Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Living the Dream

We thought long and hard before taking in black children into our family.
 
We live in a small, rural, white community and our kids go to a well-intentioned, ethnically challenged school.  I have sat through the school spring concerts in a cold sweat as I looked out at all those blondies wondering if my kids can find a place here, too. Our sweet little Ethiopians bring smiles now because they're cute and little.  I wonder, no...I know that some of  those smiles will change if one of my kids shows up to date a daughter or son.  I worry about them fitting in, finding friends, marrying spouses, being teased, facing heartache, resenting me because I am not the mom they should have had.   I dread the day when they look at themselves and feel shame because they are different.  I want to protect their hearts, their souls, their beings from nonacceptance and rejection and THAT DAY when they realize that their gorgeous little chocolate skin might not work in their favor.
 
We are a trans-racial family.  I never dreamed this for myself.  I guess God shaped my heart in a way that could be filled by this bunch that looks so different from me.  And I would NEVER have thought my hubs would get on board at the idea of traveling to Africa to fill our quiver.  God shaped his heart, too.  And apparently God has prepared him for a dozen or so.
 
We are a trans-racial family.  When I head out, I am noticed.  People look.  They remember us.  They smile. They stare. They glare. They ask. I don't leave the house without someone making a judgement about me...my kids...my family.  Sometimes that feels kind of weighty when all you want to do is run in for a gallon of milk.  Some days it feels like a platform to speak words for the kids like my kids who need families.  Some days, I'm so proud of them.  My girl who still thinks her hair is pretty and whose smile lights up a room.  She doesn't walk.  She bounces and skips and sings her way through life and is so carefree.  She and her beautiful, bright smile and her endless energy.  And my boy who grins at me every time I look at him with his little curls and that skin.  It is just delicious.
 
I remember going to the store and a random woman coming up to me and saying, "I remember you.  You were here last Thursday."  I could not say the same.  And once a gentleman came up to me to talk hair routines.  And another black man actually elbow- bumped me over a Crisco conversation.  And when I go to the doctor's office, they know our names and not because of repeated illnesses.  I have been stared at by a black family with arms crossed and scowls on their faces.  I have been told that "these" children are so precious.  Children at school have literally stopped in their tracks when we walked down the hallways.  Random strangers have come up and asked to touch her hair.  People have pointed and others have broke into tears.
 
And last week, on one of our first Sundays out to a church as a family of six, I left the service to walk the chatty, squirmy baby around out back.  The pastor read Dr. King's speech during his sermon. 

I have a dream where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
 
I've heard this speech before.  I was educated, reminded, and even empathetic in the past.  Now, I am emotionally invested.  I started boo-hooing right there as I was holding my black baby in my white hands and thinking that in another time not so long ago, THIS WOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED.  We are the literal incarnation of this man's dream. 

I slipped back into our row as the final song played.  We walked out together and a man came up next to me and in front of my babes, leaned in and asked, "Are you working through Child Protective Services?" 

I guess we have a ways to go and if we could speed the process up, that would be great.  Because my babies are growing up and I want them to be loved and I just want skin color to be a NON-ISSUE.  I want their hearts to shine through.  Their value to be acknowledged because they are CHILDREN OF THEIR HEAVENLY FATHER MADE IN HIS IMAGE.

My dear Eden, my dreams for you are grand.  I pray that you are surrounded by friends and opportunities and every good thing that you deserve.  I hope that you find a godly man who sees your beauty, inside and out.  I want for you all that life has to offer with nothing to hold you back.  May you look in the mirror and still keep smiling and singing and bouncing your way through life.  You are complete and enough just as you are.  

And little Judah...my man. When I look into your big, brown eyes, I don't know how anyone could not fall in love with you.  I hope that others will see your sweet temperament and calm, contented ways.  May you find your place in life through struggles and joy and an assurance of who you are in Christ.  May you be respected as a lover of people and a lover of God. 

And Dr. King.  Thanks for thinking big.  Big enough to start movements that bring about change.  Because if you didn't have a dream, I wouldn't be living it.













 


 

Saturday, August 3, 2013

New Normal

We have hit the two week mark.  It's a milestone worth sharing.

This is when I start feeling like a sane person again and when a baby cries in the middle of the night, I'm not puzzled thinking, "Huh?  What is making all that noise?!?"  The luggage is unpacked, the jet lag has worn off, the house is kind of back to normal except for the explosion of primary colors trailing throughout the living room floor.  And, it feels like I can take a few minutes to write when every other day I would just head straight for a nap.

Here's a few of the details for those of you who are detail kind of people and all happen to ask the same following questions:

Question #1...How'd it go in Ethiopia?

Answer...I have no idea.  It is one big, exhausted blur.  I do remember picking up the baby, not sleeping, a traditional dinner (ew) in costume and then leaving. 

 
 
Let's move on.

Question #2... How was the flight?!? (typically asked with eyes widened, mouth formed in a worried, sympathetic expression, hand on shoulder....)

Nugget was amazing.  We got the coveted bassinette row.  I didn't even know this existed before our trip with Eden.  They just hook a little bed/death trap up to the bulk head row and babies can sleep (or not sleep) there instead of sprawled on your lap.  Genius.  We may have gotten this seat due to some pleading, urgent prayers sent upward while standing at the ticket counter or maybe just because babies trump other passengers when it comes to getting a little bed.  I may have let out a little, "Hallelujah. Thank you, Jesus!" when this seat was confirmed and in ROW 10 meaning I could beat out rows 11-46 at deboarding time.  However, I soon realized that three other babies would be sharing our special row, my favorite being the mom traveling with a two year old and an eight month old all BY HER LONELY SELF.  Said mother may have not brought one item of entertainment for the 17 hour plane ride and I became spare mom to either/both of her children.  I digress.  

I've told people that our baby was clearly the most prayed for as he was the best behaved and slept not necessarily in the coveted bassinette but mostly on me.  I had numb butt cheek syndrome for 15 of the 17 hour ride.  We all kind of tanked on the last leg to Grand Rapids.  People kept looking at us, some sympathetically and some slightly annoyed. I wanted to stand, turn, and give the "baby has been traveling for 20+ hours so how about you just sip your Diet Coke and move about your business" kind of speech. My favorite moment may have been when I asked some business-looking man if he would like to trade seats with my husband in the back of the plane.  He looked hesitant.  I lifted sweet, bawling Nugget and said, "Or...you can sit by us!"  Business man made his way to the back.

The good news is that we got off that awful, delayed plane and walked down the ramp to the crowd of the devoted/those who had nothing going on that Saturday afternoon and it was just a moment of everything coming together.  Three little ones running towards us with tears flowing as I watched them lay eyes of their little bro for the first time.  These are the times you don't get to live very often.  Well, sort of.  I can relive it every day if I want thanks to my girl buddy, pro-photographer/fellow adoptive mom who captured it all in slow mo.

What's the link?  So glad you asked.
http://staceyclackphotography.pass.us/scholten/
password: Scholten

Question #3...How's it been going? (ironically asked with the same facial expressions as question #2)

People,  he is the cutest little whipper snapper I ever laid eyes on.  More pics! More pics!  I can hear you chanting...


 


 He's a happy little dude.  He smiles easily.  He crawls and stands and looks way too little to be doing either.  We are all sort of infatuated with him, especially my dear girl, Hannah, who loves everything about babies.  Actually mostly she loves that they have to do whatever she wants and won't talk back.  I kind of share her feelings.  There's something sort of endearing about a little one who has three primary concerns: food, sleep, clean butt and doesn't argue with you when you ask them to put their breakfast dishes away.  They snuggle you and bounce up and down because it is just toooooo much fun.  When J's excited, his little legs start frantically kicking.  He is loving tubs and toys and stroller rides and all things baby.

The doc says he was probably born early.  He's made it to the 6th percentile, on target with his age group, a little low in iron and Vitamin D (who isn't?), puking much less (I could tell some stories), sitting up without immediately nose diving and eating everything he finds on the floor.  He stand at the window looking outside, reaches for us when visitors come over, drools like a fool and happens to love dad's whiskers (and dad....that is also worth noting). 

Uh, and then there are the nights.

They've been, shall we say, sporadic?  Some nights (like 3 nights) we're up once or twice for a quick bottle and then back down for the count.  And then there are the last few nights of more frequent, special bonding times.  Baby likes a bottle...not rocking, not patting the bum, not gentle swaying back and forth.  The kid wants a bottle.  And so sometimes he just wins and I say, "Have at it. I'm going back to bed."  This is a habit we will have to slowly replace.  In time.  Like when I have more stamina and energy and sleep.  OK, maybe never.

We're on our way.  Heading in the right direction.  Slowly getting to know each other and trust and love and become a family. 

There are days...change that....EVERY day, I just look around at this conglomeration of a family.  One who talks non-stop, showing signs of becoming a young lady.  One climbing the shelves in search of a screw driver to take the wheels off his trucks.  Another with her fluffy puffs and her love for music.  And the newbie with his easy coming smile....interests still to be determined.  I can't help but feel those "quiver is full," "blessed beyond measure", "life doesn't get any better than this" kind of moments.  And then they start fighting and I tackle laundry load number 23 for the week, or they spill their cereal on the floor again and it gets crazy.  But it's the good kind of crazy.  The "this is the best kind of crazy."  The kind of crazy that could change in a heartbeat.  So for today, I'm taking the messes and the 100 requests all starting with, "MOM!!!!" and I'm soaking it in with a thankful heart and spirit.

Grateful for these kids.  My kids.