... in about ten days. Unless we're not.
It's hard to plan for this trip the second time around. We went ahead and got airline tickets for Emerson and I, even though things still aren't certain from the agency's perspective, because if we didn't use our credit from the February trip it was just going to expire and all that money was going to disappear. And logically, things are progressing well from a legal standpoint, and we still want to get over there with enough time to get to know our new family members before we start living together. Probably early June will be a very reasonable time to arrive, with those considerations.
But on the not-logical side, it's really hard to plan for this trip. It doesn't seem like it could possibly be real, because last time it turned out not to be real -- but ironically, at the same time I'm not having any actual anxiety about the match falling through. I feel calm, but I keep having to remind myself that I'm not going to be at home soon. I think Emerson is totally confused, and although at times he is still super-excited about having a playmate, at other times he flips his body around and refuses to talk about any of it at all. I think all these changes have introduced his first real negative feelings about the adoption process. He's not sure what to believe.
The logical planning is weird, too, because so many things have already been done. We don't have the chance to prepare ourselves by literally preparing ourselves, because the suitcases are still packed and the doctor's appointments are all finished. So it's just trying to remember -- have I told the dog-sitter our dates this time around? what medications did I take out of the suitcase? is that going to be due while I'm gone? There are some big differences this time around: Mark is not travelling with us at the beginning, he will meet us later; the trip will probably be shorter because the agency is doing more of the work ahead of time; and of course, we will be meeting two children instead of one, and their ages are different.
There are a few things that we have been doing that I think have helped open and prepare our hearts. Emerson and I have worked together to build a new dresser system that all three children can use. He picked out the colors and was so proud of putting things together all by himself, and for the first time he started using his prospective sisters' names and talking about them like they were real people. Then he helped me move in and arrange the clothes that I have been collecting in the right drawers, and he loves to open them up and see all the lovely things. Getting clothes has been a helpful part of the process for me, and now Emerson has been helping... there's something so real about a dress or shirt, or a pile of socks! I've been working on crocheting blankets for each child, and that has helped to give me a possessive and loving feeling. That's what family is; it means we do things for each other and take care of each other. I think doing these concrete, loving actions has helped Emerson and I feel like we are part of a family with these mysterious girls.
But when I explain that we're leaving and people say congratulations, I cringe. It's not done until it's done. We've been doing concrete things, but with emotional caution in place: if these girls don't come home, then the dressers will be for a different pair of sisters. We will have had a nice, educational vacation in Uganda, which is better than just kissing the ticket money goodbye. I hope this emotional reserve will not get in the way of our relationship with the children, but frankly, I think once we see them everything will start all over.
So it's not time for congratulation, but time for prayers. And I am not praying that these girls will come home with us, I am praying that they will end up in the best and safest place for them, and that if that is our home that the paperwork will go smoothly. Lot of prayers for paperwork!
And if you were expecting me to do something in June, please let me know right now, because I'm not going to be able to do it in June!
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Sisters!
Yes, two. That's who we are hoping to bring home this summer. Why two?
Well, you see, a couple of years ago we bought a van for me to drive, hoping that it would last the family for a long time. But it feels pretty silly to have to pay for gas and mess with parking such a boat when it's only me and one little boy inside, and frankly two kids could still fit inside a station wagon just fine. But three kids, two dogs, a mom, and all their gear certainly justify getting 17 miles to the gallon, so we might as well just take the plunge!
I'm just kidding, of course. (Mostly. When I'm handing over my credit card to pay for gas, I feel pretty serious about it.) Bonding with two children at once will be harder on everyone, and the logistics of doing everything with three little kids I'm quite sure will shock and astound me, no matter how much I plan for it now. But when we lost the referral with Rehema, I decided that this was something that was so important to me that I was going to hold fast to waiting for a sibling pair, and was willing to prioritize that above other possible criteria. Then, amazingly enough, the next batch of children available included three of four pairs of sisters... so even if our current potential match does not work out, I think we will still bring home sisters, plural.
From the very beginning, when we were deciding to do transracial adoption, I said that there needed to be two children. I did not want my child to be the only one who looked different -- in her family, in her church, everywhere. We decided that ideally, we would adopt again from the same country, but if that wasn't feasible then we would at least bring into our home another child of the same race. However, we don't know if this Ugandan child will ever see African-Americans as being "like" her; she might continue to see her own birth culture and race as being completely separate for the rest of her life, just like most Americans would feel a bit peeved to be dumped into a town in Norway and informed that it was "just like home." Some might adapt, and some might continue to observe their physical and cultural differences and remember their American-ness for their whole lives.
As I have been researching and listening about adoption over the last year, two main points about siblings keep coming up and rising in importance in my mind.
1. Losing not quite everything:
International adoption is really a terrible bargain for the little children. Here they are, too young to really understand much about their world, and some stranger comes and takes them away from everything they know. They lose their parents and relatives (perhaps the parents are already lost, or perhaps they have been living with one until recently); the air feels cold; everything smells different; not only does no one speak the language they understand, but even all the sounds are flat and weird; all the people look and smell really bizarre; they all use terrible manners and expect strange things of children; the food is unfamiliar; the clothes are tight and uncomfortable..... and on and on. Every single little thing in life is a loss and has to be re-learned, and there is no loved one near. What a huge thing to expect of a little child!
But how different it would be to have your closest friend and relative with you! There would still be losses on all sides, but there would be some familiarity. You could speak your own language. You could reminisce together about your village and family. You could go and play your favorite game, because someone knows how to play it with you. There is a familiar pair of arms for a hug. Maybe when you are confused about some new expectation, your sister has figured it out and can explain it to you, or maybe you've learned some English words faster and can translate your sister's needs to the new adults.
It doesn't solve the problem of loss and grief, by any stretch, but it changes it. It adds some love and support to what must certainly be one of the worst times in a child's life.
When I finished college, and again when I finished graduate school, I decided that I would self-limit my choices to being close to someone I already knew and trusted. I was willing to sacrifice the possibility of a better job in a place where I knew nothing and no one, to getting whatever job I could but being with someone I loved. I ended up moving twice together with my best friend, Lauren, and we spent the better part of five years together before life moved us on our separate paths. If I would choose that for myself, as an adult with credentials and confidence behind me (not to mention being in control of my own belongings and not forced to abandon my culture or language), how could I decide my little toddler daughter didn't need it? It still breaks my heart that international adoption would be the best option for any little child (because it's not a very good one in so many ways!), and that I am planning on separating a child from everything she knows, but I do feel like the gift of her own sibling is the most powerful one I can give her.
2. Identity:
Think about a little baby, watching that "other" baby in the mirror, as we wonder when he will figure out that the baby is himself. And a little later, when he falls, how he looks up to check his mother's face before he begins to cry. That second example is actually a more genuine example of how a child identifies himself: he sees himself reflected in the faces of his family. Even after he is old enough to know in his head that the child in the mirror is him (or even better, the child in the playback window on the camera!!), he knows his true self by how the people around him react. When mama laughs, he is being good; when her voice is tense, he's being naughty; when she acts worried, he starts looking around for danger. (And young children do assume that all their parents' emotions have to do with themselves.) People who love each other and are bonded to each other naturally mimic each other's body language and facial expression (this is especially famous in spouses), and pick up each other's mannerisms. We do not see our own selves most of the time, but we see and hear and smell our parents or children all day long.
It is at some much later developmental stage -- I'm not exactly sure which it is correlated with, but someone in late elementary school or tweens -- that children fully realize that they are themselves, not their family. One day, they look in the mirror and realize that is a more accurate reflection than the expression on their mother's face. (Which perhaps is why children this age can suddenly spend so much time looking in the mirror!) But how shocking is it to realize, not just that you are not your mother, but that actually your physical body is nothing like hers? The reflection you've been seeing for all these years is not reflecting yourself.
In the last year, I have read and seen and heard personally so many stories of transracially adopted girls going through this realization, and it bringing incredible pain. They truly discover something that has seemed obvious all along. One girl realizes that her skin is darker than her parents, and tries to wash it off in the bathtub and wear more sunscreen. Another girl bursts into uncontrollable tears when she realizes she can't have the same hairstyle as her mother. The onset of puberty brings hysteria because her body shape is not developing to look like her mother's and aunts'.
I haven't seen any formal comparisons or research done on the difference when a child has relatives in her family, but it would seem to me that it would be significant. My daughter will look around the dinner table and see options: a talkative blond boy, a mother with soft hair, a girl with a round dark face and deep eyes. One day, when she truly recognizes herself, hopefully it will be "I look like my sister" instead of "I am like no one."
So, it will be a tumultuous transition for everyone, with more logistics and more confusing for Emerson, Mark and I. It will be a whole different kettle of fish having three children very close in age, instead of two children the "perfect" two years apart. Emerson will feel more overwhelmed at times, and left out at other times, and I will have to give up more of my own projects and activities. We'll need to buy more napkins and dishes and another chair to be a family of five.
But that's a small, small sacrifice if my daughter doesn't need to feel "I'm all alone."
"I am like no one."
At least, if she doesn't have to feel it every day.
Well, you see, a couple of years ago we bought a van for me to drive, hoping that it would last the family for a long time. But it feels pretty silly to have to pay for gas and mess with parking such a boat when it's only me and one little boy inside, and frankly two kids could still fit inside a station wagon just fine. But three kids, two dogs, a mom, and all their gear certainly justify getting 17 miles to the gallon, so we might as well just take the plunge!
I'm just kidding, of course. (Mostly. When I'm handing over my credit card to pay for gas, I feel pretty serious about it.) Bonding with two children at once will be harder on everyone, and the logistics of doing everything with three little kids I'm quite sure will shock and astound me, no matter how much I plan for it now. But when we lost the referral with Rehema, I decided that this was something that was so important to me that I was going to hold fast to waiting for a sibling pair, and was willing to prioritize that above other possible criteria. Then, amazingly enough, the next batch of children available included three of four pairs of sisters... so even if our current potential match does not work out, I think we will still bring home sisters, plural.
From the very beginning, when we were deciding to do transracial adoption, I said that there needed to be two children. I did not want my child to be the only one who looked different -- in her family, in her church, everywhere. We decided that ideally, we would adopt again from the same country, but if that wasn't feasible then we would at least bring into our home another child of the same race. However, we don't know if this Ugandan child will ever see African-Americans as being "like" her; she might continue to see her own birth culture and race as being completely separate for the rest of her life, just like most Americans would feel a bit peeved to be dumped into a town in Norway and informed that it was "just like home." Some might adapt, and some might continue to observe their physical and cultural differences and remember their American-ness for their whole lives.
As I have been researching and listening about adoption over the last year, two main points about siblings keep coming up and rising in importance in my mind.
1. Losing not quite everything:
International adoption is really a terrible bargain for the little children. Here they are, too young to really understand much about their world, and some stranger comes and takes them away from everything they know. They lose their parents and relatives (perhaps the parents are already lost, or perhaps they have been living with one until recently); the air feels cold; everything smells different; not only does no one speak the language they understand, but even all the sounds are flat and weird; all the people look and smell really bizarre; they all use terrible manners and expect strange things of children; the food is unfamiliar; the clothes are tight and uncomfortable..... and on and on. Every single little thing in life is a loss and has to be re-learned, and there is no loved one near. What a huge thing to expect of a little child!
But how different it would be to have your closest friend and relative with you! There would still be losses on all sides, but there would be some familiarity. You could speak your own language. You could reminisce together about your village and family. You could go and play your favorite game, because someone knows how to play it with you. There is a familiar pair of arms for a hug. Maybe when you are confused about some new expectation, your sister has figured it out and can explain it to you, or maybe you've learned some English words faster and can translate your sister's needs to the new adults.
It doesn't solve the problem of loss and grief, by any stretch, but it changes it. It adds some love and support to what must certainly be one of the worst times in a child's life.
When I finished college, and again when I finished graduate school, I decided that I would self-limit my choices to being close to someone I already knew and trusted. I was willing to sacrifice the possibility of a better job in a place where I knew nothing and no one, to getting whatever job I could but being with someone I loved. I ended up moving twice together with my best friend, Lauren, and we spent the better part of five years together before life moved us on our separate paths. If I would choose that for myself, as an adult with credentials and confidence behind me (not to mention being in control of my own belongings and not forced to abandon my culture or language), how could I decide my little toddler daughter didn't need it? It still breaks my heart that international adoption would be the best option for any little child (because it's not a very good one in so many ways!), and that I am planning on separating a child from everything she knows, but I do feel like the gift of her own sibling is the most powerful one I can give her.
2. Identity:
Think about a little baby, watching that "other" baby in the mirror, as we wonder when he will figure out that the baby is himself. And a little later, when he falls, how he looks up to check his mother's face before he begins to cry. That second example is actually a more genuine example of how a child identifies himself: he sees himself reflected in the faces of his family. Even after he is old enough to know in his head that the child in the mirror is him (or even better, the child in the playback window on the camera!!), he knows his true self by how the people around him react. When mama laughs, he is being good; when her voice is tense, he's being naughty; when she acts worried, he starts looking around for danger. (And young children do assume that all their parents' emotions have to do with themselves.) People who love each other and are bonded to each other naturally mimic each other's body language and facial expression (this is especially famous in spouses), and pick up each other's mannerisms. We do not see our own selves most of the time, but we see and hear and smell our parents or children all day long.
It is at some much later developmental stage -- I'm not exactly sure which it is correlated with, but someone in late elementary school or tweens -- that children fully realize that they are themselves, not their family. One day, they look in the mirror and realize that is a more accurate reflection than the expression on their mother's face. (Which perhaps is why children this age can suddenly spend so much time looking in the mirror!) But how shocking is it to realize, not just that you are not your mother, but that actually your physical body is nothing like hers? The reflection you've been seeing for all these years is not reflecting yourself.
In the last year, I have read and seen and heard personally so many stories of transracially adopted girls going through this realization, and it bringing incredible pain. They truly discover something that has seemed obvious all along. One girl realizes that her skin is darker than her parents, and tries to wash it off in the bathtub and wear more sunscreen. Another girl bursts into uncontrollable tears when she realizes she can't have the same hairstyle as her mother. The onset of puberty brings hysteria because her body shape is not developing to look like her mother's and aunts'.
I haven't seen any formal comparisons or research done on the difference when a child has relatives in her family, but it would seem to me that it would be significant. My daughter will look around the dinner table and see options: a talkative blond boy, a mother with soft hair, a girl with a round dark face and deep eyes. One day, when she truly recognizes herself, hopefully it will be "I look like my sister" instead of "I am like no one."
So, it will be a tumultuous transition for everyone, with more logistics and more confusing for Emerson, Mark and I. It will be a whole different kettle of fish having three children very close in age, instead of two children the "perfect" two years apart. Emerson will feel more overwhelmed at times, and left out at other times, and I will have to give up more of my own projects and activities. We'll need to buy more napkins and dishes and another chair to be a family of five.
But that's a small, small sacrifice if my daughter doesn't need to feel "I'm all alone."
"I am like no one."
At least, if she doesn't have to feel it every day.
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