Today, This is What Adoption Means to Me

November is National Adoption Month. I have been thinking about what adoption means to me, and about what I wish others knew about adoption, and I have had so many thoughts about what to write about during this very important month. This is my chance to help get the word out. To help fund raise, to help further the cause. I don't believe that everyone should adopt; in fact, I feel that many, many wanna be parents should not adopt. It is not for everyone. But I do think that everyone can help in some way. I do feel that children are our best resources, they are our future, and not a single one of them asked to be born into this world. I believe that all of us have a responsibility to care for orphans, and I will probably talk about that here later on in the month.

But before I get to that, I have been thinking about what adoption means to me. I was driving the boys home from school and daycare tonight and while they played games and chatted in the backseat about the soon to arrive and much anticipated snow, I tried to string coherent thoughts together about what I wanted to say about adoption. I tried, ya'll, I just want you to know that. But I was not successful.

Instead, this is what entered my brain, courtesy of my youngest son.

"Mommy why is it going to snow? Why is is not snowing yet? Why is it going to snow? Why is there no snow yet? I am going to make a snow angel. Momma, I am gonna make a snow angel when we get home. Maffew, are you gonna make a snow angel? Mommy, where is the snow coming from? China? Is it snowing in China? LA LA LA LA LA LA. TURN UP THE RADIO MOMMA! I love this song. Mommy? Mommy, I love this song. TURN THE RADIO DOWN. Why is it so loud, Mommy? Turn it down. I can't hear you. Mommy, I had a RED day today. No, I had a green day. Can I eat this candy from my pocket? Why can't I eat this candy? It is my candy. NO MAFFEW! It is my candy! Can I have your phone? Mommy? Mommy? MOMMY? Can I have your phone? I want your phone. Mommy, I want your phone. You said I could have your phone. I want your phone. I am kicking your seat Mommy. My shoes are not dirty, Mommy. I can kick your seat cuz my shoes are not dirty. I am not kicking your seat Mommy. Mommy? Where are we going? Why did we turn left? Which way is left Mommy? Is it this hand or this one? I did not hit you Maffew. I was just pointing out my right hand. I did not HIT YOU! Mommy, Maffew says I hit him. I did not hit him. Mommy? When is Ho Ho coming, Mommy? I love Ho Ho. I want Ho Ho to come tonight. I did not HIT YOU! I don't want Ho Ho to come tonight. I'm not getting any presents. I don't want any presents. Throw my candy in the trash. I don't want it. Mommy, when is it going to snow? Mommy? MOMMY?"

So read this, oh, about 50 times, as LOUD AS YOU CAN. And fast. With a slight whine to your voice. Be sure to read it quickly.

I try to keep up, I promise you that I do. If I am not careful I can find myself stuck in a tug of war of words with this little chatterbox. I answer the first few questions, and then I realize that he doesn't care if I answer. That is he, in fact, not even listening to me. I want him to stop. I want him to just. stop. talking.

It might snow tonight, honey. Because the weather will get colder tonight and that makes the rain turn to snow. I just answered that question. And that one. I don't think there will be enough snow for a snow angel, honey. Yes, it might be snowing in some parts of China. How do you ask for the radio to be turned up? You just asked to turn it up! OK, I am turning it down! You can't hear me because you are talking so loudly, Alex. Take a deep breath. You did not have a red day. No, please put the candy back in your pocket. Yes, it is your candy, but there is no candy until after we eat dinner. Why is it in your pocket? You may have my phone later honey, not right now. Later. LATER! Asked and answered! Please stop kicking my seat. Because I don't want you to get the seat dirty. I don't care if your shoes are clean, please keep your feet still. We are going to the grocery store. Your left hand is the one by the window. Apologize to your brother. Ho Ho comes next month Alex. Next month. I didn't say you weren't getting any presents. I said please take a breath and stop talking. Yes, you are going to get presents from Ho Ho. For the love of all things holy, little one, STOP TALKING!

I said a few of those things. I thought all of them. The chattering continued throughout the grocery store. And then back in the car. Nothing offered to help him climb down from the sensory overload high he was on was accepted. Headphones were thrown into the front seat. The radio was met with him simply raising his own volume. The attempt at calming rocking before leaving the grocery store parking lot was met with loud screaming and curious stares from the other patrons. Is that woman hurting that sweet child? Knowing he had won the battle, he smiled, ratcheted up his volume another notch and continued to talk. He chattered through dinner, reminding me that his mac and cheese was still too hot to eat and that he wanted more watermelon. He chattered through Daddy coming home and the puppy getting a new dog bed. His constant loud chatter was frequently punctuated by our older son saying "Stop it, Alex!" in a very whiny voice. We were stuck in a loop. Child two being loud and frantic. Child one telling Child two to stop it, in a very whiny way. Child two ignoring Child one. Parent reminding Child one to stop whining and to phrase his request as a "do" command instead of a "do not". And the loop starts again. And goes on and on and on and on, until finally Child one smacks Child two while Mommy pulls them apart, secretly thanking Child one for breaking the cycle. (You parents of more than one kid, you know what I mean. I would never hit my child, but I might secretly cheer on the big brother who does...)

Today, this is what adoption means to me. Constant chatter and no space to think. I love my boys and wouldn't change our story for anything. But adoption, to me, now means more than sweetness and light. right now, tonight, it means chaos, loud, and frustration. It means thankfulness at bedtime and more wine than I think I drank in my twenties. It means breathing a sigh of relief when the house is finally quiet and sending up a quiet prayer that tomorrow will be a less chatty day. Today, this is what adoption means to me.

I will smile

This post was originally published on July 25, 2011. It is an essay on smiling through the feelings of always being on display as an transracial family. It is being re-posted in honor of National Adoption Month.




It has been three years since my oldest son joined our family. And these first three years have been filled with joy, laughter and the unwelcome stares of thousands of complete strangers. That's how I have been thinking of them - unwelcome. I ignore the looks, usually. But they bother me nonetheless. I just want to parent my child. I am going to have my bad parenting moments, just like everyone else. I am going to have tones of frustration in my voice sometimes. I am going to have to pick up a screaming child and stuff him under my arm as I practically run from the grocery store, or the library. There are going to be times when the floor under the restaurant table is covered in food thrown there by my two beautiful angels. Mama said there'd be days like this, right?

The problem is, before these moments pop up, while we are just that quiet family in the library or that happy family at the restaurant we are still gathering the stares of many of the people around us. So when the tide turns and the bad behavior rears it's ugly head we are already on display.

The other night I couldn't sleep, something that has been happening to me a lot lately. At first I couldn't sleep because I was just so content- suddenly I had all this energy, all from being just so gosh darned happy with my life. Then I couldn't sleep because my return to work date was looming and I knew I was going to walk right back into total craziness. But I found another more family friendly job and gave notice at the old job and so why I couldn't sleep the other night is beyond me. I decided to spend some quality alone time with myself and catch up on my magazine reading.

Skimming through the family and adoption magazines made me think about that day's trip to the grocery store with my boys. As usual, they were relatively well behaved albeit their normal level of boisterousness. And par for the course, we turned our share of heads. But that night I really thought about it. I can't stop staring at my boys. I find them beautiful and sweet and I make eye contact with them on a near constant basis. I truly stare at them. And it is not because they don't look like me. It's not because I am trying to figure out what nationality they are. It is simply because I love them and because they are so cute. So am I that different from everyone out there staring at my boys?

I have to entertain the possibility that people stare because my boys are beautiful. I know a handful of them are trying to work out how they could be related, or what country they may be from. I know some of them are trying to figure out why I chose international adoption over domestic. Some of them are wondering about the situations that led to these beautiful boys needing forever families. But most of them are probably staring because they are sweet and loving children. Simple as that.

So I need to stop letting these stares get to me. But I need to stop ignoring them as well. Next time I will tear my eyes away from my boys and make eye contact with the person admiring my children. And I will smile.

we are all lucky

This post was originally published on September 17, 2010. It is an essay on show Hope and the great work that the Chapman family is doing for orphans all over the world. It is being re-posted in honor of National Adoption Month.




When people find out that our son joined our family through adoption I am often told how "lucky" Matthew is. Now that we are working on our second international adoption the platitudes continue. "What a great thing you are doing for these children. They are so lucky!" And I always respond the same way. "No, we are the lucky ones." And we are. We truly are. Matthew's grandparents, cousins, friends- they are all lucky. I have always held true to my belief that while my son certainly has been afforded opportunities he would never have seen had he stayed in China, including the love of a forever family, we cannot say for sure that ripping him from the country of his birth makes him "lucky". His life in China would have been different, yes. But our American ideals and my son's ability to attain them aren't necessarily better. We, as Americans, think they are- the nice house, the home cooked meals, the toys, video games, educational opportunities - these are hard to say no to. That is how we think, but that is is not how our whole world thinks. Tradition, culture, simple pleasures, honesty, hard work- these ideals, while not tangible- are important to the people of my son's birth country. So I really don't want to say that he is "lucky".

Last night my husband and I attended A Night With The Chapmans. It was a great night of music with Steven Curtis Chapman and his family. His wife, Mary Beth, spoke and read from her new book, Choosing to SEE. The tour is basically a fundraiser for show HOPE, an organization started by the Chapman family to help orphans around the world. As we settled into our seats the big screens began to display a video about this amazing organization. Images of babies and children from all over this world filled the screen. Many of the pictures were of Chinese babies with cleft lips and cleft palates. It was a very emotional moment for both my husband and I.

Later in the show a fellow musician and close friend of the Chapman family took the stage to talk about show HOPE. He talked about Maria's Big House of Hope, an orphanage recently opened by the show HOPE foundation in the Henan province of China. Not too long ago a medical team came to Maria's Big House of Hope to complete cleft lip and palate surgeries on the babies and children living there. The speaker then explained that the Chinese officials were so impressed with this project that they are talking to show HOPE about running a floor of already established orphanages for special needs babies. Special needs babies, like our little guy. We toured the orphanage Matthew lived in when we traveled to China and we saw the special needs "room". Crib after crib of forgotten and discarded children. Our son's crib was in that eerily quiet room.

As I sat there vacillating between hope and tears brought on by the inspirational music and powerful words it suddenly hit me. I can't believe I never figured this out before. I guess I always knew but didn't want to think about it. We are a family first, and a family brought together by international adoption second. The daily ins and outs of being a family always come first- the baths and bedtimes, sippy cups and games of tag- that is what I am all about these days. It may not always seem that way because so much of my writing is about the adoption side of our life, but it's true. So maybe life just got in the way. Or maybe I needed to be a little further removed from the adoption journey to fully understand the positive implications of what we have done by bringing Matthew into his forever family.

Our little man talks from the moment he wakes up until his eyes close at night. He sings and hums to himself constantly. He loves to snack on cheese curls and apples. He would not be able to do any of those things had we not brought him into our family. He wouldn't be able to hear the music as well without the tubes in his ears. he wouldn't be able to eat crunchy food without the repaired palate. He wouldn't be able to form understandable words to talk and sing. He was malnourished when we first met him and the fact is that babies with unrepaired cleft palates grow into children who are sickly and weak, if they grow into children at all. An unrepaired palate means difficulty in school and in forming relationships. And in China, where there are already considerably fewer girls than boys, an unrepaired cleft palate means no bride. No significant other as best friend and confidant. No intimacy.

I sat in my seat while everyone around me was standing up and clapping to the upbeat music, letting the truth just wash over me. We did save him. He would not be the boy he is today. He would not have the potential he has today. He would not light up a room with his smile or be the life of the party. In fact, he might not be.

Next time someone tells me how "lucky" Matthew and his future sibling are that we adopted them, I will still respond by saying "no, we are the lucky ones." And that will be true, we certainly are lucky. But in my heart, I know that my kids, the one here today and any future wilkisons, are lucky also. When you can suddenly see a part of the big plan God has for our lives, it's awesome. Last night, a small part of that plan became a little more clear.

naming the baby- adoption style

This post was originally published on December 14, 2011. It is a discussion on naming your baby, adoption style. It is being re-posted in honor of National Adoption Month.




The topic last night at my MOPS meeting was "naming rights". The discussion flowed from biblical babies to our own real time ones, and how their precious names were selected. We talked about how important our names are - they are our identity, a gift from our parents. Sometimes they are a link to our past. Names are so very important.

We talked about that first moment when you hold your new baby in your arms and look in his or her eyes for the first time, and how you just know, you just know the name you selected fits this tiny creature. Being the only adoptive mother in my MOPS group I am used to conversations about our little ones frequently being framed in the context of pregnancy and birth, and that is fine with me. All those mothers, having their babies the old fashioned way! Last night's conversation was the same - very much centered around those first few moments after birth.

But I can relate. I waited to see my baby's face too. I found out I was having a boy not in my doctor's office on an ultrasound table but standing in my kitchen, with our adoption agency on speaker phone. It's a boy! I remember hanging up the phone and sinking down into a kitchen chair, thrilled and stunned that we were having a boy. And the great baby name debate began.

It was funny, last night, participating in this conversation about meeting our babies. I saw my baby's beautiful little face not in person for the first time, but in a picture. But I was in the hospital. It was our adoption agency's policy to not show a prospective family the photo of the baby until after the parents to be had reviewed the baby's medical information, which makes sense. It would be hard to turn away from a baby you know in your heart your can't care for after you have seen the picture. So we had met with the doctor, we were confident we could handle the cleft palate and cleft lip our son to be would come to us with. And so we stood in a cubicle in the International Adoption Clinic offices at Nationwide Children's Hospital and waited as our baby's picture loaded onto the assistant's computer. And so that part of our story might be different than other's. But what happened next was the same as every other new parents' story. We looked at the picture of our new little son, a tiny Chinese boy in an over sized white t-shirt, his eyes speaking volumes to us. And we looked at each other and said, "Yes, his name fits him. He is a Matthew." You just know. You just know.

We talked at MOPS about how we all settled on the names we chose for our children. And again, my story was a little different. It wasn't just my husband and I making this decision. We had boys with names already. One given by the orphanage, another by a birth mother. (sometimes I still struggle with that word, birth mother. But no matter the struggle, I am everyday thankful to these unknown women.) Both names were links to history, to birth countries. So it wasn't just my husband and I. Or even extended family. It took two parents, a birth mother, an orphanage director, and two countries to name my kids.

what adoption has taught me

Welcome to November! Halloween is over, pumpkin patches have been visited and pumpkins carved. Costumes have been relegated to the toy box and left over Halloween candy is being doled out two pieces at a time to my young boys. I have pulled out my  annual Christmas planner and updated it. I don't plan to decorate or think much about the holiday just yet but getting out the binder and refreshing the pages just somehow relaxes me. Knowing that I am prepared and ready to organize my family for the always busy holiday season assures that I don't miss a thing. There are so many family friendly activities and events that I don't want to miss, gift ideas I don't want to forget, special dinners I want to plan. Organization is the key to a peaceful holiday season, at least for me. But enough about my Christmas planner.

Before the tree goes up and wrapping paper comes out we have November. A month to be thankful. November is also National Adoption Month. A month for being thankful and a month to celebrate adoption. Now that I can get behind. What am I thankful for? You guessed it - adoption.

Throughout this month I will be sharing my thoughts on adoption, as well as re-posting older adoption essays. (After all, the holidays are right around the corner so time is tight...) To start with, though, I want to share with you what I have learned through our adoption journey.

I have learned that raising children is difficult, no matter how the little monsters  sweeties came into your family.

I have learned that when my Big Five Year Old tells me no one  likes him at school I immediately go to the adoption guilt. Does he feel "different"? Are the other children making fun of his smushed little nose? Has he been asked about why his eyes are slanted or why his little brother doesn't look like him? I know that the other children at school like to play with my son. I know that he has friends. I know that every day is not going to be a good day. And I know that most likely his day to day issues with school have nothing to do with adoption. But I can tell you that as an adoptive parent, I go to the well of adoption guilt every time. Every. Single. Time.

I have learned that love isn't always forged through breastfeeding and co-sleeping. Sometimes it blossoms among matchbox cars and silly songs about cats throwing up.

I have learned that every day is a gift. Now I know that biological parents feel this as well. And if they don't, they should. Because every day with our kids truly is a gift. But when you try so hard to start a family, go through miscarriages and hormone treatments and shots and painful and intrusive medical procedures, that child finally placed in your arms is a Gift with a capital G. I miss my clean house and my orderly life and quiet time with my sweet husband, and I would give my right arm for a good babysitter, yes. But give up the little every day moments with my two crazy kids? No way. Every day thankful, that is what I am.

I have learned that the general public is way more outgoing than I am. I would never consider asking a total stranger a question like "How much did your son cost?" or "Why didn't you just have your own kids?" But the world is full of people unlike me, and that is what makes it such an amazing place, right? And I have learned grace from each and every one of those stupid questions. Maybe my answers provide lessons for the busy bee who asked, but maybe their questions provide me a lesson on handling myself with grace and dignity.

I have learned that my children don't have to share my DNA to be a lot like me. My oldest son frequently cannot look past something he doesn't enjoy but is forced to participate in because someone else in the family enjoys it. He works himself up to the point that he cannot find even one thing he could be enjoying in the moment. I do this. Just ask my husband about the time I cried at the thought of going to the Brown's game on a super cold, super snowy day. My youngest son has my short temper. Did I teach them these behaviors? Were they born this way? Who knows. All I know is this; these aren't two children who are nothing like me. These are my sons, and they do share some of my traits.

I have learned that these are the children I was meant to parent. God placed these boys in my path for a reason. As I have said before, my children aren't Plan B. I cannot tell you how many times I have been told, "Now that you have adopted you will surely get pregnant."  Believe me, after bringing home a baby, getting pregnant was the last thing on my mind. Adopting was not some convoluted way to conceive. These boys were meant to be in my life. They need me. And I need them.

I have learned patience. Waiting for the right time to submit the paperwork. Waiting on documents. Waiting on a referral. Waiting on travel orders. Waiting on the van that broke down while bringing me my sweet Chinese son. Adoption has taught me patience. As has parenting, right? Who hasn't tapped their foot impatiently while mini me runs around the house looking for his other shoe or favorite stuffed baby animal?

I have learned that post adoption depression is a very real thing. It is energy sucking and works against bonding with your new little one. I have learned more about this than I care to know.

I have learned to ask for help. Prior to having kids I was relatively self sufficient. Now it seems as though I am always seeking advice. How to approach adoption questions in school. How to handle toddler behavior issues. How to bond with a new little one when the older one still needs my attention.

I have learned the importance of community. My son's China play group, as he calls it, has been a life saver. Sure, it is good for him to grow up surrounded by families that look like ours. But it has been an amazing experience for me as well. These other mothers, they get me. They face many of the same issues with their children, and they frequently offer a listening ear and thoughtful advice.

I have learned to trust God. To trust my inner voice. One and the same, I guess. I have learned that adoption is an amazing, difficult and fulfilling journey. And I have learned that I would do it all over again, of course. And I wouldn't change a thing.

What has your adoption journey taught you?

he doesn't even know he is wearing socks

November is National Adoption Month. This makes me somewhat conflicted. While I write about the topic of adoption a lot it doesn't come up that often in our daily lives. We are a family first, a family brought together by adoption second. There are many ways to celebrate this very important month - and while our family really won't be actively celebrating I can say that adoption has been on my mind lately. Between our current adoption journey and all the media hitting my in box this month the theme of adoption has been constantly running in the back of my mind. It is the background music to which I live my life. It isn't always like this. Like any other "big" family issue it ebbs and flows. Every family has something - a child with a disability or health concern, an open adoption with the birth mom in the picture, an ailing parent that needs constant attention.

I have been thinking a lot lately about our second child. While this new addition to our family probably won't look like my husband and me he or she will most likely look more american than our son. I wonder how this will affect their sibling relationship as they grow. We knew when we chose to adopt from China that we were embarking on a life lived out loud, somewhat. Other adoptive families can pick and choose when they wish to share their adoption story, sometimes I feel as though our story is tattooed across our foreheads for all to see. And a life lived so publicly often invites unwelcome, odd, and sometimes downright funny comments from complete strangers. So, in honor of National Adoption Month I have chosen a few select moments from our first adoption journey to share.

While at a store with my 16 month old son who had been home with his forever family for less than a month I was asked "Does he know he is adopted?" Um, he is 16 months old. He doesn't know he is wearing socks. The complex theory of adoption may be a little too much for him right now.

I have gotten this question at least a handful of times ; "Is he your natural child?" Of course he is natural- if he were 'artifical' I would have gotten a model that actually listened and didn't run around like a maniac.

"He really seems to like that stuffed panda, it must remind him of home." OK.... if by 'home' you mean our home, in Columbus, Ohio, then yes, you might be right. If you mean China, then, uh, no.

"Where is he from?" My response to this depends on my mood: You tell him where you are from first is one of my favorites. Sometimes I say what I want my son to hear: Matthew is Chinese, I am Italian, and his daddy is Welsh, and we all live in Columbus now.

"How much did it cost?" I always answer that I would be happy to direct the questioner to an adoption agency that can answer their questions. What I want to say is, why, are you planning to reimburse me?

Matthew and I were at Tower City in Cleveland a few Christmas's ago and he was sitting in his stroller, watching the water jump to the music. A young asian girl, a little older than Matthew, came running up to him and shoved a Cleveland Cavaliers stocking cap on his little head, saying "he looks like me so he should wear this." Matthew just stared at her with huge eyes, not sure what to make of this odd young girl. Her mother was mortified, but I get it. She was probably just entering the age where children start to notice differences. We have not entered that phase in our journey yet.

And my personal favorite: "Does he like chinese food?" Well, you look Italian, so I am going to assume that you eat a lot of linguine while cloistered away in the back of a dark restaurant plotting against those who have wrong the family...

We live many of our very private moments in a very public way, and we do it because our love for our little guy is so much stronger than our discomfort of this public scrutiny. As we plan to bring a second child into our lives we know there will be more questions and thoughtless comments. And we are ready. My mother used to tell me that there would never be a need for my sarcasm. I beg to differ. A little friendly sarcasm has diffused many an uncomfortable public situation. I may not have passed on my DNA to my children, but I am looking forward to passing on my wit!