My Happy Moment of the Day

Laine was coloring and I asked her what she was drawing. She said, "See, I put GOD in the middle of the heart, just like God is always in my heart."

Read more...

Put Yourself In Her Shoes

Our adoption agency sent us this analogy that will help us put ourselves in our daughter's shoes. I know it is a little long, but I invite all of you to read through the entire thing and then imagine this situation if you are a young child, not even able to understand this on an adult level.

Imagine for a moment...

You have met the person you've dreamed about all your life. He has every quality that you desire in a spouse. You plan for the wedding, enjoying every free moment with your fiance. You love his touch, his smell, the way he looks into your eyes. For the first time in your life, you understand what is meant by "soul mate," for this person understands you in a way that no one else does. Your heart beats in rhythm with his. Your emotions are intimately tied to his every joy, his every sorrow.

The wedding comes. It is a happy celebration, but the best part is that you are finally the wife of this wonderful man. You fall asleep that night, exhausted from the day's events, but relaxed and joyful in the knowledge that you are next to the person who loves you more than anyone in the world…the person who will be with you for the rest of your life.

The next morning you wake up, nestled in your partner's arms. You open your eyes and immediately look for his face.

But IT'S NOT HIM! You are in the arms of another man. You recoil in horror. Who is this man? Where is your beloved?

You ask questions of the new man, but it quickly becomes apparent that he doesn't understand you. You search every room in the house, calling and calling for your husband. The new guy follows you around, trying to hug you, pat you on the back,...even trying to stroke your arm, acting like everything is okay.

But you know that nothing is okay. Your beloved is gone. Where is he? Will he return? When? What has happened to him?

Weeks pass. You cry and cry over the loss of your beloved. Sometimes you ache silently, in shock over what has happened. The new guy tries to comfort you. You appreciate his attempts, but he doesn't speak your language-either verbally or emotionally. He doesn't seem to realize the terrible thing that has happened...that your sweetheart is gone.

You find it difficult to sleep. The new guy tries to comfort you at bedtime with soft words and gentle touches, but you avoid him, preferring to sleep alone, away from him and any intimate words or contact.

Months later, you still ache for your beloved, but gradually you are learning to trust this new guy. He's finally learned that you like your coffee black, not doctored up with cream and sugar. Although you still don't understand his bedtime songs, you like the lilt of his voice and take some comfort in it.

More time passes. One morning, you wake up to find a full suitcase sitting next to the front door. You try to ask him about it, but he just takes you by the hand and leads you to the car. You drive and drive and drive. Nothing is familiar. Where are you? Where is he taking you?

You pull up to a large building. He leads you to an elevator and up to a room filled with people. Many are crying. Some are ecstatic with joy. You are confused. And worried.

The man leads you over to the corner. Another man opens his arms and sweeps you up in an embrace. He rubs your back and kisses your cheeks, obviously thrilled to see you.

You are anything but thrilled to see him. Who in the world is he? Where is your beloved? You reach for the man who brought you, but he just smiles (although he seems to be tearing up, which concerns you), pats you on the back, and puts your hand in the hands of the new guy. The new guy picks up your suitcase and leads you to the door. The familiar face starts openly crying, waving and waving as the elevator doors close on you and the new guy.

The new guy drives you to an airport and you follow him, not knowing what else to do. Sometimes you cry, but then the new guy tries to make you smile, so you grin back, wanting to "get along." You board a plane. The flight is long. You sleep a lot, wanting to mentally escape from the situation.

Hours later, the plane touches down. The new guy is very excited and leads you into the airport where dozens of people are there to greet you. Light bulbs flash as your photo is taken again and again. The new guy takes you to another guy who hugs you. Who is this one? You smile at him. Then you are taken to another man who pats your back and kisses your cheek. Then yet another fellow gives you a big hug and messes your hair.

Finally, someone (which guy is this?) pulls you into his arms with the biggest hug you've ever had. He kisses you all over your cheeks and croons to you in some language you've never heard before.

He leads you to a car and drives you to another location. Everything here looks different. The climate is not what you're used to. The smells are strange. Nothing tastes familiar, except for the black coffee. You wonder if someone told him that you like your coffee black.

You find it nearly impossible to sleep. Sometimes you lie in bed for hours, staring into the blackness, furious with your husband for leaving you, yet aching from the loss. The new guy checks on you. He seems concerned and tries to comfort you with soft words and a mug of warm milk. You turn away, pretending to go to asleep.

People come to the house. You can feel the anxiety start to bubble over as you look into the faces of all the new people. You tightly grasp the new guy's hand. He pulls you closer. People smile and nudge one other, marveling at how quickly you've fallen in love. Strangers reach for you, wanting to be a part of the happiness.

Each time a man hugs you, you wonder if he will be the one to take you away. Just in case, you keep your suitcase packed and ready. Although the man at this house is nice and you're hanging on for dear life, you've learned from experience that men come and go, so you just wait in expectation for the next one to come along.

Each morning, the new guy hands you a cup of coffee and looks at you expectantly. A couple of times the pain and anger for your husband is so great that you lash out, sending hot coffee across the room, causing the new guy to yelp in pain. He just looks at you, bewildered. But most of the time you calmly take the cup. You give him a smile. And wait. And wait. And wait.

--Written by Cynthia Hockman-Chupp, analogy courtesy of Dr. Kali Miller

Read more...

This is the last piece of paperwork . . .

Oh how often have I said to Jed that, "this is the last piece of paperwork."

I said it when we completed the last piece of our dossier paperwork, I said it when we completed the one revision to our dossier paperwork, then I said it when our first Favorable Determination Letter came. On Friday I was able to say it again when our new FDL came approving us for a girl 0-24 months!

This is, once again, the US government's stamp of approval for the adoption. Now we really don't have any more paperwork. At least until our referral arrives.

Read more...

Telling Oma about Gayle

Jared on the phone with Gayle, aka Oma, telling her that we are naming the baby after her. She said she can't wait to be reunited with her parents in heaven so she can tell them that we picked the same name for our daughter as they did for theirs.

Read more...

Drumroll please . . .

Early in this process we started talking about whether we would give our daughter a new name or keep her birth name. On one hand we hate to take away any piece of her history. On the other hand we want her to feel like an American and we don't want her to picked on or teased about her name. As a woman with an unusual, and embarrassing, maiden name I know firsthand how cruel kids can be.

So we have decided to keep her birth name as her middle name and give her an American first name. At home we will call her by both names. So . . . the name we have chosen is . . .

GAYLE!

She is being named after Jed's maternal grandmother. Jed's grandmother is a kind and wonderful woman. She is the only grandparent either of us have and we are so thrilled that we can honor her in this way.

We have been talking about naming the baby Gayle for quite some time. When we first told the kids Jared asked if we would be calling her Oma (since that is what he calls his great grandmother). Laine gave him the eye roll only a sassy five year old can give and said, "no, we will be calling her Gayle Junior."

Read more...

More paperwork in the mail

I just mailed off our request to amend our I-600A form. This will officially change our USCIS approval to a child age 0-24 months. Wow, this just feels right. I have such a strong feeling that we are meant to adopt a toddler, and not an infant. It also makes sense for her to be a little bit older so she is closer in age to Laine and Jared.

Now I can go back to watching the mail for important paperwork. I am sure my neighbors will be thrilled to see me doing my "happy dance" at the mailboxes again.

Read more...

#56 on the wait list

We are officially number #56 on the wait list for our little girl. We moved up three spots in the last month. This has definitely been the hardest part of the adoption. Things are moving so s...l...o...w...l...y. In addition to the 55 people in front of us for a girl there are another 20+ waiting for a boy. (Some families are on both the girl and boy list but at least 20 families are just on the boy list.)

Every day I think about our daughter. I find myself thinking about her while I am on the treadmill or in the shower. Last week I stood outside and admired the beautiful Texas sky. Endless blue and puffy white clouds. I wished she was with me to see it.

Unlike a pregnancy, there is no due date circled on the calendar. I don't know whether this journey will be measured in months or years. I can only continue to pray for strength and patience.

Read more...

Clean House = Bad Mommy

I have always felt pretty good about how clean I keep my house. It is not too cluttered and the kitchen counters are usually clean. Well, with both my kids going to school now I have taken my cleaning to a new level. When the kids walked in the door from school I was standing there admiring my spotless floor (our entire downstairs is tile!).

My five year old, Laine, wanted to bake cookies. We put all the ingredients on the counter and she stood on her stool to pour things into the mixing bowl. Then she tried to crack an egg and it seemed to explode all over the counter, cabinets and my spotless floor.

"Laine, what did you do?" I practically shouted.

Then I looked at her sad little startled face and felt like the worst mommy ever. Who cares about the stupid floor? I've never gotten upset when the kids make messes.

After kisses and apologizing she quickly got over my outburst and we ended up making the world's best chocolate chip cookies, if I do say so myself.

Later I started thinking about making cookies with my grandmother. Her kitchen always smelled wonderful and her house was always cozy and comfortable. Then I remembered a needlepoint poem she had in her bedroom.

Cleaning and scrubbing can wait til tomorrow
For babies grow up we've learned to our sorrow
So quiet down cobwebs, dust go to sleep
I am rocking my baby and babies don't keep

That really put my clean floor into perspective!

Read more...