus tomorrow and knocking some heads together but am trying to let my cooler (Christian) head prevail. Don't mess with this mama hen!

I was really hoping kids were more evolved than to use the N-word but I guess not.

The long road to parenthood

This is my faith story. My heartache story. The story of God's grace and being really tested whether or not, no matter what happens, I can still praise God and love Him for who He is.

This story began five years ago. I married a great man. We both loved the Lord and were excited about starting a family. We knew we wanted to wait until we had been married a least a year before "trying" because we imagined that we would have a houseful of rambunctious kids in no time. After all, he came from a family of seven kids. I came from a family of eight kids. It seemed like someone was always pregnant in one of our families so much so that we used to joke that different married couples only had to wash their underwear together in a load of laundry and whoops, they were expecting again.

So after a year, we eagerly began the fun of "trying". Nothing happened. Months passed. Still nothing. We read books, talked to our family doctor. Still nothing. Finally, in my heart of hearts, I just knew something was amiss. In fact, I had a premonition long before then. And it turned out, I was right. Our doctor confirmed that, due to medical complications, it would be extremely difficult for us to have biological children. At least, unless we wanted to try the various methods of in vitro fertilization or insemination.

My world turned gray that day...the greatest longing of my heart was for motherhood. I had been changing diapers and snuggling babies since I was in the third grade. Of all the prayers of my heart, how could God deny me this?

The more we researched IVF and other fertility methods, the more we felt we were not meant to go down that path. We did try a couple of medical procedures we knew did not have as great a chance of success but felt like plunking down $12,000 for a maybe and the moral dilemma of leftover embryos was not a direction we were willing to go.

Meanwhile, all around me, my dear friends were having their second and third child. Their conversation revolved around which child was getting potty trained and which child was starting school, or learning to walk, or had a love of lima beans. Every Mother's Day was a stab in the heart as mothers were praised and showered with gifts and the hole in my heart ached and ached and ached. Well meaning people said thoughtless things and God was teaching me grace...and forgiveness...and forbearance. There's a scene in the movie "Facing the Giants" where the coach's wife is talking to her husband about their infertility and desire for children and she says that she can picture her children running to her, opening up Christmas presents, etc...and she wonders how she can love someone so much that she has never met. I know exactly what she means.

Finally, in January, after many long talks late at night, my husband and I came to the conclusion that with all the hurting children in this world, we needed to step up and bring them into our home. We considered the different options - and chose foster care adoption partly because we felt a loyalty to this country that we love and partly because it was way more cost-effective than international. We wanted the kids that maybe not everybody else would consider. We were open to siblings, to a range of ages, and to any race. We didn't care if they were purple with pink polka dots. We just knew we had the capacity to love and a home that was far too empty and quiet.

So the long journey of adoption began. We felt the invasion of privacy and downright frustration at times when we were asked to divulge everything from a detailed listing of our finances to the utmost details of our intimate life. We filled out mounds of paperwork, attended 30 hours of training, took marriage assessments...and to think that no other pregnant mother would be going through such a grueling process to have their own child. We don't begrudge the foster care system for their diligence to make sure adoptive parents are qualified...it's just the irony of the whole matter.

Finally, on June 11th, we became licensed foster and adoptive parents. Then, on August 29th, we got the call that there were two little girls who are in need of an adoptive placement. On September 20th, we will welcome 4 and 6 year old half sisters. And then the real walk of faith begins. It's called Parenthood.