family day sundae's

Today is the 3rd anniversary of Ethan's adoption day.  We thought it would be cool to do a family devotional on how we all fit together as a family (complete with sweet edible props).  First on the agenda was to watch each of the kids' birth/adoption videos.  I was very curious how NiNi would handle hers because she has never made it through the whole thing before without becoming anxious and upset.  We hadn't tried in a couple of years so I decided to risk it.  Glad I did because she not only made it through, but was able to actually enjoy bits of the video...giggled as she watched herself suck on her fingers and throw the teddy bear I gave her.  I was a little concerned that she would feel her video was less "dramatic" or "special" because it did not involve a hospital, labor, etc., but I did not sense that from her at all.  In each of the kids' clips, Chris and I were crying tears of joy, examining fingers and toes, commenting on personalities, and had the exhausted new parent look about us.  All very authentic examples of the fact that somehow birth and adoption are both valid ways of entering a family. The funny thing is, Meagan has always felt a bit jealous that she is not adopted from an "exotic country" and that being white is boring.  Of course that is a whole other ball of wax for a different devotional.  So we read some "family" scriptures and built brownie sundaes. The kids talked about which part of the sundae each person might be...Dad was the ice cream (the strong base), Ethan the sprinkles (life of the party), mom the brownie (adds the special touches to the family),  NiNi was the hot fudge (because she has beautiful fudgy hair) and Meagan was the kind-heartedness whipped topping.  Ethan was much more interested in the dessert than his adoption day video, but I look forward to the conversations we will have as he grows older.  I know that the way we've chosen to build our family is challenging at times but oh so worth it...and moments like these are great reminders of that.

the lost dog and cat

Here is another gem.  I was flabbergasted to realize it is an adoption story.  Flabbergasted because a year ago, mention of any number of adoption related terms (forever family, China, adoption, birthmother, etc.)would send NiNi into a full on panic attack.  Now she is writing stories about it. 

 

 

The story spanned several pages, but goes like this (spelling corrected:)

 

"Once upon a time, there was a lost dog and cat in the woods and the dog and cat were hungry.  The cat said lets have mouse tonight.  The dog said no thanks. So they had nothing for dinner.  And they went walking and they saw a castle and they went inside and saw a pretty queen.  And they asked the queen if they can stay and she said yes!  They played dog and cat tag and made "forever home at last" hats.  The queen made a name for the dog and cat.  The dogs name is Lily and the cats name is Fluffy. And they did swimming training and they both passed. And did other fun things.  The end."

She told me I was the queen in the story.  I'm so glad she gets to be my forever girl. 

Old habits die hard

Seems like I have been sharing a lot of deep thoughts on adoption lately. I'm not usually so heavy, but for some reason I feel like my perspective has changed with this newest addition...one newly adopted child and one who is finally old enough to give us tiny glimpses into what she is thinking and feeling. I try to be mindful of not blogging about things that, in the future, the kids could feel violate their privacy in any way. I suppose this post may be pushing the envelope a little. I felt like I was somewhat prepared for the emotional issues my kids may have before we embarked on adoption, but I am realizing that I did not really come to grips with the fact that these issues may last well beyond the initial adjustment period. Intellectually I knew it, but as with all things, out of sight, out of mind. With NiNi, these issues are very much back in sight. She has always had some anxiety when it comes to food. When we first brought her home, she hoarded food, dug food out of the trash and generally ate each meal like it may be her last...not uncommon behavior for internationally adopted children. She also had more of the physical symptoms of malnutrition...brittle hair, boils on her body, abnormal labs, etc. In the first 6 months she was home, she gained a pound a month and in no time looked as plump and healthy as any other 2-year-old little girl. I really believed that the food woes were behind us. When she was about 3, she saw a picture of herself in the orphanage and freaked out. She started ripping up the picture, then proceeded to pull several other similar pictures out of the album and rip them as well (which I allowed her to do because I had digital copies of them). She was even able to share with me some sketchy pre-adoption memories. Mind you, she was 16 months old when we adopted her. It is almost unbelievable to me that she could have any memories at this age, but she clearly did. As she got older we realized that she was the kind of kid that needed to eat often, which we attributed to low blood sugar. Recently we have noticed a dramatic increase in negative behavior...mainly tantrums (the 30-45 minute, inconsolable, full-body, kicking, screaming, thrashing around until you fall asleep variety). It did not occur to me until I was describing this to a friend that 90% of these occurred when she was hungry. Sometimes we were busy running around and be late on lunch, or she would sleep in past her usual breakfast time and wake up ravenous, or she'd want a mid-day snack and I did not immediately produce one. I mean, my other kids have thrown fits, but these are in a league of their own and her reaction not at all in proportion to the "unjustice" done to her, if you know what I mean. I'm becoming increasingly convinced that her brain is hardwired differently...that she associates the feeling of hunger with her experiences in the orphanage. Maybe part of her still believes she may starve and this produces some kind of primal survival response. Hogwash? Maybe, but the tantrums have been reduced by more than half since we've begun operating under this assumption. Recently we started allowing her to keep snacks in her bedroom or in her pocket, having breakfast on the table BEFORE she wakes up in the morning, and when she says, "I'm hungry" we try to take it very seriously. The funny thing is, after all the drama, she sometimes does not even eat the food, or only nibbles on it. I think it's just comforting for her to know it's available. If I could reason with her, I would say, "Have we ever let you go without food? Don't we take good care of you? Don't you know how much we love you?" But this is deep stuff, and it has made me more vigilant with Ethan. For example, is he just naturally super-charming, or is this a skill he learned to curry favor with the nannies. I find myself asking the question, "What is he really telling me?" more and more. I think we owe that to our adopted children. I do believe that love heals all wounds, but the healing process may take an entire lifetime.

Race...the other four letter word

Before we had Ethan, no one ever doubted that we adopted from China. Two brown-haired, fair-eyed parents, one daddy-look-alike child and one Chinese child. And we quickly grew accustomed to the second glances in the grocery store, restaurants, park, etc. You know, the first glance is the one you give everyone who crosses into your line of vision. But the second look is a process of trying to racially size up a family. Not in a negative way, just out of curiosity, I guess. Ultimately it's how our brain works. We are constantly trying to find sameness...to fit unlike items into neat little categories. I find myself doing it to other mixed race families all the time. And, let's face it, anyone who has adopted trans-racially knows that when you sign those papers, you are also signing up to forever be a walking billboard for adoption. This is not a bad thing but it can get wearisome at points. Another reason for the stares...I think that my children are particularly beautiful and people tend to stare at beautiful children. It wasn't until we brought Ethan home that I came to grips with my deeper emotions on the subject. NiNi and Ethan started a gymnastics class several weeks ago. It is Tuesday mornings on my day off...so daddy is at work and Meagan is at school. It's the first situation where people only know me and the Chinese contingency of our family. Ethan's class is a "mommy and me" class so I chat with the other moms quite a bit. Right away I noticed something was different: No probing looks, No adoption comments. And I seemed to be oddly included in discussions relating to pregnancy, birth and babyhood. Interesting. Then it hit me, everyone assumed that NiNi and Ethan were biologically related and my husband must be Chinese. After all, as my Asian friends like to tell me, that Asian gene is strong. Even if your great-great grandma was Chinese your kid could come out looking like he just immigrated. So, then it happened. We were discussing Ethan's small size and someone asked, "Was he a preemie?" Um....I paused, I stammered, then, as if on cue, Ethan darted off and I had to run after him. By the time I sauntered back over, the conversation had drifted to the housing market or something like that. But I couldn't get the interaction out of my head. Why didn't I want to tell the truth? Why didn't I just say, "Oh, he's adopted, I have no idea if he was a preemie!"
Probably for a couple of reasons. One, there is certainly a component of grief in adoption. Let me
first say that I positively love all of my children equally. Still, the stark reality is that with my adopted children, I was not the first to hold them, smell them or kiss them. And that is sometimes painful. I missed out on so much of their babyhood....especially those newborn months when they are so fragile and completely dependent. Actually it really sucks. Two, I think our society is not yet always accepting that adoption is a valid way to build a family. I'll never forget talking with a patient in the nursing home where I used to work. She was in her 80's and I asked about her children. I'll never forget her response, "I have one son....well TWO, but one's adopted." Now granted we've come a long way since this mis-guided woman formed her views on adoption, but not so far. I think there is a part of me that fears, if I let on that Ethan is adopted, this will somehow de-validate to others our mother-child relationship. Because I did not physically give birth to him that I am some kind of mother-impostor. I don't know the answers to any of this. And I'm sure that it will occur to my gymnastics moms at some point that I am not my son's biological mother. But, is it wrong to enjoy the anonymity? To fade into the wood work and be the same as everyone else for awhile? Probably,
but it's where I'm at.