When An Adoption Fails, Love is Always the Right Answer

The first time it happened, we got a phone call from our adoption agency.  Would we care for a toddler whose mother was choosing between parenting and placing?  At the time, we had a child of the exact same age:  so we agreed.  We were told it would be just a few days.  But a few days turned into three weeks.  And during that time, I fell in love with the little boy who wasn't mine.  

He was our first son (but not "ours").  He arrived reeking of cigarette smoke, his shoes two sizes too small, and his sippy cup half-full with some sort of bright red liquid.  He was smart.  So smart.  And he was hungry.  Always hungry.  He would eat whatever we fed him.  Within a few days, he went from severely constipated and nervous to a little boy with a glow.  He and our daughter quickly became friends and siblings-of-sorts:  bickering over toys (some biting may have happened...).  Every night, when we put him into a pack-n-play, he would quickly fall asleep, but find himself, in the dead of night, creep into our room, his arms outstretched waiting to be scooped up and cuddled.  

We included him in everything we did.  We took him to the park, out for ice cream, to church.   I took out cornrows for the first time, the little guy being so patient with me.   When my husband would arrive home from work each day, our daughter would squeal "Daddy!" and reach for him.  Within a few days, the little boy would do the same.   

I fell and fell hard for him.   A child among many.  Hungry (for food and love and attention).  I called the social worker and said, "If he's available for adoption, we want him.  We want him to be our son."  But she said no.  There was an interested family, homestudy ready.  

He didn't end up being adopted.  He was instead handed over to his biological father for the first time in his life.  

The day the social worker picked him up, I packed up all the clothes and shoes we purchased for him.  Extra diapers and wipes.   Toys.   I was desperate to give him things, since I couldn't be his mommy.

The social worker said, "Thank you," as we installed the car seat and buckled him in.  Then they drove away.  Forever.   

For a few years, I searched the waiting child websites, hoping (and yet not hoping) to see his face.  I wanted to know he was OK.  Or that my heart didn't lie to me:  that he was to be our son.   

****

The second time it happened, I had just left a dental appointment.  My girls were with a babysitter.  I turned the volume back up on my phone and saw I had a voicemail from an 816 number.  Kansas City.  The same area my girls had been born.  

My heart started racing.  I immediately called the number back.

It was our lawyer.  A toddler boy was available for adoption, immediately.  He needed to know now:  did we want to be considered to be the little boy's parents?   I called my husband, who is the type who needs time (usually a lot of time...too much time, in my humble opinion) to make decisions.  But this time he said, "OK."  It would be cool, he felt, to have a son.  And the little boy was younger than our youngest daughter, so no messing around with birth order.  

But then it was no.   It would take a good month to get a homestudy (which we needed to do an interstate adoption), complete with state and federal background checks.  I called lawyers.  I called social workers.  But all arrived at the same answer:  that we needed a month to get it done.  And we didn't have a month.  The toddler's mom wanted to place him into a forever family immediately. 

So our yes turned to no.  The son we so desperately wanted was not to be ours.   Again.   And though we had two beautiful daughters, our hearts still ached for the what-could-have-been.

****

The third and fourth time it happened were potentially the hardest.  

Now you'd think that after having three children, all of whom came to us by adoption, we would be fulfilled.  We wouldn't yearn or imagine or hope.  But we did.  

Twice, biological siblings were placed with another family.  Again, both boys.  

Why were these so difficult?  I think because we know, we know, how strong biological ties are between siblings.  We know how meaningful they can be.  We know that for an adoptee, "losing" a biological sibling to another family can be heartbreaking and confusing.   

And not once.  But twice.  

I know those boys were never mine.  But there were times that the grief I felt, not just for myself, but for my child, was all-consuming.   

****

Every time there was a no, there was a yes.  When boy 1 didn't become ours, six months later we adopted our second daughter.   Losing Baby D was the prompting we needed to say "yes" to doing another homestudy and adopting again.  

When boy 2 went to another family, we knew we desired to have a son to call ours forever.  Though we never specified sex when adopting, we were matched with a baby who, we learned two months before the due date, was a little boy.   Our son.   

And when two more boys (3 and 4) were not placed with us, I felt the growing urge to adopt "just one more time."  We were matched very quickly, but not with a boy.  Another girl.  Our third daughter (our fourth child).  She is our sunshine.  

****

So what I want you to know is that the losses, the times you hear no (yet again), the almosts, the rejections, the broken hearts, the hopelessness, the crumbled dreams...they are so real and so raw.  But that's not all, dear one.  They existed and moved you closer to your "yes."  

I am thankful for the heartbreaking moments, the baby boys who left forever imprints on my heart.  I still ache for them, even though I have a beautiful family of four children with miraculous stories.  I am sad, still, that I wasn't to be their mommy.   But I do pray that each of them have exactly who and what they need to become successful, happy, kind, strong young men.   

When you are in the midst of heartbreak, in whatever form it comes to you on this wild adoption journey, you are allowed to feel all the feelings.  You aren't silly or ridiculous for falling in love with children who aren't yours.   You may never "get over" the children who never called you "mommy."  You may not ever stop thinking of them, praying for them, or yearning for them.   

Choosing to build your family by adoption means you are signing up for a lifetime of heartbreak.  It is in that brokenness that the walls come down.  That you are able to realize that the confinements of love are ridiculous and that true love has no walls, no boundaries, and no rules.  

So love, dear one.  Love big.  Love hard.  Love ridiculously well.  Love when it hurts.  Love when it's magical and beautiful and perfect.  Love when the easier response is anger, fear, or sadness.  Just love and love and love. 

Yes, I regret not mothering those precious boys.  Though it was never my choice to not mother them.  But what I do not regret?  Loving them in the big and small ways I could, for the times I could.  

Love IS always the right answer.  

Dear Sugar: Brokenhearted

Dear Sugar,

Over twelve years ago, Steve and I were on a mission trip, one of many we embarked upon together. One evening my mom called:  my best friend from grade school and middle school had passed away from a genetic heart condition after heart surgery.  

I spent the evening crying and milling around the school grounds where the staff and campers were housed.   I felt angry, shaky, and mostly, brokenhearted.

My friend and I had all but ended our friendship in middle school.  She had found new and cooler friends.  I was never the popular/cool girl.    I didn't wear designer clothing, I wasn't athletic, and I was rule-follower.  School to me was a place that tortured the socially uncomfortable.  

I had many happy memories with her before she drifted away.    Hours spent in her swimming pool. Sneaking her mom's makeup (Mary Kay!) and painting our nails.  Making nachos with Doritos.  Her mom letting us watch Steel Magnolias---ironically about a young woman who dies too young of a disease.  (To this day, it's one of my favorite movies.)   We named all of our future children.  One of my four daughters, and one of hers, would share the same name: Maybelline (yes, like the makeup). We called our mutual crush on her pink telephone, the one she kept all to herself in her room.  Then we'd go to church on Wednesday nights just to flirt (in our fifth grade ways) with the mutual crush.

I wondered why God would let my friend die.  She has already lost several family members to the disease, including her own mother.    Why could she not be the one who got a shot at life?  One of the lucky ones?

I recalled the time I was taking classes at the local community college, and I bumped into her.  She was beautiful as always (she had the most fabulous hair!).   We cordially said hi to one another, and then she bounded off down the hallway with another girl, one I deemed much prettier and no doubt cooler than me.  (Junior high memories die hard.)   I slumped to my next class feeling confused and disheartened.

I felt remorseful for all the ways I didn't try to reconnect to her.   The fact that I didn't attend her mother's funeral, located at a small Christian church just three miles from my house, because I felt it would just add salt to the wound.   The ways I wasn't brave.

That evening, or perhaps it was very early the next morning, I sat in the balcony of the school auditorium, my Bible in my lap.  And for the first time, I read this verse:

Psalm 34:18:  "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

There have been many times in my life when this verse has helped me through another season of hardship.  When feelings of unworthiness, anxiousness, uncertainty, fear, confusion, and anger have made a home in my heart.  

As I type this post, I know some of you are in this place.  I know there are HARD and BIG and CONFUSING things going on in your life, and you are trying, oh you are trying, to deal with them.   I see so many questions being posted in adoption Facebook groups:  questions about openness in adoption, questions about which agency to choose, questions about how to answer a child's questions about his or her adoption.     These are tie-your-heart-in-knots questions.    These are the things that keep us up at night, that weigh on our minds as we are supposed to be listening to a presentation at work or helping a child with his homework, that attempt to capture our joy and peace.  

Some of these things we deal with and move on.  But some of them torture us, tempting us to make the wrong choice or telling us there is NO WAY we will be successful and hopeful.  

There are the days that your past heartaches are uprooted and thrown in your line of vision like New Year's confetti.   Maybe it's the miscarriage or the baby you always wanted but never carried.  Maybe it's the foster children with whom you fell in love with who went home.  Maybe it's the reluctant partner who just isn't sure adoption is the right choice.  Maybe it's the time you didn't say or do the right thing on your adoption journey.  

Maybe, like me, you've struggle with losing someone you loved.   Someone you still love.  Maybe you've had a traumatic experience where someone has taken advantage of you, where you were in an accident or part of something you wish would just disappear.

The Lord is there.  He's there in those murky, shaky memories.   He's there in your moments of desperation and fear.   He's there in your not-so-Jesusy-thoughts.  He's there in your future, too.

There are so many things that happen in life that are simply heartbreaking.   Do you recall your moments?    Don't they render us helpless and rage-filled and numb and apathetic and doubtful and jealous---all at the same time?

Sugar, I don't have this whole heartbreaking thing figured out.   I don't even like to THINK about those past heartbreaking moments.  In fact, this post has been written and deleted many times over the past few years.  I wasn't ready then to share with you about my friend.  I'm not sure I'm really fully ready now.

A few months ago, I found a few books my mom had given me from my childhood.   My girls grabbed one of them, a large picture book from Disney's Snow White, and on the inside cover, there was, in fourth-grader handwriting, a "to" and a "from."  The "to" was to me, the "from" was from her. I felt my chest tighten, and memories flooded back.  

I need you have Psalm 34:18, because I know, I KNOW, that someone today needs to read it.   I need it today.

I'll leave you with this:  

When I was a little girl, my mom once planted some flowers in our front yard.   They were very hard to grow, she told me.  Hard to keep alive and healthy.   But one day they bloomed, and they were spectacular:  a vibrant fuchsia color, contrasting against the surrounding greenery of the moss and grass and the gray-brown bark of the big trees.   These flowers were Bleeding Hearts.

Today, more than ever, I appreciate the effort my mom put in to growing those flowers.   They are powerful reminder of the fact that we are never fully healed from our brokenheartedness.   But that, Sugars, that brokenness in our heart, is exactly what makes us human, what makes us clumsily hopeful, and what makes is possible for there to be more room for beauty to grow.  

Does Ariel Have a Mother?: Adoption Talk Link-Up

This past Sunday, I was tackling a to-do list, including prepping meals for the week, putting dishes away, and cutting coupons for my upcoming grocery store run.   As I was attempting to accomplish my tasks, my daughters plopped down in their bar stools, my oldest piping up, "Mom, does Ariel have a mother?"

The girls had been watching a childhood favorite of mine, The Little Mermaid.  And to them, it made no sense.  Why would Ariel and her many sisters have a present father but no mother?

Questions about family dynamics comes up a lot in our home.

I think part of this is positive.  We are very open in our home about all topics, not just adoption.  If our kids have a question, we answer it.   And we don't just sit around and wait for them to ask questions.  If we feel they are interested in a topic or might be wondering about something, we prompt them to ask away.   We feel the environment of openness is critical to their identity, our relationship with them, and the demonstration that there is no shame in asking questions, of wondering, of considering, of FEELING.

But part of the question asking, I believe, comes from the constant interrogations from the public about the authenticity of our family.   I know, I know.  I've heard it all.  People are "just curious" and "mean no harm."  (Ahem---the road to hell is paved with good intentions...)  But to me, no matter their intent, what matters to me is what actually comes out of their mouths and the ways in which people demand to know how REAL, how authentic, our family is.   It's disgusting to demand answers from young children.  It's disturbing when adults use their size, their authority, their age to bully children.

My children are constantly subjected to the doubts, insecurities, evaluations, and uncertainties of others.   And there isn't a lot we can do about it, considering our adoption "status" is apparent, the kids' brown skin contrasting our pink skin.    But what I hope is that with the ways we respond to others, with education and grace (and sometimes with a "that's none of your business"), that my children know they can be proud and confident by not giving parts of themselves away to those who haven't earned the trust to hold those things.

When my girls asked me about Ariel's mother, I reminded them that all children have a mother and a father, somewhere, but sometimes the children don't live with their mothers or fathers, or sometimes the mother or father dies.  I don't know where Ariel's mother is now, but she certainly has a mother.

My girls' question surrounded me with conflicting thoughts:

Losing a mother isn't easy.  And gaining a new mother doesn't eradicate the loss of the first mother.

Adoption is complicated.

Family is everything.

Motherhood is a blessing, a privileged, one of life's greatest honors and gifts.

Love doesn't conquer all, but love certainly is the foundation of greatness, of peace, and of possibility.

I know my kids will have a lifetime of questions, some of them surrounding birth, adoption, race, and parenthood.  My responses will always be full of empathy, education, and empowerment.

Illustration from my children's book Black Girls Can: An Empowering Story of Yesterdays and Todays

An InLinkz Link-up

Check It: Adoption Isn't Always Blissful + Resources

Check out my guest blog post over at I Am Not the Babysitter (my new fave blog!).

And, if your little one is heading to school for the first time (or returning), Adoptive Families has some fabulous tips/resources for you! 

Happy weekend!

In Celebration of International Breastfeeding Week: An Adoptive Mama's Tale

Let's start with the never(s): 

I have never been pregnant.  I have never purchased a pregnancy test, peed on a stick, and waited to see what it would reveal.  I have never felt a baby kick, hiccup, or "dance" inside my own body.

I have never held my breath and wondered if I would give birth to a boy, or a girl, or one of each.  

I have never had a sonogram picture of my offspring to frame or show off to my friends.  I have never had a blue or pink-themed baby shower where friends guessed the diameter of my middle and gave me monogrammed bibs.  

I have never given birth.  I've never had to decide between a hospital or home birth, between a bed or a tub, between natural childbirth or utilizing an epidural.   I've never had to create a birth plan or choose who would cut the umbilical cord. 

I have never had milk in my breasts.  I've never had to purchase a nursing bra, a nursing tank, nursing pads, or one of those bibs for my child that says, "I like milk." 

My children, all three adopted as newborns, have been fed formula via bottles from the day of their arrival into the world until their twelve-month birthday.

So why am I celebrating International Breastfeeding Week?  

Because, as I've shared before, it's always been my desire to breastfeed.  I know the physical and emotional benefits.  I'm from a family of breastfeeders.  I think a mom nursing her baby is beautiful.

So why didn't I do it?

With baby #1, who arrived after fourteen months of waiting, I didn't have the support.  There weren't communities of support like there are now.   When I brought up the possibility of breastfeeding an adopted baby to one medical professional, she scrunched up her nose and said, "I didn't know that was even possible."    Despite the resistance and lack of resources, a few times, while rocking my infant, I would offer her my breast.   Then I felt ashamed and artificial and quickly slipped her a pacifier.  What if someone saw me?  Or what if my baby latched and actually found comfort at the breast?  Failure and success were both scary.

Baby #2 arrived two years later, on the FIRST day we started waiting.   I had no time to research or prepare.  The baby was THERE, craving my attention as much as her two-year-old sister.   I was juggling a part-time job and two children under the age of two.  I was tired.  Overwhelmed.  And blessed.

Last summer, we started the paperwork to adopt a third child.   And like with all adoptions, one never knows the "due date."   But this time, this time I was going to fulfill my goal.  I was going to breastfeed.    I hired a lactation consultant, rented a pump, and started pumping and drinking mugs full of lactation tea.  

And then a delay.   Our state was at a stand-still on background checks, a required step in the adoption process.  We were told there was no end-in-sight as to when our background checks would be cleared and we could move forward with adopting.

I was discouraged.  And tired.  I was pumping 6x a day, working it around the needs and demands of an almost-four-year-old and almost-two-year-old, my part-time teaching job, and writing a book.    This wasn't the peaceful, happy journey I believed to be true of breastfeeding moms.   Articles on breastfeeding featured professional photos of mothers smiling down lovingly, dreamily, at their nursing babies.   I was staring at a groaning plastic machine that tugged on my nipples for ten minutes, six times a day, while my two kids took the opportunity to empty the cabinets or beckon for another snack or start a wrestling match just inches from the glass facing on our entertainment center.    What if I pumped for months and months with no baby in sight?    What if it took a year or years to adopt a third child?    

So, I gave up.  I packed up my tubing and flanges, returned to pump to my LC, put my nursing cover in storage.  And honestly, I breathed a sigh of relief. 

Two weeks later, our background checks were cleared. 

Two weeks after that, we were matched with an expectant mother.

Two months later, our son was born. 

And today, I'm kicking myself.  My bundle of joy is no longer a bundle.  He's almost seven months old.   He's tall, and he's scooting, and he's saying "dada," and he has two teeth.  Every day, he looks older.   

I've researched adoptive breastfeeding for years.  I have an LC.   I have the tools.   I have the opportunity, as I have chosen to take a break from teaching and stay at home with my children full-time.  I have an able-body.   Sheesh, I wrote an adoption book and even had a section on the importance of attaching and bonding to an adopted child, citing the benefits of adoptive breastfeeding!  Oh, and I facilitate a local adoptive mom support group of seventy women.  Oh, and yes, I'm a fairly crunchy mama:  I baby-wear, I recycle, we eat organic and vegetarian, and I use raw apple cider vinegar for every ailment.   So...

Why, why didn't I have the courage, the confidence, or the conviction to breastfeed my children?

The answer is multi-faceted for both myself and many adoptive mothers.

For one, there just isn't much support or resources for adoptive mothers wishing to breastfeed.   In fact, there's very little information on the importance of adoptive mothers bonding with their infant babies.  The research and support tends to focus on bonding with older children who have come from foster care or orphanages in other countries.    Though, this is steadily (and encouragingly) changing.   I connected with a crunchy, adoptive mother who happens to also be a stellar lactation consultant, and who had the drive to pour her knowledge into a current, comprehensive book on adoptive breastfeeding.    And there's the hard-to-find blog posts on the subject, like my new friend over at Slow Mama who spoke out about breastfeeding her preschooler for the first time.

For another, adoptive breastfeeding isn't all that common in contemporary, Western culture, so when it does happen, it's a real show-stopper.  If you think biological mamas have a hill to climb, at times having to defend their breastfeeding decisions, whatever they are, try being one of the women in my club.   Women like me who have milky-white skin and are raising chocolate-skinned, afro-headed babies.  (As if that alone doesn't turn enough heads and prompt unsolicited stares, comments, questions, and assumptions...)    Adoptive breastfeeding is yet another reason for people to stare, comment, question, and assume.    And most people, I've found, greatly underestimate the importance of the adoptive mother bonding with a child she didn't "home grow"; people often believe an adopted newborn is a blank slate, with no trauma related to the loss of his or her biological family.   It's not that adoptive parents need the public to approve their decisions, but it would be nice if those choices didn't induce the demand for justification.

Another reason is that adoptive breastfeeding takes work:  a lot of it.  Without a pregnancy, an adoptive mother must induce lactation using her chosen path which might involve prescription medications, herbs, massage, pumping, special foods/drinks, etc.    Sometimes women choose to utilize a supplementation device (a bag holds the milk and tubing connecting the bag to the mother's breast), though they can be expensive and require a lot of patience and practice as they can leak, break, or be rejected by the child.    A woman might pump for months, even years, with no baby to put to the breast.   She might never produce any milk, or only a little, rarely establishing a full supply, requiring the baby to not only breastfeed, but for the mother to supplement and possibly continue to pump.   Exhausting. 

Finally, the truth is that some women don't feel that they have earned the right to breastfeed a baby.  We didn't create 'em, grow 'em, birth 'em.    We didn't endure morning sickness, stretch marks, heartburn, weight gain, sleepless nights prompted by an ever-filling bladder.   Our scars aren't physical.   Instead, many of us quietly battle disease, infertility, miscarriage.   We have to prove our worth as a parent to our adoption agencies with background checks, home inspections, interviews, questionnaires, and training.   We are questioned at every turn.   To commit to breastfeeding takes an immense amount of confidence and dedication, which is hard for some adoptive mothers to come by when the journey to motherhood has been nothing but knock-after-knock, question-after-question, demand-after-demand.  Some perceive that adoptive breastfeeding is un-natural or inappropriate for the woman who hasn't birthed the baby ("some" including social workers, the child's biological parents, friends, family, and health care professionals).   

So where does that leave those of us who haven't birthed our children?  

Last month, my friend, who is a breastfeeding mama, middle-school teacher, and photographer, posted that she was offering mother and child feeding session photo shoots.   I immediately sent her a message and said, What about a skin-to-skin shoot?   She was in. 

So on a sunny Saturday morning, she came over with her baby, and she snapped hundreds of photos of me with my son.  In the background, her daughter cooed and babbled, while my friend smiled and gently directed and winked at my little one.   The shoot went well, and I anxiously waited for her to send me the pictures.

Two days later, the pictures were ready.  I held my breath and began to browse.

The photos were just stunning.  

I think when you see a photo of yourself, it's easy to criticize your looks:  your chin, your hairstyle, your thighs, your paint-chipped toenails.    But this time, I didn't go there.  I just watched picture after picture scroll through on my computer screen, each more beautiful than the last.  

All I saw was love.  Smiles.  Adoration.  Bonding.   Pink skin on brown skin.   Mother and baby.  My precious son. 

 

 

I think I'll continue to wrestle with my decision to breastfeed my son or not.   I am both overwhelmed and blessed with my three young children and my role as a stay at home mother.   I continue to feel a mix of guilt and relief for choosing not to induce lactation.  (So I'm trying out a Lact-aid with my son...slowly and steadily and also bottle-nursing).      

What I want adoptive mamas to know is that putting your child, whom you adopted, to your breast, is ok.  Your child very much needs that assurance, that time to learn your scent, your heartbeat, your voice, your texture.    You don't need to "earn" it, seek approval, or accept the judgement of others (or even yourself).  Quiet those disapproving, doubting voices and hear this:    

You are the mother. 

Breastfeeding Without Birthing author Alyssa Schnell spends much of her book talking about the protocols a mother might use to induce lactation.  There's charts and graphs and photographs.  All necessary to the book's goal.   However, woven throughout the chapters, Alyssa gently yet confidently reminds her readers of this:   nursing's utmost goal isn't to produce milk; nursing is about a relationship with your child.  

My son doesn't, and probably never will, receive milk from my breasts.  And in the quiet moments I have with him, I know that what he wants from me, what he NEEDS from me, is what I've been giving him all along:   love from my heart. 

  

---

This post was inspired by MOTHERING, who is celebrating International Breastfeeding Week.   Click here to read posts by other fab bloggers!  







  

Does He Miss Her?

A few weeks ago, I was putting Miss E down for her nap.   We were in her bed, Baby Z between us.   Miss E looked at me and asked, "Does the baby cry because he misses B?"  (B=Baby Z's birth mother).

I was floored that my four-year-old would think to ask such a question.

I replied, "Probably sometimes.    Do you miss your birth mother sometimes?"

Miss E, "Yeah."

Conversations like this make many adoptive parents very uncomfortable.   I talk a lot about this subject in my book:  open adoption, the Primal Wound, etc.

If you haven't yet read Nancy Verrier's book The Primal Wound:  Understanding the Adopted Child, I encourage you to do so.  It is a one-of-a-kind book.

Granted, I was very resistant to the Primal Wound concept (which occurs when the bonding process between mother and child ceases to continue after the baby is born, resulting in "abandonment and loss" which is "indelibly imprinted upon the unconscious minds of these children"---Verrier pg. 1) when I was waiting to adopt my first child and even after her arrival.  Why?  Because it's messy and painful and complicated.

There are stacks of books for adoptive parents and prospective adoptive parents.   But there are very few which explain and support adoptees and birth parents.     I hope in the future, we will see more and more publications from the perspectives of adoptees and birth parents, but until then, start by reading Verrier's book.   You will gain insight that will no doubt benefit your parenting!

But so is adoption.

Giveaway!: Adoption-Themed Children's Book

This past Christmas, my mom gave my girls a fabulous new book called Penguin and Pinecone by Selina Yoon.     

Selina's book has quickly become a favorite in our household for an unexpected reason:  it clearly illustrates the love a birth parent has for his/her biological child who was placed for adoption.

In summary, the book is about a penguin who discovers a pinecone. He then learns that the pinecone cannot flourish being in the penguin's environment which is cold and snowy, so Penguin lovingly decides to take Pinecone on a journey to a forest. Penguin creates a "cozy nest of the softest pine needles" for Pinecone, puts a scarf around it, and leaves the pinecone, saying, "You will always be in my heart." Time passes and Penguin decides to return to Pinecone to see if Pinecone had "grown big and strong like Penguin." It turns out that Pinecone had grown into a tall, healthy tree. Penguin and Pinecone happily hug and play together before separating again.

(tearjerker!)

I had the pleasure of interviewing Selina. 

Rachel: Salina, tell me about yourself, personally and professionally.  

Salina:  I am a wife and mother of two young boys. My husband is a painter and an art instructor at a college. I work at home as a book designer, format engineer, author and illustrator. It's a long list of things,… but all of these skills are necessary to create novelty books which I am most experienced with, with about 200 published titles. Picture books are actually quite new for me

R:  I was given a copy of your children's book Penguin and Pinecone: A Friendship Story this past Christmas, and I was surprised that though the book isn't deemed an adoption-themed book, it features strong adoption themes. Did you intend, when writing and illustrating the book, to hint at adoption?

S:  The short answer is no, not at all.

In fact, when I first thought of making a pine cone a character in the book, I really wondered if my agent would support the idea. It's brown and prickly, and not very cute. (The scarf helps, don't you think?) Could I possibly pull off showing any kind of love and affection between a pine cone and a penguin and make it believable? That was the big question. But my children would remind me that this isn't as far fetched as it seems. My kids would bring home little objects… like a sea shell, a rock, and once even a pine cone, and name it (usually, the name was simply the object's name with a "y" at the end… Shell-y, Rock-y, Pinecone-y), then keep it safe and warm in a box with a little scrap of fleece over it. So this reassured me that a child's natural sensibilities to love something was not limited to cute, furry things.

I selected a pine cone (and not some other random object) to be Penguin's friend for several reasons. I wanted an object that wasn't necessarily cute. It's not fluffy, or fuzzy, or bright. It's not soft, or cuddly, or even alive. (well… mine shivers and sneezes, of course!) A pine cone looks like something one would leave on the ground. But not Penguin. A child often has a way of seeing the beauty in simple things.

And Penguin has the heart of a child. So in my mind, I was thinking that children would identify with Penguin. It was later when it occurred to me that this may relate to adoptive families, and the child is actually Pinecone.

Another reason that I selected a pine cone is that it had the ability to transform into something new. I can show much time passing by simply showing a pine cone and then later a tree in a matter of a few pages.

One last important reason was its environment. I wanted the object to come from a home unfamiliar to Penguin, someplace uniquely different. Penguin's world is cold (white and blue). And Pinecone's world is warm (yellow, brown and green). These contrasting worlds emphasized their differences further, but they were connected by their love.

R:  During the course of the book, Penguin and Pinecone are separated twice. The first time is when both are younger (and smaller, symbolizing that growth will take place), and then again when both are grown. How is the first separation different than the second?
 

S:  The first separation is harder and sadder. There's uncertainty, fear, and a feeling of loss. I think readers can sense this sadness when Penguin leaves Pinecone in the forest in the nest he made out of the softest pine needles he could find surrounded by rocks placed in the shape of a heart. Penguin doesn't say much, but we feel his love and his sorrow.

The second separation is sad, but there's no longer uncertainty or fear. The reunion brings joy, relief and even hope for the future. Penguin sees what a beautiful and magnificent tree that Pinecone had become, and with this knowledge, he is happy and satisfied. He's helped this little Pinecone become what it had meant to be. Pinecone has a place in this world… much like Penguin has on the ice. He goes back home, but he keeps Pinecone in his thoughts. They may be physically apart, but they remain together in their hearts.

R:  My favorite part of the book has to be the end. You write, "Penguin and Pinecone may have been far apart, but they always stayed in each other's hearts. When you give love...it grows." Though I picked up on the book's adoption themes, given my own situation as an adoptive mother, your book could be applied to any number of life situations. Please share your hopes for Penguin and Pinecone. Which friendships, as the subtitle suggests, or relationships, do you think this book will apply to?

S:  I think what makes Penguin and Pinecone's story so special is that everyone connects with the story in a different way based on their own personal experiences. At first, I connected with Penguin as my own son. He's quite loving and nurturing. I imagined how he'd go through great lengths to keep his friend safe. And then I connected to Penguin as a parent--- and the sacrifices we make for our children for their well being. Loving them means we'll have to let them go one day--- to college, or wherever their adult lives take them. I hope Penguin's story brings comfort to those who's loved ones are far away…. whetherthrough adoption, your family or friends who live out of state or have moved away, or your husband who is overseas.

 

R:   Finally, what is coming up for you? And how can my readers connect with you and your work?
 

S:  Penguin has more stories to tell! The next book in this series is PENGUIN on VACATION, releasing in April. This, too, relates to long-distance friendships, but with a different message. And I have just completed Penguin's third book titled PENGUIN in LOVE, for release in Spring 2014. Penguin will have a love interest in this one, just in time for Valentine's Day.

 

Connect to Penguin's blog

 

Connect to Salina's webpage

 

 

GIVEAWAY!

One winner (US resident only) will receive a copy of Penguin and Pinecone.

Entry dates:  1/28-2/1 (at noon, central standard time)

Ways to enter:  You may enter to win up to five times (one entry per comment)

1:  Check out all of Salina's books and leave a comment telling me which one might be your next purchase.

2:  Post  Penguin and Pinecone's book trailer on your FB wall and leave a comment sharing that you did so.  

3:  Share Salina's website on your FB wall and leave a comment sharing you did so.

4:  Leave a comment stating what has been the most diffcult "goodbye" you have faced on your adoption journey thus far.

5:  Share this giveaway via e/m, FB, or Twitter; leave a comment sharing that you did so.

The winner will be posted on Feb 1; winner is chosen via random.org; winner is responsible for e-mailing me his/her address within 48 hours to claim his/her prize (whitebrownsugar AT hotmail DOT com).  If the winner doesn't message me within 48 hours, a new winner will be chosen. 

What to Say?

This isn't going to be my most eloquent blog post.  It's not about adoption.   It's not full of links to benefit your adoption education.

It's just me, typing because it's all I know to do right now.    I hope that somehow you are blessed through my words.  

Today, I don't want to share sweeping cliches or an image of a candle.    All these FB postings of what Fred Rogers or Morgan Freeman said aren't comforting to me---in fact, they anger me.   Why are we trying to make sense of nonsense?   Nothing anyone seems to do or say is enough right now.   We are all deeply sad, hurt, confused, angry.    Our minds GO THERE, to dark and sad places.  Our hearts are heavy.   We can't hold our children close enough.

I had a hard time sleeping last night.  Every pop of the heater duct work bothered me.   I was hearing noises like a five-year-old child believing there are monsters in the closet.  I'm angry that one person can steal so much courage and strength and peace from people.    I feel restless and skittish.

Psalm 4:8
   In peace I will both lie down and sleep, For You alone, O LORD, make me to dwell in safety.

I had a hard time leaving my daughter at school today, and I wasn't alone.  Many parents lingered at drop off much longer than usual.   We all gave our children extra hugs and kisses, saying, "I love you" an extra time or two.     I was relieved when it was time to go pick up my daughter.  I wanted her in my car, under my protection, as swiftly as possible without her thinking something was drastically and irrevocably wrong with the world she otherwise feels safe in.   She has seen no news coverage; I intend to keep it that way.  

Psalm 46:1
    God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

I have a hard time looking at our beautiful Christmas decorations and piles and piles of presents.   It dawned on me that there are a couple dozen other families in CT who have piles under their trees too, and there are gifts under those trees with names on them.  Names of people, people who won't open those gifts.

Luke 2:10
   And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

I'm trying not to watch much news.  We never watch news in front of the the littles, and I rarely watch the news at all.  It's usually too much to see right before bed.  Most of it is very dark. 

But these past few days have been the darkest. 

What is the right response in this situation?  Is it to pray?  Is it to cry?  Is it to blog?  Is it to call the NRA or write a letter to the President?  Is it to celebrate Christmas as if nothing has happened, or celebrate Christmas knowing that Christ is our ONLY hope?  Is it to mutter weak Christian cliches to one another?   Is it to finish our Christmas shopping and take our kids to visit Santa at the mall?

 

 

I have gone to my Bible a few times, but I'll admit that I'm sort of angry at God.  Why did this happen?  And like many people, I'm furious that children were subject to such evil.  As a mother, my #1 instinct is to protect my children with everything I have, even my own life if necessary.   No Bible verses stuck out to me as I flipped aimlessly through the worn pages.   

 

I feel like perhaps God is telling me to not even try to make sense of this situation.    That's not my job, nor is it beneficial.     I want to fight.  I want laws to change (but to what, I have NO idea), I want the mentally ill to receive the help they need, I want people to have the courage to speak up when something isn't right and for "higher ups" to take such concerns very very seriously.  I want my children to NEVER be subject to gun violence.    I want to feel that my middle-class suburban lifestyle is immune to everything bad that could ever happen.   

 

Friday's event reminds me of how vulnerable we all are.  How incredibly fragile life is.   How precious children are and how brave teachers can be.    There are glimmers of hope (that there are GOOD people in this world who will stand up and fight, even if it means they might lose their lives) overwhelmed with waves of hopelessness.   

 

I'm reminded that we live in a fallen world.     That if we seek complete joy and peace and happiness while we are living, we will NEVER find it.    

 

Christmas is about hope.  It's about promise.     And even though this year's commercial-driven Christmas has been drastically shifted for many of us who can't get into what we deem the "Christmas spirit," we realize this shift in focus is turning us back to what has always been the point of Christmas.   To get down to the very basic environment (a manger, a field, a star) and people (a young couple, shepherds, and, of course, a baby boy) who together offer a very simple message:

 

^"8 Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. ⁹ And behold,^[b] an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. ¹⁰ Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. ¹¹ For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. ¹² And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.”

 

(Luke 2:8-10)

 

 





Maybe I Should Shut My Mouth Sometimes....

I'm embarrassed.  I did something I despise...and I'm going to tell you about it.  I shouldn't say someTHING but rather, somethingS.   

We're at the park.   My girls are running around like crazy because they are both convinced they own the place.    The other kids just get to borrow the space.     Whatever.

It's a lovely day...finally.  Sunny, nice breeze, 75 degrees.  There are tons of parents and kids everywhere.    I'm standing at the bottom of the twisty slide, trying to keep Baby E from getting completely smashed by older kids, and overhear two women talking.  One is a mom of three, the other is a nanny to two kids.

Nanny:  I've been married nine years and we still haven't gotten pregnant.

Me (on impulse).  I pick up Baby E, hold her up so our faces are touching, smile, and blurt out:   You could always adopt.

Immediate regret. What was I trying to do?  Use my kids as an advertisement for adoption?

So I say:   Not that I'm trying to get up into your fertility business or anything.  I hate when people do that.

Dumb.  Why did I say that?

I move to help Baby E climb up the rock wall.

Nanny's Mom friend to Me:   Are they [my girls] real sisters?

Me:   They are not biologically related.

Immediate regret round 2.   It's none of her bleeping business.    Yet, I did offend her friend by being insensitive about infertility by offering adoption as a happy resolution....so I'll let it slide.

Miss E, standing above me on some equipment, tells the Mom:   We are not SISTERS.  We are BROTHERS.

Me, laughing, to Mom:  I guess she told you.

Regret round 3.  What was that, Rach?   Really?!?

Sometimes I'm just off my adoption-game.   I really expect more of myself.  I write about adoption, I educate others on adoption, I'm active in the adoption community.  And I acted like that?  

This day reminded me...
1:  I'm going to screw up sometimes.  I'm human.  It's ok.
2:  My daughter is listening, now more than ever, to everything I say and those around her say.
3:  I need to be ready to respond to the "real" sisters question.     What I really want to say is:  "Yes, they are real sisters, and I'm their real mom."   
4:  I need to remember that no everyone thinks adoption is super-awesome like I do.
5:  I need to be more sensitive to those who have gone through (are going through) infertility issues.    (We adopted due to my type I diabetes, not due to infertility.  Adoption was an easy choice for us.  It's not for most/many people).
6:  I need to take it down a few notches sometimes.  I might have GOBS of information for people on the journey of adoption, I might be super passionate about adoption, but if I don't bring it up in an appropriate way at an appropriate time, no one is going to care to listen and learn.

Talk to me.  When did you do or say something adoption-related that you later regretted?

Two Interesting Stories

I saw these today via FB.  One is a story about black children being raised in a Mennonite community, and the other is an incredible story about a new teen mother who passed away due to cancer (and she wouldn't terminate her pregnancy even though it could have saved her life).  

Interesting Article on Adoption + Hair Care Resource List

Check this out.  Adoption has a rocky history.   Is it getting better? 

---

Need hair care resources for your kiddos?  Check out this list recently posted on Adoptive Families magazine. 

Eye-Opening Reminder

A friend recently posted a link to this article on Facebook.    I wasn't to excited to read it, mostly because someone has commented that she needed tissues after reading.   I was just getting my day started and didn't want to feel sad from the get-go.  But I went ahead and read it.  

You should too.

I'm a busy mom of two "babies" (a toddler and an infant).   I work part-time at a university teaching writing (so you can imagine the preparation and the stacks of essays I have to grade).   I also write part-time for various publications, and I'm in the beginning stages of writing an adoption book.    I do most of the household chores, make homemade meals (because nutrition is very important to me), and run Miss E to and from preschool and tap/ballet class.  I prep grocery lists, coupon, and do the Christmas and birthday shopping.    I try to sneak in moments of personal joy and relaxation---reading a book, exercising, blogging.  This occurs while my husband works long, hard hours in the financial industry, providing for our family.    Then he comes home and we take care of the girls, eat dinner, put the girls to bed, try to spend a bit of time together, before starting over again the next day. 

Sound familiar?

We are busy.   Every day is a new adventure.

And in the midst of these activities and jobs and tasks, we so often forget to just stop and cuddle our babies, or start a tickle war, or head outdoors to play on the swing set.   

Some days, I stop in the middle of doing everything and think, "What am I doing?"  And more importantly, "What am I not doing?!?"  

As I get closer to the big 3-0, I look around at those whom I grew up with.  I think about their choices now---and so many of those choices, and the way they respond to hardship, and their mannerisms, and the way they raise their kids---so much of it is based on how their parents treated them.

And the weight, the monumental role of being called "mom,"  hits me, to be cliche, like a ton of bricks.  

Parents, we have a big job.   One that never gets a day off.   One that makes or breaks a child.   One that requires so much patience, self-control, sacrifice, understanding, love, and wisdom.

This article says all that is on my heart today.   I hope you will take time to read it, reflect, and think about what you can change to become the best parent you can be to your current and future blessings.  

Two Interesting Articles

Time magazine controversy regarding African Americans and 9/11.  

There are more and more interracial couples. 

Tangled...Literally

Over the 4th of July weekend, we watched many movies as a family. The steaming temperatures combined with plenty of storms made for a long weekend, so we made the most of the time.

I decided to rent Tangled for the family. I enjoyed Rapunzel's ability to sometimes be the hero (unlike most cartoon princesses), the humor (her chameleon was hilarious!), and the music. And thankfully, the movie didn't feature demonic characters---good for a 2.5 year old.

However, one aspect of the movie greatly impacted me. If you haven't seen it, Rapunzel is captured by a woman (and thus, taken from her biological mom and dad, the King and Queen) and locked in a tower. This woman is known as "Mother" to Rapunzel. The woman protects Rapunzel, but mostly out of selfish gain, to keep the powers of Rapunzel's magic hair to herself. Meanwhile, the audience sees Rapunzel's biological parents mourning the loss of their daughter, especially each year on Rapunzel's birthday when the King, Queen, and everyone in their kingdom releases floating lanterns into the air.

Eventually, Rapunzel finds out who her true parents are, and she, obviously, is infuriated with her "Mother" who has been concealing the truth for eighteen years.

Call me crazy, but I saw an adoption theme in this movie.

First, I do not think all adoptive parents are evil, nor do they intend to hurt their child or the child's biological families. BUT, I think sometimes adoptive parents get too wrapped up in "protection" mode to where it isn't at all about the child's well-being, but about the emotional chains of the adoptive parents.

Recently, a friend of mine asked, "How did you choose open adoption?" She mentioned how hard it would be---facing one's own jealousy. I told her that we knew it was best for our girls to know their biological family members. Furthermore, we wanted our girls to have racial role models, something we obviously can't personally provide.

Truthfully, as adoptive parents, we so often have to just get over ourselves. Just like any parent, we need to do what is best for our family as a whole (kids included!) and not just what is best for us as the parents. It's about maturing and thinking beyond ourselves, which is truly, very hard to do in current culture.

I remember seeing a gas station sign a few years ago that said "Self-Serve 24 Hours." I thought, wow, isn't that true of life?

It's easy to go into self-service mode when an adoption agency gives an adoptive family so many options. With our first adoption, we had a five page checklist of what adoption situations we were open to. FIVE PAGES. They were five pages of pure torture. I mean, I knew we were ultimately talking about a child, not a checklist.

Race? Sex? Age? Disability or disease? Drug use in mom? Mental history of birth father's family? Openness? How open? How often? For how long?

(There are over 100 questions. I won't bore you by listing them all).

Adoption is so incredibly messy. Complicated. Tangled.

We have to sit down, reflect, acess, and analyze...often. Are we doing the right things for our entire family? How can we improve? When we make a choice, is it for the benefit of all or is it made to temporarily provide ourselves some emotional relief?

I often hear adoptive parents say, WE ARE THE "REAL" PARENTS!!! But the truth is that both my girls have two sets of "real" parents...they just play different roles in their lives. I'm not daring to lay claim on my daughters like they are a prize to be won.

Yes, they are mine. Yes, I am their parent. Yes, sometimes I get a little jealous or selfish or prideful. But I have to suck it up, put on my big girl panties, and be the mother I was CHOSEN to be by some very special individuals.

It means taking as step back, getting untangled, and remembering that ultimately, my children belong to God, are on loan to me, and I'd better be sure I'm honoring everyone involved, not just making myself momentarily feel better.

Reader Thoughts Wanted: Is Race Really A Big Deal?

Recently, I called my daughter's preschool. I spoke with the director about our family situation. I explained that our daughters were both adopted and were both African American. I told her that diversity is important to our family, and thus, we found her preschool to be the best option for our oldest daughter. I then requested that when she divided kids into classes for the year, that she put my daughter with other children of her same race.

I then posted on Facebook, "Called my daugher's preschool to request that she be in a class with other kids of color. Being a transracial family is interesting!"

I got several comments. One of which was that I shouldn't have done what I did. That my daughter is only two and will thrive no matter the racial makeup of her class. Another friend posted that a good educator would divide kids up racially without a request.

Hmmmmm....

I also heard from a friend, via e-mail, who, by the way, is in a transracial (biological) family. She said that by talking about race and emphasizing it, we keep racism alive. (Then I thought how my two-year-old knows she is "brown" and her parents are "pink"---and we talk about this often. Am I screwing her up?)

All interesting points.

So, I want to know from you:

Is talking about race and ensuring that our kids grow up in a racially diverse situation (be it school, neighborhood, church, etc.) keeping racism alive? Or, is doing this being realistic about the world we live in and providing our kids with opportunities?

Is race a "big deal" anymore?

I find that generally younger people (like my students, about age 18, 19, 20) don't make a big deal out of race. Twice while on vacation, we bumped into a group of college girls. They doted on both my girls (which they, of course, loved) but didn't make a single comment or ask a question about adoption, their hair, race. Younger generations, is seems, are either less experienced in racism (meaning, they didn't grow up during the Civil Rights Era), aren't bothered by transracial families (more used to it? after all, adoption is popular both in mainstream culture and among celebrities), or simply don't care to comment. I realize these are all assumptions on my part, could be geographically-linked, and are over-generalizations...but I'm just sharing my thoughts here.

I don't think colorblindness (or the idea of it) is cool. I celebrate my diverse, multi-racial family. Not only are my girls black, but they are adopted. They are unique on two levels. But is it really a big deal?

What I'm coming to realize is there is no single answer. To some adoptees, being adopted is a big deal. To some, transracial adoption is a big deal. Some grew up around lots of white people, and they weren't negatively impacted by that. Others (like in some books I've read) state that their white parents really screwed up by not exposing them to people of their same race on a frequent and intimate level.

Wow---this post is all over the place.


Just like many adoptive parents, I'm searching for answers. Shrug. Where I'll find these right answers, well, I don't know.

On My Nightstand

I just finished another wonderful adoption book called Baby, We Were Meant for Each Other: In Praise of Adoption by Scott Simon (NPR host).

There are few adoption books written by men, so I wanted to be sure to check this book out so, if approved by me, could be added to my adoption resource list.

Here are some excerpts:

"[. . .] while adoption is a miracle, miracles finally take their places in our lives alongside more mundane things on our shelves and blend together. Adoption is a fact of life, not a trauma to overcome" (50).

Note: That last sentence has been rolling around in my mind for days. What do you think? Is adoption a fact of life, as the author says, and NOT a trauma to overcome?

After discussing the ways in which he and his wife embrace and integrate Chinese culture into their lives, the author shares, "But while our daughters' ethnicity is one of the first labels that can be fixed on them, it does not account for and outweigh everything else that they are" (64).

Note: I found this very interesting, because sometimes my focus is SO much on helping my daughter be as black as possible, even though she is, in some ways, white (by association). But in essence, my daughter is a person first, not a BLACK person. I work hard to make sure her hair is "right," that she knows about Rosa Parks and MLK, that we find black angels and black Santas to decorate with for Christmas, etc. And maybe these things matter, and maybe they don't matter a lot. I don't really know, but I want to try and give it a good shot. Shrug.

"Adoptions don't cut off children from learning about their culture (or, in our family's case, and millions more, cultures), lineage, or heritage. They widen the human stream that sustains heritage" (80).

Note: I love how diverse our family is, simply because of its makeup (my family, husband's family, and now our family, built through adoption), its ethnicity black-white-white-black, and its unit (different and beautiful).

"There are times when our daughters have a difficult time with change: saying goodbye, or even goodnight, moving (if even, as we have, across the street), graduating from kindergarten, or ice cream shops that suddenly run out of the sprinkles that they had counted on having. Tantrums are a time-tested way of letting the world, as well as your parents, know that you'd like to call a halt to the rotation of the earth and the momentum of history for one damn minute and make the world pay attention to you. This kind of behavior is scarcely unique to children who have been adopted. But some of these ordinary anxieties might pinch a nerve with children who feel that they have been rejected in life before they had a chance to prove how lovable they are" (128).

Note: I have done little research on international and foster care adoption, but the author's last line speaks volumes to me.

The author's wife shares with her daughter (in regards to growing up): "When you're young, you want to be like everyone else. I know. People used to make fun of my hair, my clothes, my accent [French]. But when you're older, you'll see that it's good to be different. You don't want to be like everybody else. The things that make you different make you more interesting. We went all the way around the world to get you. When you're older---just a little older---you'll realize that everything you think is a problem now is actually something good. They'll be your strong points. And you will be strong" (136-137).

Note: I haven't done as much research yet on adoptees as I would like to. This passage confused me some. (The author had previously discussed the primal wound, the idea that children who are adopted have a wound because they are not with their biological parents). I once started to read a book, a very popular book, called Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Parents Knew, and got so consumed with guilt and confusion that I took it back to the library unfinished. The book was negative (though perhaps realistic?)---stating, in sum, that adopted kids are all a little jacked from the get-go because they aren't with their biological parents. STAB to an adoptive parent's heart, because I try really hard to promote adoption openness (reading books, visiting with my daughter's birth family, promoting racial awareness, etc.)---but I realize that my efforts, no matter how well-meaning and successful, do not eradicate the fact that my daughter will always have a piece of her that is somewhere else.

"Pregnancies can be accidental," says Stephen Segaller (an adoptee). "Adoptions never are. Those of us who are adopted have every reason to feel snug and secure. Loved above and beyond, really" (149).

Note: Interesting. Clearly one person's opinion. But interesting.

"Those of us who have been adopted, or have adopted or want to adopt children, must believe in a world in which the tumblers of the universe can click in unfathomable ways that deliver strangers into our lives. The tectonic plates shift, the radiation belt springs a small hole, and children from the other side of the world, or the other side of the street, can wind up feeling utterly right in our arms" (177).

Note: I call this God. :)

As I mentioned earlier this month, I have stepped away from my beloved online adoption forum (one I was beyond addicted to) to instead learn about adoption on my own terms. This book has provided me with another tiny piece of adoption education---a place where I can challenge my beliefs, question my practices, and above all, appreciate the beautiful child I have.

A Letter to Birth Mothers (for my Readers observation)

Dear biological/natural/birth/first mothers,

I'm sorry.

I'm embarrassed, as an adoptive mother, to hear some of the comments and assumptions people make about you based on nothing but stereotypes. People assume you are all very young, uneducated, on drugs, incompetent, unloving, and dangerous.

My heart aches each time I hear a stereotype being spewed into conversations. These ugly words perpetuate myths and insults.

I know you are women who care about your babies. I know you love the children you placed. I know each of you didn't place out of truth, but out of lies, manipulations, and pressures. I know that your heart aches every day for the children you placed; and I know you will never "get over" or "move past" that choice. I know your children are always in your hearts, and your decision to place them, it never goes away. You probably never stop analyzing it. It creeps back into your brain at times when you least expect it or when you don't want it to keep you company in a baby store, at church, while you're at school, when you're at work.

I don't get "all things birth mother." I'm not an expert. I don't have a psychology degree. But I do have a very close friend who is a birth mother. And my daughter has a birth mother, one whom I love, respect, and care very much about. One who deserves better than the ugly words and thoughts that surround them.

I'm sorry you are judged. I'm sorry you are labeled. I'm sorry you aren't given a chance beyond the label. I'm sorry people have no idea who you really are but insist on making a claim or a judgement against you simply because of one of your life choices. I'm sorry.

I hope that when I'm confronted with questions and comments, I say and do the right things. I don't have all the answers, but I want you to know I'm trying. Sometimes I'd rather change the subject, or ignore the question, or brush off the comment. But I know that's not right. I know I have to do what is right. I have to try.

I hope that if you are reading this, that you won't stop trying. Standing up for what is right does make a difference to someone, somewhere, somehow. If I didn't believe this, I wouldn't try myself.

God bless you as you forever mourn the loss of your children, as you work through adoption time and time and time again, and as you grow, change, and learn.

Love, Rachel

An Inspirational Read (Loss and Love)

Angie Smith, a popular blogger, has released her book I Will Carry You: The Sacred Dance of Grief and Joy which focuses on the life and death of her infant daughter Audrey Caroline and how Audrey has impacted her family and the world.

I've had many friends choose to build their families through adoption as a result of unsuccessful battles with infertility, miscarriage, and disease/disability. The beauty of Angie's book is that she speaks to these friends, as if they are HER friends, with honesty and grace. Angie doesn't discount the losses women have faced, and she offers her readers prayers, encouragement, advice, and inspiration.

Here are a few excerpts from the book:

Remember your word to your servant, for you have given me hope. My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise preserves my life. Psalm 119:49-50 (p.48)

I want you to know, especially if you do not know the Lord, that He is real. This is not a fairy-tale, coping mechanism that I rely on when I need to escape form reality. It is not something I do because it's nice to have a place to dress up for on Sunday mornings. [. . .] It's just that I don't know how people get through things like this without Him. (p. 81)

I know there are people reading who are where I was, and I don't want you to think that you need to have all the answers. your God is perfectly capable of revealing Himself. You don't have to feel like you need to fill the gaps. he has put the gaps there sot hat you will press into Him despite them. (p. 107)

Suddenly, here it is again. The chain of suggestion can begin almost anywhere: a phrase heard in a lecture, an unpainted board on a house, a lamp pole, a stone. Form such innocuous things my imagination winds its sure way to my wound. Everything is charged with he potential of a reminder. There is no forgetting. ~Nicolas Wolterstorff (p. 129)

I also love that Angie has sections in her book for helping children grieve, for how friends of those who have experienced loss can help, and a section of resources. Additionally, Angie's husband, Todd Smith, lead singer of Selah, a Christian band, contributes a chapter from his point of view. Click here to watch the music video to I Will Carry You: Audrey's Song. (Keep your tissues handy! Warning: The video contains sensitive photographs.)

The beauty of this book is that even though it focuses on Angie's perspective and her loss of Audrey, Angie maintains her strong faith in God and addresses the "sacred dance of grief and joy" in a way that pertains to all people, not just those who have lost a child.

Because many of my readers are adoptive parents, birth parents, and people interested in adoption, I can safely say that many of these readers have experienced deep loss in their lives---either by giving their child to another family, by losing a child through miscarriage, by saying goodbye to the dream of having a biological child, and more. Angie's book helped me gain perspective on how deep this loss is for some of my dear friends. I was blessed to have stumbled upon this read at my local library, and I pray that if you are struggling, have struggled, or know someone who is struggling with the grief that comes from dreams deterred, that you'll give Angie a chance to open your mind and heart.