Walking through memories...

Like many you, the dream of spring has brought on a full scale "clean", you know what I mean. The exhausting, you have to touch everything to decide if it is kept, donated or pitched.  That going though everything, well it feels like everything, makes you want to nap, drink or cry with the sheer amount of memories that flood your mind.

I will tell you up front I am not the mom that saves every piece of paper that my kids bring home.  The amazing amount of papers that 5 kids create on a daily basis would turn my already full house into a den of paper piles that would make any hoarder jealous with the elaborate mazes to get to the bathroom.  I sort and  I organize it for each kid, I'm not a fucking animal.  I save artwork, report cards, papers with good grades and some with bad grades and I save baby shoes...

I know.  Baby shoes.

I love baby shoes.  Not just for the cute factor, if that was it I would save EVERYTHING from babyhood all that shit is cute enough to turn the darkest heart diabetic with sweetness.  I save then to remind me that all my children have walked in this world long before they were mine.

Our children have used their feet to push their birthmother's bellies up, kicking them at night, showing that they were there.  they used them to to stretch out as they grew bigger and bigger until they pushed their way into this world.  Feet, kicking and stretching to strengthen legs and tummies.  Two of our girls used their feet to take their first steps, steps that touch soil thousand of miles away.  Steps I never saw, but steps that have shaped who they are and who they will be. They carry scars on their feet, from not wearing shoes, scars I will never know how they came to be and they have beautiful toes that will never grow nails.  Their feet tell their story.

When A came home she was 4, she was scared and she didn't trust me.  Why should she?  She had been put in 2 care centers, heard 3 different languages and every woman that she trusted, bonded with put her in the care of someone else.  She would run and hide in a corner, kicking and hitting me, screaming and crying.  She wanted me to give up, she was tired of loving and being moved.  I had to earn her trust.

The first thing she would let me do was touch her foot...slowly I would rub it, singing to her a soft tune, holding her foot, the foot that had traveled across a world to be in our family.  The foot that had seen more loss and fear then I can imagine. She started putting the foot out for me to rub...to hold.  I began to bond with her, letting her know she was safe...that nothing in this world would take her away from me.  I gave her a pair of shoes when we were in Ethiopia, a little leather pair of soft shoes with bunnies on them.  She loved them...they were "hers" no one could take them away.  She slept with them and hid them when they weren't on her feet.  She wore them until her heels hung off the back even though she had shoes that fit.

For me shoes are what hold the memories.  Shoes remind me of how far we have come.

Turning volunteering into a family gig...

I love to volunteer.

I am a stay at home mom with five kids and this has given me some great opprotunities to volunteer for causes I am passionate about, Girl Scouts, Girls on the Run and spending time in the kids classrooms.  Though, I have always had a hard time finding a way for my kids to get in on the wonderful experience.  Sure, they do the lemonade stand for Eleanor House and save their pennies for the Gospel Mission but, there was never really anything for us to do as a family for our community.  How are we going to contribute as a family???

Then, I saw it!  A post on Facebook from Volunteer Kalamazoo for their Family Day of Service that took place on September 11th from 4-7 at the Radisson Hotel downtown.  I signed us up immediately.

The kids were beyond thrilled to attend.  To help people.  To "volunteer".

The event was amazing.  From the moment we arrived, with 5 kids in tow aging from 4-10 the Volunteer Kalamazoo community was warm and welcoming.  They gave us a list of the activities the kids could do to help others.  The kids set off with purpose, they were on a volunteering mission.  This was their first volunteering gig and they were serious.  We let them chose everything they wanted to do, we organized papers for Girls on the Run and my 10 yr old and I wondered if it would be what came in my coach's box.  My 8 yr old son who has sensory issues, went straight to the Outward Bounds booth and began taking apart bikes, soon my 4 yr old joined.  They wrote letters to the Police Officers, thanking them for their service to the community.  They decorated beautiful cards for kids who are having a rough go at school.  Even when my 6 yr old became a, "glitter glue hog", the women just smiled and said that is what it was there for.  They thanked the girls and kept remarking on how beautiful their cards were.

Everywhere they went the volunteers went out of their way to make sure these young children were enjoying their service.  And I am here to tell you, they were.  They made hats and cat toys, they revisited some tables more than once.  They took pride in their work.  They learned about some great organizations in the area.

There was singing, kids were dancing and there was nachos.  I know, now you wish you were there.

Our last stop on our way out was the Gospel Mission where the girls decorated place mats.  As the girls drew hearts, smiley faces and the words, "I love you", I had a chance to talk to the woman running the booth (I do apologize, I am terrible at names) and she told me of the children at the Mission, that they make upwards to 780 meals a day.  How they are in need of sheets and basic hygiene items.

This gave the girls and I an idea.

When we got home we sent an email to all of our neighbors telling them of need.  We put a bin on our front porch for neighbors to drop off items for me to deliver to the Gospel Mission.  The kids added more pictures and went through blankets and toys to donate.

So, even though the Family day of Service ended at 7pm on September 11th.  For our family, it planted the seeds of volunteer service to our children and we are thrilled to watch it grow.

without him there is no family

(Photo by http://mazawi.com/ the best photographer in the world!!!)

It's Father's day and as my DH is greeted with breakfast in bed and 5 screaming happy children tossing gifts at him and spilling eggs on my just washed sheets while eating his breakfast with their sweaty little hands.  I look at the man I have been with for over 25 years, we make eye contact, and like so many times in our crazy life, we laugh.

I met my husband in high school (true story) and we have been with one another through University, marriage, a long illness and death of my father, buying two and building one house, the illness and death of his mother, then 2 years later the death of his father and the adoption of our 5 children.  He works harder than anyone I know at his job, being a great father and amazing partner.

He is a man who has always put his family first.  He never made me feel small over infertility, he never said that he didn't want a child that wasn't "blood" (I have friends and relatives who's husbands say this, it is a fact), he never complains about the kids or the messy house.  He will make dinner, do laundry, give baths and is making a chicken coop...all with a smile on his beautiful face.   He is patient.  Teaching the kids how to computer program or hammer a nail.  He thinks I'm beautiful.  He makes time for his family and loves to have friends and family over to the flying turkey for drinks and dinner.  He makes a mean guacamole at midnight in the 40 degree weather with a candle to light his way while camping with friends.

He is amazing...I really can't say enough good things about him.


He asks for nothing, yet gives so much.


He is the bearded one and he is ours.

The fair comes around once a year

R has struggles.  That being said, it does not give him a free pass on being an asshole.  I will not let his situation be a free pass on acting out.  I hate, yes I said hate, parents who allow their children to get away with murder because of their struggles.  I feel it instills in kids an excuse for misbehaving...I know, I am a bitch.

 Let me explain.

When things get rough for my son, and it does, usually in public. I have a tendency to explain the situation to people.  I don't make excuses for his behavior nor do I allow it to go on.  I explain to him and those around him how this is not how you behave. Right or wrong this is how we do things.  Life is not fair, people do not get treated the same in every situation and children have to learn this.  And this is what I mean by explaining...am I making any sense???

A dear friend of mine tells her son that, "the fair comes around once a year and it has left town!!", I love this statement.  Think about it.  In your family, mom and dad are treated differently than the kids, the kids get treated differently, before you go shit balls crazy hear me out.  A three year old does not get treated like your 10 year old...do they?  NO!  If you treated everyone in the house the same what a complete disservice you do to your kids.  Now, there are ways the kids have to do similar things, chores, bed, brush teeth etc. ...but if you think I let a three year old use the stove because her sister does and she thinks it's, "unfair".  Well suck it up.

Life, she isn't fair.

Back to R.  He has auditory sensory issues and is rarely without his noise cancelling headphones.  He uses a personal FM system in the classroom and when we go places so that my voice goes directly into his ears.  He wears thick glasses with bifocals and still has vision issues after 3 surgeries.  He does not tolerate the feel of some clothing, he prefers loose fitting pj's.  He didn't speak until he was three and still sees a speech therapist weekly.  He does homework 365 days a year and sees a year round tutor.  He has asthma and is allergic to anything that has a stinger.  He has had 3 sets of tubes for his ears and his adnoids removed.  He has hypothyroidism that caused him to spend too much time in the hospital last summer.  He has nervous ticks that are chewing his hands, itching body parts until they are raw and snarfing (a fancy term for sniffing with his nose loudly and repeatedly).  He will repeat himself quite a few times until he can get his thoughts together so what he wants to say comes out.  He gets scared of leaving the house, having his hair cut, loud noises and the birds outside his window which he says, "they are angry birds mom...they CAWWWACAEEEAAEEEEE  at me all morning", he is frightened of the dark or any light being shut off.  He closes all the doors in the house all day long...this is a short list.

See.  Life is not fair.



Now, here's the other list.  He loves to laugh.  He will give you a hug like no one has ever given you.  He cares about his sisters and tells them daily how much he loves them.  He feels more empathy than any child I have met.  He has the craziest imagination and tells the best stories.  He makes some mean chili.  He will carry his lizard around to show her what everyone is doing.  He makes us laugh with his rap songs and "cool moves".  He loves Indian food.  He pats S's back to put her to sleep.  He loves to snowboard, hula hoop, jump rope and ride his bike.  He can tell you anything you never wanted to know about Bey Blades. He likes to introduce people to his family.  His smile is addictive, people are drawn to his energy.  He knows when he can't handle a situation and ops out. He is learning to use the phone (thanks Sarah).  He is the only one of my children that I love to take to the market...you come home with 30 bouncy balls, no groceries and  a "plan".  He will make you believe.

I do not make excuses for him.  He is as God made him.

And he has made me a better person by being his mom.

roll the orange!

We like to have family meetings.


I know it sounds odd, but we always have.  When you are dealing with five kids with different personalities you have to sit everyone down and sort the shit out.  One of the kids favorite meetings is when we "roll the orange".  This usually only happens when NOBODY is getting along, though we have done it just for fun more than once.


How it started was last summer the kids started being mean to one another, yelling, stomping, taking crap that wasn't theirs just to hear someone yell...come on now, don't lie, we have allllll been there.  Anyhoo, I was sick and tired of the yelling and sassy mouths toward one another so I called them all to Bruce (the dinning room table) and announced a family meeting.


Bruce was cleared off and everyone took their seats, I grabbed the item closest to me as a "talking stick" and it was an orange.  I told the kids that they had to roll it to one of their siblings and say something nice about them...it worked!!


They rolled that orange back and forth, they said they loved one another, they liked playing together.  Then all the yelling turned into laughter and they were sharing seats and touching...not hitting.  When we were all done and they were making their plans for a mud pile in the front yard, I told them what a great meeting it was and they could go play...then R screamed "NO!!". I asked why?


He said, "Let's eat all the love we put in the orange!"


And they did...true story.

along came S...

Ok, here we go.

First I have to say is that what it comes down to, if i make a promise, I stick to it. I had made a promise to Frannie that we would keep in contact with her, meetings, letters, pictures etc. and true to my word for the past almost 10 years I have kept this promise and will continue too.  There is no legal open adoption, we made plans and because of those plans and not lying or changing our minds, our children came to us.  I sometimes think where R and S would be if I didn't keep my promise.  If I didn't return calls or meet with Frannie...where would my children be?

After we had moved across the state from Ann Arbor to Kzoo, we kept in contact with Frannie. She was living with a guy in Ann Arbor and he said he loved her...you see where this is going. Now, before you get on your high horses and say, "how dare a woman has 3 babies from 3 different men!!". I know more than 5 GUYS, who have 3 children from 3 different woman and they don't even see these kids at the same time, nor do the siblings live together. Families are made up differently today and we are lucky for it.

What she has done in her own way is to see that her 3 birth children are living under one roof.  Knowing they will live together, grow together and take care of each other.

S was born at 5:30 in the morning, I was able to be there and sing her happy birthday.  She had to be born 5 weeks earlier than what she should had, there were complications.  I sang her happy birthday just like I did for K and R.  I was able to cry with joy for a beautiful baby girl entering this world and cry with the pain that Frannie was in.  S couldn't maintain a body temp and had to stay under the heat lamp a lot.  She weighed just under 4 pounds and had to be fed 1/2 oz of formula every hour.  You had to uncover her feet and either tickle them or blow on them to get her to suck...sometimes you had put your pinkie on the roof of her mouth to get her eat.  She was tiny, she was grey, she was beautiful and full of life.

S spent 8 days in the hospital.  And what hurts my heart to this day is, that because of what happen, we were not able to be with her, we couldn't hold her, sing to her, feed her.  The NICU staff was amazing and even though it was against the rules, they let me call and check on her and they called me...truth be told, they could have lost their jobs, but they knew that my heart could not handle not knowing.  During this time Frannie had made her wishes clear to social workers and hospital staff and her parents.

Then, S's birth father who had never came to the hospital, who left, kicked  Frannie out of the apartment when she was pregnant decided he would like to parent.

I shit you not.

There were meetings we went to where we just sat.  Remember, we were no one, we were invited by Frannie to attend as her "friends" and that was it.  He was not able to take care of a child, he had no job, his brother paid for his rent, cell phone and for food.  He wanted S because he said she was his.  A possession. Not a child who needed around the clock care.  She was to him just a thing, that he made, that was his, so he gets to keep her.  He had no plan...he had many other issues.

The state got involved.

His parental rights were taken away.  (Yes, we met with him so he could see that S was happy and healthy, we sent him photos, we met with his brother.  I keep a promise)

Frannie never wavered in her decision.  Even when he told her they could be a "family".  She was brave and outspoken and I sat in awe of her strength.

We took the other two to pick her up.  We didn't tell them what we were doing until we were in the car driving.  K threw up!!  No shit.  She was so excited and filled with joy she puked on the side of 94, got back in the van and ate a sandwich.  And for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, we laughed.

We laughed away the craziness that tried to take over,

We laughed at the kids making up names like, R 2 or Peaches.

We laughed, because the day was too perfect.

We laughed because we were tired of crying.

this house is no museum

I was day dreaming with the Pottery Barn catalog, we all know that it sells and idea of perfection and I was wondering how I would describe our house...

We have seven people living in this house with one dog, two bearded dragons and a guinea pig (the tortoise just died).  The 5 kids are ten and younger and love to do art projects that I proudly hang on the walls.  The windows are covered with finger prints and the sofa with crumbs.  The front driveway is scattered with sidewalk chalk, bikes, leaves and plastic glasses of one kind or another.  The backyard has filthy stuffed animals and broken toys that found their death by being pitched off the deck.  And truth be told, I toss dead flowers and watermelon rinds trying to make them land in my neighbors yard...throw me a bone I'm a stay at home mom!

Laundry is never caught up, well, maybe only for a day or two.  The dishes...I can't even talk about the dishes.  The walls have little fingerprints and if you look close have faded artwork from washable markers that are not really that frick'n washable.  The main floor bathroom needs bleaching on almost a daily basis and it gets it about once a week.  

The basement where 2 of the girls sleep has a bathroom that has been banned from liquid hand soap, bubble bath, toothpaste and I have threatened to turn the water off.  It's like a woman's prison down there, they have to ask for what they need.  Now, you may think that this is harsh, but you get tired of almost killing yourself sliding across a vinal floor daily and drastic measures need to be taken.

The dusty mantel holds pictures of family members who have passed away, baby photos of the children and memories from Ethiopia and life in general.  I talk to the photos (don't judge) when I miss my father or my husband's parents.  This is one spot in the house that keeps me grounded.

The kitchen is always busy with my prayer candles burning and my makeshift altars to remember who I am saying a prayer for.  The front door is always opened even before we had a screen door I used a baby gate.  The fridge is covered with reminders for field trips, bake sales, birthday parties, vacation plans, a half filled out calendar and more fingerprints...stainless steel seemed so cool at the time :-/.  The sinks with dishes, the dishwasher with dishes, the stove with pots and pans...

Our dining room table is named Bruce and she expands to hold 14 people.  I am happy to say she is often to her full capacity.  The chairs where you sit have different coverings on them, my way of refusing to buy a full amount of fabric until I know it will stand up to my kids...it never does.  They could make me a fortune in R and D at a textile house.

The house is full.

Full of laughter, full of pride, full of tickles, giggles, snorts and hugs.  It is full of listening and helping one another.  It is full of yelling, when we are happy, sad, mad or just talking (there is 7 of us).  The door is always open for those who wish to come in.  It is full of love and like.  Hopes and dreams...and sometimes tears.  It is a home.

It is our home.

It is not a museum.

doers, talkers and whiners

I was sitting,drinking coffee...eating ramen (don't hate) and thinking about things I had to do: making chex mix with my Girl Scout troop, help with the Bishop's reception with scout troops (I still have no idea how I ended up on this committee), look over the lesson for GOTR, planning and hosting 2 bridal showers, checking to see if Blessings in a Backpack has found me a school to volunteer at, planning K's sleepover, making meals for a neighbor who is hungry, building a chicken coop, taking in another bearded dragon, saying prayer for people who ask for them or just those that need a little boost...the list does go on.

I (along with my DH...I recently found out what that meant :)) have adopted 5 children, 2 from Africa, we built a house (ok, we had it built), we drive super old cars, have a veggie garden in the front yard, clothes line on the deck, give time to the kids school teaching religion and teaching the youngsters where their food comes from...etc.

Now, you probably think, "who the hell does this lady think she is??" or "she thinks she's SOMETHING (insert eye roll)", "who is this bitch???". Well, it is none of those.

The reason I am telling you this is because I, like everyone, like to think of myself as "something", a mother, wife, friend, cupcake maker, animal poop cleaner, laundress. And I, like to think of myself as a "doer". Someone who does things, someone who is actively participating in their life and their community. When I set out to start my day, week, month, I don't always feel I do this and by no means am I bragging. I really only to brag about my wonderfully talented and well behaved children. I am trying to tell everyone that you can do it...you can let the dishes sit in the sink and stop by the ______________, and give a few hours or a hour.

And truth be told, am fascinated with "talkers"...

You know what I mean. The folks who talk about how they would love to volunteer for an hour at _________, but I am SOOOOOOOOOO busy. How, if they just had the time they would drive a little out of their way to drop off donations to the food pantry, but they are SOOOOOOO busy. The folks that say, "Oh MY GOD!!! we soooooooooo wanted to adopt, then we got pregnant" or "We are soooooo going to adopt, when we have the time". These people, to me, are like zoo animals or goldfish. Going around and around and pretending to live life through words. They are all talk and no action.

These folks, to me, are missing out on some of the best experiences...people you meet, going places you never thought about going to, things you never thought about doing. It's like the guy who sits around watching sports all day, bitching about a team that he was never involved in while his kid stands in the front yard throwing a football to himself...wake up!!!

Oh, this rant is not done.

The one type of person that makes my irish skin crawl are the "whiners". You heard me, the folks who say that they have nothing and when you try to help out they bitch because the food came from Walmart! WTF people. They complain when the sun is shining because it's too hot and when it's raining (even though this makes the flowers grow). They get so caught up in there own bubble that they turn it into a "shame spiral" constantly feeling that they are owed by the world and that they have been wronged and no one, not even Job himself have suffered as much as them...bitch please.

These folks need to look at the roof over their heads, their spouses, their children, the sun in the sky, the Walmart food on their table and take in joy from EVERYTHING or else their little tornado of doom will wreck their houses. These folks, in my eyes need to volunteer and help people. To be around people who will make them think twice about bitching just because they are in the "shame spiral" and nothing they get from other people can help. They have to help themselves, change their attitude, smile at the sun and laugh at the rain (no, I'm not drunk!).

To these folks I say, tap your ruby slippers together quickly before your life flies on by and you're left whining to yourself in a mirror, with a face like a slapped ass staring back at you.

Rant. Done.

nap time...

When you have a baby you have a free pass to nap. You rock them to sleep and then you get to close your eyes and listen to them breathe and smell their head and before you know it you are whisked away that amazing place, napville. As the kids grew in numbers and age I would get a chance to visit, but never for as long as I wanted.

Then it happened.

It's spring break, the kids are tired and happy to home and "relax" for a while. Then R said that we were all bitten by the lazy bug...he was right, and there was only one thing to do. We all crawled into my bed, we must have looked like a murder scene. We curled up together, hands and feet, laying everywhere, little mouths open, eyes closed. Their heads are just as sweet smelling and listening to them breathe lulled me back to napville...and I got to visit for quite awhile.

infertility, miscarriage and ectopic is this topic..

Since I am going through our past 10 or so years with adoption this subject is one that is always comes up. And today I tell you fine readers that yes, I had an ectopic pregnancy.

Why I wonder, is this subject so taboo?? many (almost all) of my friends have had a miscarriage. It is something that happens, it is nothing we do, it is nothing we ate. It is a shitty fact of life, like acne or bad hair days.

Why do we hide it? Why is there this feeling of failure surrounding it? Why do we make ourselves do it alone?

Hell, I don't know.

I wish I did. Then somehow maybe we could all band together and make the emptiness go away. Make the feeling that our bodies had betrayed us fade and that shadow that can follow us to move it's shadowy ass on down the road.

Here is my story, it is like many of you and like none of you. We heal differently, we process in our own ways and we go on...

When we were living at the apartment in Ann Arbor, we were building our house in Kzoo and I became pregnant. I was scared. No, I was terrified. When you deal with infertility for so many years you really don't think it is going to happen, it becomes a unicorn or the perfect pair of jeans...always out of reach. It did happen and for the first time I saw all the lines and crosses on that white plastic thingie...it was positive.

I called the nurse at the dr. office and she had me come in for a blood test to make sure. She predicted that I was about 6 weeks along. CRAP!! I went in and had my blood taken and waited until the next day for her to call. The test looked great. Everything seemed to be going along fine.

Then...

About two weeks later we were at a birthday party for a friends kid and I started to spot...shit. I didn't tell KPK, I stayed there at the party, wishing it away. I told KPK on the way home, it was Saturday, I had no one to call, there was nothing I could do...

On Monday I went in for another blood test. The numbers were not going up as fast as they should...she told me to come in Thursday for another test...Friday I was told that the numbers were low...really low...I was going to miscarry.

Then the side pain, like being poked no stabbed/cut with a pointy stick. I called the dr and had another blood test (I think that doctors are really just freaky vampires that save our blood in little jars...but I will save that for another post). My numbers we steady, this meant that it was an ectopic pregnancy, that there at this point in time my body was holding onto a mass of cells and they were stuck in my tube, of the fallopian nature.

FUCK!

Personally, I just wanted this shit done. The pain was mind numbing, I had two toddlers at home and a very worried nervous husband that wanted to get a vasectomy NOW.

I drove myself to the hospital, my doctor told me to go to the ER and get the two "shots", this is when I found out it was chemo drugs, to shrink the mass. And yes I am calling it a mass, there was no blood supply so my body was multiplying cells and sooner than later it would get big enough to explode my tube and I would bleed internally...good times.

Following is the high points of the hospital.

-I sat there for 6 hours

-I tried to leave, they told me I could die, I said I could die in the waiting room, they fit me right in.

-Kevin finally found someone to watch the kids for an hour.

-The fuck nut doctor told me I was going to kill the fetus, there was no fetus and I told him so (before you guys get too pissed, this man was written up, put on doctor probation and then asked to leave the hospital).

-I had an internal ultrasound and felt like I was in a woman's prison movie.

-I received two giant shots of the chemo drug in my right hip by a wonderful nurse in complete radioactive gear, her gloves were lime green and looked to be from IKEA.

-I drove myself home.

-I cried.

-I cried.

-I cried.

-It took 12 weeks for the mass to go away...don't put anything in your vagina!

This all happen six years ago. It feels like yesterday, it feels like a dream. Slash that. It feel like it happen to someone else. Someone who was stronger. Someone who doesn't take doctors shit. Someone who can talk about it and not feel like I failed. Someone who holds her children and smiles.

And I am proud to be her.

We called him Aiden...

I think the reason that I haven't written in a while is because of this story. This situation took a little piece of my heart which I freely gave up and I hope it is being taken care of.

When R was around 2yrs old and we were building our house in Kzoo and living in this little apartment in Ann Arbor. We had put our names in to adopt again, we honestly didn't think anything would happen, we just wanted to make sure all of our information was in to the agency and available for birth mothers to see.

So, you can imagine my shock when I received a call from our social worker while shopping at Target with Poots and Cheryl. There was a woman who had see our letter and album...she wanted us to adopt her baby...she was seven months pregnant...she wanted to write us a letter could she have our address...she was sure this is what she wanted to do...she had been speaking to her social worker for a week or so...about US! Holy shit. I stood there in the lamp aisle (no one ever goes there) and listened....I asked her name (I'll call her Grace), if she had other children (she does, not with her, with her mother).

I was told she was in the Robert Scott Correctional Facility. She was going to be there until 2018 or so and did not want the baby in foster care, she wanted him to have a home.

HIM?!?

That was when I found out it was a boy!!! A boy...a boy...another beautiful boy. I tried not to get too excited, I called KPK at work and he was thrilled and shocked and excited. We laughed in the lamp aisle...I cried a tear or two. We were going to have another son...

Over the next few weeks we wrote letters back and forth. She told me about her life that led her to prison, about her pregnancy about her other children. She asked me to send her a photo of the nursery, of clothing for him. She asked if I would bring him to visit her, I said of course...I contacted the prison and our social worker to find out how we could do that. She asked what we wanted to name him.

We wanted to name him Aiden Patrick.

She loved the name. She said she was calling him Aiden to all the other woman. She was making him a little book for us to give him when he was older, she was writing him letters.

During this time we were granted permission to send her $10.00 a week for paper, stamps and such from the prison commissary. We did, keeping it all above board, the social workers all knew about it as did the prison system.

Then one day I received a letter telling me she needed $20.00, that she had not received any thing from me...that she had to borrow the stamp on the letter. I couldn't believe it! Where was the money??? Did it get stuck in the scanning process??? (The prison takes the money and puts it on account for the inmates.)

I called our social worker, she recommend we call the prison to see if it was just taking longer. At the same time as I was trying to get money into Grace's account. We get a call from our social worker.

The prison social worker Grace had been seeing had discovered she had 4 other families she was talking to, telling them that she had chosen them, that's 5 families from 5 different agencies.

I couldn't process the information. Honestly, 5 years later I still have a hard time processing it, fully understanding...what do you mean 5 families?? She had talked to the social worker for a week about us. We had written letters. We had named him. She asked us to name him. What the fuck is going on????

We never heard from her again.

We will never have closure.

But, for that month and a half, in our hearts, we were the parents of a sweet baby boy.

And we called him Aiden.

do you think about giving?

Hello!

I've been at Girl Scout training and a kick ass dance party for the last couple of days, the dance party was only one evening, but it was soooo much fun it took time to recover :)

Any-hoo, I wanted to start out the week with some great organizations that you may not know anything about. The holiday season is coming down on us like hurricane of "buy! buy! sale! sale!", and I thought I could use this forum to let you (all 17 of you!!) know about organizations that are out there that actually do what we talk about doing. Check them out and you'll see how easy it is to change the battle cry this season to, "GIVE GIVE GIVE!!!!"

http://www.charitywater.org/

http://mare.org

http://www.heifer.org/

http://www.holtinternational.org/

http://www.kalamazooahp.org/calendar/hhaw

http://www.kzoogospel.org/

For those of you that are strapped this season and think you have nothing to give. Look in your cupboards and I am sure you have a box of mac and cheese or a can of tuna that any area food bank would be happy to have.

Change starts with one little choice...

2 yrs later...

I just have to say, I am having a great time writing this! Thank you guys (all 17 of you! woot!) for taking the time to read it :)

Buzzing right along.

After Kayleigh was born we said we would like to adopt again. Given that it can take years for a birthmother to choose you we thought, hell, let's reapply as soon as we can. Why not?

Here's a little something you may not know. When adopting you can not apply to adopt again until the child is over 1 yr of age and the first adoption is finalized. Kayleigh was born April 23rd, her adoption was finalized on Dec 22...so, on her 1st birthday we threw our hat, aka application, back into the pool. And waited.

We kept in contact with Frannie, meeting for lunch, she came over, we called one another. We were there when she got married. And were there when she moved down south to be with her husband's family.

We kept in contact through calling, letters and pictures.

Then one day...she called.

We were chatting away when she mentioned that she was pregnant, her husband had left her...she didn't want to parent...she asked if we would be interested in adopting this baby. We asked, "Is this is your choice?", she said, "Yes."

Now, the romantic stuff.

we called the social workers. When adopting you have to make sure that everything is up and up. That all parties are on board with the choices. That all decisions were made with a clear head and all choices for the birthmother were offered, that every avenue was shown to her to parent this child. She made the choice to come to Michigan to give birth, that choice was given to her by her social worker. Another piece of information, there are at least two social workers for each adoption, one for the adoptive family and one for the birthmother. Each social worker works only with their people. And they take their job a hell of a lot more serious than anyone working that I know.

Now, for those of you that think that we "did" something for her to choose us again, that this was not her choice. This is where I call bullshit on your shit :)

She was 9 months pregnant and got on a Greyhound bus to come from Kentucky to Ann Arbor. She called us and asked if we were interested in adopting the baby. She called her social worker. She called her family. She made the choice. She could have changed her mind after she gave birth up to 90 days after she gave birth.

This was her choice.

In fact, we had no control over the situation what so ever. In the state of Michigan an adoption can be nullified if you ask to adopt a child, an adoption can be nullified if money changes hands...even $5.00, an adoption can be nullified if all avenues of parenting are not shown to the birthmother. So, NO we did nothing, but answer the phone.

And I make no apologies for that.

Two weeks later on, July 2, 2004 we got a phone call at 5 am.

When we got to the hospital Frannie's parents were there. Her mom gave me a hug, grabbed my hand and dragged me into the delivery room. She told me to grab a leg and I watched my sweet boy being born...just like that. He flew into the world yelling as soon as his head was out! Frannie's mom laughed and said he was a fighter :). Frannie said she was hungry!

And like that,

our family...grew by one.

K's story...

Every child has their story and K loves her story! She loves it so much that she knows it by heart and still at the age of nine when I sing the song I wrote for her when she was born she will take my hand, put it against her cheek and lay on her pillow (she has done this since she was a baby), she looks up at me with those beautiful brown almond shaped eyes and says,

"Mama, tell me my story..."

and I do.

(This version has swearing. As you know I never swear in front of my children and is more indepth)

It was April 22, 2002, my sister Boopie was in town for a conference and staying with us (God works in crazy ways). We all went to bed like normal and at 5:15am the the phone rang...Kevin grabbed the phone and it went flying, no shit. It flew up in the air and when he finally got a hold of it to say, "hello", the line was dead...FUUUUUCCCCCKKKK. We both knew that it was the hospital calling for Frannie or Frannie saying she was at the hospital or somebody calling to say something...something that had to do with a baby girl!

We waited, got dressed, stared at the phone...then at 5:25 am it rang again (you will never know how long that 10 min was!!!) Kevin answered and a nurse told him that Frannie had given birth and she wanted us to come to the hospital!!

We arrived in the hospital in a fog...we checked in with the nurses station, showed id and were given wrist bands. Then we went to Frannie's room and knocked on the door. We walked in and she was sitting in bed holding the most beautiful baby I have ever seen...I couldn't even see her face, she was glowing.

I have to take a moment to explain something here. We were non-people...non-parents...no rights, we were nothing. If Frannie would have said, "get them out of here" or "I've changed my mind". We would have walked out of the room and that would have been that. Prospective adoptive parents give up ALL control.

Back to the story :)

She held onto the baby as we talked, asking how she was and such...I never asked to hold the baby, it was not my place. She asked me to call her social worker and I went out into the hall to make the call, when I came back, Kevin was holding the baby...tears in his eyes...holding this little pink bundle...I stood there, staring when Frannie said, "Do you want to hold her?"...all I could do was nod and take her in my arms...she was amazing...Frannie was amazing...she was laughing and joking with Kevin...she asked for the baby back...I handed her back...a nurse came in to check Frannie and she asked us to to leave so she could rest and to come back later...we did...it was a dream...I kissed Frannie on the head and asked if I could kiss the baby...she said yes!

We went back and saw them again, we brought her lunch, every time her family was there or her friends, all holding the baby...I would ask if I could hold her and they would all watch me...I fed the baby and they watched...her aunt judged...We didn't stay long any of our visits. Frannie was spending time with the baby and this I knew in my heart was needed.

On April 24th we came to the hospital, the baby was being released and so was Frannie. We had planned in our earlier conversations to have a "handing over ceremony". This is one of the hardest things I have ever been a part of. In our situation the reverend for the hospital came and talked to Frannie the night before and she was leading the ceremony. I had brought three different outfits for Frannie to choose from so she could dress the baby, she wanted us to do this together, she will never know what that meant to me. Frannie held the baby as the reverend spoke of love and loss...of families...she asked Frannie what the baby's name was. "Kayleigh Marie Liberty May __________", this was the name we had decided on "together", two names from each of us, blended together forever...just like us. Then...Frannie walked over and put Kayleigh in my arms...we cried...we hugged...we thanked one another...we cried more...we hugged more...we finally smiled.

Frannie left with her family. And for the first time...we were alone with our daughter...no one...just us...sitting on a hospital bed, crying...crying for the gift that we were just given...crying for the Frannie...crying for it all.

Then a nurse came in, in your life if you are lucky you meet people, people who are put on this earth by God. She smiled at us, asked if we had a camera...and took the first picture of our family...

now what? attack of lannie and monnie!

Ok, we were chosen by a birthmother on March 23, 2002. The same day that Kevin's niece was born :). She was due to give birth a month later.

We kept in contact with Frannie with phone calls and lunch dates. We learned more and more about each other and it started growing a relationship. It was starting to be "normal".

We still hadn't done a thing for the nursery...we were chosen, but we hadn't purchased anything except this green frog stuffed animal that we purchased when we decided to adopt. That was it!

Two weeks before our birthmom gave birth, we still had nothing. Really, ask my friends Lannie and Monnie...they decided to kidnap me and take me to Babies R Us. What follows is a true story, no names have been changed to protect the kidnappers, they know who they are and I am sure they remember this as well as I do...I came out of this experience a changed woman. The gift that these two gave me that day is something I will never be able to repay. They gave me the gift of believing, believing I was going to be a mom and all I needed was an ass load of baby shit and two friends by my side.

You are probably wondering where my wonderful husband was...well, working his ass off. He was trying to get as much work done so that he could take two full weeks off from work, that was the greatest thing for us. To know that he would be there worry/stress free for two weeks was wonderful.

Back to the kidnapping. They showed up and informed me that they had decided I needed to get my ass in gear and act like we were having a baby! Off we went, no drinks, no drugs, stone sober and terrified I was dragged to the store all the while wondering what I would do with all the shit they were going to make me buy if the adoption did not happen. When we got to the store each of them grabbed a cart...yes, I said that, TWO carts. When I asked why two carts they looked at each other and laughed!!! What the what???

As we went through the store getting baby items, bottles, suction things, blankets, washcloths, you name it. Remember, we had nothing, no baby shower, no nothing, not 9 months to plan, 4 weeks. We were still keeping this close to our hearts...wishing for it to happen, but willing to give into whatever happen. Well, they "outed" me, these two amazing women told anyone within 3 feet that we were adopting a little baby girl and that I didn't have shit at home. They were stronger than me...they were fucking machines!

And, when you get those strong personalities together...they fight! They argued over almost everything...it was comical. When they couldn't decide they grabbed one of each, if I questioned they just looked at each other then me and said, "oh honey, you'll need it!". And they were right.

We filled two shopping carts that day, ordered a crib and rocking chair. I felt like it was really going to happen and was ready to put a nursery together...I also needed a drink!

When I got home, Monnie was still with me. We grabbed some coffee...she had to drive home, when the phone rang. It was the people from the Discover card wanting to know if my card had been taken, there was and "unusually LARGE charge at Babies R Us"...

"No", I said, "We are adopting a baby girl."

the meeting...eeeek

So, we set up a meeting at the agency, us the "prospective adoptive parents" and her the "prospective birthmother".

Imagine the most nerve racking, stomach punching, want to puke, want to cry job interview you have ever had...it won't even touch this. It was like a dream. We met at 4 pm, both of us went to work and worked a half day, because what else were we going to do? I'll tell ya, we would have wondered around the house, staring at each other and become more stressed out and slightly crazy. Going to work gave us a sense of normalcy in a very "unnormal" situation.

We had written and rewritten questions for the birthmother, questions that our social worker asked us to write. She didn't give us a list or anything, we just thought up these questions and I carried around this piece of paper like the holy grail. We still have them, tucked away in K's baby book, I think we asked 2 of the 15 questions that we wrote! The social worker wanted us to have these questions to help the conversation "flow". I think 3 people besides ourselves knew we were meeting with her. Again, we were protecting ourselves from the shit storm of questions that would fly our way. We didn't have answers, so why add that stress to our lives??

We showed up at the agency and our social worker came out...we were nervous. I peed 3 times after arriving, classy I know. She told us that "Frannie" had brought some family with her for support. Great. I thought this was a smart, mature move, she needs support at this time and I was glad her family was there for her. Then the social worker told us it was her sister, mother, aunt, and grandmother. Now, i was shit balls scared...and I had to pee...

We walked into a conference room and chairs were set up in a circle. The five woman were sitting down, we made our way over. I was feeling so nervous, but felt better with the social worker there. She had done this before, she was a pro. She introduced everyone we shook hands and said hello, then...OUR SOCIAL WORKER LEFT US!!!! No shit, she said she would be back later and walked out the door...I really had to pee...

We stared at each other...and stared. Then "Frannie" said, "how do you say your last name? I've been trying to figure it out?". She gave us the gift of an ice breaker. We laughed and told her, she said she really liked our album and letter which she holding in her lap. I was trying to remember what we had put in the letter, I hadn't read it in a year! Crap!!

We talked about growing up, our families, we talked about were we worked and that I was willing to quit my job, we talked about life...the conversation started to flow. She said that she was having a baby girl! We didn't ask, I took this as a good sign :)

Then her aunt asked about religion. We are born and raised Catholic, we attend church and knew we wanted our child to be Catholic. Her family is strict southern Baptist. Her aunt started on us and called us Mary worshipers and that she didn't like the Catholic church....

Then, for the first time her grandmother spoke, "will the child have God in her life?"

We said yes

"That's good enough for me", conversation over.

The social worker came back in and asked Frannie's family to step out. We spoke, just the 3 of us and when we left she said, "I think I made a great choice".

HUH?

"I think you guys will make great parents, thanks for meeting with me."

And that was that. She had made her decision. And it was US!

Holy crap...now what???

The call!

We did our classes

We did our home study

We did our letter

We did our album

We waited for about a year

Then...

THE CALL!!

I can't remember the day of the week, I can't remember the time...I can remember that I didn't answer the phone, it was my day off and I was still in my pj's and ignoring the phone! I was working on the handbags I was selling and was in a groove...ignoring the phone. ignoring the phone! finally, I answered the phone and it was Kevin. The social worker got a hold of him at work and he had spoken to a birthmother. The birthmother that turned out to be our birthmother! Kevin was amazing, he said he was nervous but, when everyone in a situation is nervous, hell, it is such a individual situation that ours is nothing like yours and yours is nothing like ours. There is no set code, no menu, no right, no wrong.

We setup a meeting for a couple of days later.

This part was a whirl...we told a couple of people. But mainly kept it to ourselves. This is how we handled the process, we kept the information very close to our hearts. Then, if anything happen we wouldn't have to have the, "questions" from people. It worked for us and we did it with all of our adoptions. Letting it be ours, our little secret, letting the levity of the situation be absorbed into us before we shared it with others.

This was a meeting that could change our lives.

Then the, "what if's", came. They can storming in like a frat boys at a kegger. They took over.

What if she doesn't like us, what if we sound like assholes, what if she chooses us and changes her mind, what it the earth explodes before Thursday and we never get to meet her!!!

*tune in tomorrow for....The meeting....and see what happens :)*

I bet ya didn't know

S was sick Friday, not a cold, down right ER visit in the afternoon because the Dr. said that there was nothing the office could do! She ended up having a stomach thang that dehydrated her and caused a UTI...poor bug! Sitting in the ER I started thinking about when R came home.

R was a little guy and very sickly. Not something any parent wants for their child and when you adopt in MI you have the added stress of not being a "legal" parent for at least 60- 90 days, you are considered "prospective adoptive parent'' and whereever we went we had 3 legal documents that stated this tucked away in a ziploc sandwich bag. So, whenever we had to take R to the ER or a doctors appointment we had a piece of paper that the doctor had to fill out and sign, then we sent this signed paper to the social worker who sent it to the court system. Easy peasy...

Now, imagine a sick little guy in the ER at 2am...coughing, he can't breathe and having to explain you really don't know anything about his life "in the womb", and that you don't know about family history....and really you don't know anything. You look in their eyes and you are praying you have those legal documents, because they already think you stole this baby! It doesn't help that my voice goes really fast and high pitched when I am nervous and stressed. Now, picture if you will, me and R in the ER at 2am...he is sick as shit...I am freaking out and rambling on like a crack head...and when he is better, breathing I grab the nurse and say, "excuse me...can you sign this?? We need it for court". Yea...I am a responsible parent!

R's adoption was not finalized for 18 months...during that time he was going to the doctor on an average of 1-2 times a week. Sometimes they sent us right to the hospital (that means 2 forms) sometimes not. Doing the math, 4 x 18 = 72, and that is a low estimate on how many times I had to ask a doctor to fill out a form to send to the social worker to send to the court to put in R's file.

I bet ya didn't know about that!

mommy wars!

This is a topic that has driven me nuts forever. Why as mother's do we feel the need to put each other down? Judging how we parent? Judging mother's for staying home or working outside the home? Hell, to say how your child came to you is better then someone else??? Really??? Where is the solidarity? Where is the "nurturing" of one another?

This really came about when 9 yrs ago my best friend had an emergency c-section around the same time that K came home. People were weird about K, not knowing what to do or say, but for the most part they were kind, at first. Not to A. She had an emergency c-section, her son was in the NICU and other woman had the nerve...the fucking nerve to tell her they were "sorry" she didn't give birth??? What the what? Not sorry that her son was in the NICU, not that she was sick as a fucking dog...NO, they were "sorry" she had not given birth. That unless he flew out her vajayjay she was less than, not a "real" mother. Let me tell you, she is a mother she is what motherhood is, she put her child's well being FIRST.

This is when I realized that there was this fucked up competition that I had became part of, that I wanted nothing to do with! Why? Why are mother's trying so hard to one up one another? It has been something I have struggled with for years. To meet these new women and they wear their judgments like badges on their sleeves.

A few years ago, after S was born at 5 weeks early and under 4 pounds. I was standing in the driveway playing with the kids and wonderful neighbor walked up with a "friend" of hers. We were talking and all of a sudden she, the "friend", starts ranting about how formula is "poison", that no one should give their child formula...breast is best...unless you want to, "fuck up your baby". HUH??? I was polite...and ignored her. The person who didn't ignore her was K. She was freaked out. "Mama, we can't give S formula, she will die...what are we going to give her?? I don't want her to have poison!!!". I had to explain that some people where crazy, like Rudy who collects cans, only some people bathe and wear clean clothes but, they can still be crazy. :)

Then there is J who had her daughter 13 yrs ago and her daughter too was in the NICU. She had the best term for the women who were relentless, cruel and down right wrong, as they berated her for not being able to breast feed. She named them the, "tit nazis". It was their way or you were out. Out of the mom club, you had failed.

I know women who have had home births, hospital births, adopted, breast fed, formula fed, only fed goat's milk. I have friends who work away from the home, work in the home and stay at home with the kids. Why do we have to put each others choices for our families up for debate? None of these choices are better than the other, they are made for each person's family.

There is no handbook for parenting, ok there are about 50000000000. And guess what, unless you have raised a child to adulthood and they are parents themselves, you can't have a, "philosophy". You know why? Because no two children are the same, not even siblings. And if you hang your hat on one way, you are doing what is best for you. Not your child. Children's needs and minds grow and change, therefore so should your philosophy. We need one another to talk to. To say this was working and now it's not! For others to say, "I KNOW!", and laugh with us.

I have 5 kids that are all parented differently, they are different kids they have different needs. I know for me, if I stuck to one "way", I would be doing it for ME. Not my kids. And they are the reason we are in this club to begin with, aren't they?

So please. Before you speculate, before you judge remember..."it's not about YOU".

The Album

First

I have to say, to all of those who find the time to write everyday...How do you do it???

I have found a new respect for all those who find the time to blog on a daily basis...it is hard! I am sneaking around trying not to be seen by the kids, because you all know they will want the computer to do whatever they deem important. :)

Here we go.

The last post was about the homestudy/dossier that is needed to be done to be considered for adopting a child. Today it is the "Album" that you make when you are adopting domestically. I know some people never had to do this, or did it just with pics or a video. With our agency we had to write a letter to prospective birthparents and make an album of our life up to the point in which we wanted to adopt. A quick and simple assignment.

The letter

When you write a letter to prospective birthparent you are trying to communicate in one to one and a half pages who you are. What you believe in, what you do, how you grew up, what type of child you were interested in adopting, why you were adopting all the time trying to make it sound casual and normal. Easy right? NO, not easy. We wrote our first letter thinking we knew what she wanted to hear, what she wanted to know about us. This letter, frankly sucked. It sounded like we were these too normal, too perfect, too much couple! When we showed it to our social worker, and she laughed! She had spent quite a bit of time with us and wanted to know who we had "ghost write" our letter...I kid you not. That is how nervous we were, we thought we knew just what a birthparent wanted to hear. We had no clue. We came to find out all we had to do was write in our own voice...and it sounded like the "normal" us. And it felt right. We weren't trying to be perfect, hell we are all flawed, we were trying to show that we were ready and open and trustworthy. Writing with our hearts and less of our heads made this process easier. Looking back on that first letter, well we just have to laugh!

The Album

So now comes the album. A collection of photos of you and your spouse, your family, the activities you enjoy doing, how you spend your time. Easy enough, right? Wrong! We went over photos again and again. We had traveled to China and all over South East Asia, we had been to California and Hawaii. The question comes up, "are you planning on taking a child to these places? Do you have the means to do so?...If the answer to any of these questions is, "no", those photos are out! Then we ran into the problem of not having any photos of the two of us, unless we were drinking at a party or acting like idiots (note photo at top :)), and we all know the answer to that! Photos out.

We spent the next few weeks having friends take staged shots of us around our house, out to dinner (hiding the drinks :)). And finally we came up with something that we were proud of. Something that said, "us".

These two parts took a couple of weeks to do. We didn't want it to just be thrown together, we wanted to let it grow and see how it went. The longer we sat with our letter and album the more confident we became...we weren't that bad! We were just two people looking to have a child to add to our family. The more we worked on the album and letter, the more we could visualize a child in our home...a baby to take pictures of, a birthfamily that we would share memories and photos with. And it felt right. It was us.