Tag Archives: adoptive parents

Thoughts on the Government Shutdown

So, this isn’t really a place where I envisioned talking about politics, which is strange because people who know me well, know I breathe politics.  I was a federal lobbyist for 10 years.  Most of my organizational client/members are beneficiaries of federal funds that advance higher education and biomedical research.   I live in the metro DC area, and many of my friends are federally employed, both civilian and armed forces.

The recent government shutdown infuriated me on many levels that I won’t go into here.  What I want to talk about here for a minute is how some folks believe that the shutdown had no impact on anyone.  A Facebook pal posted this today:

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Now, she’s on the outer bands of my hurricane of pals.  You know the type…she’s someone I went to high school with, nice woman, really.  I enjoy seeing pictures of her family and seeing how she’s doing these days.  I wish her well, but we aren’t really friends, we’re “social media friends.”  She wouldn’t know how the government shutdown has affected me, Hope, or families who are waiting to adopt, especially adoptive families adopting internationally.  She’s not close enough to know about this personal adoption journey.

Even if she were close enough to know I was adopting my precious Hope, she wouldn’t know that some of the services that help Hope deal with the astounding losses she’s experienced in her short life are partially funded by the federal government.  She wouldn’t be privy to the knowledge that Hope’s foster mom works for HUD and was out of work for the last couple of weeks and didn’t know whether she would get back pay when she returned to work.  Foster Mom still doesn’t know when she’ll get paid; she and her husband are good hardworking people.  FB Pal doesn’t know how much I worried over the last couple of weeks whether Hope’s current foster placement would remain stable before we had a chance to place her with me.

What if Hope had to go to another placement because things became financially unstable at her current placement when she’s been there a year?  Would Hope really believe that she would ever come to live with me after that kind of placement disruption?  What might another placement do to her sense of security?  How might Hope react?  Would she recover?  Would she ever trust me for “letting that happen” because she doesn’t know that the freaking government shut down and triggered an avalanche of bullcrap?  Aside from watching some of my favorite small business owners in downtown DC take a hit and see good friends and colleagues worry about how long the impasse might last while they were maligned as lazy, ineffectual and incredibly unnecessary, my concerns about Hope were the real fears that twisted my heart these last two weeks.  This is what the government shutdown meant to me.

I effing make my coffee at home so I don’t give a rat’s arse whether any of the nearly 20 Starbucks I pass on the way to the office closes, but the schnitty arse government shutdown and the blowhards that dragged us through it to prove a point scared, and continue to scare, the schnitt out of me.   And that’s my truth.

So amongst all the rhetoric about Obamacare, debt ceilings and bad political behavior, there are some positive things about our government. Sure, there’s room for improvement, but not at gunpoint.

I just wish people were a little more thoughtful and a little more compassionate even about the things they don’t know much about.


It’s About to Go Down!

OhhhEmmmGeeeeee!  Tomorrow the meet and greet is happening!

I’ve been on pins and needles all week because I didn’t have a schedule for this visit.  Hope has been antsy because the lack of detail affected our countdown-to-meeting numbers.  I am also a bit of a control freak, so the lack of detail has been driving me crazy.

So, in less than 12 hours I hop a flight for 7 hours of travel.  A few hours after touching down, I’ll go to a meeting with Hope and her therapist.  I have no earthly idea what will happen.  I believe it’s going to be awesome.

I’m not nervous, maybe a little anxious, but really just eager.  I am wearing a casual dress; I decided I needed my security blanket for this meeting.  I don’t know what to expect.  It’s not like seeing a newborn.  We will both see each other and react.  What an amazing, yet odd, thing, right?

Will we recklessly eyeball each other across a conference table in silence?  Will she be as chatty as she’s been since our first phone call?  Will I be able to hold back tears because it’s all so amazingly overwhelming (I’m such a crier)?  What will we talk about first?  Just how many Justin Bieber songs will I listen to this weekend (she’s got a thing for him; thank God she also appreciates good music like Earth, Wind and Fire too…softens the Bieber-blow a little, but I digress).

I.

Can’t

Wait!

Claiming tomorrow as the new Best. Day. Ever! before it even happens.

Tomorrow marks another point is this new life chapter.

But now, this fuzzy mop on my head demands my attention, as does the rest of the stuff that needs to go in this duffel bag!

Stay tuned!


Perfectly Imperfect

“You know, I’m not a perfect kid.”

 “That’s cool, because I’m not a perfect adult.  Perfection is overrated anyway.”

 ~~Excerpt from the first call between AdoptiveBlackMom & Hope

So, today is the new Best. Day. Ever.

I am basking in the afterglow of my first call with Hope.  We talked for almost an hour.  Saying it was awesome makes me feel like I need to step my vocabulary game up because it is surely an understatement.  It was even beyond epic.

At times while she was talking, I had to wipe silent tears away because living in this precious unbelievable moment was so wonderfully overwhelming.  I was so glad to hear her go on about her book collection at length because I needed the few moments to gather myself.

It was truly a Jerry McGuire moment.  She had me at hello.

I am beyond privileged.  It is both eerily heartbreaking and heartwarming for a child to tell you on her own that she is happy that you are interested in her and that she might finally get a forever home.  Heartbreaking that any child would find herself in such a reality.  Heartwarming because she doesn’t get that I’m so much more than interested; I’m committed.  I’m so there.

We made plans tonight.  I’ve got late nights ahead of me between writing this dissertation and keeping up with our newly formed ABM/Hope book club.  We’ll be reading Inkdeath by Cornelia Funke when I go to visit in two weeks.  She recommended that I read the first two books in the trilogy first…hustle on that!  The books have been ordered (thank you Amazon Prime).

We will have Wii bowling and tennis tourneys in order to defend our respective pro-level statuses.  Oh yeah—we are competitive.

I will have to take swimming lessons in order to motivate Hope to finish her swimming class test, which she hasn’t been able to pass.  Looks like I’m going to have to pass one too.  Have I mentioned that I’m not a fan of the pool?  I’m fantastic lounging poolside with an umbrella drink but in the pool?  Not so much.

She shared that kids had teased her because of her dark skin and said she looked like a boy.  I affirmed the beauty of her skin and her loveliness.  I think I heard her smile.

Our talk was easy.  I am so hers.

Before we hung up I said, “So you remember all that stuff about us not being perfect?  Maybe that is a great set up for a good life together.”

She excitedly replied, “Yeah, I think so too!  So we’ll talk this weekend right?”

Oh yeah, I’m already counting the hours!


Foot in Mouth Syndrome

Hope was excited to get my letter and apparently liked my picture.  Things were going just fine until she got to a line in my letter in which I expressed excitement about tucking my kid in at night.

Whoops!  I stumbled on my first tween-angst-filled rock on the path.  Sigh.

Now I know that tweens are probably more like, “Get off me, get off me, get off me!” at bedtime rather than, “Hey will you read me a story?”  What I meant to convey was that I enjoy the ritual of just saying good night to family members at the end of the day.  When I’m visiting my parents I make a point of kissing them good night before we all retire for the evening.  It’s not all smoochy, smoochy, tuck you in kinda stuff, but it’s just a family acknowledgement of affection.  But with Hope it was clear that my excitement of kissing my 12 year old kid was not cool.  I sent the wrong message.

Well, in tween fashion, Hope let us all know that she wasn’t down with the “tucking in” stuff in a literal way.  She wondered if I really wanted a younger daughter instead of her.  Good grief, <crack> minor heartbreak, followed by lots of reassuring that no, I want Hope, in all her tween-esque, “please don’t reject me” glory.  I’m reading the update also in my own “please don’t reject me” glory.

We’ll have to create our family rituals. It’s all good.  It did feel like I made my first big stumble though.  I don’t want to upset Hope, and I certainly don’t want to scare her.  I have a feeling that my new adoptive mom angst combined with her tween, adoptive kid angst is going to lead to a few episodes of Foot in Mouth Syndrome (FMS) for us both.  It is ok, it’s natural, right? It doesn’t feel all that great for this natural overachiever, but it’s ok.  I can take it.

The good news is that it isn’t all stumbling over rocks, she does like me.

Hope likes me.

Apparently she talks about me all the time (see we have something in common—I talk about Hope obsessively).  She wasn’t as anxious this week, and she’s eager to learn more about me, about my life and potentially, our life.

Two steps forward, one stumble, but no ground loss…I think, we’ll see.

And so, now we’re back to just waiting until the next update.  Waiting blows.


I Got 99 Problems, But Some Folks…

I think everyone knows and understands that some folks come into your life for a lifetime and others only for a season.  I’ve found that during my times of extraordinary personal growth, I either leave some seasonal folks behind or we just drift apart.  I’d have to say that adoption and dissertation writing represent periods of crazy growth.

For the most part, I have had a solid core of support from friends and family during this journey.  It has not always been easy; there have been moments that have reduced me to tears because we are all navigating new terrain.  The dissertation journey has not been quite as rocky since I’ve been in school for several years; we’ve all got a rhythm with the school thing.   Most of the challenging moments have stemmed from my adoption journey, which falls into a weird, abstract blind spot for many people. People don’t seem to just say “congrats” like they would to pregnant women.   I’m adopting an older child, and since there’s no pregnancy, the whole thing can be more conceptual for lots of folks (thank God no one is rubbing my belly).  I get it, but “congrats” would still be a nice response sometimes.

What has been challenging is when my disclosure that I am adopting an older child is met with:

Are you sure about an older kid?  They are so much trouble.

You know you could/should reconsider having your own child.

Have you thought about surrogacy?

What about infant adoption?

Are you infertile?

Why have you given up hope?

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What the what???  Yeah.  All up in my grill.  Other deeply personal rationalizations I have about my life, hey, you want to hear about those too? Oh let me get out my calendar so we can discuss my last menses while we’re at it.

Some of these questions are well-intended.  Some are just out of genuine concern, others are just damn nosey.  But, I know they aren’t malicious.  One person even suggested that my plans to not have bio kids was most unfortunate because I’m smart and cute and should pass those genes on to my own kid (there’s that pesky “own” distinction again).  Um, ok.  Some people strangely assume that my decision making is based on nothing, just nothing and they attempt to school me on the challenges of adoption, that I should avoid older child adoption or even make the choice to be childless.  One person attempted this kind of school session during a recent happy hour.  I’m sad to report that she was injured as I was raising my “You’d better stay in your lane, crazy chick” shield.

Life at the moment is pretty complicated.  I’m waiting for the elusive Institutional Review Board approval for my dissertation study.  The adoption process is involving conference call on top of conference call, and it also requires a level of vulnerability that I’ve never before experienced.  The day job is demanding.  The bills have to be paid; dry cleaning picked up and dropped off, and wait–what the devil is that growing on the broccoli in the fridge?  It is crazy busy; there’s a lot to do and in the words of Michelle Obama, the one thing I don’t do well is answer stupid questions about my rationale to become a parent through adoption or to parent an older adoptive kid.  As if I owe anyone an explanation anyway!

The adoption process reminds me to be thoughtful about the company I keep.  I’ve got a lot going on, and I don’t have time for a bunch of silly foolishness.  I am viewing life through a prism of impending parenthood, and frankly I’m fanatically consumed with protecting the health and well-being of my Hope Kid.  Hope Kid has already been through enough crap; Hope Kid doesn’t need folks around who doubt my reasoning for wanting him/her or second guessing why I want to be a parent at all.

I know that my nearest and dearest will still ask some uncomfortable questions and not everyone will agree with the decisions I am making and will make.  That’s cool, it’s even allowed.  But Team AdoptiveBlackMom needs supportive folks.  It’s ok, to disagree with me, but I need folks around me who will help me be the best parent I can be and who won’t waste time with a bunch of crazy mess about whether I should be a parent at all or how I should go about achieving that goal.   Totally baffled and disturbed by this life choice to the point where your mouth is burning, just burning to question me?  That’s cool, but please see yourself to the door, our season on this life journey has come to a close.  I won’t allow that conflict to be one of my 99 problems.

 Oh you think it’s bad now?  I haven’t even met Hope Kid yet!  Just know that when I do, my inner Momma Bear will be epic! Epic, I tell you!


Gratitude and Adoption

InstantMama's avatarFrom Instant to Forever

There was a post a while back over at Don’t We Look Alike on the topic of gratitude called “To Adoptive and Prospective Adoptive Parents.”  It resonated with me as something I agree with and something I have seen addressed fairly regularly on other adoption blogs.  Because it is an issue.  And we can’t address an issue if we don’t know it exists, can we?

I cannot count how many times, upon hearing that I have adopted my (older, large sibling group, from foster care) children, I am told that I am a “saint” or that I “have a place in heaven for sure now” or that I am a “special” person for doing this, or a number of other similar responses.  What is implied is that my kids are “so lucky” to have been adopted by me.  In fact, just as many people actually verbalize that by…

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