We're expanding -- this young family of ours. We're stretching space and hearts and arms to welcome our new member. And as smitten as we are with him and as hopeful as we are that we are his forever family, the expansion hasn't come without its pain.
Some pains are easy to bear, like when I struggle to re-arrange living space to include baby-gear, and toddler-gear and preschool-gear. Or when Luke and I stand together in the church parking lot, the doors closed in a brief moment of silence, as we breath deeply preparing to re-configure the way we get 4 little ones from the parking lot into their classrooms, all without loosing one to cars or crowds. These pains, these baby pains, pass quickly; they are easy.
Other pains aren't so easy, aren't so temporal. Pains of expanding our hearts to welcome a new member. Pains of expanding our social group. Pains of stretching the time I have to meet the needs of my many little ones.
Perhaps the most difficult pains are the ones that cause expansion/adjustment in expectation. We're expanding to welcome Isaac all the while our understanding of his permanency is expanding. We thought it was a "slam dunk" of an adoption case -- at least that's what our social worker said. And now, we know little more other than that certain details have emerged that make it a little less certain. So we expand to love this baby knowing we may have to give him back. We're expanding to having a fourth child while also having to expand our comfort in our own skin. I don't really like unsolicited attention. Being a white mother with a black child means that it doesn't really matter what I like -- the attention is coming. And with each stare, each double-take my confidence wanes just a bit. And my love for Isaac expands. And it hurts just a bit.
When I was pregnant with Jack I knew that childbirth would hurt but what I didn't expect was that to take the bulbous shape of being with child I would hurt. As my body expanded it also pained. And with each baby, each change in our family, each expansion, we've pained a bit. But it's always been so worth it. And this time it will be too.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Meet Isaac
I think I've been avoiding this post. As we are learning to navigate the uncertain and often cloudy waters of the foster care system I find myself very unsure of what I'm allowed to share, what I should keep to myself and what constitutes as "privileged" information. Ultimately I'm a bit weary of hiding our new wee one. If you are a facebook friend, please know you will never see a picture of Isaac on that particular social medium nor will you hear much about him. It's just too public an environment with too little control over who and what sees his information, and until he is officially and legally ours we can't take that risk.
Disclaimer over, on to the story of Isaac's arrival.
Sunday, January 23rd, we received a placement call for a 13-month old little boy which we happily accepted. In consistent fashion, we lost that placement. That was our fourth lost placement in 6 weeks. When I found out we lost it, I laughed. It was getting darkly comical -- our willingness to accept any child presented juxtaposed with our inability to actually get our hands on the little ones. Monday, January 24th, I called our placement coordinator (I'll call her Ms. C)around 930am and asked if we could give a blanket "yes" to all calls that fit our criteria (0-5 yrs old, boy or girl, sibling set ok, any ethnicity). At first Ms. C laughed at me. The more I spoke with her she seemed to understand that I wasn't joking and though she said I could do that I don't think she actually took me seriously. Around 1130 that day Ms. C called back for another placement. This time for a 2 week old little boy. He was still in the hospital, recovering from a rough delivery and was about to be discharged. Of course we accepted placement though I admit I failed to get excited at first because I fully expected to be told no again. Unlike the last 4 calls we received word that we actually got the placement. Ms. C arranged for a pre-placement visit and my sister graciously dropped what she was doing to come stay with our kids so we could go to the NICU.
Then we began to do the NICU shuffle -- a dance with which we are all too familiar. Initially we were told Isaac would come home Tuesday but when we arrived at the NICU I could tell by his progress that it would be longer -- he still had some milestones he had to achieve. Wednesday seemed more likely. Of course Tuesday's visit to the NICU brought news that it might not happen until Friday -- two steps back, all part of the dance.
Sidenote: I can't help but think how amazing God's plan is in all of this. No one wants to go to the NICU. No one. But we've been there 3 times with our bio-kids and like it or not we are pretty good at the dance. We know what to ask and how to ask it. We know when to panic and when to relax. We understand the machine beeps without even looking at the monitors and we have a general idea of what to expect before we walk in the door. And while I don't like going to that place and I hate my babies being there, of all the foster parents to give Isaac to it makes sense to give him to us. We walked in that NICU without the fear and trepidation that most people experience, primarily because it wasn't our first (or second or third) time. It has to be a God thing.
As is typical of the NICU, we received a call Wednesday lunch-time that Isaac would come home Thursday and that the doctors wanted us to care-by-parent. Fortunately my sister is great at emergency babysitting calls and was able to keep the other three at home while we spent the night at the hospital. After a very L.O.N.G day Thursday waiting for CPS to arrive with placement papers, we finally signed and headed home to Katy with Isaac in tow, around 5pm.
So far our transition has been an easy one though I've almost been overwhelmed by all the appointments; I hate being "busy" and being a foster parent is defined by busy-ness. We've had to adjust to fielding questions like, "what is he?" and "what's his story?" and "will you get to keep him?". Most questions are complicated -- either because I can't answer because I don't know or because I'm not allowed to answer. Even seemingly innocuous questions like "Is he healthy?" present a challenge.
So here's what I can tell you. Isaac, as you can see from the pictures below, is African-American. His story is that his mom couldn't take care of herself or him -- and that's why he's in foster care. Remember the foster care system doesn't randomly take children from their biological families or because they can find them homes that are a little better than the originals. He is basically healthy, though we are still watching some potential issues left over from a rough start in life. And that's all I can say about his health. Isaac's case is a complicated one so I can't speak with certainty that we will keep him forever. I hope we do. I know that regardless of where he ends up he will always be my Isaac, he will always be my son. That's really all I can say.
What else do I know? I know Isaac is a beautiful little boy with a head of wildly curly hair that I'm still trying to figure out how to care for. He has velvety soft skin that I'm terrible at remembering to moisturize so he gets ashy. Fortunately his skin rewards me when I remember by being so very soft; it's almost as if its training me. Isaac has the most deliciously chubby cheeks and the skinniest little chicken legs. I know he likes to be held and loves to be swaddled and he hates his carseat, and bouncer and swing. I know he likes to eat and is an amazing sleeper. And I know that our journey together won't be an easy one or a speedy one but it will be completely worth it.
Disclaimer over, on to the story of Isaac's arrival.
Sunday, January 23rd, we received a placement call for a 13-month old little boy which we happily accepted. In consistent fashion, we lost that placement. That was our fourth lost placement in 6 weeks. When I found out we lost it, I laughed. It was getting darkly comical -- our willingness to accept any child presented juxtaposed with our inability to actually get our hands on the little ones. Monday, January 24th, I called our placement coordinator (I'll call her Ms. C)around 930am and asked if we could give a blanket "yes" to all calls that fit our criteria (0-5 yrs old, boy or girl, sibling set ok, any ethnicity). At first Ms. C laughed at me. The more I spoke with her she seemed to understand that I wasn't joking and though she said I could do that I don't think she actually took me seriously. Around 1130 that day Ms. C called back for another placement. This time for a 2 week old little boy. He was still in the hospital, recovering from a rough delivery and was about to be discharged. Of course we accepted placement though I admit I failed to get excited at first because I fully expected to be told no again. Unlike the last 4 calls we received word that we actually got the placement. Ms. C arranged for a pre-placement visit and my sister graciously dropped what she was doing to come stay with our kids so we could go to the NICU.
Then we began to do the NICU shuffle -- a dance with which we are all too familiar. Initially we were told Isaac would come home Tuesday but when we arrived at the NICU I could tell by his progress that it would be longer -- he still had some milestones he had to achieve. Wednesday seemed more likely. Of course Tuesday's visit to the NICU brought news that it might not happen until Friday -- two steps back, all part of the dance.
Sidenote: I can't help but think how amazing God's plan is in all of this. No one wants to go to the NICU. No one. But we've been there 3 times with our bio-kids and like it or not we are pretty good at the dance. We know what to ask and how to ask it. We know when to panic and when to relax. We understand the machine beeps without even looking at the monitors and we have a general idea of what to expect before we walk in the door. And while I don't like going to that place and I hate my babies being there, of all the foster parents to give Isaac to it makes sense to give him to us. We walked in that NICU without the fear and trepidation that most people experience, primarily because it wasn't our first (or second or third) time. It has to be a God thing.
As is typical of the NICU, we received a call Wednesday lunch-time that Isaac would come home Thursday and that the doctors wanted us to care-by-parent. Fortunately my sister is great at emergency babysitting calls and was able to keep the other three at home while we spent the night at the hospital. After a very L.O.N.G day Thursday waiting for CPS to arrive with placement papers, we finally signed and headed home to Katy with Isaac in tow, around 5pm.
So far our transition has been an easy one though I've almost been overwhelmed by all the appointments; I hate being "busy" and being a foster parent is defined by busy-ness. We've had to adjust to fielding questions like, "what is he?" and "what's his story?" and "will you get to keep him?". Most questions are complicated -- either because I can't answer because I don't know or because I'm not allowed to answer. Even seemingly innocuous questions like "Is he healthy?" present a challenge.
So here's what I can tell you. Isaac, as you can see from the pictures below, is African-American. His story is that his mom couldn't take care of herself or him -- and that's why he's in foster care. Remember the foster care system doesn't randomly take children from their biological families or because they can find them homes that are a little better than the originals. He is basically healthy, though we are still watching some potential issues left over from a rough start in life. And that's all I can say about his health. Isaac's case is a complicated one so I can't speak with certainty that we will keep him forever. I hope we do. I know that regardless of where he ends up he will always be my Isaac, he will always be my son. That's really all I can say.
What else do I know? I know Isaac is a beautiful little boy with a head of wildly curly hair that I'm still trying to figure out how to care for. He has velvety soft skin that I'm terrible at remembering to moisturize so he gets ashy. Fortunately his skin rewards me when I remember by being so very soft; it's almost as if its training me. Isaac has the most deliciously chubby cheeks and the skinniest little chicken legs. I know he likes to be held and loves to be swaddled and he hates his carseat, and bouncer and swing. I know he likes to eat and is an amazing sleeper. And I know that our journey together won't be an easy one or a speedy one but it will be completely worth it.
Isaac's beautiful face -- the first time we met him
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Sam is 3 -- almost three months late...
I was doing so well in keeping up with our family milestones. Since I was about a month late documenting Grace's birthday, I thought I'd keep that time frame up with Sam's. Well -- a month after Sam's birthday found us smack in the middle of Christmas and a couple of weeks after that were spent anxiously awaiting placement. I decided I really should document that my son turned three - for my memory and truth be told to ease a little mommy-guilt that he may someday have too much to tell a therapist because he was stuck in the middle.
Anyway -- November 21st Sam celebrated his third birthday! What a celebration it was! The third birthday is celebrated in the Pearson house with a party that for the first time involves friends. Sam declared early on that he wanted a "cookie monster chocolate birthday at Chuck E. Cheese." He held fast to that and so were happy to oblige. We (and the rest of Katy) celebrated Sunday afternoon, the week before his actual birthday. He was in absolute heaven. He received lots of fun gifts and enjoyed thoroughly being the center of attention.
Sam, at three, is losing his baby-ness. His cheeks are slimming and he's losing his toddler tummy rapidly. He's developing "grown-up" hand gestures and facial expressions when he speaks. He loves saying, "that's what I'm talking about" when something funny happens. Sam is still my physical child. He approaches the world through his ability to manipulate it with his hands and feet. And he's still my shy one, always observant but rarely heard by strangers. Of course at home he's a chatterbox and truly enjoying stretching his wings with me at home while Jack is at school. As of his birthday, Sam is still boycotting haircuts and has long flowing locks (TODAY Sam decided to cut his hair...almost 14 months after his last one). He really is a pretty little boy. He has a personality that is all his own -- I often describe him this way: Sam does not walk to the beat of a different drummer; in Sam's world there is no drummer, there is just Sam in a field, spinning in a circle. He frequently chooses outfits that contain the oddest assortment of clothing and accessories, usually worn in a way unintended by the designer. I just go with it -- some things are worth the fight. And I'm proud that he takes the initiative to try to care for himself.
Here's my handsome little man. Oh be still my heart!
Anyway -- November 21st Sam celebrated his third birthday! What a celebration it was! The third birthday is celebrated in the Pearson house with a party that for the first time involves friends. Sam declared early on that he wanted a "cookie monster chocolate birthday at Chuck E. Cheese." He held fast to that and so were happy to oblige. We (and the rest of Katy) celebrated Sunday afternoon, the week before his actual birthday. He was in absolute heaven. He received lots of fun gifts and enjoyed thoroughly being the center of attention.
Sam, at three, is losing his baby-ness. His cheeks are slimming and he's losing his toddler tummy rapidly. He's developing "grown-up" hand gestures and facial expressions when he speaks. He loves saying, "that's what I'm talking about" when something funny happens. Sam is still my physical child. He approaches the world through his ability to manipulate it with his hands and feet. And he's still my shy one, always observant but rarely heard by strangers. Of course at home he's a chatterbox and truly enjoying stretching his wings with me at home while Jack is at school. As of his birthday, Sam is still boycotting haircuts and has long flowing locks (TODAY Sam decided to cut his hair...almost 14 months after his last one). He really is a pretty little boy. He has a personality that is all his own -- I often describe him this way: Sam does not walk to the beat of a different drummer; in Sam's world there is no drummer, there is just Sam in a field, spinning in a circle. He frequently chooses outfits that contain the oddest assortment of clothing and accessories, usually worn in a way unintended by the designer. I just go with it -- some things are worth the fight. And I'm proud that he takes the initiative to try to care for himself.
Here's my handsome little man. Oh be still my heart!
Eeek! I think I may have killed it...
Did I kill this blog? With my month-long hiatus, have I lost so many readers that I managed to kill this thing? I hope not. I have posts -- many posts. But I'm lost in the fog that new mommy-hood brings. We were placed a little over 3 weeks ago with a 2 week old little boy and now I'm swimming in a sea of experts and social workers, all while trying to help our little (ha!) family grow and adjust to a new member.
Don't give up on me yet. I've got plenty of stories to tell and I think I'm beginning to see the light breaking through the fog.
Don't give up on me yet. I've got plenty of stories to tell and I think I'm beginning to see the light breaking through the fog.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
For crying out loud...
I've done a lot of that lately -- crying out loud. Sometimes it's quiet, baby cries usually because the noise of life has quieted and my thoughts and fears and "what-ifs" race in and overwhelm me. And sometimes, like yesterday, it's giant body-shaking sobs, the product of nothing short of heartbreak. Yes, it seems tears are in abundance these days. And yes, it's usually adoption related, although not always my adoption.
I weep daily for sweet little Ugandan angels as I witness their stories thousands of miles away through the writing of another adopting mom. I weep often when I read of others who really get the emotions that I often don't have the ability to express.
But the loudest cries seem to come alone, with no tears, emanating from a deep space within. They don't come often, fortunately. Last night they came though. When the phone rang again with the promise of our new little ones only to bring news that we'd lost them. Again. For the third time. Three times now we've been called and three times now we've opened home and hearts and three times now we've been left without. It hurts friends, I'm not going to lie.
But I know I'll survive; we will survive. And while I may not understand the journey, may be confused by the route, I know that this ride was Divinely appointed. I want it to end that way; it would be such a shame to begin a journey with Divine intervention only to end it with human short-sightedness. And so we'll continue to prepare, continue to pray. We'll continue to open our home and our hearts. We'll continue to wait all the while trying to enjoy the journey.
I weep daily for sweet little Ugandan angels as I witness their stories thousands of miles away through the writing of another adopting mom. I weep often when I read of others who really get the emotions that I often don't have the ability to express.
But the loudest cries seem to come alone, with no tears, emanating from a deep space within. They don't come often, fortunately. Last night they came though. When the phone rang again with the promise of our new little ones only to bring news that we'd lost them. Again. For the third time. Three times now we've been called and three times now we've opened home and hearts and three times now we've been left without. It hurts friends, I'm not going to lie.
But I know I'll survive; we will survive. And while I may not understand the journey, may be confused by the route, I know that this ride was Divinely appointed. I want it to end that way; it would be such a shame to begin a journey with Divine intervention only to end it with human short-sightedness. And so we'll continue to prepare, continue to pray. We'll continue to open our home and our hearts. We'll continue to wait all the while trying to enjoy the journey.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Our new favorite snack
Snack time: it's evil, at least around our house. Daily my lovely and messy offspring and I lock in a battle of wills. They want bowls-full and hands-full of animal crackers, goldfish and the like. I want them to snack on yummy good-for-them apples (I even bribe with caramel dip), carrots (with a smidgen of ranch or hummus), yogurt or cheese sticks. And we stand at an impasse. Yes I could just not buy the other things -- but seriously, have you met me? And no those things aren't that bad, but considering my kids other nutritional choices I like to get bang for my buck whenever I can. All this means I'm ever searching for the perfect snack -- one that's healthy and nutritionally positive that also won't my kids gag (have you ever watched one of them try to swallow broccoli??).
Recently this search has pushed me into the organic side of food. I'm jumping on that bandwagon a bit late, I know.
As a side note: I'm still not "into" organic. I have reasons why I purchase organic and reasons why I really dislike the entire label but those are sure to start a firestorm of debate that I frankly don't care to engage in, so I'll leave them out of this particular post.
In venturing to the organic side of things, I happened to stumble on the latest Pearson snack craze. Grammy Sammys and Jammy Sammys.
These little gems are perfect snack-sized goodness -- full of whole grains and organic, good-for-you yogurt or fruit spread. I originally found these at Hubbell and Hudson (my fave market...ever) in The Woodlands but I've since found them at my local Babies R Us. Made by Revolution Foods, these snacky-delights, at $3.29 for a 5-pack, are a bit more expensive than a traditional snack. But again -- I'm after a nutritional bang for my buck and these definitely meet that need. In a long line of tried-and-failed nutritious snacks, my Sammy friends are here to stay!
Recently this search has pushed me into the organic side of food. I'm jumping on that bandwagon a bit late, I know.
As a side note: I'm still not "into" organic. I have reasons why I purchase organic and reasons why I really dislike the entire label but those are sure to start a firestorm of debate that I frankly don't care to engage in, so I'll leave them out of this particular post.
In venturing to the organic side of things, I happened to stumble on the latest Pearson snack craze. Grammy Sammys and Jammy Sammys.
These little gems are perfect snack-sized goodness -- full of whole grains and organic, good-for-you yogurt or fruit spread. I originally found these at Hubbell and Hudson (my fave market...ever) in The Woodlands but I've since found them at my local Babies R Us. Made by Revolution Foods, these snacky-delights, at $3.29 for a 5-pack, are a bit more expensive than a traditional snack. But again -- I'm after a nutritional bang for my buck and these definitely meet that need. In a long line of tried-and-failed nutritious snacks, my Sammy friends are here to stay!
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Of babies, kidneys and waiting
These thoughts have been bouncing around in me for a while, unsteady and unsure of their exact formation. So uncertain of them am I that I've been tempted not to share them, to keep them locked away until certainty declared them done. I'm not sure what I was waiting on -- some thought-turkey-timer device to pop or some feelings-oven-timer to ring. But no timer will ring so here we go, just thoughts, perhaps unready but hopefully follow-able.
Waiting seems to be the theme of the last half of 2010. And not always good waiting. Technically I suppose each of the things we've waited on are good but to get them we are waiting for bad.
We're waiting on babies. Our yet to be known but soon to be home babies. December 10th found us with signed license in hand. The license that's now proudly displayed in all it's framed glory declaring we are ready for babies. And now, January 2nd, we are still waiting. We came close once, receiving a call for two little ones. Only to have a call rescinding the placement. And so we wait, with baited breath. My heart jumps into my throat every time the phone rings. I've never been more irritated with solicitors ever. The awkward part of our waiting is knowing that to get our precious ones we are waiting for someone to hurt them or neglect them or to abandon them. In waiting for the good we are also waiting for the bad. As each day passes I grow more and more weary of the wait.
And while we are waiting for new life, my dad waits for a new life too. This summer found Daddy on the transplant list for a kidney. He's been a trooper the last 6 months dealing with dialysis and surgeries and endless doctor appointments. And all the while he waits for a kidney. While a living donor is best the transplant list is often made up of deceased donors. As our family waits for the good news of a new kidney we know that we are possibly waiting for another family to have their worst day. I can't imagine the bone-weariness that my parents must be experiencing as they walk this road.
I've never been too terribly good at waiting. Truthfully I'm not sure if I've ever understood the idea of really waiting. Not waiting on circumstance but waiting on the Lord. See we're told if we wait on the Lord we'll renew our strength. When we wait on circumstance we zap our strength and only when we wait on the Lord will we renew that strength. But that waiting on the Lord requires something of us -- waiting. As we've been waiting in all these things I can't help but think of Abraham and Sarah. Told they'd have a child, they waited and waited and waited. Until Sarah took matters into her own hands, until she forgot to wait on the Lord. What a mess she made! Waiting on the Lord requires a daily communion with Him, a constant communication with Him. Not a tapping of the toe arms crossed conversation each morning but genuine communion. Then will learning and leaning occur. Then will strength be renewed. Then will we mount up with wings as eagles, run and not grow weary, walk and not be faint. I haven't quite figured out waiting on the Lord yet.
With the birth of each of my babies has come a very specific lesson on the character of God and on my relationship with Him. I don't know why I expected our new babies to come with anything less. I suppose this time I'm learning about waiting and His timetables.
Waiting seems to be the theme of the last half of 2010. And not always good waiting. Technically I suppose each of the things we've waited on are good but to get them we are waiting for bad.
We're waiting on babies. Our yet to be known but soon to be home babies. December 10th found us with signed license in hand. The license that's now proudly displayed in all it's framed glory declaring we are ready for babies. And now, January 2nd, we are still waiting. We came close once, receiving a call for two little ones. Only to have a call rescinding the placement. And so we wait, with baited breath. My heart jumps into my throat every time the phone rings. I've never been more irritated with solicitors ever. The awkward part of our waiting is knowing that to get our precious ones we are waiting for someone to hurt them or neglect them or to abandon them. In waiting for the good we are also waiting for the bad. As each day passes I grow more and more weary of the wait.
And while we are waiting for new life, my dad waits for a new life too. This summer found Daddy on the transplant list for a kidney. He's been a trooper the last 6 months dealing with dialysis and surgeries and endless doctor appointments. And all the while he waits for a kidney. While a living donor is best the transplant list is often made up of deceased donors. As our family waits for the good news of a new kidney we know that we are possibly waiting for another family to have their worst day. I can't imagine the bone-weariness that my parents must be experiencing as they walk this road.
I've never been too terribly good at waiting. Truthfully I'm not sure if I've ever understood the idea of really waiting. Not waiting on circumstance but waiting on the Lord. See we're told if we wait on the Lord we'll renew our strength. When we wait on circumstance we zap our strength and only when we wait on the Lord will we renew that strength. But that waiting on the Lord requires something of us -- waiting. As we've been waiting in all these things I can't help but think of Abraham and Sarah. Told they'd have a child, they waited and waited and waited. Until Sarah took matters into her own hands, until she forgot to wait on the Lord. What a mess she made! Waiting on the Lord requires a daily communion with Him, a constant communication with Him. Not a tapping of the toe arms crossed conversation each morning but genuine communion. Then will learning and leaning occur. Then will strength be renewed. Then will we mount up with wings as eagles, run and not grow weary, walk and not be faint. I haven't quite figured out waiting on the Lord yet.
With the birth of each of my babies has come a very specific lesson on the character of God and on my relationship with Him. I don't know why I expected our new babies to come with anything less. I suppose this time I'm learning about waiting and His timetables.
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