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.