Tag Archives: adoption

Episode 5 of Add Water is Live!

The Podcast!

The Podcast!

The latest episode of Add Water and Stir, Take Your Time, We’ll Wait, is live!

Last week Mimi of Complicated Melodi and I welcomed relative new comer Future Adopter from A Sista’s Guide to Adoption to talk all about all the waiting involved in the adoption process.  The episode includes lots of good stuff about length of wait times, emotions associated with waiting and how folks keep themselves busy until their bundles of joy arrive.

In the Wine Down (which I’m thinking we totally need to trademark and during which my homies had me drinking alone this week—the horror!), we ladies dish about Love and Hip Hop:ATL couple Wacka Flocka and Tammy’s fertility issues, Kim K-Dash’s whimsical desire to adopt a Thai tween while vacationing, and the latest on Married at First Sight.  As usual, we wrap up with our recommendations for the week!

Peep us on:

Towards the end of the podcast, poor Future Adopter experienced a power outage that ended her connection.  Don’t worry I’m sure we’ll have her back on the show at a later time to see how she’s progressing through the adoption process!  We are happy she was able to join us last week!  🙂

And yes, my recommendations actually included “grease,” aka Blue Magic this week.  This naturalista’s hair likes it; nay, it LOVES it!  What can I say, petroleum and mineral oil are my friends. #shrug #dowhatsrightforyourhair #itsalsocheap

Blue Magic Conditioner Hair Dress, 12 oz.

This image is for Mimi!


Messy Life

I’ve been trying to get back into writing now for more than a week. I haven’t struggled to write like this in a while. It certainly isn’t because I haven’t had things to write about; I guess I have just been so blue and overwhelmed that I could only manage to start and stop and start over again. I’m also in the midst of a huge writing period at work and that’s exhausting me in ways I knew it would but still find surprising. I’ve been dog paddling the last week or two. It didn’t feel like I was making progress; in fact it felt like Hope and I were sinking a bit. My “lesson” posts really do help me to gain some perspective at times; so I know it’s important for me to do them.

____

Raising a teenager is messy. I often get a sympathetic pat on the back when folks hear that I adopted a tween, now teenager. I usually just smile and nod. It’s weeks like this when I get a clue about the downright foolishness that folks mean. Teenagers do dumb ish. It really is astounding. They do dumb crap even when they know you’re looking, watching and monitoring. I remember some of the dumb crap I did back in the day, but fortunately my adolescent years were rather low tech, so there was really but so much I could get into. Today, these kids just don’t even realize that all this technology leaves breadcrumbs right to their foolishness.

Your parent-snoop game must be strong. Yeah, I low jack errrthang. And even the things that I haven’t figured out how to low jack, Hope thinks I have and usually that’s enough of a deterrent. And then I just go back and just peruse and read every keystroke or finger swipe. I’m sure there will come a time when I really do have to give Hope some privacy, but she keeps demonstrating that she can’t handle privacy, so she has little. Teenagers do dumb ish. Sigh.

Grief is also messy. I’m finally starting to feel like myself again. I received The Furry One’s ashes this weekend, and I sobbed. I still sleep with one of his toys (it’s been laundered). And TV shows with puppies make me cry.

But my crankiness is subsiding. I finally broke down and stopped hiding a box of cereal that I didn’t want to share, just bought some more cereal and decided to be grateful Hope wants to eat crunchy raisin bran rather than Lucky Charms. Yes, I’m still being a bit petty. I can’t help it. #dontjudgme

There is a lot of anger in grief. I get why kids of trauma rage so much. I never noticed how much anger resided in grief. I just never realized it until this last week.

I realize it now.

You’re apt to say things you don’t mean. You’re less likely to be gracious. You actually don’t want to be gracious at all. You just feel like you can’t find your way out of the dark maze.

It’s messy. But I’m starting to push through to the light again. Realizing I hadn’t had respite in a while and getting a couple of free evenings has helped immensely.

Nearly 8 months in and the transition is still hard. Hope still hates new experiences; they scare her. She would never say that; she can be prideful. Not as many things are new, but lots of things still are. We haven’t been together a full year. We went to a new place for a fancy brunch today; she shut down. Our brunch companion remarked, “I see dollar signs just flying away” because the brunch was pretty expensive. Yeah, well, given that we didn’t use the Six Flag tickets from last week, and I shelled out a few hundred for hypnotherapy this week, this pricey brunch was just a drop for what was a financial hemorrhage of a week. It was a new experience and she was overwhelmed. The fact that she accidentally revealed some dumb ish she did during the week didn’t help matters.

Trust is so hard to build and so easy to lose. This isn’t new, but we’re dealing with hard trust issues around these parts these days. I don’t trust her right now, and she doesn’t trust me. We were doing so well and we will recover, but right now, neither of us seems to be budging an inch. It’s interesting; the trust breeches on her part are typical dumb, teen stuff; the trust breeches on my part are that I don’t give her a pass because, well, she thinks she deserves one. #girlbye We’ve got some backtracking to do around here. Loving her through things helps; when I withdraw she sinks; but this teen thing is a beast yo. There’s lots of reprogramming, trust building, attachment building…it’s just a lot going on.

It’s getting harder to quantify what issues are just teen stuff and what issues are adoption/trauma stuff. This makes life interesting, but I’m glad we’re in this space. I can’t always tell the difference which means we’ve hit a better blend ratio. I used to be able to say things like 60/40 trauma stuff. Now I’m not as sure. That’s kinda cool.

Single parenting is hard. I thought things would be a bit different with the availability of different kinds of support. Those support structures aren’t there so I’m having to artificially create them. It’s tough, but I’m managing. It is hard to not have a partner who can tag me out so I can just take some time. It’s hard. I’m doing it, but it’s hard. I’m grateful for other kinds of resources that I’m learning to use and learning to leverage.

Hypnotism can work. We’ve had one visit so far to tackle the bug phobia. OMG—saw bugs and she didn’t windmill and freak out. We have another visit for fine tuning in a few weeks. The relief already experienced is earth shattering. Yay!

________

That’s it. This is the last week before school and I’m counting down the days until we can get back to a routine. I’ve got a ton of work to do, but will be taking a few days off to celebrate the end of summer this week. Hopefully fun times ahead.


The Furry One

1306772533224 Continue reading


Sometimes…

Sometimes grief is overwhelming, especially when so much of it is lingering about the house.

Sometimes you are consciously able to break grief into the sum of its parts: loss, anger or fury, denial, desire, the desperate need to reconcile the coexistence of relief and sadness, and exhaustion—mental and physical.

Sometimes you just pour out your soul with tears and sobs.

Sometimes you just have to suck it up and handle the business part of loss.

Sometimes you just hold on so tight that the object of your love and grief wriggles to get away from you.

Sometimes other people just wriggle to get away from you.

Sometimes you just lay prostrate and pray without ceasing.

Sometimes you question whether you really have the faith necessary to lift those prayers up.

Sometimes you are speechlessly grateful for caring, compassionate, empathetic people who remind you that there is goodness in the world.

Sometimes you look behind you to remind yourself of all the progress, just so you don’t forget that growth is real.

Sometimes it is the porcupine that gives you the hug you needed.

Sometimes you remember that your faith didn’t stumble.

Sometimes you look around the house and see the growing list of repairs that you need to take care of but just can’t muster the umph to do it.

Sometimes you remember that you were supposed to be pushing out two publications this month.

Sometimes you are so pained and unfocused.

Sometimes you love so much and love isn’t enough to seemingly change anything.

Sometimes you’re just in a state of fury.

Sometimes things and people just aren’t what you wish they were.

Sometimes you don’t want to forgive (again).

Sometimes you have to beg for judgment free acceptance.

Sometimes you trade cookies and wine #TreatYoSelf moments for time on the yoga mat, breathing through some sun salutations. #nocalTreatYoSelf

Sometimes those quiet moments of practice allow you to just be open.

Sometimes you can let some of the hurt and righteous indignation seep away.

Sometimes you can find hope in the mess that surrounds you.

Sometimes you can feel the dispatch of the Holy Homeboy’s Holy Spirit surround you with much needed comfort.

Sometimes you can hear and feel the ancestors exhorting that it will be ok; they are waiting for their delivery and will cherish it.

Sometimes you can pray for peace and really embrace it and hope others will as well.


The House of Melancholy

Picture1

There is a sadness over Casa d’ABM this weekend. The Furry One is essentially near the end of life. His recent decline has been rapid and heartbreaking. I have had my beloved fur ball since he was 8 weeks old. He’s been my constant companion and unconditional love for a very long time. It is one of life’s tragedies that our animals do not share our lifespans. These are The Furry One’s last days, and I am a mess. Hope has been incredibly kind to me; I’ve wept many times the last few days.

The impending loss of our four-legged family member has brought about a sad shadow of past losses over this home. Hope has withdrawn into herself. When she engages, she does so with heaviness. After some prodding last night, she openly mourned how much she’s lost in the last few years: Her puppy, her dad, things from her old home with her dad, things from previous foster families. She didn’t cry, but she’s just so sad. She even confided that she asked that her room be painted pink in order to give me the impression that she was a girlie girl; she really wished she had been honest and asked for the room to be painted blue or purple. She’s not really a girlie girl at all.

I think I’ll see about having her room painted by year’s end. I won’t cater to every one of Hope’s whims, but there’s no sense in keeping a room that Hope’s pre-adoptive representative-self asked for when the real her is here now.

I feel like I’ve made a number of parenting mistakes in the midst of my grief this week. I do apologize to Hope when I can’t seem to get myself together. She worked very hard on her chores yesterday, even going for the bonus sweeping/vacuuming/mopping chore of the common areas in the house yesterday (It’s worth an extra $5). She did it on her own, and all I could do was snap about why she didn’t vacuum before she mopped. She was so sad; I didn’t praise her first. As a kid, I remembered being asked why I didn’t dust before vacuuming; I remember that I just didn’t know. It didn’t occur to me that I should do it in a particular order. It didn’t occur to Hope either. And like my mom years ago, I found myself trying to calmly explain the rationale about the order and praising her on her initiative and how great the mopped floor looked.

I wish I could do some lessons learned this week, but I really can’t see past the sadness. This will be our first major loss together. It hurts.

Today we will go have Sunday dinner with some friends; we will enjoy the sunlight and we will love one another and cuddle The Furry One.


Add Water Episode 4 is Live!

In the latest episode of Add Water and Stir, Mimi and ABM discuss the matching process. Preparing and completing the matching process requires serious contemplation about your parenting aspirations.  Mimi and ABM explain some of the intricacies of the matching process and how your matching tool might be interpreted based on whether you’re fostering to adopt or moving straight to adoption.  The Add Water hosts also explore the emotional challenges involved with matching.  Everything hinges on that match!

ABM and Mimi wrap up the podcast with a hilarious chat about Married at First Sight, the new show on FYI.  You need this show in your life, so check it out.  According to Mimi, you may also need bacon flavored sunflower seeds and some Oyin handmade hair products!  #TreatYoSelf.

Show Notes:

Recommendations:

  • #TreatYoSelf – Tweet how you are prioritizing your self care with the podcast hashtag #AddWater and we’ll read them on the next podcast!
  • Bigs Sizzlin’ Bacon Sunflower Seeds – found at your local corner store/bodega but Amazon will deliver directly to your house.  You know you want to order these!
  • Oyin Handmade Hair Products – oyinhandmade.com

The Grownup Toddler

Warning, this post is a whiny, epic vent. I’m ok with that. I’ve had a good stretch recently. That said, I also know it’s pretty pathetic. It is what it is. #shrug

I am selfish. Yeah, I can admit it. Don’t let all this adoption stuff about opening my home and heart fool you. I. am. Selfish. And I’m really struggling with both the selfishness and the guilt I’m saddling myself with for being so damn selfish. Despite the fact that I love my kid and my new life with her, I desperately miss my old, single, no kid having life. I have no regrets, but the truth of the matter is that today I’m not feeling it.

There I said it or typed it.

As Hope and I continue to settle into our life together, I can’t help but wrestle with the things I don’t want to share with her. I am actually hoarding parts of my life.

There are certain foods that I hide from her. I’ll even admit to just never saying that they are in the house—probably because I stash them under the seat of my car. I bought my favorite gourmet popcorn today. I’m leaving it at the office because I don’t want to have to share it. I would share it if I took it home. There’s a part of me that would be happy to share it. But I’m equally satiated just leaving it on my desk in my office so I don’t have to share it. I also hate sharing my gum with her. I order a very specific type of gum in bulk from Amazon with regular frequency (don’t judge me, it’s my thing!). I don’t like other gums. I don’t ask to bum other gum off of folks. I get my gum in large quantities so I always have my favorite stress manager. I just want to take my Extra Sugar-Free Bubble Gum and shove it in my mouth. My mouth. I buy Hope her own gum, but she wants my gum. Why the heck does she have to have *my* gum?

I do not want to share my gum. Yes, I am selfish and I am petty.

I am glad she thinks my homemade cookies are too sweet; I do not have to share them with her and I can enjoy them late at night with wine—not good for my waistline, but whatever.

I find myself struggling to share space sometimes. I want to watch something only for adults on the big TV during hours other than 11pm-5:30am. Of course Hope always wants to watch her shows on the big TV. This morning, she stood so close to me while I was buzzing around the kitchen that I wondered whether we were sharing shoes and underwear, I just had to stop and say get out of my way. The kitchen is mine.

I want to have Lucky Charms for dinner, with a rum and coke, and a giant piece of chocolate cake for dessert. But I can’t. I can’t because to do so would require me to snarf/imbibe all of it on a stool in my walk in closet, in the dark. Hiding. The side eye that Hope would serve me for my dinner of choice would shame me into eating broccoli without any seasoning at all…probably for a week.

I long to be selfish with my time again.  No, I don’t want to watch another Bruno Mars concert clip on YouTube. I don’t want to do hair—not even my own—I can probably stretch my afro puff another day. I don’t feel like walking The Furry One, especially since right now I have to carry him because he’s so wobbly. I just want to sit and watch this Redbox movie without one single question being asked about why Noah is building this dang ark again and why didn’t all the animals kill each other in the boat. I do not want to rouse myself early to do parent ish in the morning—the routine paperwork is alarming. And despite my exuberant extroverted-ness, I do not want to talk before 7am. Ok, sometimes before 8am. Please stop talking to me.

I also do not want to share my stuff. “What’s that?” Hope asks. “Nothing,” I reply. It’s my new headphones, or a glass of koolaid (ok, that’s a lie, it’s really a shiraz), or a piece of chocolate that I surreptitiously snuck into the house or my new eye shadow or a new hair product that I’m trying out or a book I got from the library when we went yesterday—you got your own books, go on, go on sit down somewhere. Stopppppppppp [insert excessive whining here]!

I feel like a toddler who is walking around touching stuff going, “Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” I know it’s wrong. I feel really guilty about it all. But I’d really like to not find smudge marks on the mirror, see the laundry sorted, and have her volunteer to make Velveeta shells and cheese for dinner, even though I think it tastes like plastic…Yeah, not going to happen.

I am acutely aware that Hope has done not one thing wrong. Nothing at all. She’s just fine and acting age appropriate and everything. I really am the toddler in this relationship. Sigh.

There’s not a day that I don’t feel at least a little passing fancy of selfishness. I’ve gotten better at admitting it and letting it go and float on by as I choose to sacrifice bits and pieces of my life for Hope. It is worth it, but today I’m not feeling it one bit. I need to be like ComplicatedMelodi and “take to my bed” with my wine and cookies and some fancy cheese and Triscuits. I will spread them on my comforter and scream—Mine! Then I’ll close the door to the world.

Sigh. But I won’t do that. It’s soft taco night, and that is one of Hope’s favorite meals. I won’t disappoint her. So I’ll put my big girl undies on and be a grown up. Sigh.


And We Survived

In all my pre-trip fretting about a near week away from Hope, I did have some concerns for The Furry One, who was recently diagnosed with some serious brain issues. Turns out that Hope was fine, and The Furry One came completely unhinged. My poor, furry, first born was scared out of his mind (he’s also nearly blind and deaf) and no amount of sedatives seemed to knock him out for the count. He came home a shadow of himself, prompting our family vet to have an “end of life” conversation with me as we discussed whether he had what it takes to bounce back. At nearly 15, I’m not sure. I know we have entered the final chapter; I just don’t know how long that chapter will read. I’m nursing him this weekend, remembering all of our years together and teaching Hope the value of life and dignity and how we’re all worthy of kindness, compassion, love and snuggles. She’s also learning that when you’re old and sick you get just about anything you want—The Furry One noshed on a deboned pork chop last night and pizza crusts tonight..

Throughout this week, all kinds of things—good and challenging—have transpired. Here’s a list of things I learned without too much elaboration.

______

How we behave with our early tween/teen crushes is right out of the Disney-Young and the Restless text book. The things I’ve heard come out of my daughter’s mouth this week are things that a Disney princess with a daytime TV habit would say. I think when we’re crushing we just emulate ish we’ve seen on TV. Gawd, I’m glad I’m grown and have my own script with my own words now.

Sleep is healing. The Furry One is currently sedated with some good stuff. He needs to heal and sleeping pretty much around the clock is essential to the bounce back. We all need more sleep and more rest. It’s healing. Find a way to get that rest. #TreatYoSelf #iwishicouldborrowhisdrugs

20140802_232009_resized

Despite needing more sleep, I will sacrifice sleep for cookies and wine. This is becoming a nightly ritual. On the last podcast I mentioned that I’d made cookie dough in anticipation of my return home from the recent business trip. I didn’t get my couple of days of “Me” time, but I’m having my nightly cookies and wine—even if I have to stay up later to do it. #TreatYoSelf

20140802_232029_resized

It’s true—have looser reigns at first and you’ll be able to tighten up the house rules later. I know firsthand that it’s hard to believe that not “laying down the law” with older adoptive kids will lead to all kinds of mayhem, but honestly the trust isn’t there to respect all the rules at first. Here we are 6 months in, and I’ve earned the right to have firm rules about stuff in our home. I can “lay down the law” with no issues these days. It works.

The presence of trust allows for healthy purging. We purged closets and drawers today. We did it on the fly and I told Hope the rules—1) you have 15 minutes to purge, 2) if you hesitate toss the item in a secondary pile and come back to it, but keep moving, 3) if there’s a strong emotional attachment it’s ok to keep it and revisit that attachment at the next purge session, 4) itemize, bag and donate immediately. She purged a bag of things—including things that she brought here. She was relieved not to be expected to get rid of things that held emotional connections. Hope enjoyed making room for school shopping and taking account of what she owns. She trusted me and the purging process. We actually had fun.

Hope’s self-esteem is on the come up! Yay! If you don’t read Mollytopia, you should—gosh she’s funny as all heck. This week, she wrote a post called, Make the Game Your Bitch, all about developing her and her daughter’s positive self-image. Well, I played the game with Hope today. I sucked, but Hope? Hope rattled off her three things she loved about her insides and outsides so quickly that I am jealous. It made me proud of her and how far she’s come. She still will claim that she’s “bad” at least once a week, but to know that she sees her body, mind and heart as lovingly as I do made me happy. Go Hope!

Have I mentioned that I’m happy? No really; I know it all isn’t over but I believe the worst, the roughest part of our journey is over. We’ve survived!

Grown up time is essential. I missed Hope and The Furry One while I was away last week, but keeping my own schedule was priceless. I actually took time to put on the good make up and do my hair in more than a puff, piled on top of my head (which is becoming my summer of 2014 standard—I’m lazy, what can I say?). I even wore a couple of new dresses. I worked my fanny off, but I also took time to skip a few receptions, order room service, and cool my heels taking care of me-ABM the grown up, not just ABM the mom. Good stuff. #TreatYoSelf

______

There’s more, but right now, I’m going to sip on this tempranillo and these cookies and finish watching Law and Order: Criminal Intent before I scoop up The [passed out] Furry One and take him to my room so I can watch him sleep.


Away, Away We Go

OMG, my first week away from Hope! Lots of mixed emotions about being away. I’m really excited about jumping into work and having evenings free. I’m getting a fancy award and Elihu is coming to join me for a couple of kid free days. I’m taking a couple of days to just lounge and rest when I get back. I’m excited. #treatyoself

And I already miss Hope like mad. She’s texted me a dozen times about all manner of things. She’s anxious and excited, but mostly anxious. I know the challenges that exist when she’s anxious, and that makes me anxious.

But somehow it will be ok. It will. In the grand scheme of things it will be good for both of us for lots of reasons. I need this time to try to really get my work mojo back. She needs this time to be with extended family, have some fun and learn to stretch a little bit.

We’ll have some hiccups, but we will survive.

I’ve been thinking about how far we’ve come since I hit the airport yesterday. She’s such a different kid than she was 6 months ago. Despite her anxiety, she’s more confident about her place in this world now. She has a mom and a family. Permanence has created so many opportunities for growth during the last two months.

Each day I see Hope grow a little more; even on the days that are challenging. She asks questions; we have conversations. I see her happy, I see her sad. I see Hope, and somewhere along the way, her realization that I actually see her made a difference. She’s not a number or a statistic or just some sad story anymore. She’s my kid.

Meltdowns don’t look anything like they used to; I mean nothing like they used to. In fact I’m more likely to have a mini meltdown than Hope is. She is increasingly poised. When Hope melts down, she seizes any opportunity to right herself and show what she’s really capable of to everyone around her. This week her camp teacher pulled me aside and just gushed about her and how well-mannered she is, how delightful she is and just complimented me on what an amazing kid she is. I fought to hold back tears because my heart nearly burst; hell, I’m crying right now thinking about it.

And she’s my number one fan. Last week, we ran into Monty Durham from Say Yes to the Dress at the local Starbucks. She didn’t know who he was but she was amused by my little star stricken moment. When we got home I googled him so she could see who he was. She got the idea to google me, and well, my job is at a national organization and so I popped up on google. By Hope’s definition this means her mom is famous. She has told her friends, her camp classmates, camp directors, people at church the therapist, the checkout lady and the bagger at the grocery store and anyone else who will listen that her mom is the bomb.com. It’s nice to know my cool factor has gone up, but beyond that, Hope sees me too. She sees me like I see her.

I realize how much trust capital I’ve earned over the last 6 months, but especially in the last month. I’ve tried to be consistent. I’ve tried to be judicious in creating opportunities for new stuff—recognizing that to some degree it’s all been new. I’ve wiped her tears, watched squeaky band concerts and bad magic tricks; I’ve sat through creaky voice lessons. I’ve done a balloon release in honor of her dad because she needed to have her own ceremony celebrating his life and their relationship, even if it was really, really complicated. I’ve dragged her to church, figured out ways of answering tough theological questions and discussed her desire to be baptized because I’m no longer dragging her to church; she looks forward to going.

When she recently referred to me as “mom,” distinctive from her “birth mom” it all came into focus that we are really doing this family thing. We are really a “we.” It’s a stunning thing in many ways. On Tuesday it will be one year since I first got an email about Hope from my agency as a possible match. It’s hard to believe that she’s mine and I’m hers a year later.

I just talked to Hope and virtually tucked her in. Earlier today I got a few anxious texts, by this evening she was giving me confident updates on The Furry One, who’s dealing with some serious health issues (sad face). The realization that I might have anything to do with this transformation in her is humbling, beyond humbling. She is hands down the most amazing person in my universe. I’m so proud of her. I’m so excited to see what we do next.

I think this trip away marks the beginning of a new chapter for me and Hope. That’s a pretty exciting.

Gosh, this funny smelling Denver air has got me all extra introspective. No really, the contact that I accidentally got walking down the block…so serious!


Crumbling Towers of Strength

Don’t forget to log on and catch the next episode of Add Water and Stir on Thursday, July 24 at 10pm EST/9pm CST!

This episode is called Crumbling Towers of Strength. Mimi from the blog ComplicatedMelodi and I will be talking about the “Strong Black (or any other color for that matter) Woman” complex that keeps women from practicing critical self-care until it is too late. This complex is centered around the fallacies that we don’t need help, we don’t do therapy for ourselves and the absurd need to prove that we are strong and have it all under control.

Um…yeah, we do need help; we should do therapy and we really don’t have anything to prove, especially when things might be spiraling out of control. We need to break down some real talk about self-care and adoption.

We’re also going to explore acute situations in which kids are introduced to the foster care system and how these episodes may disproportionately impact families of color and/or poor-low income families.  We’re talking about incidents like: “Mom Jailed Because She Let Her 9-Year Old Daughter Play in the Park Unsupervised.” #maybeitreallyiscomplicated

We’ll wrap up with some goofy chatter on pop culture, because, well we think about other more mindless stuff too, and we can’t always focus on the tough stuff.

Join us on Google+ on Thursday night! Click the graphic to RSVP!

The Podcast!

The Podcast!


K E Garland

INSPIRATIONAL KWOTES, STORIES, and IMAGES

Riddle from the Middle

real life with a side of snark

Dmy Inspires

Changing The World, With My Story...

Learning to Mama

Never perfect, always learning.

The Boeskool

Jesus, Politics, and Bathroom Humor...

Erica Roman Blog

I write so that my healing may bring healing to others.

My Mind on Paper

The Inspired Writing of Kevin D. Hofmann

My Wonderfully Unexpected Journey

When Life Grabbed Me By The Ears

imashleymi.wordpress.com/

things are glam in mommyhood

wearefamily

an adoption support community

Fighting for Answers

Tales From an Adoption Journey

Transracialeyes

Because of course race and culture matter.

SJW - Stuck in the Middle

The Life of Biracial Transracial Adoptee