It was Christmas, You know?

I am in that middle world where half my life is unbloggable, out of respect for the people it involves, and the people who read. I didn't mean to disappear for almost a month, but didn't have the words to say the highly edited version of what I would like to talk about.  This quandary of a family blog, combined with an adoption blog, combined with a parenting blog, combined with a special needs blog, combined with facebook make blogging a more complicated issue. 

 So instead, here is our month in pictures.  

We posed for family pictures in a 5 minute photo shoot that actually turned out great.  Six kids ALL looking at the camera and none miserable.  Hooray for small miracles.  This was our Christmas Card picture this year.

We cuddled and played and otherwise had many fun times. What we didn't have is any contact, visits, cards, letters or gifts from any members of our kids families of birth.  Another post on that coming.

 We shopped and wrapped and ended up with some very, very happy kids on Christmas Morning.

We worked hard on making some Christmas memories.

And in the end I think I succeeded.

It has been a hard month and I am exhausted in many ways, and so grateful in many ways.  We had a precious Christmas with my father and family.  A Christmas we were told two years ago would never happen.  And yet, the beast that is Cancer hovers over every memory.  Chemo, surgery, hope, fear, death, pain are the giant pink elephants in the corner of every photograph.   My boys are on the brink of adulthood, but still children too, facing adult choices, while we try to preserve the last moments of their childhood, and our sanity.

This journey that is life is not easy.  I have many more grey hairs than I did even three months ago.  And I am Blessed.

Reminiscing

'Tis the season.  The Christmas Tree with her ornament on it.  The weather that reminds me that we were nearing the end of our time with her.  I look back on that time with my "other daughter", and the reality of her loss with an understanding today I did not have at the time.  I know that if we had been able to keep her, we would never have the daughters we have today.  I don't know how to fully come to terms with that reality, but I do know that is what it is. 

There is no choice to make.  It's not a matter of who is more loved or who is more valuable, it simply is the reality of loss.  I loved her fully, and I love my daughters fully today.  Without the first, we would have never considered being willing to parent more children again. Because of her, we knew we could and because of her presence, and then her absence, we were willing.

But it certainly isn't as simple as the two replaced the one and life went on.  It's isn't an equation of sum totals of love.  It's apples and oranges or broccoli and spinach or Holland and France.  Equal yet fundamentally different.  Similar yet opposite.  It is truly the unexplainable.

I couldn't share last year's picture with you then, but I sure can now.  And I can share my daughters and how they grow.  Life is truly amazing.

In case you can't tell from the pictures, they are rambunctious, busy, totally adored handfuls of perfection.

A Single Moment

It was a hot, dusty afternoon.  I had loaded up my six kids into the van with a firm reprimand to the teenagers that I "EXPECTED" them to have fun.  My husband was off working for the day, and our community was celebrating in fine, small town summer fashion. 

The carnival was here  and so was the rodeo. There was a park full of musicians and children's performers.  We parked.  I loaded the babies into the little red wagon I tend to prefer over my cumbersome double stroller and we seven, together, walked into the crowd of people. 

"Look!" The urgent tone in my son's voice made me pause and follow the line of his finger. 

"That's HER?  Right?  Right?!?"  

And it was.  Now four and a half years old and not the toddler he remembered but the still same little girl that was their sister for a precious year.  We all stopped and stared. 

We didn't approach her.  I would never approach her.  But we stared. 

"Look how long her hair is!"
"Wow, she is big!"
"I miss her mommy"
"She is so, so precious"

And then  "Why is she by herself mom?"

The longer we watched, the more it became apparent that she was alone.  And scared.  And lost.   Her look changed from playful, to fearful, to terrified.  Seconds, and then minutes passed.  And tears began to fill her eyes as she scanned the large crowd of people looking for a familiar face. 

As did I. 

Where was She that took her from me?  Where was the one responsible for her?  Why is MY BABY alone in this crowd of people?  Why was she scared and crying and feeling alone? 

Oh God what are you doing to me.

I called her name. The name etched on my heart for eternity.  I am not even sure I meant to, but there was something in me that could not let her stand right there in front of me, mere yards away, and suffer.

For the first time in three years I called out her name in a tone and voice that once meant Mama to her.  And she turned instantly and ran the thirty feet across a dusty parking lot and without once looking at my face she wrapped herself around my legs. 

"I was lost" she sobbed, "I couldn't find anyone". 

She pulled back from my legs and looked at me.  Calmer now, but utterly confused she realized she didn't recognize me, yet had ran to me because she thought she had. 

She knew my voice, she didn't know my face.

On my knees,  I wrapped my arms around and her and promised her it would be OK.  Encircled by my standing sons who just simply stared in awe at what was happening,  I told her my name was Jen.  That once, a long long time ago I was a special friend and that I would help her find that who she was searching for. 

"I was really scared" she said, tears still streaming down her face. 

I have begged God.  Begged.  Just one more hug.  Please God I need one more chance to tell her I love her.  I need to feel her weight in my arms just one more time.  I need that chance to whisper to her that I will never, ever forget.  Just.One.More.Moment. Please, God. Please.

Now?  Here?  Oh God I cannot do this.  I cannot believe this is happening.  Please let me remember this.  Let me savor every single second.  This is going to end.  Oh God this is going to end too soon.

With instructions to my sons to keep looking for the missing grownup, I took my finger and tucked her hair behind her ear, and took my sleeve and wiped the dusty tears from her face.

"When you were a little, tiny baby and were feeling sad or scared I would sing you this song and it would make you smile"

And there, on that dusty, packed dirt parking lot, surrounded by 1000s of people bustling around to enjoy the celebrations of the day oblivious to a mother's broken heart,  the cry of that heart was heard as she sang a lullaby to big girl sitting on her lap. 

Tanner came back, having spotted who we were all looking for, oblivious to the parking lot drama, sitting a fair distance away visiting with a friend. 

"I love you so much.  I never want you to forget that you are a loved and beautiful girl"

I stood her up.  I placed her hand in Tanner's and promised her that he was a big, safe boy who loved her very much too and he would take where she needed to go.

She walked off once again with a smile on her face, holding the hand of my son as he pointed her in the right direction and she scrambled off from a past she doesn't remember to happily reunite with her present.

And I cried.  A blessing I had begged for.  A curse that ripped off the scab of healing.
And it took me six months to be able to write about. 

I am Blessed

We fought.  Oh how we fought.  We screamed, we yelled and we said nasty, nasty things.  We thought that chances were as soon as we didn't have to we would never speak again. 

But my first memories are of sobbing hysterically because I thought she was getting her leg cut off when  her baby leg cast needed to be removed.  I remember endless nights laying awake in bed worrying myself to insomnia that something would happen to her and I would never recover.  I loved her.  I was jealous of her.  I drove her nuts. She drove me insane.  But born 22 months apart, sharing the same life, she was and is my sister.

I remember after a particularly awful bout of teenage animosity, my father shook his head at us in the rear view mirror and said "One day the two of you will be the best of friends".  We glared at each other and simultaneously fantasized of being only children and wondered at our father's sanity.  

Today, there is probably no one else on earth who understands those hidden parts of me like her.  We grieve the same losses.  We miss the same people.  We pray for the same father and survive the same mother. 

She is an amazing mother.  She is passionate and intelligent.  She is athletic beyond my wildest abilities.  She is the best of friends.  I am lucky to be her sister and proud to be her friend. 

Happy birthday Sis.   I love you.  I need you  AND more importantly, I really do like you.

Misplaced Trust

It ended well, I promise.

Why Blog?

Treading that fine line between being a fun, but rather boring mommy blogger that discusses my cute kid antics and my big kid hockey successes and being an Adoption Blogger that talks about the reality of parenting children in a complicated world with complicated issues is something I face every time I log in. 

There is a part of me that wishes I was more anonymous because it is impossible for me now to write about some of the more difficult parts of our journey because of the necessity of protecting my children, and our family in this community of readers from judgement, or worse, pity.  There are too many friends, family members, teachers and peers that read and so I choose to edit myself.

I could share about endless missed visits, ignored letters and of my anger and frustration of children not deemed important enough to make an effort to know.  I could talk of a normally stoic child clutching a photo of a birth parent while sobbing hysterically over the reality of how abandonment by the one person in the world who is supposed to love you forever really feels, and how it feels to be the other mother of the same child.  I could talk about how awful bullying is and how awful it is to be the parent of the bully and at the same time understand your child is doing the best they can due to no fault of their own.  I could talk about crazy reactions to medications, and how to advocate for your child with doctors and teachers and therapists.  I could talk about screaming fits that make you wonder if the neighbours are going to call the police this time, or wait until your child actually breaks a window.  I could talk about violence and aggression inflicted on a parent or a smaller sibling by a child whose brain has been affected by the choices of their birth parent.  I could talk about typical teenage parenting issues amplified by kids with extraordinary experiences.  I could talk about watching for developmental delays praying that the inevitable diagnosis might just be wished away. 

I could, but I can't because I am not brave enough.

However there is a need for writers courageous enough to share the reality of parenting extraordinary children honestly and with courage.  They are needed because those of us living this need that support.  We need to know that we are not alone in this journey.  That our children, however exceptional, are normal in their experience.  We need resources and ideas, concern and friendship that these brave bloggers provide through their community of sharing.

One such writer is my friend Rachel (aka Tudu / Tudusamom).  I have known Rachel for several years now through the adoption writer community.  She has been a friend, a support and an educator.  We exchange Christmas cards and frequent emails and sometimes long distance phone calls.  She honestly shared the traumatic, harsh, horrid and amazing reality of parenting a large sibling group of special needs, formerly sexually abused, mentally ill and very, very loved children on her blog.  I listed her blog on my own blog several months ago as one of my all time favorites.  

I would link it again but I can't.  I can't because she was forced to sign an affidavit promising to stop blogging all together by a social worker and a Department of Family Services that decided that her blogging placed her children in "imminent danger".  That apparently talking about the reality of parenting special needs children, including the good, the bad and the really, really ugly, is not allowed in the state of Georgia.  And because Rachel has written a public, and completely truthful account of life with special needs, and very difficult children, this same social worker is now attempting to remove the children from their home and family.  The same home and family that has worked endlessly and tirelessly and for years to help their children heal and move beyond the trauma of the abuse they suffered while in the care of their family or origin and in the care of this same DFS  system.

You can read more of this saga here.  If you have benefited from Rachel's writings I would encourage you to reach out to support her, and her children during this awful time.  Even if you would never blog yourself as honestly and as bluntly has she has, her children, without a doubt, cannot handle the trauma that DFS is trying to inflict on them this time.   Their recovery, as much as it is, is because of her skill and efforts as a mother.  I am a better mother because Rachel shared her journey and now she needs my support, and I am honored to provide it.

She Worketh

Because life wasn't busy enough or because I temporarily lost my mind.  Or because maybe I was too busy to notice the extra child hanging around, I took a job.

Now for me, this is a perfect job.  I am paid - actual MONEY - to home school a child at home.  A child that goes away and I am not responsible for feeding, clothing or putting to bed.  On the surface this seems like a great scenario.  I can work from home.  I can help a child.  I can feel useful.  I can earn some money to pay for my children's hobbies that are startlingly expensive.

The reality is that it is alot more work than I expected.  Combine a learning resistant child who is at least two or more grade levels behind, a compressed school day which requires we achieve a large amount of work during that most favorite time of the day formerly known as JEN'S COMPUTER TIME but publicly known as Nap Time and I am more stressed out and busier than I thought possible. 

But it is good.  I think.  Maybe? 

I have a million bloggable thoughts swirling around in my head.  On openness, on disappearing biological parents, on trying to maintain a positive yet honest relationship with a biological parent who is actively addicted, on explaining adoption and family to a 2.5 year old, on parenting teenagers, on why people who adopt a special needs toddler shouldn't be surprised when that toddler grows up to be a special needs teenager, myself included.   And on that note how to find and maintain sanity for mothers. 

And I have exactly 4 minutes from the time I finish home school and Jayde wakes up.  Did I mention that time change was just a sad and hopeless excuse for Jayde to sleep less?  LESS.  You don't even want to know.

But I am going to tell you anyways cause I enjoy sharing the pain. 

This is Jayde.  She is 20 months old and a bundle of energy.  Her attention span is 10 seconds.  No, that is not an exaggeration. 

Here is Jayde pretending to take a nap.

Here is what happens when you leave household items unsupervised for 10 seconds. 

How many parents does it take to change a light bulb? 

TWO apparently,

Then there was the time we went to visit a friend in her just purchased not yet move into home.  As she was showing me the two back bedrooms which took a grand total of 40 seconds, Jayde and Taya were playing in the living room.  The living room with the fire place full of ashes.  The living room that I just spent four hours shampooing the carpets to try and get the ash out of. 

And now my time is done.

Happy Halloween

Now as soon as I get the pumkin in the garbage I can begin to think about hauling out those Christmas decorations!

Our cut off age for dressing up and expecting the neighbours to give you candy is 14.  So our one 15 year old opted to take the two year old with him trick or treating and absconded with all her candy (which is just fine with me!) and our 14 year old left the house not in costume, and came home with it mostly off.  Someone was avoiding mom's camera I think!