Numbers that mean something

I awoke this morning with number swimming in my head.  Numbers like 147 Million orphans, two little black eyed boys, 100's of friends who have taken the leap to welcome these orphans into their souls and lives, 46 families (at least) who have finalized their Russian adoptions, but (at the present time) will not be able to bring them home.  I think of the Kygerstan 64 families that have fought for years to free their children or the 411 families that met their children in Nepal only to have bureaucracy and politics imprison their children in a flailing system of "care."  Or the families who never got to bring their kids home from Guatemala, or Vietnam, or the countless families in the US who fostered kids for months or years, only to have the US states decide over and over again that blood line is the best choice for kids. When truly, those who have worked closely with the kids who bounce back and forth from foster home to hospital, to biological families, back to foster care again know that blood is not always what is best for our most vulnerable among us. 

I am going to come out and say this loud and clear, even though I know many of my readers will disagree.  I do not believe in Hell as most do.  I don't believe that there is some sort of afterlife punishment for those who do not abide by one religion or another's set of prerequisites.  I do however know that the concept of eternal damnation is very real and here on Earth.  I don't need some threat of "do this or else."  I have seen it.  I have seen it in Central America in the eyes of a poor mother who's child died of starvation despite her best efforts and boundless love, I have seen it in the shame on the legless veterans face who begs for money.  I have seen it in the lost empty eyes of the children I left in the orphanages in Kazakhstan as I could only bring one home.  I see it when an adopted mother desperately tries to get her child dental care, but told "no" to anaesthesia for pulling 6 absest teeth because it is not medically necessary to prevent suffering.  There are 27 families in CT that know good and well what Hell feels like.  And now, the 700,000 + orphans in Russia who live life in Hell on Earth each and every day, will continue to live life in conditions that we preach might befall us in the afterlife. 

The news of Russia shutting down adoptions for Americans has hit me in so many ways.  On one hand it puts me back to remembering the day we found out Kazakhstan was closing.  The same day our paperwork made it to the Embassy, only to be returned.  For us it was heartbreaking, but I can see now, not nearly as heart braking as it must be for the 46 families that have gone to Russia met their children, gone to court, received birth certificates, and made a promise to their children of coming back to bring them into their forever families.  We spent almost three months in Kazakhstan adopting Emerson.  We refused to return to the US because I was terrified of something like this happening.  I can remember my father asking me when I would relax and believe he was really our son.  I replied "when I have him home." 

I can also see another side.  Imagine for a moment if we were to learn in the US that kids who were in our foster system and not adopted after 1 year of being available could be adopted by families in Russia or China.  We too might assume some of the things the Russian Parliament is thinking.  Yes, the individuals might be good, but when you lump all people into a mass category of a stereotypical culture you are playing a dangerous game of judgment.   

Then there is the undeniable truth that nags at me every day.  We as a society our lousy at taking care of the weakest.  We bemoan the EPA for killing jobs, rather than thanking them for keeping mercury out of our drinking water.  We tell people "the ONLY way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun."  We industrialize our schools to a point where our kids are numbers, statistics, chair sitters and our counselors are those who administer high stakes test.   We shun those who are mentally hurting, and label the alert child in an overstimulating environment as ADD, and wonder why they lash out.  We move the public health clinic for the poor to suburbs where there is no bus service, and yes, we let bureaucracy run the law of the land when it comes to the orphans on the world. 

I recognize that many of my readers are AP's but some are not and have never tried to navigate the system of truly trying to bring into your home a child who does not have a family.  It is a battle my friend.  And not one that ends, ever.  When we decided to adopt we fully thought it would be domestic.  We hear all the time (sometimes in front of our children)  why not just adopt a kid from the US.  There are so many who need homes.  To those I say, go ahead give you local DHR and call, then lets talk.  I know families who have waited years with open hears, minds and with rooms ready, only to be jerked around by the US system.  Yes, these kids do need homes, but we have got to revamp our system.  By the time an average kid in the US finds their forever family they have been in 18 placements.  Do you have any idea what that does to a child?  New born adoption in the US is equally as perilous.  It involves adopting a family because most adoptions are open.  This works great for some, not for others, and when it comes to adopting, you better go in with your eyes wide open, because nievitey does nothing for you at 3 am with a child who is unconsolable for the 3 hour in a row.  The other aspect is that a birth mother can changer her mind (rightly so) after she gives birth to the child.  For me I knew there were millions of kids already alive that needed a home so domestic infant adoption did not appeal to us.  For those who do form their families this way, I comend you for being there to guide a child as soon as possible.  Fortunately very few of these kids end up as "orphans." 

Now, lets think for a moment the reality of what happens to children who grow up without a family or foster family (which by the way, those in the US who are doing a good job at this, are the unsung heroes of taking care of our weakest.)  A large number of children don't survive the institutions/orphanages around the world. Illness, malnourishment, physical and sexual abuse is rampant.  In China, those that are weak are sent to the dying rooms, and the precious few resources that the orphanages have, are given to those who are "stronger."  Then lets think about what it means to be a toddler in an orphanage.  My son at 2.5 spent about 23 hours a day in a crib, head flattened, gross moter skills stunted.  My other son had never been outside until we took him out ourselves. 

Now lets just say you are one of the 25% that survives this emotional, nutritional, and stimulus void environment until you are school age.  Don't expect to get much schooling, or medical help, or dental care.  If you are strong, you might get to go work in a sweat shop and make a bunch of cheep plastic crap so Americans can go buy it at walmart or get a nice little toy with their "happy meal."  If you are a pretty girl, you can go work in the prostitution rings.  If you are disabled, deformed, defected, off to the permanent institutions for the disabled.  Hell on Earth.

If you live to 16, say goodbye to the comforts of your institutionalized Hell and you are off on your own with out a family, education, money, skills, love, nourishment.  The "options" are few for these kids.  Prostitution, slavery (yes it still exist), gangs, drugs, suicide, terrorist organizations ect. 

Then there are the few families in the world (1-5% of all families) who form through adoption.  We are the lucky ones (me not my kids.)  My kids are not lucky that they had to endure what they did.  Just today, I found out Emerson is going to need to have major dental surgery due to extreme malnutrition in-utero and during his first 12 months of life.  With Isaac he came to us as a 17 lb 3.5 year old.  He was labeled as autistic/schizophrenic mute child.  When really he was a child of trauma.  His first adoptive family could not take it despite their best intentions.  For the scars of neglect profoundly effect young children. 

I hear all the time "children are so resilient, they bounce back from everything so quick."  The problem is, this is just not true.  Early childhood neglect and trauma literally rewire and deform the most basic brain waves, functions and structures, causing all new memories and experiences to be built on a faulty platform.  So what happens when we get our children home after fighting sometimes years for the right and privilege to shrink that number of 147 million. 

We hold a child with night terrors for hours as they are inconsolable
We try to explain to the landlord why all the wall paper was ripped off the wall
We try to block the oncoming rock or toy train that is being throw at us from a child in a PTSD rage.
We sit through IEP meetings while some listen tearfully to the horrors of your child's experiences and other seemed inconvenienced by their different needs that don't fit the mold.
We fight with insurance companies about covering children that were adopted older.
We endure the stares of people as our child flails on the ground from over stimulation because for years they had none, and the world is still frighting to them. 
We face one more surgery or trip to Children's Hospital to try and undo the damage that was done while we waited for bureaucracy to run its course. 
We are treated with scepticism as "those crazy parents" by doctors, teachers, and principles when we try to explain how early childhood trauma and neglect has made my child different. 
Many of us them make a huge leap and homeschooling our children, to protect them from further slipping backwards in society.

And, with all that said, I would do it over and over again.  Unfortunately I am just a teacher and my husband is just a small business owner who also stays at home with our boys to give them the much needed back parenting they so desperately need as they move forward in this world.  What this means though is that according to US law we don't make enough money to bring more children into our family.  So, now we are fighting for a larger cause. 

There are a lot of outspoken pro-lifers out there.  Most of them believe and profess in an afterlife possibility of hell.  For those of you out there protesting abortion, stand up equally as loud for the 147 million kids that are hear on Earth, enduring a Hell that most in the US cannot even begin to imagine.  If you are in a position of power, look at the list above of what families face who do give fathers, and mothers to the orphans of the world, and see what you can do to change that. 

Vladimir Putin made a bold move today in the very wrong direction.  Are there enough of us out there, to offset this move through action, goodness and changing the conversation in both the US and the world on how we treat and care for the most vulnerable? 

The Grinch's Heart

Yesterday was our day out in the "real world."  Normal our Saturday's are activity filled.  We started off the day at the Art Museum's Christmas event.  The boys were so excited to run into old friends.  And like most of my plans to further their cultural endeavors, my boys managed to turn the art museum into another really cool playground. 

We managed to get them outside into the sculpture garden where the security guards would not be so nervous about four sprinting kids.  And thus, logically it seemed a great place to play hide and seek. They had a blast until one of the four declared a statue of a necked man was "base."  Then she ran to base, grabbed its but and said as the voice of reason "This base is kinda gross!" 

But, the highlight of the day for me was our next stop.  The boys were invited to a twin birthday party with a Grinch Stole Christmas theme.  At the end of the party, the game was for the boys to "pin the heart on the Grinch."  Each child was asked to fill the heart they had been given with something that would make the Grinch's heart grow.

Most of the other kids were waiting for something to write with, but not my little Isaac.  He still had his pencil in his pocket from the Art Museum scavenger hunt.  Then he very deliberately wrote on the heart "DAD" and drew a picture of his dad.  When I asked him about it he said, "I think the Grinch would have a much bigger heart if he had a Dad like mine." 

Proud Mama

I love my boys more than I knew it was possible to love something.  Being a parent to them has allowed my heart to grow in directions that I did not know were possible.  With that, I am also able to feel all of the other parenting emotions in great detail.  When they do something frustrating, it is maddening to me, or disappointment can become shame, and proud can become an intense form of pride. 

Emerson has always been easy to look at with adoration.  He can charm the pants off of just about everyone he meets.  He knows how to work a crowd and win over his mama's heart.  Isaac on the other hand, is more complex.  He is my visual learner who excels already in math in many ways.  Take for example the Law of attention for negatives and positives.  If a child does something positive they have between a 20-60% chance of getting attention for the action.  If a child does something negative they have a 95-100% chance of getting attention. 

So, needless to say, when your brother is an outgoing, charming attention hog, you gotta get some attention however you can, and with Isaac that tends to be with the negative.  But... and this is a big one.... Isaac and martial arts is all about being his best, because he loves it that much. 

I have always been clear about my goals for the boys with them taking karate.  I want Emerson to gain skills in following directions, and physical agility/coordination.  For Isaac I wanted him to have an outlet for his aggression, and confidence building sport and a place for him to excel physically. 

Yesterday, as I sat in the parent section, I could feel myself beaming. 

Emerson loves martial arts.  He practices all the time.  He pays attention there better than any other time.  He still struggles, but for him, he has his A game on when he goes to class.  It is a pleasure to watch him improve despite his struggles.

Isaac marched into class, bowed at the door, went to the wall and sat "like a black belt" and waited for class to start.  He watched his instructors intently.  When asked to come up, he confidently shouted a "yes sir!" and ran to attention.  He performed each skill to a level of impressive accuracy for a five year old, and his instructors and other parents noticed.  There was so much to smile about during the 45 min. class.  My boy was impressive, just because.  It wasn't just that he was better than he was before, or that people were patronizing him.  He was in his element and he did something wonderful because he was passionate about it, and he was good. 

Needless to say positive attention was abound on the car ride home, but no amount of praise said, could match the peace my heart felt in seeing that my little one has what it takes, and much more.

Confession of Lemon

You know the phrase "when life gives you lemons make lemonade", well I am not sure if that applies in this situation. 

I am the lemon, or to be more specific my body is a lemon. No, I don't mean the yellow fruit that makes great pies and refreshing drinks.  I mean it like the crappy used car you bought with cash, but you are constantly having the check engine light come on, or you are constantly breaking down.  That is the kind of lemon my body is. 

It was not always that way.  I know, what those who are reading who know me in real life are thinking... "Just wait until you turn 40 then you will know what falling apart feels like."  When people say this to me I cringe for many reasons, but mostly it makes me hide even more. 

You see, there are days when I wake up and I can't walk, or can't use an arm or nights where I don't sleep at all because there is not position of comfort.  My body has decided that I am its own enemy.  That parts of me don't belong and should thus be treated like an invader. 

Most of the time, I can control my immune system from going nuts through medicine, diet, exercises plain old begging and willing it to work.  But, every once and a while I loose and it wins.  Usually it is a big storm that rolls in, where I have absolutely no control and thus I become trapped in a body that had decided to destroy itself. 

Yesterday my left shoulder and arm was useless or perhaps worse than useless because it was excruciating.  I don't bother saying anything to my students fellow workers, and not too much to my family.  Why complain. It is not their fault, they can't fix it, and worse when people put in their two cents it is usually based on pretty faulty outdated information.  Not to mention that today, my left arm is fine, but my right elbow, wrist and hand are...useless, swollen, curled and in pain.  Talk about trying to explain that one in a casual "What happened to your arm"

My response it typically "I am a lemon" and then I offer nothing else.  How do you say in polite conversation, "I have a degenerative auto-immune disorder that is destroying a joint that it thinks is injured, but it is no, so it is causing an injury which it will then go in a fix."  Not such great lunch table conversation. 

Now, there is some lemonade to go with this burden of lemons.  For those who knew me in the younger years, I took a lot of physical risk.  I had big dreams of where my life was heading.  I feel like these lemons are constantly steering me, serving as a ruttier.  Many roads I have taken in life I would not have taken, and most of them have been pretty sweet.  So for now, don't shake my hand, or ask what I did to myself, but just know that I am apparently being shoved onto a different road.  Maybe when I get on the right one, (or the storm passes) I will be back to functioning like always. Untill then have a glass of lemonade for me.