Category Archives: The Transition

Paperwork, Schmaperwork

“I honestly can’t tell you how long it will take. “

~~My adoption agency

Nothing says “we want this family thing to happen” like waiting on a mess of bureaucrats sign sheets of paper to keep things moving along.

It’s really likely that Hope will not be home for Christmas.

<sob>

After several months of anticipating the permanent placement of my kiddo in time for Christmas, I accepted the reality that this may not happen today.  It really is like Santa is dropping off a bag of coal at Casa ABM this year.

So Hope’s home state still hasn’t sent the paperwork to my state to do the initial contract, and until that happens the actual ICPC paperwork just languishes.  Oh sure, there are promises on all sides that the paperwork will get pushed through, but…really, who am I kidding?  I am not sure I believe that it’s going to happen with 26 business days left before Christmas.

I want to have faith in my own Christmas miracle, but with my and Hope’s faith resting in some papers on a desk somewhere out there, my faith is a bit shook.

The paper pushers have turned me into a Doubting Thomas.

Awesome.

Except that it’s not.  Damn, you Adoption Boogey Man.

How sad will it be to have to take Hope back to her foster family without having any idea when she will be home permanently?  She’s packing and I’m prepping, and there’s a stack of papers somewhere that we’re hoping someone picks up, signs and FedEx’s somewhere to the next person who needs to rifle around their desk, pick them up and sign them, and again send them somewhere.

Both Hope’s and my anxiety levels are running high.  I’m already sad about having to take her back before she even arrives.  I don’t want to.  I just don’t want to.  I just want her to stay here with me and The Furry One.  I just want to start grappling with our stuff together and getting on with our life.

I worry about what the delays will mean for her and what she will make of them.  Our little family is totally dependent on other folks doing a bunch of paperwork.  She’s young and a bit immature and will she blame someone?  Will she blame me?  For her little circle of friends and frenemies to whom she’s bragged about being adopted since September, will she have to save face about coming back and not really moving for however long this takes?  Will her anxiety and behavior worsen (the anxiety is really starting to get to her)?  Will this make us take longer to discover our version of normal?

Will my heart break after spending two weeks living and loving this kid only to take her back and not have any idea when that obnoxiously pink room will be filled with her tween laughter and sulking again?  How will I focus on anything after a two week taste of being a family and then not have her with me for however long this takes?  Will Christmas even feel like Christmas after I said I would decorate (I loathe decorating the house)?  Is there even a need for me to drag out Christmas decorations?  I guess I can put that decision off for a while.

I don’t like this one stinking bit.  Not one bit.


The Countdown

One week from today my daughter, Hope, will get off of a plane, hop into my car and walk into what is now our home for the very first time.

One week.

I am so emotional.

So excited! Like 5 year old on Christmas morning excited.

So stressed.  There are still elements of the room that we’ve previously discussed that I like to have in place before she gets here.  I also still need to finish purging the closet in her room. Gosh I’m going to miss that extra storage.

A little scared.  This is a rubber hits the road moment.  It’s real now.  It’s really real!  Everything I’ve learned about parenting children experiencing trauma, grief and loss is about to be tested.

I’m wondering what time I’ll have to breathe during the upcoming weeks.  Is my personal battery really charged up?   I’m wondering will I have time to ponder the next phase of writing for my dissertation.

I’m wondering what will happen with my extended family.  I know they’ll be great, but I just need so much patience, support and encouragement right now.  I feel a bit like a bottomless pit of need right now.

Did I mention I’m so excited!  My daughter is coming!

I’m looking forward to seeing her come off the plane.  I can’t wait to see her face when we drive up and she sees the condo building for the first time.  I can’t wait to see her face when we open our front door.  I pray that The Furry One is snoozing in the living room so he can hear us come in (he’s nearly deaf).  I can’t wait to see her face when The Furry One comes over to greet her, sniff her clothes then scurries into her lap.  I can’t wait to see her go into her room for the very first time.  I can’t wait to hear what she says, watch her inspect the details.  I can’t wait to order our first pizza in our home, click through Netflx to pick a movie to watch on our TV in our living room.  I’m looking forward to visiting our church for the first time.  I’m geeked about playing our Wii with her and getting our competition on!

One week from now the next phase of this journey will start.

A year ago I was attending an adoption expo, visiting booths, trying to choose an agency that would assist me in creating my family.  A year later I’m prepping for my daughter’s arrival.

I put a number of things on my vision board in 2012 for 2013.  Most of them have come to fruition.  By far Hope’s—looking much like the picture of a young, beautiful brown girl I clipped from an image gallery and included on my board—arrival slays every other amazing thing that happened this year.

Just one week and she’s here!


Mom

Hope and I are having great conversations about our day to day lives and how we will meld them.  We talk about math class (she hates it); boys and this goal she has of having a boyfriend before she moves (Jesus please be a fence, amen) and what she wants to do during her visit.  Conversations are getting so much easier; we are both finding a rhythm for this relationship and we’re enjoying describing our family of four—that’s right, four.

1) ABM

2) Hope

3) The Furry One

4) The Hermit Crab, pending name: Beyonce.

Hope gets testy when I don’t include Bey-crab.

Yes, she’s naming the crab Beyonce.

Anyhoo, as we were about to end our call last night, she says she told one of her friends that I’m her mom.  The friend replied no, she’s not.  Hope declared yes, ABM is my mom.

Is this really happening because I need this joy in my life right now?!?

She went on to describe this back and forth that included a revelation that her friend is also waiting to find a forever home and Hope’s conclusion that said friend is jealous.  We had a chat about not teasing and about how to be supportive and compassionate.  Then she turned the conversation and said,

“So what do you think about what I said?”

“About….?” I wanted to be sure I was following because sometimes she’s all over the place.

“About telling them you’re my mom and how they said you weren’t.”

“Oh.  I am so TOTALLY your mom!”

“Yeah you are!”  Then she broke out into a fit of delightful giggles and I could hear her smiling.

I think she will call me mom soon, but you know what, it’s ok if she doesn’t.  The fact that she thinks I’m her mom, knows I’m her mom, tells people I’m her mom is good enough for me.


Why this Life is Awesome

I have several dear friends from high school with whom I’ve remained close over the years.  This year, many of us turned 40.  It’s one of those birthdays that seem to be a fork in the road where you either run to it or go kicking and screaming—Ok, the kicking and screaming might be a bit dramatic, but let’s just say that some folks are not excited about turning 40.

I could not wait to be 40.  I couldn’t wait.  I’ve been ready to be 40 for a couple of years. Why was I a 40 runner?  I enjoyed my 20s immensely.  There was a season in my life when I was footloose and fancy free; I went out and partied a lot.  I enjoyed the joys of tequila a lot.  I had a collection of little black dresses.  I met cute guys and danced until 4am on a Wednesday and was still in the office working before 9am!  Then life got really, really real in the 30s.  My ability to refresh and reboot between 4am and 9am started to wane.  I learned how great red wine and good quality food could be.  I transitioned to wanting to find a nice lounge on a Friday night rather than wanting to hit the club.  I morphed into a fun loving homebody; I’d done my partying.  Friends started getting cancer or having heart attacks; some died.  I struggled with my own serious health issues throughout the decade.  My parents started to show some age, and I began to worry about the need to help them make plans, especially when I had to start attending funerals and sending condolence cards to friends who lost their parents.  A couple of epic failed relationships crystalized some long term thoughts about relationships.

It was sometime in my 30s when I realized that I was really good and grown and dealing with life’s rigors.  The 40 plus crew also deal with life’s rigors but there seemed to be a bit more emotional freedom and less caring about what folks thought about how you chose to live your life.  I still cared way too much about what other people thought about my decisions for much of my 30s.   The day after I turned 40 it was like a switch flipped and I really didn’t care as much and sometimes I don’t care at all.

Something about that emotional freedom I started seeing just before 40 keyed me in on the time when I knew this would be the time to move into adoption and parenting.  This month, I’ve noted that the pre-40/pre-Hope chapter is really coming to a close and again, I feel like I’m running to the new chapter.  Sure, I’ve chuckled and raised a glass to the last unfettered happy hour, the last trip to my hometown without Hope, the last weekend of staying out to go to the movies or dinner or “the club” without the need for a babysitter.  For many of my friends they experienced the first wave of this parenting transition of the ‘lasts’ years ago while I was still running around like a wild horse from Chincoteague Island.  Several friends have celebrated these lasts with me with both joyous smiles and sometimes sad eyes because my “single girl, sex in the city,” ala Carrie Bradshaw, days are closing out.

Gawd, I haven’t been Carrie Bradshaw-like for about 7 or 8 years, though I like buying shoes.  And even Carrie started liking being home as the show dragged on.  Life’s adventure profile changed, just like mine is changing.  It isn’t sad.  It’s an evolution and while the transition can be…rough…it is transformative.  I have no regrets about my previous chapters; they were great, but <shrug> they are what they are now, great and sometimes not so great memories.

A friend and I went to what we thought was a hookah lounge after dinner and cupcakes last night and found that it was really a 20 something club.  This friend is becoming famous for dragging me into situations where I end up pondering my previous life chapters in cheeky ways.  Last night, a 24 year old cutie bought us a round of shots and asked me if I was scared of the shot.  Bless your heart (as we say in the South), no child, I’m not scared of this shot and took it down way easier than he took his down.  Knowing I could be his MTV Teen Mom made me giggle not because a young dude was chatting us up, but because the whole scene for me was so utterly ridiculous.  Young women teetering on heels trying to look a blend of young, but older and sophisticated, and apparently dancing just means grinding—there was a Miley Cyrus-VMA look-a-like out there twerking for her life with anyone she could back that thing up to on the dance floor.  I had on an Old Navy sweatshirt with some sequins, a pair of jeans and some shoes similar to clogs.   I watched the scene, remembered the days when I rolled out of the house in a tiny dress with spindly heels and no coat in 30 degree weather.  It was awesome at the time, but now I just want a vodka tonic and a couch.  And when the 20 somethings made it rain in the club with paper napkins, I puffed away on my blackberry hookah, laughed and thought I wouldn’t do my 20s or 30s again for anything, even knowing what I know now.   I also looked at my watch and grimaced; it was going on midnight, and I am not into the whole “turn up” phenomenon.  I was ready to turn in.

So, like I was eager to turn 40, I am eager to welcome Hope into my life.  Oh it’s going to be drama at a whole new level, but it’s ok.  This has been an amazing life and I have no doubt that the Hope chapters will be rich and colorful and that 20 years from now, I’ll look around and ponder my 40s and chuckle when a then 40 year old man sends me a glass of Cabernet because he likes my silver fox hair.  This has been one of the most challenging years of my life but also hands down the best year.  I’m so blessed to step into this next chapter; I don’t need to look back; I don’t care what people think.  This life is awesome; it’s not what I would’ve planned, but God’s plan for me has worked how pretty well.  I guess he’s good like that.  Ha!

Life can be only what you make it
When you’re feelin’ down
You should never fake it
Say what’s on your mind
And you’ll find in time
That all the negative energy
It would all cease

And you’ll be at peace with yourself
You won’t really need no one else
Except for the man up above
Because he’ll give you love
(My life, my life, my life, my life)
If you looked into my life

Take your time
Baby don’t you rush a thing
Don’t you know, I know
We all are struggling
I know it is hard but we will get by
And if you don’t believe in me
Just believe in He

‘Cause he’ll give you peace of mind, yes he will
And you’ll see the sunshine for real, yes you would
And you’ll get to free your mind
And things will turn out fine
Oh, I know that things will turn out fine
Yes they would, yes they would
(My life, my life, my life, my life in the sunshine)

                                    My Life by Mary J. Blige


Room Decorating In Effect!

Image

Oh yeah, y’all don’t want none of this room!  I put together Hope’s desk and matching chair today.  I love it! 🙂  I’m hoping to score some cool shelves to put up around the desk to augment workspace. I was so excited to include the little Oxacan dog I bought Hope last month in San Antonio during a business trip. 🙂  I also picked up a laptop prop that matched the room color.

Now to order those decals and the TV wall mount.  It’s coming along!


Hope’s PINK Room

That color right there in that short video is PINK. Yes, I’m yelling PINK. It is bright. It is cloying. It has purple undertones. It is bright. It is…very, very PINK.

Hope is going to love it.

Grammy fretted that her worst fear was that the pink was going to come out Pepto Bismal pink. I was not worried about that; I love color and have come to realize that there are shades worse than Pepto pink. This pink is bright, but in its own way charming.

It’s like the paint version of Hope. It’s sweet, yet sassy. Bold but sensitive (when accented). It’s feminine with a pop of bubble gum. It’s fun but deliberate in a way that says “I know what I want because I chose this bright arse, almost assaulting light fuchsia paint to put on the walls.”

I love it not because I like the color (truth be told I kinda hate it but it’s growing on me); I love it because Hope chose it, and it is the base of my decorating vision for her forever room (or at least it will probably be decorated this way for a couple of years. Hope stays, that paint is on borrowed time!).


“Technically…”

Very brief phone call with Hope tonight.  Foster family has taken in a new sibling group with some very little ones.  Hope was explaining who she was talking to on the phone to the 3 year old when she said:

“She’s adopting me, so she’s kind of my mom.  Well, technically, she’s my mom.”

My heart did back flips while I played it cool on the phone.  It was just a few short weeks ago when she said calling me mom was weird because she had never called anyone that before.  Now, she’s calling me that as a descriptor.  She hasn’t called me mom directly yet, but I have hope that she will, likely sooner rather than later.

What an unexpected delight after a crappy day of writing.  A day where a small flaw in the data rendered four hours of dissertation writing nearly useless.  Listening in on Hope telling someone that I’m her mom is the perfect ending to this day.

Love that kid!


Grammy for the Win

Amazing how a week and a half makes a difference in this life.  Honestly, it is a testament to how much emotional upheaval is involved in this life change; the emotional swings are ridiculous.  I may not be hormonal from pregnancy, but I figure I’m just as emotional as any pregnant lady.

So, as I wait for the ICPC, prep for Hope’s upcoming 16 day visit, and plan for my adoption shower, new information is emerging about my daughter.  It is tough reading about what she’s been through.  During our visit a few weeks ago, Hope shared things that I hadn’t been told at that point.  I kept my negative reactions to a minimum because I didn’t want to do or say anything that would be perceived as rejection by Hope.  But I’ve stewed inside.

I’ve been angry that someone could treat a child the way Hope was treated.  I have vigilante fantasies about slowly hurting the people who have hurt her. Hey, just being honest, here.   I’m heartbroken that she’s struggled so much to cope and learn skills to deal with her trauma, loss and grief.  I feel guilty because I’m peeved that some of these details weren’t shared with me before hand or were just characterized quite differently; I hate that somewhere in the emotional swirl that I feel like I was duped.  It wouldn’t have made any difference in knowing that Hope and I were a match; I’ve known she was the one nearly from the first time I saw her picture.  I just wish that agency folks could be more transparent sometimes.

I have a lot of self-doubt about whether I can be the type of parent that I aspire to be.  I have confidence that I can draw on being a little older, a little wiser and a decent skill-tool box to be a good parent.  I’m relieved that even though much of this path seems so lonely—like echo in the darkness at Luray Caverns lonely—that I do have a loving family and friends who are eager to support me.  Even and especially the same Grammy last week that I wanted to banish to a remote island somewhere.

About a month ago I wrote a little bit about practicing grace during this transition.  It’s hard; it’s really hard because everything feels so important, so dramatic, so difficult, so deeply personal and so very emotional, and this is true for the very high, happy times and the heartbreaking, low times.  It takes a lot of deep reaching to consistently practice grace, and some days I simply fall short because I’ve just run out of capacity.

And this is where Grammy swoops in with her super cape this morning.  We’ve been trading emails for the last day or so about Hope, her visit, the registry and just stuff.  We’ve been pretty tender with each other since our fallout last week—we know that new, much needed barriers were created, but it’s almost like we still aren’t sure where those barriers are yet.  That’s probably because they are still in flux and the lines will move again over time.  This is the way of mothers and daughters sometimes, and the irony that Hope and I will likely soon be like this is not lost on me.  Anyhoo, I told her that I was just so angry and hurt reading about Hope’s history in these new documents and trying to think of strategies that will help Hope and me get through the transition.

Grammy writes back:

Hope will be a journey of the heart for all of us… I’m already praying mightily for the breaking of the familial curses in her family.  My uncle always prayed for a blessing over our family for the generations to come, not just those in his time, but those to come and that applies even to the adopted.  And how do I know that?  I’m adopted into God’s family.

I’m a believer, though sometimes the tenor of conversations about faith in the adoption community feel odd to me, maybe because they are often wrapped in a conservatism that I reject.  You can best believe I’ve spent a lot of knee time with God this year, and I know that my favorite associate pastor at my church probably thinks I should book an appointment at altar call on Sundays, given how many times I’ve sought her out to pray me through this dissertation and adoption.  But it was something about Grammy’s relating Hope’s adoption to our adoption into the kingdom that resonated with me and brought me great comfort today.

Hope and I will be ok; we’ll muddle through.  My family is blessed, and my own little family will be blessed. I imagine that the blessing will come with all the skills I need (I’ll still need to learn to use them) with a heaping side of grace.  God adopted me; I’ll be just fine.


Born for This

So, today is better than yesterday and tomorrow will be better than today.  At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it right now.  Such a week of epic melt downs.  Sigh.   But I’m dragging myself through, dusting myself off and attempting to right myself.

Picture1I cannot continue walking around looking like this.  Mess.  Under-eye circles and bags.  My nose is red and my hair doesn’t even have its usual sassiness.

No bueno!

After my sad post from yesterday, I took yesterday afternoon off to go pick up some items for Hope’s room.  I enjoyed a fun happy hour with a classmate.  I allowed myself to sleep in.  Heck I even turned on the heat this morning.   I finally scheduled my mammogram and will spring extra for the snazzy 3-D scan (It’s October ladies, get yourselves checked out.).  I scheduled a meeting for Monday with my dissertation director to talk about survey question reliability coefficients.  I launched two major studies at work and finished the study protocol for a third.  I also finally submitted my request to telecommute two days a week until my dissertation is done.  I also added several items to Hope’s gift list after some momentary inspiration on a long commute into the office.

I managed to get a nice walk in at dusk, finally give The Furry One a bath and I made brussel sprouts and bacon for dinner.

I will watch tween (Vampire Diaries) and grown folks (Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal) TV; then I will talk to my Hope and I will sleep and I will rise and I will stay on my grind.

My good friend Dr. Beach redirected my dismay over Drake’s No New Friends and pointed me to All Me.  It a good hype song; I was made for this.

Despite feeling so very low this week, I have some great people in my life.  I’m blessed, even when I feel rotten.  I’m so happy that I get to surround Hope with so many amazing, loving, kind people.

I’m still feeling pretty crappy and I’m so glad tomorrow is Friday, but I was born to be Hope’s mom.


No New Friends

So apparently there’s a Drake song called No New Friends.  I tried to read the lyrics, and I came to the conclusion that yeah, apparently hip hop is dead.  Ick.  Just horrid.  Still the title is apropos for this post.

Hope is mad.  Her words, not mine.  Actually she’s furious and she’s scared.

I thought she was still mad about the detention/sentence fiasco from last week.  Sunday, she barely spoke to me.  Yesterday, after a little reassurance (receiving some pictures from our trip in the mail) she blurted out:

“I don’t want to move.”

I clicked off the TV in the background, and turned off the light so that I could really focus on what she was about to say.  I also took a deep breath so I could steal my nerves and hold back tears.

Hope explained that she didn’t want to leave her friends; she’d left so many friends with each previous move. “Sometimes I don’t make any new friends, and it’s sad.  I don’t want to leave anymore friends. I don’t want to move.”

Oy.

I told her I that I heard her, and I understand.  Intellectually I get it, but I never moved when I was a kid so I have zero frame of reference.  As an adult, I’ve moved to go to college but I’ve lived in the same city for now more than 20 years and have accumulated friends throughout that time.  I’ve had friends move away, but I never did.  On that core level, I can only imagine what a nightmare moving again must feel like to her.

Hope also explained that she was afraid of starting a new school where she didn’t know anything and where they are very probably working on things she’s not working.  She didn’t want to fail school on top of everything else.

Oh great, no new friends and performance anxiety.  I’d be pissed too.

I dropped her therapist an email this morning to let her know that Hope was pretty anxious about the move.  Within two hours we were setting up a two week trip to Virginia for Hope and me.  In fact, we’ll be dining on turkey and all the fixings while plotting and scheming for Black Friday next month.  That’s right: Hope is coming home for her first Thanksgiving.

Not only will she be able to have some time in what will eventually become our natural environment, but she will get to meet some family and do some sightseeing and shopping.  Most importantly, we will have a chance to visit the school she will attend in the New Year, get set up at the local recreational center, have an opportunity to create our own traditions and rhythms and just have some extended time to bond.

She’ll then get to go home for a couple of weeks before she heads back here for good.  Hopefully this will help.

I’m excited for us.  I’m feeling fortunate to be surrounded by a supportive agency and to work with a jurisdiction that is so responsive to our needs.  I never anticipated that my email would result in such an amazing development.

I hope she once here for more than just a few days that she realizes that she will have more family than she’s ever known and the basis for some good friendships to nurture when she returns in December.


K E Garland

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