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.