Big, big, big, BIG News!!!!

After 23 months, 4 weeks, and 2 days since beginning our adoption, almost two full years of blogging in 310 posts, one failed adoption attempt, and 6 months, 3 weeks and 6 days in the RMI program, I finally, FINALLY get to write the post I've been waiting all this time to write!

The call came about an hour ago, and... WE HAVE A SON!

I told you it would be a boy, didn't I? I knew it! He was born November 16th, so he's about 4 months old. That's all I can tell you for now, only because that's all I know. We'll get more information soon. I can't wait to see his precious face and show him off to all of you! I will as soon as I'm able- I promise.


We should be travelling anywhere from two to six weeks from now. Can you believe it?




Dear Sam,


Tonight I can finally fall asleep knowing that you are not just a vague whisper of hope or a misguided fantasy. You are real. You are loved. And you are mine. I can't wait to hold you in my arms. See you soon, my precious boy.

Love you with all my heart,

Mama

Has the whole world gone nuts, or is it just Yahoo Groups?

On the advice of counsel, I'd like to mention that what you are about to read is fictional. Any similarities to actual events or persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters mentioned are composites only, and in no way represent actual individuals. All in good fun, folks. If you don't understand this post, you've never belonged to a Yahoo group. At least not a Vietnam one.


New Recipe Exchange Yahoo Group

This group is for all in the recipe community. We're here to learn from each other and support each other as we go through the baking process together. WELCOME to the group!!

Member #1: I just found the most awesome brownie recipe. These really are the best brownies ever!!
Member #2: How do you know these are the best brownies ever? Have you tried every brownie recipe out there? Are you a brownie expert? Isn't it a little irresponsible of you to come here with unsubstantiated RUMOR? Who the heck do you think you are anyway, trying to tell all of us how to do it? Most of us have been here for years. Why don't you just crawl back under the cake pan you came from and take your #$%* brownies with you!
Memmer #3: To bad how sum peeple seem to foget that I alreudy posted the best brounie recippy ever last moth, in post #5(3, and if you well recal I wus alreudy warning everwon at that time about this knew, dangrous trand of adding pecans instedd of walnuts, which I see the first comentator has don in her sposed "awesome" recippy. Az I sed meny times, tis is only going to cauze probelms for ever other brounie baker out their. How can you jussify your thoughtles, selfish axtions?
Member #1: I'm deeply sorry if I've offended anyone with my brownie recipe. That was certainly not my intention. I had no idea my addition of pecans would be considered selfish. If someone could explain to me exactly how pecans are selfish, I would love to hear it. I mean really, I would. I thought I had finally found a place where I could share my recipes in a mature environment, but I guess not. I do have a great cookie recipe to share. If anyone's interested, you can just email me privately and I'll be happy to give you the recipe.
Member #2: HYPOCRITE! First it's brownies and now it's cookies... Funny how easy it is for you to switch back and forth as it suits your purposes! After you've already benefitted from the brownies, now you're going to cram cookies down our throats? Where are your ethics? And I see you don't have the guts to post your cookie recipe on the list. What do you have to hide? Hmmm? Right now, I feel like going WWE on your buttocks. People like you really make me sick. You are what's wrong in the baking world today.
Member #4: Hi! I'm new to this group. I'm so happy to be here. How many members are in this group? I've been baking for years but I'm looking forward to learning new things from all of you!! Hey, if anyone has trouble with burning themselves while baking, I know of a great burn ointment.
Mamber #3: Whut we need two due is regalate the hole prosess. I sed that all alonge.
Member #4: I'm sorry I don't understand what you mean. Regulate what whole process? Can you please explain? Is it possible you meant to reply to someone else's comment? I just joined this group.
Mumble #3: I downt haf to explane enything to you. My commets wer takun strate frum the govermets websit. Go reed it youself.
Member #2: We don't discuss burn ointments here. This is not the proper forum for that. You'll have to start a new group specifically for burn ointments. Where the heck is the moderator?
Member #5: Has it ever occured to any of you people that some of us have allergies to nuts? I'm so sick of the blatant discrimination that goes on here. Do you really think you should be flaunting the fact that you can eat nuts while some of us are suffering without them? Did it ever occur to you that I would love to eat a #*$& pecan or a walnut, but I can't? Besides, my neighbor has a sister who is a professional baker and she said her assistant heard from someone who dated a guy who would know that nuts may or may not cause something bad to happen sometime in the near to distant future, so there. Those are the FACTS! So, enjoy your nuts, folks. You know, it's really sad- I joined this group because I thought there would be recipes for people like me, but I can see there's not. So, please cancel my membership to this group.
Member #1: I wish we could stick to recipes. Wouldn't we all get along better if we stayed on topic?
Member #2: This list is open to all topics except burn ointment. Everyone's opinions are welcome here, so shutup. No one wants to hear what you think.
Nember #3: Yess. Thas esattly whut I wus sawing. You prooved my poit.
Member #2: I've started a petition to get members #1 and #4 banned from this group. It's at www dot shut them the blank up dot com. Please come sign it. Together we can do some good.
Menber #3: Fourty Seven.
Mombar #3: I tortaly agee wih you. Exselent poit. Thayk you for sush an insighfull post! I downt no how yoo due it, butt you say tings so mush cleerer than I ken. Thanc yue!
Member #2: Which post are you agreeing with? And what is "Fourty Seven?" Why can't people on this list ever hit the reply button when replying to messages, instead of the post button? Is that asking for too much? And while we're at it, is it too difficult to trim your replies? All I'm asking for is a little common courtesy.



Seems kind of silly, doesn't it? Good thing stuff like this never happens in real life. That would be crazy.

Last Sunday's Adventure

Disclaimer: All derogatory comments, either expressly written or implied, against any and all members of author's church and/or said church members' offspring are purely for entertainment purposes only, and in no way reflect the actual thoughts and opinions of the aforementioned author. The actual thoughts and opinions of the aforementioned author are probably not fit for print. Everything in the following story is said in jest and in love... for the most part. ; D I, the author, attest that what you are about to read is true, other than the parts I exaggerated or fabricated. No actual children were harmed during the following events.

I haven't had a chance until now, but I wanted to tell you how much "fun" we had last Sunday and share with you a little epiphany I had around 3:56 that same afternoon.

Some Einstein involved in the Children's Ministry of our church decided it would be "fun" to take the entire Children's Church to see the new Veggie Tales movie. Some other Einstein volunteered my services to accompany them and help watch the kids.

OK, that was me. I'm the other Einstein. I offered to go along and help. Dear, Jiminy, what was I thinking?

At first, I was told they had enough people going, and thankyouverymuch but we won't need you. BOOYAH!

Then on Sunday afternoon, Darrell foolishly answers the phone. Next thing I know I hear him agreeing to drive the kids in our van, and saying weird crap, like, "Oh, she did? No, I didn't know that. She didn't mention it to me, but I guess I can. Sure, yeah, I'd be happy to go. Yeah, no problem at all. I can do that. I'll be up there a little before 4:00." Next thing after that, he's flipping wildly through the phone book. I wanted to know what he was looking for. He wouldn't tell me- mostly because, as I would learn later, he had decided to stop speaking to me, but also partly because he was trying not to cry. I looked over his shoulder and I could almost swear the book was opened to "Hit Men, Merciless." This is how Darrell's mind works. As a Christian man, he believes having me whacked would be preferable to searching the phone book for "Attorneys, Divorce." You at least gotta appreciate the guy's steadfast commitment to keeping his marriage vows, and taking that whole "til death do us part" thing so seriously.

I must admit, I was chuckling a tiny bit on the inside. OK, it was on the outside. And it was more than a tiny bit, actually. If tears streaming down my face is considered more than a tiny bit of a chuckle. God must really, really like me, I'm thinking. I get the glory of volunteering, yet Darrell is the poor sap who winds up having to go. How fantabulous is that? Life is good.

Later, the phone rings again. And because Darrell has gone up to the car wash to vacuum all the kids' crud out of the van, and also because I'm an idiot, I answer it. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Moments like these are why answering machines were invented. It was the Einstein at church who planned this whole thing, calling to verify that I am also going, right? That's what he meant when he called Darrell. He didn't know for sure if he'd made that clear, but they were hoping we understood they wanted both of us to go. We did understand that, right? Crap. The laughter suddenly dies. "Sure," I say. "Sure, yeah, I'd be happy to go. Yeah, no problem at all. We'll both be there. No problem." These are the biggest lies ever told by one Christian to another. Life is cruddy.

We get to the church a few minutes before 4:00 and, as the kids start arriving, we slap on our smiles and start loading one precious angel after another into the van. Somehow, we wound up with nine (NINE!) little girls, most of whom are between 4-7 yrs., in our vehicle. We take off down the road, and that's when the epiphany struck: Children's Ministry... Not my thing.

All is going well enough, though. Darrell's pretty good at disguising his sobs as laughter, so all the little girls thought he was having a great time on the drive over. I spent the 20 minute ride deeply entrenched in my happy place, and reminding myself that the only things I'm ever going to volunteer for in the future are "chocolate taster," or... nope, that's pretty much it.

We get to the theater and go inside. Then I make another ginormous mistake. I hear myself saying, in a voice much too cheerful to be my own, "What do you want me to do to help?" Gaawwww... What the...?

I'm told the kids lining up at the snack bar are going to need help with ordering and paying. Helpful tip: Avoid this job at all costs. Trying to help 19 small, irrational, overly excited people ask for Reese's Pieces, no wait- popc- no, an icee, wait- how much money do I- OK, M&, Reese's Pieces and a small drink, and pay with a sockful of nickels, is not something you will ever, ever, ever want to do. I'm exaggerating, of course. Nobody actually had a sockful of nickels. If they had, I would have hit someone with it and would currently be awaiting my arraignment instead of talking to you. Days pass, or so it seems. I realize, sometime during child #8, that I don't especially like small, irrational, overly excited people. No, not at all.

Darrell went inside to save a section of seats for all of us: 19 kids, 5 adults, and me. He leaves me without any cash, of course, and unable to buy my own kids any snacks. I had to borrow from Einstein, and seriously considered, for just a second, how easy it would be to take his twenty and make a break for it to the mall across the street. I could have called a cab. I could have been free. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I stayed.

We go in, find Darrell, and sit down. All is proceeding smoothly. Then "The Distribution of the Snacks" begins. If your not familiar with "The Distribution of the Snacks," there is a proper procedure to follow that includes spilling an Icee in your lap (specifically in your- um- nether regions), thereby causing yourself great personal discomfort and embarrassment for the remainder of the movie.

The movie begins.

How was it? HOW WAS IT? Why the *&%# are you asking me that? You some kinda wiseacre? How could I possibly know that? Man, I oughta...

Here's how the adults, and me, spent our time during the movie: Look to your left to check what kids are doing and to make sure we're not slacking off on "The Distribution of the Snacks." Look to the right and do basically the same thing. Repeat.

Now, it's time for... Anyone? Anyone? Yes. The bathroom trips, of course. I get the pleasure of being asked to take a beautiful little red-headed 4 yr. old girl to the bathroom. Fine, no problem. Bri sees that I'm going and jumps up to go, too. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this interesting little tidbit about my daughter before, but Bri's bladder is uniquely timed to "go off" at the exact same moment as anyone and everyone else on earth. If you have to pee, she has to pee, guaranteed. It is one of nature's unexplained miracles. However, this is not one of her most endearing qualities. But, whatever. Fine. No problem. I can handle two little girls. I decide to hurry before anyone else feels the urge. In my race to get up the steps, I accidentally push beautiful little red-headed girl to the ground. Hey... Too bad. If you can't handle it, you shouldn't have come. Is that mean? I felt like it may have been a little mean.

We get to the bathroom and little red-headed girl needs me to hold the door shut for her. I hear weird little beeping noises coming from her stall, so I stupidly inquire, "Is that a cell phone?"
"Yes," says little red-headed girl (it was a toy phone).
"Are you making a call?" I ask.
She responds, as if this is completely normal, and what everyone does while using a public toilet, "I'm calling my friend from preschool."
"Oh," I say.

Oh.

Back into the theater to finish the movie. I try to make some sense out of the plot line and get into the story a little bit but, by this point, it's too late. Something about pirates. That's all I know. The rest of the show is pretty uneventful, thank God, other than the fact that I discover, after repeated attempts to get his attention, that Darrell is still not speaking to me.

Fast forward to the trip home. Time to count everyone and make sure they all get back into the van. We assemble the same group of nine we started with and Darrell peels out of the parking lot, muttering something that sounded slightly unkind to himself, but when I ask him to repeat it, he says nothing. He does mention later (to no one in particular- and certainly not to me) that we need to stop for gas. Dear Lord, help me. My mind begins to race as I realize this will involve leaving me in the van alone with 9 freakishly giggly, talkative, argumentative, insane little gifts from God while Darrell pumps and pays for the gas.

I decide to inject a little much-needed comic relief into the situation by saying the oldest girl (10 yrs.) will have to pay for the gas, and the youngest (4 yrs.) will have to get out and pump it. Apparently little girls don't find me quite as funny as I do. The older girl looked scared to death, and nervously said, "OK," as she reached for the $1.75 she had left from the movie. The youngest girl (the same little red-head from the bathroom), looked like she might cry. Oh, great. No sense of humor at all. Inside, I was thinking of suggesting she whip out her little phone and call someone who gives a... hoot, but I didn't. Fortunately, my own daughter knows how much fun her mother is, and told them I was only joking. Crisis averted. Kind of.

The ride home was very loud. Very... Loud... I cannot accurately convey what I truly want to say here, because I would never want to hurt the feelings of a beloved church member. Let me just lovingly say that the ride home made me long for the days when I was an alcoholic. Right about the time I thought I would not be able to stand one more minute, little red-headed girl raised her cell phone above her head and asked, "Would anybody like to make a call?" Darrell and I laughed. Granted, it was that maniacal laugh you hear just before the poor laughing idiot bursts into tears, but still- it was a laugh. And it made everything OK. Kind of.

We made it back to the church without screaming at, or harming anyone, so overall I'd say the trip was a success.

As I was leaving I heard myself telling one of the Children's Leaders that I would happily accompany them in April when they take the kids to the zoo.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

100th Post: A.D.D. and Apples

I'm not at church today because Olivia is sick, but I only have a second to post. We're getting ready to curl up on my bed and watch a movie. My hope is to take her mind off her cold by turning it into a chance to have a fun girls' day to hang out. We've got cold medicine and Kleenex. We've got Double Stuff. We've got Charlotte's Web. We've got warm, snugly covers. What more could we want?

Hey, I just noticed that this is my 100th post! I wonder what will happen when I hit the publish button. Do balloons drop from the ceiling, or anything? Does Ed McMahon show up with one of those giant fake checks? Who sweeps up the confetti? This is really exciting. I'll let you know what I win.

I am the original A.D.D. girl. I've never been formally diagnosed with A.D.D., but in my case, no medical degree is required. It's pretty much a no-brainer. Anyone who knows me- No, anyone with eyes, ears, and a 1st grader's ability to reason could make the diagnosis (are you snickering right now, Lanie, thinking how true that is?). If you go back and read through some of my previous posts, you'll probably even see evidence of it. Anyway, what does this have to do with anything? Well, Tuesday is Michael's 16th birthday. Don't see the connection? Just hang on. We'll get there.

This year Michael said he wants nothing but money for his birthday. He's saving for some stupid, useless-but-ridiculously-expensive-gadget, that I will view as an irresponsible, ill-considered waste, and then it will wind up broken, probably due to his own negligence, which he will deny and then try to blame on someone else, just like the time he went sledding with his brand new ipod in his pocket and it never worked right again after that, but it somehow wasn't really his fault because it was probably defective all along, then we will argue and I will tell him just how foolish I thought it was that he wasted his money on it and why didn't he just listen to me in the first place, then this never would have happened, and... Oh, I digress. But, it's so hard not to with all these fond memories swirling around. Good times. Family fun.

Back to our story... Mike only wants money. No party, no nothing. Not even a T-shirt (which I already bought, BTW. Our family has a thing for funny T-shirts). Just cash. Whatever I would have spent on each balloon, streamer, and donkey tail, is to be deposited directly into his hot little hand. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn't it? A sentimental sap, that Mike is.

So, when we don't have a party or some big, expensive activity planned for a kid's birthday, I let them plan The Big Birthday Dinner, and I try to really fuss over them and make them feel special. Of course, I also let them choose the type of cake they want every year.

This year, Mike doesn't want cake. Fine. Whatever you want, Mike, it's Your Day. He wants apple pie. Fine. We'll have birthday pie. No, wait- he wants TWO apple pies. He thinks (quite accurately) that one pie will barely go around in this household, and he won't get any seconds. He doesn't want to arm wrestle his father for the last piece of pie, so... TWO apple pies. I can't say that I blame him, because I do make awesome apple pie. I realize, as a Christian, I shouldn't be a prideful person. I'm not supposed to boast. But a good Christian woman should be counted upon to always tell the truth, correct? So truthfully speaking, with no pride involved, I make awesome apple pie.

Mike also wants fried apples with his Big Birthday Dinner. Again, I must truthfully and humbly confess that my fried apples are pretty tasty. They're all buttery, and cinnamon-y. Yum! They go great with pork chops, which is what Mike has requested. I've never personally had the desire to follow fried apples with apple pie, but whatever... An evening of apples it is (and what is this kid's deal with apples, anyway? Isn't that just plain weird?).

Now, let's do a little math... There are 9 apples in each pie. That's 18 apples, if I'm not mistaken. I will probably have to use another 9 to make the batch of fried apples. We're up to TWENTY-SEVEN flipping apples, yes? And have we figured out yet WHY someone would want or need to eat apples both with the meal, then again as dessert after the meal, or are we still working on that one? I know I'm stumped. Can we all agree that something is not quite *right* with a person who craves such large and abnormal quantities of apples?

Now, do you see the problem?

No?

THINK!

WHO, exactly, has to sit there peeling and slicing the &%$# TWENTY-SEVEN apples? Is it the A.D.D. girl, who cannot stand any repetitive task? Hmm? Is it the one who is driven crazy by having to do the same thing for longer than five minutes? The one who is ready to jump up and flee from the worship service at church if a chorus is sung more than 3 times in a row? Huh? The one who is so easily distracted in a store, that the older children have to remind her it's a No-No to walk off from her little ones when she sees something shiny? Why, yes, Michelle. I believe it is.

It IS the A.D.D. girl who will be inhumanely and diabolically forced to sit on a kitchen stool, with eyes wet with tears and shoulders shaking with each sob, for hours (how many hours? 4? ...40?) peeling, peeling, peeling, slicing, slicing, slicing 27 apples. And how am I supposed to teach school during all this peeling and slicing? I am a one-task-at-a-time kind of girl. I won't be able to give my full attention to phonics beyond "A is for Apple." Math will be: If you have 10 apples, plus 17 more apples, how long does it take for Mommy to cry?

You know, all I did was have a baby. I played games, read stories, kissed boo-boos, suffered through Barney, and was- in every respect, if I do say so myself- a fabulous mother. Now, that baby grows up and wants to... what? What is he up to? Is this payback for not having any sympathy during the Ipod Incident of 06? What kind of sick, twisted torture is this?

My punishment is more than I can bear. How will I endure it? Straps and restraints of some kind will be involved, I'm sure. Medications will be required. It may even take armed guards to make me stay in that *#$% kitchen and finish the job.

I will need someone to show up at my house early Tues. morning to anoint me with oil and pray over me, that much is certain. Any volunteers? If you come, bring an apple peeler.

There's that horrible knot in my stomach again...

It' s after 3 in the morning here. What better thing to do than blog? Why am I up blogging at 3 a.m.? Because I woke up in the middle of the night, upset, thinking about what I read last night on Anne's blog. See her post titled "Sick and Wrong." I'm not going to take the time or the extra space to recap what she said. My posts are already way too long and wordy as it is. You'll just have to click over there and read it, or this post won't make complete sense. I fell asleep thinking about it, and woke up thinking about it. I think I'm done sleeping. Yeah! (BTW-at 3 a.m., we agree to forgive the typos, right?)

I wasn't finished feeling sad and outraged over that whole thing with the Dutch diplomats (If you were out of the country or something and don't know what I'm talking about, I first read about it here on Mrs. Broccoli Guy's blog), and now this; something new to lose sleep over.

If you've read my blog in the past, then you already know I have an enormous pet peeve regarding the use of the word "own" in connection with adopted children. It infuriates me. For a refresher you can click here to see one of my previous posts on this subject.

I've pointed out before that the biggest problem in talking about this type of thing here is that I am either preaching to the choir, and chewing out PAPs who already agree with my feelings and can wholeheartedly love and accept a child as "their own," or I am talking to friends or family members who have not and will not be adopting, and don't fully understand what I'm ranting about. Bummer. I have no real way of reaching my target, as this is the only platform I have. Regardless, I have to try anyway. There's always the one in a million chance that the right person will see it. So here we go...

Most parents enter into the adoption process ignorant about a few things. I know we sure did. But thankfully, we all learn as we go, and by the time a child joins our family, we have hopefully become more educated, enlightened, and ready to be good parents. However, some of us are self-centered, spoiled brats who are still too childish ourselves to even consider having a child, through any means. It's to the second group I'd like to direct the following comments. If you're in the second group, chances are you don't realize it because self-centered, spoiled brats are rarely aware they are self-centered and spoiled, so read this anyway and see if any of it sticks.

I'll start with a no-brainer: If you are not prepared to lay aside your own selfishness, YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS adopting a child. The truth is, we are all self-focused to some extent before children come into our lives. But the heart of a true parent, is one that wants to lay self aside in order to focus on a child. Once that kid is in your house, your life is no longer about you. Agreed? I believe adoption parenting requires an extra measure of maturity. Truthfully, your child may not like you after the adoption is final. There is no complaint department or return desk. You're stuck, friend. So you better make darn sure you're ready to stick. This little person whom you've loved within your heart and mind for months or even years of waiting, does not love you back right away. Your ego will get bruised. Your feelings will be hurt. It's not pleasant to wait so long for this child to arrive only to feel their body stiffen and pull away when you want a hug. It's disappointing. But it's not about you. You cannot focus on your *self.* To love a child, is to make a decision to be committed to that kid from now on. That's what love is. It's not the warm fuzzies. It's the day in, day out choice to remain committed, whether or not you're getting anything out of it.

If you are interested in adoption, but would like to have YOUR OWN kids first, YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS adopting a child. Is that harsh? Yes. But as long as your heart is still making a distinction between "blood relatives" and those who are not, and you are thinking about genetics and DNA, you will not be able to provide the adopted child with what every child needs: to feel completely, totally, 100% LOVED and ACCEPTED for who they are. Do not fool yourself into thinking the child will never know you feel this way. OH, YES THEY WILL. YES. THEY. WILL. *Of course some adoptive parents have turned to adoption only after struggling to have biological children. Had they been able to have a child "the old-fashioned way," they may never have adopted at all. There's no shame in that. I'm not talking about the chronological order of events, here- I'm talking about a mindset and an attitude of the heart. I'm referring specifically to people who view adoption as a "lesser" method of creating a family. My heart aches for parents who have had to struggle with the heartbreaking disappointments of infertility or pregnancy and child loss. I would never want my comments to be misinterpreted as being directed at you.

Once and for all, an adopted child IS YOUR OWN child. If you can't or won't look at adoption that way, YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS adopting a child.

If you think of yourself as some benevolent, charitable do-gooder who loves the feeling you get from dropping change into the Salvation Army bucket, and you're willing to provide a home for some poor orphan because you are so incredibly awesome, YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS adopting a child. Yes, the Bible says, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world (Janes 1:27)," and I completely believe and agree with that, but it also says, in Romans 12:3, "For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you." In other words, Get off your high horse, if I may paraphrase God Almightly. Maybe you could go pick out a puppy from the humane society. Do not try to do your good deed by adopting a kid. Kids do not need a noble benefactor. They need parents who are able and willing to love them unconditionally for the unique and precious treasures they are.

If you are not prepared to recognize, accept, and embrace your child's "baggage," YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS adopting a child. The child's birth country, culture, race, pre-adoption circumstances, and yes- BIRTH PARENTS, are all a part of who that child is and will always be. If you hope or plan to strip the child of those things, you are being selfish. I'm sorry if that sounds mean, but I think any parent who wants to forget the child's beginnings and treat him or her as if their lives began on the day of adoption is being mean. And heartless. And incredibly selfish. SELFISH. If it seems like too much of a hassle to incorporate your child's birth culture into your life and family's routine, then maybe adoption is not for you. If you feel too threatened or intimidated (or dare I say "jealous?") by the birth parents, maybe adoption isn't for you. Every human being has a right to know as much as possible about where they came from. We all have an innate need to feel connected to something and someone. Don't strip your child of that. We may never be able to provide our kids with all the details of their lives before meeting us, but we owe it to them to tell them what we do know, and to treat that information with respect. Your child's birth parents ARE NOT your competitors. They are forever a part of who your child is. You don't have to like them, understand them, or agree with what they've done. You do have to realize that they were chosen by God to create your child, and it is because of them that you have been or will be blessed with him or her. In many, many cases, one mother's heart will be forever broken, so that another's can stop breaking. For that reason alone, they deserve your respect, regardless of what you think of their choices and circumstances. By honoring your child's past, you honor your child. Get it?

Along with the above, if you believe that adopting a young baby means avoiding all those pesky attachment and bonding issues that only come with older children, YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS adopting a child. At least not until you've educated yourself on the subject. Adopting a newborn is no guarantee that your child won't suffer the affects of grief and/or attachment disorders. Do you understand that? If you hear nothing else I say, please hear that. And in case you forgot or didn't know, I am speaking as an adoptee. I hate to plunk the adoptee card down on the table too often, but I do know what I'm talking about in this. Your child has experienced a loss, no matter how young they were at the time it occurred. Yes, adoption is a wonderful way to build a family. But in order for your family to be born, another family was severed; Your child's first family. Your child has lost something. There can and quite likely will be some form of fall-out from that. Adoption parenting is not for sissies. It is parenting the hard way. It is not all giggles, and booties, and cute smiles. If you're not prepared to handle the good, bad, and ugly of it- then WAIT, or just DON'T do it.

If you desire to follow the latest trend like Angelina, Madonna, et al, and adopt some cute, needy kid, or you think of choosing a child the way most people choose a sweater and want one in the right size, shape, or color, YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS adopting a child. I'd really like to go as far as saying you have no business being a parent, period- since you cannot guarantee that any child, whether by birth or adoption, will fit your criteria- but I'm trying to be nice. Children are not fashion accessories, and should not be treated as such. I'm not saying it is never appropriate to consider race/nationality in adoption. But those considerations should be about what's in the best interest of the child. I'm also well aware that many people have strong opinions and solid reasons for requesting a specific gender, but I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about statements like this: "If we adopt from Russia, the kid will still look like one of our own," or "Those little Asian babies sure are cute. I wouldn't mind getting one (that one was said to me after bringing my daughter home, and I almost puked over the use of the word "getting" because it sounded a whole lot like *acquiring* or *buying* goods)."

If you find yourself being focused on the cost of the child, as opposed to the cost of adoption, YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS adopting a child. If you are constantly thinking of the $30K you're putting into this kid, you will most definitely wind up disappointed when the kid does not live up to your expectations (which will happen. We all have hidden expectations of our children- adopted or not) and you fail to get your money's worth. Maybe you should put that money into something that is more likely to perform to your expectations, like a car. Even then you might get a lemon, huh? Oh dear... Do some APs view their adopted children as "lemons?" You bet they do. You cannot place a cash value on the life of a child. They are priceless. Adoption is expensive. Suck it up and deal with it, or don't adopt.

So, why should a person adopt? That's not really something one person can answer, but I think it should start with this: Because you want to love a child; A child of YOUR OWN.

I have so much more I could say, but again- I feel as if my point is misdirected at those who need to hear it the least. It's a very helpless feeling. Plus, as usual, I've talked waaaayyy too long. So I'll shut up. Gosh, why do you guys keep putting up with all my babbling? I might as well go take a shower and put the coffee on. The little ones have their first basketball games this morning. I'll post a picture or two of them later.

Today on SURVIVORMOM

LIFE LESSONS, by MICHELLE
I believe everything negative that God allows us to experience can be used to help others. So, with that in mind, I'd like to offer some advice you may want to file away for future use. Hopefully you'll never have to use it, but if I can help just one person, then my pain and suffering will be worth it. Today's lesson will be on showering in icy cold water. Incidentally, I came out of an icy cold shower only a few short moments ago, so this advice is up-to-date and personally tested. Also, my fingers are quite frozen and slightly shaky, so if there are typos in this post, you'll understand and cut me a break, right? Future topics will include: "How NOT to sob when trying to convince your child 'everything is going to be fine, Sweetheart, just fine.'" AND "How to eat yet another PBJ without triggering your gag reflex."

LESSON ONE: HOW TO SHOWER IN ICY COLD WATER

Preparation is the key to success...
1. Make sure someone in the house knows you're going in to take a shower. That way if you don't come out, someone will know to come looking for you and be ready to call 911 if your shower should take a turn for the worst. Speaking of which, I cannot be held responsible for any showering tragedies that may occur after following my advice. Shower at your own risk. Really, the best thing to do is have someone sitting outside the shower waiting to help you when you get out. You may want to agree in advance upon a safety word you will holler out if you feel you're losing consciousness, or otherwise need medical assistance. Important tip: Make sure your safety word is NOT a curse word. That way, when the urge to shriek curse words hits during your shower, which it will, you will be able to do so without causing an unnecessary emergency assistance call.

2. Call your pastor or a prayer partner from your church before getting in. You WILL NEED prayer support while you're showering. If you are an atheist, I would suggest skipping the shower and spraying your armpits and nether regions with Febreeze instead.

3. Gather your supplies: In addition to shampoo, soap, and a towel, also grab a thick robe, a stocking cap, insulated socks, a few warm blankets, Kleenex, decongestants, and one of those emergency paddles-on-your-chest thingies, like they use on "ER," to keep within quick and easy reach. Lay these items right outside the shower.

4. After you are naked and standing in the shower, turn on the water. DO NOT wait to see if the water may warm up a little more. I cannot stress this point enough. This is a rookie mistake that will cost you. The water will only get colder as it runs. TRUST ME IN THIS. The water that comes out first is as good as it's going to get, and should be used to wash your hair. Turn it on and IMMEDIATELY get started. Quickly wet a wash cloth, put some soap or body wash on it, then set it aside for later. **I like to use "Baby Magic" because it doesn't irritate the skin too badly if it's not all rinsed off, and it smells nice enough to make you believe you accomplished something close to cleanliness, even if you really didn't.

Washing your hair FIRST...
5. This is important. Stand in an extreme version of the "Paris Hilton Pose" (see photo) with your back arched like you are about to do a back bend (you do not have to keep your hand on your hip like she does... unless you just want to), and your head bent waaaay back. If you are over 40, as I am, and haven't done a back bend since the Carter Administration, just do your best. Nobody's grading you on this. What we're going for, here, is to make the water run off your head without running down your back, buying you a few more precious seconds before the hypothermia sets in, which it will- I'm not gonna lie to ya.

6. As quickly as possible after turning on the water, wet your hair. Resist the urge to scream, because your family members will mistakenly believe they've just heard your safety word and think you need medical assistance. You don't want the EMTs to burst in and see that Paris Hilton Pose, do ya? It's quite embarrassing. Don't ask me how I know. I just know. Now, TURN THE WATER OFF. Lather your hair, remembering to scrub really, really well the first time. We're in crisis mode, man; this is not a time for Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

7. This is where the process starts to become physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually difficult. You are about to test and challenge yourself in ways you never have before. You will not want to stand under that water again, but you must. The shampoo must be rinsed out, or it will begin to irritate your scalp later on. Again, please trust me in this. I really do know what of I speak. Remembering your Paris Hilton Pose, turn the water back on, suck it up, and begin to rinse the shampoo out of your hair. Do not use your hands until you absolutely have to. After a few moments, your scalp will begin to sting quite badly, as if the water has suddenly turned sharp and is now stabbing you. You will feel as if the skin of your scalp is actually shrinking. You will be tempted to stop at this point, but DON'T. This pain and discomfort occurs only momentarily, and right before the numbness sets in. Numb is good. You will like numb, just don't overdo it, as it is a sure sign that hypothermia is just around the corner. It's OK if you cry, but resist the urge to squat down and rock yourself. If you feel faint, use your safety word now and do it quickly. You must keep going. You can do it. It will be hard to know exactly when all the shampoo is out, because your head and fingers will have lost all sense of feeling by now. Make your best guess and then TURN THE WATER OFF.

8. At this point, I like to take a little break. You may want to do this, too. You've earned it. Wrap a towel around your head to restore some much-needed body heat. Take a moment to consider all you've accomplished, but then move on. **Some people will just want to stop here and call it done. That's understandable. This is commonly referred to as a "Skank Shower" and is actually an acceptable method, especially if you're a beginner. If you can't go on, don't beat yourself up. Maybe next time. Skip to step #11 and congratulate yourself on a brave first attempt!

Washing the rest...
9. Leave the towel on your head, if possible. You may notice that your thoughts are becoming delusional and attempts at speech may be slurred. If so, no time to lose. Work as fast as you can. Grab the wet, soapy wash cloth you set aside earlier (in step #4). Use it to wash your armpits and naughty bits ONLY. We're not going for a complete, total scrubbing here. Nastiest parts ONLY. Face, feet, legs- Skip 'em. Who cares? And DO NOT WASH YOUR BACK. Dear Jimminy, what are you thinking? Do not shave ANYTHING. Save it for another day. You may be only seconds away from passing out now, do you understand that? Make every second count.

10. DO NOT turn the shower back on if you don't have to. If you have a tub spout, use that instead to splash water onto your soapy parts. If you must stand under the shower spray (God help you), do it quickly, hit only the soapiest parts, and TURN THE WATER OFF.

Getting out and getting warm...
11. I feel I must warn you, here. If you have a mirror located where you will catch a glimpse of yourself when you exit the shower, you need to be prepared for what you are about see. It won't be pretty. Your fingers, feet, lips, and dangly parts will all be blue. Your hair will most likely look and feel crunchy. It is frozen, after all. Work quickly to get warm. You will feel listless, weak, shaky, and woozy at this point so you must dry off as fast as you can. This is where having a waiting family member is most helpful, especially if you collapse and cannot go on. After drying yourself, put on the stocking cap, robe, and insulated socks. Wrap up in the blankets. Have the family member hold the Kleenex while you blow your nose, or just hold you while you quietly sob. Take a couple of the decongestants. You will need them here in a minute, even if you don't realize it yet. You will not be able to pat your own back right now, so ask your family member to do it for you. You deserve it!

You did it! And hopefully, you were able to do it without a pesky hospitalization. You may find in the near future that a little counseling, for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, will prove to be both helpful to you and appreciated by your family. I'm proud of you. You have inner strength and courage that you never knew existed. Now, you know what you're really made of. Reward yourself by taking the rest of the day off. You've done enough.

Captain’s Journal: Day 47

It is just before dawn. We survived another night, albeit narrowly. Our harrowing plight continues. The generator heating our camp began sputtering last night, leaving us dark, cold, and, I must admit, sorely afraid for our circumstances. It was off for hours, and is now only working sporadically. Upon hearing the news of its failure, in a moment of angry delirium, I shot it. This impulsive, foolish act served only to hinder the progress in repairing it. The officer charged with keeping vigil over the generator during the second watch of the night was strapped to a tree and whipped before it was discovered that the complications were no fault of his own. A regrettable consequence indeed.

It's quite cold. I cannot feel my extremities. The temperature within the compound registers an icy -28 degrees. Outside, it is 35 degrees. Our supply of warm clothing is dwindling. My sympathies are with the pitifully unfortunate one who is doomed to cleanse this camp and wash our garments at the end of this abysmal mission. Only Divine Intervention will relieve the agonies inflicted upon that poor, wretched soul. The putrid stench rising out of this encampment, and off of each and every unclean soul within it, is so sinfully wicked I cannot speak of it. Young gentlemen, when left without the aid of soap and water, are an abomination to all that is good and holy.

Our depleting resources continue to cause great consternation. I am now M&M-less and consequently, hopeless. I had what turned out to be the grave misfortune of eating the last M&M in the camp; one that was found in a dank corner. I deceitfully hid it from one I was charged to protect and the shame I feel now is almost more than I can bear. This agony would not be, had the candy offered up any satisfaction. The unbearable need for the chocolate overpowered my guilt, as well as the voice of reason that would have otherwise convinced me not to consume such a discolored and disgustingly dusty scrap. The will to go on was swallowed up with the distasteful morsel. These long years of difficulty have taken their toll on my youth, my vigor, my dignity. Can it be possible that I have only been entrenched in this misery since last Saturday? Surely not. It must be another cruel trick of the mind, as insanity begins to take its toll.

The delirium affects others as well. Last night, I was sure I heard wolves howling outside the camp. Alas, it turned out to be my fellow leader of this outfit; the one I once called Husband and Friend, but is now known to me only as Loon. I fear I will not make it, and can only hope my remains will not be eaten by either wild beast or ingrate. The camp's mascot, a lazy canine, looks at me with fearfully suspect glances. I no longer trust him. God help us. God help us all.

Last night, in the dark, one of the smaller members of our party began to heave and retch violently. Could it be that she also found and ate a bad M&M? There was no time to inquire. One of the responsibilities entrusted to me as Capt. is to hold the hair of a vomiting underling. This task proved to be quite difficult, if not impossible, as I was also charged with the duty of holding the lantern so that the ailing subordinate could aim the fetid expulsions into a suitable vessel. Alas, I admit with a head hung in shame, I failed at this task quite miserably. It continues to amaze and confound these aged eyes that one so small and frail can spew forth such great measure of unspeakably vile and unholy matter. The weakling has been banished to the wilderness, so as to avoid infecting the rest of the camp, but also-in some small measure- as punishment for inflicting upon me such an atrocious, horrific experience. The full account of last night's terrors are more than I can bear to tell. I must try to forget; to block those sights, sounds and smells from my mind forever. I can only tell you this. I will never be the same. The socks I was wearing at the time had to be destroyed.

I'm continually reminded by one of the more irksome young lads in our expedition that a holiday is approaching. I have lost all track of time and know not when the celebrations are to be held, but I see no possibility of joining in the merriment. I am a sorry, pathetic leader indeed; incapable of making merry during such a time as this, although my charges are in great need of holiday cheer. I am quickly losing the will to "suck it up" as they say, and feign joy for the sake of the troops. I cannot bake a cookie or prepare a ham, nor do I possess the fortitude to wrap a gift. A can of Pledge sits within my grasp, but I am too weakened by sorrow to make use of it. I can only sit in my own filth and pray for swift and sweet release from this interminable suffering, mostly for myself, but at times, for the subordinates as well.

We've heard faint rumblings among the heathen inhabitants of this wasteland that rescue teams are approaching. It is said they wear bright yellow coats, travel in large orange wagon trains and bring with them the ability to restore, within short order, warmth, light, and all forms of comfort and normalcy. In my youth, I would have readily believed such fantastic claims. However, I have been forced to contemplate these ideas through the tired eyes of cynicism, born from the continual disappointments wrought upon me since Saturday last. I can no longer afford the luxury of such sadly naive flights of fancy.

The vast majority of my malodorous minions continues to show great courage and generosity of spirit during these sad and trying times (save for the whipped one, who disgracefully weeps like a young lass, and the vomitous creature, who is a young lass) and I must say it is an honor and a privilege to have served such a fine group. If I do not make it, please tell them I did my best (most of the time), I am beyond sorry for the moment of cowardly weakness in eating the last M&M, and I wish them courage and strength as they continue on without me. Tell them also, not to forget the tragically exiled member who committed the crime of falling ill on my watch and upon my feet. Allow her to rejoin our group when she can assure those in charge that her disgusting projections have ceased. Thank you. That is all. God bless us, every one.

So... What CAN I ask? Proper Adoption Language 101

I was asked this the other day by someone who was reading the FAQs at the bottom of this page. Coincidentally, a similar topic was recently covered in some of the Vietnam groups on Yahoo. There's been some discussion about how patient and understanding an adoptive parent should be regarding comments from strangers, and how much they should reasonably tolerate before they have "just cause" to put rude folks in their places.


So, what CAN I ask? I understand the frustration behind the question. We live in a time where political correctness rules. You can barely say anything anymore, without someone telling you it's offensive. Some group is always eager to accuse another group of "Hate Speech." We are unwilling to let anything go without an apology. Read the paper. Someone is apologizing for their remarks made to someone else almost every day; sometimes, rightfully so and sometimes, not. It's getting ridiculous. This leaves us constantly walking on eggshells, wondering what's appropriate to say. Personally, I say all of this increased attention to sensitivity and supposed tolerance is making us overly sensitive and intolerant of anyone who thinks differently than we do. I think it's turning us into a nation of whiny, cry babies who are unable to shake off the tiniest offense and get on with life. We sound like a bunch of 4 year olds, yelling for our mommies to make the bullies be nice and say "sorry." The very people who scream TOLERANCE the loudest are the first people to get offended and refuse to tolerate the words of others. These, of course, are just my humble opinions- for you to do with as you wish (And please don't assume I'm obviously referring to a group that you are a member of or support, then get offended and leave me a nasty comment. If you do, you're kind of proving my point, anyway. These are just generalities, here, folks. I'm speaking of our culture at large. No particular target). Anyway... I digress. This is a rant best saved for another day.

I have a sign in my kitchen that says, "Put on your big girl panties and deal with it." That sums up how I feel about it. When it comes to adoption conversations, I usually try to cut people as much slack as possible. I have said it before in this blog; I understand the average person is not trying to be offensive, and is merely curious. Most poorly-worded questions are asked out of ignorance, and don't stem from a cruel spirit, so I don't believe I should respond cruelly in return. We, as adoptive parents, have to remember that the average man on the street has not taken a class on proper adoption language. I have asked a few blunt, poorly-worded questions myself (even to other adoptive parents!), so I'm the first to realize we all make mistakes, and have moments when both feet seem to leap involuntarily into our mouths.

For parents, an important thing to keep in mind is the fact that our kids will learn how to deal with the world by our example. I don't want my child to learn to be easily offended from watching her mother. If I react (or overreact) to every little comment, my children will pick up on that. I want them to be able to shake it off, and not let the remarks of others determine how they view themselves. How can I lead them in that direction if I'm huffing and puffing all the time over some offense? My children who have been adopted are going to deal with this stuff throughout their lives. They have to be able to let a few things go, or they won't be very happy people.

Of course, there is a time to say "enough is enough" and speak up for yourself and your child, but there has to be a balance. Sometimes, we just have to be understanding and gracious (albeit through clenched teeth) and keep our mouths shut. Sometimes, we have to be willing to forgive and remember that we can be (have been, will be) offensive at times, too.

So with balance in mind, here are a few tips on what you CAN say...

• When talking to a friend or family member, I think the best rule of thumb is the old expression: *KISS.* Keep It Simple, Stupid! Simply asking, "How is your adoption going?" or, "How is your baby doing?" shows you care and allows the adoptive parent to tell you as much, or as little detail as they choose.
• With whatever you ask, just remember- this child is already a son or daughter in the heart of the parent, even before they're brought home. Your sensitivity to that fact will go along way with your adopting friend or family member. Always consider the child to be completely *theirs,* just as you would a biological child. References to birth or biological parents are preferred over ones to "real parents." This is a common source of hurt for many parents. Adoptive parents are REAL. Just pinch one and see what happens! I bet you'll get a REAL reaction.
• Always use terms that are inclusive, rather than exclusive. Separating a person's children into two groups when speaking about them (biological vs. adopted) is hurtful to both parent and child. Say, "My friend has 3 children," instead of, "My friend has one child of her own, and two adopted."
• Nobody wants to be defined by a label. Choose words that put the person first, not the label. Understand? Example: "My friend's daughter was adopted from Vietnam," would be preferred over,"My friend has an adopted daughter from Vietnam." See the difference? It may seem like silly semantics, but it can make a big difference to someone who has to hear it all the time. The first way defines the situation or circumstances, but the second way defines, or labels, the child.
• If in doubt about what to say, don't be afraid to come right out and ask, "How would you prefer I word this?" or admit "I have no idea how to ask about this." or "I'm not sure this is any of my business, but..." Your honesty will be appreciated and both of you will feel more at ease.
• Also wise to follow, are two other old adages: Put yourself in their shoes and treat others as you would want to be treated. Think: What types of questions would you want (or not want) to answer about your child (or your finances, family relationships, or any other personal subjects)? Would the question you're about to ask make YOU or YOUR child feel uncomfortable, self-conscious, embarrassed, offended, etc... If so, don't ask! Put yourself in the place of the adoptive parent, AND the child. Even at very young ages, they are watching and listening, too.

Some of you are very open, gregarious people and will share anything with anyone, but we need to remember that not everyone is wired that way. We're all different, and what may seem fine to you can come across as horribly rude to someone else. Even the most sociable among us has a family situation that we would consider personal. Maybe too personal to talk about in casual conversation? Or in front of our children? A child's adoption details are often very personal, and many times very difficult for the child to even listen to, or think about, let alone talk about. This means that open discussion about birth parents, abandonment, orphanages, etc. is probably not something the adoptive parent is going to appreciate, especially in front of the child.

If you're approaching a stranger, and feel you absolutely must ask them questions, I'd really recommend being careful with your wording. Most of us adoptive parents are going to be friendly and fine with it, and understand that people are just curious. However, we all have our "off" days and times when we're just tired of having to explain our family to others... again!

• If you must know where a child "is from," try using the word *born* instead of *from* (Think about it: If I ask you where you are from, you'd most likely tell me where you grew up. Most of our children have grown up here- wherever "here" may be... So their answers should logically be Norfolk, NYC, Milwaukee, etc.- not China, Taiwan, or India). Try: "Your daughter is beautiful. May I ask where she was born?" Better yet, phrasing such as "My friend's daughter was born in China. May I ask where your daughter was born?" lets the parent know why you are asking and they may be less likely to feel defensive.
• Remember that anything you ask has probably been asked of them 200 times, already- so their patience level may be low. Try to be sensitive to that and not push for information. Be mindful of body language and other little clues that you may be crossing the line. This is just common sense, but it's amazing how many people don't seem to pick up on these cues.
• If you realize a little too late that you're prying, used poor wording, or you've made someone uncomfortable, simply saying, "I'm sorry- I don't know how to phrase this... I hope I haven't offended you" will usually be welcomed, since it's more than we hear from most people, and will help put you back in our good graces.

The main thing to keep in mind, is this: *Some things are just NONE OF MY BUSINESS.* Say it with me, everybody: Some things are just none of my business... There.

A member of one of the Yahoo groups made an excellent point the other day regarding our sense of entitlement to personal information in our current media-driven culture. We live in a time where we seem to hear everyone's business all the time. I mean, when Britney Spears dents a fender, goes to Starbucks, doesn't wear her underwear, or all 3 at once, we hear about it within 10 minutes and have instant access to the pictures (please don't Google for pictures of Britney without her skivvies when you leave here). This gives us a false sense of entitlement to any and all information about others. We ask any question that pops into our heads, simply because we want to know (I'm guilty of this, too). Our sense of decency seems to have disappeared along with Britney's underpants. However, the public does not have the right to know everything about everybody. Period.

When it comes to our child's adoption details: If we want you to know, we will offer the information at a time and place we feel is appropriate. You really won't even have to ask.

Hey- Great News, Everybody! Paris Hilton Wants Her "Own" Children

I just finished ranting the other day about questions people shouldn't ask and things they shouldn't say (see left sidebar and this post). At least I thought I was finished. Then I read that Paris Hilton was recently quoted as saying:

"Someone just said that I'm adopting four
blonde babies... That's retarded. No, I'm not."
Regarding the thought of adoption, she said,
"Maybe, but I want to have my own children."

Maybe, but I want to have my own children. There are those words again...

Grab the garden hose, somebody. Michelle just burst into flames.

Paris couldn't just say, "Maybe, but I'd also like to experience pregnancy," or something to that effect. And yes, I am remembering who we're talking about here, and I realize she is not known for thinking before she speaks (or for thinking... period). But I wouldn't be ready to spontaneously combust over a statement like that, because I understand that bajillions of women have felt exactly the same way. The experience of pregnancy is a very natural thing to want or wonder about.

But, she didn't say that. She said "my own..."
Why do people insist on using this phrase and others like it?

My own, your own, real parents, real kids, adopted...

Why are all these labels so important to us, especially to those in the media? This seriously drives me up the wall. It honestly hurts me when I hear it, even when it's directed at someone else's child. Does this stem from the fact that I'm an adoptee, too? I don't know. Am I being too sensitive about it? Maybe. But I definitely think the media, and sometimes the general population aren't being sensitive enough.

This categorizing that the media insists upon doing works both ways. Meaning, not only do they always point out when a child is "your own," but they also love to make it clear when he's not, through the nauseating overuse of the word "adopted." Tom Cruise can't just have three children. He has one of his own with Katie Holmes and two adopted with Nicole Kidman. Meg Ryan has an adopted daughter, not just a daughter, and so on. She's had that kid for years now... When does she just get to have a daughter, for Pete's sake? What does the media worry will happen if they forget to make that distinction just once? Will we, the stupid public, become confused and accidentally think this child actually IS Meg Ryan's? Oh, no. That would be... Well... accurate. That would be accurate.

You hear it everywhere. There's no getting away from it, but still... It makes me crazy.

Of course, we can't expect much from poor Paris Hilton. I'm just proud of that poor baby if she manages to be photographed with most of her naughty bits covered (and by the way, does anyone else immediately think "sign-of-the-apocalype" when they think of Paris Hilton being someone's mom?).

One day out with my family in a Chinese restaurant, a very sweet, elderly hostess came over to our table to fuss over the kids. She wanted to know how many of these were my own. I understood what she meant, and her intentions were good, so I tried to quickly say that they are all my own children and leave it at that. Her English wasn't great and she wasn't understanding me. I told her Bri was born in China, and has been a part of our family for five years. Umm... No. Not gonna work. My answer wasn't what she wanted, so she thought I wasn't understanding her. She kept at it, repeating the phrase "your own," trying to help me understand what she was asking me. Finally, to put an end to it- I gave her the information she wanted; that, yes, Brianna is my only adopted child, and the rest are my own. She smiled and nodded, satisfied that I finally gave her the answer she was looking for. I hated doing that. It felt like a defeat. A surrender. I caved. And there was Bri, sitting right there, listening to her mommy put her, and her alone, in the "adopted/not my own" category. I felt sick. Not over saying she's adopted. Of course she knows that. We use the word all the time. But because the only two choices I was given were either adopted, or my own. To place her in one category, meant removing her from the other. It felt like a betrayal of who she really is and what she really means to me. She is my own. I have no problem telling people she was adopted from China, and often do. But I never, ever introduce her as my adopted daughter. NEVER. I never separate my kids into two different groups in my heart, or in my mind, and I hated feeling pushed to do so just to satisfy the curiosity of a stranger.

Anyway, back to Paris and the thought that she will adopt, "maybe," after having her own... I bet I speak for others in the adoption community when I say, thank God it's only a "maybe." I hope she sticks with chihuahuas (Besides, can you even imagine what that home study would be like?).

Thanks for letting me rant a little (again) about this. I realize that I'm kind of preaching to the choir here, and the people that probably need to hear this most, won't. At least I don't think Paris is one of my readers... It still helps though because, if I can vent here, then hopefully I can continue to avoid unloading on sweet little hostesses in Chinese restaurants.

FAQs: Questions NOT To Ask An Adoptive Parent

I promise you we have been asked each and every one of these; some more often than others. Most of the time we answer politely, then have a good laugh. But sometimes... Well, some of these make us want to SCREAM!

Are you guys trying to be like Angelina?
Excuse me; I just vomited in my mouth a little. International adoption may be the latest trend in Hollywood, but we are not caught up in being trendy (unless we’re talking about shoes. I do enjoy my shoes).

Why don’t you adopt kids right here in the U.S.?
This is the “we should take care of our own first” argument, and yes, there are many children here, as well as throughout the world, in need of loving homes and "forever families." God has led our hearts to adopt internationally. If He’s given you a passion for children here in the States, I would encourage you to act on those feelings. Look into foster parenting and/or domestic adoption. I think that’s great and wish you the best. This question is very similar to the popular, "How come you didn't want to get an American kid?" My only response to this is that each of my children are U.S. citizens, which makes them Americans.

How much did your adoption cost?
Unless you are a very close friend or family member, please don't ask this. And if you are, we'll probably offer the information anyway. Personal financial questions of any sort are rarely appropriate and often make people uncomfortable. How much do you make a year? How much was your car? What kind of house payment can you afford? Most people who know not to ask those questions, still think nothing of asking about our adoption expenses. Let's just say parenting is expensive- whether by giving birth or through adoption- and be content to leave it at that. Adoptive families are usually not wealthy people and often struggle to afford it.

Aren't you too OLD to consider having a (another) child?
Youth is no guarantee of long life and the numbers 40, 50, or above, are not tantamount to imminent death. People die unexpectedly every day, young and old alike, and everyone should have a plan in place for the care of their children, regardless of age. If you’re able to love and care for a child, you can be a parent. If someone asks you this, you can always respond with, "Aren't you too old to be asking such personal questions?" ;D

Shouldn’t you just be happy with having your “OWN” kids?
Each child is our own. There is no difference between biological and adopted. This question implies that the only reason to adopt is if a couple is infertile. It also suggests that people who have been blessed with biological children should not also have a right to adopt, as if the adopted kids should be “set aside” for infertile couples only. Finally, it implies that a parent’s love either is or should be stronger for a biological child. This is insulting to both the parent and the child. For more on this topic, see this post.

Does your child notice that she’s (he’s) different?
There’s no such thing as a stupid question, right? Ummm…. Wrong. I’m sorry, but this question is just plain dopey. I don't even understand where this comes from. OF COURSE my child notices our differences. She knows she’s Chinese, and we are not. And yes, she notices other Asian people and can recognize the similarities. She also notices the constant staring, pointing, and whispering when we are out in public. And incidentally, my other children notice it, too. They notice every time someone fawns and fusses over their sister and goes on and on about how “cute” and “adorable” she is. My other kids are cute and adorable, too.

Don’t you think you’ve had enough kids?
Obviously not, since we’re having another. What this question is really saying is, “*I* think you’ve had enough/too many kids.” If seven children are too many for you, don’t have seven children ;). Our kids are all healthy, happy people, and their needs are being met. We do not rely on government assistance, nor do we ask for handouts from family and friends. Each one of my children is a unique treasure from God, and I cannot imagine what my life would have been without any one of them.

Are you doing this to “save” a child?
I cannot save souls; that’s God’s job. We have no other agenda than to love a child. And if we can provide a home and family to a child who would otherwise not have one, great. International adoption does not necessarily “rescue” a child from a horrible life. It solves some problems, but can also create others.

How will you afford ANOTHER kid?
We won’t. God will. God is our provider. Always has been, always will be, and He’s done a pretty good job so far. If you are asking out of love and concern for us- we appreciate it, but there’s no need to worry; we’ll be fine. If you’re not asking out of love and concern, then I have a question for you. If we aren’t asking you personally for money, why should this be your problem?

Does your kid speak Chinese?
Hee hee... Does yours? : ) Sorry, I don't mean to be nasty. This one is just kind of funny to me. She's been here most of her life and speaks just like the rest of us- she even has a little hick accent goin' on. Language is learned. Period. It is not encoded into one's DNA, like eye color, or a love for chocolate (Do not attempt to argue with me on this. I happen to know for a fact that chocolate addiction is a genetic trait. It has to be.) She speaks a few words and phrases she's learned from the Chinese DVDs we buy her. I would love it if she becomes fluent one day. I would like to become fluent myself, but Chinese is a difficult language to learn.

Do you think she will ever want to find her real parents?/Do you know anything about her real parents?
These are not stupid questions at all, but they are poorly worded and deeply personal- too personal for casual conversation. My daughter lives with her real parents- Darrell and I! I promise we are both REAL people. She also has real birth parents. If it is ever an option for her to search for and/or meet them, we will support whatever choice she makes and help her in every way we can. Everyone has a right to know where they come from. But that will be her choice AND her business.

Some Questions Should NOT Be Asked

On the left side column, you'll notice I've listed some of the most common questions we get regarding our choices to adopt and have a large family. In addition to these, we receive plenty of thoughtful, good questions, positive comments and support, too- but these are the top winners in the negative category. If you're reading this and have been guilty of asking one of these, be comforted in knowing you're probably not the only person who asked. We've heard these so many times, we rarely recall specifically who asks what, so you're not being singled out.

I was just curious... To other adoptive parents: What are some of the questions you've been asked that are either really insensitive or stupid, or really get you ticked? Sometimes, it's not even the nature of the question that gets to us as much as the number of times it's been asked, isn't it? People don't realize that they are probably the 253rd person to ask. How do you respond to offensive (or insensitive/ignorant/embarrassing/repetitive/hurtful) questions? Maybe more importantly, how do you plan to teach your child to respond to those questions (they're going to learn more from our attitudes in handling these things than we may want)? Maybe a discussion of this topic will help our friends and families to know what to say (or not), and how to phrase questions or comments they have in non-hurtful ways. I know the majority of people have good intentions and never mean to be hurtful, but we can all be insensitive and stupid sometimes. I know I certainly am.

Comments, anyone?

Random Babbling: Adoption's Dark Side

Adoption is such an incredible gift, isn't it? The process is long and tedious with many ups and downs, but the end result? Finally having that long-awaited, precious little blessing in your arms and looking into the face of this new little person who, by some miracle, you now get to call your own... There's very little in life that compares to that! And the first bonding moment is one you will never forget- that first moment when some little thing happens... maybe it's a certain look, a first smile or shared laugh, that sweet little head laying itself on your shoulder, or the first time you're called "Mommy" or "Daddy," but it's the moment when you feel for the first time that you are being accepted into the heart and life of this precious person. You're In. During those moments, you feel as if every thing's going to be OK. You're child is attaching, seems happy, life is great, and you love that kid enough that you cannot possibly imagine her ever experiencing any adoption "issues." She knows she's loved and wanted, right? You've made sure of that. During those moments, adoption doesn't have a dark side.


But, the reality is that there is a dark side to adoption, isn't there? In addition to everything positive and wonderful about it, adoption can also mean loss, grief and pain. The simple fact is that we wouldn't be blessed with parenting these children if they had not first lost something, correct? It's not something we like to dwell on or talk about, and if we haven't experienced the problems it can bring, we hope they won't happen to us. It's something that some soon-to-be adoptive parents are sometimes not even aware of, and well-meaning friends and family sometimes just don't "get." Adoption is not all sunshine, roses, and fairytales. It can be dark. For some families, it can be a nightmare.


As an adult adoptee, it has taken me many years to acknowledge that adoption-related pain or other "adoption issues" even exist. I couldn't fathom how an event I don't remember could have an impact on the shaping of my personality, my relationships, and my views of myself. I didn't want to accept that I could possibly have attachment issues, abandonment issues, trust issues, or any other issues. I am the way I am because of someone else's choices before I was born? Absolutely NOT! I'm a fairly intelligent, rational person. I control how I think and feel. I thought any similarities between me and other "typical" adult adoptees were merely coincidental. I do not have to let one event that happened in the first days of my life, an event beyond my control, dictate how I behave or who I become... And I most definitely do not feel any pain because of it. That would be silly! What is there to feel pain over? I was much too young to be aware of "losing" anything. I don't feel loss. I don't feel hurt. I don't feel mad. I don't feel anything negative. I don't. I DON'T. It's just something that happened and had absolutely no effect on me at all... Right? Ummm... Not so much.

As the parent of an adoptee, I have been forced not only to acknowledge the existence of adoption "issues," but also to accept that some of those issues are alive and kickin' in my own home. In my daughter... And in her mama.


I am somewhere in the vacinity of 40 years old. That means I grew up during a time when open discussion about one's adoption simply wasn't done. There was no acknowledgement of pain, no answers to questions (not even an understanding that asking questions was allowed), no reassurances that "feelings" were OK. "Proper adoption terminology," didn't exist. Radical or Reactive Attachment Disorders (RAD)??? Whaat? When I was in my early teens, "RAD" meant something else entirely. Your birth mom didn't make a "birth plan" for you, you were just plain "given up” and that was that. Never mind that "given up" sounds very similar to "given away." Don't ask about it. Don't say anything. And the topic of birth parents was not to be discussed. Why, that's just not healthy. Besides, to ask too much about birth parents would be to reject the parents you have now. Do you know what an enormous burden that is to place upon a child- not to say anything that will make her parents feel rejected? Never mind that you may already be struggling with vague feelings of rejection yourself. You should be grateful and shut up. After all, you were "chosen." That one word was supposed to cover and fix whatever ailed you. Chosen... Feeling unloved, unwanted, rejected? Why? You were a CHOSEN child. There. Feel better? (But, wait. For one person to "choose" me, doesn't that mean that another person... didn't?) Back then, there were no lifebooks to chronicle and celebrate a child's life before their adoption. Your life began at your adoption, Silly- not on the day of your birth. Whatever happened before that was insignificant and just none of your business. Adoption Day was not a holiday. I don't even know what date my adoption was. A child was told of her adoption when she was "old enough to handle it," or sometimes not at all.

This is not to say that my parents did a horrible job. They did the exact same thing we're all doing today. They trusted and followed the popular parenting advice of the day and did the best they could do. So... Did all of this make me a better person? A stronger, healthier, happier, well-adjusted person? Did sweeping the truth under the rug make me grow up protected from pain? I'm gonna give ya two guesses on this one...

Have you ever heard of parents replacing a child's lost or deceased pet with a new one to help the child "get over" their loss? I have. In fact, I've done it myself... twice. Wound up with a dog I never much cared for that way. A replacement pet. I think most of us would claim we have enough sense to recognize that what may work with an animal will probably not work with a human being. Yet, in the past, that was the prevailing mentality toward an adopted child. There was no thought given to the child's loss; no clue that grief or pain could creep in anyway. New parents just swooped in and replaced the old ("And let's just hope the kid doesn't notice, and never asks...").

Times have definitely changed and adoption has changed. We've learned a lot more about raising our children to be emotionally whole and happy, healthy people. Today, there's no shortage of experts cranking out their theories and opinions for all of us to follow. Unfortunately though, I think parents today still fall back on the "replacement parenting" mentality, at times. We hope to be such good replacements for what's been lost that the child will never feel any difference. We want our love for that child to be enough, don't we? Enough to make up for anything they've lost. And maybe, if we never mention words like loss and grief in the first place, they'll never feel it. (Shhh. Don't talk about it. Don't plant that idea in their little heads, and maybe it will never be an issue. Not in our family, not after the love I've poured out on him... Besides, he seems to be fine. Look at that smiling face!). If we’re being very, very honest, we should also acknowledge the fact that the topic of birth parents and how to “handle” them is still pretty threatening and scary to many of us. We don’t want the competition, do we? We've come a long way in adoption parenting, but maybe not so far that we've left our own selfish insecurities behind. Truthfully, do we really want to share our place in our kids' hearts with them? Our precious babies have filled such a huge hole in our lives, and we expect our love to do the same in them. But some holes are not so easy to fill.

People are always commenting on Brianna's smiling, happy demeanor. "Is she always this happy?" “...She's always smiling," they say. "Yes, she's a very happy little girl... The joy of our home," we say.
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And she is. Honestly. But occasionally, Brianna has experienced little "adoption meltdowns" when she cries so hard and looks so sad my heart aches as I sob right along with her. Her meltdowns seem to be triggered by nothing in particular. It happened most recently a couple weeks ago in the middle of a church service. I'll spare you the details, because I believe they are personal and should belong to her. It's her story and her place to decide how it's told someday, and to whom. I'll just say that during these times, her little heart hurts and she can't understand why or how to explain it. She's confused. I try to use all the right words that the "experts" say to use, but at 6 years old, she can only grasp so much. We have to keep it simple, yet the feelings she's having aren't simple at all.

This has only happened a handful of times in five years, mind you, but each time it does, it's an exhausting and heart-wrenching experience for both of us. But still, I feel blessed to be trusted with the valuable opportunity to glimpse into the heart of my daughter and share her hurts. The bonding that happens as we sit and rock and wipe our tears is something I wouldn't trade for anything. I wish I could snap my fingers and make her pain go away, but I can't. Instead I try to use that pain to our advantage, as an opportunity to build trust, strengthen our attachment, and teach her that my love for her really and truly is unconditional. I cannot imagine passing up such an opportunity or trying to quickly sweep it under the rug.

So, what's my point in all of this? What's the big answer from someone who has experienced adoption from two sides? Hey, didn't you read the title? I said I was babbling, here- maybe there is no point. I definitely don't have one quick and easy answer to fix all adoption woes.
All I really know is this: I've discovered the hard way, that choosing to deny the existence of pain does not make it stop. Quite the opposite is true, actually. So I'm learning instead to embrace it. Welcome it into the family and give it its rightful place. Deal with it. I'm thankful my children are growing up in a different time with different attitudes than "back in my day." Hopefully, they will never struggle alone with their feelings the way their mama did. I'm trying to make sure of that. I want them to know that when they feel pain, I will feel it with them, and hopefully we will learn together how to make it easier to bear.