under the umbrella

As a mom there are umbrellas that we live under, whether (weather, how punny) we live beneath them intentionally or not is not what I want to blog about. Let's just say that we do. Or rather, I do. And to throw having my little diverse family under that umbrella just adds to what I'm talking about.
Umbrella is a term that I am using to describe expectations that I try REALLY hard to live up to because I assume that 1) someone cares more than I do about my family. 2) my children reflect my parenting, therefor my work, therefor myself. Kinda like 6 walking report cards. 3) I want to please man?? I don't know. Just go with me on this one.

Today I'm just going to talk about the hair umbrella. I live under the white-mom umbrella in which I feel like I have to disprove to every person on the planet. Women especially (men don't seem to notice these things). Let's look at the girls' hair:

I tried to get this photo bigger to no avail.

Now Miss B is the two heads on the left and Miss F is on the right, this picture was taken directly after I typed the word hair. I spent about 2 1/2 hours on Miss B's hair and about an 1 1 /2 on Miss F's (she can't have beads in cause of soccer).
Why?
Why on earth would someone do that?
I blame it on the umbrella.
I feel like I have to disprove the notion that white women don't care about black hair *while* proving to white women that it is possible to learn how to cornrow, for goodness sake. I do the girls' hair about every two weeks; this is more than necessary but I don't want those fuzzies to aid in anyone's suspicion that people shouldn't adopt outside of their race.
I learn every new style, I eye all the unsuspecting children who walk past me to see what their sporting, I spend an equal amount of time planning to do hair than I do actually platting.
Think I'm overreacting?
People (ahem, women) stop me in grocery stores, at church, in public restrooms, the park, at the mall. You name it, they've probably stopped me there. They stop me and ask me about the girls' hair and "who did it." This question is always asked with suspicion and it either follows or precedes questions about whether or not they're "my" children (don't get me started on that one). Upon learning that, yes, I did their hair, there is a guaranteed moment of shock quickly followed by a cover up. I hate those moments, and yet I live for those moments. Those moments are why I spend so much time on hair. Those moments prove that umbrella wrong but also prove that I willingly live under it.
Stupid umbrella.

P.S. I hardly ever give Prissy's hair a second thought.

brokenness and disruption

disruption:
–verb (used with object)

1.	to cause disorder or turmoil in: The news disrupted their conference.

2.	to destroy, usually temporarily, the normal continuance or unity of; interrupt: Telephone service was disrupted for hours.

3.	to break apart: to disrupt a connection.

–adjective

4.	broken apart; disrupted.

(as found on this dictionary)

I read on wikipedia this morning that disruptions are "rarely discussed in public." Like politics and religion? HA! Shall we??


If you don't feel like following my links, disruption is the common term used when adoptive parents (for whatever reason) decide that they don't want the child to be a part of their family anymore. It is a legal process that ensures that the child is no longer the adoptive parents responsibility. Thus the child re-enters (or enters for the first time) the foster care system.

I just learned this morning that no such action/law exists if a family has a child biologically. So.... if we legally promise to care for a child, we can exit that covenant. But if we give birth to a sociopath, no such luck; we're stuck with the responsibility for life.

Is that crazy to anyone else? How is it that we as a society can legally enable people to not see these children that they adopted as their own? We aren't responsible to raise the children that we promised to raise?? I recognize that I'm an individual and that I have a unique family compared to everyone else on the planet. And YET I would never ever hand my bio daughter over to the foster care system. NEVER. The girl could run around with steak knives a flailin' and my mind would not be changed.

So why on earth would it even occur to me to do that to a child that I promised that I would raise? And our laws support this kind of thinking! What on earth is wrong with us humans?

I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but did you see the bit about Will Smith talking about how he feels about divorce? "It's not even an option." Why don't we, as adoptive parents feel that way towards our own children? That disruption isn't even an option. And he's a scientologist! And I FULLY understand that there are a MINORITY of children that get adopted that have major issues. And yet, if it was your bio kid, what other option would you have? Legally, there would be none.

Sho' makes me thankful that I have a God (or He's got me, rather) who isn't going to disrupt me from our relationship. I was adopted into that family. "God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure.So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son." (Eph 1:4-6)

No law can separate me from Him. No one can take that away.

sometimes it's good

Big P's epilepsy is a tougher issue that I had originally assumed (that would be before we adopted him)... the meds make him slow down mentally. Now try homeschooling him. Now try homeschooling him in hopes that he'll be fully caught up by the time that he should be in high school. Yeah, most days I feel like throwing my head up against the wall over and over and over.

But sometimes it's good.

He was having break through seizures while on his meds so the neurologist ordered up some blood tests and another EEG. The orders for the EEG were to keep him awake until midnight and wake him up at 4am (not sleeping greatly increases the chance of seizures). That was Monday night. I was so pooped that day that I wasn't sure I wouldn't fall asleep in the EEG room. Anyway, he didn't have a seizure, which means that the meds are actually working! Ta da!

Sometimes it's really good.

good morning!

This is a normal weekday morning at our house... well, semi normal because when they saw me get the camera out they all wanted to be on ;) I swear, though, that the dance party happens whenever the music gets turned on...



So good morning from us!

all night long

So last night I was in my bed ALL NIGHT LONG! Isn't that wonderful?? I met a mom there at the hospital (we were near the NICU) and she had been there for 6 months... can you imagine?? What would become of the rest of your family? Your marriage? Your kids? Your sense of normalcy?

I don't have anything thrilling to write today but I felt like I owed you all an update.

It'll be interesting to see what big P is like once he isn't in pain. I wonder if he's more playful, more gentle, happier...

..hospital times..

Where have I been? The hospital baby! GOOD TIMES! Miss Brasil is referring to it as a vacation. My question is, who doesn't want to sleep in a chair (see it?) in ugly Tacoma!?!So, here's the quick update before I ditch my five with me brova and head on back to the hospital. Went in to the ER on Saturday night (at children's hospital #2) and they legally had to let us in the door. The large infection under his arm (internal) was heading down his outer arm and I was tired of all the red tape.

Highlights of our stay:
-Yes he has epilepsy
-The bumps AREN'T tumors!! They're staff infections and totally treatable!
-So far has had one surgery and we're hoping that's the final one..


...more later....

too much talkie

If you know me, you know that one of my weaknesses is what comes outta my mouth. Often times I don't necessarily think before things fly out. Not sure why, but this problem has gotten worse ever since I got back home.

Example:
Yesterday we went to our scheduled appointment for Big P (at the surgeon, children's hospital #2) yesterday and the girl at the front desk wouldn't even let him in to see the doctor. Why? Because she wanted to see Big P's PASSPORT.

That's right.
Doesn't that make perfect sense?
I mean EVERY TIME that I take my children to see the doctor, I ALWAYS get asked to show their INTERNATIONAL picture ID.
Don't you?

"It's too bad that you noticed my kids are black."
(receptionist stands up)
"It's not that! We just -"
"That's fine. When can I schedule another appointment?"
(receptionist sits down and begins typing on her keyboard)

...Sure. I feel bad now. And little did that receptionist know that she's not the first person (or business) to ask me for WEIRD things upon seeing that my child/children's skin is darker than mine. Cone to think of it, Children's (1st hospital) did too... but at least they only asked for adoption paperwork. That's a little less obvious.

But COME ON FOLKS. Don't tell me that if I was AA or my kids were all pale that it would even occur to you that I might be bringing in some strange child off of the street and trying to give them health care off of our insurance...??? Honestly. The whole thing is bizarre.

Maybe we shoulda adopted from Russia!?!

..ahh.. health care

So, I'm avidly against socialized health care - just so we're straight on that.

We're having a difficult enough time getting health care NOW for Big P and we have the best insurance, as well as close access to 2 different children's hospitals, on the planet. My little brother and I will go in circles on this one so I'll just stick to what's going on with Big P and leave the style of health care issue behind us.

So I've been making roughly 3-7 daily phone calls to children's hospital since Big P and I got home. He has large growths in a few places that are painful for him, as well as having "episodes" (I'm pretty sure they're seizures but not positive). Now, if I were a health care provider and someone walked in with an 11 yr old newly adopted child with major health issues, I would roll out the welcome mat and offer to help them with anything they need. In the least, someone could at least answer my questions about how to deal with a child who has "episodes" while he's having them. Is anyone in a hurry to help me? That would be a no.

Quite the contrary. So, fed up with watching our son live in constant pain, my husband carried him for a visit to our local ER. For a quick $25 (our ER co-pay) the doc performed a biopsy, a CAT scan, and got us an appointment for tomorrow at a different children's hospital (mary bridge) for surgery. So this morning I called the new hospital to see if Big P should not eat before his set appointment.
"Why shouldn't he?"
"Well... I am under the understanding that one shouldn't eat before surgery...."
"Surgery?"
"...Right?"
"Uh... looks to me like the doc wants to see him before he makes any decisions."
"Even though the ER docs diagnosed him, biopsied him, and CAT scanned him last night?"
"I'm not the doc, ma'am. I'm just the scheduler."

I hung up the phone and tried to remind myself (as I have been trying to lately) that it's all in God's hands. I can do what I can do but regardless of what I do, it's all in God's hands.

Shortly thereafter, children's hospital (the 1st one) calls and says that no one has reviewed Big P's MRI yet but someone will eventually. Right now they're deciding at what meeting his case should be presented. Then, the docs will talk about the MRI and decide what to do from there.

God's got Big P since before the beginning of time. Before I ever laid eyes on him, before his biological parents considered his conception, before any of these docs was ever born. It was so easy for me to set Big P into God's care when he and I were in Liberia. After all, Liberia couldn't do anything for him so I didn't bother placing any hopes or expectations into their health care system. Rather, I hoped in America's. I hoped in God's choice of placing me in the US. I hoped that God was using that citizenship to bring Big P into our care, and thus our health care system. I expected that the docs here would quickly want to help us figure out how to discontinue my sons chronic pain and "episodes." I, mistakenly, hoped in the wrong thing.

So, once more, I put my trust in God as a last resort. I've got to quit doing this. Why isn't He my first option?

All that I know for sure is that this boy is God's child. God's got it.

Our trip to Liberia in video

two questions

A friend asked me on the phone what my happiest and saddest memories of Liberia are. I answered her incorrectly on the saddest one so let me get it right here. (btw, it's 5:45am here and I've been laying awake in bed for the past hour. this whole sleeping thing has eluded me for quite some time now...)

saddest:
I would actually call it the most disturbing memory but it's sad too.
So if you've never heard Liberian English, it's a whole nother dialect and virtually impossible to understand for the newbie. Knowing this, the Liberians speak freely (aka quickly and without fixing grammar and vocab) around the white folks (they considered my nephew white as well which I got a kick out of) when they don't want for them to understand - like their own secret language.
So I'm chillin at the compound and there's about 10-15 guys sitting on the steps with me. One of them is telling a story and they're all laughing and prodding him on. I begin to tune them in, curious about the topic that has them all attentive.
The story teller is in front of the group (they're all about 20-30yrs old) and his whole body moves as he acts out portions of the tale. If I can read his lips, I understand about 50% more of what he's saying so everytime that he turns his head, I have 25% of an idea what he's saying.
'The general was just standing there, totally surrounded. You know what they did to him?'
(audience laughs)
'They stabbed him and stabbed him and kept on.'
(more laughter as the story teller acts out the part of the general getting stabbed in the lungs. He begins wheezing for a breath that his body cannot hold. he looks surprised everytime that he gets stabbed. more laughter)
'And he just takes it! And he's like (storyteller continues wheezing) and there's blood blood a-ll over the floor coming from him, like a river, more and more blood'
(I rise up from the stairs and exit the scene, trying not to cry at the reaction to the story being told. I understand that there's only so much that these men can handle and that we all deal with war and trauma differently... but the callousness and the emptiness that is required from someone to speak this way... it's a side of humanity that we ignore and push aside {have you seen 'The Beach'?} because it's so much easier to speak of Brittany and her boys rather than the brutality of the world that surrounds us. I can't help but wonder how we can just stand aside and watch this happen... I wonder why so few are willing to help, and why even fewer follow through when they're on the ground.)

happiest:
Probably hearing my son call me 'Mommy' for the first time. I've never, and will never, tell any of my children to call me Mom. I want for them (the adopted children) to come to that conclusion within their own hearts without my pushing them to it.
I was headed to the bathroom for a splash of cool water on my face when I heard Big P ask some woman named Mommy what she was doing. I glanced around the bedroom, and sure enough, I was the only woman there.
I looked over at my nephew to ask if I had heard Big P correctly. My nephew smiled and nodded his head, "he called you Mommy, Raquel. Congratulations!"
I, of course, gave Big P an unexpected and delayed hug. He winced with pain. I apologized for forgetting about the tumor on his back. I rubbed his arm instead. He smiled at me quickly and then looked down shyly. One of the pineapple-and-beaches moments...

home again home again - where to begin??

...oh man...

this one is going to be quick because I don't know where to start nor where to end. I wish that I had a list of questions that I could just answer.

what's on my mind now?

I'm feeling overwhelmed with the scary diagnosis that Big P received while in Liberia... saw the pediatrician today who is setting us up with an appt at Children's nuero-oncology department. if that doesn't make a momma nervous, I don't know what would.

Big P is glued to my husband like white on rice - they deserve one another's love. It's amazing to watch.

Liberia is beautiful and disturbing and hot and wonderful and I miss it and in my heart I feel between two places at once, home and Liberia. I haven't downloaded any photos yet but I'll work on it this week.

Switched Little P to the girls' school today. Tired of the communication gap.

My house smells new. Liberia smelled like damp, hot, sweet spices. Getting off of the plane and smelling that wonderful scent will forever be indented in my brain. So many times I questioned the paths that I took when I was down there. Thought about my past and my future and all of the things that I could do but haven't done. Thought about how families should stay together and we should enable them to raise their own children. Thought about how everyone deserves an education and how the US is spoiled so rotten that it makes my stomach sour.

Spent many an hour sitting on the white sandy beach listening to the Atlantic ocean spill up onto the shore while the sun fell across the horizon and thought, 'it doesn't get better than this.'

Not actually home yet

You goofballs! We definately are not home yet and it is HOT up in Liberia! I'm telling you! Life is slow and dramatic and sad and wonderful.

The poverty here is immense.

Whether you like it or not, you'll hear all about it when I get back home.

Gotta jet - I'm in someone else's room and their kid might have malaria - dr just got here....


KEEP PRAYING!

my boy

A self portrait of the cutest man alive (well, he's tied with my other three men at home)....

write it down?

For those of you who didn't mark your calenders, I'm leaving for sunny Liberia on Saturday. ACK! Can you believe it? Probably you can... It's hard for me to imagine that my nephew and I (that's him in the photo below) will be chillin' in WEST AFRICA in just a few short days.
I'm a little worried but not overwhelmingly so. I must admit that I'm a little worried about how things'll go without me home. (Not that the world will shatter as soon as I walk out the door... right!?!) Not to mention that I have these better-than-one-could-dream-for-fill-ins:

Me little brova in the Left photo and >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Miss Brasil (you look WAY better in this one than I do) on the Right

And, how could one forget, my beautiful husband who'll hold down the fort?

I was trying to convince him to look like a Soprano here... no luck as you can see...

The mountains and piles of paperwork are completed and collected. The packing is 75% finished. The unbelievable amount of shopping is done. The only thing left is to sit and wait for our passports to return from the embassy... and to blog about it all, of course.

And, a weensy confession. I'm a bit anxious about what Raquel + Liberia ='s. Does it equal a smooth ride of awe and wonder? Or a constant sadness of the insurmountable poverty? Or a denial of the poverty around me? Will our son be a poopy head? Will he be introverted and disinclined to my presence? Will our kids' biological family even care if I go for a visit (or two) to make a family tree, find out why Miss F insists that a bullet hit her eye during the war, find out why their mom abandon the twins when they were just infants, what are the symptoms of our newest sons' (Big P) epilepsy - will it be minor or fatal, and on and on? Will any of my questions get answered?

goin to Liberia

well, ya'll.

..sigh..

I just put my tickets for Liberia on hold. My tummy is tight and my brow is hot. I'm nervous and excited and nervous some more.

Please be praying with us that I won't have to be gone for a full month (as has been requested by the orphanage) - I LOVE my husband and my kids and my bed and I just don't want to... well, ya know.




More later.

statistics

I gotta tell you, I run into this kinda stuff and it just makes me itch my head... Makes me wonder if we can afford more children (I know... trust me, I know what you're gonna say). But COME ON! Did you read that crap? Throwing money at the problem just doesn't make me feel any better. must. do. more. But since adopting more kids seems nuts and donating money doesn't feel like enough - what to do? I mean, we aren't talkin' National Geographic here... we're talking about real human beings. Real human beings that coulda been us. Afterall, who chooses where or to whom they're born?

• Every 15 SECONDS, another child becomes an AIDS orphan in Africa
• Every DAY 5,760 more children become orphans
• Every YEAR 2,102,400 more children become orphans (in Africa alone)
• 143,000,000 Orphans in the world today spend an average of 10 years in an orphanage or foster home
• Approximately 250,000 children are adopted annually, but…
• Every YEAR 14,050,000 children still grow up as orphans and AGE OUT of the system
• Every DAY 38,493 children AGE OUT
• Every 2.2 SECONDS, another orphan child AGES OUT with no family to belong to and no place to call home
• In Ukraine and Russia 10% -15% of children who age out of an orphanage commit suicide before age 18.
• 60% of the girls are lured into prostitution. 70% of the boys become hardened criminals.
• Reliable statistics are difficult to find, even the sources often list only estimates, and street children are rarely included. But even if these figures are exaggerated by double, it is still an unacceptable tragedy that over a Million children would still become orphans every year, and every year 7 Million children would still grow to adulthood as orphans with no one to belong to and no place to call home.

What to do?
What to do...



P.S. If you randomly ended up here because of some of the words used on this post, please check out Bryan Post.

Sunday News

I don't know if you've opened up your Sunday paper yet or not but I think that it made front page news. Alright, maybe it got shortened a bit and shoved into the back near some bad advertising and so all the more reason to share the news with you ;) We got word this week that all the paperwork for our adoption is done. It has been received in Liberia and all that we do now is sit on our hands while waiting for travel dates. Can you believe it!?!

And even more importantly, my fear is finally dying down. It felt like my prayers had been flying off to never never land. I was pretty sure that God wasn't listening because as our adoption of Big P has continued, my fear grew like an unswept dust ball (my mom calls them ghost turds) underneath the entertainment center. Lurking there it would show itself whenever a toy slid beneath the tv. One of the kids would slide their innocent hand beneath it and pull out a disgusting conglomeration of hair, dust, lint, and small garbage. And yet we all threw it back and it just grew bigger under there.

A few times when the adoption would come up, I'd paste on a fakey smile and pretend like I was happy. Or, in most cases, I would tell an unsuspecting victim the truth (and they would walk away shaken up and promising themselves to never again ask me about it how our adoption was going). And what a surprise, right? Who wouldn't be excited to adopt a 10yr old stranger with epilepsy from another country halfway across the world?

And so I prayed.
And prayed.
And prayed.

I guess that I've been afraid that it would all fall apart before my eyes. That he would have a seizure and die before I got there. That once he got home, I wouldn't be able to teach him jack (since he's 10 with no education he'll have to stay home until he can catch up with the kids his age). That he's mean to the littler kids because he'll be the oldest? Or that while I was down there, he'd dislike me or cry the whole time for his real mom or assume that all I am (being a white woman in Africa) is cash... that he wouldn't look to me as his momma. What if everything fails? WHAT IF!?!

And finally, for the first time, my heart is beating for this boy... for my son. Out of nowhere, I am suddenly ready to risk certain death for someone that I've never laid eyes on. I am ready to accept his unacceptance. I'm ready to hug him even if he doesn't hug back. I'm ready to teach him even if I suck at teaching and he doesn't want to learn. I'm ready to be his mom. And as crazy as it seems not only am I ready, I am excited!!

God has answered my prayers and he has filled me with an unexplainable love for Big P. Beyond understanding, beyond fear, beyond rationality. This is the love that God gives. This is the love that bubbles over from my heart... the love that I will get to share with my son. MY son. heehee!

Today

Two years ago today my husband and I asked the orphanage to allow us to adopt Miss B, Miss F, and Mr. P. Makes me smile remembering that call. We had just gotten back from the roller skating rink (where I laughed so hard that I almost cried watching Husband and Mr. Brasil try to skate) and there was a message on the phone.

The orphanage wanted to tell me that the kids' village and church had been fasting and praying for two weeks for someone to adopt them. Tears sprang into my eyes, hearing this news... understanding just how big that God is... He answered the prayers of some Liberians through puny old us.

And then I remember the first time that I met my babies... here's a photo of the first time that I kissed Mr. P when I met Husband and kids at the Chicago airport to help Husband with the last leg of the trip (on the left). And another one of he and I from a couple of days ago (right). Hasn't that boy grown?? My little man... He's gained 20 pounds and 6" in just a year and a half (ignore the other kids in the picture who kept sneaking into the shot)!














The point is that today, two years later, in the mail we received word from the US government that we can bring our 10 year old son home to his family (that would be us). I officially HAVE TO travel so I'll find out tomorrow just when that will be but we're hoping before Christmas... this is our only goal. Wow. My baby is finally coming home, guys! Can you believe it?? I'm proud to announce my son, Big P:

the best news EVER... almost

That's me, all excited and surprised.

And Tabitha, for the record, I tried to call you with the news but it may be after bedtime.

So lately I have been FREAKING OUT about money. You have no idea how many times that I have fake-blogged (this is when you type it all out but never post it) about this issue, but c'est la vie. Now that I'm at the other end of that tunnel, this will be posted.

So we got into some debt over this most recent adoption and our finances were only getting progressively tighter/worse. I made a bad choice by putting the upfront fees onto our credit card. *Not that this is a bad choice for everyone, I just jumped ahead of God even though I knew better.* And by tighter/worse I mean TIGHTER/WORSE like don't have enough gas to get the kids from school worse. Ya with me? And we go to this church, this church that loves us WAY more than we deserve, and during our last adoption, they set up a "Our last name Adoption Fund". Can you see where this is going?

And it always takes this much for me to just let God do His thing. My stomach has been in daily tight upset-ness, every time that money came up I'd either cry or wish I was crying, I was trying to figure out how I could provide in the financial places that we were lacking, I kept pushing Husband to work extra hours, I stewed over the whole scenario for hours on end, me, me, me, I, I, I, and none of it worked. But in just the past two days I have finally been setting this down at His feet. Once I was finally able to cry for help to the One who loves me most, He swooped in and saved the day... as usual.

Tonight, while at church, I happened to be looking over the missions finances for something completely different and saw that our fund had SKYROCKETED to a teensy bit more than the credit card debt. Did you get that? I said, that the money set aside for us was enough to pay off all of our debt!! I'm not sure if I should throw the number out on the internet but if you email me, I'll tell you how crazy much that it is.

..my provider and my hero..

not sure what's left to say except AMEN!

P.S. an update.

The girls said that their lunch bags don't keep anything cold regardless of how we treat them.

FOR REAL... a gentleman walked up to the house on Saturday during dinner and asked if I would start watching his son after school. Husband (who was talking with him) stared at him blankly before he figured out that this gentleman thought we were a daycare. This gentleman said that he had seen the kids and I last year at school and had recently driven by, seeing us all in the yard.
After the guy left, Husband retold me what was said... feeling bad, I ran out to the street to see if he was still walking to his house so that I could offer to watch his son for a couple of weeks until he could find a real daycare. I couldn't find him.

So, NEIGHBOR, if you're reading this... I would be more than happy to have your little guy come and hang out with us.

I really should introduce myself to the neighbors.