Love Blossomed This Year

Aidan, Cole Patrick & Brendan: Our Angels

Well, I know my last post was not much fun--I know it struck a chord with some, and I know others have watched me agonize through my in-law relationship for years, so in this wonderful season of blessings, I want to quickly follow up with a positive note. A relationship that many of you have watched beautifully blossom: our love for Brendan.

It has been a year. A whole year. As Christmas is coming, we have found that almost all of us have somehow blocked last year--we keep asking each other random questions, "Did we do this, that or the other thing last year?" and none of us can seem to recall. I am fairly certain that I was under the dining room table in fetal position--I imagine the others were taking their own emotional shelter. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Adoption is a journey, and the most difficult journey is always the most worth it.

Last year, we were in the midst of home visits, tears and chaos. Most days, I was just thankful that I kept everyone alive--we were a family in transition and more than a few of us were resisting it. I was in the darkest place I have been. I was haunted by worries about the path we had taken--constantly questioning God's plan. Jason was overwhelmed with worries about me. We were literally drowning in worry, doubt and second-thoughts. I had lost the ability to play my usual role of Martha Stewart--knowing that every thing was a struggle with a transitioning two-year-old (not to mention a transitioning 8-year old and 40-year old--Aidan and Jason were the only two to really display some fortitude). I lost my desire to bake because I was entrenched in the food wars--each night, I knew we would go to battle at the dining room table. I realized that as a stay-at-home Mom, my entire world was crashing in--maybe I wasn't the mom I thought I was? (On a positive note, I did really blossom as a runner, as Bren and I both found peace on the trail.)

 A year later, we have a son--an amazing son--without worry or doubt. The baking is back; the crafts are back; and a dark cloud no longer lingers in our dining room. A year ago, I never truly believed it would be like this. Looking back, to be perfectly honest, I was in the process of completely losing faith. I clung to the thought that one day I'll be "Mom" to him and one day I won't worry if everything he does is "normal". I  prayed that one day, we would ALL be better for the path we were walking. But I did not really believe.

 

An amazing struggle reaped blessings beyond what we dreamed: a little boy who truly calls us Mom and Dad. A little boy who now comes to us when he is hurt or sad; a little boy who loves us and depends on us. I no longer fear his emotions or who he might be. I don't think twice about taking him to Target or the Commissary...or public. I KNOW him now; I LOVE him: two things I honestly couldn't have said last Christmas.

 

This year, I am amazingly excited about Christmas--I went from barely breathing to handmaking all our Christmas cards, making ornaments and planning out everything to make this Christmas magical for them. We are happy, we are healthy and we are truly blessed.

 

 

Longing for Grace

Recently, we allowed Brendan to meet Jason's parents for the first time. We did so with great reluctance. Unfortunately, our relationship with them has never been warm, and quite frankly, they did not support the idea of us adopting. Even before me, it was not a typical parent-son relationship--as far as I can tell, it has been strained since before Jason's birth. I am not a psychologist--I don't even play one on TV--but since Jason was not planned, I have long suspected that there is some blame involved. I have spent 15 years trying to understand it. I have also spent 11 years trying to mold them into the grandparents I dreamed my children would have.

In my mind, grandmas are warm, loving and completely huggable--the most wonderful people in the world. When you are grown, they're the people you fondly remember spending time with at Christmas, birthdays and special afternoons. They are pillars of your childhood. Like any parent, I desperately want this for my children, but it is not shaping up to be reality.

They don't "spoil" the children--they spend the little time they have with them fussing at them for wearing flip-flops (impractical shoes) and using product in their hair (umm, because I have spent years teaching them how to care for the beautiful hair they were blessed with). They make them feel awkward and uncomfortable. They don't take the time to get to know what each of them loves, and I am not convinced they care. I am pretty sure I am the only one keeping a relationship alive. For years I tried, but even the desire to try has faded over years of coolness. I have made every piece of handprint art imaginable. I wrote letters from the children, sent drawings, invited them on vacations, opened my home and my heart, but I failed to create this relationship I longed to give my children--and my husband.

This most recent visit I truly hoped to survive with more laughter than tears. I wanted them to meet Brendan and see how amazing he is--I wanted them to adore him, gush over him and leave completely transformed. At times I can be a hopeless optimist--they have never done this with Aidan and Cole Patrick, why would Bren be different? It is always me, who when they leave says, "Never again," and it is always me who says after a few months, "Let's try again; maybe this time will be different."

At the end of this visit, I actually confronted them, including my husband, in a parking lot. "In 15 years, I have never heard the three of you say 'I love you' to each other. I will not raise our children to believe that this is how family acts--it is not!" Jason's Dad told me that was not true, and that I was scaring the children. It is true though--I have never heard it expressed--or seen it expressed--which breaks my heart. I made them uncomfortable expressing myself opening--I think I always have. I am not passive aggressive or quiet. I have never really been popular, so I have never worried about what other people thought of my views. I always try to be true to me and my family--if we are happy we sing and dance, if we are sad we cry, if we are frustrated we shout--we are an open book. My children are not scared by that, but the older they grow, the more the are disappointed and hurt by how Grandma and Grandpa treat them--just as Jason and I are.

This time when they left, I cried for a whole day (because I am always a mess when they leave), and I asked Jason to never let me do it again. Knowing I will cave and say, "Let's try it again," I made him promise he would save me from myself--perhaps I should have videotaped the train wreck to remind myself.

As we come into the holidays, I think about the reason we celebrate: the birth of Christ. Like many Christians, each day, I struggle to live like Jesus taught us. I fall--sometimes a lot. I think that I should make this relationship work for the sake of peace and Christianity. I still long for the grace and wisdom to come to terms with reality, but in the same way, I am relieved to finally realize they really aren't going to change. While it hurts to walk away from any one, I have seen time and again that when they are around, every one hurts. At the end of the day, I know my children will face disappointment throughout their lives, but I cannot bare to see my children unappreciated by family. They are growing old enough to realize, and now is the time for me to protect them and have the grace to give up my idea of the perfect grandparents.

Caution Ahead: Mama Bear

Usually, if something irks me, I give it a few days, and it usually fades away. If it doesn't, then I know it is a big deal to me. It has been four days, and I am still hot.
 
Last Sunday, Aidan was playing "Hunger Games" with the neighborhood kids. Now, I know...that sounds bad right from the start. Not surprisingly, a neighborly game based on "literature", over time, has morphed into a less-than-neighborly game (many of the Nerf weapons were purchased by yours truly; I certainly hold some responsibility). On Sunday, I didn't want Aidan to play--when she asked I encouraged her to do other activities, but Cole Patrick was playing, and she persisted. As her parent, I take responsibility on this account as well. 

Aidan, Our Treasure

Jason was gone, and I had been out a couple times, and in foresight, should have brought Aidan and Cole inside. Nonetheless I did not, and pretty soon Aidan came in sobbing. She had a big welt on her thigh that was already starting to bruise. A Nerf sword (probably our Nerf sword...) and wielded with a lot of force to leave that mark.  

I remain bothered by the incident, as well as somewhat more aware of my responsibility to my children. I do not deny that there is a lesson to be learned about the situation I allowed her to put herself in. We all learned a lesson; I also considered the situation if it had been reversed: what if Cole Patrick or Brendan ever left a mark on a girl...how would we handle it? God help them if that ever happens! Maybe I am "old-fashioned", but at the very minimum, I know we would be certain that they personally and profusely apologize.
 
I have thought a lot about where behavior starts and why. We have officially known Brendan 50 weeks--he is a different child than we met in October 2011--180 degrees. In the beginning we were perplexed by many of his behaviors, "Why does he do that? What is wrong with him?" Turns out, the answer was simple: no one ever told him differently; no one ever invested in him. Parenting a child is work, a lot of work. I mean actual parenting: reading, talking, correcting, saying no when it would be way easier to say yes, and actually engaging when it is easier to let a TV, DS, Wii, Kindle or iPad do it for you. The payoff, however, is tremendous.



 
I saw my Mom hit by my Dad growing up; I am pretty sure he saw the same when he was a child. It starts somewhere--who knows where, and if no one explains to a boy that girls are not to be hit (or to a girl, for that matter)--even with a Nerf sword--what happens? I learned long ago that no matter how much I wish for it, I cannot control how other people parent, but not for an instant will I let Aidan think that, even in a game, I find this behavior acceptable. When appropriate, it is important for children to be defended by adults. As parents, we define right and wrong in an increasingly gray world--a world that is moving much faster than when I was a child.

I have been reading "The Princess and the Kiss" to Aidan since she was a baby with the sole purpose to instill in her that she is a precious gift from God. For almost eleven years, we have been laying the solid foundation to prepare her for the tougher challenges and choices in life that are rapidly approaching as she grows older. The decisions in her life will require self-respect and fortitude, but she is strong and confident. I am certain she will always persevere.
 
It's funny, the things you remember from childhood. Many of them are senses rather than actually vivid memories: a smell, joy, security. This particular incident will certainly fade, but Aidan will remember the sense of knowing we treasure her and will always strive to protect her.

Chocolate and Gravy

Apparently, it turns out Brendan really is describing white people as "gravy". Last week after Mass, he referred to the two priests (one black and one white) at our church as the "chocolate" one and the "gravy" one. For the life of me, I can't figure out why his three-year-old brain decided to go with gravy. In the almost year that Bren has been with us, I imagine we have had gravy less than five times. Perhaps it is because we are in Florida and most white people pretty much have year-round tans here...? You got me. Either way I am fascinated by how our society views skin color, particularly through a child's eyes.

I've told this story a million times, so I apologize if you have heard it, but I remember when Aidan was around Bren's age, and she was so curious about people being different colors. We were in a Starbucks drive-thru one day, and as I was ordering, Aidan piped up from her car seat, "Mama, ask him what color he is!" (I did not, but I sure laughed, a bit uncomfortably!)

I would venture to say that most children are just curious. In preschool, children are intrigued by differences--in fact, I would say, it takes an adult or some media influence to lead them to negatively view differences. When Aidan was three, we lived at Fort Bragg and I enrolled her in the part-day Child Development Center (CDC) preschool. She had not been there long when she told me that she was not going to play with the "brown girl" at preschool. I remember being floored. We went straight into the CDC and explained to one of her teachers, who was black, that we were certain Aidan had heard this from another child at preschool, and this needed to be addressed. We were completely dismissed. She insisted that Aidan must have heard that somewhere else. Apparently, she did not realize that I keep my children in a bubble. I am certain she heard it there. We pulled Aidan from that preschool that very same day (which was by the grace of God because we then spent three wonderful years as Aidan and Cole Patrick went through preschool at FirstSchool in Fayetteville).

When we were waiting to be matched, one of the books I was reading was titled, You're Chocolate, I'm Vanilla. One day someone at my childrens' elementary school said, "I don't like the name of that book." Okay...not really sure what to do with that. What I have learned is that adults have much bigger race issues than children. For the life of me, however, I cannot figure out WHY it is so complicated, when I think it can be as simple as it is seen through child's eyes. Am I oversimplifying things when I say, "REALLY?! It is skin color! At some point, we may all just be a blend anyway, and what is wrong with that?"

It has been almost a year, and I still feel the eyes watching us because we look different. What I can't figure out is why we don't fit in and why is race still such an issue? Sometimes I feel like the place where I belong is no longer clear. I feel like I know the secret handshake, but I'm not part of the club. One point that has always kept me going through the challenges of adoption is the fact that not one of us will be worse off for choosing to be a trans-racial family. Aidan, Cole Patrick and Brendan are going to be that much more socially aware--that much more comfortable with another race. Undeniably, a step forward.

Alas, I am not completely naive. I am fully aware that we have a life time of race issues ahead of us. My hope is that our family will be a positive example--others will see that it is perfectly okay to mix black and white, or chocolate and gravy, as the case may be.

The Job Board

My entire childhood, my Dad worked either 2nd or 3rd shift at Caterpillar. Due to his shift work, we often would not see him after school and so the job board was born. The job board played a significant role in our house--it was Dad's way of communicating with us while he was a work. If you were in my house in the 80s, you could not have missed this fine piece of home decor. It prominently hung right inside our kitchen door (next to the rotary telephone with a 25 foot cord--coolest thing ever! ;-).

Now you have to understand, my Dad's method of communication may seem odd to you, but it is who he is. He is a task master. I grew up with a big yard, a good-sized house and five siblings--there were chores to be done, and six kids to do them. Get to it!



The Wright Responsibility Board

The job board (which "JOB BOARD" was actually written in bright red across the top) was wooden, probably 2 foot square, with all six of our names painted in red (I wish I had a picture of it--it hangs now in our garage and is used to hold dozens of keys--I almost sent my brother Sean over to take a photo for me!) Under each name were two nails, one labelled "Do" and the other labelled "DONE". There were also dozens of metal-rimmed key tags with various jobs written on them: Mow lawn, Weed garden, Feed Chickens/Rabbits/Goat/Etc (whatever barnyard critter we may have had at the time). If Dad was particularly upset with you, or you didn't complete all your chores, the next day you might see the feared "Do or Die" key tag under your name. (Hard to believe this is the same man that taught my children to put stuffed animals on the ceiling fan and turn it on full speed! Had I ever done that in our house...I can't even imagine what would have happened...!).

This past week, I set to making my own "Job Board". After researching loads of crafty ideas all over Pinterest and other sites, I decided that my Dad was a man before his time. I couldn't find a more practical version--his just made sense, but I had to apply a bit of Martha Stewart to it! I actually went to Home Depot and said to the man, "I am looking for metal-rimmed key tags. I know you must carry them because my Dad uses them for everything, and I KNOW he has never set foot in a craft store!" Truth be told, I am certain he bought the supplies for his job board at Farm & Fleet (his favorite store), but since there doesn't seem to be a Farm & Fleet in South Tampa, Home Depot had to do!

My finished board is a kinder, gentler version of my Dad's; it is both practical and cute. Turns out Aidan and Cole Patrick especially love to move the key tags to "Done". Apparently, I can say "practice piano" twenty times a day with no response, but a key tag that says "Practice Piano 20 Minutes" gets immediate response. Had I known this, we would have had a job board a long time ago!

The Race Card

Before I begin, I am going to admit that this fires me up (which is why I am actually blogging two days in a row--whoa!). This a.m., I returned from a run, and while plugging in my iPod to download my run stats, I saw this post at the top of Facebook: "Alec Baldwin tweeted, "If Obama was white, he'd be up by 17 points."" The tweet itself disturbed me, but the fact that a friend of mine, whom I really like and respect, had "liked" it, really upset me.

Bren & Me

Now, I am not discreet about being a Romney-Ryan supporter or a Conservative Christian--both of these I proudly am. When Jason met me in 1998, I had been in D.C. four years and ate, slept and breathed politics; he likes to say that he came along and "saved" me from all that. Those who know me, particularly those Democrats and liberals who know me, know that I am not disrespectful of others' politics, beliefs or values. I know mine come from a very personal place, and despite being political and vocal myself, I respect and even enjoy hearing about others' politics. I have a degree in Political Science--politics intrigue me. That is all to say, what angered me is NOT about politics.

Alec Baldwin's comment is racist. Period. This past year, our family grew and subsequently, our perspective greatly changed. We now have two white children and one black child. As a new transracial family, I feel highly aware of race relations and perspectives based upon race. I am learning to better understand what being black in America means because we are raising a son of another race. That comes with different responsibilities--we have unique responsibilites to him. We want nothing but the absolute best for Bren--I would "mama bear" him as quickly as I would Aidan and Cole Patrick. I am highly aware of how I am seen by both blacks and whites. I am aware that on the rare occasion that our family receives a disapproving look, it is more often from blacks than whites. A fact that always saddens me.

When we were waiting to be matched, we read more books on raising a black child than we did about adoption. We are aware that some black groups vehemently fought against the right for whites to even adopt black children at all. We are aware and definitely frustrated that it is certainly more difficult to find books with black characters and other positive black representation in toys and media. Sometimes, I am painfully and embarassingly aware of how "white" society can be.

That all being said, playing the race card as Alec Baldwin did is NOT positive. In fact, it is ignorant and highly irresponsible, not to mention amazingly offensive. This "tweet" basically accuses people of being so ignorant that they are basing their decision for President of the United States on color--not on thoughtfully considering the economy, taxes, education, foreign policy, values...just to mention a few "minor" factors that heavily weigh into deciding your vote. Assuming because of the color of our skin that we can't raise Brendan with proper understanding and respect for his racial heritage is also ignorant and racist. In fact, this is not rocket science, whether black or white or purple, basing any judgement on the color of another's skin, is racist.

I am aware that there are race issues. America is not the perfect balance of harmony that I wish we were, but blatantly encouraging division is completely negative and irresponsible. Let's face it, just like this Mom always says, two wrongs never make a right.

We Can Do Hard Things

Adoption is hard, really hard. I am at the point in our journey that I read about: the part where I am starting to forget some of the trials of the last year. I look at Bren, and he is my son. I am confident about him and us and what came together, and I am thankful that our journey has been swift and relatively smooth--many adoptive families cannot say that.

Recently, our family has been praying about whether we are being led to adopt again. I pray for that giant sign that I cannot miss saying "YES, go this way!" or "NO, turn back. NOW!" Alas, God does not communicate to me in such ways. It doesn't help that I have at times really identified with the misguided prophet, Jonah. And then, there's the overthinking...

 

Today, I was thinking about entering into adoption in 2010. Before that time, I saw adoption pretty much as a big bowl of rainbows and ponies with sprinkles on top. I am pretty sure I have established by now, that is NOT what adoption is. During the darkest moments of 2011-2012, when we had a toddler grieving his losses (of family and familiarity), a middle child protesting his new family position and me struggling to hold it all together (I may or may not have been in the fetal position), I often turned to a phrase posted to Facebook by my friend (and adoption angel), Kryste:

We can do hard things.

It is that simple.

We can.

I can. 

No one ever promised us easy.

 

 

In October, we will mark one year together with Bren. He is 180 degrees different...we ALL are different. It has not been without tears or pain or compromise...but we are all better for what we have experienced and the promises of our future. Bren is just amazing--he is flexible and brave. He is funny, social and a great dancer. :-) He is kind, strong and compassionate. Lately, I have worried if it is too soon for him. He still says, "Mommy, will you love me forever and ever?" Sometimes, he slips and calls our home "your" instead of "my." I can't help but wonder if another adoption too soon would hit a weak spot and strike him off-balance.

 

Daily I consider whether I CAN do it again...as well as whether we should. I always viewed 2010 as the opening for adoption: we were at the beginning of a three-year tour at MacDill--we had a window. Here we are closing in on 2013, a PCS year.We do not yet know where we report next. On top of that, we are all in different places than we were two years ago. For those of you who don't have a 10 year old girl, let me tell you that ONE of those is enough to keep your plate full. Lately, I feel like my life is the scene from "Tangled" where Rapunzel has just left her tower:

 

"Best day ever!"

"I am the worst daughter ever!"

"I am never going back!"

"I have to go back..."

 

Aidan can cry over Radio Disney playing the "wrong" song, and the boys are looking at me like, "Is Aidan possessed?" Whoa...and apparently, it only gets more fun...

 

Aidan's talent in the arts is also maturing. Recently, her teachers have muttered the word "Broadway," and her dance studio is like my second home. There is a lot of seeing what she is made of going on. She is up on pointe and dancing 15+ hours per week. She wants to go to Julliard...did you know 24 applicants per year are accepted to Julliard? 24. Wow. I am starting to feel like Aidan's handler, driver, scheduler, etc. But, I believe in my children, and I will always support their dreams.
 

I am the fifth of six children. While I love being from a large family, I am personally aware of the point where a child may get lost in the crowd. I know there are exceptions to this, but generally, giving everyone the proper balance of attention can prove challenging with more children vying for that attention...pretty logical.

 

Of course, being me, I then wonder...who is putting these thoughts in my head? Is it Satan trying to interfere with God's plan (he does know I am an easy target!)...or are they just reasonable considerations about a huge decision? Either way, right now as we look to 2013 and what that brings, I find faith and confidence in knowing one thing: If adopting again is truly God's plan, it will happen. My little brown-eyed boy is living proof of that.

Adoption Itch

The adoption itch: If you have had it, you know what I'm talking about, and you likely have a sweet little one that never spent a moment in your womb as well, because that is pretty much the only cure for the itch. I have it. Again. It seems that many people that adopt do it more than once, so it should be no surprise that I have the itch. Again.

Like many families, our dinner table is an open forum. The other night I threw it out. Of course, the kids have always asked: "Will we adopt again?" Only God really knows. Of course, Aidan and Cole Patrick are all for it. Overall, Brendan is good to have around, if for no other reason than that they really like to tattle! Brendan chimed in, "I used to live with the Big Momma and a boy with funny teeth (he had braces), and you adopted me!" (Somebody has been paying attention!) Jason, I can't exactly read yet, but I couldn't read him on Brendan's adoption either. As a rule, I pretty much just move forward, keeping him apprised--if he objects to something, he'll let me know. That is pretty much how our marriage works, and it hasn't gotten me in too much trouble yet...!

So, I contacted our Adoption Specialist from Brendan's adoption. Apparently, if we want to adopt from the U.S. Foster Care System again, we are good to go. We are still certified, and we would just need minor updates to be ready again for match. Easy Peasy! The problem is I really never do "easy;" I always do things the hard way...it's kind of my motto. I wasn't thinking I wanted to adopt the same way twice--what fun is that? For whatever reason (although, I suspect, He is the reason), I feel led to adopt internationally. Jason didn't really want to hear that; THAT just adds zeros. Paying practically nothing vs. $25,000-35,000...Jason hardly wants to even discuss it.

Okay, I get it--that is a BIG number! We don't have any where near that lying around. We are not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. We are comfortable, and that is about it--not a lot of extra, but I consider that an amazing blessing. Many folks can't say that much.

As we discussed adoption at the dinner table, we talked about why we would adopt again. A lot of people have strong feelings about adopting either domestically or internationally--we have pretty much always just felt that if we could help at all, that is great. So, Jason said simply: we have more to give, why not? As a mom, I know the first time I didn't care boy or girl or age or race--this time, I would like a child to bridge the five years between Cole Patrick and Brendan, and I would like another child that doesn't look like us. It may not matter to Bren now, but it very well may later. Aidan says, "Okay after we adopt one younger than Cole, let's adopt one older than me!" I responded,"We're going to top off at four kids, Aidan."...I'm certain many families before us have made similiar proclamations, only to learn that God had other plans, and one thing I know, is that He always has the last word.

I woke up this a.m., and my first thought was adoption. I know I have the itch. I am not good at raising funds--I know a lot people are that embark on international adoption, but if my itch persists, I know I will figure it out. One way or another. Love is the primary motivator for adopting, and love will always find a way.

School is Back in Session!

Aidan & Cole Patrick up and ready for the first day!

Aidan and Cole Patrick started school today. After both were successfully dropped off, I told Bren, "It's just you and me, Kid". He promptly turned around and threw himself face-first on the couch. I know how you feel, Buddy, I do. If it wasn't for the fact that I know they would perceive it as torture, I would homeschool in a heartbeat. In fact, the first words out of my mouth this a.m. were "that's it, I'm homeschooling!" However, the grown-up in me that occasionally does emerge, knows that "because I miss them when they are gone to school" is not the best reason to homeschool!



Brendan & Ms. Wresinski: If I homeschooled, my children and I would have missed out on her!

We did make the decision not to send Brendan to preschool this year (if you can call me absolutely refusing to allow anyone else to care for him just yet,"us" making a decison). This was a really tough one. Both Aidan and Cole Patrick went to two years of preschool before beginning Kindergarten, and it was a wonderful experience. I thought both Bren and I would be ready for preschool this fall. In the spring, I even secured him two slots at two different schools (with non-refundadble deposits). When it came time to follow-thru, I realized that I just am not ready for someone else to be his caregiver--he hasn't even been with us a year!


Walking home from school with the big boys

Bren had his foster parents for two-and-a-half years, during that time, he went to daycare five days a week. I don't care what any one else says, NO ONE loves you and looks out for your best interests like your Mama. I know there are a lot of great preschools and daycares out there, but Brendan deserves more time with our family before he is off to school.


Brendan is thriving...we are now six months post adoption, and November will mark a year that he has been a part of our family. He is a different child than the one I met last October. Like any parenting decision, I will always hope and pray that what Jason and I decide is truly the best for our children, and in the meantime, I will just have faith.

One Less

Tonight I realized, I have an inferiority complex. Otherwise, why did I google "Blogs on international vs. foster care adoptions"? I am not embarassed of Brendan--not at all. He is A-MAZ-ING--in fact, when I stop and observe, he is probaby one of the best behaved three-year-olds EVER. This morning in Mass, I realized that I had achieved the "look" with him--inherited from my Dad, this is the ability to be at the other end of the pew and be able to correct any misbehavior with a single look. This is easier said than done--it took me YEARS to achieve with Cole Patrick--Bren is practically a prodigy! ;-)

[Sigh] Yet, I am having issues convincing others to see past his "stereotypes," which frustrates, angers and humbles me, and in general, has caused me to turn more inward since adopting. It has been a lasting negative effect that I have found most challenging. So, tonight I wondered, is it just me?? Am I imagining it?? Well, everybody knows, the best way to check out "reality" is to google it, so...that is just what I did. Alas, it isn't just me (whew)...in fact, I am starting to equate it to the "working moms" vs. "stay-at-home moms" debate. There will always be people who feel the millions orphaned children from impoverished countries are of greater need than abused/abandoned children in the U.S. and vice versa. I came across this blog that explained it best: http://buildingtheblocks.blogspot.com/2009/10/international-adoption-vs-adoption-from.html. I have mulled it over a number of times in the last ten months: how did I get here? No, really, HOW did I get here? I am not unhappy with my place, not at all, but I am amazed by the journey. God's hand is truly at work. I don't recall ever debating international vs. U.S. foster care adoption--we spent ample time examinng all our options. However, I actually don't recall thinking much at all--we were truly following our hearts--and we were not let down. Brendan is amazing (did I already mention that?!)--each day it becomes more apparent that he fits right in. We are his family. Family.

At the end of the day, the important thing is that he is one less child without a family. ONE LESS. I am starting to realize that only other adoptive families truly "get" it--really, I think most adoptive families would agree: it doesn't matter where or how adoption happened, so much as the fact that adoption happened.

Unfortunately, I barely know any other adoptive families, but I have hopes that will change. For us, it was simply logical, pretty much like this: "Hey, there are kids out there that need love and a family. You know what, we have room for more and extra love laying around. That's something we can do." I don't know how or when our adoption journey began--we pretty much just picked up the phone, and God took it from there.

I really like how the adoptive mom blogger mentioned above states it (much more eloquently than my blogs ever are!): 

"Take a chance.
Invest yourself in the life of someone else. Ask God to lead you to your child. Don’t be afraid to really live- because through you, a child to will have a chance really live also.
You won’t be sorry, I promise."

Wow.
Wow.

Seriously, she's not kidding. It just happens and despite my struggles with worrying about what others think about my son, and occasional inferiority complex, I KNOW God led me to Bren, and Bren is AMAZING. Truly.

I'm Just Assuming Here...

Today at the Commissary a woman came up to me and brightly said, "You home-school your children, don't you? I can tell; both my daughters home-school and all my grandchildren are home-schooled." I know why she said this: I speak intelligently to my children. I am a firm believer in using every moment to teach. Brendan is exceptionally curious. I don't know him well enough yet, so I don't know if it is just his nature or if it is his way of trying to have some control over his life--I suspect it might be a little of both. Nonetheless, I had been talking to Brendan about George Washington. I didn't mind that she assumed I home-schooled, what irked me was how her sunny demeanor changed when I responded, "No. I don't home-school." I felt like suddenly her impression of my parenting went straight from positive to negative when she learned that I (gasp!) send my children away to public school each day. It is a similar response that I receive when I am asked, "Where is he from?" and I respond, "Tampa." Not exactly the exotic location they were assuming, and suddenly my American-made boy isn't nearly as intriguing. I suddenly feel like judgement is headed our way. But, to be honest, you can't please me--the other day, a person actually said what I assume most people think and that both shocked and offended me. I said that Brendan never knew his birth mom (which isn't exactly true--really he was with her for 10 days, but I don't get into specifics with total strangers), and this person responded, "Oh, yes, they test positive for drugs, and the babies are taken right away."

I won't say that I am getting used to assumptions as much as I am trying to learn not be on the defensive. One of the most challenging aspects of being a transracial family for me is being looked at in public. We look different, and despite what many of you may think and some of said to me, in general, Americans really aren't as socially advanced as we may like to think. Let me remind you though, as I have said in other posts, this is still very fresh to me--adoption is a journey.

Even though I know my siblings would call me a bald-faced liar, I actually do not like attention. I like to know what is going on, I like to lead, I even like to delegate, but in fact, I actually dread attention. This particular characteristic of mine does not mesh well with transracial adoption. People are curious by nature--I am not ever offended by curiousity. It is the manner in which the curiousity is communicated that is really the issue. For instance, children are completely honest with their curiosity and carry no judgement. Brendan has been asked by children where his "real" Mommy and Daddy are and if he is adopted. Aidan and Cole Patrick have been asked numerous times--sometimes several times by the same child--if Brendan is their brother. Children are curious--they mean no harm, and I am always right there to help explain until Aidan, Cole Patrick and Bren learn what they are comfortable discussing and how to properly discuss it. Brendan has no clue what "adoption" is, and he doesn't know what "real" means yet--we will cross that bridge in time.

What does upset me is the assumptions. Every scenario is unique depending on who is with Bren, different assumptions for different situations. People assume I am babysitting, he is a foster child, my husband is black, he is adopted from Africa or that he is just adopted. Generally, people don't ask--we certainly get more stares than questions, so in actuality, I am merely assuming what they are assuming...! The irony of my situation is not lost on me.

I can't say that assumptions ever accomplish good--it usually just stirs up trouble. In reality though, we have a lifetime of assumptions ahead of us, no matter how smart, how cute, how talented Brendan is, I will always have to work harder to advocate for him than I will for Aidan and Cole Patrick. He is a black male who was adopted from foster care into a military family--there are so many assumptions to be made. God give me strength.

Brendan's Own Family

Perhaps I have mentioned it before, but I am not asked many questions. Perhaps people don't find me approachable (although I get asked for directions ALL the time), or maybe folks just aren't interested...either way, I am certainly not up on my correct adoption-speak answers.

This morning we started a new session of swim lessons. Bren has been doing fabulously at swim lessons; in fact, he may even be overconfident. He is bobbing under the water, hanging on the edge of the platform; generally, making the lifeguards nervous. He was getting a little too rambunctious today, so I called him out of the water to let him know it was time to take it down a notch...or twelve. As I told him to calm down and be careful, he stood straight up, looked me in the eyes and said, "Yes, Ma'am." When I sent him back to lessons, the other Moms were impressed with his immediate obedience, "How old is he? Wow! He handled that well."

Brendan at swim lessons

I explained that Brendan is pretty new to our family, and he responds very well to rules. I've always known that children thrive on boundaries, but Brendan is pretty much a case study. I can pretty confidently say that he lacked any boundaries before joining our family. I believe his foster family let him have his way to avoid conflict--they weren't invested. Our family runs on rules and routines, and luckily for all of us, Brendan is like me, he thrives on rules and routine. I explained to them that I believe children often equate boundaries to love and inclusion, and many adoptive children are ripe to embrace that. This seemed to open the gate to questions: "Do you have other children? Are they adopted? Did he take to you right away? When did he start calling you 'Mama'?" Then the question that just didn't sit right, mostly because I didn't answer it like I should have: "Did he live with his own family before you?" I should have corrected her or at the very least responded using the term "birth family," but alas, I am not yet seasoned. "No, he has never lived with his own family," I responded. UGH!! The minute I said it, I wanted to change it, but I couldn't eloquently explain it. We ARE his own family. Giving birth doesn't make you family--but that is so hard to explain in a casual conversation. Before adopting, I would have struggled to understand the complexity of it, too. He has embraced every house rule we have--often being the ambassador for our protocol--because he is a finally a part of something; he is part of a family...his own family.

He's THREE!

Biblically speaking, three is supposed to be perfect and divine. Three as an age...not so perfect and not at all divine. With Aidan and Cole Patrick, I remember wondering, why does the "Terrible Twos" have such a bad reputation, three is the real bear. Brendan isn't any different, and yet he really is. Developmentally, three is when children start to figure out they are independent of their parents, so can you imagine what it is like to just find your parents a few months shy of three. Brendan is walking a fine line between learning independence while bonding with his new family. Well, I am a slow learner, so I am just starting to understand.

Aidan and Cole Patrick are 22 months apart--I highly recommend this approach because you don't have time to forget. Brendan joined our family just a couple weeks before Cole Patrick's 8th Birthday--I was clearly no longer in the zone. It had been years since I had to wipe a nose, bottom or any other body part. Now, I will be perfectly honest here, this was harder than I thought, too. Adopting, in general, is a complex mixture of emotions--especially if you already have biological children. Bren did not spend nine months inside me bonding, and he didn't come to me smelling, sounding or looking familiar. It is more like one day we had two children and then, BAM...we have three. As a Mom, I had to adjust at Mach speed; a true test of Mom skills. In my case, I had to fake it until it did feel natural. For example, when Brendan needed wiped, I couldn't be like, "I'm really going to need to ease into this--can you just do it until I'm there?" Do not judge, folks, this is not as simple as it sounds. It is widely known in my family that I am easily grossed out--in fact, my older brother used this to his advantage for years in order to have more food at the dinner table. Not only did I have issues with wiping certain parts, but at first, I never ate after Brendan like I do my other two. I had to laugh the other day when I realized that I am over that. Just another mark of how far we've come.

 Eight and ten year olds are AMAZINGLY easy compared to three-year-olds...of course, I didn't fully realize that until I was thrown back into the preschool years. There is something to be said about being thrown back into the preschool years, without the three years to ease into it...whoa! It definitely has been a test of my character, and I have not always passed. So poor Brendan, not only is he three, but he has been thrust into a new family who also doesn't look, sound or smell familiar, and on top of that, his Mom can't figure it out!

I think, however, that I finally got it...he's three! I say it to Cole Patrick all day long: "Mom, Brendan touching my Lego guys!" "Dude, he's THREE!" I have spent hours reminding Cole Patrick of what he was like at three. But now, I think maybe I have finally figured it out. Last week, Aidan, Cole Patrick and Brendan were signed up for British Soccer Camp. I thought, "This is going to be awesome! Brendan is going to be amazing with his kicking ability and advanced coordination." (I have, however, mastered my parental bragging rights.) Except, it wasn't awesome because Brendan is three. After two mornings of watching Brendan NOT loving it, I pulled him out after 15 minutes of the third day. At first I was upset--what is wrong? I put him in the stroller and went for a long run. I thought about Aidan at three. Jason volunteered to coach her soccer team--I remember us totally dreading going to practices and games because it was pretty much like herding cats. Three-year-olds don't really like organized sports. Seven years later, Aidan can handle just about anything, so Brendan not being ready for British Soccer Camp isn't an indication of his future success. Plain and simply, he is three.

So, I think I have had a breakthrough. Now that I am starting to actually realize Brendan is three and not expecting 8 and 10-year-old behavior out of him, everything is making more sense. Funny how that works, huh? I am sure he is greatly relieved that Mom is starting to get it, too.

Black and White

This morning Cole Patrick and Brendan were bickering about Legos--squabbling as brothers will, when I told Cole Patrick that I was going to sell him to gypsies for 27 cents (a frequent "threat" given to C.P.; no offense intended to any gypsies reading this blog). Cole Patrick gave me an ornery look and said, "You wouldn't do that because I am one of your REAL children."

Cole Patrick knew exactly what he was doing as he looked for my reaction. I know he is testing boundaries in our "new" family. Fortunately, being three, Brendan did not understand what C.P. was saying, but Cole Patrick was clearly advised that such talk would not be tolerated in our home. The vehicle by which our children came to our family does not matter--whether birth or adoption, the end result is the same--they are each equally members of our family.

Cole Patrick has clearly mastered his new role as "middle child". In eight months, we have all quickly shifted roles. We went from what Jason's grandmother calls a "king's family," a boy and a girl, to a transracial adoptive family, complete with a classic middle child. Now I will tell you, I am not much for labels--I don't really like them, but I do understand that people have the need to describe life around them, so, I am not personally offended that to some on our Base we have become, "You know, that white family with the little black boy."

Before I go further into becoming a transracial family, let me say that I do not intend to offend any one--if I do offend you, it is not intentional. Please keep in mind that this is all new to me--these are just my feelings and recently formed opinions. In fact, I would not be surprised if I read this in a year, and felt completely different. Mostly, I am just being honest about how it is right now.

To me being a transracial family feels a bit like standing over a chasm with one foot on each side, and each side hesitating to pull you over. Now I probably feel this way mostly because it is still fresh for me. Living 40 years as a white person, and then becoming mama to a black child has left me feeling a bit unsure of where we fit in. We even struggled with words--is black or African-American more appropriate? At first, Aidan would whisper "black," unsure what to say--we are figuring this out ourselves, and we will stumble. Right now, some people are clearly supportive--and many, I just can't read yet. Fortunately, I have not yet met anyone who was obviously opposed to our choice, but I am aware those folks are out there.

Unlike many adoptive parents, I don't receive many questions--lots of looks, yes, but not questions. I recently mentioned to a friend, who is black, that I am most wary of what blacks think of us. She responded, "You are right to feel that way. That is where you will receive the most criticism." Ugh, I had been hoping my intuition was wrong!

When we began our home study, one of the first sessions felt like a test of character. We were presented a battery of questions to determine match later. Among them, of course, "Would you take a child of another race?" We were always open to a child of any race--that was never a question for us. We read at least as many books about "transracial adoption" as we did about adoption itself. That being said, books only prepare you so much. I have had many people--always whites--say to me, "Times have really changed. Being a different race isn't a big deal anymore." I don't really agree with that. I don't mind people being curious--our family receives looks, we probably always will--but not all the looks are the same.

Going into this I was prepared for the obvious: the hair, the skin, the staring. Thanks to a few awesome black and biracial moms, I believe I have conquered the hair and skin. As for the looks, like I said, the curiosity will always be there--we're different. The area I had not aptly prepared myself for is being a mom to a black male.

The shooting of Trayvon Martin happened here in Florida, just two days after our official adoption of Brendan. I remember late one evening feeling complete shock as I more fully realized the responsibility we had as Bren's parents. Being white, in many ways, I am completely naive; I had not realized how differently people can be treated based on race. I had just read a New York Times article written by a young black student about how he has to dress certain ways when he goes to certain places, and how young black men always receive "the talk" from their parents. I do not mean the birds and the bees talk, but the talk about how to act when stopped by police--and how that can mean the difference between freedom and jail or even life and death. As a white person, I found this infuriating--I mentioned it to a black friend and she matter-of-factly replied, that is just the way it is.

I imagine I will continue to struggle with this--especially as Brendan grows, and we have many more experiences with how the world sees us--both positive and negative. In our own family, I have pretty much reached the point where I look at my babies, and I hardly notice the difference in color--Aidan, Cole Patrick and Brendan are our children--our REAL children. Period.

Journey to Mama

"Mommy! Where are you?" called Brendan as I transferred a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer. "Just hang on, Sugar Bear, I'm coming right back upstairs," I replied. But he came down and found me. Many moms may sigh, longing to lose the shadow for a moment. Even I have been known to "hide" in the laundry room for a few moments of serenity. Ah, but not with Brendan--at last he is seeking me out! Praise the Lord!

When we were going through certification to adopt, I often thought it would be so much harder for the parents who were adopting without already having biological children. Afterall, they would have no basis for "normal"? They would constantly wonder whether behavior was "normal". Well, I don't mean to brag, but I am pretty much par for the course in being wrong about adoption...already having children, you know the behavior isn't normal, and as a mama, that can be devastating...not exactly better.

The first day Brendan came to his new home.

Closing in on eight months since Bren joined the Wright clan, and I believe I am just now seeing signs that when he calls me "mommy," he really means "Mommy". Aidan & Cole Patrick nearly cling to me. They are always close, wanting to share, to be touched and held. Sometimes I think if they could, they would climb right back in!

Bren didn't look for me; he didn't reach for my hand; he didn't call out "Mommy." He was independent, but not in a good way...in a way that made my heart ache. He would wander aimlessly through the house, playing by himself and never seeking me out. In the car, he didn't converse with me like Aid and C.P., he stared out the window with a look beyond his almost three years. I already had children, so I knew these behaviors weren't "normal," or at least not for bio kids.

I don't really know any one else who has had a toddler/preschool adoption, so I have no basis for comparison, but I believe adoption at this age is unique because he is at such a key developmental stage. Parents adopting from birth know their children, well, from birth...parents who adopt "older" children can at least (possibly) communicate more effectively with them. Brendan is three--he hasn't developed the capability to commuicate in-depth feelings, and what he does communicate may not be complete reality. He is trying to figure out himself and how he fits into this world. He doesn't totally understand...and either do we. I am trying to walk the fine line of encouraging him to develop the natural independence that comes with being a three-year-old while simultaneously learning to depend on us. If not walked correctly, I know this can be a contradiction. I am desperately trying not to mess up.

I've said it countless times: adoption is a journey. There is no instant gratification--unlike what a part of me expected, rainbows and ponies did NOT come with the adoption decree. Adoption is a slow, hard-earned reward, the kind that you cherish the most. Tonight I tucked Bren in, and he could not sleep. He came down looking for me and asked me to lay in bed with him. He clung to me and caressed the skin on my arm. We're not there yet, but we are miles closer than we were.

Before Being Wright

I am a huge overthinker...and I can overthink ANY THING. Add that to adoption, and you have one of my greatest struggles. I have limitless questions that have impossible answers; it is enough to drive any one crazy, but mix that with an overthinker, and you have the recipe for many sleepless nights.

My questions started even before Brendan was our match. I would endlessly wonder about "nature vs. nuture." I would call my sister, who is a scientist, and pick her brain wanting to know what is pre-determined and what is influenced by how you are raised. Genetics vs. enviroment--you know, light stuff. As you can imagine, I would always end up more lost and confused (she uses REALLY big words)...and of course, these are impossible questions. All the time, I knew I just had to use faith to calm my fears, but sometimes I am more on the way to being that person than I am already that person!

The first photo we ever saw of Brendan

Once we were matched, the overthinking shifted into high gear. Now I had specific questions, fears, thoughts...I know nearly everything that has ever happened to Aidan and Cole Patrick. I know what they like, what they don't like, what scares them, what movies they have seen, what foods they have tried, where they have visited...every thing. I also know what I did and did not do before they were born. I wondered about his birth mom and dad, who we know very little about. What did they look like? Did they still live in this city? Were they still alive?

One of our dogs spent a year as a stray before we adopted her. Sometimes I look at Emma and say, "Emma Bean, what were you doing for a year??" If I am wondering that about our pup, you can imagine the questions pinging through my head about our new son. Beyond the obvious of what do you like and not like. I would wonder about all the unknowns--I would overanalyze everything--I still do. At first he kept confusing our two dogs: Emma is black, and Sophie is brown. I would be perplexed, asking my husband if we should be concerned. He can't tell the dogs apart--is there something wrong with him? He pointed with his middle finger instead of his pointer--why would he do that? He threw a tantrum--is he aggressive? He doesn't know his colors--is he developmentally delayed? It did not help that I couldn't, still haven't fully, conjured up my memories of how Aidan and Cole Patrick were at three-years-old. I suspect that lack of memory about three-year-olds is much like the memory of childbirth, programmed by God to be quickly forgotten so that we will actually reproduce again.

Last night, I was fixing dinner, and Aidan asked me to come in the living room. Brendan was telling her something she didn't understand, and she thought he was saying "mommy." It turned out Brendan was actually talking about the little girl he was raised with from birth. He was talking about her being at "the other house" and some of the things they did there (although he mentioned doing donkey kicks at the other house, and I am a pretty sure the donkey kick IS a Wright signature dance move, so I think some of his memory was him just trying to figure out reality).

Bren has been with us since last October, and this is the most he has ever talked of his foster family. We thought it was odd that he never asked for them (Was there something wrong with him??). Every once in a while he would briefly say something, but it would pass quickly. I was caught off-guard. I had no idea what to say. Along with the foster family, we had decided not to maintain a relationship--once Brendan moved to our house, they were not seen again.

To be honest, Jason and I have just hoped that soon enough he would never remember a time before being part of our family. At first I panicked, my heart was racing, and I was tempted to just ignore it or act like he was crazy...but that wouldn't be right. I am his Mom; I had to acknowlege it and comfort him. He finished talking and gave me a big hug. I explained to him that he was a part of our family and always would be. I don't know what triggered last night's thoughts and memories for him...maybe it was Jason packing to go TDY, maybe he misses his foster family, maybe it is just...normal. Of course, I am overthinking it, but I realize I will never really know what happened before us. With time, the past and even our transition will fade, and we will all struggle to remember a time in our family before Brendan.

The Food War

Before I continue too far, I want to make sure that any one reading this does know I wholeheartedly support adoption: foster care, international, private--whatever it takes! I know at times it may sound like I am negative, but this is not the case...I am honest. I remember during our certification courses, the instructors were painting this vivid, nearly horrifying picture of some of the behaviors we might see in children from foster care, you could feel the tension suffocating the room as we all doubted our path. Jason, always the funny guy, raised his hand and asked, "Do you even want us to adopt?" The class and instructors burst into laughter. Like life, adoption has its ups and downs--to this point in my life, it is the hardest thing I have done, but I do not regret it, and I would do it again.

So, the food war...we are now seven months into Brendan being our son, and the dust from the food war is just starting to settle. I don't want to ruin the ending, but it is important for me to say, "I won." Unfortunately, that is not withstanding some mistakes that may have been made along the way, but I don't think they were "future therapy-level" mistakes.

Here we have Brendan, the almost three-year-old, who loves chicken nuggets, fries and juice, and then you have me, the parent, who doesn't do chicken nuggets, fries and juice. Add in the fact that I don't often bend rules, and Brendan is strong-willed, and each night we would met at the battlefield, er, the dinner table.

Before battle...he definitely has the cute advantage!

Brendan came to us not drinking milk, not eating vegetables and only eating bananas and apples for fruit. The milk and vegetables were not negotiable. I did not lightly go to war over food. I believed two things were happening that could have long-term impact if not swiftly managed. First, I think Brendan had already formed an unhealthy relationship with food. He showed signs that he was eating for reasons other than to fuel his growing body. Secondly, he had unhealthy food habits, including food that lacked proper nourishment for a developing child and portions that were too large for a three-year-old.

Some of the change came pretty smoothly, he asked for juice a lot, and I offered milk or water. Slowly, he started to drink milk and has even come to really like it, and naturally, stopped asking for juice. Vegetables were another story. Each night we would face off over the veggies. For about five months, I literally dreaded dinner--a time that I had previously cherished as we all gathered to give thanks and share the highlights of our day, had become a series of refusals, demands, time-outs and crying...at the lowest point, I believe I ended up under the table in fetal position...but we don't need to go there...

In some ways, sadly, I think that before us, Brendan just sort of existed. He was tolerated and given his way to prevent tantrums. As a parent I have come to strongly believe that children thrive on boundaries--boundaries show that you care enough to say "no" when it would be easier to say "yes". Aidan and Cole Patrick can recite my "I am not your friend" speech by heart..."I am not here to be your friend. My job is to raise you to be kind, responsible citizens who contribute to the greater good of society..."

Brendan quickly embraced many boundaries. He loved the no shoes in the house rule and reminds every one that enters our home to remove their shoes. He also likes to ensure that all shoes are safely deposited in the appropriate person's shoe basket, which is awesome because this isn't a strong point for other family members...Brendan reminds all that we pray before dinner, we don't speak with our mouths full, and we keep our elbows off the table. Brendan thrived on having a routine. He quickly came to expect that we take Aidan and Cole Patrick to school, go for a run, have a snack, read books, nap, have lunch and go back to school for pick-up. If I did any thing out of order, he would correct me, and I almost felt him let out a huge sigh that things were falling into place.

I am happy to say now that Brendan readily eats vegetables! He prefers broccoli, but eats sugar snap peas, green beans, peas and even asparagus on a regular basis. He eats strawberries, blueberries, watermelon, blackberries and kiwi. He will now try almost anything and likes most foods he tries. In the end, really, we all won. It was not easy, but Brendan has healthy food habits that will likely serve him for a lifetime. Amen.

Brendan

Before I delve into some of our challenges and rewards and more challenges, let me tell you a bit about our little guy. We learned that we had been matched with Brendan Michael (what we named him) on 12 October 2011. On 18 October we went to diclosure, which is where you read the child's file, including medical history and all known facts surrounding the birth parents and the termination of parental rights. On 22 October 2011, we met Brendan for the first time, and by 25 October, he was staying at our house on a daily basis.

Life was a whirlwind. We basically had two weeks to do what most parents do in nine months. I had to research car seats and strollers, buy clothes and completely rearrange my schedule. Life quickly became an emotional rollercoaster...and then the "transition" period began, and it was more like an emotional tornado.

Returning Brendan to his foster home 10/28/12

In foster care, there is a period where you transition the child from foster home to adoptive home. Under Florida law, once the child is placed, he must live with the adoptive family for a minimum of 90 days before the family can go before court to officially adopt. I am not a "transition" type of girl--I am more of a "rip the bandaid off quickly and let's get on with the healing" type of person. This period, for me, was just awful. It seemed that Brendan didn't really belong to any one.

During the first two weeks, I would drop Aidan and Cole Patrick at school, then drive to the north side of Tampa to pick up Brendan. Then he would spend all day with our family and after dinner and bath, we would return him to the foster home each night. This is when we first learned that we really had to advocate for Bren. It reached the point that he would kick and scream every time I put him in the car seat because he didn't know where he was going. The adoption agency kept telling us that we couldn't "rush" it, that already the adoption was moving faster then most, but we insisted that the back and forth HAD to stop. On 04 November, Brendan spent the night at our house for the first time, and we never took him back to stay at the foster home. By 22 November, he was permanently placed in our custody, which started our 90-day time clock. 

One of my personal beliefs about adoption is that it is the best possible answer to human problems. God intended Brendan to be with his birth mama and daddy, but for whatever reason, when they couldn't answer that call, God called us up to the show. I have no doubt that Brendan's life will be 100 times better because we adopted him, but I do not believe that we "saved" him or that he was originally intended for us. But he IS ours--just as much as Aidan and Cole Patrick. While they came to us by birth, he came to us by adoption, but his adoption is just that, an action of the past--not a definition of who he is. Brendan WAS adopted, and now he IS our son.

I don't know much about Brendan's first 2-1/2 years. I tend to feel that his story before 22 October 2011 is just that--his story, not mine. I believe that as far as coming to adoption, he had one of the best possible scenarios. As best I can tell, his birth parents were largely unselfish--they seemed to recognize their inability to parent quickly, by two weeks he was in foster care and there was not a long drawn out fight to keep parental rights, and a huge factor in adoption: he had been with the same foster family since he was two weeks old, so he had developed healthy bonding and attachment skills.

Once he was living with us full-time, and the honeymoon was starting to fade, it became apparent that his foster family ran their home differently than we do, and the struggles began. I tend to imagine that before us, he spent a lot of time at day care, a lot of time in front of the television, and a lot of time just figuring it out for himself. I don't say that to judge--I don't know their situation, and I haven't walked in their shoes, but I think it is fair to say there were not many boundaries or a great deal of one-on-one interaction. Now break to the Wright Place, which one might call a wee bit structured.

I am what many would call a "rule-follower" and with that, our home has a variety of family rules. On top of the rules, I am also a bit strict about food. So take Bren, who we have determined did not have boundaries and calls pretty much every thing either juice, chicken nuggets or fries, add him to our equation, and we were about to begin what consumed much of our first six months together: a period that I call "The Food War."

Putting it in Perspective



Big shoes to fill

Memorial Day. As a proud Army family, this day holds extraordinary significance. This day is a sobering reminder of what our lives are a part of, and the mission that is so much bigger than any of us.

We began today with a run in honor of a fallen friend. I was proud that all three children happily accompanied us on the trail, understanding as much as each of them could that we ran so that those who protect our freedom will never be forgotten.

Future Cadets

Little Airborne

Being a military family is the greatest honor. We thank those who have made the greatest sacrifice so that we may live free. We honor those who we are honored to live and serve alongside. Ours is truly a life of blessings. Thank you to all who serve this one nation under God. Hooah!





Our Hero

Krazy

We have what many would consider a unique story. We are a military family with two biological children and seven months post adopting from the U.S. foster care system. This also puts us seven months into our lifelong journey of being identified as a transracial family, which honestly, still seems weird to say.

I am really not sure where our story begins. Many people in the adoptive community can eloquently recite how they were led to adoption. I am not one of those people. Looking back, we are certain we were led by God and that He definitely guided us, but at the time it felt like we were often, at best, just treading water.

Jason and I have been married 13 years. Jason is an Army officer, and we have two biological children: a daughter, Aidan, age 10, and a son, Cole Patrick, age 8. Like many people, we always viewed adoption as something we'd like to do. But the journey between saying "We' think we'd like to adopt" and ACTUALLY adopting is long, and well,...unexpected.

We took our first step while stationed at Fort Lewis, Washington, in early 2009. We started looking at an international adoption from Korea. After going to our first meeting and reviewing all the paperwork, we decided it wasn't the right time. Jason was preparing for a year-long deployment to Iraq, and quite frankly, the cost overwhelmed us. Discouraged, we placed it on the back burner. While Jason was in Iraq, a friend casually said to me, "Have you ever considered adopting from foster care?" Well, no, not at all...in fact, I don't know why, but the thought had never occured to either of us.

At that time, we knew once Jason returned, we would next be assigned to MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. I also knew that Jason would be home for a while--long enough to adopt--we had a window. So, I did my research on adopting from foster care in Florida.

By the time we reached Florida in the summer of 2010, we were ready to go! We signed up for the first information session available in September 2010, and shortly thereafter began the classes necessary to become certified to adopt from foster care in Florida. The ten-weeks of classes were definitely aimed at weeding out the people who weren't serious, ready or otherwise not likely to succeed at adoption. I can't honestly say that the classes prepared us to adopt, but I don't know that anything can prepare you for adoption. Every story is individual and unique, and ours is not any different.

Nearly nine months after our home study was completed, we were losing hope that adoption was in His plan for us. In fact, just as we started to accept this, we received a call from our Family Adoption Specialist. A two-year-old boy was available and ready to go to match, were we interested? Within ten days, we were matched, had gone to disclosure and met our new son. Our heads were spinning!

Seven months later, the spinning is just starting to slow down...or I am just becoming accustomed to it! Recently, I felt bold enough to say, "Hey, I think others might benefit from our story." There are lots of adoption stories blogged, and they are all unique--when I have searched to find someone else with a similar journey, I have come up empty-handed. It is my hope that through this blog we can reach the one other family like us...! ;-)

A friend suggested the name, "Down Wright Crazy." I loved the play on words of our last name and decided not to wonder if she really thinks we are crazy...?! As we start to lay out and design the blog site, we were discussing the look, and Aidan piped in with the streaming enthusiam that only a 10-year-old girl can truly give justice, "Are you spelling "crazy" with a "K"? You should spell "crazy" with a "K" because any time I am trying to emphasis "crazy", I spell it with a "K" because that is just crazy...!" Or, rather, krazy. With this conversation (which I probably should be ashamed to admit, did go on for some time), I realized, "Yep, we're crazy"...or krazy...