Tell Me, Which is Better?

On Saturday my three year old son squealed with delight as he opened presents from Santa.  If he still lived in the orphanage there would be no presents, no holiday, no squeals of delight.

On Sunday my three year old visited his Aunt Debbie and his cousin Katie and played with their dogs. If he still lived in the orphanage he would have played with mismatched or broken toys, if he played at all.

On Monday my three year old went with his Grandparents to a party at his cousin's home, where he played with his little baby cousin and ate hot dogs. If he still lived in the orphanage he would have eaten thin potato puree that was too hot to swallow but that he would have gulped down anyways, to fill his always empty stomach.

On Tuesday my three year old visited his Aunt Becky's home where he played with his cousins and watched deer in their snowy backyard. If he still lived in the orphanage he wouldn't have been able to see the world outside from the small high windows that were smudged with mud and snow.

On Tuesday night my three year old rode home in the backseat of his family's car while watching a movie about Curious George, his favorite show, with his older brother. If he still lived in the orphanage he wouldn't have seen any educational shows on television, or had a brother to share them with.

On Wednesday my three year old played in the snow, all bundled up in his snow suit. If he still lived in the orphanage he might never be warm enough, and wouldn't have been able to play in the snow, as there was no yard, only a small concrete parking lot surrounded by gray buildings.

all smiles as he plays in the snow with his older brother

Tomorrow my three year old will go back to preschool, where he will learn his letters and colors. If he still lived in the orphanage tomorrow would be the same as every other day. No education. No love dedicated just to him. No choice in meals or toys. No clothes of his own, no family of his own, no mama of his own.

Tell me, which is better?

So many people tell my husband and I that our children are "lucky". "They are soooo lucky that you adopted them." "They are lucky lucky lucky!" And we have always said that we are the lucky ones, not them. I am lucky when I hear my boys laughing with each other. I am lucky when my three year old says "I wanna kiss you mama" and kisses my leg. I am lucky when one of my boys catches my eye and smiles at me. I am lucky lucky lucky. But now, with Russia on the verge of possibly banning adoption to Americans, I feel as though my little three year old is lucky too. Less than 1,000 children came home to their forever families from Russia in 2011, but he was one of them. He was one of the lucky ones.


There are an estimated 700,000 children living in Russian orphanages.  A number of those children have already been placed with waiting American families, and those adoptions are threatened to be disrupted, or, worse yet, not occur at all, if the ban on Americans adopting Russian orphans goes through. These American women and men are not "parents to be". They are already parents. They have visited their Russian child. They have held him, fed her, played. They have bonded. They have promised to return. And now their lives, and the lives of these innocent children, may never be the same. Contact President Obama. Sign a petition, like this one.
Pray.

I have done all of the above. And I will do one more thing. I will be ever joyful that my little boy made it out of a country that didn't want him, but who didn't want anyone else to have him either.

holding up that safety net a while longer

Last night both of my boys went to bed early for not having their listening ears on. This lack of listening led to a large floor lamp being knocked over and my sweet husband's birthday dinner being interrupted. The tiny toddler took it like a man and seemed to understand what was happening. Once he calmed down and stopped swinging at me he easily let me help him into his jammies and lay him in his crib with a few books. Even though it was early he was out cold in less than 10 minutes. Proof, obviously, that a lack of listening ears is a symptom of something larger, like sleepiness. The big five year old, on the other hand, did not take it so well.

And understandably so. According to him his little brother knocked down the lamp because my big five year old was trying to take his DS back from him. The same DS that I had told the big five year old no less than three times to move because your little brother is going to get that thing! So here is what I think went down:

Thing Two saw the DS sitting all alone on the coffee table and knows that it holds the key to all sorts of fun and games. Thing Two also knows that he is not allowed to play with this toy, which makes it all the more irresistible to him. Thing One sees Thing Two with the DS and decides the best way to get it back from him is to grab it out of his hands. Thing One has been told repeatedly to ask your brother for what your want, don't just grab things from him, but Thing One obviously knows better. Thing Two sees his brother coming at him and in a move not unlike one you would see on an old television cop show he throws the floor lamp down in front of said brother, attempting to block his path. Mommy, (played by me), hears the crash and races into the living room, where Thing Two has scrambled away from the lamp and is now making a break for the door by way of the sofa and Thing One is standing over the lamp, amazed, DS forgotten. Both Things are then put to bed, stat.

These shenanigans frustrated me for a variety of reasons. Both boys had been told not to fight and to, in fact, stay away from each for a while. The big five year old had been told to put his DS away. The big five year old had also been told to ask us for help when his little brother takes his things. And the tiny toddler has been told that there is no need to fight back. But it's easy for me to tell him to stop fighting back. It's quite another thing for him to believe that he is safe. And when his older brother, this guy he loves and looks up to, pushes him and steals his toys, he immediately goes into fight mode.

I hate to punish my children. I really really hate it. It breaks my heart and makes me feel just horrible. I know it needs to be  done and I know that my boys are better off for it, but still, I hate it. And isn't our role to educate, to mold, to refine these little sponges into productive human beings? Holding true to that thought my sweet husband went and had a talk with our crying five year old. And another little piece of his innocence was gone, this time torn away by our own hands.

My husband shared some of the story of our youngest son's first 24 months in this world. He described the orphanage and the lack of love. He explained how the children would fight over the toys and how there wasn't enough food. He explained what it feels like to our youngest son when someone just walks up to him and takes a toy out of his hands. He explained how we all need to speak calmly to him, to tell him what we are going to do, to approach with care. If we don't scare him, he will eventually do as we ask. How yes, this seems unfair.

And I know my big five year old doesn't understand. He didn't see it first hand, his young mind can't process the effects of institutional living. After all, he lived in an institution himself for the first 15 months of his life, and he doesn't have these issues. This is a conversation I didn't want to have with either of my boys. I don't even like to think of it myself. When I think about what may have happened to my sweet young boy that makes him lash out when he feels threatened my heart hurts. That being said, when I am in the thick of whatever behavior is currently turning our household upside down it is hard to remember what he has gone through. There are so many unanswered questions here - am I sending the wrong message if I punish him? What if I don't punish him? What message does that send to my oldest son? Am I doing the right things to make him feel safe and loved? Will this behavior stop? It has gotten better- is that because of what we were doing and the approaches we are taking or is it because he is growing up? No matter what action I take I sometimes feel as though it is the wrong choice.  And even though I know he can't help it, his actions still make me crazy and angry and frustrated. And then I feel guilty for being mad at my son. I know that a post institutionalized child needs to feel in control. He needs to build his self esteem and to feel safe and loved. I have reasons to believe that my tiny toddler may have his own very good reasons for not trusting adults and logically I know that 17 months in a Forever Family is really not that long. He needs more time. More love. More safety nets around him.  This parenting a previously institutionalized toddler is not for the weak- it is often a vicious cycle and sometimes I just feel trapped.

And now we have sucked the big five year old into the trap as well. We have shown him a little more of the negative out there in the world, and asked understanding of him that he may be too young to offer. We have asked him to help us hold up that safety net a while longer.


 It is always worth it, but some days are harder than others.

Are our adopted children losing more than we think they are by losing the culture of their birth country?

About 14 months ago, after my husband and I had decided on pursuing a second international adoption but before we made our first trip to Russia, a friend of mine asked me a question that weighed on my mind for months. As an adoptive mother I am frequently asked invasive, crazy, and sometimes downright rude questions. This was not one of those kinds of questions. This was a thoughtful and simply curious question, and, to be honest, it was one I had posed to myself a few times along the adoption path. "Are you worried that your children are losing more than you think they are by losing the culture of their birth country?" In other words, which is better? Growing up in a stable, loving family or staying connected to your culture?

If you have been reading my thoughts for a while now then you know how I feel about my oldest son's potential future had he stayed in his Chinese orphanage. If you are new around here, you can read up on my epiphany here.

But just because I was confident that my oldest son's future was hopeful due solely to his leaving the orphanage didn't mean I felt like that about every orphan. Truth be told, I didn't know how I felt. I wanted to believe that internationally adopted children were better off in loving families, no matter where those families lived. But if I am being completely honest with myself I know that the real reason, the first reason, my husband and I decided on adoption was purely selfish. We wanted a family, simple as that. We were not looking to save a child. And while we planned from day one to mesh the American with the Chinese, we really weren't thinking about the effects  the loss of daily immersion in his culture would mean to our new child.

The answer to the birth county culture/forever family question is not easy. Even adult adoptees cannot agree. There are many who say that the amount of birth country culture their American adoptive parents offered was more than enough, that having loving parents and the American dream were more important. But there are other adult adoptees who feel they missed out on something very important by not having the opportunity to grow up in the country of their birth. Just like any other parenting crossroads, you just put your head down and try to do right by your kids.

But then I had the amazing experience of spending time in the orphanage of our youngest son. I saw loving caregivers. I saw worn wooden toys mixed in with newer American toys brought over by previously visiting parents to be. I saw the same worn pants and shirt on different toddlers each day. I saw little ones who were hungry. I saw different caregivers every day and children fighting over the best toys. The building my son lived in didn't reflect the beautiful architecture of his birth country. And neither did any of the gray buildings he could see from the high windows of the first floor where he lived. Eventually my precious little boy would have been moved from the baby hospital to the local orphanage, with pretty much the same view. Every day, the same. Same view, same food, same worn toys and shared clothes.

So when the birth culture question comes up now I am no longer second guessing myself. It isn't just that I want to believe it. Had my boys grown up in their birth countries they still would have grown up in an orphanage. There is no way to separate one from the other. I doubt my boys would have been able to attend concerts or go to art museums. I doubt they would have had the opportunity to travel the countryside of their respective birth countries. They wouldn't have learned what is was like to grow up in a Chinese or Russian family. They wouldn't have shopped in a grocery store or participated in cultural traditions. In fact, both of my boys probably experienced more of their birth countries after the adoption, while they traveled with us. My oldest son saw Qingping Market and The Temple of Six Banyan Trees where there are hundreds of Buddha statues. He experienced, in a very small way, a part of the rich history of his birth country. My youngest traveled with me to the baby store, the grocery store, and a local mall, experiencing, again in a very small way, a tiny bit of everyday Russian family life. Then they boarded a plane and flew across an ocean to live in America, as a part of a forever family.

Had my boys stayed in the country of their birth I believe they probably wouldn't have experienced the true culture. They would have experienced the culture of the orphanage in which they lived. Orphanage culture. Which, believe me, is much much different than being a part of family in any country. So, to answer my friend's question - I will always worry a little that my children won't feel grounded as they grow. I pray that each of my boys eventually finds the perfect balance between America and the land of their birth. I pray that I can help them bridge the gap between unknown birth family and themselves. I will travel with them to China and Russia, as many times as they wish. I will listen if they come to me one day, upset about being different. I will be OK if they go through a phase of not wanting to embrace these differences. But do I believe they would have been better off staying put? No way. Do I believe that the benefits of gaining a loving family outweigh the repercussions of losing full immersion in their culture? Yes I do. Now I do. And I have to believe that the limited exposure to birth country culture that we can provide our adopted children is at least as much, if not more, than they might have received anyways. It's all about perspective.

if I judged you, I am sorry, or, why every mother of a toddler needs to learn the football carry

Last night was a particularly trying evening with our new little guy. We have been having a fair number of these trying times lately. It is normal, I think. Not that I am an expert on the behavior of newly adopted toddlers or anything but it seems to me that it is normal. He is coming into his own. He is very comfortable in his new surroundings. He is bonded with his forever family. His every need is now, finally, being met, and he feels safe. Now is the time for him to try out his new found independence. Bundle that independence up with the language deficit and communication struggles, toss in teething pain and an an occasionally jealous older brother and you have got a recipe for disaster.

I woke up a few times throughout the night last night thinking about my boys. We have certainly had our share of trying times these past few weeks. But we have also had our share of really great, really chaotic, really fun times. And it made me think of all those harried moms I have seen out in public, and all those thoughts I have had, mainly along the lines of "I would never do that!"

To all those moms I unknowingly judged in the past - I'm sorry.

Dear Moms:

I just have to say I am sorry.

I am sorry for judging when you speak tersely to your children in the WalMart parking lot. First of all, WalMart will make anyone cranky. And second of all, I now know what it's like to carry a screaming two year old like a football under one arm while trying to hang on to a four year old's hand, all while carrying slippery plastic shopping bags and attempting to stop the four year old from jumping that puddle up ahead and soaking me from the knees down.

I am sorry for those toys I bought your children that had ink pads and stamps in them. Even if the box said they were age appropriate. Oh dear God, I am sorry! I know you have no reason to be nice to me now, but if you have a secret for getting little inky stamp shapes off the bathroom floor, please, I beseech you, tell me!

I am sorry for looking at your children and thinking, "I would never dress my kids like that." Even as a toddler my oldest son had very definite fashion ideas. And most of them clashed with the Land's End and Old Navy looks I expected any child of mine to be sporting. And now, thanks to the joys of hand me downs, my youngest son will be sporting the same trends that I didn't like the first time.

I am sorry for being disgusted when you took your child out in public with a wet cough. Oh how little I knew! If we stayed inside until the four year old's cough was gone we would spend eight straight months trapped in the house.

I am sorry for thinking you looked disheveled and judging your stained shirts and wild hair. I did not know that a clean, fresh shirt could become wrinkled and stained within thirty seconds of putting it on. I swear, the shirt is clean when I walk down the stairs in the morning. By the time I sit down at the breakfast table every substance in the room has found it's way to my shirt. And don't even ask me about my hair. The two year old won't let me shower without throwing open the door and pushing his way into the shower with me. And his constant tugging at my clothes and pulling at the hair dryer cord while I try to dry my hair makes for a quick dry job. And I have no clue where my mascara is. I did find a tube of Burt's Bees lip balm under the car seat the other while trying to dig out the pacifier, so there's that.

I am super sorry for buying your child any toys that had small parts. Why on earth do all of these toys come with tiny swords, tiny animals, whole tiny villages complete with tiny trees and tiny villagers who, I swear, are mocking me from the toy box. All of my Tupperware is now in the toy box holding Lego's, board game pieces, and other miscellaneous toy pieces that I don't think are even an integral part of the playing but that my son would notice if even one tiny tree got "lost". I have nothing to hold leftovers. Nothing.

I am sorry for thinking, "when I am a mother I will not tolerate those crazy kid behaviors." I open that bathroom door every time the two year old is out there crying and banging on the door. I let him climb in the shower with me. I watch my four year old occasionally roll, yes, I said roll, all the way from the classroom to the door at day care pick up.

I am sorry for judging you when you let your child watch a DVD or play a handheld video game at dinner out. My family was going to sit nicely in their chairs and talk about their days. Right. My family knocks over drinks, drops countless matchbox cars on the floor, throws sippy cups across the room. One time, when Matthew was a toddler, he actually threw an entire piece of buttered toast across a very crowded restaurant. True story. I would consider letting my kids watch reruns of "Oz" if it meant I could sit quietly and talk to my husband while eating my dinner when it was actually hot, without having to fend off flying tiny cars.

And, lastly, I am sorry for thinking you were crazy for not wanting to leave your child, even for a night out with the love of your life. I had no idea how hard it would be. No. Idea.

I'm sorry for thinking my little blessings would be different. Turns out, they're not.

my sweet tea thief

I am sad to report that both of my boys are addicted to sweet tea. Of course I know this is bad. I know that the tea cannot be good for them. But the biggest issue here: they keep stealing my tea! Seriously, this is MY tea, boys! I really need to start ordering two ice tea's when eating out, to prevent dehydration from never getting to take a sip...

Both of them drank sweetened hot tea before finding their forever families and so I guess they come by it naturally. I managed to switch my older son over to juice and milk (chocolate only!), pretty easily. This second child is not proving as easy. He wants ONLY what I drink, out of my cup. I have tried drinking out of a sippy cup so he will want that but he would have none of it. He seems to sense when the cup holds something good. He'll get there. But in the meantime, I need to hire a guard for my tea!




he seems to be checking out the driveway to make sure he is in the clear. it is hard to see, but he has a huge smile on his face, thinking he got away with stealing my tea...