5 years.

The anniversary of when we first met Brooke will always be memorable... seeing her for the first time was an amazing gift for us - even though it was on my father's birthday. We talk about the day and tell her about it, but I don't think she has any idea of what it all means and that is okay. She is content and happy and thriving and that is all that matters. 

She was so scared that first day. She slowly came out of her shell and by the time we went to bring her home, she rocked our world - testing us and pushing us. And she continues to do so today. She has spunk and a determine little mind to do just what she wants. Sometimes that isn't always in her best interest or safety but most of the time, what she does is loving, caring and helpful. I'm amazed that she is already in Kindergarten. I'm amazed that she is healthy (given she had a hole in her heart and an umbilical hernia). I'm amazed at her competitive spirit when playing sports. I'm amazed at her giving.

I guess it takes 7 years....

All day on October 4th, I had a nagging feeling I was forgetting something...but I couldn't figure it out. It wasn't a family member's birthday, it wasn't an anniversary... I just knew the day meant something but couldn't put my finger on it. And then it hit me... October 4th was the day - 7 years ago - that we met Jack for the first time. Apparently it takes me 7 years to "forget" that adoption date. 

I don't know if that is a good thing or a bad thing... good that I don't think of our adoption all the time or bad that I could forget such a momentous day in our lives? Or perhaps I'm just now so consumed with our daily life. Because 7 years ago, that little 13 pound, 6 month old, most adorable little boy on earth consumed our whole world and he continues to do so. For example, on this weekend, we had Jack's baseball practice Friday night and packed for camping. Saturday morning we went to Jack's soccer game and then immediately went camping with his Cub Scouts pack. Saturday was filled with setting up camp, learning bike safety, eating lunch, going on a bike ride, playing capture the flag, doing cub scout activities, eating dinner, going to a Bat seminar and Bat walk, hanging around the camp fire listening to skits and then cuddling in the tent. Sunday was spent packing up camping, unpacking from camping once home, doing fundraising for Cub Scouts and school, and then going to Jack's baseball game. Life is never dull with Jack, that is for sure! 

Chilling at soccer. 

In the camping tent.

Running from 3rd to home.

We've always been open that we adopted our kids and they know it, but it still comes out in funny ways. Jack and I were talking about his 2nd cousin, who just because a big brother for the 2nd time. Jack asked if they adopted a new baby. In Jack's world - that IS how families are formed! I explained they gave birth to the baby and kept him. But with some families, the baby is born and then the Mommy and Daddy come to adopt that the baby. He just said okay and that was it.

I pray I can always answer his questions clearly and that his adoption doesn't consume his world - just as it (his adoption) doesn't consume our world, but rather we thrive and have our FAMILY consume our world. 

From Orange County, CA to Kazakhstan (sort of....)

We spent a fun afternoon with another family at the Orange County Fair.... a bus ride to the fair, walk around some shops, dinner (no small feat with 5 kids ages 3 - 7 who all wanted something different), 4 rides, dessert and we were done! I like the idea of limiting us at the Fair otherwise it gets out of control. It was great that both our kids were big enough to ride all the kiddie rides and enjoyed it. They are now at the point where they are remembering things such as going to the OC Fair last year so they were really looking forward to it this year.

The day after spending the afternoon submerged at the Orange County Fair and all that Southern CA has to offer, we went to a pool party where all but 1 kid was adopted and all but 2 kids were adopted from Kazakhstan. When I told Brooke what was special about this pool party - that the kids were also born in Kazakhstan, she exclaimed, "Like ME!"

We had met a few of the families before - so it was nice to catch up with them and we met some new families as well. There was also a 23 year old Kazakh girl who was here for the summer. It was so beneficial for me to speak with her -- to get her thoughts on seeing these adopted kids from her country, thriving here. I was also able to ask her about interesting tidbits about my kids own biological history, which is rare and invaluable.

The kids ranged in ages from 3 to 7 and between Lego's, star wars and the pool, they were in heaven. I still don't think they really understand the depths of gathering like this - being around other kids born from their far-away country or being with other adopted kids, but I do and as I continue to expose them to events like this, perhaps one day they'll also see the beauty in it.

Amazing and personally touching article

http://www.kathylynnharris.com/dear-moms-of-adopted-children/


Dear Moms of Adopted Children


Posted on May 7, 2013 by Kathy Lynn Harris

First, a quick note: I wrote this piece after reading an essay written by Lea Grover in the Huffiington Post, titled “Dear Less-Than-Perfect Mom.” The post by Lea was wonderful, and it made me think about us moms who found our sweet babies through adoption, and how we face unique challenges. I hope you enjoy it, whether you are the parent of an adopted child or not. Happy early Mother’s Day, everyone.

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Dear Mom of an Adopted Child,

I met you in adoption education class. I met you at the agency. I met you at my son’s school. I met you online. I met you on purpose. I met you by accident.


It doesn’t matter. The thing is, I knew you right away. I recognize the fierce determination. The grit. The fight. Because everything about what you have was a decision, and nothing about what you have was easy. You are the kind of woman who Makes.Things.Happen. After all, you made this happen, this family you have.


Maybe you prayed for it. Maybe you had to convince a partner it was the right thing. Maybe you did it alone. Maybe people told you to just be happy with what you had before. Maybe someone told you it simply wasn’t in God’s plans for you to have a child, this child whose hair you now brush lightly from his face. Maybe someone warned you about what happened to their cousin’s neighbor’s friend. Maybe you ignored them.


Maybe you planned for it for years. Maybe an opportunity dropped into your lap. Maybe you depleted your life-savings for it. Maybe it was not your first choice. But maybe it was.

Regardless, I know you. And I see how you hold on so tight. Sometimes too tight. Because that’s what we do, isn’t it?

I know about all those books you read back then. The ones everyone reads about sleep patterns and cloth versus disposable, yes, but the extra ones, too. About dealing with attachment disorders, breast milk banks, babies born addicted to alcohol, cocaine, meth. About cognitive delays, language deficiencies. About counseling support services, tax and insurance issues, open adoption pros and cons, legal rights.

I know about the fingerprinting, the background checks, the credit reports, the interviews, the references. I know about the classes, so many classes. I know the frustration of the never-ending paperwork. The hours of going over finances, of having garage sales and bake sales and whatever-it-takes sales to raise money to afford it all.

I know how you never lost sight of what you wanted.

I know about the match call, the soaring of everything inside you to cloud-height, even higher. And then the tucking of that away because, well, these things fall through, you know.


Maybe you told your mother, a few close friends. Maybe you shouted it to the world. Maybe you allowed yourself to decorate a baby’s room, buy a car seat. Maybe you bought a soft blanket, just that one blanket, and held it to your cheek every night.

I know about your home visits. I know about your knuckles, cracked and bleeding, from cleaning every square inch of your home the night before. I know about you burning the coffee cake and trying to fix your mascara before the social worker rang the doorbell.


And I know about the followup visits, when you hadn’t slept in three weeks because the baby had colic. I know how you wanted so badly to show that you had it all together, even though you were back to working more-than-full-time, maybe without maternity leave, without the family and casseroles and welcome-home balloons and plants.

And I’ve seen you in foreign countries, strange lands, staying in dirty hotels, taking weeks away from work, struggling to understand what’s being promised and what’s not. Struggling to offer your love to a little one who is unsettled and afraid. Waiting, wishing, greeting, loving, flying, nesting, coming home.

I’ve seen you down the street at the hospital when a baby was born, trying to figure out where you belong in the scene that’s emerging. I’ve seen your face as you hear a nurse whisper to the birthmother that she doesn’t have to go through with this. I’ve seen you trying so hard to give this birthmother all of your respect and patience and compassion in those moments—while you bite your lip and close your eyes, not knowing if she will change her mind, if this has all been a dream coming to an abrupt end in a sterile environment. Not knowing if this is your time. Not knowing so much.

I’ve seen you look down into a newborn infant’s eyes, wondering if he’s really yours, wondering if you can quiet your mind and good sense long enough to give yourself over completely.

And then, to have the child in your arms, at home, that first night. His little fingers curled around yours. His warm heart beating against yours.

I know that bliss. The perfect, guarded, hopeful bliss.

 
I also know about you on adoption day. The nerves that morning, the judge, the formality, the relief, the joy. The letting out of a breath maybe you didn’t even know you were holding for months. Months.

I’ve seen you meet your child’s birthparents and grandparents weeks or years down the road. I’ve seen you share your child with strangers who have his nose, his smile … people who love him because he’s one of them. I’ve seen you hold him in the evenings after those visits, when he’s shaken and confused and really just wants a stuffed animal and to rest his head on your shoulder.

I’ve seen you worry when your child brings home a family tree project from school. Or a request to bring in photos of him and his dad, so that the class can compare traits that are passed down, like blue eyes or square chins. I know you worry, because you can protect your child from a lot of things — but you can’t protect him from being different in a world so intent on celebrating sameness.

I’ve seen you at the doctor’s office, filling out medical histories, leaving blanks, question marks, hoping the little blanks don’t turn into big problems later on.

 
I’ve seen you answer all of the tough questions, the questions that have to do with why, and love, and how much, and where, and who, and how come, mama? How come?

 
I’ve seen you wonder how you’ll react the first time you hear the dreaded, “You’re not my real mom.” And I’ve seen you smile softly in the face of that question, remaining calm and loving, until you lock yourself in the bathroom and muffle your soft cries with the sound of the shower.

I’ve seen you cringe just a little when someone says your child is lucky to have you. Because you know with all your being it is the other way around.

But most of all, I want you to know that I’ve seen you look into your child’s eyes. And while you will never see a reflection of your own eyes there, you see something that’s just as powerful: A reflection of your complete and unstoppable love for this person who grew in the midst of your tears and laughter, and who, if torn from you, would be like losing yourself.

My Infertility Truth

November is adoption month - so why am I writing about my infertility.... perhaps because in the last few months, there have been several occurrences, conversations, situations, that reminded me of my infertility. Perhaps because I have distance from it now, that I feel as if I have more clarity... and strength to say the truth of how it really felt and what it really brought me.

Infertility sucks. No two ways about it. I felt alone, isolated, helpless and desperate... ALL the time. Even when I was smiling, I still felt that pit in my stomach, that failure. Not just for a minute or day, but years... from 2001 through 2005. I had such a deep desire, such a deep drive to have a baby and here my body was failing me and my husband. As a women and wife, I just felt like that was my job - to bear children. And here I couldn't. I think that is partly why a lot of women just don't talk about infertility. Not even family members would talk to me about it. And given it was some of my darkest years, it really is too bad more people don't talk about it to understand you don't have to feel alone.

When we first went to the fertility clinic, we had a small folder -- paper thin, literally. I remember us eyeing other people's folder that were inches thick and feeling sorry for them. And occasionally we'd see a red folder, wondering what that meant. Little did we know what we were in store for.

I remember some of our first meetings with the infertility doctor, he kept saying I was young and healthy and it would be no problem to get pregnant. Rounds and rounds of test, internal checks, marital checks and doctor appointments found nothing. So over a course of almost a year, we did 3 artificial inseminations, endometriosis surgery, 3 more artificial inseminations with injectiable drugs and nothing. So much for the "no problem getting pregnant". We decided to take a break from the emotional roller coaster.

Which that in itself is a great metaphor -- only you aren't on the ride with a ton of people. I felt like I was in the front cart, totally by myself. And although my husband was on the roller coast with me, he was in the way back cart by himself as well. Both of us on the same roller coast ride, but almost always at different points on the ride. We did have a few close family members cheering us from the ground, supporting us, but we were still individually alone.

A year after 12 monthly disappointments, we took the leap of faith to do IVF. Most people don't realize what that means, the weeks to get your cycle on track, the days of repetitive shots (in multiple places on your body), the weekly blood tests, the internal doctor checks. All sense of privacy for your own body is out the door. (Not to mention the money.) The emotional stress of how many eggs did you get, how many fertilized, how many do you put in, how many do you freeze...

The emotional build up, the wait, the anticipation. All the previous months of getting my period were horrible. But this time given we were doing IVF, to be told it failed was as if all of those previous failers were combined and dropped on my head in a crashing blow.

Then the grieving... and being told by the infertility doctor that he isn't sure why it didn't work but that we should do testing on my eggs... during the second IVF. To do it all over again.... but we did and we did the testing only to find out my eggs are bad, so bad that we only had 1 embryo... a girl. Which clearly didn't take. How about that for crushing.... not getting pregnant AGAIN and knowing she would have been a baby girl.  

I was done, I was raw, I was spent. And yet I was still willing to do a donor egg so that I could be pregnant, so that my husband (at least) could have a biological connection. (Which looking back is ridicules, but it was our path to get to "our" family, so in the end, it was worth it.) Now a donor egg is a whole other process.... looking through photos of young women, trying to pick one that would be half of the genetic make up of my child.... would her hair color go well with my husbands eyes? Would her skin tone complement my husbands? Would her height and weight complement my husbands? Try envisioning your child made up with your husband and some random women's picture that is on your computer screen.

By the way.... that red folder at our infertility doctors office meant they were using a egg donor. Yup, we had become one of those red patient folders.

We eventually picked a young women, we paid her (through our fertility clinic), we flew her down here, we got her eggs and inseminated them with my husband... and then comes the day when I'm to get inseminated with those embryos. There I am, at the clinic, in the room, laying on the table, mom on my right side, husband on the left side, feet up in lovely, cold stir-ups, a handful of techs swimming around the room, and the doctor walks in with 3 embryos, in the - as someone so rudely commented to me once - turkey baster. In the middle of literally inserting the embryos, the doctor pauses and I knew there was something wrong. He LOST the embryos. They didn't make it where they were suppose to be -- they were gone. Just like that -- gone.

And the other embryos that we had were frozen so we couldn't use them that day -- we had to wait a few more days, over a weekend. Horrific days those there. Desperately trying to do anything to not think about what had just happened and the pressure of what was to come.... our last embryos dethawing, how many would make it, would it be enough, would they implant, would they take? So there we were in early November, putting up Christmas decorations, just to avoid facing those thoughts.

After the dethaw, insemination and two weeks of complete bed rest to increase any chance we had, we still got the call that it didn't work. Crushing... beyond crushing.

Our doctor was willing to do anything to help us. He has some frozen embryos from other parents who HAD their kids and were willing to donate their embryos that they weren't going to use. But we were so raw, so disappointed, so empty that we couldn't pull out the deep depression we were both in.

I was done, beyond done. I wanted my body to be mine again -- not a pin cushin, not feet in stir ups every week. I no longer cared about being pregnant or giving birth, I just wanted a baby.

But I know why I had to live through that pain -- to get to not only 1 but 2 amazing children through adoption. Their stories are amazing, beautiful stories. They are amazing, beautiful kids. They are literally the light of my life as my life had been dark for years prior to them. I understand why I had to go through the awful pain of infertility... because if I hadn't, if we hadn't decided to do all those rounds of treatments, all those months of deciding next steps, we wouldn't have OUR kids. They just weren't born yet.

But my infertility left a scar. I still don't go to baby showers. I still don't like being around pregnant people. I still leave conversations where people tell their birthing stories. I still call those women "breeders". I don't hate them for being able to do something I wasn't able to do (be pregnant and give birth to my kids). I don't turn away because of any hate or mal-intent. I do it to protect myself from remembering that pain I felt so many years ago.

So as horrific as my infertility was, I'd do it again just to buy time to get to our kids. But would I tell someone else to choose fertility treatments over adoption? I wouldn't only because I know that drive, that desire where no matter what anyone tells you, you're going to do what you feel is right at that moment. But I would, and do tell them this -- adoption was THE BEST thing that I did. All the fears of adoption that we had before we adopted are 110% gone. My kids are MY kids. I'm THEIR parent -- no question.

It doesn't matter that my son doesn't have my nose or that my daughter doesn't have my eyes. New parents always seem stuck on this... the baby get his/her nose from mom/dad or the baby gets his/her toes from this or that (grand)parents. Honestly, later in life, do you think about that? When your teenager is yelling at you, do you think.. geez, she has my mouth? Physical characterics don't define a person. Who they are inside, how they conduct themself is what defines them. How they are raise by their parent (not necessarily who birthed them) helps mold their personality and that is what being a parent is about.

4 years

Can you think back and remember that moment you fell in love with your child? In the adoption world, that moment in time is hard to pin-point... was it when you decided to adopt, when your dossier was complete, when you were waiting and envisioning your child, when you first saw their picture, when you first held them, when you first brought them home, when you rocked them to sleep for the 100th time? I can't say for sure when I fell in love with Brooke or Jack but I can tell you that the love I felt transcended time. I loved them before I saw them and before I held them.... such as this picture of when Scott first held Brooke 4 years ago today.

Our adoptions have been over for 3 years now and I rarely think of adoption or that my kids were adopted. They are just my kids. I do get questions about where Brooke got her blond hair and blue eyes, and those comments remind me that my kids were adopted. But when I look at Brooke's smiling face, all I see my beautiful, amazing daughter that I'm just lucky to parent.

6 years

I've always known that around age 18, kids head off to college. But not until recently did I understand the full impact of what this means... that we only have 18 years with our kids because when they leave for college, they'll (most likely) never live full time at home again. And now that Jack is 6.5 years old, already 1/3 of that time we have with him at home is gone. In those 6 years, we've gone from holding him for the very first time.....

..... to seeing him sit on his own, roll over, crawl, walk, run, grow teeth, smile, laugh, eat solid foods, throw a ball, kick a ball, ride a bike, swim, tell jokes, write, read a book, do math, build friendships and just become the loving boy he is.

Only two night ago, as I was tucking Jack into bed, did I realize that in 2 days, it will have been 6 years since I first laid eye on Jack.... in a crib, sleeping on his tummy with his butt in the air, sucking on the fingers on his right hand, with snot running down his nose. As I was telling Jack of this momentous moment in my life, tears came to my eyes. In true 6 year old fashion, he said "oh" and that was it.

But perhaps something stuck because about an hour and a half later, Jack came into my room, crawled into my bed and laid down on me -- all while he was fully asleep. He has talked in his sleep before but this was the first time he slept walked. Perhaps somewhere, deep down, he also felt the connection and just wanted to be with his mommy.

Myrtle Beach Trip

Scott's cousins get together about every two years. This year was at Myrtle Beach. We decided to extend our trip to visit with the Kieffers. We met the Kieffers during Jack's adoption and I've seen Le Anne (the mom) several times in the past 6 years, but the rest of our families haven't seen each other.

When we got to the Kieffer's home, it was like we had just seen them in Kokshetau yesterday. Blending our two families was easy. The husbands got back to their familiar jokes, the wives swapped tons of stories, the boys (2 weeks apart in age) played so well together and the girls (3 months apart in age) dressed up and did each others hair. We went to a minor league baseball game, the boys went to a preseason Panthers football game in a box, we did letterboxing, ate at one the Kieffer's restaurant and all of us stayed up way too late every evening chatting! The Mechem's, another adoptive family, drove down to spend a few days with the Kieffer's at their beach house, which was close to Myrtle Beach, so we even got to sneak in a day visit with them as well. It was amazing to have 3 adoptive families together with our 5 Kaz Kiddos!

Getting their baseballs signed by the mascot.

Feeding the horses.

 Brooke was in love with the horses.

Elloree and Brooke being silly with their food.

Boys in the box watching the Panther's game.

Kaz Daddy's.

 Rhys and Jack in the back. Owen, Brooke and Elloree sitting down.

Owen, Jack and Rhys - all 6 years old, all born in Kokshetau.

Brooke and Elloree, both 4 years old.

Kaz Mommy's.

After our 3 days with the Kieffers, we drove 4 hours to Myrtle beach to meet up with Scott's cousins. Our week there was spent at the beach, in the pool, at the boardwalk, outside mall shopping, picture taking with live monkeys and tigers, outlet shopping (just the ladies), go-cart racing (just the men), wii playing (just the kids), late night dice games (just the adults) and setting off fire works at the beach. The trip was easy going, relaxing and just enjoyable.

Caterpiller

When went to Kazakhstan to adopt Jack, we brought along one of those infant toys - a measuring caterpillar that had multiple colors and different sounds depending on where you touched it. I remember Jack taking to this toy and using it to measure him. By the time we got to Brooke, she was already too old to play with this caterpillar, so it got safely packed away.

Five and a half years later, I handed a pile of infant toys to my sister for her newborn son, John. They say in the adoption world that for every 3 months a child is institutionalized, they are 1 month delayed. So when we got to Jack at 6 months old, he was equivalent to a 4 month old. Last week, John turn 4 months old.

The first two pictures are of Jack in Kazakhstan at about 6.5 months old. The last two pictures are of John, just now 4 months old. Both are about 14 lbs.



Kazakh Christmas Party 2012

Every January, our friends in San Diego throw a Kazakhstan Christmas party. Families in the area come to celebrate the Kazakhstan Christmas and the joy that our adoptions have brought us. This year, Jack really understood that most of the kids were born in Kazakhstan and adopted (there are a few bio kids).

We've been going for a few years now and each year it gets bigger. Since we haven't been in the throws of the adoption process for several years now, it was interesting to go to this party and rekindle those memories.... the painful paper-process, the agonizing wait, the indescribable joy of seeing your child for the first time.

Perhaps right now, the parents get more out of these gatherings. But maybe one year, the kiddos will appreciate knowing and talking to other Kazakh adoptees.

Brooke

I remember getting Brooke's referral... I received a phone call saying there was a little girl... I anxiously waited for her medical and photos. Eventually the medical came through on email, but no photo. We read the medical and it looked good. I was sold -- even without seeing her photo..... and then it came through.... this poor little girl:
3 years ago today, we brought home that scared little girl, who has blossomed into this amazing little girl.