Adoption--Bonding 5

Cheryl informed me that she could take care of herself. I held the door shut for her. I didn't want her to latch it and force me to crawl under it if she couldn't get out.

Altogether, we spent about two hours with Cheryl and Don. When we returned, we planned our next visit where our boys could meet their prospective brother and sister.

Sherry and her husband had cordially invited us to a backyard BBQ where the kids would feel more comfortable and could play together. It was interesting to watch our boys interact. They were quite comfortable with Don. They could do all the young male bonding things--play with Hot Wheels, throw and catch a ball, etc. When it came to Cheryl, however, they were stymied. They had no clue what you did with a six year old girl. Their girl cousins were all their own age.

Cheryl and I began playing together, running in the grass, kicking a ball, playing 'keep away.' I fell and rolled on the ground and suddenly found Cheryl on top of me. She sat on my stomach and peered into my eyes. Her crystal blue eyes stared into mine while time seemed to stand still. It was as if she were looking into my soul--looking to see who I truly was. Would she like what she saw?

Adoption--Bonding 4

The waiting didn't last long. We were contacted and asked to consider a sibling group of four girls. One, who was 16 did not want to be adopted but wanted to be near her sisters. They went to another family who lived closer to the sixteen year old. When we received the news, it was with the invitation to come and see a video of a brother and sister who had just become available for adoption. (See The Presence of His Spirit posts).

After viewing the video and talking with their foster mom, we made arrangements to meet Cheryl who was 6, and Don, 5. We went to the foster parents' home a little more than an hour away from ours.

Don was all smiles. He proudly shared his cars and trucks with us and brought us books to read. Cheryl was a bit withdrawn, clinging to Sherry, her foster mom. Eventually, she ventured forward, fingers in her mouth, and let me read a book to her. Both kids perked up when Sherry suggested we could take them to McDonald's for a burger and fries.

We were having a good time at McD's. The two were wolfing down their hamburger and fries like they'd never been fed (something I was sure was not true). Then Cheryl said she had to go to the bathroom. Bob looked at me and smiled.

"Guess you get to make bathroom trips now."

With our three boys, Bob had asssumed the major restroom responsibility once they got too old to take to the ladies room. He wasn't entirely off the hook though. Don indicated, in his garbled speech (Don is developmentally handicapped), that he needed to go too.

Once inside the ladies room, I suddenly felt awkward. She's too old to need help, isn't she? Do I go into the stall with her? Do I let her lock the door?

Adoption--Bonding 3

Whenever we talked about a family, Bob and I had always said that if the first two babies were the same sex, we would adopt the opposite to round out the family. Thus, we planned on three children. God has such a sense of humor...

With twin boys and a single birth resulting in another boy, we set out to find an adoption agency to begin a search for a daughter. The first attempt (when our youngest was two) fizzled when the social worker heard my children's voices in the background as I spoke with her on the phone.

"We're not accepting applications from people who have already been blessed with children of their own," she said stiffly.

I felt chastised. How could I have the audacity to ask for more children when there were couples who were childless? In my naivete, I hung up and did not pursue the issue further until the twins were 12 and Andy was 9, and I was much more savy about adoption and it's fit for our family.

I had no desire to adopt a baby. Bob would have loved it. He's the "baby person" in the family. I wasn't ready to take on diapers again and extend our initial parenting term another 10 years. We set out specifically to find a girl between 3 and 8 years of age. The other parameters we set included adopting special needs such as learning diabilities or slight retardation and/or a sibling group of 2.

We found an adoption agency in NE Ohio that dealt with "hard to place children" and began their orientation program. They explained the types of abuse the chidren placed in the system had experienced (basically: sexual, physical, and/or abuse from neglect). The other form of abuse came from just being "in the system"--shuffling from foster home to foster home, often for years.

The other part of their program was to get us to evaluate our strenghts and weaknesses as a parent. Could we parent a child who had been a thief? Sexually active? Usesd foul language? Was hyperactive? We discovered some things about each other that we didn't know before. I thought I could handle a thief but not someone who had been sexually active. Bob was just the opposite.

All this led up to our "white glove" home study, which really wasn't so bad. Then, we waited...

Adoption--Bonding 2

As I looked through the window at the newborn cribs, I anxiously awaited news of my baby. The nurse returned to the back of the chair and began wheeling.

"Your little one is keeping all the others up." She gave a little laugh. "They put him in a private room with the lights out hoping he would fall asleep."

She opened another door that led to a room off the nursery and there he was, soft little sobs shuddering his body as he fell asleep. We left him sleeping so that I could get some rest before the nursing schedule began early in the morning.

They let me sleep until 6 a.m. before they brought Andy in for his first feeding. The disappointment of not having a girl faded with one look at the beautiful infant God had blessed us with. He was pink and perfect. And just to be sure he would wind my heart around his little finger, he immediately cradled his head against my cheek, cuddling into a little ball of baby softness in my arms.

The bonding grew with each of my babies as we interacted, "talking" to each other, touching, exploring the world together. They made me feel needed and, in return, I did my best to meet their needs.

That bonding was easy. They were so little and so dependent upon me. But what would happen when I became the mother of two children, already past diapers and bottles, and with their individual personalities already formed--partly from the abuse in their lives?

Adoption--Bonding

Gwen commented on my previoius post about bonding with older children during the adoption process. I'm not an expert but I can tell you what I experienced and maybe that will help.

Cheryl was 6 and Don was 5 when they were placed in our home. We had three biological children, all boys. Ron and Rob were fraternal twins aged 12 and Andy was nine. I always tell people the reason we adopted was to have a cheerleader before we got a whole football squad. Don was a bonus. We would never have split siblings.

I remember the bonding process with my babies. Even though I delivered them and they were biologically mine, I felt a little awkward at first. Part of that was due to just being a new mom. They were lucky I knew which end the diaper went on. But as I cared for them, bathing them, feeding them, rocking them to sleep, I got more comfortable, it didn't take long before I was truly loving these little bundles--even through the crying in the middle of the night.

Then Andy came along. He was supposed to be our girl. Back then, 31 years ago, we didn't have the privilege of being able to know the sex of the baby through a routine ultra sound. The best the doctor could do was say his heart rate sounded like that of a girl (poor guy gets a lot of teasing about that). I was thankful he was healthy but, truthfully, a little disappointed that we didn't have a girl.

Down the hall, in the nursery, I could hear a baby crying as I lay in recovery waiting to go to my room. The cry sounded a little familiar. I dismissed the idea that it was my baby. After all, how could I know a cry I hadn't heard yet? As they wheeled me to my room, the nurse stopped to let me see him. He wasn't in the regular nursery. I panicked...

The Presence of His Spirit 4

The question tumbled out of me.

"Sherry, you're a born again believer in Christ, aren't you?"

There. It was out. I held my breath as I waited for her response. It came quickly.

"Yes, I am. I have the feeling the two of you are as well." She was smiling and suddenly we were drawn closely together by the bond of a shared belief in a loving God who directed our lives.

"I want you to know," Sherry continued, "that our church has been praying for Cheryl and Don since they became available for adoption. We have prayed that a Christian family would find them and adopt them. You are an answer to our prayers."

I'd never considered myseslf an answer to prayer before. This was why God had so obviously directed our lives to this point. The three of us had felt his presence. It was as if He had physically placed his hand on our shoulders. By the prompting of His spirit I had sought the confirmation of Sherry's faith and she had received the answer she sought to her prayers for Cheryl and Don.

Our meeting took place 22 years ago. The presence of His spirit has been a comfort and a guide through good times and difficult situations as we parented our five children. His continued reassurance that I am never alone and that He loves me is a comfort always.

"...And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." Matthew 28:20

The Presence of His Spirit 3

My heart beat rapidly as fuzzy static turned into a picture on the TV. A very active six year old girl and five year old boy scurried back and forth in a playroom on the screen.

"What beautiful hair she has," I remarked. We had a difficult time seeing Cheryl's face. She managed to keep her back to the camera most of the time.

"He loves those trucks, doesn't he," Bob observed as Don, typical boy, was wearing out the knees of his pants pushing trucks across the floor.

The tape ended and I wished for more. They looked like wonderful children.

"As I told you before, Cheryl has some learning problems and is in a special kindergarten class," Joy began explaining. "Don does not talk well yet, and we know that he is delayed in his development. He is in a special Easter Seals program."

"What kind of progress could we expect from Don?" I asked.

"We can't tell you. We don't know. When he is nine or ten, they will be able to assess his future progress a little more successfully."

Sherry had been watching us as we viewed the video and talked with Joy. She removed some papers from a folder she brought and laid them before us.

"I thought you might like to see some of their school work." There were crayon drawings and kindergarten work sheets--mostly just marks on paper, although you could see the beginnings of some writing skills on Cheryl's work.

Sherry shared some of her experiences with the children in her home and answered questions about Don's language development. The more she talked, the more I began to feel I knew her somehow. I was certain we'd never met. Could the familiarity just be our common bond of motherhood?

The more we talked, the stronger the feeling of a bond grew. I became distracted from our purpose--unsettled.

"I have to leave for a moment," Joy said pushing her chair back. "I have a phone call to make. Excuse me."

We continued to talk for a few minutes. There was an urgency within me to ask a question I had never asked a total stranger before. I could feel my face redden with the anxiety as I opened my mouth to inquire...

The Presence of His Spirit 2

"I have someone I'd like you to meet," said Joy, our social worker as she entered the room with papers in her hand. She turned to a young woman with long curly brown hair. "This is Sherry. She has been Cheryl and Don's foster mom for the past four months."

Bob rose and shook her hand. "Hi, we're glad to meet you."

Sherry took a seat next to Joy across the table from us.

"Sherry wanted to come and tell you a little about what she's experienced with the children and answer any questions you might have about them," Joy continued. Sherry smiled at us with warm brown eyes.

Joy turned on the VCR and adjusted the television. "Let's have a look at Cheryl and Don first and then we can fill you in on more background...let you ask questions..." She fiddled some more with the controls and the machine finally responded.

We leaned forward to get our first look at the children that would soon become ours.

The Presence of His Spirit

(This story took place in 1983.)

Bob and I sat in a small conference room at a formica topped table next to green metal filing cabinets. The room was cheery in color but institutional. The social worker had stepped out for a moment to find the video tape that would introduce us to a brother and sister who were available for adoption.

We were a little nervous and very excited. Could these be the children God wanted us to have to finish our family?

Before we were married, we often talked of our dreams of a family. We both expressed a desire to adopt children who needed a loving home. So, when God blessed us with twin boys and then another boy three years later, we elected to adopt a girl to round out our family.

For two years we searched for an adoption agency who would accept us. Often we were turned away because we already had three children. We also wanted an agency with whom we could feel comfortable and confident.

Eventually, we found what we were looking for right around the corner from where we lived. They were an agency for hard to place children--children with siblings, disabilities, or older than three. We attended their orientation sessions and finished a home study. A social worker was assigned to us, and now we were about to meet two children that the agency felt would fit into our established family.

Shark Encounter 4

Everyone was still except for the bubbles escaping from their regulators as they exhaled. I looked toward the divemaster. He pointed two fingers at his eyes (the signal for "look"), then put his hand to the top of his head, fingers extended straight up ("shark"), and pointed to my right.

In the blue murkiness, between two large coral heads that rose like ghosts from the ocean bottom, a large shark was poised--watching. She looked us over carefully and when she was convinced there was no food, she turned and glided away into the blue gray shadows.

I watched in wonder. No panic. No racing pulse. Just awesome fascination and appreciation of a creature I'd never seen outside of glass walls.

Back on the dive boat after we surfaced, the shark jokes were replaced with fish stories. The divemaster proudly estimated the female shark at 8 feet. Of course, underwater everything appears about 25% larger than it really is.

Exaggerated fish stories aside, it was an encounter to remember.

Shark Encounter
Shark Encounter 2
Shark Encounter 3

Shark Encounter 3

"This dive site is near the area where we do our shark dive. We have a chance of seeing a shark or two in the area," the divemaster began as we motored to our destination. My heart thumped harder in my chest.

"Now...understand that we would not be taking you somewhere we didn't feel was safe. If you see a shark, you'll be fortunate." Fortunate was not the word I would have chosen.

"The sharks are Caribbean reef sharks and they are curious critters by nature," the divemaster continued. "They will not let you get any closer to them than they want you to be. They usually take a look and then swim away."

As soon as he finished all the shark jokes started. "Remember," one fellow diver said to another, "you only have to swim faster than the slowest swimmer."

In the water, we gathered at the base of the guide rope hanging from the boat. The divemaster signaled, "Follow me." We began weaving our way through the coral heads. Colors were muted without bright sunlight to filter through the water and the water seemed thicker--dense.

I began to relax and enjoy the marine life that scurries past my dive mask. My head bumped into Bob. I looked around and realized everyone had frozen in place...

Shark Encounter
Shark Encounter 2
Shark Encounter 4

Shark Encounter 2

Our first day of diving in Freeport was exciting. The crew was helpful as we struggled with unfamiliar buckles on rented BCVs (bouyancy control vests) and worked our way to the diving platform on the boat. The challenge of diving is getting into the water without toppling over from the cumbersome air tank and weight belt hung on your back and around your waist while you shuffle across the deck with webbed feet.

Our first dive ignited the excitement of discovery as we explored coral heads teeming with small marine life and alive with color. The second dive of the day featured a small boat wreck that had been overgrown with corals and small marine vegetation. We leisurely explored all the nooks and crannies. I was very relaxed by the time we returned to shore. The anxiety of a close encounter with Jaws forgotten in the wonderful exploration of the sea life that had presented itself.

The next day, thick clouds dotted the sky making it look a bit foreboding. Still, the April temperatures were in the 80s and there were patches of blue sky between the clouds. We donned wet suits. The water would be a little cooler 40 feet down with cloudy skies...it would also be murkier...

Shark Encounter
Shark Encounter 3
Shark Encounter 4

Shark Encounter

You always remember your first one.

"There's a shark dive available. Want to feed the sharks?" Bob asked as he perused the website of UNEXSO trying to decide which dive package we wanted for our trip to the Bahamas.

"Feed the sharks? I don't even want to see a shark." I'm not afraid of too many things, but visions of Jaws sent shivers up my spine.

"They put you in a chainmail suit and teach you how to use the shark feeding equipment. And...they'll tape the whole thing."

He was really pushing it, but only because he knew I'd refuse.

"Or, we could just go and be observers...watch someone else have all the fun." He grinned and I shot him one of my wifely looks.

"O.K., O.K. I'll be sure to tell them we don't want to be diving near the sharks." He turned back to his computer to reserve our four day stay in Port Lucaya that included four dives.

Two months earlier, we had finished our certification as open water divers. After being introduced to a beautiful underwater world in the Carribean, we were eager to explore it now at our leisure. UNEXSO (Underwater Explorers Society) offered a variety of dive sites and the special shark dive.

Diving with the sharks was for those of stout heart and steady nerves who liked to live on the edge. A group of divers kneel in the sand and watch as one diver feeds the 10-20 reef sharks that gather around.

Not long before our decision to go to the Bahamas, my son had assisted a professor from the University of Miami at Bimini, in a week long seminar course on sharks. He told us of being in the water, snorkeling with sharks around him, and suddenly realizing the professor was feeding the sharks to attract them for study. Just the stuff a mother wants to hear. He kept assuring me it was all right. They were only reef sharks.

To my understanding, they still had teeth. I was not comforted. I still wanted no part of diving with sharks.

I was in for a surprise...

Shark Encounter 2
Shark Encounter 3
Shark Encounter 4

The Laugher

Everyone has some kind of laugh. There are those whose laughter rings out deep and bellowing and those whose laughter is tight and restrained. But somewhere inbetween are those laughs that are warm, delightful, and often contagious.

It's the contagious part I like. It spreads joy. It says, "Join me and celebrate life." It's the laugh that the sit-coms welcome into their audience.

We have a laugher in our congregation. Her laugh is distinctive. At the very least, it makes you want to smile. What a lift it is to a weary spirit. I can't help thinking that it lightens God's day as well. I heard her this Sunday. While our speaker encouraged us with his words, her laughter encouraged us with the joy of a heart set free.

Of Mice and Men--Part 3

It was a busy Sunday afternoon. I was getting ready for a writers conference and Bob was getting ready for his annual trade show. The temperature climbed into the upper 80s and I wondered if the peanut butter had melted off of the mousetrap.

Being the great white hunter that he is, Bob waited patiently until about eight o'clock that evening. I heard the door to the garage open and close but didn't think much of it until a little while later, he came into the den. He was grinning.

"I got the little bugger." He said with pride. "I knew he couldn't get that peanut butter off the trap."

The way he said it though made me wonder if Bob hadn't struggled with just a little edge of doubt--a slight suspicion that his small opponent might be a little too clever for an old fashioned mousetrap. After all, this is the era of electronical everything--who would guess something as old fashioned as a piece of wood, a spring, and a metal bar would still work so efficiently.

So, to the electronics wizards of the world--those great white hunters--Do we really need a better mousetrap or is it the bait that counts?

Of Mice and Men--Part 2

Have you ever played Operation? It's the game where a body is pictured on a cardboard base and little body parts are in small cavities wired with an alarm. The object is to pick out the body parts with tweezers and not set off the alarm. It's a delicate operation.

I suspected our little freeloader in the trunk of the Miata had lots of practice with that game. The traps were picked clean and neither was set off until Bob picked them up. He, obviously, did not have a lot of practice with the game.

Undaunted and slightly amused, Bob headed for the peanut butter jar.

"Let's see him get this off the trap." Was that a maniacal chuckle I heard?

The traps were baited and reset. To be honest, I wasn't sure who I was rooting for in this contest. I much prefer D-Con. After eating it the mice usually just crawl away somewhere and I don't have to worry about desposing of the remains. I didn't want to actually see this clever little guy's demise.

Bob replaced the traps in the trunk of the car and returned with all his fingers intact and healthy. We waited...

Of Mice and Men

The weather had warmed considerably. The cover came off the Miata. To his dismay, the little critter inside the trunk was encouraged to find a new home. I say "encouraged," because Bob cleaned out the trunk and tossed his fluffy nest into the trash figuring that would be the end of the rent-free intruder.

The little guy (the mouse, not Bob) had more stamina than he was given credit for. He rebuilt his nest--fluffy and warm, nestled against the spare tire. Bob discovered the little guy's handiwork this weekend.

"Don't we have a mousetrap around here somewhere?" Bob asked.

"I haven't seen it lately," I said with a smile. The Miata is Bob's "baby"--don't mess with the baby.

Bob tracked down two mousetraps, baited them with some swiss cheese, and set them in the trunk of the car. A smile on his face, he drove the Miata all day Saturday, confident that his freeloader would be taken care of shortly.

Sunday morning, Bob decided to check the trunk before we left for church. Like a great white hunter, stalking his prey, he opened the trunk...

Coke or Pepsi?

Today, like most days, I had a diet Coke with lunch--classic, decaffeinated (caffeine does strange things to meopausal women). Coke is the prefered drink in this house. The only time Pepsi gets in our home is if my brother-in-law sneaks it in.

Coke is the prefered drink outside of our home as well. My husband always orders diet Coke then asks, "That is Coke--not Pepsi, right?" If the answer comes back "Pepsi," then his response is, "I'll have an ice tea."

Making choices in life is so much simpler when you truly follow your heart--or in this case, your tastebuds. Where your heart is concerned, the choices of life are made easier when your heart belongs to Christ.

Striking Arrows

Being a Sunday school teacher teaches me more than those in my class. God always seems to prepare a lesson for what I need each week.

Last week, our topic was doubt (Chapter 10 of Committed But Flawed by Cec Murphey). I began to read through the chapter right after I received my latest rejection of a piece of work I felt had real promise.

It's easy to let doubt creep in when you're discouraged. When you are a writer, you have to continually step out and offer your work and be ready to hear "no thanks"--a lot. It doesn't make it easier to know that. Sometimes a written piece is offered multiple times--5, 10, 20, 30--before it finds publication. When you get discouraged, you want to stop after 2 or 3.

Our scripture verse this week led us to King Jehoash who went to Elisha just as the prophet was about to die. Elisha had the King shoot an arrow out the window and told him that represented the victory God would give him. Then he told the king to take the rest of the arrows and strike them on the ground. The kind did so--3 times.

Elisha got angry. "Why only three times? You should have struck them five or six times more."
It turned out that each strike would be a victory and King Jehoash could have won many more times if he had struck with his arrows again and again instead of stopping so soon.

There may not be a direct correlation--I don't consider editors or agents the enemy--but if I quit offering my writing after only 2 or 3 tries, I will never know the victory God has in store.

The Path to the Patch

The path to Grandma's strawberry patch (see previous blog) was always an adventure. We had to pass the field where Mr. Sully kept his bull.

I never saw the bull but I knew it was huge and had big horns. It was mean, too. It booted one of the neighborhood teenagers right over the barbed wire fence once. I didn't see that either but I knew all these things were true. My mother told me so.

There was an opening in the fence where the barbed wire and fence posts were weakened and falling over. The wires hung near enought to the ground that a little girl--an adventursome little girl--just might be able to step over them. This was the spot where we had to be very quiet. We didn't want the bull to know there was a hole in the fence. He might come charging through at us and who knows what would happen then.

The mystery, the tingle of fear, all made the trip down the path to the strawberry patch that much more exciting--the fruit that much sweeter.

Today, after five kids and knowing my mother's parenting tactics better, I think the bull story was just that. It was made up to keep me from venturing back to the strawberry patch on my own...I think...I never could be sure with Mom.