Before there were three.

Before there were three there were two.

 

Before there were two there was one.

Before there was one there was me, not yet aware of the expanse of my heart.

****                ****
Each time a new child joins our family, my heart breaks for the ones already there. The ones who will have to share the attention, who will lose their places as the center of the world. The ones who are patted briefly on the head while the new child is swept up by adoring arms.

It is hard to share the spotlight, the love, the everything.

This time around it is the child who was most excited about having a baby brother who is feeling conflicted about the reality of our new family demographic. The child who most wanted a little guy to lead by the hand, another sibling to wrestle with and whisper to at night; this is the child who now sulks in the corner, feeling ignored.

My precious love.
I know how hard this is. I know that you never expected to feel this way, that it is embarrassing and weird to feel this way. That more than anything you want it all to go back to normal.

A normal where your parents aren't too busy changing diapers, or tucking a baby into bed, or reading board books over and over--where they have the time to play legos with you. To snuggle with you and listen to your secrets. A normal where you don't have to fight with your sister for the baby's attention. Where *you* are the one who is the funniest, cutest and most special.

Sweet boy. I promise you, normal is coming.
 It will be here before you know it. One day you will wake up and the black cloud will be lifted from your tiny stressed-out heart. One day you will hear your younger brother calling out your name with joy, and together the two of you will roll and tumble in the grass like milk-fed puppies.

One day soon we will spread out a picnic blanket beneath the stars. You can curl up in the nook of my left arm and I will cradle your brother in my right arm. Your papa and your sister will be by your side and together the five of us will watch the clouds race across the moon. We will laugh and tell stories until one by one all three of my babes will drift off into sleep. Without knowing it your sleep ballet will bring you close to one another--and by the time all three of you are snoring you will be nestled into one another. Your limbs will be entangled and you will breathe deep the dreams of your siblings.

You will forget that life was any other way.

Until that time, please know that I am well aware of your bruised and tender insides. I know how you are trying your best to put on a brave and happy face.

You can let it go. You can cry and scream until the ick is gone.

I'll be here. Your brother will be here.

We've got nothing but love.
For you.
Forever.







 
 

Second meeting.

Once we arranged a time for the second meeting, Mrs. S scooped up YH and prepared to take him down the hallway for a last doctor's appointment. Before they left she had him give Sean and I each "po-po" (kisses). That little guy did exactly what his Omma told him to do; he walked resolutely over to us and put his tiny warm hands on our shoulders and leaned in to press his lips on ours.

YH's self-portrait, taken when he commandeered Sean's camera

I might have died a little in that moment. I might have held my breath in fear of scaring him away.

We walked out of the agency stunned and giddy. It was like the aftermath of a great job interview, or a fabulous first date. We kept saying things to each other like "He seems really smart, don't you think so?" and "I know Mrs. Shin is concerned about (x factor of his development) but I think once he's in the right environment..." and "Did you see when he hugged that teddy bear? He's so loving..." and "His smile is incredible".

And underneath the giddiness that buoyed us through a shopping trip to Insadong, was creeping dread at our role in turning this boy's life upside down.

The next morning we left the hotel early in order to fit in a ride on the Seoul city tour bus before we had to be back at ESWS.

The big kids took the tour very seriously and listened with great care to the pre-recorded spiel for each stop. Based on the recordings, Amalia decided Itaewon must be the most exciting place on earth and begged for us to stop there. We conceded and decided to hop off for lunch--and immediately regretted it. Not so much a great place to take your kids. Unless your kids like restaurants and clubs geared towards the recreational pursuits of single servicemen. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

After our brief gritty detour, we got back on the bus and headed to Namsan Mountain, in hopes of putting a "family love locket" on the fence at the base of the N Tower.

We bought our lock and wrote all five names of our family members on it, added the date and a message of love forever. Then we locked it to one of the "love trees". And of course I cried.

We rushed home with just enough time for everyone to get changed into their best clothes for our meeting. We picked up Nana and headed over to ESWS. We hoped our squeaky clean exteriors would help to show Mr. and Mrs. S that we were going to love YH. We really, really were.

When we arrived at ESWS Mrs. Shin and Mrs. S cooed over how cute the big kids are. Mr. S and YH sat in the playroom already; as soon as the big kids came in they began valiantly trying to win over their littlest brother.

They did a good job.

While the kids played the adults talked. Mr. S wanted us to know that we must be consistent with YH; we can't give in to his tantrums. He wanted us to know that YH probably wouldn't sit still on the plane ride home--we should know that beforehand. He might scream, he might try to run away. He will get frustrated if we don't understand what he is saying because of the language barrier--we should know that ahead of time.

Were they telling us he is a bad child? A difficult child?

No--he's a child they love very very much and they don't want anyone to treat him with anything less than kindness, especially if he doesn't live up to our expectations. I understand that, and I understand why they felt the need to fill us in on his behaviors (pretty typical for a two-year old behaviors) beforehand.

I asked Mrs. Shin to tell the S family that I appreciate all they have done to raise YH, to love him. I promised them that we would love and support him forever--no matter what. That we have prepared ourselves to help him face any future challenges and to meet him where he is; not to push him to be something he is not. I asked her to tell them that we would like for them to be a part of YH's life forever--that we will send them pictures and updates frequently.

They watched YH play with his new brother and sister, and give his new halmoni (grandmother) kisses.

At the end of the hour we took pictures together--pictures of all the people who are united by our love for this little boy.

Umma and the big kids.

Umma and Mom

Appa and Papa

And the whole of TEAM YH.

I can't even describe to you how important this meeting was for us--for the S family--for YH. I think it made a big difference in everyone's comfort level about the upcoming custody transfer.

I know it helped the S family to meet our big kids; to picture how YH's life will be enriched by having them at his side. To see that they are healthy and smart and well-cared for. That we can raise children who are loving and funny. That he fits in with them, and with us.

 Saying good-bye was hard; especially since we knew the next time we saw each other our motives would be opposing. Sean and I would be so happy to hold our son, while the S family grieved the foster child they were  losing.

Hard all around.

And now we rest.

Whew.
Now that I know we will be traveling, that YH is legally able to join our family in the US, I am feeling all kinds of relief.

And all kinds of panic. But the panic is over the little, easily remedied stuff: travel details, packing, forgetting to register Miss A for swim team...and so on.

This kind of panic is far preferable to the deep and wounding panic of our wait. And I am more than aware that my relief comes at the cost of other families' despair. Because you see, it turns out we were rather lucky amongst the families in our batch of Emigration Permit approvals. My program specialist had told us that we would likely be in the middle of the travel calls due to our ATK date. I thought for sure that meant at least a week after the first calls came out.

Instead, we were one of the first three travel calls for our batch. From what I know, it looks like our placing agency moved the "waiting children" (the ones with medical needs) to the front of the line. Now there are rumors that the US embassy will only be scheduling 9 VI appointments per Korean placing agency, per week. This is in contrast to the "normal" schedule of 10 VI appointments per day total, with no specific days for particular agencies. If this rumor is true it has the potential to really slow things down for families waiting for travel call.

And I feel sick knowing that my happiness comes with the collateral damage of someone else's disappointment. When we were mired in the muck of our wait I was quick to brush off the sentiments of families already untied with their children. Sentiments like "I know how hard it is. Believe me it is all worth it when you hold your child. You won't even remember the wait once you're home..."

We are the first families to EVER endure a wait to take custody that is this long. While I am sure the anxiety is at core the same for families waiting 2 months or 12 months, the reality of such a prolonged wait is that it drains the adoptive families of hope/enthusiasm/joy. We dare not celebrate any movement for fear the next news to come out will rob us of our expectations. We live on edge for over a year. It *is* hard and it *is* unfair. And if you are reading this and you are still waiting, please know I am rooting for you and your family. I will not try to placate you now that my wait is close to the end. You have a right to be angry at the circumstances and a right to mourn your expectations.

The other day, before our travel call came, I had coffee with a friend and fellow adoptive mother. She asked me what kind of "self-care" resources did I have lined up. Huh. "Self-care". Yeah--that would be a good thing to do... Of course I hadn't thought a lick about how best to take care of myself during our transition, so that I can be the best me I can be for YH.

We came up with a list of items: schedule a massage for a week after our return, schedule an hour or two for drinks with my ladies within 2 or 3 weeks home, make sure to move every day, make sure to write...

Little things. Little things that replenish the spirit and body. That strengthen my tie to the outside world.

For my waiting family friends: I encourage you to think of your own self-care list. What makes you feel like yourself? What can you plan or schedule now, before you're in the thick of parenting?

My next post will have some practical travel details, and some thoughts on "the airport welcome" and our plans for our first weeks home. 

Red Flags and Culture Bumps

Tea in Istanbul

                                             
I have been very fortunate to travel to several countries around the world.  I have traveled for work throughout sub-Saharan Africa and Western Europe. I have attended university courses in Amsterdam, Cape Town, Madrid, Brussels, Kampala, and Arusha and I have lived with host families in France, Morocco, Madagascar, and Mongolia.

And in all my travels I have experienced many a "culture bump". A culture bump is what happens when your expectations of how an exchange/event will play out "bump up" against the reality of how the host culture reacts to the exchange/event. Many times a culture bump is signaled by a "red flag" thought, like the ones listed below.

Sometimes a culture bump can result in a negative response.
As in: "Why is everyone laughing at me?" (red flag thought)

Sometimes a culture bump can result in a positive response.
As in: "Wow! Everyone here is sooo friendly!" (red flag thought)

When you experience a sustained series of culture bumps the resultant confusion can contribute to the phenomenon of "culture shock"--which can very quickly lead to depression, the desire to withdraw, and the desire to return to your home culture as soon as possible.

But with a little extra effort you can transform the disorienting experience of a "culture bump" into a lens for deeper understanding of your host culture. The key is to move past the initial surprise of things not going the way you expected them to into a mode of identifying *why* you received a particular reaction. What cultural norms or values are expressed through the reaction? What cultural norms or values are expressed through your *expected* reaction?


Once you are able to identify the cultural values involved you can find common ground between the norms of your host culture and your home culture.

One culture isn't better or worse than another culture, they're just different.

In my home culture (the culture of my home country, my community, my socio-ecomonic class) it is common for parents to spend a lot of time on the floor playing with their infants and toddlers, reading books to them, and guiding them through games/flashcards/activities designed to maximize their developmental potential. Many parents expect that toddlers and babies will sit in a high chair to eat and will fall asleep in a crib by themselves. Parents fret over which method of discipline is best for their child, and often attempt to correct unwanted behaviors.

In my youngest son's home culture, and particularly in his foster-care environment, YH has a small amount of toys and books that he plays with/looks at during specific times of the day. When he was an infant he spent his day cozied in a carrier on Mrs. S's back, accompanying her on her errands. Now that he is mobile he is free to wander around the house and explore, even during mealtimes. If his circuit brings him close to the dining area Mrs. S will feed him bites of food. If his wanderings do not keep him close to the dining area, Mrs. S will follow him around and give him bites as he explores. At night he beds down on a mat in the main area of the apartment, near his foster parents. YH is rarely scolded or told "no"; if his safety is at risk his foster family will intervene but otherwise his behavior goes "uncorrected". If he feels like ripping up a book he can do so without consequence.

One culture isn't better or worse than another culture, they're just different.

As I read through the accounts of families returning from Korea with their newly adopted children I am finding lots of expressions of "culture bumps". Lots of families asking why their child exhibits a particular behavior or why their foster family chose to parent in a particular way. It is important for us to recognize that the children joining our families weren't just raised in another country where people speak another language, but in another culture where the shared values influence parenting practices. This is why your toddler will help clear the table, sweep the floor and fold up blankets. It is why he/she will bow to adults. It is also why he/she will react so strongly to being told "no". It is why sleeping in a room by him/herself, down the hall from your bedroom, can be hard for your new family member.

I know I can never replicate my son's home culture. But I will do my best to pay attention to my "red flag" thoughts. I will do my best to recognize when his expectations and mine "bump up" against one another. I will do my best to help us both achieve greater cultural understanding.







 

Cora and Mercy

Over the last two weeks I have closely followed the blogs/facebook posts of the first group of adoptive families to take custody of their South Korean children this year. Within this group were two of my friends, both meeting their five year-old daughters for the first time. The girls were best friends while in the orphanage together and their adoptive families plan to work hard to sustain that bond.

Their daughters do not fit the typical profile of a child born in South Korea and joined through adoption to a family in the US. The girls are of an age typically considered "unadoptable" in the South Korean adoption landscape; they have special needs and they have lived most of their lives in an institution. This contrasts with the majority of children adopted from Korea, who tend to be toddler-aged (2 and under) and who mostly live with foster families.

And the girls are beautiful. And wonderful. And sweet. And struggling to adjust to their new realities.

One girl now lives with a Korean-American adoptive family, and one now lives with a caucasian family. Both girls have older siblings in their new families. One family speaks Korean at home and one family does not.

Please meet Cora.
Please meet Mercy.

I am reading about their adjustment to life in their new families with great interest. Mercy's mom writes about the benefits and unexpected challenges of speaking Korean with her new daughter. Cora's mom writes about how Cora used her older brothers as a bridge to trust-building with her new parents.

Both women write about the grieving their daughters have exhibited. Grieving their former lives in an orphanage, grieving for their caretakers, grieving the routines of life in a group home.

I am thankful for the upfront and honest accounts of their transitions to family life.

As a new prospective adoptive parent I made an elaborate matrix of what did/did not constitute an "ethical" adoption. In my mind I conflated "ethical" with "painless" and as part of that scenario I was quick to dismiss the possibility that a child raised in an institutional setting would feel anything but relief at being placed with a family. I would like to think I have evolved and grown from that naive perspective, and reading about Mercy and Cora's grief has certainly helped me to continue to grow my awareness of the grief and losses inherent in adoption.

What Happens Next

I am still over the moon excited that our emigration permit has been submitted!

This is a big step in the Korean adoption process and it signals that after 14 months of our acceptance paperwork sitting on a desk somewhere, the Korean government is finally ready to make progress toward YH joining our family.

Many people have asked: what happens next?

In short, we spend the next three to five weeks in a frenzy of "getting ready" activity waiting for our phone to ring with the official travel call. This call will come from our US agency and it will tell us that YH is paper-ready to join our family. We will have one to two weeks to get to Korea and officially take custody of him.

The plan is for all four of us, plus my mom, to travel. We will need about 7 days to get everything in order on the home front--pet sitter, a sub for Sean at work, letting the kids' school know, packing...and so on.

We hope to travel on a Thursday, arrive in Seoul on a Friday, and spend the weekend exploring/recuperating. On Monday we would have our first meeting with YH and Mrs. S., hosted at our Korean placing agency. The kids will spend time with my mom while Sean and I go to the meeting. We will dress nicely and do our best to assure Mrs. S that we will parent this child with all the love that we have. There will be tears--so many tears.

Depending on how the first meeting goes our social worker may arrange a second meeting later in the week, or she may recommend that we take custody of YH the night before our scheduled departure.

We hope to return to the US on a Thursday or Friday, after spending a full week in Korea.

It all feels surreal right now.
Our friends threw the most amazing and fun and fantastic toddler shower for us (that gets its own post!) and so now I sit surrounded by YH's things--his things--and try to imagine the little boy who will soon be playing with/wearing all this cuteness.

Kind of a big deal.

Well hello interweb friends. My goodness I've been scarce around this space this week. The new pup has me walking 6 miles before 12pm most days and my poor veal-like muscles are struggling to adjust to our new schedule. I'm completely wiped out by the end of the day which is actually a blessing--it's that kind of bone-tired that leaves no room for extra worrying. I keep telling friends and family that "A tired dog is a happy dog!" but really I'm talking about myself.

Today Ruthie-pup and I enjoyed a very windy walk around a local lake with a former student/friend, getting caught up on university gossip. As we walked we passed a man jogging and I said out loud, "Who does that? What kind of life allows you to run at 10:30am?" before I realized, oh right: I do that now. I live that kind of life.

It's been on my mind a lot this week.

I received a message from an old friend asking about my decision process in making this work/life transition. My friend had recently scaled back her work responsibilities as well, in order to spend more time with her family. She asked me how my transition was going and how did I feel about missing out on the challenges/professional benefits that no longer come my way?

The truth is, I feel bummed. It would be a lie to say that I don't think about the professional conferences I used to attend. Conferences where I saw my colleagues from around the country. Where I presented sessions and participated in professional knowledge groups. It would be a lie to say that I don't miss the annual international travel, or the feeling of pride and accomplishment when my students receive prestigious scholarships and grants. I miss the respect from my colleagues; respect that I worked for over a decade to establish.

And it sucks that for my friend and I making the choice to focus more on our young children necessitated that we take ourselves out of the "fast-track" to higher education administration glory. (Such that it is).

At the same time it is amazing to be able to walk my kids to school each morning. To volunteer in my son's classroom every Friday. To meet friends for "walkies and talkies" around a beautiful lake on a Spring morning. To sit and express myself creatively. To have no excuse not to take care of myself.

In the past I worked hard to make sure everyone in my field knew I was kind of a big deal.
Now I work hard to make sure that *I* know the blessings of this life are kind of a big deal.

Who gets to walk the dog for three miles on a weekday morning at 10 o'clock?
I do.

Big sale on chicken thighs.

It has now been three weeks since I left my office job. There is a lot I miss about my former position, and a LOT that I don't miss.

Tonight I met a friend and former co-worker for drinks. We got caught up on the chisme and devoured chips and queso. It was good times.

And about 45 minutes and 2/3 of a margarita into our happy hour I realized that one of the most exciting things that happened to me today was a big sale on chicken thighs at the local supermarket.

That's what I had to talk about.

Chicken thighs.
The unusually low price of chicken thighs.



It was weird.

Don't get me wrong, I am legitimately excited about tasks like grocery shopping--because I've never done them before! I mean, I've never been the person in our home who regularly did the grocery shopping. It's a whole new skill set!

My previous positions required that I readily access detailed information about many, many study abroad programs/academic degree plans/host communities/host universities. I could take a student's most complicated personal and academic situations and find them the perfect international study opportunity. It was a gift.

I was particularly adept at helping a student who *felt* like he/she was *supposed* to go to one international university connect with an international program across the world that really fit his/her goals. Plans for a summer in Vienna would morph into a semester in Nepal. A planned and predictable internship in London would become a longed-for independent research project in Brazil.

I really, really loved helping my students discover the world. I loved that I knew which university in Barcelona offered the biggest selection of marketing courses taught in English. I loved that I could help a student with high financial need find the perfect scholarship to fund study abroad.

I was a font of information at advising appointments. I was thorough during the application process. I was supportive during pre-departure. I waited eagerly for email updates and those first pictures posted to facebook. I couldn't wait for my students to return to the US and share memories with me.

The look on a student's face when she played me the song that was huge in all the nightclubs in Gulu/Toulouse/San Jose--it made my week.

I'm sad to miss out on much of my last group of advisees' journeys. I hope they know that I am thinking of them.

I am wishing them well as they start new chapters around the globe. I hope they know how brave they are, and how much their decisions today will impact every day of their lives from here on out.

Day 1: Blood, sweat and tears.

 Oh friends. When I started this blog I imagined it would be much lighter and funnier. Practically crackling with witticisms! And yet somehow this space has become murky with whining and moping. So sorry about that.

Also sad to report that *today's* post is not exactly happy-sunshine-awesome-times.

In the interest of time, you may just want to watch the following video:

Yes indeedy. My first day as a stay-at-home parent was fraught with First World Problems.
Here are some highlights:

1. BLOOD: I managed to wake up on time, make some super strong coffee, pack nutritious and lovely-to-look-at lunches for the kids, get them dressed and brushed and out the door with enough time to walk to school. They even had their darn safety vests on. HOORAY! I felt like super mom. Until Cole wiped out twice and ended up with oozing knees about half-way through our walk. Amalia had to ask a teacher to get giant band-aids to cover his wounds.

2. SWEAT: After recovering from the walk-to-school fail I got *myself* dressed and fed for a Skate for Fitness class taught by two of my absolute favorite people on the planet. Y'all. I have been looking forward to attending this class for MONTHS.

You know what else I've been doing for MONTHS? Sitting on my keister and moping over my job/the adoption process/Mad Men's delayed return to television...you name it. As a result of all this super-productive sitting my flesh has reached a state very similar to that of veal. As in: no muscle to speak of. I guess that despair is kind of like a tenderizer? At any rate, I am not in prime condition BUT I was excited to get out on the track and start from zero. I love a good cleansing sweat!

Which brings me to:

3. TEARS: Yes, class was challenging. And yes, I was soooo excited to be with my friends who are amazing coaches and the most supportive people you will ever meet. Really. If someone ever says to you "Hey--would you like a chance to be friends with Heather Fisher and Wendy Salome?" you should say "YES PLEASE" immediately. But I guess that all that exercise helped trigger some mighty BIG emotions because before you know it I was absolutely LOSING MY SHIT during a footwork drill. Whaaaaa? It was like doing the grapevine unlocked a secret store of frustration and tears. So not pretty or dignified.

I put my tail between my legs and hoofed it home right quick. Wept into my kale and watched "The Chew" until I felt like I could face the world again.

It wasn't all misery: I did manage to walk through the 70 degree sunshine to collect my littles from school, caught up with some parent friends, arranged to go halfsies on a CSA share with my neighbor, figured out science fair projects for each kid, helped with homework, baked a loaf of bread, roasted a chicken and some vegetables, fed the pooches and got everyone ready for bed. Not bad for my first day on the job.

Once upon a time I was fancy.

One of the biggest challenges for me as I transition away from working outside of the home is that my wardrobe, and my sartorial choices, are skewed heavily towards Team Fancy. So much so that ye, once upon a time I did doth win an epic battle of glitter and was crowned winner of the FANCY OFF. Well, co-winner.

That's me at my fanciest.

These days I am considerably less fancy. The stress of my work situation and the adoption process has led to an overall toning-down of the fancy. But still I feel most comfortable, and most myself, clad in clothing that most of the world--and certainly most of my hippy/hipster city--would deem "Business Casual with a slight Filthy Librarian bent". Not so sure this lends itself well to my new life.

So my challenge to myself in the next few weeks is to practice being casual. I will wear jeans intentionally, and I will even attempt a t-shirt or two.

If you see me out and about in yoga pants please do stop to congratulate me. I welcome your suggestions in the comments about how to dress casually. Totally serious on this--I don't even know where to start.

Oh--I promised shoes didn't I? These sweet morsels are by my favorite brand, Miz Mooz, and they have become my workhorse shoe of winter. The whisky color is more butter-scotchy than this picture shows, and they go with EVERYTHING. I love them so much I call them my "awesomes" instead of my "shoes".

And look: on sale! You are welcome.

http://www.infinityshoes.com/Miz-Mooz-Foster-2141.html?utm_source=infinity&utm_campaign=abtesting&utm_medium=leftnav