Tag Archives: adoption

January 8, 2014

A Year in the Life

By AdoptiveBlackMom

One year ago today I dropped my initial application to my adoption agency older child adoption program in the mail.   Within two weeks I’d met with the program director and since a PRIDE course was about to start, I was able to jump right onto a fast track.  I had the pre-home study paperwork in the mail by early April and my home study visits started in May.  My home study was finalized on June 28th.

On June 30th my agency sent Hope’s profile.  It was the first profile that I received in my search.  An excerpt from the original email:

“Her profile and caseworker have shared that she is funny and charming, likes swimming, singing, step and going to church, and does well with family pets…She is eager to have a mother.”

I received profiles after Hope’s, but I only had to formally say no to one on August 16th.  The First (and only) No broke my heart.

On August 27th, all the decision makers had a conference call about me and Hope.  Apparently they didn’t have an available conference phone in Washington so this was our rigged conference.

Phone-Hopecall

I said yes to the invitation to adopt Hope on August 29th, just 34 weeks after I started this process.

We’ve traveled many miles and talked many hours on the phone since August 29th.  On Christmas Eve she tried out calling me Mom for the first time.  It’s been a really, really emotional time. And it’s about to get really, real!

Today, just one year after it all started, the ICPC came through.  Hope is moving to VA in two weeks, and our plan is to finalize the adoption by the end of June.

It is exciting and scary and amazing and scary and love and just really, really cool (first understatement of the year).

So, I’ve got two weeks of childlessness to push out most of the rest of this dissertation and start the next chapter.

Happy New Year,

ABM

5 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in The Adoption Process, The Transition

January 5, 2014

Privilege, Adoption and Melissa Harris-Perry

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, I’ve been chewing on the recent joke debacle involving Melissa Harris-Perry, her round table guests, Mitt Romney’s recently adopted Black child and the tear filled apology MHP delivered this weekend.

Don’t know what the drama’s about?  Peep the view below.

Sigh.

So, let me disclose a few things upfront.

First, politically, I’m pretty liberal.  I used to lean so far left that I might tip over, but I’ve found myself flirting with being more moderate in recent years.   That said: I’m not a fan of Mitt Romney.

Second, professionally I work on diversity issues.  I met Melissa years ago before she blew up on MSNBC.  We share colleagues, and we share a mentor in common.  I appreciate her social critiques.  She’s a smart cookie.  It’s awesome to see another young woman of color doing big things and wrestling with big issues—and doing that ish on national TV!  You. Go. Girl.

Third, I LOVE that song, “One of these things is not like the others…” I’ve been known to use it in my teaching.

Fourth, I’m unabashedly irreverent when it comes to issues of diversity.  I have good/bad days on issues of race, sexuality, religion and the list goes on and on.  It find it absurd that as a diversity professional I have so much job security because people can’t seem to just get over their ish about issues of difference.  I find it appalling that since Obama became president my work has actually become harder than it was 10 years ago because people want to wax philosophical about “wanting their America back.”  I find it disturbing that we could play that game “…in bed” with some of the stupid things people say, just instead of saying “in bed” we might substitute “from the Black guy” or “because of the lesbian” or “from the Muslim” or “because of the poor people.” Yeah, I said that.

So, now that the disclosures have been made, what do I really think about the clip shown above?

Truth be told, not much.

I think it was used to make a lot of political hay on both sides. I have a lot of thoughts about what wasn’t said in the clip but what seems to be a part of the narrative about transracial adoption and privilege.

We live in a world that spins on privilege.  Don’t know what privilege is?  Peggy McIntosh’s Unpacking the Knapsack of White Privilege is a good place for you to do some foundational reading on racial privilege.  Having privilege is having social capital that grants you ease in a navigating through our social and institutional structures.  Privilege can be based on race, gender, class, religion, sexuality, all sorts of characteristics.  You can be privileged in some areas of your life and not privileged in others.  Some might say that being both Black and a woman, I lack some social privilege.  I know that I have felt not privileged or even equal at times because I am both Black and female.  But I’m educated; I am middle class; I live in a prominent city; I am straight; I am Christian; English is my first language and I am a native born US citizen.

I’ve got privilege for days because my degrees give me social credibility; I can afford a nice lifestyle and have choices about where to live and how to educate Hope, I live in a city that affords me more choices than some other places; I am not personally affected by laws that prohibit LGBT folks from marrying; I practice a faith that some folks think is the only one that matters; no one asks me to repeat things because of an accent that is something other than the traditionally Southern dialect that I sometimes slip into, and I have a US passport easily acquired by producing my “Virginia is For Lovers” birth certificate.

Except for the times when the Black thing and the woman thing are problems for people, life is pretty good, right?  Pretty much.  (I’m still wondering if I’m in a Mitt Romney “binder full of women” somewhere!)

The Romneys are privileged in many ways that also matter in our society (I know some of us Christians can give the Mormons some shade, but hey, they’re still Christian).  Some no doubt twisty road brought some members of their family to the decision to adopt, and they adopted a Black child.  I think it’s awesome.  Yeah, I caught some feelings and threw some side eye when I heard the lovely little baby’s name meant “dark one” or black in Gaellic (um, yeah…), but it’s really none of my damn business.  I wish them well.  I thought the picture was charming, and yeah, I’m curious what Mittens thought when he first got the news that his kids were adopting a Black child.  <shrug>

Do I think the family will have to navigate some issues in terms of racial identity? Probably.  Do I think Mitt is a racist?  No, but I don’t think he gets the concept of privilege at all—this adoption might give him a taste.  Do I think he and the rest of the Romney brood are trying to figure out how this thing is going to work out?  Probably.  Do I think they are all stretching like the rest of us adoptive parents?  Yep.  There’s just some stuff on this adoption journey that I think privilege can’t buffer.  Make that a lot of stuff.

I think that the narrative of White families of privilege adopting Black children is glamorized.  I commented on another blog recently about how few People of Color (POC) I see in adoption promotional media.  We’re out here, but I think that the privilege of race frequently marginalizes us out of the adoption narrative.  Do I think that the class privilege is real for a lot of these White adoptive families?  Not as much as I used to.  Admittedly, I certainly see privilege among my fellow POCs who have chosen to adopt, myself included.  Do I think that POCs often sit back and question why White families adopt Black children?  Yep, and I’ve been curious as well.  Do I think that we all wonder about the social implications with respect to racial identity and personal development?  Yep.  It all seems and feels so complicated.   A lot of times it is complicated.

Socially, we typically don’t like things that are different. We simply don’t–it requires us to stretch and stretching can be uncomfortable. Seeing families that are not what we expect makes us uncomfortable. Reading narratives that are different from what we think it should be make us uncomfortable. What do we typically do with unavoidable discomfort? Often we joke, make light of it and fall into a ridiculous denial of the issues at hand. That is when our humanity is vulnerable and visible, and we are most likely to fail in living up to our potential.

The MHP story was just a tiny pebble on a beach of rocks related to perceptions about adoption, race, class, with a dash of politics on the side.

I did stumble across something else here.  I realized as this all played out that same race and biological families have some social privilege that adoptive families don’t.  Certainly same race adoptions can fly under the radar and acquire assumed bio-privilege (They can “pass”).  But transracial adoptions?  Nope, it’s too obvious and too different.  Had little baby Romney been White, none of this would ever have happened because he wouldn’t have stood out in the big family picture with Grandpa Mitt.  I should also note that had Grandpa Mitt been a left-leaning Democrat this probably never would’ve happened either; Democrat social privilege might’ve led to a celebration of sorts that played into the “See, the Democrats really like us!  They really, really like us” narrative.  Sigh.

Does this make MHP or her guest jokesters racist?  I think they were uncomfortable figuring out how to reconcile a family led by someone who struggled with garnering Black folks to vote for him with said politico now having a Black grandkid. Hell, I think it’s a bit ironic too <shrug>.   But I don’t think that’s racist (a term that gets thrown around wayyyyy too much if you ask me). The episode showed discomfort with the perceived irony about the mishmash of all kinds of social privilege being turned upside down.

So peep the apology:

And Melissa trips over this particular issue of biological privilege in her apology.  I think she realized it when she looked at her own multiracial family and saw the hypocrisy of giggling about a Black child bouncing on the knee of White guy who appears to be excited about his family.  I’m sure some of those kinds of pictures are in Melissa’s house somewhere, but the privilege of biological family wasn’t something she was consciously aware of.  I’m not sure she still has a name for it, but make no mistake—this was still about privilege.

So there’s my dime store commentary of the Harris-Perry/Romney Joke episode.   Privilege is real, and it’s everywhere, even in adoption.  I wish my colleague well and I wish the Romneys well.

Meh!

Incidentally, I thought joke about the family picture looking like the GOP convention was funny.  Yeah, I did; sue me.  Did you watch the convention?  I did.  I even sat through the foolishness of old Clint Eastwood talking to a chair for an hour.  I swear I felt like the networks showed Condi Rice like 50-11 times in hopes that no one noticed that there weren’t that many people of color in attendance.   Where is the outrage about that?  Why we didn’t we, in critical mass, attend a convention with a platform that didn’t resonate or seem terribly inclusive?  Hmmm, there’s a quandary for you…<pursed lips, shaking head, low hum>

Yeah, that last bit was some shade.

Oh, if I could bang out 1500 words at a time on my dissertation…smh.

5 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Other Stuff

January 2, 2014

Old Visions & New Identities

By AdoptiveBlackMom

With the New Year, like many people, I often take time to take account of what happened the previous year, consider what I hope will happen the next year and just take a moment to breathe the present.  The last couple of years, I’ve also embarked on creating a vision board using Powerpoint.   I use pictures, words, clip art, etc to create a vision for what I want to happen in my life for the next year.  I print it out and post it somewhere in the house so I see it every day.  I’m not necessarily into the whole “Secret” thing, but I do believe in making sure I stay focused on moving things around in my life to make that vision a reality.

So, in 2013 my vision board tackled this adoption journey, a bathroom and bedroom renovation, some vacation time, health improvement, faith building, advancement towards graduation, seeing a group of girlfriends that I adore and finding love.

Well, you know how the adoption thing is going.  The dissertation is underway (Woot, starting chapter 5 this weekend!!).  I did some bathroom updates myself on the cheap, enough to get me by for now.  Hope’s bedroom is shaping up fabulously.  I saw my girlfriends when one got married. Vacations got subbed with trips to see Hope.   I grew in my faith and in my church.  I began 2014 weighing the same thing I weighed a year ago (eh, could be worse, shrug).  And then there was love; love was nowhere to be found in 2013.

Sigh.  For some reason in the last 24 hours, the lack of romantic love bothered me the most.  Never mind that my life is about to be turned upside down with the adoption; nope, last night I found myself crying out to God, “Hey, what about the brown chocolate dude I put on that vision board last year?  Huh?  What about him? Where is he?  I even put a pair of wedding rings on my vision board. Come on man!!  Holy Dude, what is up with that???  Well I’m putting it on the board again! ”  Then I cried.  Oh, good grief, these emotional landmines are ridiculous…Jeesch!

I haven’t cried about being single in a long time; honestly I can’t remember the last time I got emotional about being single.  Sure, there’ve been lonely moments, but I’ve dated a lot over the years, had good relationships, not so good ones, ones that I thought would lead to marriage and others where I just knew it was never going to work, but boy were they  fun <smirk>.

All this emotion came out of nowhere, and it annoys me.  I haven’t really had time to think about dating in months.  I saw someone off and on for a few months, a lingering relationship that was kind of comfortable, but we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere.  The upside is that it wasn’t a relationship that was threatening to my goals since I knew it wasn’t going to lead to anything permanent, and require me to navigate figuring out this parenting thing, this dissertation thing and then the whole real relationship thing.  We remain friends, but we’ve moved on.

I know that I’m not in a space to handle a serious relationship at the moment, but I suppose I didn’t realize that underneath it all there’s a loneliness I simply wasn’t cognizant of until I took a moment to take stock of life.   I don’t mind being alone, but I just didn’t know I was kind of lonely until I was putting another faceless Tyson Beckford-esque looking dude on my 2014 vision board.  I do wonder whether the loneliness is somewhat exacerbated by some of the isolation I feel on this adoption journey.   I don’t really know.

I also wonder whether it has to do with the identity shift that’s so imminent.  The day that Hope arrives I’ll officially be a Single Black Mom (SBM) in addition to ABM.  I’ll be a SABM.  Ugh, acronyms.

And since I don’t plan to go around announcing that Hope is adopted, the absence of a partner potentially puts me into an identity category rife with stereotypes and unpleasant narratives.  It also creates a narrative for the imaginary man that folks will assume passed through my life about 13 years ago, whether he was a husband or just a ‘baby daddy.’  Hear me clear, I have nothing against SBMs, but like most, I didn’t expect to be one.  I’m so excited about this chapter, but something about the looming new identity and the absence of even the imaginary dude has me mourning what I thought my life would be like at this point.

I’ve been thinking about that life a lot lately.  I didn’t think I was still mourning it, but the parallels and bittersweet episodes that put me on the path to adoption occasionally lead me to think about what might’ve been.  I’m a doer, so I resigned to change my life when things didn’t turn out the way I expected, but I guess I still think about that life.

I do wish I had a partner on this journey.  I wonder when I’ll have another date.  I wonder if I’ll end up as one of those moms on an afternoon talk show, desperately needing a makeover because I started wearing “mom jeans” and just stopped grooming because I accepted never going on another date because I was so devoted to my kid, and I just let myself go.  Yikes.  So dramatic.

I don’t want to be that person either, even though I intend to be devoted to Hope.  I still hope, in time, to go out with the hot single dad that I met when I forced her to play one season of county soccer, during which time she sulkily rode the bench, while looking forward to the after-game pizza party.  I want to be that SABM.  I want to still have a separate identity as a fun, sexy, desirable woman.  I’m a little afraid that the Single Black Female (SBF) that I’ve known all these years will just cease to exist for a while.  That makes me sad…and a bit lonely.   Sigh.

This life changing stuff is a messy, messy business….a business that, apparently, will keep my therapist in nice shoes for many years to come.

7 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in Other Stuff

December 30, 2013

Twas the Day after Christmas

By AdoptiveBlackMom

On Christmas evening I hopped my way across the US back to Seattle to see Hope.  Thanks to Hotwire I didn’t break the bank and got a decent package deal; the only downside was discovering at 10pm PST that my hotel was a flippin’ 30 miles away.    Oh, that of course would be 30 miles further away from where I needed to drive the next morning.  Oh yes, going to see Hope after traveling 3,000 miles was going to require an additional 55 miles.

Ain’t life grand?

So after crashing in my hotel, I got up, hit the free breakfast, googled the nearest Starbucks, picked up a venti-iced and hit the road.  Got a call from Foster Mom that my girl was is a pissy mood that morning.

Super awesome!  I did manage to guess correctly that Hope was a pill with her fosters because I was in route.   I know that she cares for them greatly, but it was an interesting discovery that somehow my arrival was important enough to give me some primacy in Hope’s rankings.  I don’t like the fact that she treated them poorly, but I would be lying if I said that my ability to figure out her behavior and its trigger as my own reassurance that I *get* this kid.

Hugs greeted me and along with a urgent need for me to open my Christmas gift!  Yeah, Hope also *gets* me.

winestopper

I wondered to myself after opening her gift, “Did she really see me drink much wine during our visit?  I was dry until she went to bed, and I rushed to dispose of the bottles!!!”   Then I shrugged, knowing I’d done well on my visit, giggled and gave Hope a hug for her thoughtful observation of my imbibing habits.

Hope was delighted with her new sparkly sneakers (though they were “off-brand” #girlbye with your no job having self! LOL), Bieber perfume and gift cards, but mostly with the perfume.  Grammy gave us both diamond cross necklaces.   She seemed to forget about the absence of electronics for the moment.

After the gift exchange we ventured off for some time at the mall that quickly turned into boy watching, tween crap buying, and friend peeping.  Things I learned:

1) Bless her heart, Grammy really needn’t have spent money on real diamonds; Hope hasn’t a gem discerning bone in her body.  At some point I’ll have to take her with me to a real jeweler for a crash course on gem stones.  For the record, silver tone bracelets with giant rhinestones that spell out BOSS from Wet Seal are in no way real.  For a child that is going through that phase where she swears that wearing “fake stuff” will make her limbs fall off, she’s should be a limbless, jolly, green girl by the time she gets back to the east coast.  Again, #girlbye!

2) Light skinned brothas are, in fact, back in style.  Sigh…I think every brown girl goes through this phase of sweating the fair skinned fellas with the curly hair and if you’re really lucky, dimples.  It’s such a cliché of epic proportions.   It’s ok to be attracted to whomever you’re attracted to, but her colorism issues are real right now, including her belief that she’s not really worthy of the fair skinned fellas because she’s dark.

No, just no.  Sigh.  I have so much work to do with her.

Aside from the fair toned dudes that we peeped for hours on end, I also realized I’m going to have to watch my girl like a hawk and forcibly put her in every activity I can think of and afford.  Her boy craze is so serious; I know she is particularly vulnerable to the lackluster charms of any dude who might look at her with modest interest.  She’s desperate for the attention with a side of twisted validation of her beauty and worthiness.   It’s so sad.  I hope to help build her self-esteem while cloistering her a bit until she’s healthy enough for a decent teenaged crush.   Pray for me!

As an aside, can we get just one Black boy band group? I mean, I dig One Direction and whatever that other little group is, but dang, can ABM get her sweat on to some brown bubble gum pop?  I mean I grew up with New Edition and Boyz II Men!  Can I get some diversity in these new age boy bands, please??

3) Hurt can easily equal painful anger.  Hope had a flash of anger while we were at an arcade that resulted in her banging a pinball machine so hard she bruised her hand.  Game winning is another way that Hope pursues some sense of self-worth; losing can easily result in a meltdown.  I discovered this during our Thanksgiving visit, but I saw it all over again during this short visit.  She mentioned that she has issues with anger, but I know that it’s really about hurt under the surface.  This is definitely something we will have to work on in therapy.  Life’s game has lots of losses; she’s going to have to learn to cope with that without getting so angry.   I’m cognizant of the fact that one day she’s really going to blow and rage with me; I’ve got to be ready to deal with that in a constructive way.  It’s going to happen.

4) I have achieved hottie status in my head.  Ok, not really, well maybe, kinda.  Hope ran into a few of her friends at the mall—including the one who actually smokes weed, SMH (another post for another day).   I politely stood to the side while she chatted, giggled, pointed out boys and acted crazy when she thought a boy looked remotely in her direction.  She never introduced me to her friends.  Yeah, I felt some kind of way about that, but oh well.  After the little kitty-klatch ended and we walked away, she told me she told me that she told her friends that I was her mom (that still makes me smile) and they said, cool, I was pretty.

Hot damn, the tweens think I’m pretty.   It was an unexpected ego snack.  I’ll take it.  Don’t judge me.

5) Hope’s ready to move.  She’s still a bit anxious about what life will be like here, but her general anger and angst about the imminent move has subsided.  It makes things easier to know she’s coming to terms with this major change.  My life is about to change dramatically, but I know she’s giving up a lot moving so far from everything she’s ever known with worries that I’ll reject her.  I got clued in that she was increasingly resigned to the move and coming to terms with it when she did not flip out when I denied her purchase of a CD and a game with adult ratings.

Maybe this seems like a stretch, but I laid out some rules/expectations during her visit here.   Hope’s been exposed to so much that it is like trying to put Pandora back in the box, but I’m committed to reigning her exposure to crap in dramatically.  It annoys her but she’s come to respect it.  She understands that there are things she has to earn—like the tablet, the cell phone and whatever other little thing she manages to come up with each week.  And she will still test the limits but there isn’t a meltdown when the limits hold.  Hope respects my authority, my position, my final word.  This is as much a power choice as calling me mom was.  She’s ready to move, even if she does hope she gets to go on the field trip next week and the band concert later in the month.

So, in all it was a lovely visit, even if it cost me about a $100 for every hour I spent with her (ouch when you put it like that).   I’m feeling good about us.  I love her so much.  I read often that love takes a long time to grow with adoptive parents.  I am no fool; I know there are times when I really will not like her very much.  But I do love Hope, of that I’m sure.   I am also proud of myself for taking time to sort through what I’m learning about myself and Hope as we transition.  It helps me know that it’s not going to always be an easy path, but if I pay attention and take a breath I can see the street signs and take heed.

In other news, I submitted chapter 4 of 6 to my dissertation director tonight for comment.  On to the next one!

collageChristmas

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in The Transition

December 29, 2013

OMG, She Looks Like You!

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, I’ve been pondering this topic for a minute and am finally sitting down to see if I can parse through some of my own thinking and feeling about a curious phenomenon related to my recent announcement to family and friends that I am adopting Hope.

Last month I posted a cute picture of Hope and me as an announcement of my #pregnantbypaperwork status.  The very, very kind and supportive comments flowed.  It was lovely, beyond lovely actually.  It was super awesome.  Numerous people commented, “OMG, you guys even look alike! Match made in heaven” or something like that.  I had a lovely chat with a sweet, dear friend who called to check in today.  During our chat, she broached this subject of my and Hope’s alleged resemblance tenderly, noting that she wondered if she really saw a resemblance or if it was some kind of way her brain was trying to knit Hope and I together in a supportive way.

Hmmm.  I’m utterly convinced it’s the latter.  Hope and I do not look alike, despite many comments to the contrary.  Good Lord, even my mother thinks Hope has my late uncle’s eyes…she might, maybe, a little bit.  Eh, shrug.

So, here’s my thinking on this:  People are happy for me (warm fuzzies).  People want to be supportive (more warm fuzzies).  We see what we want to see in order to further the desire to be happy and supportive.  This is pretty natural.  Hey, I dated someone for two miserable years because I thought being with him would one day, miraculously, make me happy—it didn’t.  Actually, I’ve had a few of those kinds of relationships, though I seem to have broken that nasty habit.   Ok, maybe that was a melodramatic example, but stay with me here.

I’m not creating a family the way that many of my friends are or have, and I had no desire to seek out a child who bore some resemblance to me or my family.  Sure I thought about it as I thought about all the various scenarios about what life would look like with my child and how we might be received by the world around us.  I really didn’t give much thought specifically to resemblance though; maybe because I just assumed we wouldn’t look anything alike.  I mean really, what are the odds??  It was startling when people started to comment about Hope’s and my alleged resemblance.   I didn’t see it then; I still don’t.  Hope says she favors her biological father; she’s proud of that.  She loved him very much.  She doesn’t have any pictures of him, so looking like her dad is important to her and her identity.

I’ve come to believe that the warm desire to help me tie my adoption of Hope together with a neat bow and be supportive leads the brain to seeing a familial resemblance between Hope and I that really isn’t there.  Of course, Hope’s desire to look like her father may affect any ability I have to find some shade of resemblance between us; the brain is funny that way.  I’m sure the fact that we’re both Black helps to facilitate all this brain activity.   I’m guessing it also happens in other same/similar race adoptions too.   I’m guessing this is not a particularly common occurrence in cross-racial adoptions, but some quick google searches reveal there are desires to find some kind of resemblance connection in these adoptions too.

With infants, we’ve all made comments about whether the little one looks like a presumed parent—this just happened with fellow blogger, Complicated Melodi, who was providing respite care for an infant recently.  Hope isn’t an infant, though, and really, I don’t think she favors me at all, so it’s an intriguing occurrence to receive these comments from pals.

This is different than when we’re out and about and someone assumes I’m Hope’s mom.  Usually, the assumption is based on our proximity together or their having been privy to a bit of our banter, which on my trip this week I realized totally sounds like a mom and tween daughter (Squeal!!  More on that later).  There is rarely a mention of any resemblance; no, this phenomenon only happens with people I know.

So, what’s the point of this post?  Not sure, other than to parse through another emotional nugget in the adoption process.   My daughter is lovely and just beautiful.  I don’t think she looks anything like me.  I have no idea if she looks much like either of her biological parents.   The compliment that Hope favors me is sweet and I think I understand what is really being seen and said.  I’m a mom. Biology really doesn’t matter, because I’m still a mom.  I’m grateful for the sentiment even if I don’t see the visual connection.  I’m also grateful that so many people were so kind and supportive of my new little family.

8 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Other Stuff

December 25, 2013

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I’m currently heading west to see Hope.  I’m excited and, well tired.  Last night, just before midnight east coast time, Hope called me up, clearly hopped up on sugar and full of cheer.  I was already in bed and a tad groggy.  We exchanged hellos and I pulled my sleepy mind together just in time to hear this:

“I wanted to tell you Merry Christmas, Mom.”

Even writing it and remembering it now makes my eyes water.  She finally called me mom.  And she was serious about saying this one word.  She stressed it, emphasized it.  She let me know that she’d consciously chosen to call me mom.

I remember dreaming one night this past summer about what it would be like to hear my adoptive child call me mom.  In my dream the kiddo was in his/her room and just called out “Mom!” as though he/she was calling me to see something in their room.  I remember I was heading into the kitchen when I heard the word, and I gasped, put my hand to my heart, and closed my eyes for a moment as I savored that single word before yelling back, “Yes?”

I remember thinking even though it was a huge deal, I didn’t want to make a big deal about it.  In my dream it was such an organic moment that I wanted to treat it as though it were normal, just like any bio-kid might say to his/her parents.   I remember it being so incredibly precious, and so organic and…so normal.

So, it’s an interesting juxtaposition to how I actually became Mom.   Hope’s and my path to our “Mom Moment” was so different than I imagined.  What to call me has been a frequent conversation ever since I flew out to see her in October the first time; even over our first meal together.  Hope was removed from her mother’s care at a very young age and the absence of a mother made it weird to finally, possibly be getting one.  Our conversations about what to call me continued right through her recent visit to VA over Thanksgiving.  It was then that I realized just how much she thought of me as her mom; she didn’t call me mom, but she referred to me as mom when talking to her friends on the phone or social media.  I remember writing about how that realization made being called mom not really matter.  I knew in my heart that seeing and accepting me in that role was far more important to me than whether she ever called me mom.   I was content with that.   It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter until she deliberately chose to call me Mom mere minutes before the east coast clock struck midnight, marking the arrival of Christmas.

It was her gift to me.  And it was so incredibly amazing and precious and wonderful and just the best thing ever.

The.  Best. Gift. Ever.

And I tried to play a little cool, but really how cool can you be when you just received the gift that you deep down wanted more than anything in the world?  I tried not to cry, I wished my baby girl Merry Christmas back and I said the only thing you can really, humbly say when you get a gift like that.

I said thank you, Hope.  I love you.

Hope and I still have many miles to go and bridges to cross to make this thing work, but she’s made a choice.  She’s chosen me.   I chose her months ago, but she chose me.  She chose me at Christmas.  It is world-rocking and amazeballs.

She did follow up by asking if she was getting an Ipod when I pick her up tomorrow.

Kids, right?

No. She’s not, but bless her heart she is persistent about the techie-gadgets though, none of which she will be getting before she is permanently placed with me.

I’m en route to the west coast and will be there for my own little Christmas miracle first thing in the morning.  I’m still a bit disappointed that she isn’t home with me for Christmas, but knowing that she’s chosen me is surely the next best thing.

Now, back to dissertating at 35,000 feet.   Merry Christmas to all.

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in The Transition, Tween Parenting

December 24, 2013

Holiday Anxiety

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Ok, first off, I wish I wasn’t anxious and I wish I wasn’t feeling whiny.  But I am and I do feel anxious and whiny.  My shoulders hurt from stress and anxiety.  I feel prickly and irritable.  I would really prefer to withdraw and just hide in my house for a few more days.  But it’s Christmas and that would be sad and somehow just wrong.

In an hour or two I’ll head a hundred miles south to visit my parents for the holiday.  Grammy and I are tender with each other; we love each other very much, but I know we both are still hurt from our drama from the last few months.  My new/refurbished cell phone doesn’t give off its own wifi signal so I can’t just hide in my old room and work on my dissertation.  Going all the way there just to retreat to the Panera to practice overt avoidance doesn’t feel right.   Maybe I’ll go visit a few friends.

Oy vey, I just realized that I didn’t get my godson a Christmas gift.  Sigh…

Christmas afternoon I’ll head west to go visit Hope for all of one day (Thursday).  I’ve spent the last week and a half trying to manage Christmas expectations.  Interestingly, Hope asked for two sets of books and an Ipod Touch.  Originally she asked for Beats by Dre headphones; I quickly explained that new mama didn’t believe in spending more than $10 on headphones, so $50-$200 were wholly out of the question.  The Touch is really a no go at this point; although Hope will have internet access here I’ve found her not ready for it quite at the tip of her fingertips, especially if its portable.   I’ve decided to bring her a pair of sneakers, the Bieber perfume and some gift cards that we can use when we go shopping that day.

She’s excited that I’m coming to visit.   I’m anxious about her reaction when I get there; she’s been fickle since she’s returned.   It’s probably good news; she goes monosyllabic on me like any other kid her age.  She’s being normal in a most abnormal situation.  Her behavior has been stellar since I took her home; no detentions, no suspensions; no visits to the principal’s office or notes home from teachers.   I’m so proud of her.  Of course, she’s highly motivated because of a deal I made about her getting a cellphone this spring if she could stay out of trouble.  This brings me to my anxiety about this trip.  I don’t want to do too much too soon, so I’ve kept the gifting light (especially since I have to carry this stuff).  My family gifts but we tend to do just one or two gifts and that’s it.  Of course we’ve not had a kid in the family for many years, so all of this is new.  I also know that I need leverage and motivational points with Hope; this works with her in helping her be less impulsive.

I have to realize that I can’t control how Hope will react to the gifts I bring.  I just need to spend time with my girl and try to have the best time I can with her for this expensive but short visit.   I’ve got a house full of stuff for her, but I just want to mete it out over time on my terms rather than this huge explosion of gifts just because it’s Christmas.

I’m hopeful and prayerful that she will be home for good soon.

For now, I just want to get there, see her and give her a hug.  That’s all I want for Christmas.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in The Transition, Tween Parenting

December 17, 2013

Thoughts on Mamas, Drama and Adoption

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So Grammy and I were at it again yesterday.  Sadly we reduced our would-be apologetic conversation to a battle of who hurt who worse.  Anyone should know that this is not a way to resolve conflict.  It’s an exercise in hurt, bad attitude and a heaping side of ego.  It’s ridiculous and futile.

And yet there we were spinning our wheels on some ish that happened last week, the week before, a few months ago and more than a decade ago, which I now realize we have completely different takes on and has affected us more than we ever could’ve dreamed.

In an absurd nutshell, I want/need my mother’s approval and validation, but some tongue in cheek crap she said forever ago put me in a “my mom thinks I’m stupid, so now I need to see if I can make her think I’m smart” space that still exists.  Grammy already thinks I’m smart; in fact, she thinks I’m really smart.  But you know, irrational thinking and all…

Twenty years of therapy and thousands of dollars spent, and I’ve still got mommy issues.  Merry Christmas, ABM!  And, I’m pretty emotionally healthy.  God help the folks who’ve really got some drama.

So what does this have to do with adoption?

No sense in letting all this expensive therapy go to waste, right?!?

I figure if some messy mess that Grammy said to me a lifetime ago could mess up this reasonably well adjusted, never abused or neglected, educated grown arse woman, to the point that I’m alteratively begging for approval and kicking her to the curb,well then what should I expect from Hope and kids like her who have sometimes been to hell and lived to tell the story?

There’s the grief of feeling rejected and not having the kind of relationship you know you want and deserve.  There’s the lack of trust tied to the rejection, because well you can’t get too close to let that happen again.  There’s the lashing out because you’ve got to get them before they get you, so they don’t even have a chance to get you at all.  There’s the desperate need to still, inspite of this cray behavior, to have a connection, some kind of relationship with the person who hurt you and who you are scared might hurt you again in some way.

In some way, it’s not irrational at all.  It makes perfect sense, right?

Now squeeze all of that into a little kid who is not developmentally prepared to wrestle with any of it, and who had it so much worse than we might imagine. Wow.

It seriously increases my compassion for Hope, and puts her behavior in context for me.   I makes my own drama seem overblown; not that I’m trying to dismiss it, but certainly there are other things I could and should lose sleep over.  It also makes me know I need to stretch with Grammy a bit, and she’s going to need to stretch with me too.  We’re all going to have to stretch.

Whew, emotions are messy.

The good news is I went to see Grammy today.  She’s retiring this week and there was an office party for her.  She was delighted I came; I was delighted that she was delighted.  People told me how much she bragged, and I felt small for fretting that she didn’t believe in me.  I felt warmed by the things they said she said about me and my sisters.  Grammy loves me, and I don’t have anything to prove.  Maybe now I can get back to focusing on getting used to my own new role as Mom and stop fretting about how Grammy sees me as Mom.  It’s going to be ok, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Dealing with the Past, Lessons Learned

December 14, 2013

Minding the Gap

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I remember when I had my first meeting with my adoption agency in January.  I had to explain how I had come to the decision to adopt and why I wanted to adopt an older child.  I remember telling the program director that this was an incredibly bittersweet time in my life; I had a few short months before been told by a reproductive specialist that I would not be able to have biological children without the help of a whole frigging school of engineering and even then the window of possibility was ridiculously Continue reading

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Lessons Learned, Other Stuff

December 9, 2013

Visitation Reflections

By AdoptiveBlackMom

It’s hard to believe that two weeks have passed and Hope’s visit with me has ended.  We’ve both got mixed emotions about this next part of our journey—waiting for paperwork.   She needs time to say goodbye, and I need time to “dissertate” and get the rest of our support team set up.  It’s a lot.  The therapists I’ve reached out to haven’t returned my calls.  There’s some additional room decorating that needs to happen.  And let’s not forget that I’ve got a mess of work to catch up on—including one journal article that needs to be revised in less than a week so I can meet the next deadline.

Hope and I have finally, in the last few days, settled into a delightful kind of normal.  There’s a comfort with each other; there are really challenging moments but we’re in a good place as we head back to the West Coast.  The last 4 days have been delightfully—gasp!—fun.  They’ve been a mom and her daughter just kicking it.   So, here’s my lessons/observations/whatever as I reflect on the last couple of weeks.

10.  Lots of things are just not that serious.

Sometimes Hope plays in the floor like she is a 5 year old.  Truth be told, I hate it, but really, I love hearing her giggle more than I hate it.  She’s laying in the floor, playing with the dog, she’s giggling, she’s being a kid.  She’s being a kid.

I want her to be a kid.  So, I just need to chillax and let some things just go.  It’s really not that serious.

There are way more parking lots in this life than in my previous single with no kid life.  I realize that I have a lot of single girl hang ups about food and space and exercise and clothes and… you name it.  In two weeks, I’ve learned I need to go into parking lot rehab.  Most of it is really just not that serious.

9. Timing is everything.

I’m growing accustomed to living my life in 20-30 minute increments.  Hope does not do well with sudden changes.  Sudden change equals life upheaval; so we need to avoid all of that.  Having been childless the ability to change my mind at a moment’s notice never affected anyone else.  I can’t live like that now.  In fact, I need to announce what the next day’s schedule is, remind her and set timers.  I never thought that my adoption registry for my upcoming shower would include a timer, but yeah, I need timers all over the place.

I use them to have a timekeeper for electronic screen time (in addition to parental apps).  I use them to say we need to be dressed to leave by a certain time.  I use them for everything!  Life is much more manageable with the timers.  Thank you Jesus for timers.

8. Speaking of Jesus…

I am Christian, but I’m not, nor have I ever been particularly preachy or proselytizing of my faith.  I don’t hide it, but for the most part, it’s one of the areas of my life that I tend to not talk about with folks other than close family and friends.   I mentioned in an earlier post that one of my mountains with Hope is my insistence that we go to church.  I don’t have an expectation that she necessarily join or that she even get *saved.*  I hope she comes to those choices, but they are choices.  Despite becoming a believer at 7 and being raised in the Baptist church, I can’t say I took my faith as bedrock until the last 10, maybe 15 years of my life.  And even then, I identify as a progressive, liberal Christian and ideologically, I am increasingly finding it hard to fit and to find a place where I fit.  The current Christian landscape in the US is kinda creepy to me.

Anyhoo, Hope asked me about being saved and baptism and just some basic theological questions that at her age I took for granted because I had always been around the Christian church.  I was delighted by her questions because I could explain things with ease and confidence and the moment lived up to visions I’d had in my head about spending time with my daughter through this particular lens.

Church was great (you know when that message is really YOUR message—yeah, today was that sermon) and I cried because I was just so happy with my life—the ups, the downs, this amazing kid sitting next to me and the blind and nearly deaf dog we have at home.

I don’t know if Christianity is for everyone; I know that I do my own thing and have found a church that works for me.  I will say that whatever your faith, this adoption thing is a beast and I know that you have to lean into whatever it is you believe in.  You will need to lean in hard, dang near perpendicular!  The grounding in something beyond yourself, something supernatural, is necessary.   One of the things the speaker reminded the congregation about this morning:  faith is not grown on the best days; it’s grown on the worst.   If you’re traveling this path, you need to believe in something.   Jesus happens to be my homeboy; he might be a good homeboy for you too.

And that’s pretty much my annual quota of religious proselytizing.   <shrug>

7.  Mountains are worth the effort.

The great Dr. Seuss 10pm bedtime standoff from last week was clearly our turning point.  OMG!!  I am still so proud of myself for standing my ground, clicking the lights and hunkering down in that power struggle.  I’m most proud that once she caved and went to bed that I was able to go in, kiss her good night and tell her I loved her.  We haven’t had a serious bedtime issue or major meltdown since.

I’m a natural stubborn debater.  I like to be right.   I like to win.  I’m reminded with Hope that the need for humble grace after having won is really what makes you hit the summit of the mountain.  It’s not about winning the power struggle, it’s about loving after the struggle is over.

6. Physical touch is healing.

Hope has some issues with being touched in certain ways.  Fortunately she can’t seem to get enough of hugs.  I hug her and kiss her forehead 50 times during the course of a day, even when she is being a real pill.  Midweek she just really started spontaneously hugging me on her own.  We held hands in church.  She kisses my cheek.  This physical affection is so meaningful for both of us.  It heals what’s ailing us, even if it’s a temporary salvo right now.  I’m going to miss hugging her for the next couple of weeks.  The Furry One is going to get hugged a lot more as a result.   We humans need physical touch.

5.  I’m a little worried about going back to work. 

For the first time in years, my focus is completely devoted to something else in my life.  This new identity business is really a BFD!  I’ve got a mess of stuff going on and I know that people will have the same expectations of me as they did before, but 1) I don’t really have a desire to work the way I did pre-Hope, at least not right now; 2) I don’t care about being defined by my professional identity right now.  I know it will all shake out in time.  I’m near the top of my own personal professional game right now.  I have a job that I love; one that I thought I’d have a hard time walking away from ever.  Today, well, hmmmm, I could.

I guess like I have to figure out what Hope’s and my normal will be, normal will also have to be redefined in my professional life too.

4.  This culture undermines parents. 

I can only imagine and apologize for some of the utterly silly things I may have said to the folks around me who are parents over the years.  Please forgive me. It really is pervasive though.

In the last two weeks I have had folks attempt to shame me for some of the early decisions I’ve made concerning how I intend to raise my daughter.

Do you think it’s wise to force her to go to church?

She really should have a cell phone; I don’t think you’re being realistic, everyone’s doing it.

Oh hot chocolate?  You know, she would probably be fine with decaf coffee.

Oh, this is the light stuff.  Everyone has an opinion, but so few bother to filter them or think about how they affect conversations that should happen at home.  Most things are innocuous, but, ugh…let’s just say, I had no idea how challenging this culture is with respect to raising a kid.  In my happily single, childless haze, I just had no idea that my big mouthed ideas should probably be left to myself.

Noted.

3. Kathryn Purvis is changing my life.

About a month ago, I finally picked up Purvis’ book The Connected Child.  I’m still wondering why no one at my agency recommended this book to me as I was wading the paperwork.  A few chapters in and it just made sense.  I tried to use it to help educate my family about things to expect with Hope.  There’s a great website (http://empoweredtoconnect.org/) and a Youtube channel with short videos as well.  I’ve got to practice the techniques more diligently, but Purvis’ work is extraordinary and will have a meaningful impact on me and Hope.

I’ve read several books and scanned a dozen more on adoption and older child adoption topics; The Connected Child seemed to provide me one stop shopping for information and resources.

2. I’m still in paperwork hell.

All I want for Christmas is Hope.

Whether Hope and I get each other for Christmas is dependent on the ICPC paperwork being completed in the next 15 calendar days, 11 business days.

Waiting still sucks.

1. Happiness is a by-product.

Last week Hope told Grammy that my job was to make her happy.  Grammy corrected her and told her that my job was to make sure was safe, had what she needed and loved her in healthy affirming ways.  The result of my doing these things is her being happy.  This was a great lesson.  Lots of people chase happiness, but don’t chase given their life meaning.  The latter is what ultimately will bring you much closer to your desired state.

Hope coming into my life has made me very, very happy.

Tomorrow I head back East for a long day of travel and possibly several weeks of waiting.  It’s all good though, I’m happy!

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Lessons Learned, The Adoption Process, The Transition

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