Tag: Adoption Page 4 of 24

Six Months

I’ve been eagerly anticipating Six Months.

Six Months means that the foster period is over; we can apply to go to court and adopt.  We signed the papers on Friday, and now we wait for our first court hearing that will make him officially a Medina.

But now that it’s here, I’m kind of sad.  Six months is half of a year.  Half of a year with this little guy, and it’s already gone.  I find myself clinging to his littleness.  Relishing the feel of his small hand in mine, laughing at the jumps and twirls that accompany four-year-old exuberance, squishing him into the toddler seat at the front of the shopping cart.  I already missed out on so much of his littleness, and now the rest is going by too fast.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been half a year, but the evidence is everywhere.  He’s grown two inches since he came home, and he’s losing his baby belly.  He’s already gone up into the next clothes size.  He knows our routines; he knows his neighborhood and the names of dozens of people and what it means when I tell him we are going to the store or the post office.  He can dress himself (usually backwards) and write his own name and put together three 50-piece puzzles that are all mixed together in the same box.

And though he’s got pretty much everyone wrapped around his little finger, he has learned what it means to be a son and a brother.  That means he’s gotten really good at whining and is not too shabby at holding his own in a fight.  His food tastes have become more particular than those first few weeks when he would eat anything.  He doesn’t need my cuddles as much any more, and I grab him for three-second hugs….I take what I can get.

But the old life is still there in his consciousness.  I tell him, I love you, Johnny.  I’m so glad you are my Johnny.   And often he looks thoughtful and pauses for a moment, and responds with, I need to go to the Baby Home.  I need to see my friends.  Because he knows that it was our love that took him from that life.

So I ask him, But what about Daddy?  And Grace and Josiah and Lily?  And he says, They can come to the Baby Home too.  

And I tell him (again) that his friends aren’t at the Baby Home anymore, that they have all grown up and gone to new places, just like he has.  That we want him to be with us and that he is ours now.  That he makes us happy and that we are a family.  He sleeps deeply at night and he laughs a lot, but it is actually the whining that shows me he knows I am his mom.

I revel in my four.  For so long we had thought there would only be three, yet the four of them fit together so perfectly.  Lily was more than willing to give up her position as the youngest, which she never liked to begin with.  And I love the unexpected blessing of watching the older three appreciate their brother’s littleness.  Last night at dinner, I told them, When I was buying onions today, Johnny asked, ‘Why you buying minions, Mom?’   He makes them laugh like no one else.  It used to be only Gil and I that would laugh at our kids’ antics, and now the big kids get in on it too.  Josiah regularly tells me, Mommy, I love having a brother!  There was no transition, as far as they were concerned; Johnny fit right into the hole that was always there in our family.

This morning I made my last trip to a social welfare office, at least, I think it was my last.  I needed to get one last report done.  It was long (as always); it took an hour each way and involved two hours of waiting once we got there.  Johnny had to come with me and he was a trooper; he played with his Matchbox car.  Another little boy sitting next to us found a piece of metal and pretended that was his car; the two boys zoomed around the cramped waiting space.  I stared at the cobwebs hanging long from the high ceiling and reflected on the dozens–hundreds?–of trips I had made to this office during the last ten years.  In many months, I made that trip twice a week.  I’m getting old now; I don’t think I could do that again.

Gil asked me today if I would have rather gone through the physical pain of labor rather than the daily-waiting-driving-work-sweat-hours-and-hours-of-time-over-months kind of pain.  I told him that I think that real labor pains would have been easier, since it’s awful but then it’s done in 24 hours.  It’s hard to compare when I haven’t experienced it.  But I do know that I wouldn’t trade my journey for anything.  When a child is the result, the pain is always worth it.

How To Get Everything You Want in Eight Easy Steps: A Guide for Children by Johnny Medina

Step 1:  Ensure you are the youngest of four children.  The youngest of 5 or more children would also be quite effective.  This is essential to getting everything you want.  If you aren’t the youngest of four, and you can’t finagle your parents into adopting you some older brothers and sisters, well then, tough luck.  This plan just won’t work for you.

Step 2:  Lisp.

Step 3:  When you go into a store, don’t ask for anything.  Instead, just act super excited about everything you like.  When your mom tells you to walk away, obey her, but look longingly over your shoulder at the item of your desire.

Step 4:  When you are sharing a bed with your big brother (since guests are in your own bed), crawl over to him, give him a big hug and kiss, and tell him how much you love him.

Step 5:  Be incredibly polite.  Say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and clean up your toys as soon as you are asked.  Tell your mom that you love her great food.

Step 6:  Attitude is everything.  When you see your mom first thing in the morning, treat her like a movie star.  Practice smiling a lot.  Here’s a good example:

Step 7:  When you do occasionally get in trouble, like for hitting (for example), and you lose your dessert (for example), don’t whine, complain, or throw a fit.  Instead, just put your head in your hands and cry big, sad, crocodile tears (as if your puppy died).  Your mom’s steadfast resolve that was unbreakable for her first three kids?  She’ll just about crack when she sees this.

Step 8:  Even better, do this in front of your grandmother.  She’ll be milquetoast.

And before you know it, you’ll have everything you want!  No one will possibly be able to resist your request for anything short of a million dollars.  Or a pony.

The End.

Three Months: Nature or Nurture?

Sometimes I gaze at my kids and look for their birthparents.  Did her mother have those shoulder dimples?  Did his father have that build?  What parts of their personalities did they leave behind in their children?  

I often marvel at the tragedy and privilege of being mom to children I did not birth.  I know they are mine, but I forget sometimes that my imprint is just as strong as their genes.

It’s easier to see in Johnny, who came to us as an almost-four-year-old.  It’s fascinating to watch the process of who he is becoming.  I used to think that it was we who were getting to know him.  But really, it is us watching him Become.

He is becoming a brother, more specifically, a little brother.  Josiah and Johnny are figuring each other out, and they do it by rolling around the house, pulling and shouting and roaring and chasing and tickling.  Mommy, I love having a little brother!  Mommy, can Johnny cuddle with me while we pray?  And my heart sings that they have each other, even while I holler, No wrestling in the kitchen while I’m cooking!

He is becoming a mother’s son.  He’s not much into cuddling anymore; he’s too busy for that.  Except at bedtime, when he pulls my face down to his and holds it there with an iron grip.  The whining comes out for Mommy.  The weepiness comes out for Mommy.  Mommy is the food person and the get-your-needs-met person.

He is becoming a father’s son.  Daddy is the fun one;  Daddy is the wrestler and the game-player and the one you can hit in the stomach.  But Daddy is also the boss, and much to Mommy’s frustration (since I discipline the exact same way as Daddy), one word from Daddy and Johnny pays attention.  He says Boo Yah! when something exciting happens, just like Dad.  I say to him, You are My Johnny!  And he says, No, I’m Daddy’s Johnny.  Until I tickle him and he says he is mine too.  But I know my place.

He is becoming part of a community.  He roams the HOPAC campus at ease; he runs to “Aunt Alyssa” and he knows the names of Grace’s friends on her soccer team.  His world has opened to hundreds of friendly people, and in return he displays the often unhealthy gregariousness that accompanies children out of orphanages.  But it’s okay; we will help him figure it out.

He’s learned to buckle his seatbelt by himself and sit in the cart at the grocery store.  He eats hot dogs and broccoli (though we’re still fighting over eggs…I no like eggs!).  He is great at saying Shikamoo to Tanzanians and giving high-fives to English-speaking people.  He sings “Watch Me Whip” and “How Great is Our God”….sometimes in a remarkable mash-up.

He is becoming someone he was not three months ago.  Sometimes I still catch him staring, wide-eyed, at something he’s never seen before.  It’s like I can just see the brain cells rewiring as he processes his new life.

That fascinating mixture of nature and nurture is even more beautifully mysterious in adoption.  My children are who they are because they are mine.  We are inextricably linked.  And if God is sovereign, and this was His plan from the beginning, then this Becoming is not a mistake, not second best.  It is, to be cliche, destiny.  This is who my children were meant to be.

I’ll still be looking for their birthparents in my children’s smiles, expressions, and abilities.  But actually, all those things are so intertwined with Gil and me that it becomes harder and harder to know the difference.

Should We Celebrate Orphan Sunday?

Tomorrow is Orphan Sunday, the day when thousands of churches across America focus on the plight of orphans worldwide.

I always have been a big fan.

Now, I’m just uncertain.

Discovering the illegal inter-country adoptions happening in Tanzania shook me to my core.  Oh, I had always read the articles from the doubters and the nay-sayers and all those negative people who either had a beef against Christians or taking kids out of their culture or whatever.  Phooey on them.  Adoption was beautiful, and that’s final.

Then I saw the full effects of the damage that American adoption agencies are capable of doing in an African country.

And I have found myself with this tension I can’t resolve.  First, I see my own experience and my own children, and I am absolutely confident we did the right thing.  We did our adoptions legally and without a hint of corruption, and there were no other options available to my children other than a life sentence in an orphanage.  My children made me a mom and have blessed my life beyond description, and I want that for other children and for other families.

But now my eyes are open to the abuses, especially in countries with poor infrastructure and bottom-level poverty.  Where is the line between adoption and child-trafficking?  How can something so beautiful turn into something so ugly?  How can we best love the child, but also love her family and his country?

I am on a quest for these answers.  In the next couple of months, I plan to read the following books:

The Child Catchers:  Rescue, Trafficking, and the New Gospel of Adoption by Kathryn Joyce

In Pursuit of Orphan Excellence by Philip Darke and Keith McFarland

Orphan Justice:  How to Care for Orphans Beyond Adopting by Johnny Carr and Laura Captari

In the meantime, Yes, we should celebrate Orphan Sunday.  Let’s not turn our backs on those most vulnerable because some people make it ugly.  But by all means, let’s work to get it right.

I will be thinking hard and writing about what I learn.  Anything else I should read as I continue this journey?  I welcome your thoughts and questions.

photo credit:  Hannah Towlson

When the Horror Story Doesn’t Happen

I’m sure you’ve all heard adoption horror stories.  You know a cousin’s friend’s sister who brought home a child who made everyone’s lives a living hell.

The stories can be true, and they scare a lot of people away from adoption.

But today, I want to counter those stories with one that is just the opposite.  This is my boy Johnny, who came home just two months ago, and two months shy of his fourth birthday.

Johnny sleeps in his own bed, in the room that he shares with his brother.  He sleeps 11 hours every night and doesn’t wake up until morning.

Johnny has an incredible attention span.  He can sit on the floor, by himself, with a 50 piece puzzle, and put it together and take it apart 5 times before he needs something else to do.  He can sit quietly in church or during his siblings’ school productions.

Johnny is hysterically funny.  He dances.  He wiggles his hips.  He loves being chased.  He loves being tickled.  He is Mr. Enthusiastic.  When I tell him dinner is ready, you would think he had won the lottery.  When he sees a car come into the driveway, he shouts, “Friends!  Friends are here!” as if it was the president himself.  When he burps, hiccups, or passes gas, he giggles and says, “I’m grumpy!” which has now officially become a part of our family’s vocabulary.  When I am gone for 5 hours or 5 minutes, he runs to me and declares, “I missed you!”

Our older kids adore him.  He plays well with them, but he also plays well by himself.  He eats everything on his plate.  He rarely whines.  He rarely gets angry.  Sure, he is not perfect.  When the kid wants to be stubborn, he can be stubborn.  But that’s happening less and less as he gets to know us and we get to know him.

If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you know I don’t sugarcoat things.  I try to tell it as it is, while still trying to keep my kids’ privacy.  So let me assure you that I’m not exaggerating.  Johnny fit into our family like one of those puzzle pieces he loves to put together.  It’s only been two months, but it’s like he’s always been here.

Sure, the first few weeks were tough.  But I have been blown away by how quickly he has settled in, especially considering his history.  He has adapted much faster, actually, than some of our other children who came home much younger than he did.

Older child adoption can be tricky, and if you are considering it, you’ve got to keep your eyes wide open and prepare yourself for the worst.  But it also could be the best thing that’s ever happened to your family.  Because that’s how Johnny feels to all of us.

We celebrated Johnny’s fourth birthday yesterday.  It’s pretty special to celebrate with a kid who has never had a birthday party of his own, and never opened a present he could keep.

Personally, I think Johnny’s pretty happy being a son.  And we’re pretty happy to make him one.

Johnny’s new bike was definitely a highlight of his day!
Celebrating at Water World

Johnny and his buddy Danny.  Danny and Johnny are almost the same age, and Danny was adopted from Forever Angels just three months before Johnny.  Danny’s mom and I are friends, so we were really excited when we realized that the boys definitely remember each other, and are so happy any time they are together.  
FIVE kids adopted out of Forever Angels!

This is the kind of stuff you get to do when there are no rules at the water park.
And this:  Four kids and a Dad on one tube.  

Page 4 of 24

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén