Yesterday was Mother’s Day and it was truly one of the most wonderful I’ve had. There was a time when I dreaded this day, a time in childless years when it tore my heart to shreds. A time, when I remember being told in words, actions, and looks many times how I was not a mother though I desperately wanted to be. Many women with similar experiences continue to struggle on this day even years after finally becoming mothers. I’m grateful to say that while I remember those I truly enjoy Mother’s Day, not just for my own mother and memory of motherly influence in my own life but because I appreciate so much more the blessing of being a mother now. And look at the loot besides!

Can’t beat that. I am so blessed and spoiled!

Now, if I can just stretch my luck and blessings long enough to get all my stuff backed up I’ll be most happy. I’ve got a bad feeling about my computer. *furrowed brow*

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Family Adoption Sharing Emotions Motherhood

I just got a surprise phone call on my cell phone. It was from Beth Whitehouse, a columnist for Newsday.com. She explained that she was doing a piece on explaining adoption to children who aren’t adopted. I was happy to answer questions, although I felt like a bumbling idiot on the phone. I put my thoughts down in writing so much better in situations like that.

At any rate, I hung up and went to Google what I’d remembered or thought I’d heard to see if I could find her. Sure enough it came right up and a quick e-mail asking if she’d just talked to me about the piece warranted an almost immediate response in the affirmative. Then I was bold enough to send one more unsolicited e-mail sharing the most important thought I’d had about explaining adoption. She may think I’m a crazy now but I feel better about getting a p.s. in. Did I mention that I love Google and the power of the Internet? *smile*

I’m still fuzzy on the source of her finding me but if I get it cleared up I’ll let you know. It’s always nice to be found.

I was just catching up on some blogs this morning and read several posts along the Thanksgiving theme. I suppose this is part of the great conspiracy to move Thanksgiving up to this week. But as I’ve read it’s got me thinking about things and knowing I’ll be leaving town tomorrow I wanted to take a moment to share those thoughts.

When my daughter was about 2 and 1/2 she hit a wonderful stage of comprehending things around her and calling them to attention. At night we’d hear her go on for easily 10-15 minutes with a prayer that went something like this:

“Heavenly Father, thank you my bed. Thank you my house. Thank you my blanket. Thank you my milk. Thank you my mom. Thank you my dad. Thank you my room. Thank you my shoes. Thank you my window. Thank you my sky. Thank you my door. Thank you my…..”

The innocence from those simple words of thanks were always welcome to mom and dad’s ears. And it caused us to reflect on many of those little details that we tend to skip over or generalize ourselves.

About 6 years ago I had the opportunity to really understand how much I’d taken for granted with my health. I note the details now, the ability to walk, the ability to breathe without pain, the ability to control my muscles without shaking, the strength to move at all, and above all the ability to feel pain. Yes, that’s an odd one I know but you know what, one day in my self complaint mode about the intense head pain I was experiencing it dawned on me that the option of not feeling pain could mean paralysis and as weird as things had been that was certainly not a possibility off the radar for me. So I was thankful for the pain because it meant I could still feel.

I’m grateful for the pain of infertility which lead me to paths of growth and love I couldn’t have known otherwise. I’m grateful that it took me to the right place at the right time to be where someone needed me to be, just when they needed me to be there. I’m grateful that those people in my life endured their own trials and pain to be where I needed them to be when I needed them too. I understand so well now the truth that sometimes our greatest trial can be another’s greatest blessing.

I’m grateful that at the same time I nearly lost all my health and life that we lost our business and revenue. While I’m not glad my husband and I had to go through so much hard stuff all at the same time, I’m supremely grateful that we could learn those tough lessons while we are still so young and that it happened in such a complete and all encompassing way to require dealing with it head on. Because of those experiences, today I have a completely new look and appreciation for self-reliance and financial blessings, I will never view things the same or trick myself into believing that things are really better than they are. I’m grateful that my son and his adoption came to us at this most ill-prepared and seemingly impossible time of our lives because it taught me that all things are possible. It confirmed my personal belief and knowledge that adoption was not about us finding our children but rather about them finding us and when that happened nothing could keep us from making it happen.

So today I pause on the details so often missed in our thoughts of gratitude. With so much to be grateful for it’s amazing that I ever find anything to complain about. It’s true that the surest way to pick yourself up is to stop long enough to count your blessings…EVERY blessing. It is amazing to see how much you have when you take the time to look.

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Family Adoption Sharing Emotions Positive Impact Perspectives Motherhood Balance Holidays Blogging Deep Thoughts

It’s amazing to me how the connotation of simple words can evoke so many feelings and opinions. The whole wording affair is compounded in confusion when you roll in the concept of political correctness.

It’s nice that as a people we’re becoming more educated and aware of our language and choice of wording, generally speaking. The whole concept of being politically correct came about in an effort to encourage neutrality and inclusion in speech. I like that. I don’t like when the concept runs a muck and is taken to extremes, which seems to happen far too often.

But with all this said, there are some very important basic words that imply a great deal that ought not to be dismissed. One of these words is “real.” This little word has a deep and profound meaning and it should be used with care.

This morning my daughter said, “Mom I need you to help me explain to my friends again that you really are my REAL mom.”

The word real in front of mom has a powerful impact. Yes, I’m an adoptive parent, but I am very much a real parent. My road to becoming a mother wasn’t the traditional one but it was no less legitimate fraught with very real fears, pains, uncertainty and joy. It wasn’t thrust on me. It was my choice, something I decided I wanted to do. In the beginning it was mostly about me and my wants to become a mother. But it only took a New York minute to figure out when we adopted our daughter that it was anything but about me! It has been the most amazing and wonderful experience of my life. So naturally, I get a little defensive when someone tells me that what I am and what I’ve experienced isn’t real.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t get offended when people ask me who my daughter’s real mom is. I simply reply that that would be me and it sounds like they are asking who her biological mom is. The gentle redirect and education are usually all it takes to bring about respect and clarity. But I have to admit it always surprises me a little when they ask things like that. I mean, they don’t know her, it has no impact on their relationship with my daughter and they have no need to know that personal information. I’ve had it easy compared to many adoptive moms out there because my kids look and act so much like me that unless someone already knows they would never guess or just ask about their adoptions. In fact, it only came up again recently because my daughter introduced her birthmom to her friends this past week when she was visiting us. It brought her discussions and answers about being adopted into a new and tangible light. But for any adoptive parent this “real” concept is at the top of the list of wishes for a more understanding and accepting world.

You see, one of the biggest misconceptions out there is that adoptive parents are not a child’s real parents. This is frustrating at multiple levels. I mean, first the very word denotes that if I’m not real I must be fake, or virtual as well as my entire experience as a parent. That’s a bit demeaning by itself. But worse is how it sends the message that an adoptive parent is second rate or they are somehow temporary or substituting in their role as parent. This would make anyone feel uncomfortable and a bit defensive, but when you consider how much the adoptive parent gives to both make an adoption happen and further commits to the lifetime care and love of a child, well you can see why it’s a big deal.

So to my daughter’s friends I share yet again that I am in every wit my daughter’s REAL mom. She knows it, I know it and I hope one day you’ll finally know it for yourselves too. I’ve said it before, but just like a legalized piece of paper and service performed by the right person can make your mom and dad a husband and wife, the same process can make me my daughter’s mom - legally, binding and very much for real. It makes us as related as a family as your parents the day they got married. And any mom out there knows she’s a real mom the first time she stays up all night with a sick child and every time she wipes away a tear, sheds a tear and helps that child learn and grow. And that my friends is far more important than any legal element. Oh yes, it’s very real.

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You know you’re a real parent when you get to tackle the really tough subjects. Contrary to the terminology so common around adoption, I am very much my children’s real mother.

My nine year old is giving me ample opportunities lately to tackle some tough subjects. She is so wanting to be a teenager. In the past three weeks she’s really taken to her room for a lot of time alone - well with her TV set and Hannah Montana. When I go upstairs I’m immediately inundated with the smell of body splashes and perfumes, not to mention the constant glitter everywhere. She’s also recently given up the kid’s toothpaste for a tube like mom and dad’s. I catch her wearing her swimsuit tops under her shirts to mimic a bra (and always in hopes mom won’t notice or understand the secret purpose) and she’s spending a lot of time and energy with her hair and clothes lately too. When I tucked her in bed a few nights ago she asked me when she’d grow boobs and how she hoped she grew big ones. It was hard to choke back the laughter and harder still when I answered her questions of how long it can take and saw the “holy crap” facial response.
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Earlier today I responded in a discussion about raising high spirited children. It took place between a group of adoptive moms, which incidentally is a group that is no newbie to the high spirited child. As I looked over what I wrote I decided much of it was worthy of being repeated here.

There’s something about a mother’s heart that helps us understand our children. I believe it is a gift that helps us be prepared for them as well a powerful resource that can help us know how to help them as they grow. I think it can help speak peace to our hearts when we come across things that just feel right. That mother’s intuition was something I’d heard about before I was a mother - the times and examples when a mother just knew something about her child. But it took experience as mother to truly comprehend and appreciate it.
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Every year Mother’s Day rolls around, I can’t help from remembering two experiences relating to the day and celebration of motherhood. They were both little things with BIG impact on my life. I’m sure they stick out in my memory because of my unique and arduous journey to motherhood. Mother’s Day is extremely painful for those who find the desire of motherhood just beyond their grasp. At times that pain seemed unbearable and the loneliness all consuming. But my rainbow was there, I just had to weather the storms. Now Mother’s Day fills my heart with joy over all the little things. They don’t replace the memories of hurt but they have certainly helped to displace them and restore balance in my life.

The first “little thing” fell on Mother’s Day. On this particular year I was proud of myself for making it through the church service without shedding a tear and without focusing on the things I didn’t have. Years of experience on this day had caused me to not want to even go to church on Mother’s Day. But this year I was needed by some of the sweet little children I worked with who were to sing for their mothers that day. So I went. I was so proud of them for the great job they’d done. I couldn’t help but think about the wonder of the word Mother and how many ways so many women share this gift with those around them regardless of personal circumstance. Maybe this was to be my role of mothering. So proud that I was focusing on the positives and not the negatives, I was ready to give myself a pat on the back. Little did I know the next hurdle was already on the horizon.
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Yesterday I had to take my four year old to the doctor. He was such a trooper. That visit is the worst because it’s full of all those vaccinations preparatory for Kindergarten and they’re big enough to know what’s going on. I have the worst memory of being near his age and asking my mom if my trip to the doctor would include a shot. I’m sure she knew an answer to the affirmative would result in world war three getting me there so she told me I wouldn’t. Maybe she didn’t really know herself but I’ll never forget going secure in the answer that I would not be getting a shot and then being assaulted with not just a shot but a booster in the backside. I’ve never done shots well, in fact aside from throwing up it’s the only other thing I fear/hate. But I definitely didn’t want my little guy to receive a double assault so after the fun part of the exam was over I told him that the nurses were going to come in and give him some medicine in the form of shots. He immediately sought refuge under my chair and in the little wooden bench saying repeatedly how he didn’t want any shots. He got five. *sniff*

The first one wasn’t so bad and you could see him trying to decide what was going on - a moment on shedding a possible tear came and went with no tears, but the double whammy on the legs brought on tears and the final two in the upper arms completely undid the little guy. Mom didn’t do so well either. It’s tough watching your little ones hurt searching your eyes for protection and security. We both agreed quite firmly that “shots are not fun at all” and we “never want to have any again, ever again!” When we left I asked him if he wanted anything to which he simply replied, “No, I jus wanna go home.” I’m glad home is a safe place for him.

I’m seeing the truth of what I’ve heard all my life that home should be a safe haven and how important the family unit is and will continue to be. The sweet part of yesterday’s experience was the journey to the doctor’s office. The discussion was on family, how he misses “all his families” and wants to see them. He started telling me how he wanted a baby “brudder” or “sister” complete with the instructions that I needed to get a baby in my tummy. He even told me I just need to “prackis” (practice) so I could get a baby in my tummy right now. *wink* This brought on the opportunity to talk about a lot of things the most important being whose tummy he did grow in. I told him this mommy’s always had a hard time getting babies in her tummy and that he didn’t actually grow in my tummy. Just as with his sister at about the same age the wonder of that hit the bulls-eye of intrigue. When I explained the concept of birthmother to him in this very personal way he replied how much he wanted to be with all his family and that “I miss my birfmom very much” with a very sad tone in his voice. He has such a tender little heart and he is all about family right now.

So we spent the evening talking together as a family about the concept of families and looking at scrapbooks. We talked about what makes us a family and what keeps us a family. We talked about what a REAL family is and how we are every bit a real family with real kids and a real mom and dad. It took some time to help my 4 year old understand that your family is always your family even if you don’t live in the same house together and that this element isn’t what creates a happily ever after ending. It also took some time to help his big sister understand what relinquishing parental rights means and how permanent it is and how equally powerful and binding the finalization of an adoption is. It is all time well spent.

I’m constantly amazed at the concept of progression. We learn in stages. My son is now where my daughter was 5 years ago and she’s now moved on to a new level of questions and understanding. Just as my son’s experience with the instant and immediate pain of getting shots, life tends to hold the same lessons. Sometimes the most protective and meaningful ones come with an immediate stab of pain. It’s hard, if not impossible to see the long term benefit of such trials and experiences that shape and mold us as we learn and grow. Once again I find myself in the student’s chair when it comes to being a mom.

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Most of my feelings and some fun shots of being a mom are summed up on my page on my life’s accomplishments. But this one was truly priceless:

We had decided after a 5 year wait for #2 that it wasn’t meant to be and closed our adoption file. Our nearly 5 year old daughter kept praying for that baby brother or sister. 3 days before her 5th birthday we were at the hospital for his birth, which we learned about only 3 days before. This picture was taken right after his first bath (which I got to give him in the hospital nursery). It was the first time Cidnie saw her new baby brother. She wanted so much to touch him through the glass. She couldn’t wait to get him home when she could hold him. This was the first time she held him and she calls this “Happy Tears” because mom was crying happy tears.

My journey to motherhood was an intense ride, but one I wouldn’t change for anything. The love, memories, miracles and growth were all worth it.

Go visit Karen for more special mom moments!

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Kailani just started a fun post to share artwork our kids have done of their families. These are two of my favorites. The first one was when my daughter was 3 and she drew a family that included a baby because she was praying for a baby brother or sister. The next one is just over a year later of her with her new sister that she was still praying for. Her brother arrived with a three day warning and was in our arms on her 5th birthday. We’ve always told her and everyone else that he’s here because she prayed him here. We actually closed our adoption file 3 months before we learned about him but didn’t have the heart to tell her. She never stopped praying and never missed a night for 2 years. I guess she just saw that family that mom and dad couldn’t at the time.

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Family Adoption Sharing Inspiration Perspectives Motherhood