Dear Sugar: Ten Things This Mama of Four Ain't Got Time For

Dear Sugar:

I have four children.  That alone should cause pause.  I do not have time or patience for the following:

1:  Any events where only one of my children is invited.

2:  Parties (online or in person) where women are trying to sell me crap I do not want, need, or like.

3:  Diets, including no-carb or low-carb, keto, vegan, or drinking-shakes-only.

4:  Listening to complaints from grown women about petty nonsense.  

5:  Drama.  Put on your big-girl panties.  

6:  Outings for the sake of the children that mean I will sweat profusely among a large crowd of strangers for several hours while making small talk with said strangers who want to discuss all-things-adoption while two of the four kids have epic meltdowns over needing another snack even though we ate sixteen minutes ago.  (Think, zoo in July...thanks but not thanks).  

7:  700 ultra-expensive children's adult-directed activities that only make all of us want to have an epic public meltdown.  Just say NO to over-scheduling.  

8:  Flakes.  My carefully-laid plans are just that: carefully laid.  When I manage to get my rear out the door, dressed as a semi-normal and functional human being, that's a BIG DEAL.  If you flake on me: girl, bye.  

9:  Extra anything.  I don't want papers, I don't want freebies, I don't want crappy junk in my house.  (Just say NO to free Dum Dums from the bank teller.)  

10:  Healthy brownies.  NOBODY actually likes brownies made with vegetables.  Eat a real damn brownie, and we can be friends. 

What do you have ZERO time for?  Join me on Facebook to discuss.

Dear Sugar: On Multiracial Motherhood, From Diedre Anthony's Point of View

Dear Sugar:

Today I'm introducing you to one of my newest favorite people, Diedre Anthony.  Diedre is the author of a fabulous up-and-coming blog called Are Those Your Kids?  And if you follow me on Facebook, Diedre and I have made multiple appearances together on Facebook Live, talking about hair, nosy strangers, school, and much more.  

What I love about Diedre (pronounced Day-dra) is her authenticity.  What you see-hear-read is what you get.  She's also incredibly supportive of fellow multiracial families, running a Facebook group just for moms like me (and you?).   

Rachel:  Tell me about yourself. 

Diedre:  I've been a school counselor for 10 years...a middle school one for 6 of those years. I guess you can say that has prepared me to deal with drama :) 

I live in Statesboro, Georgia, a small town 45 minutes from Savannah, Georgia. Thanks to the college, it has brought diversity to our town. I met my husband here while in graduate school. He was born and raised here. We have been married for 7 years and dated for 3 years prior to getting married. We met while folding shirts in the men's department at JCPenney. 

I'm an "Air Force brat" but I grew up on the same base for the majority of my life. Looking at my group of friends was like looking at the United Nations. The base brought a variety of cultures and races together. Diversity was our way of life. 

I have 2 daughters ages 3 and 5 going on ages 16 and 21. They both have very different textures of hair. Trying to figure out what worked best in their hair is what prompted me to start my blog, Are Those Your Kids. I couldn't find many resources for biracial kids, so I decided to be that resource for others. 

In my free time I love to write, shop for makeup and hair products (I'm a self proclaimed product junkie) and read.

Rachel:  What is the mission of your blog, Are Those Your Kids? 

Diedre:  To empower multiracial families with resources and help them navigate the journey of raising biracial children. Having a multiracial family poses some unique challenges that monoracial families never have to consider. All sorts of questions arise and parents are looking for some guidance to answer them. Questions like, what if my child is the only minority in their class? Or what if someone asks what my child is? Or what if a kid makes fun of my child's lunch because it's culturally different? 

Rachel:  You and I have discussed this top at length on Facebook Live, because our followers LOVE talking about this topic.   But I'll ask again:  how do you react when someone makes an inappropriate remark or asks an absurd question about your multiracial family? 

Diedre:  I usually respond with some level of sarcasm if I feel like they are being intrusive or mean spirited. If they are asking questions, I usually follow up with a question like, what do you mean? Or why do you say that? Sometimes that stops the conversation from going to uncomfortable places.

Rachel:   Let's talk about hair!  Give me your single best hair tip and your top three favorite products right now. 

Diedre:  Wow, just 1? That's tough! I guess my best tip would be to do the majority of curly hair styling while the hair is soaking wet or damp. This makes detangling and styling so much easier. My top 3 favorite products are the Mane Choice Shampoo/conditioner, Mielle Organics Babassu Oil and Mint Deep Conditioner and; Shea Moisture Curl Gel Souffle. 

Rachel:  What's your favorite quote, verse, book, song, tv show, or movie about race? 

Diedre:  I would have to say either India Arie's "I Am Not My Hair" or Michael Jackson "Black or White."

Find Diedre on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

-This post contains Amazon affiliate links.    

Dear Sugar: To the New Mom-By-Adoption, Here's Some Encouragement

Dear Sugar:

How are you doing?  If you're anything like I was almost nine years ago, you're feeling conflicted. You're enjoying your baby, but you're also nervous.  You're a new mom, and not just any new mom, but a new mom by adoption.  That comes with extras:  extra pressure, extra expectations, extra considerations.   And honestly, it's overwhelming and can be unnerving.   

Me snuggling my brand new (oldest) baby.

As a mom of four, all of whom came to us by domestic, infant, transracial, open adoption, I want to offer you some encouragement.   Because I've been where you are.   And I know it's not easy.

Let's first get this out of the way:  there are high expectations of you.   These are put on you by yourself, by the adoption community, by your family, by your friends and co-workers, by strangers. It's expected that you be overjoyed.  That you are a great mom.  That you relish in sleepless nights and diaper blowouts, because you've waited so long to become a mommy.   

But motherhood, no matter how it comes to you, is difficult.  There's not guidebook.  There's no map. There's no magic 8 ball.  There's no genie in a bottle.   And if you find yourself struggling with any area of motherhood (not having time to shower, a harsh word from a friend, maternity leave, etc.), you are NORMAL.  And you are not alone.   

Here's what I want you to know:  

Be both humble and confident.  

Humility comes by accepting the suggestions, advice, and encouragement (yes, encouragement!) from the people who matter. Who are those people?   They are fellow moms-by-adoption, they are people who racially match your child, they are people who are on "your team" (the ones who want you to succeed and enjoy motherhood), they are adoptees.  Know what true humility is:
  

Confidence comes with time and experience.  You know, good things come to those who wait. Confidence isn't prideful or egotistical.  No.  Confidence is strength, joy, and peace.    

Reject the Super Parent Syndrome.

Those of us who adopt are often revered in society.  We are saviors.  We are the ones who swooped in and saved the babies who needed "a good home."  Our children are "lucky":  lucky to be adopted.   We must reject these things.   Because one, we aren't saviors:  we're just parents who chose to grow our families by adoption.  And, because our children aren't the lucky ones:  WE ARE the lucky ones, lucky enough to have been chosen to parent our children.    

And the main reason we must reject Super Parent Syndrome:   oh how the mighty fall!   Being put on a pedestal means we have A LOT to live up to.  We will never feel like enough.  We won't be content. We won't relish in being parents.  Instead, we will work and struggle, every moment of every day, to not fall of the pedestal.   
Turn away from critics who distract you from your job and your joy.  

Accepting suggestions and advice from experienced individuals is one thing (and it's necessary), but accepting criticism from haters, letting that fester within you, and put a damper on your day:  well, that's your own silly fault!   Often this stems from "support" groups online (insert eye roll and sprinkle the drama like confetti), from someone who has no clue about about adoption (race, ability, etc.), and even strangers.  This is when I need you to remember what I taught you.   First, you can choose not to respond at all:  which is more powerful than responding.  Second, if someone is relentless or you feel you MUST reply, remember the five magic words?   

Speak the words.  Walk away.  Your job is to mother your child, which is what you were chosen to do, not defend your decisions. 

I know it's not always easy to do these things.  The best things in life usually are the most difficult.   

Remember:  your obligation is to your child and your family.  Keep it simple.   And ENJOY your new motherhood.  The old ladies at the grocery store are right:  time really does fly by.   

---
For more encouragement on the journey, check out my book:


 
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Dear Sugar: On Mother's Day, Adoption, Waiting, and Hope

Dear Sugar,

It's the eve of Mother's Day weekend.   I know the two words---Mother's Day---will greet each of you with a different reaction. 

Perhaps you're celebrating this day for the first time since adopting. Perhaps it's ANOTHER Mother's Day in which you aren't yet someone's mom.  Perhaps you're the mother of a large, beautiful family through adoption.    

No matter where you are, I want to offer you a virtual cup of hot tea and a hug.  

I have been the mom-in-waiting.  I have been the mom-in-mourning.  I have been the mom-in-rejoicing.  I have been the mom-in-anticipating. 

This week, I've been working really hard to bring you hope, no matter where you are on your journey.   Here's some of the things I've been up to.  Find what applies to you.   I pray my words bring you exactly what you need as we begin this holiday weekend. Click on the topic that speaks to your heart to be taken to the full post:

On Mother's Day without yet being a mother:  Waiting for motherhood on Mother’s Day always felt fragile, anxiety-inducing, and depressing. There was truly no way to ease the heartache. Struggling while standing by for “the call” that will change your world is difficult, to say the least, but it is an unavoidable part of the journey.


On waiting for your first Mother's Day:  Every Mother’s Day, I remember the many times I sat in my isolation, anger, and jealousy. I remember the many women today who are sitting in my yesterday.If you are her, I see you, I know you, and I am cheering for you. I don’t know how or when, but your motherhood is coming. Hold on just a little longer.

On being a "great" mom:  Though I am not a great mom because I chose to adopt, I am a great mom because I was chosen. 

Waiting for your child and making the right choices TODAY: As you wait for your child, I implore you to think beyond the now. I know you’re tired of waiting.  I know the road has been long and bumpy.  I know you’re disappointed, exhausted, and disheartened. I know because I have been there.   But you know what a good mom or dad does?  A good mom or dad doesn’t just consider the path at their feet.  No.   A good parent considers the future.  All the tomorrows.   And makes the best choices he or she can for the well-being of their child’s forever.

On remembering and recognizing first/birth/bio/natural moms on Mother's Day:  Each Mother’s Day, when I pose with my children for our annual photo, I am reminded of how blessed I am to be the one they call “Mom,” and how my claim to motherhood came at a tremendous cost. I am honored to have the privilege of raising my three babies. I have vowed to never forget the women who gave my children life, because I know their first mothers won’t ever forget either.

On bringing more women into your circle of motherhood and honoring the gift of donor breastmilk:  I may not have been able to give my baby the gift of breast milk, but you selflessly did. Given all that I have been through to become a mother, I’ve realized it’s more important to invite a circle of mothers into your child’s life than for one woman to be a child’s everything. Thank you for being in my child’s circle.

I hope you will let your feelings release.  I hope you will care for yourself on the holiday that brings about mixed emotions and hard reminders.   I hope you will dance with faith.  I hope your wait ends soon.   I hope your heart heals. I hope you have strength and courage. 

I truly believe Mother's Day is for us all, no matter where we are on our journey.   

---

As you wait for your baby, or as you parent your new little one, you will find the encouragement you need to keep going in the book I co-authored with Madeleine Melcher.   Between us, we have seven children, many different adoption experiences (Madeleine is an adoptee) and opinions, and a common held faith in Jesus.   Our book offers you 52 chapters, arranged alphabetically by topic, journaling space, and thought-provoking questions.   -Click on the book graphic to learn more-

-This post contains Amazon affiliate links

Dear Sugar: 25 Truths Moms of Four (Plus) Kids Live By

Dear Sugar:  This post is for the moms with four (plus) kiddos.  

Over eight months ago, I became a mom again.  Our beautiful baby girl (probably) completed our family.  Going from three kids to four was an adjustment, just as it was each time we added a child to our family through adoption.  But adding the fourth kid was a real game changer.  I suddenly realized why all my mom friends who were the matriarchs of their large families took four days to respond to my text message asking about a coffee meetup or a playdate (and the response usually being, I really want to, but I can’t).  

Over the past several months, I’ve joined a new club:  the Moms of Four Kids (or more) Club.  And with that, comes the acknowledgement that there are truths we club members live by.   Here they are:

1:  We haven’t read a book since 2009, but maybe one day we’ll get to devour Girl on a Train. 

2:  We have one answer for you when you ask us to sew costumes for the school play, make bake sale goods, or sell crappy candles for our child’s sports team:  no.   

3:  We are unashamed of our makeup-less face, hair in a top knot, and workout clothes worn all day long.

4:  We have no idea what the latest trends are in music, fashion, home décor, or beauty, nor do we care. 

5:  We are imitating Katniss Everdeen by always being in survival mode.

6:  We no longer buy coordinating outfits for our children so our pictures are Pinterest-worthy. 

7:  We laugh when you say, “Let’s make plans,” since at least seventy-five percent of our plans get cancelled.

8:  We will only entertain your request for a conversation if your sentence includes one of the following:  girlfriends’ getaway, winery, Channing Tatum, coffee, or pedicure.

9:  We see right through excuses and pettiness, and we have no patience for it. 

10:  We have more tolerance for our child’s shenanigans, because our life is one big shenanigan anyway.

11:  We become an ultimate warrior at 8 p.m., because the bedtime struggle is real.

12:  We define sexiness as our partner changing the baby’s diaper, washing the dishes, or vacuuming the minivan. 

13:  We are honest about our parental shortcomings, and confident in our experiences. 

14:  We know how to choose our battles, and when we enter a battle, we win. 

15: We know the answer to all parenting conundrums:  bribery.

16: We think Instagram is bae because of the “insta” part, because we are very, very busy. 

17:  We are our children’s #1 fans, and we are the definition of Mama Bear.

18:  We don’t care what you think about our parenting choices, and we don’t judge yours.  

  

19:  We don’t go to the movie theatre on date night because we’d just fall asleep. 

20:  We will not respond to any form of communication other than text messages, and even then, we’re unreliable. 

21:  We joke that we can’t wait for the day our birdies fly the nest while knowing deep-down, we will be heartbroken.

22:  We spend our entire waking hours trying not to lose our shit. 

23:  We have incredible ninja skills including sneaking chocolate and slipping out of our child’s bed.

24:  We mess up every single day, and we’re ok with that.

25:  We know who matters most, which is why the above twenty-four are true. 

Dear Sugar: Mamaste

Hi, Sugar!  I haven't blogged in awhile.  Not because I don't love to write, but because the kiddos were home with me all summer, and we were traveling, playing, and sweating. (Thank you, Midwest weather.)   But I'm back, and I've got somethin' to say.

The other day, my girls were talking in their sister-language, a conversation full of giggles and made-up words.   Then one of them said to me, "Mamaste."

I said, "Do you mean namaste?"

Occasionally (and I mean occasionally), the girls like to do yoga, including using these really cool kiddie yoga cards and lead the "class" (aka, myself and the sibs).   And last week, my middle daughter and I did a little something called Yoga Inferno by Jillian Michaels (yes, every word of that makes me nervous!) for like twenty minutes before we gave up and ate a snack.

The girls moved on, not answering my question.  And then it hit me:  mamaste.

Namaste, as I learned a long time ago in group yoga class means this:  May the light inside of me guide the light inside of you.

For someone not all that invested in yoga (we clearly are not), it's a little weird.  Vaguely spiritual and "out there."  Like we should burn something herbal and start chanting.

But it is a lovely way, if you think about it, to wrap up a workout session.  Something to expect to be said.  Something that means that for just a moment, everyone doing that workout is speaking the same language.   (That's pretty darn rare today, right?)     Plus, the whole idea of being interconnected, of guiding one another, is beautiful.

So if that's namaste, what's mamaste?

Mamaste:  my light is guiding my children's light.

Gulp.

What do I want for my children?  What do I want them to know about life?   What examples am I setting for them as I use my light to guide theirs?

As a writer, I write.  You should see the number of post-its, lists on scraps of paper, and notebooks I have--all full of scribbles, arrows, bullet points.   I have goals.   But it's been a long time since I've thought about what I want my kids to know and to carry on.  Mostly because, like every other mom out there, I'm consumed with the day-to-day.  I'm usually not contemplating tomorrow, because today, as the Bible says, has its own things to deal with.    Today there are sibling arguments, boo boos, cuddles, school assignments, drop offs and pick ups, dinner.  Today is ENOUGH, right Sugar?

But if I stop and think about it...

What an incredible responsibility it is to mamaste.   A privilege.  An honor.  

What is my light?  And what is it doing (or not doing) to guide my children, so that as they grow up, they are guiding others around them.

I saw a meme on Facebook a few weeks ago that said that moms are all a hot mess.  All of us.  But I tend to disagree.

Though life is messy, it doesn't mean WE are a mess.  Just because your house doesn't look Pinterest worthy, just because your hairstyle isn't Instagram worthy, it doesn't mean YOU aren't worthy.   Being messy is just being human.

As I've contemplated what it means to mamaste, I've been thinking about what's important to me. What I want my kids to be:   authentic, honest, kind, empathetic, assertive, intuitive, proud (not prideful, though), and respectful.  Am I always these things?  No, of course not.   But do I need to strive to be?  Of course!  Because in order to best MAMASTE (it's a verb now!), I need to be the person in whom my kids can proudly say, "That's my mom!" And when my children make a choice and act in particular way, right now, that is often a reflection of me.

However, I also want that guiding light to give them permission to be their own light:  certainly gently shaped by me, but not exactly like mine.    This is where the authenticity comes in.    I want to continue to empower my children to be who they are:  proudly.   Who they were created to be without apology, shame, or shield.

There are a thousand ways to mother, and thousand ways to mamaste.   And as much as I am type A lady (planner/organizer/analyzer), I'm continually surrendering to being in the NOW, in the today, in order to let God guide me, moment to moment and hour to hour, as I parent my children, as I let my light guide theirs.

So no matter where you are in your motherhood journey, I hope today that you give yourself permission to mamaste:  authentically and passionately.  There is no greater privilege.


---

For more faith-based encouragement on your adoption and parenting journey, check out the book I co-authored with Madeleine Melcher:





***This post contains Amazon links from my personal e-store.

Dear Sugar: A Time to Breathe

Dear Sugar,

It was a typical morning in our home.  A divine mixture of chaos and laughter and bickering.   

When I finally managed to load the kids and all their stuff (don't kids have a lot, and I mean a lot, of STUFF?) into the van, I was tired.  Sweaty.  Craving coffee, a workout, a splash of cold water to the face:  anything to give me energy.  I eased the van onto the road and headed to my older daughter's school.

The noise from the kiddos sitting behind me escalated.  They wanted to watch a movie (a movie, during a two mile ride?).  Then one child was mad because she didn't like the song that was playing the radio, propelling her to demand loudly:  CHANGE IT!  CHANGE IT, PLEASE!   I DO NOT LIKE THIS SONG!

I'm not sure if I responded, let out a sigh, or simply tried to pretend I was jetting to a magical vacation destination, but something caught my eye.

As children poured into the school doors, I spotted a woman and a little boy on the sidewalk.  The woman had her arms around the child, and he was as close to her as possible, their full bodies touching.   They had their eyes closed, the little boy's head buried in his mom's chest, his arms around her waist, hands clasped together.  

In the midst of a busy morning, they took a few seconds to breathe.  To inhale the scent of one another, feel the pressure of each others limbs.  

Reassurance.

Security.

Love.  

A small moment like this can simply re-set a day, or start the day on the right foot.  A moment like this can bring incredible peace and joy.   

It doesn't take long to give your child a touch that says:

-You matter.

-You are special to me.

-I believe in you.

-You are going to have a great day, starting with our embrace.

-I think you are the best kid on this planet.

-I'm here for you, even when I'm not right in front of you.

-I'm so lucky to be your mom.

-I can't wait to hear about your day.

-Thanks for doing life with me.

It is SO easy to forget what matters, to lie to ourselves, to put off the sacred moments (taking for granted they'll always be there).   

This week, this post- Mother's-Day week, give yourself a gift.   

Breathe.  

Stop.

Embrace.  

Dear Sugar: Happy Mother's Day

Dear Sugar,

This post originally appeared on Huff Post Parents last spring:

Each Mother’s Day before church, I pose for a picture with my three children. Their little, sticky hands are cupped around a shoulder and my neck. Later that day, they present me with handmade cards, a dessert and the promise of an afternoon nap. I shower them with kisses and hug them tightly.

My children don’t have my eyes or my husband’s thick hair. Each of our children is a beautiful mix of nature and nurture, a culmination of their birth families and us, their forever family. We don’t share genes with our children, but we share a life.

Celebrating motherhood is something I longed for when I was told I had a chronic disease, one that would make pregnancy potentially dangerous for both myself and a baby. Immediately upon learning my diagnosis, I knew my husband and I would adopt.

We waited 14 long months for our first child. When she arrived, I was beyond ecstatic. We have pictures of every single simple moment. She was our world.

Adopting a child is a monumental event for any person or couple, and for us it was no different. I remember how hard my heart was pounding as we prepared to enter the courthouse to swear before a judge that we would love and protect this child for the rest of her life. It wasn’t just a legal commitment, but a heart commitment.

That day was the both the happiest and saddest day of my life. My daughter’s birth mother entered the court room first, the heavy doors closing firmly behind her. I knew what she was doing: terminating her parental rights and allowing those rights to be transferred to us, the couple she had thoughtfully selected for her baby girl. It was a time of severing. As she exited the courtroom, we shared a short, intimate conversation. Promises exchanged.

One evening while I was rocking my daughter in her nursery, watching her eyelids grow heavy, it dawned on me that I had been parenting her for the exact number of months she had been with her first mother. My eyes welled up with tears, and I realized how completely devastated I would be if I had parented my baby for 40 weeks and then handed her to someone else... forever. It was overwhelming and unimaginable, too painful to fully consider. I wept for my daughter’s first mother.

When our second daughter arrived two years later, we faced similar experiences: joy, empathy, and the weight of eternity. We see so much of our second child in her birth parents, not just in physical appearance, like her height and dark brown skin, but in her preferences, talents and personality. She is part-theirs and part-ours. Blended.

Two years later, we adopted a little boy. Unlike with our girls, we were able to bring our son home from the hospital. We quietly entered the NICU and watched the nurses cut off his identification bracelets and gathered up papers, things that identified him as the little boy he was before he became ours.

As the nurses buzzed around us, getting my son ready for his departure, he began to cry inconsolably. He had been fed and his diaper changed. Was he crying because of the bright lights? Was he crying for the mother he knew he was leaving behind? Was he already missing her? My scent, my heartbeat, my voice, all unfamiliar to this little boy. He hadn’t yet started his life with us. He was in transition.

The magnitude of these moments, the realizations, changed me. They still change me.

My children’s first mothers are on my heart every Mother’s Day, and really, every day of the year. They are my children’s beginnings. Their blood runs through my children’s veins. My children are forever a part of their first families.

I’ve heard, many times, what the general public thinks about women who chose to place babies for adoption. It has been concluded that these women “move on” or “move past” the placement of the child. That they “get on with their lives.” As if they are a distant memory or a fad that went out of style. Dismissed. Forgotten.

But I know the truth. We live the truth. I know that placing a child for adoption is a forever-loss. I know that these women never forget or “get over” the children they conceived, carried, bore and love. I know a part of the women’s hearts will be broken, indefinitely.

Each Mother’s Day, when I pose with my children for our annual photo, I am reminded of how blessed I am to be the one they call “Mom,” and how my claim to motherhood came at a tremendous cost. I am honored to have the privilege of raising my three babies. I have vowed to never forget the women who gave my children life, because I know their first mothers won’t ever forget either.

Dear Sugar: Stop Worrying About Should

Dear Sugar,

The other day a friend and I were talking about all the notes that come home from school:  do this, bring this, wear that.  It can be overwhelming for the parent!   She said, "Things like this make me feel like a bad mom."   We simply cannot keep up, and we perpetually feel as if we are failing.

Later that afternoon, my toddler was napping and my five-year-old begged me to just sit with her and cuddle while we watched the movie she had selected at the library.   This is when the "should" kicked in.

I should be emptying the dishwasher.

I should be working on drafting my new book.

I should make her do her homeschooling outside in the sunny and sixty degree weather.

I should be figuring out what we're going to have for dinner.

I should be calling my medical supply company to deal with ordering issues.

I should call my girlfriend who just had a baby and wants to schedule a play date.

I should take a few quiet moments to read my Bible, say a prayer, and journal.

Should.

Should.

Should.



There are so many things we "should" be doing as moms that supposedly make us better moms, better wives, better women, better employees or employers, better friends, better Christians.

It's overwhelming, and frankly, we are chronically disappointed and exhausted because of all the shoulds.  Even when we manage to have a day where we feel accomplished, there are a hundred more shoulds lurking.

I spend too much time, embarrassingly, on thinking about shoulds and doing shoulds.  And unfortunately, this means missing precious moments, opportunities to unwind and relax and laugh, chances to listen and learn.

Today I decided to neglect all the shoulds.   Today I plopped on the couch, pulled my daughter onto my lap, and we watched her movie with a blanket draped over us, our fingers intertwined.

It was the most important should.  And it wasn't a task to accomplish, but a gift to be received.

This week Sugars, I want you to take care of business that you MUST take care of.  But all those little shoulds that are whispering in your ear, they need to be shushed.

---

And if you need further encouragement on how to make this happen, I highly recommend The Hands Free Life by Rachel Macy Stafford.  I'm NOT a fan of "self-improvement" books---but this book is very practical, heart-driven, and for me, life-changing (slowly but surely).

---

If you enjoyed this post, please join me on social media to discuss all things adoption, race, chronic disease, and motherhood.  Buttons with links to the right.  

A Letter to My Kids About Racism

Dear Kids:

It's with a heavy heart that I even have to consider writing a letter like this to you.  I wish racism didn't exist.  I wish you were always going to be given fair chances and equal opportunities.  I wish that every person you meet in your life would acknowledge and celebrate your brown skin, eyes, and hair, your history and your future as a person of color.    

You are young, and you've already encountered so much ugly evil.   My son, you've been called a "thug," when you were freshly two years old.  My girls, a cowardly and pathetic man drove by our home and hurled the n-word at you twice.   You've had strangers try to "pet" your hair:  your intricate and beaded cornrows, your afros, your coils.  One woman looked at the two lovely girls, side by side, and pointed to one and said, "She's got the good hair."   It's been assumed that you are good at dancing because it's "in you."   Parents have proudly boasted to me how they raise their kids to be "colorblind," and I want to scream.  Because you are beautiful and wonderful just as you are, not "in spite of" your Blackness.

These occurrences strike fear in my mommy-heart.  Because I know that racism is just getting started. The culmination is happening; the storm is brewing.  As you grow up, becoming bigger, louder, more visible, you will more likely encounter racism. More microaggressions.  More stereotypes.  More systematic hurdles. 

And I have the really, really big job of preparing you for life as a person of color.  For the inevitable challenges that will come your way. 

The news reminds me every day of how BIG my job is and sometimes how incredibly inadequate I feel.  How unprepared and untrained I am.   I have enlisted help:  friends of color, your mentor, those in positions of power who are of color.  I need guidance and encouragement and advice.   I need assurance.  I need hope.  

I'm not, as you know, a pessimistic person.  I am a dreamer, a passionate advocate of justice, and an enthusiastic parent.  I believe that some people are going to treat you well.  I believe you will be given some of the many wonderful things you deserve, things you earn with your education and your talents.  

But I also know I won't always be able to protect you or advocate for you.  I have a few precious years to prepare you for days when you may see flags waving in the breeze, flags that represent hatred and a bloody history.   I have to prepare you for police encounters.   I have to prepare you for the word "no" that you will hear on the basis of your brown skin.  I have to teach you how you might respond to insults like "you are pretty for a Black girl" or being called "Oreo."  I have to prepare you for parents of peers or prospective boyfriends or girlfriends who will be fearful and ignorant upon meeting you.  I have to prepare you for those who will treat you like their token Black friend.  I have to prepare you for those who will assume things about you long before you ever speak a word. 

Every single time a brown face fills my computer or television screen, another innocent Black person who has died at the hands of injustice, of racism, of evil, I think of you.  Tears brim in my eyes as I think of these victims' mothers and fathers, siblings, and friends.   I want to protect you forever.  I don't want anyone to ever treat you as less-than.  

I can't fix the world.  But I can do a good job raising you.  I can instill in you values. I can teach you your history.  I can give you wisdom that will hopefully guide you as you navigate injustices.  

As I've been thinking about these things, a few Bible verses have resonated in my heart, and I want them to resonate with you, too:

Psalm 139:13-16:  For you formed my inward parts;

    you knitted me together in my mother's womb.

14 

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.[a]

Wonderful are your works;

    my soul knows it very well.

15 

My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

16 

Your eyes saw my unformed substance;

in your book were written, every one of them,

    the days that were formed for me,

    when as yet there was none of them.

1 Timothy 4:12

 Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity.

1 Samuel 16:7

But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.

John 16:33

I have said these things to you, that in me you may havepeace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.

I want you to have a full life.  A happy life.  A life where the sky is the limit.  I want you to be resilient, fulfilled, joyful, compassionate, empathetic, strong, fierce.  I want you to be confident.  

I pray that with God's guidance, with the village we have around us, and with our convictions, education, and commitment, we, your parents, will give you the very, very best.  

And we will always, always have your back.  We will always be on your team.  

I am your mom.  Your warrior.  Your #1 fan.  And I will never stop fighting for you, teaching you, or listening to you.

I love you.