>Funky, Fine, or Freaks? Pondering the Large Family

>Fair warning: LONG post.

I have been stewing a bit lately. Maybe it was another migraine, pushing my thoughts outside their normal box. Maybe, but I don’t think so. Maybe it has been the intensive discerning process we’ve been in. Or now, the idea that we have EIGHT children (we just need CIS to verify). Very likely, that.

(This is an older picture, w/ our Korean exchange student/daughter from afar,
but not counting Gabriel or our new daughter to come)

But, clearly, I’ve been thinking, a LOT, about the large family.

Now, we, to some, are a large family. To many of the families I know, we are a smallish large family. Or maybe a largish, medium size family. Or a big small family. By some standards we are a middling family, no big deal. But, by others, the vast majority, we are a Large family. By modern American standards we are a freaky big family!

And I think, isn’t that odd?
And isn’t that kind of sad?

But then again, I have to think about that a lot. Because my kids have to grow up in this family. And some people have written about how hard and bad it is for kids to have to grow up in a large family; what a disservice it does to the kids. Hmmm.

Obviously, I have a bias.

I like to think that a large family, or a largish medium size family, or even a crazy big family is on the whole: good for the kids. Kim at Starry Sky Ranch is thinking about this, living it, as well. Worth a read that.

But too often, in our modern or postmodern culture, the large family is considered not only not so good, but detrimental. Huh? Because in the modern ethos, if you are filling all the bedrooms and then some in your house then surely you are shortchanging your kids, right? They must not have all the “things” they need materially. Because modern kids are not only entitled to their own room and an education but the newest backpacks and electronics and flat screen tv’s….really? Ok, I’m not saying everybody holds to this, but oddly enough, I get asked about this sort of thing. And of course, you might guess, I disagree. Kids are not entitled to such, to our excess consumerism, nor is it best for them (and we are all too guilty, all too often, mea culpa). But this is another post topic, really…the idea of how much and of what? Kids need a certain financial stability to thrive and certainly the adoption process ensures that. But it is a much wider swath than some I meet presume.

But to take it further, people wonder, and (to my waning shock) ask outright, if we are being “good stewards” of our resources. We have been questioned, point blank, on whether we have all our kids’ college funds funded (more than once). And you know, thankfully, so far, God has provided and no we don’t have every child’s entire education funded. We are figuring that we will figure it out and we will find a way to be sure that all our children get the education they want and need. It is a priority, but not a panicked stash. This is our personal decision (so don’t flame me, I get it when you decide otherwise).

So really, it begs the question: good stewardship, how is it applied to kids and a big family? Well, I think it’s simple. The best investment, ever and always, is in the life of a child. Period. That may be easy to say, but if we can make it work, we are gonna and so we figure we can raise one more, again. It might not be easy, it’s an expensive process and prospect. But, we, in faith, figure we will figure it out as we go.

But as for stewardship and the good of the kids, there is a much bigger picture to go with…..again, the fingers get pointed at the bigger family. Because you can’t possibly be a good steward of your other resources if you have so many kids can you? Can you really give those kids all the attention they need? Really? The love, the time? Can you really focus on their needs, their individual quirks and nurture them fully?
Yes, you can.
Is it hard and challenging at times?
Um, yeah.
Is it noisy and messy and chaotic?
Oh boy, yup, it is that!

But here’s the secret that people forget. They must forget because surely they know, if they pause to consider. One of the best, the very best, reasons to have a large family is: siblings. Yeah, the rivalry thing is real and can be maddening and intense. But siblings are simply the greatest gift you can give a child, any child. Even kids who have special needs, and might need more of your attention and resources (financial or otherwise); their best gift from you is a sib. Because only a sibling will always be there for them. Siblings are the only people who will have a relationship that spans the lifetime – even if it gets broken. There is still something there. And more siblings aren’t a drain, it’s a literal expansion: of fun, silliness, madness, emotions, opportunities, support, touch, love. They may not always be happy about it, and some sibs will be closer than others. But no one else will make you fall off your chair laughing til you cry when you’re grown. I remind my boys when they fuss that no one else will be able to make fun of me, after I am dead, like his brother. OK, or even now as I am quite alive. Love ’em or hate ’em, there is nobody like a sib. Ever.
And then we come to the one that makes me feel quite the curmudgeon:
“what about you?”
“How can you, as a mom, as an adult woman, feel fulfilled and challenged when you are tied to a house full of kids?”
What about “me time”?
People have asked me this in opposition to our latest adoption.
And you know, here’s my answer:
I do not live under a rock, I am aware of this concept, I see the magazines. And yes I do get tired and burnt out too sometimes. However, I am the most selfish person I have ever met and I must say I have a remarkable knack for carving out ME time.
But my “me” time may not be yours.
And it is a huge mistake to judge how much or of what type is claimed.
And in our culture, there is such an emphasis on self that it has gotten skewed. The best sort of “me” time I can really give, is to my kid (one or all). Not that I always remember that point, or do it. But the times I DO remember and value and that restore, are the ones that are those good quiet parent moments: laying down with a cuddled up small one for a rare quiet moment or two, the discussion (happy, funny, sad, intense) where you make those connections, the sideways look of understanding each other in a crowd (even if that crowd is your own kitchen). Don’t get me wrong, I love having a hot bath, I took the time to run far slow runs, I love a good book. But. When someone, friend, family, or stranger, tells me that we shouldn’t have another child, love another, because it will cut into “my” time (and they have, more than once)…then I’m thinking, um, something is wacked.

And I guess that’s where I’m at. I’m a bit dismayed over the flip. The cultural flip. It’s wonky. We are the stranger now. Our family. We have gone off the grid. We are freaks. We don’t fit, anymore. Because we have been deemed freaky. We are, weirdly, “other.” We feel freaky, really.

But here’s my take on it: it’s not politically correct, but I think our culture is freaky. Our society, in postmodern America (ok it’s even beyond, look at Europe) is the freaky thing. It’s wacked. The family, no matter the size, is under attack and when you are obviously centering your life around the family instead of the golden calf of “self”…well, you are labeled as a freak or crank or a pompous poof….or well, the list could go on and on.

If you are “lucky” people will presume you are ‘strong” or “good”…but even that is not so. Nice to hear, if embarrassing. Because, in actuality I am (we are) selfish, again. Because loving this family is everything to me. These kids, this life, this family, even as it grows…..is the biggest challenge, hardest, most exhilarating, most exhausting, most worthwhile thing I can begin to imagine.So, tell Gabriel that we are a freaky funky family, right after you pry him out of his big brother’s arms. Try it. I think he would disagree….

>Spinning and hoping: process update

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I am making all the children walk around like this, at all times: all fingers crossed.
Ok, kidding. That would be superstitious. And we as Catholics are not, or not supposed to be at any rate!

Our heads (and by that, I mean, mine) are spinning around here.
I feel somewhat like Lucy, Lucille Ball that is, on one of her wacky factory episodes…..just not quite ‘getting it.’ I should explain: in some ways going back for a second round of adopting internationally is much easier. However, in some ways it is harder in the sense of confusion.

As ever, the most formidable part of the whole paperchase process (for me at any rate) is the labyrinth that is commonly known as Immigration, Homeland Security, USCIS, or for those in the know (and by that, I mean “mired”): CIS.

Going back a second time would seem simple, but maybe not so much. And it is complicated (or not??) by having an approval that is still “open” and needing only an amendment. Because amending is uncommon, and CIS is a black hole. Almost impenetrable.

Allusions abound, images spinning through my mind as I wait for either a glimmer of info on where we stand, or a “Go”: Frodo’s quest, Lucy’s candy wrapping, or more, the Dreaded Fire Swamp or the Cliffs of Insanity. Maybe I need the Dread Pirate Roberts to be on our side!

It is not the kind of excruciating hard sadness that so many Gladney families have had to bear this past week. My heart still hurts for each of them. It is not the kind of unknowable ways of a foreign country, as Grace aptly puts it: TIE (this is Ethiopia – our ways are not yours, and we shouldn’t expect them to be). It is our own nation’s bureaucratic cogs a’spinning, or grinding and lurching.

So right now, I’ve been quieter on the blog as we have been spinning plates and keeping them all in the air…that delicate balance between hope and impatience. I’m trying (and commonly failing) to detach in faith and tend to real life as it continues to present itself in stubbed toes, book report drafts, grocery store runs, giggling small boys, staring contests, and listening to the house filled with music from a visiting son!

I know, dullsville. But some have asked about the chase, the paperchase, and well, this is how it goes. Probably every time, I am sure. I’m impatient. Forever. Most plates in the air, a few crashed to the ground and another then tossed back up. All fingers crossed, anyhow and hope springing eternal! Because that’s how the paperchase really plays out!

flikr photo by tpaddock

>More Racers – Paperchasers!!!!

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These two pics are of

Farmboy and Buttercup.

And we hold a special spot in our heart for this family, and this couple. They of the big hearts and beautiful family.

They held our sweet Tariku, when we were far from him. They cuddled him and reassured me; as I fretted and worried half a world away.

And now, with overflowing joy I get to direct you to their blog for their big announcement!

They’ve been wrestling with big decisions too. And now they have come to it! It’s a great thing and an amazing story of God’s own nudging; told oh so well by Farmboy. Go read.

You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll be glad you did.

For me, selfishly, I am happy to have them as virtual companions on the road again! And ever grateful for their generosity and support! Exciting stuff. Go. See.

Make your day.

>Paperchase: what you forget

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Ahh, the paperchase. Yep, still in it.
But for now it’s moving toward paperwait.
Soon, however, it will be paper-weight.

I forgot.

Ok, I guess it’s a little like giving birth in that you forget.
You forget the panting and puffing of getting paperwork done.
You forget the parts that are out of your control.
You forget the urge to just be able to call someone,
anyone, to help push things through;
email someone, do something!
I know, I know, it’s due diligence. It’s necessary for the process.
My head nods in comprehension.
But not my heart.

And of course – there is nothing to be done.
But wait.

So what’s a gal to do with all that frustration of goals met, papers notarized, sealed, delivered…and still nothing.
No visible progress?
So close and yet so far?
She eats! She stress snacks.
She craves all the bad stuff: chocolate, sugar, sour skittles, raspberry chantilly Peppridge Farm Cookies (and happily, they seem to be off the shelves as she can decimate a bag before getting home from the store! Best. Cookies. Ever)
And she makes killer apple pie when a wonderful patient delivers a box of apples from their own orchard. And eats it for breakfast, yum! (Hey, cut me some slack, I shared! Really!)
So yeah, I forgot. The paperchase, when you want it to be nothing but a paper RACE, is mostly a paperwait, paper-weight. So, before I have to buy a whole new wardrobe, I am hoping I can really finish and forget this once again. Sigh.

>Feast Day: St. Jerome

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St. Jerome, by Peter Paul Rubens

It’s the Feast of St. Jerome today.

And I don’t want to blast you all with endless saint feast days, but then again, why not? Because, well, we Catholics, we love a feast and any reason to feast! {maybe that’s just me…my wardrobe is saying, um, yeah!} Kidding, mostly….

Truly, I DO love the whole liturgical year deal. I know I’ve said it before on this blog, but it bears repeating: it just gives such a richness and texture to our year. Days of feast and fasting, seasons of expectation and celebration, and yes, days of mourning as well (lent and Easter week can be tough). But yeah, it does make my days a little richer, have a little more meaning, when I think about the saint of the day and if they have a special connection to me or my family or friends – or if they set an example worth considering (and gee whiz, they are saints, they do!).

So today is the feast of St. Jerome and he is the patron of a dear friend’s son, so a friend of ours. Happy feast day Joe!

To read more about him go here and here. And he is worth knowing a bit about, as St. Jerome was the one who translated the bible from the Hebrew into the common language of the time: Latin. Hence his translation is known as the Latin Vulgate (“vulgar” meaning common). So, clearly we are all in some debt here. He’s an important saint to know, and he is also in fact a Doctor of the Church.

St. Jerome, by Fra Filippo Lippi

I like thinking about St. Jerome because here he is, a ‘big hitter’, and yet, he is also historically known to be a cranky guy. He was known for his bad temper and stories of it abound.

And for me, on a day with little sleep (ok for many days now), up at 4:30 to give a breathing treatment to Little Man after listening to him bark cough and wheeze, that gives me comfort.
Even we cranks have the potential to grow into saints. It gives me hope.

Plus, on a personal aside (I know, the whole thing is a personal aside) I am thinking about asking for his prayers in assisting me in learning Amharic. I am dreadful at languages and I will need “the gift of tongues”, so to speak, to learn this language in preparation for our next daughter to come home!

St. Jerome, pray for us!

>Novena: St. Therese of Lisieux: Starts Today!

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Today is the start of the novena to St. Therese of Lisieux!
Go here for the novena prayers.

St. Therese is a favorite saint around here. She has been an intercessor for us over the years and she is a faithful pray-er if asked for her help. She is known as being a patron saint of missions, among other things. However, she never went on a mission, though she deeply desired to.

St. Therese is known as “the Little Flower.” She died young, of TB (a grizzly painful death), and she led a humble hidden life. Her sisters in the convent didn’t think so much of her, but she had a burning simple faith; a pure love for Christ in a childlike simple uncomplicated manner. Her writings reveal such truths that she is considered one of the few Doctors of the Church. And while her writings, her autobiography, was written during that Victorian era when the writing was florid and frankly, difficult for modern eyes and sensibilities to digest (ok, me), it has profound deep truths in it. The biographies of her are better (see Gaucher), IMHO.

I love this saint. I love her because she was simple, because people totally underestimated her, and because she really strived to lead a more faithful life even though it was a struggle. I love her because she is honest in her writings both about the depth of her love but also for the challenges of her struggles in being charitable and kind sometimes.

“I’m certain of this – that if my conscience were burdened with all the sins it’s possible to commit, I would still go and throw myself into our Lord’s arms, my heart all broken up with contrition; I know what tenderness He has for any prodigal child of His that comes back to Him.”

I love her because her story comforts me in my measly efforts and tells me we don’t have to all be amazing heroic saints here, but if we love, truly and simply and keep trying, that counts for everything. I need that.

“You know well enough that Our Lord does not look so much at the greatness of our actions, nor even at their difficulty, but at the love at which we do them.”

“For me, prayer is an aspiration of the heart, it is a simple glance directed to Heaven, it is a cry of gratitude and love in the midst of trial as well as joy. Finally, it is something great and supernatural, which expands my soul and unites me to Jesus.”

I am going to start this novena tonight. I have prayed other novenas to her over the years and, as with all novenas, the prayer itself transforms. The remembering to pray and intention itself helps transform our hearts and souls, as of course do the prayers. I need that. This novena will be for this next adoption we are in. For a small miracle with CIS to amend our approval swiftly, and thus get our paperwork there so this girl can come home. She too, is little and hidden, like St. Therese. So I think St. Therese, who was a young girl, little, overlooked, but with a huge heart for reaching out to the world….just might intercede and pray for this other little one, half a world away.

St. Therese of Lisieux, pray for us!

>Toddler Adoption: Adjustment, Part 4

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Gabriel has been home FOUR months now!
This past weekend we passed our four month mark!
Imagine!

Here’s his report:

Brothers are great fun.
Maybe more fun than girls.
But they are pretty good too.
But wrestling and running is best of all.
That kid in the mirror?…..He’s a blast!
Dancing is great fun, especially if it’s got a good beat!
Mom is a terrible singer but I like it anyway.
Hey, I can really throw things, far!
And kick ’em too!
Yeah, I can do magic. Dad’s keys? Gone!
Love the shoes!
Ok, most all shoes.
Meat is disgusting, unless it is hidden in lasagna.
Potatoes, tomatoes and berries are best of all.
Unless it is chips, salsa, or popcorn.
Who needs sleep anyhow?
Boating is maybe the best fun of all.
Dad’s beard is worth exploring, haven’t quite figured that one out yet.
If I don’t know the word, a loud shout and emphatic point work just as well.
Up, Mama, Hi, and Eewww, seem like good words.
Baby cussing works too…….
Ok, not really, just trying to get those pesky words straight.
But if you say them emphatically and with great expression and a big gesture, then everybody laughs…because it’s like baby cussing.
Laughing is fun.
Dishwashers are for climbing.
Ok, everything is for climbing.
Toys? I laugh at toys.
The whole HOUSE is my toy!
I can make a toy out of anything!
Man, I’m FAST.
But not as fast as the cat.
There is something fascinating about the computer, I mean, look at all those buttons.
The warming drawer is just a fine place to sit.
Baths are fantastic fun.
Splashing water everywhere is very satisfying.
If I smear food in my hair, I get a bath!
Mom gets really loud when Notre Dame plays that ball game thing.
Which means I get to be really loud too!
I like that.
There are always people around in this place, and they are always the same ones.
Hugs and kisses are there for the asking, and even a lot of time when you don’t.
I think it’s alright here.

>Paper Race, not Chase

>The race is on.
Not a chase this time. But a race, against time.

As some of you know, we’ve been pondering and praying. {And all of you pals, thank you so much for your support and prayers, they help SO much!} And we have decided and been given the all clear, the go ahead – against all odds and against the tide of normal.
We are going back.

I hesitate to post this as I know it will bring a tsunami of opinion; some welcome, some, not so much. But this is not being done to court opinion and favor. This is going to be done, in hope and faith and trust, with a little bit of fear and the usual fretting. But it is going to be done stepping out in trust instead of holding back in fear. {And yeah, now you know why I’ve been sort of obsessing in my recent posts…it’s all about me and my stream of consciousness folks!}

That’s no small thing. This is bundled up in fears and caveats. Boatloads of research: professionals, texts, personal experiences. But we have chosen to not live our lives in fear: intellectually, emotionally, or (and most importantly) spiritually. We choose to live in the light of faith. And our faith tells us that this is right. Not that this will be easy. Not that this might not be very hard. But that it is right. And there, in the right, in the faith and trust and effort, there is where we will find the joy.

Why? Many ask, and will ask, and have.
Why not? We say.
(And yes, there are many reasons why not. But again, where do those lie?)

So. We are going back. We have started the paper chase again. For a girl, in Ethiopia. We met her. She is twelve. Special circumstances. And that makes it not a chase, but this time, a race. Against time. For her. Not because she is ill, but because at her age, each day away from a family makes it all harder. Because she has been through enough and needs to land safely.

She does not know about this yet. She cannot. It is not allowed yet. She will be asked and told about us after our Immigration approval/update comes back again.

I have really struggled with who and when and how to tell people this time. Because this time it is so different, with an older child, one we met. This time the reactions are muted, tending toward the ‘deer in the headlights’ look and a short “oh.” And those are the good reactions. Sigh. So I tire of bracing myself for that. Because, hey, I’m shallow, and I like the happy, excited response! But I’ve decided, w/ Coffeedoc’s encouragement, to go ahead and tell people. Because we are committed. We are in. And we are not in for what people think anyhow. And it is exciting.

So we are going to embrace our joy, our excitement, because there will be joy in this. We are going to be excited when we can. And it’s fun to shout the news and if people don’t understand or agree: ok.

We covet your prayers, beg for them, if you pray. We count on all the support we can get. We are not proud, we are informed, we are probably fools. We know. But. When you feel such a pull, such endless bricks and nudges….what else can you do? For us. Nothing but this: step forward. One step at a time. And embrace it, all.

On your mark, get set, go!

>The big stuff: Go figure

>This is a painting Coffeedoc brought back from Haiti. It is a favorite of ours and the photo doesn’t do it justice. But it brings up stuff we’ve been talking alot about lately.

What do you do about the hard stuff? The big stuff? How do you reconcile the whole concept of suffering? How do you endure it and not succumb to it, meaninglessly? How do you not just wither into it and wallow in your pity party (ok, me)? How do you factor it into a life: suffering, joy and all the in-between?

We have had a year of the highest highs and lowest lows: bringing home new child, our toddler, from Ethiopia and losing a beloved Grandma, Coffeedoc’s mom. And all around us too, we find friends and family in different variants of hard and happy….just like the rest of the world. And I think it’s human nature to want to make sense of it all, as best we can.
And we talk around and around this. And pray through it, for it, about it…..it seems that there is not that much we can figure out except this: Suffering comes in many forms and it’s hard. It hurts! It can be pervasive or precise, overwhelming or simply pointedly excruciating. Joy too, comes in many forms, also broad or the perfect pinpoint moment.
But they are connected.
They are utterly connected.
This I know. This we are taught in our faith. It is scriptural.
I forget it, just about every darn day. When I am fearful, I am forgetting. When I am controlling and trying to shape every thing that happens, push, pull, heave, ho, I am forgetting. I tend to want to jump over, and protect my loved ones, from any bit of suffering (unless it’s the dishes…). The idea of their suffering is ever much more awful to me than my own, of course.
And that path, it is all about the fear.
And when I talk about suffering, I am almost always, really, talking about fear. I know, you’re thinking I’ve already hit on this, a few posts back already! I know. Bear with me. Because, I am a slow learner and I learn and process by talking and typing. So here we are. Again.
We are taught, and I need to be reminded, again and again and again, that even through suffering, we are transformed, and with that, we are brought into joy. In fact, I can point to some of the greatest suffering we have experienced, personally and as a family, and I can say, that is where we grew into ourselves, our joy. We are taught that our sufferings, especially when we are trying, giving and pouring ourselves out for something beyond us – stretching, that we will be returned good. Shaken, tamped down and overflowing good abundance. But first we have to walk through the fire of a given or accepted suffering. And, well, that is hard. Often “hard” doesn’t even begin to describe what it is.But in faith, I know, that it is all for a greater good. For MY good, even if it is good for anything beyond me as well. But it is so easy for the fear to stymie that. To stop the whole process or accepted effort in it’s tracks. So, I need to be reminded. Again and again and again.
It’s about the JOY, stupid. That’s for me.
That’s where it is. That’s what I forget. That’s what I need to remember to tell folks, to tell myself, to tattoo on my forehead so I won’t forget.

It’s about the Joy. The real stuff. Go figure.Heb.12:1… let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us,[2] looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.

>Risks of Adoption

>There are many risks in adoption.
The list can be long: time, money, public perception and opinion, exhaustion, attachment issues and so on and so on.

But one of the risks is specific to international adoption, and the travel.
This risk is not written about so much, specifically. It is alluded to.
It is often tossed around in conversation; sometimes in a flip dismissive cocktail party comment.

But it is a real risk.
It is more real than some, maybe many, would like to admit.

It is the risk of tearing your heart.
It is NOT the risk of opening your heart, the stretching that you do to make room for your next child – the one you have jumped through hoops for and finally, blissfully, amazingly have in your arms. That expansion is a known, accepted and expected event and/or process.I want to talk about the surprising hole that is torn in your heart, your soul if you will, after visiting these kids in the orphanages.
I know, it’s an old story. Drippy songs have been sung. Boxes have been stood upon to make speeches. Just by typing this I know I lost a chunk o’ readers. Yadda yadda.
It’s been done. It’s been said. I know.

But it’s a whole ‘nother thing to go and see and touch these kids, big or small. Jen Cantwell writes about this. Go, read if you dare (bring a tissue).
I am putting this out there, again, because it’s been more than three months now since we were there: in Addis Ababa, at the orphanages. Time enough for the hectic balm of our modern life to fuse those shredded seams…right? You would think so. But, no.
There are seemingly permanent jagged ragged edges now. A gash. More than one.
We were wounded, and didn’t know the risk. And it’s done. No bandaid is gonna cover it up and smooth it out. Or should, maybe. And I’m not complaining. I’m just saying…it’s the risk that goes kind of unspoken.
They don’t have a chapter on this in the books. They don’t have a page in the agency manual or travel info:

Warning: upon meeting the children in the local orphanages you might experience a certain sorrow. This is likely to continue and in fact can manifest in the positive upswing in overall gratitude and a more global perspective and outreach but it is important to consider that it is also a fairly certain risk of a significant shear in the fabric of your heart.”

So, for those in the process and paperchase, or considering international adoption:
Fair Warning. There are risks below the surface of adoption.
You could be torn, just a bit, but forever.

>Toddler Adoption: Adjustment, Part 3

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Gabriel Tariku, home 3 months

And yeah, he IS “Mr. Happy.”
He is also, Mr. Fussy.
Mr. Loud
Mr. Jealous
Mr. Demanding
Mr. Climber
Mr. Cracks us Up Funny
Mr. Poor Sleeper
Mr. Mischeivous
Mr. Loves to Wrestle
Mr. Speed Racer
And my personal favorite: Mr. Cuddle Bunny

In other words, he is a toddler! And even now, we still see Gabriel adjusting to life here in this country, with us, with a family and a mom and a dad. The adjustment is more nuanced now. The bonding, while it is the ongoing work of a lifetime, it seems to be well on it’s way to firm cementing – in both directions. He seems crazy for us and we are surely crazy for him.

The big, first pass adjusting things are settled. Gabe is no longer afraid of the dog, instead he races to her, pats her, leans on her, it is one of his almost-words: “Dah.” He eats many things now instead of almost nothing and only milk in a bottle. He doesn’t panic if I leave the room, though he often will follow me as fast as his little bowlegs will carry him. He knows the lay of the house and careens around with abandon, confidently manuevering the tables and corners instead of bumping his head. He goes to any and all of his siblings, letting them cart and carry him and only fussing mildly if one of the girls changes his diaper instead of me. He is very assertive at making his wants known, pointing and pulling us to get him something, insistent.

It’s the nuanced things now we notice; the little things that remind us, he’s still adjusting. It’s so easy to take for granted that he’s ours, he’s just part of us now…it feels in a way like he’s been here forever. But now and again, we are reminded.

When he falls asleep now, better in my arms than anyone else’s, I remember that he used to fall asleep alone, and prefer it. Now when he wakes, he often wants, demands, to be brought into our bed to sleep between us with a contented sigh. A small thing, yes, but really: huge. Before he would only really sleep, even, alone, in his portacrib…secure and similar to his old orphanage crib (though softer and right next to me).

He is a smoocher now. While his reports from the updates reported him as “a little aggressive” he is actually a super affectionate, assertive, cuddler. He smooches and fish kisses and hugs and when he does he gives a humming sigh. Which makes my heart melt, every time. Not much better in the world than a humming melty hug from a smiling toddler.

Gabriel still has almost no words. He almost has a few words: “mama,” but only in distress, “Daa” for Dad, sometimes, and “Dah, for dog. He almost, almost says “hi” and he waves with abandon. But that is it. He relies on grunts and screeches and pushes and pulls. However, it’s coming, it’s subtle but I think it’s coming (and yes, I am no speech therapist so one of you might beg to differ) because I hear him sing. Now, yes, it’s singing, baby singing babble and not quite a tune and yet, clearly a happy tune. He didn’t sing before. He babbles and talks now, just not in our words but he’s clearly telling us stuff. Before he just watched the world and only made noise for fairly big need.

Now, he comes to me, me the mom, for the magic kiss: the owie kiss. And that might seem like a no-brainer, all kids do that, right? Well, no. Not Gabriel, not until recently. Before he would bump his head, sit up, rub the noggin and blink, get up and go on. And his brother would say “wow, he’s tough!” And I would agree with a “yeah” but inside I would wince “oh”…because that resilience came at a cost. He had to grow it when he couldn’t get a mom kiss on the booboo. And it made me have an ‘owie’ on his behalf, in my heart. But now…now he gets the most minor bump and he looks to me or runs over to me and I scoop him up and kiss it. Make it better.

So, how are we doing at three months home? I’d say pretty well. If you don’t look, you’ll miss the adjusting, you might presume it’s done. But if you pay attention, you’ll see great, important progress.
And when I kiss that owie, again, my boys say, “Oh, he’s not as tough, you’re making him soft!” And I say, “No, I am making him ours.”

>Baptism!

>

Oh Happy Day!
Today we had our sweet Gabriel Tariku baptized, or re-baptized.

It’s really a provisional baptism. We believe he was christened in the Ethiopian Orthodox church, which is of course a valid baptism. However, in order to be sure (as you really want to be sure your child is baptized of course) and in order to have a Baptismal Certificate so he can receive the other sacraments, we were able to have him have a provisional baptism, today. And it was no less sweet or awesome or joyful.

We were able to have him wear the traditional Ethiopian outfit, handmade for him by his favored caregiver. Just ironing it and putting it on him took my breath at the joy of this connection and continuation. He looks so handsome in it and it is a treasure; no better, no more appropriate, outfit could have been chosen.
We were blessed to be able to have our dear Bishop, our spiritual Father, perform the baptism and the Mass today before it. Although, when Bishop says Mass we get to hear all our favorite (and his) hymns, which had me working very hard not to cry even at the recessional hymn: “Oh God Beyond All Praising.” Especially today, with the adoption of this boy, and with all the families traveling and on my mind, this song got to me. It is one that I posted about before and how it makes me feel connected. And I do.

And really, that, for me, is so much what baptism is about. Connection.We are connected. When we adopt, we connect kids and sibs and new families and races, culture and countries; threads woven together. And with baptism, we are connected, adopted, by God the Father, we are Christ-ened, made to be children of God. We are made anew.

And so this sacrament has so very much meaning for me now, in a way that I could only kind of begin to intellectualize before I began to adopt. I mean, I ‘got it’. But not nearly so deeply as I ‘get it’ now.

And the beauty of it makes me laugh and weep all at the same time. Once again, our life here, when it is at it’s VERY best, is a mere glimmer and reflection of the glory that is what’s real and awaits.

But, oh, it takes my breath away.
And so I started crying and blinking back my tears at the hymn. Then started up again as we were surrounded by family and friends and saw my girlfriends crying as the Bishop took my hand and talked about my job as the mother to this child, this child of God.

Gabriel slept through part of it, through the christening with oil and the sign of the cross, indelibly, sacramentally, on his chest and forehead….until they poured the Holy Water on his sweet curls. Even then, he settled down fast, in my arms – my newly baptized son, as we all repeated our baptismal vows, our statement of faith.
And the veil between this world and the much more real world around us got a little thinner…and it glimmered.
And we all grinned and blinked tears of joy.
Oh happy day!

>Blankie

>

Linus: copyright: PEANUTS. United Features Syndicate.

I just put Gabriel to bed. It takes a bit of time nowadays, but that’s ok. But as I sat in the rocking chair with him, for the second time (after the first unsuccessful laying him down)…I realized something that made me smile.

I have a new definition.
Not really new, but one I hadn’t really scanned into this version of the Webster’s….

You see, Gabe really is into his blankie lately. He is a very tactile kid. He likes to feel it next to his face and rub the nubby and soft texture. So, as you might guess, we have a number of blankies for him. He has definite favorites.

Tonight, he reached for me, not quite ready for sleep. We settled back into the rocker just so…me so I wouldn’t spaz my back, Gabe so his one arm was behind me and the other in front and him nestled in, like a big squeeze hug, just so. And I realized, again, as he nuzzled in and sighed…that I am his living security blanket.

I know, this is not a news flash. And yet, it made me smile. Maybe I’m just tired tonight. Sbird and Little Man gave me a run for the money today, they can take fussing and defiance to a new art form some days.
Now, I’ve been called a ‘wet blanket’, certainly. And I really do kind of fit the criteria for a good blankie: kind of old and nubbly, faded, worn around the edges, certainly plenty soft and mushy, I smell pretty good (I hope, although even that, like other blankies, isn’t always happening), and I am always ready to wrap myself around this baby and let him nestle in, pushing and tugging to make it/me fit just right.

So, I’m a security blanket now, or, well, again.
An old soft mushy blankie. Who knew?
He’s got plenty of others too, both the woven and living variety….
But it seems I’m one of the favs…and that makes me very very happy.

>Sibling Rivalry, Adjustment

>

This is a post for some of the real stuff – to link you to my son’s blog and post about Little Man’s summer meltdowns. Because Little Man IS having summer meltdowns and temper tantrums this season. And I don’t think it is only because he is four, although it is partly that:

“I am four, hear me ROAR!”

No, surely, his tantrums are escalated by textbook sibling rivalry and jealousy – adoption edition.

And for all of you adoptive families out there, especially the ones about to travel (and with kids at home), this is real life. It happens, it’s gonna happen and it’s best to know it now.

Little Man is the one who was ‘displaced’ out of the baby slot. He was bumped. He was the one who became a whole new status: “I’m the big brother” when he had thoroughly relished his long term ‘baby of the family’ status.

That’s a tough change.

And he is swinging from the fun of a new smaller person to play cars with on the floor (another BOY, hoorah!), race through the house, and topple toys…to the jealous fury of seeing me hold that same new male small person, baby, in my lap and have to share that lap, and scowling when I say “No” when he launches into my room and hollers for me when I am putting the baby to bed. Sometimes it just seems like a quick body check as he passes by that toddler might be a good idea.

Um, no.

So Little Man gets in trouble or directed to do something else and will often launch into one of his tantrums and willful scowling stubborn sulks. Which gets him sent to his room or losing something fun, which this summer, escalates into a fairly impressive temper fit.

That’s being Four. That’s jealousy. That’s a pain in the neck and a drag.

But that’s normal.

And it will pass. Little Man already can’t quite jive up these feelings: his normal, inborn sweet happy disposition and his full temper and anger at not getting his way and frustration at new changes and ways. It’s hard to learn to control your feelings and temper….I”m 46, still working on it. I get it.

So we are problem solving. One of his biggest issues is that Little Man hates, HATES sleeping in his own room, always has (I know, that will change soon enough). But for now, he cries. He hates it. Gabriel can’t sleep there yet, although we have a crib in there, because I am too lazy to get up 6+ times a night and walk over there stumbling blind and sleepy as Gabe wakes, again. So the baby is in my room. And Little Man is JEALOUS. So. We are now letting him make a pallet by the baby, in our room, and he can sleep near his brother…start now, what will be their childhood nights together. I know, it sounds nuts. But it works. And it’s only for a short time.

A blink.

And that’s the important part to remember. This time of adjusting, in the big scheme of things, is a blink. It will pass. And then you’ll move on to something else. It might seem big, huge. It is surely a pain. But it is not defining. It is adjusting, nudging here and there, accomodating and problem solving and hearing them…soothing and teaching until a new mold is made.

So, if you want to feel better at the fussing or rivalry or meltdowns in your house, go read my son’s post. He makes me sound much more together than I am in real life, and for that I paid him, um, thank him. So, don’t think he’s accurate on that point. This is not the fun part of adopting. But don’t wig out if it happens. It’s ok. It’s real, it’s important…but really, it’s only a blink in time.

>Happy Day! Tradition!

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Oh, this is one of the very happy traditions for us!! Happy happy day!
Yup, guess what we did this morning?
We had our state/U.S. readoption of our sweet Gabriel!
Hip hip hooray!
Waiting to be meet our favorite attorney and be allowed in to courtroom.

This is becoming a tradition for us:
Same courtroom, same attorney, same judge, same joy!

We always go out to brunch to celebrate after court…
(excuse the messy table…ahem)

And the family traditions continue…..

>Trust, Letters and Life

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Well, it’s another Catholic post I guess. But it’s a family post, it’s an adoption post, it’s an “us” (ok, me) post too.

Read on if you dare. It’s long, you know that by now.

It’s been 40 years since the publication of Humanae Vitae“, “Human Life.” That’s the encyclical, the letter from Pope Paul VI on the dignity of human life; the letter that started a cultural firestorm due to it’s stance on contraception. Talk about an unpopular topic and stance – one of the biggies (not the only one, but one of them). This post is not a big gloss on this encyclical, for that go to Darwin Catholic and/or The Deacon’s Bench for a good run down on it. This is about how it impacted me.

St. Peter’s Square, where the action is.

Now, this letter was huge – the ramifications huge. Basically it said that ALL human life is precious and that the act of creating life is God’s alone and the means to that action is also God’s alone – not ours to blockade or strip through scientific/medical intervention. I know, I can hear you all squalling, it’s my body, my life, my/our decision, who is some old Pope to tell us what to do? I get it. I was there. For years, and years, and years. I TOTALLY get it. I felt the same way, exactly.

Then I came back to the Church, which begged the question, what do I do about this? I was so happy to find and deepen my faith again, it was so good. But. How was I supposed to reconcile my natural individualism and STRONG independent streak, a modern educated woman…with this teaching that felt intrusive and old fashioned, almost medieval, at the very least simply outdated and really, behind the curve?

Many modern catholics just kind of flick it off their radar or decide to disagree. But you know, I finally came to the difficult realization that just ignoring Catholic teaching if it wasn’t to my immediate agreement was kind of hypocritical. It was an authority issue for sure. No surprise there. But what did I do with this? Fish or cut bait, if you will. Was I gonna live a true Catholic life or muddle along, kind of …not? So, I had to come to terms with this.

Buddybug, that first baby boy.

I already had three kids, for pete’s sake. I was full up, right? I mean, busy! Heck, three kids meant I was already an over-acheiver by the current cultural norms on the kid front, right? And the third, well she had colic and was a drama queen! My husband was a doc who had to work insane hours, gone so much, we were still in deep debt from all that med school. We were supposed to be good stewards of our life, funds, plan. C’mon anyone would have been justified to continue to use the pill. By anyone’s standards I could check “done that” on my life list and move on (well, almost anyone’s). More, I had cysts, the pill was supposed to help. See, medical necessity! Hmmmm.

I prayed about it, irritated that I was being nudged along this path, totally resistant. I prayed some more, I consulted with our priest, who I loved and respected (and is now our Bishop). He is a tactful man, utterly kind. But he discussed things clearly as well, with all kindness. He gently pointed out that some things are a grave medical need. And some things are control issues. And trust issues.

Booboo, the largest baby, second boy.

Oh.

Well, dang.

You know, I have found that God can be a terrible nag.

Bananas: first daughter, baby number three.

And this pegged it. Bishop (Fr. C) was right. Dang. This was a trust issue. This was a control issue and authority issue which brings it back to a trust issue.

Because I didn’t.
Didn’t trust.
Not really.

I could make the big pitch for it, say the words, follow the prayers. But my heart was really stony on this one, because you know, I was a control freak. I didn’t trust God to be in charge of my family, not really. I was in charge of my family. I knew how many kids I/we could handle. I knew where my breaking point was.

Now the question became what did I do with that? How do I learn to trust more? Remember, I was/am stubborn and a slow learner, slow to change.

So I prayed. Or tried to. Prayed for grace to give up on this, this grip of fear. Because a lack of trust is really, well, fear. It is. For me, at least. It is the fear of not being in control.

I was afraid of having more kids and not being able to handle it on so many levels. My last pregnancy was high risk (due to my huge second baby boy 9lbs 9oz) and they warned me of rupture and the grave dangers of having more kids. More worry.

Just as I was needing to let go, I found myself running across more reading (I am a reader) on the depth of God’s love for us; on His desire for our perfect good. I read and it finally soaked in that God doesn’t want anything for us that will break us, but instead what He sends us, even when it’s scary and nerve-wracking or very hard, is for our greater good and our truest happiness.

Like a Father.
Oh.
Doh.

Like I do for my kids when I say no to that next piece of cake that will make them sick and give them carrots (ok bad analogy, but you get the idea), when I teach them something hard that they are then grateful {eventually} to know. Oh.

Now I had to decide if I really believed that God knew best? Did I know more than God Himself? (did I hang the stars…?) Ok, no.

SBird, fourth baby home, tiniest.

So, I stepped onto a pitch-black stepping stone, one step forward in faith, and agreed to accept the teaching of Humanae Vitae. No, I didn’t have to sign anything, but I gave over. Inside. God could be in control of our family. Of me.

Really.

Oh, man it was kind of nervous making.
But then, kind of liberating.

And, with it, came (as drippy as it sounds) a lifting….I was happier. Somehow, that diving in deeper, the acceptance of this teaching helped bring me closer. And that brought a deeper joy. Go figure.

The Divine Miss M

And no I did not have any more biological children. I was/am open to it. My cysts went away, totally. But I was happier. Our marriage, surprisingly to me, moved into a better place. And, yes, you know the next thing.

God started nudging us to have more children. Another way: adoption. And, as we had decided to accept any children God brought to us, we talked and wondered and prayed and then, kind of nervously, stepped forward. But that story is one for other posts. You know how it ends up though…..

Little Man, third boy, happy boy!
And as it happens, while I thought I knew my breaking point and what we could handle or do…well, God knew better. I know, you all could figure that one out, but I was/am dense. And now, I know, really DO know, that we WILL take as many children as God sends us, any way they come. Beyond my comprehension, God never fails our trust. Ever.

Oh how beautiful is the lesson of Humanae Vitae, Human Life.

Is it easy to have seven kids? Not always, no. It can be crazed and has taken me places I never dreamt, not all of them easy.
Is it easy to trust and let go, still? No.

However, it is glorious. It is beautiful.

I am so thankful for the grace to bend my will, set down my fear, and step one stop forward into the dark. Our seventh, Gabriel Tariku, a gift from Ethiopia.

>The Grammar of Love

>In the past day or so, I’ve had this conversation and/or topic come up more than four times. So I’m guessing that it might be worth a post. Many of you, the 7 or so who follow this blog, have already heard or know all this….but like I said, it keeps coming up.
So…..
Bear with me. It’s long (I know, you’re shocked).
It’s not a glamour post for me…it’s the dark side, people.
The side I’m least proud of.
But it’s truth.
And, for you moms about to bring home your first or another, maybe it will set your minds to rest.
It’s a scary thing, having a kid.
Baby, toddler, older child…bringing one home, from the hospital biologically or from elsewhere through adoption….well, I think it can be terrifying. It can be ecstatic, but it can be terrifying too.

Maybe it should be.
Sigh, read on.

A long time ago, I thought I had it figured out. I had the “mom” thing worked out. I knew how to do it, mostly. I knew how it worked. I knew all about love.

I mean, I had gone through a number of years of marriage, some of them rocky. And we were still together, against all odds.
I had given birth to three children, so hey, I knew how all about that kind of consuming cosmos changing love.
And I had even adopted. Not once, but all at once, twice!

And that’s when I realized it.
I didn’t know spit about love.

Because all of a sudden, it wasn’t a Hallmark card anymore.
It looked a little bit like a Hallmark Movie, without the glamorous actors.
The screenplay would’ve read like one, since our first adoption set, of a surprising TWO girls [born 4 days apart, two separate adoptions, suddenly] was a unique and God sent gift. (and a long story, for another post)
But underneath, there was a rumble. An earthquake, way deep under the surface.

Because for me, this is where my preconceptions, my lofty concepts and tidy packaged notions of what love meant came utterly unraveled.

I had thought Love was kind of like, you know, LUUV.
It felt all fluttery or breathless and deep at the same time. It could take your breath away and lift you to the highest piers. It could wrap you in the soft comfort and you could burrow in with a sigh.
And it can. It did.
But that’s the adjective kind of love.
It’s great stuff, don’t get me wrong. I crave it, we all do and happily enough, it’s there. And was.
But with adoption, that was when I learned the most real kind of love.
The truth.
(And I know, you’re way ahead of me. I told you I was a slow learner, didn’t I? You would’a thought a baby girl with dreadful colic would’ve taught me, huh? Again, sloooww learner. Kinda dense. That’s me, but I digress).
But the real truth – the real love….is a verb.

Love is a verb.

Love is doing. Period.
And because I am so dense, God had to send me MORE children to teach me this.
So He did. And I learned. It was not easy.
I learned that when you are overwhelmed with the change of family, from three to five children and all of them young enough to be very needy…love becomes stretched. Or it seems like it does, or did. Not necessarily stretched in an immediate ‘bring them into the cushion of my embrace’…but stretched in the sense of “oh my goodness, how do I do this and I’m not FEELING any flutters or torrents of emotion, unless you count the flutters behind my burning sleepy eyes and the tears about to flood!”
And I cried. And I was shocked and despairing at my utter failing.
As a mom. As a person. I didn’t love enough, somehow, I thought.
I didn’t FEEEEEEL the feelings that they say you are supposed to feel, I thought.

I wasn’t being lifted. I was sinking, I thought.

I wasn’t really.
I was learning, and growing, and loving.

Thank God, literally, for the graces bestowed on the sacrament of marriage.
Instead of wondering what was wrong with me, or worst of all, scoffing it all off my husband smiled at me, unconcerned, although of course, concerned…..
I would follow him around the house, carrying one or two of the babies, saying, “Yeah, I know, I love them…but, it’s so much, so much to do…..will I feel it? Will I love them enough????”

Because I knew. I found out – how shallow and needy I am (still).
Because it was about me.

He would smile at me. Then he would take one and hold her.
And he said, “Just DO for them.”
“Huh? Are you not watching me, that’s what I’m doing!”
“That’s right. That’s just right” he would smile.
And when he would see my eyes about to pool over, and me look at him in dismay, he would remind me, “DO for them, the feelings, the depth of feeling, will come. That’s what makes the truest love. DO for them. Don’t worry. Do for them”
So I did.
I walked the floors with the one who (still) hates change and was fussy.
I held the prickly one who couldn’t be still but was electric and could light up the room.
I made endless bottles and changed endless diapers.
I rocked.
I rocked.
I lost count of the times I got out of bed at night, 3, 5, 8 times a night, the times we stood there together, both falling asleep as we soothed them back to sleep. (no it is not easy to get two babies on the same schedule, at least it’s not one of my skills).
I slept standing up sometimes, holding them until they would be sleepy and willing to be put back in their crib.
I swapped back and forth with my husband, nuzzling little necks and smooching chubby cheeks.
And one day, not long after (and those days are a blur, I lost time, the pics don’t reflect the time it took, don’t freak out) I realized it.
OH, how I loved them. With the whole deal….the schmaltzy songtrack, jump in front of a train for them loved them.
And then I realized. He’s right: Love is a verb.

It’s great when it’s the adjective love…but that is really all about ME.

REAL love, caritas, charity, the gift of love, is a verb.
It’s the doing, whether or not you’ve got the feeling…perhaps MORE so if you don’t.

And honestly, as a mom, that is the most important thing to remember.
And honestly, as a mom, I totally forget. (slow learner, remember?)
I am quite sure that is why God keeps sending me more children, seven now. For me to learn, somehow and eventually, and maybe permanently. Because He knows how MUCH I will love these children, in all the ways that can be love. He knows better than I.
And with my now rather largish family, I have so many chances to practice.
And when I have bad days or the kids are in an irritating phase or patch, when I am in an irritable phase or patch, it’s easy to forget that despite the fact that the LOVE of them all, already (hold this child in Addis…done for) even this newest one, is long established, the Love of them is a willed action. I have to love them, do for them, no matter their (or my) sulks or moods or missing chores. And then when I do….the LOVE of them, the gushy feeling, comes back if it’s flitted to the shadows….sooner usually.
Our faith tells us the same thing of course.
God is love.
The full grammar of Love, every part of it.
The Fruit of the Spirit is love.
The greatest of these is love.
But real Love is not the Hallmark love that our culture and media will tout, they spout the adjectival love.
But REAL love: it’s Caritas.
It’s a gift.
It’s a gift of yourself.
It reflects the greatest sacramental love.
Sacraments: outward signs of invisible Grace.
Ah.
Thank goodness it doesn’t depend on US and our feeeeelings.

It’s real.

It’s doing.

Love is a Verb.

Despite all…it’s not SO bad being a slow learner…..and really, I hope and pray to keep learning and I have a very very long way to go.
My mind reels with how much more God has to teach me, and how or what (or how many) He might send to do so. (that is the exciting part in a way)
Grammar was never my strong suit. But look at my school!

See, how beautiful are my teachers?!

>How to know you’re raising an Ethiopian

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Maybe he misses the spicy Ethiopian food?
So the salsa at the Mexican restaurant was as close as he’s got right now. He pushed for the chips and dipped it in the hot salsa. We held our breath, waiting for the scowl and spit out. Instead he pushed me out of the way; he wanted more.
Even cheerios are better dipped in salsa!!
Hat tip to Buddybug

>Connected

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This is us, years ago at St. Peters square: connected with the world, literally people from every country around the world, physically and through prayer and history. Too cool.

This one is for Jana. She, of the cool art and a fav blog, is waiting. She is waiting for that referral of her baby. It is hard. Especially this week, with the great rejoicing of the tide of referrals and court passes. But I’ve been thinking about Jana.

She put up the coolest thing: the song played at her wedding. Little did she know, it is one of my favorite hymns. Yes, an old favorite Catholic hymn: “Oh God Beyond All Praising.” If I can find a link to the music, with singing, I will link or post it (it’s that great). But read the words, they are so good, perfect. And that hymn, her post, got me thinking.

You see, it’s all connected.

All of it. It’s supposed to be, of course.

But we forget.

Or at least, I do. Too often.

And then I am reminded and the beauty of it catches in my throat and pricks tears behind my old crazy eyes.

My husband and I were sitting outside after dinner, watching the kids rip and tear and talking about this hymn, Jana’s post and the connections. (yes, we are that nerdy, we sit around talking about religion….we can’t help it).

You see, this particular hymn is a song of rejoicing. But in that rejoicing and praise is also so much, so much that is not so rejoice-y. In fact, it alludes to how hard things can be or get – waiting, suffering.

we’ll triumph through our sorrows
and rise to bless you still:

It includes how we can not just limp along and wither through suffering, but even triumph through hard things, things we can’t figure out and don’t like, and still know that all things work to His good. It’s so easy to forget that. I do, all the time. Or I mouth the words but don’t really ingest them, believe them. That’s the hard part.

This hymn is an Easter hymn. Easter is preceded by Lent, a time of fasting, going without, doing penance or suffering (in varied ways). It is the ultimate WAIT. Waiting on Christ himself and the manifestation of God’s will and glory. And during lent, historically, the church brings new members in at the Easter vigil, walking through lent with them, suffering and waiting for that light of Easter, in union, support and solidarity with them.

And at the Easter Vigil (which starts in utter darkness and then bursts into literal, flaming light) this song is often played at the end, the recession, with trumpets blaring and bells ringing and voices raised in glorious cacophony of grinning joy.

And Jana’s got it right -this song in her head and heart. And mine too. Because really, the coolest thing is the support that I’ve found and can give through these blogs. The connections. The adoption process, with all the stops and starts and sinking despair and desperate waiting and soaring joy, is an intense small reduction of the most real life. And, at the best, we can walk through it together, suffer, wait, help bear the burden and shout with glee, as we each wind our way through this long road….looking for the light at the end, waiting on His word. His Word.

The adoption process is a personal Lent. And Easter comes with the arrival of our child.

But the best part about this song, and one that I’m thinking about, is that this song DOES have it all. It doesn’t minimize the wait, the sorrow. But it does reveal the promise, that it will end with us marveling at the beauty of a new child and wondering at the ways it all came together. God’s way, the perfect mystery of it.

It makes me prickle with anticipation and joy, because I know how good it is. And it is going to happen. For all the waiting families, the ones who are about to fly (literally and figuratively), it’s just a matter of time.

But it’s real. It’s there. This hymn is centuries old. And it still makes me smile and cry at the same time. Because it’s about Easter, the real one, our little one in our personal reflecting pool. But it’s the realest stuff there is.

I don’t think it’s just a coincidence when the best, realest, parts of life parallel the most important stuff in the universe. I thinks its bricks, falling on our heads, helping us to see in our blind world.

It’s this, ultimately, it comes to this: it’s the connections. Make them and you’ll see life for real.

…to marvel at your beauty and glory in your ways.
And make a joyful duty, our sacrifice of praise.

So, Jana, this one’s for you. And all the rest of you families as well.
We will wait in wonder, with you.
And connect the dots.

>Windows into heaven

>

Annunciation
“The Angel Gabriel comes to Mary and says, You shall bear a Son.”


You all know it: I like icons. You see them often enough on this blog. I do. You might think we are Eastern or Greek Orthodox. Or heck, Ethiopian Orthodox maybe? But no. We are Roman Catholic. But still, we really like icons in our house. Because icons are ‘windows into heaven.” They help us see the unseen. The help us visualize and pray but aren’t realistic and lifelike to have us really attach to the image like a photo. And I think that is cool. They help us leap the divide of earth and heaven, material and spiritual.

I’ve been thinking about this icon today. For one thing it has the Archangel Gabriel in it, one of my favorites and the namesake of our dear boy. He is the messenger. God’s messenger. And in this icon he brings tidings of the greatest joy. A son. The Son. And Mary learns she will be a mom. And she says, “Fiat.” “Yes, I will.” And the heavens rejoice.

And today Gladney families got news of the iceberg breaking up and movement to come. And maybe even some families experienced tidings of great joy. And the moms will say, “yes, I will.”

I know for me, just knowing about the beginning, the not so distant anymore, coming of good tindings brought me great joy today for all of these families, waiting and waiting. And I think of the rejoicing to come. And the message sent: God is faithful. He sends his son, and a mom will say yes. And there, in that message, is typified the joy, real joy. A living breathing icon in our homes, a window into heaven played out by our own selves.

How cool is that? I love icons.

>Toddler adoption; tag along

>You know, there are things no one tells you about adoption, about parenting in general, but about some adoption issues in particular. These are the things you can’t really guess at because they are in that “who knew” zone.

You read all the books and then some. Or I do. I am a consumate researcher, I can’t help it. It’s why I stayed in school forever and then went back for more. I LOVE a library. I LOVE a bookstore even more. I love researching, in it’s own way. It’s the control freak in me, I know.

But this is all to say thay you think you know all the big things and the minor issues and you are as prepped as you can be. Which is important, and good.

But what I didn’t read in all those books and memoirs and studies are the passing mentions of the quirky things. Maybe they were there all along and I just glossed over them. But here is where I am thinking, maybe this whole ‘net thing, this blog thing, might just have it’s own strength and beauty. Because I can throw out to the net, to the whole nine people who read this blog, a question or two. And I can throw out some of the things we’ve gone through and tell for real, the good bad ugly and weird and wonderful.

So, I’m asking, what about toddler adoption? I know every kid and every circumstance is different….yah yah yah. But still: What are the quirky things that you experienced? Was it a language delay? Was it physical maturing slow, then fast? Was it an odd lag somehow and then a warp speed race to catch up? Was it reversed?

All that is to say….we are in an unexpected spot with Gabriel now. Not a bad one, at all! Good in so many ways, but different than what we had anticipated. In a way it is similar to what I went through with my two boys who were large as babies, physically. It’s this: Gabriel is a little like a Baby Huey ( I know, Disney on the brain…sorry, it’s this whole So Cal vibe I’m soaking in). So he’s a big boy to look at, but he’s babyish on the inside…which makes it a bit tricky at times. (more on that, different post).

Gabriel has regressed to a point of a about a year old baby. But he is totally the size of an almost two year old. Now intellectually I understand this and I welcome it. I read about trying to intentionally regress a newly adopted toddler into some of the baby stages/bonding phases that hey might have missed. So I think this is, on that level, fantastic and very welcome: essential.

But on a day to day level, it continues to be odd. Because Gabe feels like he’s been here for so long. He feels like he is part of us, period. It’s like I missed the first part of the movie somehow and it’s blank there and I hate that, but really, he feels like he’s been with us from, well, forever, instead of just one month. And there is this unexpected grief that you have missed so much. Physically, the feel and look of him being small and all that brings. And beyond that, the sadness of missing so much, just that bulk of time. And yes, his background and his story makes him exactly who he is, but at the same time it is an odd ‘missing’ feeling too. It doesn’t jive. It’s an unexpected quirk of adopting a toddler.

It’s super easy to go through a day and just mosey along in your standard kid/toddler mode. And then you forget, kind of, that this boy doesn’t understand, or doesn’t have words (except for Mama, in distress or real glee, but really even not so much with this anymore). He doesn’t have the social skills others had or have at this age. He doesn’t really understand toys. He doesn’t understand his own strength. He doesn’t understand ‘gentle’ or ‘just a minute’…except for the tone and some body language. He is a baby. He doesn’t “look” like a baby. But he is. He is a baby. And for who knows how long, not that I’m in a rush to move beyond, but he is. For now.

Now, I knew some of this from reading about adopting a toddler, especially from half a world away. But reading it and living it is different. And adopting a toddler is different from having one who has been with you from very young.

On the other hand, they don’t really tell you how electrifying it is to have that first word come out, directed at you. Or to have his face light up when he sees you and makes a beeline to give you his hair-pulling hug. Or how wonderful and melting sweet his head-hugs are. For the whole family, watching him discover the world and us in it for him, is keenly felt and shared with laughs and smiled gazes. It is at least as amazing as when your little baby does it for the first time, perhaps more so because you can really almost ‘see’ the links click into place in his mind. It’s so cool. And when you reaches for you and grins and smears you with a kiss, it is the sweetest kiss ever as it is REAL, it is earned trust and new love.

So, I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about this so much on this trip stuff swirling through my brain, not in any good form or order. As I introduce him to many new relatives and old friends, as we sit having simple easy time on a beach, as our life has slowed to the essentials here…it’s easier to see and then ponder some of this. Not that I am making any really good sense of it (I’ll blame that on the sun, ahem). But, well, it’s different. No less wonderful, or glorious. But it is different this time, of course. Worth every moment, every effort. But for those of you adopting a toddler, it IS different from older child or baby adoption. It is unique. It’s better than I dreamed.
For Gabriel Tariku, each day is an adventure, a discovery….and we get the unique privelege of being able to tag along…and in a quirky way, I get to relive some tiny bit of that baby-time with my bigger by the minute little boy.

>St. Anthony!

>Today is the start of the novena to St. Anthony!

Now St. Anthony (of Padua) is a FAVORITE of mine, a patron who has been a faithful intercessor for me!

His feast day is my birthday, so I feel a particular connection….and for those of you in the adoption world and process, his prayers were sought in the adoption of our Little Man and this last adoption of our Gabriel Tariku.

He is the patron of “lost things” yes, but also for finding and bringing home things too, so we hit him up for adoption prayers as well. Hey, it couldn’t hurt! And well, we believe he is a faithful intercessor.

So, I’m just saying….don’t fall for the trite prayer that people make fun of when they lose a coin or purse or ring. Really, think about a serious mindful prayer and even the novena.

Prayer transforms us.

And for those of you not Catholic, yes we do hit up the saints FOR PRAYERS, not to worship them…but rather like we ask each other or a dear aunt or uncle to pray for us in a rough patch. Same deal, but the saints are closer to God in that they are already in the Beatific Vision and so their prayers are more pure than ours, not murked up by all our natural human distractions and selfishness and pride.

If you’re interested in the novena go here or here. The novena starts today, ends on June 13. I’ll just leave you with two simple reasons why I love this saint:


>Home again: part three. Fallout.

>As I mentioned in my last post on being home again, we were braced for the worst of adjustment. Worries about attachment issues and searing jealously floated through our brains. We braced for a tsunami of hard issues. And it didn’t happen.

Oh Ho Ho.
Yet.

Yup, we got there! This past weekend it all fell out.
Fallout.
Big time.

And you know, in a way it’s a relief because now, it totally does feel like real life. Just like the water flooding and pouring through our lights, our basement fridge going out and the dishwasher busting for good. It’s real and it happens. And this past week we were building up to it all. I was sick most of the week, not in bed but not anywhere near top speed. Then my two of my daughters started getting sick, one was down for the count this weekend.

So, let’s review: we were sick. And tired. And hey, hormonal, so that is enough to provide the recipe for it. Crankiness abounding in all.

We had a tough cranky weekend, ok, mostly Saturday.

Saturday, we tried to get the house more in order and tackle the big nasty chores (ref: nasty broken fridge). Much grousing going on.

Saturday my four year old, Little Man, looked at the baby and said “we need to send him back.” AHHHHH. There it is. Yes, we had been waiting for that one. I smiled. I said, “ya think?” He said, “yes.” I said, “um, we can’t. He stays. God brought him and when God brings us a kid they stay.” He said, “Can we go swimming?”

Don’t get all shocked now, people. It’s classic. It’s textbook. And if you have a family with more than one child, it’s gonna happen. It happened before. More than once. When my eldest finally realized his little baby brother was NOT leaving anytime soon, oh 16 years ago, he looked at him, looked at me and said “he should sleep in the trash can”. Hmmm. Sibling rivalry anyone? Um, yeah. Happily enough, they are still close best friends even now in those rocky teen years.

So I’m not looking for any long term issues by a four year old realizing the baby is here to stay. And yes, again, we told him, um, nope, we can’t send him back. He’s here for good. And yes, not 10 minutes later they were playing with cars together on the floor. Such is the life of a child: Fleeting, intense feelings.

Cranky. Grouchy. Fleeting intense feelings. Fallout. That was Saturday. A riptide of pushes and pulls, this way and that by many needs and people and feelings. Hard.

But.

By the evening. As it calmed and we sat outside for dinner and decided to be lazy after, it fell-in (so to speak) again. Things gelled again and all that cranky out of sorts-ness ebbed away.

It was the popsicles. Gabriel was just fascinated with the popsicles. So we gave him a bite. And oh, that was a surprise and how can you not just laugh at that face, those expressions, that first experience? Too funny. Too good. So, maybe he’s not ready for popsicles.

But we are ready for him.
Fallout or not.
Because fallout eventually falls in.
Every time.

So we are diving in.
Because that’s what you do in a big family.
It’s all you can do anyhow.

So come on in, the water is fine!

Just to clarify, per Booboo’s complaint that the pics don’t make sense: the top pics are of the big boys doing the nasty chores: cleaning out the fridge on the fritz and the resultant slime. Eeew.

>Embassy and Last Monday, in Addis (the 19th)

>Well I am waiting for Tom and big kids to return from Egypt. {that side trip is a series of posts, in and of themselves! Soon soon.}

I have not heard from them so I am guessing their flight is en route. I hope so. It’s been fine here w/out them but I am ready for them to return. Wagayu and Solomon have fussed over me like mother hens. They have won me over! I am not really one to be fussed over, usually I am the fusser (so to speak), but it is sweet and has made me feel safe and snug. And I suppose, so far away from home and with my family in three different countries, unable to contact each other, that is an ok feeling after all.

Being a bad wife and mom, I have asked Solomon to go to the airport and let me stay here w/ Tariku instead of all of us going to greet them. Travis mentioned lines for 45 minutes just to enter the airport and then longer again to get through security to greet them. Considering that and the fact that they will once again have to pass through customs, I figured I would rather the baby goes to bed peacefully and myself too. We will wake once they arrive.

Happily, joyfully, miraculously, we passed through the Embassy date today!!! FINALLY!!!!!!!! Belay is a miracle worker. Truly. He is the man that makes things happen. Period. Our visa paperwork doesn’t get picked up until 2 pm tomorrow, and we leave for airport a little after 6 pm, so it feels like it’s cutting it close, but Belay doesn’t seem worried so I will try not to be as well. I am so happy to be going home!!! I have had an amazing trip here, and really think Ethiopia is simply beautiful and Addis is a fascinating city. But I need to go home to my other children who are needing me back. I need to have all my children together, with me. So I need to return home.

But Africa, Ethiopia, will hold a special place in my heart. THe people I have met, the few I have gotten to know a little, and the faces of strangers and the strangers who approached me to talk about this sweet boy…..they have carved a niche in my heart. The woman who came up to me at a restaurant and asked if this was my new child and was I adopting him? I said, happily, yes! And she complimented me and said it was a great thing for him and she was so glad. We had a nice visit for a few minutes and compared children (yes she spoke english). The several women who asked me, “adopting” and I said “yes!” with a smile and they said “thank you.” Or they said, “God bless you” and I said, “He did, this boy blesses us.” This humbled me. Made me blink and almost cry.

The faces of the people we passed in the streets. The faces of the children at the orphanages. Hugging the children who would nestle up close. The littler ones would casually lean in toward me until they were touching me. Except one sweet girl who just climbed up in my lap and wouldn’t get down. ANd I hugged them all. Tight. And kissed their heads. And blinked back my tears. And hugged them again. The older boys at Kolfe, who would come and practice their English, show me their math books, and just kind of hang around. They got hugs too if it looked like they might accept them. The girls at Kechene, Arazune, who came and sat next to me on the steps to say hello, and then showed me a card she had made with stars and hearts. We talked a little, what little we could and just sat together, close by. Then she said as it was time to leave, “Don’t forget me.” Oh. How could I???

So, my son is now on his way home. But I now have a part of my heart in Africa.

>That’s what’s fun about a brother

>I’m not feeling my best this weekend, so I am linking to my eldest’s new goofy blog. Where he disparages his mother but gushes about his new brother.

We are all super great. Gabriel Tariku is doing surprisingly well, really seems comfy and relaxed. Likes to be held best by mom, but also very gleeful to baby wrestle with his newest big brother, the very big four year old! More tomorrow, after hopefully I am back to my normal self. We are all just head over heels in love with this wonderful little boy! God is so good it blows our minds.

And if you’re wondering about the pic: That’s a baby Gabriel kiss and hug, that is! Who can resist??

>HOME AGAIN!

>

We are home!!! I am waiting for my son to upload his pics onto my computer so no pics yet. But I’ll post a few things I wrote waiting for my family to return from their side trip to Egypt…and yes, I’ll post pics of that too, cause it’s my blog and about the whole family…..and explain the wild path that led them to the land of pyramids….

BUT, for now, We are home! We are so happy and grateful to be home, safe and sound. The journey took us over 30 hours of travel. It’s a long trip. But it’s worth every moment to bring home this wonderful sweet baby boy. He is a joy. He is doing great and better than I had thought he would on entry. We are all a little wonked out on our body clocks but otherwise it is just great to be home, all together again!!!
This pic is arrival on American soil, post 17 hours on the plane (so yes, that explains so much! ahem…travel is only elegant and glamorous in Ralph Lauren ads).

>YAHOO

>We are boarding!!! Bless you all!!

Away we go!!

>Stuck? part 2

>Ok, you guys are good!! Now, keep up those prayers a bit longer, pleeeasee!

They say that “maintenance is just running a few tests on the aircraft {again, not very comforting, but then again, better than not I suppose} and that we are hoping to board in the next 30 minutes. 
I hope I hope I hope.  
And well, it’s not every day we get to watch mechanics walk on top of planes w/ big drills and open engine hoods w/ big wrenches…..  So, here’s hoping and God bless mechanics!!!!!
Please keep up the prayers, we’ll take all we can get!  Thanks to all of you!
If we get the clear, we’ll post and or in D.C….. well, when I can.  I’d post a pic of the guy on the plane w/ the drill but I haven’t figured out how to yet…I’ll try to get my techie sons to help me out.  
Fingers crossed, prayers flying!

>Stuck

>Stuck,  we are stuck.  

We are still in Nashville, waiting for the past several hours for them to decide if our plane can fly.  
Brings such comfort on a stressful day…….but it’s our only hope to make it to D.C. and then on to Addis on tonight’s flight.  If this flight can go in the next 1.5 hours, then we can make our connection if we run.  If it can’t, then we have to take a later flight to DC and call the travel agent for a scramble of new routing.  
I don’t even want to think about the 16 bags we checked (only four of them our personal items…..close your mouths, don’t be shocked).  Happily even though we were six bags over, they only charged us for three.  That was a nice ticket counter gal!  
However, I have some worries, so I guess I’ll beg again for prayers.  Seems like a bunch of things keep snagging….  I guess God wants me to really give over control and stop being such a control freak, eh????  Sigh, I hate flying.
Just need to get there……
Still waiting……

>Ready to launch?

>SO….we are strapping ourselves to the rocket….erm….almost packed and ready to go tomorrow…

And we are not quite ready, but well, are you ever?
No.
Not even if your bags are packed and counted, list checked twice.

But we are going.
It feels very much like strapping to a rocket to space.
Hang on tight and here we go!


My stress has risen some, there is a snag in paperwork for the embassy that will surely work itself out, but until it does, I’ll worry.
But at least I’ll have my boy in arms to wait for it…

In the meantime, I will shamelessly beg for your prayers, and for those of the saints, for a safe trip for all and for the paperwork to clear up. For peace.

St. Vincent de Paul, patron of orphans, pray for us!
St. Louis de Montfort, pray for us!
Archangel Gabriel, pray for us and my boy!

We are on our way!

Three, two, one…..lift off!!!!!