Trust and Pretty Shoes

Trust is a funny thing.  You kind of don't notice it, until it is gone... or was never there.

I think the sword and shield is the universal symbol for
"I don't trust you yet!"

Me:  Okay Ping, we have to run into my work for a second, then we will go home.
Ping:  Okay.  Can I see where you work?
Me:  Of course.  Here we are...
Ping:  Oooooh, you have a lot of computer.
Me:  Yes, yes I do.
Co-Worker:  Hello, you must be Ping!
Ping:  How you know my name?
Co-Worker:  Because your Daddy has told me all about you.
Ping:  What?!  Are you joking me?
Me:  I talk about you all the time.  I tell everyone how beautiful you are, and how nice...
Ping:  I KNOW you are joking me!
Me:  No really, I do.
Ping:  Uuuungh.  Daaaaaad!
Me:  Okay, Ping, this is Daddy's friend Miss Y.
Co-Worker:  You have very pretty shoes.
Ping:  WhaaaAAAAaaaat?
Co-Worker:  I like your shoes.
Me:  Miss Y has a bit of a shoe problem.  She has a whole drawer full of shoes!
Co-Worker:  WHAT?!  I DO NOT!
Ping:  What?  You joking me again?
Me:  Nope, look in the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet.
Ping:  *looks at drawer*  That is a big drawer.
Me:  Yes it is.  And it is FULL of shoes!
Ping:  *looks at Miss Y*  Do you has shoes in dere?
Co-Worker:  No.  No I do not.
Me:  Hey!  You can't lie to a little child!
Ping:  My Daddy is joking me.  Right?
Co-Worker:  Right.  You are so smart!
Me:  Hey!  Don't tell her I'm lying!  You want my daughter to think I'm lying to her?!
Ping:  *thinks hard, looks at me, looks at Miss Y*  You got shoes?
Co-Worker:  No.
Ping:  Daddy joking me, I know'd it!
Me:  *siiiiigh*

... two weeks later while having breakfast ...
Ping:  Mommy, Daddy joked me.
Wife:  What?
Ping:  He say, his friend have shoes in drawer.  But I know'd he joking me.
Me:  Ungh, its Miss Y at work.  She has a drawer FULL of shoes, but she won't admit it to Ping.  So Ping thinks I'm lying to her.


... a while later ...
*ring* *ring* *ring*
Me:  Hello, you've reached the Yeti at work.
Wife:  Hey, we're just passing by and Big D needs the bathroom, can you let us in?
Me:  Yea sure.  Is Ping there?
Wife:  Yea, why?
Me:  I want her to come in and see Miss Y's shoes.
Wife:  ... really?
Me:  Yes!  She can't continue to think I'm lying to her!
Wife:  ... really?!
Me:  Okay, Miss Y, Ping is coming in a couple minutes.  I need you to show her your shoes, because she thinks I'm lying to her...  and that is not good.  We don't need more attachment issues.
Co-Worker:  Oh fine.  I'll show her.
*Ping comes bounding in*
Me:  Hey baby, look, do you remember Miss Y?
Ping:  Yes!  You don't have any shoes in your drawer!
Co-Worker:  That's right!  I have no shoes in my drawer!
Me:  What?!  No shoes?!  Ping, just go open the drawer, you will SEE them all!
Ping:  Daaaaaad, stop joking me.  I go see Mom now.  Bye.


... a few weeks later ...
Me:  Hey Miss Y.
Co-Worker:  Hey, oh, hi Ping!
Ping:  Hi.  Do you have shoes yet?
Co-Worker:  How do you remember that?
Me:  It is very important to her.  You know, because she thinks I'm lying and all that.
Co-Worker:  Okay, Ping, come here.  Look.  *she cracks open her drawer a little*
I'ts like in some cheesy movie where Pandora's box is opened - light comes streaming out of the drawer, illuminating both the girls faces...
Ping:  WAaaaaOOOOWWWW?!  YOU HAVE SHOES IN YOUR DESK!
Co-Worker:  Shhhhhhhh!
Ping:  DADDY!  YOU NO JOKING ME!
Me:  I told you I wasn't joking you.
Ping:  Can I see all your shoe?
Co-Worker:  Sure.
And the two girls spent the next 1/2 hour reviewing all 30 pairs of shoes, in the drawer, hidden under the desk, and behind the computers...


See, trust takes time.  Love, you can't rush it, but you can help it along... maybe, after all, I know a thing or two about da ladies.  You can buy flowers, bring chocolates, stand out in the rain holding a ghetto blaster above your head while playing Extereme's "More Than Words" outside your beloved's window... ghetto blaster... no, it is a real word.  It was something for playing music.  Kind of like an iPod.  But bigger.  A LOT bigger.  Yes, it was portable.  You could put it on your shoulder.  No, not your pocket.  Yes, it had batteries.  About 12 D-Cells.  What's a D-Cell?!  Oh c'mon!  I'm not THAT old.  Where was I?

Oh yea, but back to trust, how do you help advance it?  How can you build it?  I'm not sure.  I mean, I can be as steadfast in my love, and as trust-worthy as one can possibly be... but trust is really out of my hands.

See, with the shoes, I was tell the bang on 100% truth.
Ping, just simply did not want to believe me.
There was nothing I could do to change her mind.

In love, in attachment, I could have read any number of books... okay, I could have had my WIFE read any number of books, and there would bee different ways to address love and attachment.  I'm sure there are ways to try to encourage the growth of trust as well... but I haven't read anything on it... or, my wife hasn't read anything on it and told me all about it.

But what can you do for trust?  I had thought of pointing out every trust worthy thing I did in a day...

• Hey Ping, remember when you were on the stairs, and I did NOT push you down them!?  Yea, see, I'm trust worthy!
• Ping, remember when you came home from school, and were banging on the door to let you in?  Yea, I totally let you in.  I didn't have to.  But you can trust me.  I opened the door.
• I TOTALLY didn't eat your Skittles!  Your Mom did.
• Remember when I said you were driving me crazy?!  Well, look!  I'm CRAZY!

Maybe that's a bad idea.  Maybe trust is just something that grows with time.  I can't force it.  Goodness knows I want to.  But each day, she trusts me more and more.  I'll just keep bring trust worthy, and maybe she will eventually believe me... you know, over some total stranger that she just met like Miss Y.

What's not to trust?!

But in the end, I know it is hard for her to trust, it is hard for anyone to trust who has been hurt before - sometimes a "wounded" perspective makes it hard to see how people may love you.  So am I going to worry about it?  Nah.  Will it hurt when I can see it plain as day that she doesn't trust me?  Yup.

But then I'll choose to see past that, to adjust MY perspective to see where she can and will be able to trust me.

Like when she gets scared at night, and calls out "Daddy, I'm scared of the dark!" - trusting that I will make it better.  I just remembered, before I started this post, she was crying about the dark saying she was scared... a great opportunity to help her confront her fears head on, and help her over come them, to build that bridge of trust between us... or, I may have simply told her something along the lines of "suck it up, you're fine!  Get back to bed."  

Hmmmm... and I wonder why we have trust issues... just... can't... figure it out...

Sleepless in Beijing

So the wife is currently in China, and I'm still here in Canada.
The Wife, BigD (our 2nd eldest son) and our new son Lukai are about 5 days away from coming home.
There have been a great many thing which I've learned over the last few weeks.  Some of them related to adoption, most related to our new son, and even a little about myself.

So instead of coming up with a comprehensive, well written, insightful and thought provoking blog post today (like my other blog posts have been really deep and insightful, I know), I'm going to walk though many of the emotions and "things" which have come up over the last few weeks.

I think this is a good idea, mostly because I am grotesquely sleep deprived and forming any coherent though feel well beyond reason and possibility... but also because it is my hope that everyone reading this either has, or will have had the opportunity to have an energetic little boy (or girl) throwing die-cast cars at their spouses head while you yell in vein over Skype (in chinese) to stop throwing said die-cast cars at their new mother... er, wait, what I meant to say was "I hope everyone gets to experience the joys of adopti... er family!"

Special Needs be darned!
See, I was expecting and prepared for SpinaBifida.  But just a couple weeks before we left, he was diagnosed with a 2nd previously unknown special need - Vitiligo.  Now, we don't really care about the Vitiligo - it could be as trivial as a cosmetic issue, or as severe as a thyroid or auto-immune deficiency.  What we were scared of was *someone* deciding that the adoption was no longer allowed.  Our provincial government could have decided that this special need was not "on the list" and therefore, the terms of adoption are no longer valid.  Someone in China could have decided that it was no longer in the best interest of the child to be adopted.  It was a few days of complete emotional panic as we tried to re-assure our adoption agency, our province and China that we still wanted to adopt little Lukai.

1st meeting between Mom and Lukai

But the bottom line was, we already loved our child, even though he was not home yet.  And if tomorrow any one of my children were diagnosed with Vitiligo, it would not have changed my love for them.

Little Boys are Energetic!
It has been a while since we've had a little boy around the house.  I think its been about 9 years since we've had a little high energy, rough and tumble little ball of AAAAAHHHH stop throwing things at my head!!!  But that is OK.

Looks happy, but apparently dosn't like swimming

Well, it is OK for now, because he is still in China, and I am safe and sound over here.  My wife however, is looking a little tired.

When the 1st Words out of your Child's Foster Mother's mouth are "He is Such a Naughty Boy"
... take it at face value.  :-)  Oh cute for sure.  Little at that smile.  Those rose coloured cheeks!  How could he ever be so Naugh... hey, hey, put the car down!  No, don't you smile at me like that.  Finger wagging and head shaking is universal.  Wipe that smile off your face.  Don't you DARE throw that OWWWWWW!

That is the foster mom in the middle

She did happen to say that he was a naughty boy in the loving, endearing way that only a Mother can, where you know you are loved, but oh so close to getting into serious trouble!

Being Stuck at Home playing "Mom" for 3 Weeks is NOT fun
I don't know how you Moms do it.  I really don't.  I mean, I now understand why my wife yells at the kids.  I mean, being a Dad, you sometimes see your wife snap at the kids with the old "Oh I have told you a THOUSAND times!!!", but I didn't really understand it until now.  Until the 12th day of getting them ready for school as they run outside in their bare feet and no coats... and I'm standing in the door way, yelling like a crazy person "GET YOUR COATS ON!".   Oh, and I understand too why when I come home after work and am all "Hey, how YOU doing?" she isn't at ALL interested in how I'm doing.  She wants to sleep.  I get that, now, more than ever.  Because I'm not even interested in how I'm doing after a long day of work, children, cleaning, laundry, and all that stuff.

Never Judge a Foster Parents by their Picture
... even if they look so very unhappy.  My wife was able to meet Lukai's Foster Mom (you can read about it here), which was AMAZING.  And WAY better than we expected, after THESE photos.   But I just finished an hour long Instant Message (via QQ) chat with them, and their hearts are breaking.  I know that in China, if the foster family wants to adopt the child they are fostering, that they have to come up with the orphanage donation - which is something like 35,000RMB.  Or roughly two years wages for the average worker.  I do not know what happened with their family, if they tried to keep Lukai, if they wanted him to get a home, but I DO know that they love him deeply.  They said repeatedly that they are happy he is with us, but they miss him.  My Chinese will never be good enough to express my thanks to them, and pay them the respect and honour they deserve ... and it is not because I suck at Chinese, it is simply because words can not express things adequately, regardless of language.  However, if I knew Interpretative Dance, I think I could have nailed what my heart wanted to say!

See, my child is still 1/2 a world away.  And that is all I care about.  Getting him home, holding him in my arms, hearing him laugh (Skype just doesn't cut it), and dyes, even dodging the odd die-cast car launched at my head.

All the Special Needs, pain, troubles and worries pale in comparison to my desire to simply hold my child for the 1st time.

Now, my next post might be asking the best way to bandage head wounds inflicted by flying die-cast cars...

Oh no, they are just like me!

Waiting at midnight for StarCraft II to be released...

Son #2 (D):  Daddy!  DAD!!!
Me:  What?  Is something wrong?
D:  No.  I just need to know how to say something.
Me:  Oh, sure.  What are you trying to say?
D:  Your mother has a smooth forehead.
Me:  Your mother has a what?
D:  It's Klingon!
Me:  Yes, I know that.  It's also a pretty big insult in the Klingon language.
D:  Yea!  I know!  Look at this website!  Its called the Klingon Learning Institute.
Me:  Aaaaaah... memories.  Yes, when I was young, I used to goto that web site to learn how to speak Klingon.  I had a couple of guys in College who could speak it better than me though... good times.

... begin wavy flash back ...

Wife:  I'm so scared for our kids.
Me:  What?  Why?!  We're great parents!
Wife:  You promise you won't get mad?
Me:  Of course not.  What's wrong with the kids.
Wife:  Well, I'm afraid... oh never mind.
Me:  No no, tell me... what's wrong.
Wife:  Well, I'm afraid our kids are going to grow up to be geeks!
Me:  Oh, I see.  And this is MY fault?!

... end flash back ...

Me:  Huh... I guess it IS my fault.
D:  What is your fault Dad?
Me:  Oh nothing.  Go practice your Klingon.

Fighting over the StarCraft II game on the way home...

I love the fact that children study us parents.  We don't always know that they do.  But as much as we study them, they are studying us.  Sometimes, this is a good thing.  Sometimes, it causes them to want to learn Klingon.

Now I am more than happy to take the credit when our children display good behavior.  In fact, I would say that they learned their empathy, love, compassion, patience, long suffering, were learned by watching me.  I'm also pretty sure that all the bad behaviors are learned from their mother.  :-)

I was overwhelmed with geekish pride that my boy wanted to learn an Alien Language.  But at the same time, I was horrified that I apparently really WAS turning my children in to geeks!

What is going to come of my girls?!  Are they going to grow up enjoying Star Wars, Star Trek, Paintball, Computer Programming, String Theory, Physics and literary works by Hofsteader?!?!  Oh my!

Are they all doomed to be like me?

I can see their teen years unfolding now...
Some Greasy Boy (SGB):  Hey baby!  How YOU doing?
Ping:  Are you talking to me?  Ewwwww...
SGB:  Wanna come back to my place and see my car?
Ping:  Uh, no.
SGB:  Come to the football game?  I'm the star quarter back!
Ping:  Nah.
SGB:  Ummm, want to see my new AMD Bulldozer based computer system with 1333MHz overclocked RAM with 7-7-7-9 timings and a overclocked 2.2Ghz Hyper Transport Bus?!
Ping:  WHAT?!  Yes I DO!
SGB:  And then maybe after that we can watch the original Stargate Series!
Ping:  I think you are my soul mate!

Oh thats not good.  My work as a father is not done.  I still have a long way to go with my kids.  But hopefully at the end of my career as a father, my children will be able to look back on many wonderful things I taught them, even if I'm never aware of what those things are.

All the teaching, preaching, talking, yelling and such I do to help "teach" my children how to behave, or how to be polite well adjusted members of society is probably useless in comparison to what they learn simply by watching me.  I think with our adopted children (especially those who are older children), this is even more true.  They are being dropped into our lives unable to speak our language, without years of history being our children... all they can do at times IS watch us.  Hopefully while watching us, they will learn that they can trust us, and eventually love us.

Old picture, but you can see there is a history of my child trying to stab me with pointy thing...

When Ping came home with us, she was smart enough to hear what we were saying, and understand it.  But she was also wise enough not to trust what we said until she saw us live it out.  There was this gap between saying "I love you", and getting it at a head level, versus being told "I love you" and truly grasping it at a heart level.  I think the heart level becomes established when our children can actually SEE us living out what we say with our words.  I think Ping finally understood that I loved her, not when I told her for the 1000th time, but when I simply scooped her up in my arms instead of getting mad at her when she attacked me with the pointy stick.  Or when I let her curl up in my lap and cry after she tried to push me down the stairs...

Now, I have to go, teach my son how to insult an alien from the one of the Neutral system in their native tongue, and let him know just how proud I am of him.  All while making sure he doesn't tell his Mother what I'm teaching him...

Dear Cheeky, I Love You

Nine birthdays minus seven birthdays equals two birthdays.

And Cheeky counts them. Last year. This year.

Just as she counted her gifts this morning and noted that she had two more than she did on her eighth birthday.

Does that mean we love her more now than we did then?

Probably didn't even cross her mind to think it, but it skittered through my head after she announced her discovery.

Today, more than ever, I think of birth mom. Though, I can not know the exact date of Cheeky's birth, I know that in March, nine years ago, a woman carried Cheeky in her womb. I am sure she dreamed of who her daughter would be. I wonder if she had any visceral clue that things would not be as she imagined.

It makes me sad to think about, because I have been able to raise the four children I gave birth to. The one I lost, I lost through no fault of mine or anyone else. It happened, as it sometimes does, and I mourned, and I go on.

How would I go on if that child were somewhere in the world, alive but out of my reach?

That is what I think about at the end of March when the gray clouds billow over the mountains and the air just begins to smell of spring.

What if the shoe were on the other foot, and someone, somewhere was raising the child I'd carried and dreamed about and hoped for? What would every passing year feel like with that emptiness in my heart?

I think that when I tell Cheeky her story, I must be careful not to put my own emotions into it, but I also think that it is not wrong to say, "You are still in her heart."

It is, after all, the rare mother who does not feel the invisible bond, the stretching cord, the tether that ties one life to another when those lives were once so intricately connected.

Cheeky's birth mom must feel that when winter cold turns to chilly spring and short days grow longer. She must feel that straining, stretching reaching cord, and she must wonder what happened to the white haired child she once carried.

She is with me, I want to say to her.

She is safe.

She is loved.

As much as your heart holds her, so does mine.

But, I can't say those things to Birth Mom any more than she can reach back across nine years and thousands of miles, look into Cheeky's magical face and say, "I claim you as mine."

Still, Cheeky is hers, too.

Her claim is through blood and that tightly tethered cord.

Mine is through time and everday providing.

And that, in itself, is a cord and a tie that holds her to my heart.

So, today, my sweet Cheeky is nine. I know her better now than I did a year ago. In another year, I will know her better still. Just as she will know me. Ten birthdays minus seven birthdays will equal three. Until another year follows another and another. And, one day, the years together will far outnumber the years apart.

But always, always that stretching cord will exist between my Cheeky and her birth mom.

And, it will be as it should.

That shadowy nebulous mother and me.

This is what I think as gray clouds bring spring rain and robins troll for food.

But, mostly on this day of all days, I think, "Dear Cheeky, I love you, and I am so very, very blessed to have you as my daughter."

Perhaps it is true that nine birthdays minus seven birthdays equals two, but in my mind, in my heart, in the deepest part of who I am, nine birthdays minus seven birthdays equals love. Mine for her. Hers for me. Our own tight tether, our own silky cord. Love that didn't have to be, but is. And, maybe, that is the most special love of all.

Happy, happy birthday, my darling Cheeky!

How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Chaos

Wife:  I have to head back to Winnipeg for a couple of weeks.
Me:  Sure, no problem.  Here, let me help you pack the bags for the kids.
Wife:  Oh no, the kids are staying here.
Me:  hahahaa... oh, for a second there, I thought you said the kids were staying here.
Wife:  They are.
Me:  hahaha... oh, that's funny.  Oh, wait... you're serious?!  Me?  12 days?!  ME!?  KIDS!  12 DAYS?!

Looks cute... wait till Mom is gone!

How many of you ladies have a husband?  Lets see your hands.
Right, great.  Now, how many of your husbands are actually CAPABLE to take care of the kids... alone... without your help?
Okay, a few hands went down.  Now, how many of THOSE husbands can take care of the kids for more than 2 days?
Few more hands go down... and how many of those husbands can do it while still keeping the house clean, and the kids dressed, and bathed and fed, and to school on time and all that good stuff?
Hmmmm... interesting.  Not many hands left in the air.

Well, I did.  4 kids.  12 days.  No wife.
The kids had 3 good meals a day, all got to school on time, bathed routinely, house kept clean, I even got the kids to play dates, drama clubs, hosted a Chinese New Years party...

Yup.  I was pretty darned proud of myself.

See, totally in full control here.  :-)

Now, I know probably 98% of the readers here are women... I'm sure I'm not getting any sympathy, or "Oh wow, you did all that?!"... because I'm pretty sure this is what you guys do every day, all day, without credit*.

So, if I'm not out here looking for sympathy, where am I going with all this?  Good question.  A better question would be, how many of you still have your hands up?  And why did you guys ever raise your hand in the first place... its not like I can see you.  :-)

See, I felt confident that I could mange 12 days with no wife.  My wife however?  Well... by the 2nd day she was gone, I had strangers from some Internet Forum she is a part of emailing me to make sure I remembered to bath the kids.  I had someone else call whom I don't know, to remind me that the kids needed to be bathed at least once a week, my neighbour came by to remind me that the kids had skating on Thursday for school and needed to bring their ice skates.  I had another neighbor driving by the house and called in to make sure everything was OK because the "... cars looked funny in the drive way, and your wife told me to check on you."

Don't get me wrong, there were times where my little Ping pushed me to the limit - right from the moment the door closed behind the wife Ping started fighting about everything.  Things which she has not fought over for months, all of a sudden were a problem for her.  She was back to stomping her feet, and getting angry at the slightest thing and looking for something to hit me with.  But thats not really the point I'm rambling about today... but a good one to remember: although our children may seem "ok", they can regress at anytime because of some significant changing in their world (ie: the Mom leaving for 2 weeks).  That might be a good topic for a later post.

A fight about to start?  Thankfully, no.  6 months ago?  Probably.

What I really learned from these 12 days of Wifeless living (and surviving with passing colours) is:

• My wife had quite happily already decided what I was and was not capable of handling (my wife had placed limitations on me)
• Although I am *cough* *cough* years old, there are still things I'm learning to do, or at least learning to do better (I am still learning what my limitations are)
• My wife can get people from Flordia, USA to check on me in Ontario, Canada - yet unable to get out of bed to turn off the bathroom light (she can however get ME to get out of bed to turn off the bathroom light)
• No matter what age we are, we can grow and do things others did not think we were capable of (limitations change, can be over come, or might not have really existed)
• I was right, my wife was wrong
• What my wife thought about my abilities to handle the household were not important - what was important is how I did handle the household (limitations are only limitations if we choose to listen to them)
• Sometimes, you need to be challenged to realise what you are capable of
• If my wife isn't here to tell me to, I can go 4 days without showering, 3 without changing clothes, 2 without eating and 1 without coffee

When we look at adoption, how many limitations are we placing on ourselves, our children, or possible children?
Do we look at our adopted child and say to ourselves that they will never be "whole", or that they will always "suffer with attachment issues"?
Do we look at ourselves and maybe think "will I be able to truly love our adopted child?"
Do we look at a child with cleft lip and think "they will never be accepted?"

Are those valid fears/questions/concerns/limitations?  Sure.  Absolutely.  I had every right to be scared to be left alone with 4 children... they are scary.  They make strange noises.  Eat strange things.  They stay up all night, or wake up at weird times of the day!  The can bite, colour on walls (or Dads... hey, its happened!), tie you up with duct tape and leave you in the back yard for the wild animals of Canada to attack... I mean kids are scary stuff!  Anyone who tells you different, isn't a parent.  :-)

Don't let the cuteness fool you - they can be scary!

But I refuse to be limited by fears... because I think thats what all those questions, concerns and limitations really are - fears.  What would have happened if I was to afraid to watch the children for 12 days without the wife?  Well, my wife would have missed her fathers funeral.  And it is easy to look at a death in the family and say "suck it up for 12 days you wuss".

But... what would have happened if I was to afraid to adopt a child with Spina Bifida?  What if I listened to that fear that said "you can't do it", "that child is going to have problems", "she must have a better suited family out there somewhere", "we can't adopt a child that old", "we can't afford to adopt", and the list goes on.  What if I listened to all my concerns and self imposed limitations?

Well, I would have missed out on one of the the single greatest experiences of my life - my beautiful daughter Ping; and she would have missed out on us**.

* Thank you, by the way.   We men and children might forget to say it, but you make everything "work".
** If you are a regular reader on our family blog, you would know that her missing "me" might not be that big of a deal.  I'm still wearing her down.

Sink or Swim

Our daughter Ping has Spina Bifida.  Normally her Special Need doesn't impact her day to day activities.  There have been the odd emergency trip to the Spina Bifida Clinic... and the numerous check ups, and test, and MRIs, and neurology type things... but other than that... her Spina Bifida has not been on the forefront of our minds.

Her Spina Bifida affects some of our decisions of course... we learned the hard way that slapping her on a thin sheet of plastic and sending her shooting down a steep 40 foot hill covered in a thin layer of snow and ice with no protection for her massive head and back was, for lack of a better description, a "poor parenting choice".  Huh, who knew.  Go figure.

Getting ready for our 1st Swim

Anyway, one of the physical activities which she enjoys (and is good for her Special Need) is Swimming.  It is a great way for children with Spina Bifida to get physical activity with low risk of injury, and it is something which can help their mobility and strengthen their core muscles... and it can help attachment issues.  :-)

Lets travel back to Nov 2009 - courtesy of the Yeti Way Back Time Machine(tm) 

Me:  Why is she still glaring at me?

Wife:  She just doesn't trust you yet.

Me:  Really?  Why not?  She's been with us for like, 36 hours.  You think she would be OK with me by now.

Wife:  Ya, you'd think that.  I think you still scare her.  She doesn't seem to like your hair.

Me:  No, thats not it.  Its cuz you gave her the sucker when we 1st met her.  I only had Cheerios for her.

Wife:  Right.  4 years of "life" and "memories" are replaced instantly by 1 sucker.  It couldn't be that she is scared, terrified, and being chased by some huge lumbering hairy white man.

Me:  I'm pretty sure it's the sucker.

Wife:  You are such a moron...

Me:  Wait!  She's looking at me!  She's gonna say something!

Ping:  你带我回家大吓人的雪人。你吓我，我恨你。

Wife:  Do you think that was a happy thing she said?

Me:  Ummmm, no.

Wife:  Look, she will love you - she just needs to trust you.  Oh!  Take her swimming!

Me:  Really?  You think thats a good idea?

Wife:  Oh yea!  It will be brilliant!  She will be forced to hold onto you!  If she lets go, she will drown.  It will force her to bond with you.

Me:  Uh, I'm not sure that putting our newly adopted child into a life or death situation where she will be torn between the complete and abject fear of me and the troubling sensation of drowning is really the best way to create a wonderful loving bonding moment.  I'm not sure that will foster the spirit of trust and love of which we are seeking.  I'm pretty sure you can't force bonding...

Wife:  Oh what do you know about adopted children!  You didn't even read the books about attachment disorders!

Me:  Okay, we'll try it your way.  I'm sure it will be great.

Ping:  可有人递给我一刀子，所以我可以杀死雪人？

So me, our 10 year old son K and Ping all go to the swimming pool.  After the very confusing "swimming cap" experience, we find ourselves in the pool... which (un)fortunately did not have a shallow end.  It looks like my wifes cunning plan is going to work.

Me:  Ping Ping, come here!  Come to Ba ba!  I'll hold you in the water!

Ping:  没有来

Me:  Look, water!  Swim?

Ping:  我会杀了你，你的立场

Me:  Alright, Ba ba is going to pick you up, and put you in the water now.

So, with her in my arms, facing out from me, we slipped into the water - and for 42 seconds, she clung to my arm while we started wading though the water.  Her little face lit up with a wide smile as she splashed her little delicate hands and feet in the water and giggled with joy!

It was around the 43rd second mark where she glanced over her shoulder and was reminded that I was holding her...

Ping:  让我走

Me:  I can't let you go baby.  You will sink.

Ping:  让我走!

Me:  I can't put you down!  You can't touch the bottom.

Ping:  让我走!   让我走!

Me:  Okay... I'll put you down.

It is around this time, as her little face slipped slowly below the surface of the water that I realized a couple of things...

1. she wasn't reaching up for help, she made her decision - drowning was better than reaching out and taking my hand for help
2. she has a bit of a stubborn streak to her
3. maybe this attachment thing is going to take more than 36 hours
4. those stupid swim caps are really uncomfortable

I reached into the water, took her gently under the arms and lifted her out of the water.  Thinking "surely now she realizes that she can not touch the bottom, that she needs me, that she will happily stay in my arms now and hold onto me and let me help her".  Boy... was I wrong...

Ping:  让我走!!!

Me:  Really?!  You still want down?   Didn't you notice you just about drowned?

Ping:  让我走!!!

Me:  Okay, here we go again...

And once more, my daughters beautiful face slipped silently below the surface...  I did get to hold her, eventually.  She stopped fighting me and let me lead her around the pool and had fun splashing her big brother.  :-)

Me:  Hey, we're back!

Wife:  How was swimming?

Me:  Oh great.  It went really well.

Wife:  See, I told you it would work!  And what are you wearing on your head?

Me:  Swimming cap.  Apparently, you need them if you want to swim in China.

Wife:  Good to know.

Me:  Yea.  Hey, quick question.  If you had to choose between drowning and being stuck with me... what would you choose?

Wife:  She will love you.  Eventually.

Me:  She would love me quicker if I gave her the sucker.

Catch a Grenade For You

Daughter #1 (G):  Daddy, why did that man say Grenade?
Me:  Huh?  What?
G:  In the song Daddy.  Listen.  He says Grenade.
Me:  Okay... let me turn it up...


I’d catch a grenade for ya (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Throw my hand on a blade for ya (yeah, yeah, yeah)
I’d jump in front of a train for ya (yeah, yeah , yeah)
You know I'd do anything for ya (yeah, yeah, yeah) Oh, oh
I would go through all this pain, Take a bullet straight through my brain,
Yes, I would die for ya baby ; But you won't do the same
(Bruno Mars - http://www.directlyrics.com/bruno-mars-grenade-lyrics.html)

Me:  Hmmmm... um, I really don't know baby.  It doesn't make much sense does it.

That song got me thinking (a dangerous thing, I know)... how many times in moves or music do we see or hear,  these overly romanticized acts of self sacrifice to show our love to someone?  And then, in how many of these movies do the people change their minds 1/2 way though and want out of the relationship... 

Me:  ... well G, its a love song, kind of.  The boy in the song is trying to say how much he loves the girl, in that he would catch a grenade for her... to save her...
Son #1 (K):  I like grenades!  (can you tell he is 12?)  I'd catch a grenade!
G:  Oh.  It still doesn't make any sense.
Me:  Yea, I know.  I mean, if you are so close to the girl, catching the grenade isn't gonna help.  Same thing with the train... If I jump in front of a train, I'm not going to stop the train.  The train would just run me over, and then run the girl over.  Now, I could PUSH the girl out of the trains path... that would be helpful.  And a bullet through the brain?!  Really?  Nope, thats just foolish.  Again, if I know someone is trying to shoot my girl, maybe I should get her the heck out of there.  I mean, after I'm shot in the head, I haven't removed the girl from danger... the shooter is still out there...
G:  Daddy, you're not making any sense.
Me:  Maybe not... but neither is the song.
K:  Can I have a grenade?!
Me:  No.
K:  But I LIKE grenades!  (seriously, 12 year olds... ungh...)

She might be little, but shes still not buying what I'm selling...

Love is hard.  I mean, it is hard work.  Not for my wife though.  I'm sure its easy to love me.  I'm rough and rugged, and funny and all that... I must be easy to love!  But for others, I am sure it is hard work.

I think we often fall into this trap thinking that our children want huge shows of affection, that they want us to break down walls, or jump in front of trains, or even catch grenades for them.  But really, what I think they want, is steadfast love.

What is the point of showering our children with lots and lots of affection like toys, gifts and everything they ask for, if we get all angry with them every time they don't behave the way we think they should?

Extravagant shows of affection are easy!  Thats why us men will come home with flowers and chocolate when we do something stupid - because it is easier to buy a box of chocolates than to try to string together a thoughtful sentence like "I'm sorry, I'm an idiot for doing _____________."  There is a while diamond industry built around extravagant shows of affection...  but last time I checked, no amount of diamonds can save a marriage*.

True love is lived out daily, and in the small ways and the small things.  Its giving our children the consistent love, patience, genteelness and acceptance that they need.

Reeeeeally not buying it...

This is especially true when Adopting an Older child.  They have history.  They know love... their knowledge of Love may be skewed and incorrect - but to them it is love.  They may not trust love.  They may have years of "stuff" they are dealing with.  We have to understand how our children process "love".

I like asking fathers some simple questions... questions like...

• where do you want to be in your career 5 years from now?
• what type of car do you want to be driving in 10 years from now?
• where do you want to live when you retire?

What kills me, is that the fathers will have answers for these types of questions.  They will say "I want to be into upper management", or "I want to be driving a BMW 350i(?)"...

But ask them questions like...

• what do you want your marriage to look like in 5 years?
• what are you going to do in the next 6 months to be a better father?
• what is the love language of your child?

And all you get are blank stares...  Do we honestly believe that we don't need to plan to be better fathers?  husbands?  How are we going to handle the hard times if we don't have a plan?  Do we expect to be able to ride in on a White Horse and save the day like in so many cheesy Hollywood movies?  To bring it back to the overly romanticized songs... do we expect to be able to fix all the pain, and past experiences of our children with 1 big act of selfless love - especially one which doesn't address the real love issue (ie: catching that grenade didn't save the girl, you're still standing there beside her, but now with a grenade in your hand)?

No.  Not in 1 act.  1 act can start the healing process... or 1 act can begin the love relationship...

This was the 1st step, there are many more to come...

I think often we try to show our adopted children that we love them with the big things...
...when really, what they need are our hearts.  Everyday.

* = But apparently there is no harm in trying.

Collision of Two Cultures

One year ago two worlds collided in Eastern China as a 13-year-old boy met his American parents for the first time. What was to follow would be a dance of sorts, some missed footing, some stepping on toes, loss of rhythm... and finally, a year later, a harmonious blend of steps we call life.




To say it’s been ‘a year’ is an understatement. Our son didn’t know a single word of English, and had resolved that the rest of the world would learn Chinese in order to communicate with him. Unfortunately, his years in foster care had come with challenges and a high price, education being one, but far more important were the emotional and developmental gaps caused by neglect. He had no concept of family or permanency, or a desire to learn.




We, his parents, knew this transition wouldn’t be easy, but we really had no idea just how difficult it would be. It was just different than we had imagined. We long to be the hands and feet of the Lord as we answer His call to the ‘impossible’, yet we are surprised when the pain comes. We somehow think we are immune to the struggles as we carry our cross daily, but that is directly contradictory to His Word. He doesn’t promise comfort or ease; He promises faithfulness, hope and restoration!

I had never home schooled before, until last year. I had no idea where to begin, but for the advice of wonderful friends who have home schooled and/or adopted older children. I’m certain I learned as much as my son, including the fact I could actually enjoy teaching a child who speaks English and has half a desire to learn J The two of us were so out of sync. I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t want to learn, and he couldn’t figure out why he needed to! Ultimately, the most important lesson was how to be a family. We often forewent reading or math to focus on our relationship.

He struggled for control, and would do whatever he could to manipulate circumstances to get what he wanted. He also learned it’s rather difficult to remain self-absorbed with seven siblings. He tried to isolate himself, but mostly because that’s what he’d been taught, to stay out of the way. Being alone was his safe place. We struggled with the sadness of all the rotten things he’d been through and the overwhelming changes yet to come. We worked hard to maintain structure and routine because it seemed the most beneficial setting.

We were caught off guard by his season of grief. It just didn’t look the way we thought it would. He was not only overwhelmed by his new world; he was overcome by nameless emotions. Once we realized he was grieving, we were able to help him cope and extend the compassion he needed.

We often felt incompetent in our ability to parent. Our son wouldn’t tell us if he was sick, happy, sad, angry or tired. Mostly because he didn’t know! He was completely detached from his emotions. He certainly couldn’t name them, and he was impulsive at expressing them.

We learned that consistency is key. We found it necessary to ‘walk the walk.’ No wavering allowed. And Mom and Dad are a force to be reckoned with :)

We also saw grace in a new light. The need for undeserved favor has been more prevalent than ever in our home. Our oldest son even observed that abundant grace is a necessity from here on out.

And then there are all the tests and the doctors, not seeking ‘why’ so much as ‘where to go from here.’

We were told that non-English speaking kids will typically have conversational language at six months. Not so in our case. We thought we’d never learn to communicate. And in this journey I have learned that communication is key to relationship. And without a relationship, I simply had another teenager in my home who had strange food choices and sleep habits. I desperately wanted to relate to my son.

And gradually, layer by layer the rotten past began to peel away and the witty personality began to surface. Gradually he learned to love and to receive the love of his imperfect parents. Gradually he began to act like a brother. Gradually his confidence blossomed and we discovered he’s pretty good at math and fits right in with his seventh grade peers. Gradually he expressed a love for music which has landed him in the percussion section of the band.




Gradually he regained his interest in fitness, and though he may not understand all the rules, he’s willing to work hard to learn how to play basketball. Gradually he has learned that his parents love him enough to put up a fight when the thing he really wants to do is not in his best interest. Gradually he is realizing that his siblings are pretty awesome, contrary to his initial idea that he didn’t need any of them. Gradually he is learning that his family trusts a heavenly Father who extends boundless grace, mercy and love to the unfathomable point of dying so we can live.




In a way it’s hard to believe a year has passed, but in some respects it seems like a lifetime. We have learned enough to last a lifetime…and we are looking forward to a lifetime of living out what we’re still learning and dancing to the rhythm of our new song.

Today's guest post is contributed by Connie, mom to eight children... two recently adopted from China through the SN program: Kooper, and Kinley. Connie has shared their adoption story on our Family Stories page, and blogs about life as a mom of many at One More Ladybug.

a thank you

I was so blessed by this news of a child coming HOME from China, I wanted to share with everyone here.

Last fall, Shelly learned about a little girl in need of a family on No Hands But Ours. And now, Shelly is that little girl's mama! Now that little girl has an entire family to love her forever! That is so cool!

I just feel incredibly blessed to be a part of advocating for special needs children in China. And I have you guys to thank! So to everyone who has told another person about No Hands But Ours, or posted our button in the sidebar of your blog... to every mama who takes time to share her heart here or read here...thank you. You are helping to make a very real difference in the lives of special needs orphans in China!





Hi Stefanie!

I wanted to share a picture with you. This is me with my newest daughter, Avery Xiaoli. We found her on the NHBO site last September. Today we leave Guangzhou and fly home to Virginia I am thankful for your dedication to Chinese orphans. If not for that, we wouldn't have our daughter today!

In Him ~ Shelley

Do You Really Love Me?

Today's guest post is contributed by Connie, mom to eight children... two recently adopted (at the same time!) from China through the SN program, Kooper 14, and Kinley 2. Connie has shared their adoption story on our Family Stories page, and blogs about life as a mom of many at One More Ladybug.

There is a pattern emerging. One that was either non-recognizable or perhaps non-existent a few months ago in our 14 year old son.

It goes something like this: gently testing the boundaries, obedience, sibling interaction, affection, vulnerability…and then the emotional overload and outpour, usually in the form of anger. There seems to be no provocation for the anger. A comment or teasing gesture that it expressed often, which under normal circumstances would be inconsequential, suddenly becomes the catapult for an uncontrollable outburst.

While this pattern may look different in each child, I think it is common among children adopted as teens. So many elements of their past have a profound impact on their psyche. Perhaps neglect and/or abuse in the formative years, poor nutrition, poor education and institutionalization all cause the brain to develop ‘differently’. What has taken years to develop cannot be changed overnight.

So, why the outburst in the form of anger? Especially when everything seems to be going so well. As crazy as it sounds, that’s his ‘safe place.’ Becoming angry and distancing himself from his family, allows our son to remain disconnected with his feelings. As he begins to transition into accepting his new life, he becomes overwhelmed by his feelings. Maybe because they are unfamiliar or maybe because it means letting go of all he has ever known. Even though our son’s past was less than ideal, it was his. It was him.

These angry outbursts include backtalk, shouting, throwing objects, exaggerating and doing the opposite of what he knows is acceptable. It’s as if he’s saying, “Do you love me when I do this? How about this? Or this? Do you really love me?” He’s never known a ‘happy ending.’

After such an outburst our son used to isolate himself for hours and would refuse to eat or speak. We realize there are few things he can control, but two of those are what goes into his mouth and what comes out! The pattern is changing though, ever so slowly. Now he will go to his quiet place, the porch swing, and come back to apologize in a short time. By God’s grace, we are able to move on!

We still have so much to learn. I understand that love is not a feeling, rather a choice. In our family it’s a choice we make daily, sometimes every hour. According to our human nature, typically when people treat us badly, we can choose not to be around them. Not so in teen adoption. We get to choose daily to be with our son, no matter what. And that is how God’s love is manifesting itself in us.

We realize that apart from Him, there is no good thing within us. We can’t fathom His love for us when we reject and grieve Him, yet He chooses to pursue us and love us, showering us with His grace and mercy, not so it can stop here, but so we can extend the same measure to others. As God is patient with us, we must also be patient with our son. Since my Father endured so much for me, surely I can muddle my way through this season of trials, in His strength. Lord, grant me the strength to daily choose to love, no matter what, and show me how I can be Jesus to my son today.

There IS Loss

A recent post by TongguMomma has really had me thinking A.L.O.T.

Right after I read her post, which I keep going back to just to read the comments, I received a very unexpected piece of mail. As in, snail mail, all the way from the East. Long story short, we had ordered a care package through a well-known service back in early February. We included a SASE in the package that was supposed to be for our waiting son to send a note back to us. I don't know what happened … something was lost in the translation, he didn't want to write us (which is completely acceptable and understandable if that is the case), he was never given the SASE and the offer to write us … I don't know and probably never will.

Interestingly enough, the SASE contained a copy of the document we had sent the care package provider with 8 questions on it—the one that was supposed to be sent back to us by the provider and was supposed to be translated. The questions had been answered, and they had been answered in Chinese … with Mandarin characters … which I nor DH can read AT ALL. I will not go into the details of how I was able to get this translated, but I finally did get a translation thanks to another adoptive parent and her very kind co-worker.

I will admit I had butterflies in my stomach the other day as I opened the email titled "Translation Enclosed." What would it say?

I immediately scanned down the screen to read the answer to the one question for which I most wanted an answer: "How does [our waiting son] feel about being adopted? Happy, sad, excited, scared?"

I will not share the answer in full, but I will tell you it included the words happy and sad.

And I cried.

I have lay awake many nights thinking about all of the LOSS our waiting son has faced, much of the details I don't know and probably never will … but some I know enough to feel actual pain in my heart for him because of the details I do know … and yet, I am not him … and I know the pain of the losses has been and will continue to be far greater for him … I don't think these are losses one can ever truly "get over."

He is not finished experiencing losses associated with the fact he was abandoned by his first family. He is in a very loving foster family. And he is not going to be staying there … and so that is a loss. A loss I do not think of without tearing up. I have photos of them together. I have words that convey the relationship they share.

And I am crying as I type thinking of that loss, and my part in that.

You may wonder as me, Why can't he stay?

I can't answer that.

I wish I could.

If only life were that simple.

Along with so many other questions: why couldn't he stay with his first family? I know enough to know there must have been and still most likely is much pain from that loss. For both our waiting son and his first family.

As I thought of TongguMomma's post more in light of what I read on that translated email, I thought of the many comments, which I so appreciated and devoured really. I just don't know why all of the loss and pain exists in the world (well I do know … because of sin and our fallen state as people) … but I know God does make beauty from ashes … and for some of us, especially our children who were adopted … He TRULY DOES make beauty from ashes … and He heals wounds.

And yet some wounds … leave scars … and they are evidence of the pain endured.

I can see how our son's losses will never be far from his heart. He is not a baby. He already has a Mama. She is in China, taking care of him now.

I am a stranger to him. Nothing more really. An image perhaps. An ideal maybe. A person who is causing his world, his life as he knows it, to be completely torn apart.

I can call myself Mama to him when we finally meet … but he already has someone in his life to whom he calls out Mama. We've sent photos and more photos and still more photos along with letters and some gifts for him and his foster family.

But our gain of a son will come with much loss for him … and his China Mama … and so many others before her.

I am thankful for Sk*ype and email and connections and knowing other adoptive Moms whose older children were adopted through the same SWI. Those connections are PRICELESS to me, not because they are so much about me … but because they are a lifeline to his past and can hopefully remain in his present once he is here … home with his new family.

How will we help him cope with all of the loss, part of which is being brought about by our adopting him? Honestly, right now, I can't see very far ahead. I know we'll first and foremost recognize his losses. That HAS TO BE a first step on our parts.

As I see the grief come out still for our daughter, who was living an unimaginable existence in an SWI where she was losing weight daily and dying from heart disease … I realize that no matter how meager one's existence is … it is that person's existence. And even losing that existence brings about grief and feelings of loss and pain. Even this loss, her loss of a very meager existence, is VALID.

Thankfully, for our son, his existence is not just being in a place where he is sometimes fed, sometimes clothed and hopefully sheltered. No, his existence is full of love, sacrifice, hope and healing. And as much as it brings me physical pain to think of taking him from that, I know my pain in no way compares to what his pain has been and will be.

The Photo

There is a picture on my computer. In it, a man holds two little girls. His head is bowed, his right hand lifted toward the sky, his left arm wrapped firmly around his charges. The girls are squirming bundles of energy. A matched pair, they look to be identical twins. The photo can’t hide their anxiety nor can it hide the man’s gaunt cheeks and thin frame. The picture was snapped by an adoptive mother visiting an orphanage in Ethiopia, and it showcases a moment that not many adoptive parents will ever get to see. It is the last hug, the last prayer, the last goodbye.



I cannot look at the photo without crying.

These are my nieces. This is their biological father. This moment is the last they will share together.

My sister received the photo via email and forwarded it to me. I called her, and we talked about the image. The conversation will probably be lost to time, but the feelings we shared, the mixture of joy and sorrow, it will live in both of our hearts forever.

In the wake of that conversation, I find myself thinking about my daughter’s birth family more than I ever have before. I have heard it said that we should not romanticize our children’s birth parents. I have heard it said that we should not tell our children that they were given up because of love, and I have found myself persuaded by this argument – if you tell your daughter that her birth mother loved her enough to give her up, you will make her question the security of her life with you.

I see the logic of that. I understand the reasoning. I even buy into it to an extent.

But I cannot buy into it fully.

And that, I guess, is my problem.

One day, I think Cheeky will ask – Mom, why was I abandoned? How did I become the girl in this picture:



What will I tell her? That her birth family could not care for her? That they may have already had a child and could not afford to have another? That laws that limit family size might have forced her birth mother’s hand?

Any of those reasons may be true. All of them may be the truth. Maybe none of them are.

I don’t know. I will never know.

But I do know this: Sometimes love means holding on and sometimes it means letting go.



My husband and I were talking about our new nieces. He was surprised to learn that their biological father was still living. “How can someone do that?” He asked. “How can someone say goodbye to children he has raised and loved for three years.”

I’ve been thinking about that a lot since that photo arrived in my in-box, thinking about the birth father’s gaunt cheeks and thin frame, his hand reaching toward Heaven.



What if I had no money, no food, no house?

What if keeping my children meant that they would never get an education, never go to college, never get married? Worse, what if keeping them meant their stomachs would never be full? What if keeping them meant watching them slowly fade away?

What if giving them up was the kindest most selfless thing I could do?

Would that mean I loved them less? Or would it mean I loved them more?

Sometimes in a quest for honesty and authenticity in telling our children’s stories, we feel compelled to state the facts and nothing more. Perhaps that is the way it should be.

Perhaps.

But there is a photo on my computer. My nieces and their birth father in the last moments they will share together. In Birth Father’s face I see sadness and anxiety, desperation and hope.

And, in my mind’s eye, an image plays over and over again – a dark-haired mother setting her pale child in a box and walking away. I think if I could have seen her face, that woman who walked into a crowded train station with a baby and walked out without one, I would have seen sadness and relief and hope and more desperation than I ever want to feel.

It is true that I do not have all the facts, but it is also true that my daughter’s story is about more than facts. It is about being abandoned and it is about being found. It is about miracles both big and small. It is about sacrifice and about sorrow. It is about all of those things.

And, yes, it is also about love.

My love.

Foster Mom’s love.

Even Birth Mom’s love.

When she asks, and I know she will, this is what I will tell my daughter – I can’t know for sure why your birth mother couldn’t parent you, but I do know this - sometimes it takes more strength and more love to let go than it does to hang on.