Vancouver Coastal Adoption

Sibling Lessons from My Four Year Old

2011-12-14T11:42:00.002-08:00

Our family recently adopted a kitten. Bella is spunky, snuggly, and at times, appropriately naughty. She's a good match for our son!

When we went to pick her up, we had to choose between her and several other cats. We wanted a short to medium-haired kitten with a snuggly, laid-back personality. Our mission was to adopt just ONE animal.

I advocate for sibling adoption on a daily basis in the HUMAN world, so I felt entitled to ignore that practice when it came to feline family members.

Unfortunately, I stand corrected - because my four year old watches. And listens. And remembers EVERYTHING.

Last week, Noah was asking about Bella and what she did all day long while we were at work and school. "Well, she plays. And sleeps. And eats her food and drinks water."

Noah looked horrified. "But who does she PLAY WITH?" he demanded. What an excellent question, I thought. "Well, she plays with her toys and she plays by herself."

His mind flashed back to the day we adopted the kitten. "Bella has a BROTHER Mommy. We should have brought HIM home, too! He was black and white and didn't like cuddles, but he liked you! They could have played TOGETHER!"

My child, who often refuses to follow the simplest request, had a photographic memory of our cat's litter mate and every aspect of its personality. I started to feel guilty about splitting up the "sibling set". He was right... how could we split them up?

That's when my pre-schooler looked me in the eye and said "Haven't you learned ANYTHING from me and J, Mommy?" (he demanded, referring to his older brother who lives with his adoptive family.) I had to think about that for a while.... he recognized the injustice of growing up apart from his brother. Noah knows most brothers and sisters live together - animals included.

Noah is righteously indignant that we consciously decided NOT to adopt our kitten's brother. Now I feel like a failure as a cat 'parent'! I suppose it's because deep down I'm really a dog person.... and I'm sorry, Noah, if having just one kitten is hard on you.

Thank you for teaching me, son, and yet again putting life into perspective!

Adoptions Slumber Down Under

2011-12-14T11:16:00.000-08:00

When I was researching Aboriginal adoption in Canada, I came across some research papers and reports from Australia. Our histories of unjust practices involving Aboriginal adoption are sadly parallel. I wanted to see what solutions Australia was implementing to ensure history did not repeat itself. What I learned was partly reassuring - they, too, introduced cultural planning into current adoption practices. But when I scratched the surface, I was shocked to discover just how RARE adoptions are in Australia.

Many countries are seeing significant drops in adoption numbers, Canada and the US included. So I shouldn't have been shocked to read that last year Australia also reported its lowest number of adoptions on record. Ever.

If you had to wager a guess, how many adoptions do you think a nation of 22.7 million people would have? Keep in mind that Canada had almost 2,000 international adoptions alone last year, with our population of 34.5 million. BC usually averages 700 adoptions per year (international, local, and foster child adoptions combined).

Would you be surprised to learn the Australian number for TOTAL adoptions was only 384?

Half joined their families through international adoption, and the majority of local adoptions involved step-parent, relative, or the adoption of children who already knew their adoptive parent(s). The rest - 49 children (the size of two kindergarten classes) - accounted for every adoption of local Australian children by parents previously unknown to them.

49 kids! I've heard of individual FAMILIES with close to that many adoptive offspring. So why are the numbers so low? Or.... am I asking the wrong question. Are Canadian numbers simply HIGH compared to our commonwealth cousins? What do you think? Are we doing enough for kids in care? How can we do even better?
The Australian - Lowest Adoption Numbers on Record

Loved Like Josie

2011-10-20T11:12:00.003-07:00

Most mornings, I take the scenic route to work. The road takes me along a bluff above the Fraser River. It's a trucking route, so most of my fellow travellers drive big rigs or weathered pickups. I like driving my little car along this road. It's peaceful. It's pretty. It's comforting.

Along the way, I pass a magnetic sign at an empty lot. The restaurant that once operated there has long since been demolished. But the sign remains, and someone has put it to good use.

This month, the sign says "Josie". There is a little red heart at the end of her name. In months prior, a lover's request pleaded "Meet me halfway, Josie". The magnets came loose over time, and the message disintegrated into "Meet me" before the words fell away entirely.

At the time, I wondered if Josie put much thought into that message. Did she want her love back? Did she think about him every morning? Was it really, truly over, now that the letters had all fallen away?

So when this latest message appeared, I was inspired. I smiled to myself and at the little heart next to her name.

Who was this lover of Josie's? What possessed him to publicly profess his love and ask for her back? Why did he choose a road sign in an empty lot, where truckers and delivery drivers and construction workers pass by? Probably not a lot of ladies have seen the sign, and very few of them are named Josie.

But he must have known her habits and that he'd catch her eye like he did when they started dating. I began to wonder... hey Josie... what did you say? I'm imagining a happy ending, and hoping all is right in their world.

The truth is, I don't know her story. Both Josie and her lover remain safely anonymous, even though she's been publicly loved from the side of a dirt-covered road.

Wherever she is, whatever her story, it must be nice to be loved like Josie. I'm waiting for the next update on my drive in.... hopefully a good one from Josie and her love.

The Heart and Seoul of Adoption

2011-10-04T14:41:00.001-07:00

Last night my student asked why we had homestay children when both my husband and I work. "You don't need the money, right?" he asked plainly. "It's true, we don't." I smiled at him. "We are homestay parents because we like children!"

He looked at me like I had three heads. "Well why don't you just get pregnant and have more Noahs?"

I stopped for a second. I could have said a number of things. I could have said we liked older kids (which is true) or that we wanted the invaluable experience of sharing our home with children from other countries (which is also true).

Instead, I hit my little 11 year old homestay son with the truth. "Well, Noah is adopted, and adopting children can sometimes take a long time. We wanted Noah to have other kids in the house now." I had to explain what the term adoption meant, but once he understood, he got awfully quiet.

For once, my overly chatty pre-teen had nothing to say. He took a moment to digest the news, and I awaited his response, wondering what unfiltered comment would come flying from his mouth. (One of my favourite things about the kid is that he tells you EXACTLY what he's thinking!)

He was quiet for several moments before commenting "Wow, thank you for telling me your secret! I promise, I won't tell Noah!"

Now it was my turn to be stunned into silence. This young man hails from the largest metropolitan city in Korea. I don't know why I expected his thoughts about adoption to be like ours here in the west. I naively figured the whole world was embracing ideas of openness and shared information.... and I had to shake my head and remind myself that this was, after all, a little boy from the other side of the globe.

He was brave enough to come here and stay with us, this strange family, and listen as we explained our way of life. The least I could do was explain how wonderful adoption was in our family, and how it was no secret, and wasn't that wonderful?

I added to his shock. I logged onto the computer and showed off pictures of Noah and his big brother. That threw him for a loop - but I could see the wheels of acceptance and understanding turning as he translated the information (not just from English to Korean, but also from secrecy to openness) in his mind and heart.

It was a pretty powerful conversation. One I had to laugh about at the end. My homestay son looked at me with a very stern eye and said "You're not going to adopt ME, I hope!"

No, my dear, we're not. But we're glad you're part of our family for now.

Happy Foster Family Month - a Letter from our Deputy Minister

2011-10-03T09:44:00.001-07:00

This letter is from Deputy Minister Stephen Brown in appreciation of foster families, and MCFD staff this October. Help celebrate foster family month by giving thanks all of those that help support our children and youth in care.

October is Foster Family Month in British Columbia, a time to acknowledge and celebrate the extraordinary work of foster families throughout the province – families who provide a healthy, stable and caring home for children and youth, at a time when they need it the most.

It’s also a time to recognize the important role of so many ministry staff in supporting the vulnerable children and youth who come into government care – as well as the many families who need our assistance to become healthy enough to care for their own. The connections you forge with foster families and the bridges you help build to community services and organizations not only help keep children safe but work to create a strong system of support that they can rely on for many years to come.

Each day, you are faced with complex, challenging and extraordinarily sensitive situations – and each day you rise to the challenge of your work, knowing that your support for children, youth, families and foster families can make all the difference.

I’ve been fortunate to meet with some of you over the past six months and I look forward to meeting more of you as I continue to travel the province. I also want to acknowledge the work of not just front line staff, but those who work ‘behind the scenes’ to help improve our system of care and make it more responsive to the needs of those we serve.

This October, please join me in acknowledging foster families around the province – and don’t forget to take a few moments to acknowledge the importance of your own work and that of your colleagues. It can – and does – change lives.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Stephen Brown

Way to Go Ontario!

2011-09-16T12:05:00.000-07:00

At the risk of tooting our own horn, I must admit that BC is great at supporting our adoptive parents. We offer post-adoption assistance to families whose children have special needs (projected or diagnosed) at the time of placement. These supports can include respite care funding, counselling, tutoring, or other supports related to a child's special placement needs.

Our government also extends monthly maintenance payments to qualifying families who meet certain criteria.... currently, that includes adoption of sibling sets, cultural matches, or child-specific adoptions where the adoptive parent and child(ren) have a strong emotional bond PRIOR to the adoption. Learn more about the Post Adoption Assistance Program for MCFD adoptions by clicking here.

The good news for our friends in Ontario? Their provincial government has announced their plan to offer similar financial supports to families who adopt from foster care.

As much as I adore the west coast, I do believe Ontario just one-upped us. Their new program includes financial supports for adoptions of children age 10 and over. What a great concept! Teens and tweens deserve families, too - how great for Ontario to recognize and implement a program to ease some of the financial barriers for growing families of older kids & teens.

Read the full article on the great news here.

One or Two - Who, Me?

2011-09-14T13:53:00.002-07:00

On Saturday, my hubby and I attended a parents-only dinner party. We won tickets to the event when I submitted a pathetic (and entirely true!!) story of a negligent baby-sitter, leg lacerations, and antibiotics. Our prize was a fabulous night out at Yaletown's V Lounge, hosted by morning hosts Nat and Drew of Virgin Radio 95.3.

As expected, our group of parents couldn't help but talk about the little darlings whose shenanigans earned their respective parents a night of reprieve. We went around our corner of the table and learned that those near us had two or three children.

When it was our turn, we beamed about our almost four year old son. Someone asked if we were planning for more, and we gave our standard responses. My husband vehemently denied the possibility, and I smiled and said something stupid and non-committal.

The truth is, adding to an adoptive family is not the same as growing a family biologically. Unlike those families lucky enough to be Fertile Myrtles who can get pregnant easily, most adoptions involve a great deal of patience and trust that things will work out and a match will happen eventually.

Sure, there can be surprise adoptions, if a family is lucky enough to get the sibling call. And sometimes matches are made as soon as the ink is dry on an updated adoption homestudy. But most of us wait.... sometimes forever, for a secondary match.

Still others, like us, don't feel it's quite the right time to be tossing our names into the adoption pool again. We know growing our family again is a probability. We don't feel like we want to be "one and done" but the timing just isn't right yet.

So I gave my stupid smiley response and waited for the topic to shift. Except it didn't.

Another parent commented very sincerely and respectfully how common one-child families are becoming these days. Another parent (of two) speculated it was financially driven. I had to step in and say my spiel about adoption. I had to explain that it's not like flipping a light switch, and it takes a momentous decision to refile that application and put yourselves and your families "out there" again.

I wanted people to know it's not about money. It's not about a conscious decision to have the smallest number of offspring possible. For us at least, it's about balancing the right time and realizing and ACCEPTING that so very much of it is out of control.

One mother commented that she had her babies 15 months apart because she wanted to be finished with diapers as soon as possible. I sat and smiled and reminded myself that our next child might already be DONE with diapers by the time he or she (OR THEY!) come home.

Another advised that it was best to have a girl first and then a boy. I closed my eyes briefly and imagined what girl on earth would want our son as a baby brother.... only the luckiest one, of course. :) And who knows... maybe our son will have an older sister. Someday, sooner or later. When we're ready.

For now we'll just keep on doing what we do best... smiling stupidly when all else fails!

Silence is Golden, But Family Noise is Music to My Ears.

2011-09-09T11:58:00.002-07:00

Growing up, I appreciated the refrigerator. By some defiance of the laws of physics, the standard 'family fridge' managed to sustain our super-sized family. I likened it to an overstuffed clown car, except our appliance housed an incredible amount of food instead of circus performers. I wouldn't have been surprised, though, if a clown was buried back behind the pickle jar.
Sometimes, I worried that the fridge would explode, and we'd spend our afternoon scraping margarine and appliance shrapnel off the ceiling. But we assured ourselves that if the fridge didn't implode or collapse when we closed the door, it was probably safe for at least one more day.

Somehow, our fridge stored the required two gallons of milk (one is just foolish; it wouldn't last a day in our home), Costco-sized bricks of cheese and vats of ketchup stuffed in alongside the standard leftovers, baby foods, heads of lettuce for tomorrow night's dinner, etc, etc.

I miss those days. I miss seeing an overstuffed fridge, and all the other 'squishing' that goes along with a big family. I miss fighting over spots on the couch, and a comfy seat at the dinner table.

I suppose it's a direct result of growing up in a sea of children. Before I was thrown from the nest in my early 20's, I had never, ever, ever, ever come home to an empty house. The door was never locked, the lights were never out. There was always someone lurking, or lounging around to keep me company (or keep me annoyed!)

When I moved out of the family home, I got used to the weird phenomenon of coming home to... silence! I heard - for the first time - the hum of the refrigerator makes.

I actually called my mother long distance from residence in a panic. "The fridge! There's something wrong with the fridge!"

"Is it leaking?"
"No."
"Is it on?"
"Yes!"
"Is the food still good?"
"Um. Mom. I live in res. There's three litres of pop, leftover Kraft dinner, and a jug of milk."
"Smell the milk and call me back."

..... (Ring).....

"Hi Sarah."
"Hi Mom. The milk smells okay, but it expired last Tuesday." Hmm. Okay, what's the fridge doing."
"It's humming."
.......
"Mom? Are you there?"
"Yes! I'm listening to my fridge. It's humming, too!"

We both marvelled at the sound.

I miss those days, being part of a huge adoptive family. Somehow, hearing the appliances groan and complain is less comforting then the noise of children. I'd take a house full of noise over silence any day.

The 30 Day Mountain

2011-09-08T14:36:00.000-07:00

Under BC law, birth mothers are entitled to revoke consent to their child's adoption any time within thirty days of their child's birth.
I thought I had good insight into how difficult those thirty days must be. I've supported adoptive families and spoken with birth parents and birth grandparents who've been on either side of the thirty day mountain.

After thirty days with my international students, however, I cannot fathom how hard it must be for everyone involved during those thirty days of adoption uncertainty.

I KNEW my kids' stay was temporary. I took comfort in the fact that 'my' two teenage children had a safe and stable home to return to, half a world away. I prepared myself mentally (and I THOUGHT, emotionally) for the separation that would occur exactly thirty days after their arrival. And I STILL ended up crying into my Cheerios the morning my big kids climbed onto the school bus and headed to the airport to fly home to Korea.

So, adoptive parents, how do you do it? Does every ring of the telephone strike fear into your hearts? Do you survive on adrenaline for thirty sleepless nights, fighting your inner urge to bond!bond!bond! with your new babe? Do you intentionally hold just a little back in case the call comes? Or do you give all your rapidly-growing heart can muster, so that your child knows love and nothing else even though uncertainty hovers, clouding the minds and thoughts of the adults involved?

Birth families, do you count down the days, too? Do you wish they passed more quickly or slowly? How do you recognize day thirty when it finally arrives? What can family and friends do to support you during this month, and beyond?

I tip my hats to everyone who climbs the thirty day mountain. This adoptive mother can't imagine making that climb. But I congratulate all who do, for the sake of the child you all love.

More Fun and Games in the ER

2011-08-25T09:10:00.000-07:00

It was fun and games as usual at our household last night. My homestay son and daughter had been outdoors two nights before, and gotten more than their share of mosquito bites.

Last night, I bought them calamine lotion for their old bites and OFF spray to prevent new ones, and sent them out for an evening walk.

When they returned my son had enormous welts covering more than half his body. These weren't just mosquito bites, this was an all-out allergic reaction. They covered his entire back, both arms, his belly, his legs, and were sprouting up on his neck and face.

So off we went to the emergency room at 9:30pm. First I had to rouse my not-quite-sleeping three year old (who was MORE than happy for a middle of the night adventure!) and pile all the kids in the truck.

My husband met us in the parking lot to take our little guy home, which left me and my two teenagers at the doorsteps of the local hospital.

The admissions clerk was frustrated because I didn't have a Care Card for my student. I kept referring to him as my son (force of habit at the ER, I suppose, from the many occasions with Noah), and I gave them my local address, therefore he must be a Canadian citizen, or at least a BC resident covered under MSP, right?

Next she couldn't understand that the kids COULD speak English (but not perfectly), and that I could NOT speak Korean.... and that somehow between these two languages, we still couldn't determine if there were any possible allergies that - so far, during his one month stay - had not been disclosed.

The nursing staff was great, getting him set up with an IV and antihistamines, finding warm blankets for his sister as we waited, watched, and waited some more for the swelling go down.

The doctor arrived and wondered who on earth I was, and how everyone was related. The phone at the nurses station kept ringing because the homestay coordinator kept calling the hospital for updates. (How he got that direct line, I may never know!)

I felt like I was being Punked when the doctor came back and insisted we refer my son to see an allergist in Japan. "Korea," we smiled.

In the end we were sent home in the wee hours of the morning, with extra anti-histamines and instructions to come back if there were any problems breathing. Ahhh, such a comfort!

I must say, however, that the experience really endeared me to my big kids.... I've heard many a social worker advise new adoptive parents: "When you get your kids, pray that they get sick. Not a big sick, but a little one... so you can baby them and take care of them."

That was certainly true last night. In all the hustle and bustle of the busy ER, I felt a stronger bond growing between me and my teenage son and daughter. Funny how a few dozen giant welts can endear you to someone, isn't it?

Someday, Maybe, Baby, This Could Break Your Heart.

2011-08-24T13:05:00.000-07:00

I'm parenting a child with a closed adoption. While we lack the connectedness to his birth parents, my son doesn't consciously notice their absence yet. He's too young. As a parent, it's too easy to take comfort in not having the privilege of negotiating roles, relationships, and rules. But the responsible, forward-thinking part of me looks forward to an eventual reunion between my child and his birth parents. When he's ready, of course, on his terms.

But... what if he's ready, and they're not? What if he knocks, and door remains shut? What then, do I say to my child?

When the boy I dote on grows into a six foot tall man, with stubble on his cleft chin. How will I look into the face, the now-porcelain skin turned rough; years of enjoying life carving delicate creases in the folds of his mouth and eyes? Can I look at him someday and see a grown man instead of the little boy I cherish now? Can I look into his adult face and break the heart of a man, knowing that the soul of my small child is still there, just below the surface?

How will my spirited, emotional son manage? How does it feel to be placed for adoption once as a child, and to be told "no" as an adult by the same family members that weren't able to raise you?

I asked a dear friend of mine - an adult adoptee - who had been turned down by his birth relatives in his own search. He's guarded. Not wanting to say too much, not wishing to superimpose his feelings, emotions, and experience onto my son, when he's years away from such a possibility.

"I... just want to know WHY." he said simply. "Just why."

Not good enough...I thought. To leave a grown man still wondering, still searching, half a century later.

I scoured our library. Lots of books on reunion. Stories of twists in fate reconnecting families. Tales of sometimes awkward, sometimes distant relationships. Of once-or-twice meetings followed by a return to the usual worlds. Booklets outlining how and where to search. Groups devoted to supporting adoptees and birth relatives on the road to reunion.

But nothing devoted entirely to refusals. Isn't that painfully ironic?

I Can't Run Away - A Bad Person Might Adopt Me!

2011-08-17T11:44:00.000-07:00

My son may look back on his childhood and say "What on earth was Mom thinking?"
I'm trying, Noah. It's just that sometimes, my good intentions and thoughtful interpretations, and my smothering style of mothering.... means that things get lost in translation. (Plus I'm as forgetful as ... uh, what analogy was I going to use again??)

Last night at the swimming pool, I realized post-swim that our towel was sitting, neatly folded, on the front seat of the truck. So Noah endured a pat down with sandpaper-quality paper towel, and a rake from the hairbrush because I remembered the shampoo but forgot the conditioner.

It's no wonder he went streaking from the women's change room at the exact moment that I was down to my underwear and looking - fruitlessly - for clean pants to put on Noah for the ride home.

I got dressed as quick as I could. But remember, we had no towel, so getting my soaked legs into my jeans took a few seconds longer than usual. I threw on whatever shirt I could find (inside out) and chased my naked son out to the lobby.

"NOAH!" I bellowed. (Oh no, I'm becoming one of THOSE mothers.) "Get your naked booty over here!"

Once I had my naked, kicking child under my arm, I tried to look calm and serene as I escorted him (hair unbrushed, jeans soaked, and t-shirt on backwards and inside out!) back to the women's change room. I sat him down on the bench and looked into his wide brown eyes. "Noah, what can happen if you run away from Mommy?"

"Um... I can get squished by a car!"

"Right. What else can happen?"

"Um... someone can take me!"

"Right, and then what?"

"They might hurt me. They might make me eat vegetables. The bad people might even ADOPT ME!"

Oh goodness, Noah. Please. Please understand that adoption is a good thing and not a threat. You're not going anywhere! Come to think of it, neither are your vegetables.

Donor Unknown.... the Next Frontier of Family Secrecy

2011-08-11T13:56:00.000-07:00

Donor Unknown: Adventures in the Sperm Trade follows young adult JoEllen Marsh on her search for biological half siblings, and ultimately her donor father. A New York Times interview helped identified several more siblings, and located "Donor 150", her biological father, who happened to read the article in a Venice Beach coffee shop.

The story raised questions and revisited some sad realities of donor conception. One of JoEllen's half sisters wasn't told of her donor conception until the age of 14. And while nearly a dozen children have been identified, it's believed many more were born with the assistance of Donor 150.

Where are these young people? If they chose not to make contact, that's one thing. But how many children are there out there, (conceived via sperm or egg donation, or embryo donation or embryo adoption) who don't even know how they came to be? Do they even know their story? Don't they deserve to?

We've been here before. More than a generation ago. And we look back and shake our heads and and wonder how our grandparents and great-grandparents thought secrecy in adoption was beneficial to everyone involved. What we don't all agree on is the fact that we're battling the same secrecy demons when it comes to children conceived via assisted reproduction.

The whispering has returned.
"Will you tell the kids?"
"You don't have to tell anyone, they'll never know the difference..." We facilitate that lie.

Families can choose their donors based on physical attributes - matching them as closely as possible to the intended parent(s). Choose a blood type, pick a cultural back-ground. Opt for someone tall or short, stocky or slim, choose the very skin tone, and specify eye and hair colour, and musical talent.

...and that's all fine and wonderful. We do a lot of the same thing when we choose a life partner. But if our motivation is to deflect suspicion that (gasp!) our children might not be biologically related to the parents who raise them.... are we doing any better than previous generations when it comes to secrecy and identity?

The Kids are Here!

2011-08-03T10:37:00.000-07:00

We're officially outnumbered by kids.... at least for the next 30 days!

Our students moved in early this week. They arrived looking sleep-deprived and mildly worried. We piled into the truck and they took their seats next to Noah - who, in truly uncharacteristic fashion, buried his face in his hands and refused to make eye contact with his "new friends".

So much prep went into getting Noah ready. We made sure he understood the stay was temporary. Words like "visit" and "a few weeks" and "a little while" were very common. I focused on the impact on him, and tried to prepare myself to make these siblings feel welcome and part of our family - without confusing our son that they were here to stay forever.

"Will it be just like a sleepover, Mommy?" Yes, I thought. He gets it!

What I didn't prepare him for was cultural differences. Like... knocking on the bathroom door before busting in. That was a thrill for him (not so much for the students) on day one.

I should have spent more time practising the kids' names with him - so he'd be an expert at addressing them properly. Instead, Noah's renamed the students Max and Ruby. He think's it's hilarious. Fortunately, he's slowly coming around to addressing them by their proper names.

The major humiliation came at dinner time. "Noah, please ask the kids what they would like to drink," "Okay Mommy!"

"Maaax, Ruuuby, what do you want for drink? We have water, milk, juice, and BEER. Do you want a BEER?"

Oh dear, Noah. These poor children will never be allowed to visit Canada again.

(Thankfully, they both chose juice!)

30 Days as Mom to 3.

2011-07-29T07:56:00.000-07:00

We're enjoying the thrills and insanities of parenthood. We are fully aware that our pride and joy is being raised as an only child. He has birth siblings, too, but in our home he's on his own. (Don't panic, Mom, we do have plans for more, and we promised to share when that day arrives.)

In the meantime, we thought we'd get our feet wet by signing up as homestay parents for the month of August. We had a few options... "proposals", if you will, of single children, paired kids, and a sibling group in grade nine and ten.

We opted for the sib group. A boy and a girl one year apart? What could be more fun??

And then it hit me.

On Monday afternoon, I will have three children.
THREE! Two of whom are arriving, jet lagged and missing home, from Korea. One of whom can't stay still for five seconds, and can't stop hopping in excitement about "the BIG KIDS!" moving in.

All three. Together. In my house.

Dear God, I need a minivan.

Thanks for Breaking Your Heart

2011-06-30T14:48:00.000-07:00

Almost four years ago, my husband and I fell in love with my infant foster brother, and a miracle happened. We got to take him home. There were tears in my parents' eyes when we drove off with him... mostly because it was THEIR baby behind the wheel, driving off with their first grandchild. They would never have to say goodbye.

In the years that followed, I felt the familiar twinges in my heart many times. Often it was while holding a new foster sibling, or curling up on the couch with a toddler who lived in my parents' temporary care. When those babies and toddlers moved back home or to their adoptive homes, I'd feel a slight sadness, but never any true mourning. My parents, on the other hand, endured grief at every departure.

I never quite understood that sadness. That is, until now. I let myself fall in love again, with another little person. I'll call that little person Sam. Was it the spark in Sam's eye or the curl of Sam's smile? The wispy hair or the way Sam's whole face lit up with joy when a favourite person joined the room? Was it watching Sam play with Noah, and delighting in the shared giggles, the doubled grins, and the terrific team they really were?

I tried to figure out... what exactly put me so head over heels in love in the first place? I suppose it was more than my reckless disregard for protocols and adoption planning. It was just Sam. Sam had nuzzled into my heart. And letting go of a little one whose hand is on your heart? That's the hardest thing in the world.

There's good news for Sam. A family is waiting to welcome Sam home. Which means the giggles I heard won't be doubled, at least not yet. And not by Sam.

My head hurts. I stopped and I closed my eyes and imagined duplicating this feeling. I imagined feeling it again and again. It seemed impossible. Then I imagined feeling it from the child's perspective. Or a birth parent's perspective. I couldn't do it.

Sam came to visit recently. Sitting joyfully in the stroller, looking up at me with a devilish grin and a sparkle in both eyes. "Hi Mom!" Sam greeted me. I felt my heart shatter in that instant. I'd always been "Aunty Sarah". No one had prompted Sam to call me Mom. It just happened. And it broke my heart completely.

As much as that hurt, I can only imagine the impact Sam's departure will have on my parents. They cared for Sam with love and affection for years until the perfect family was ready, and Sam was ready, to move forward. Not to mention how it will impact Sam, moving from the only home in memory to a new, unfamiliar place. How long will it be until Sam's ready to flash that magnetic grin and say "Hi Mom!" again?

To all our foster parents out there, thank you for breaking your hearts. Over and over again in the name of our kids. Thank you for showing your kids this love, and preparing them for the awesome transition of loving their new parents. After all, you showed them how.

Happy Father's Day to.... ?

2011-06-16T12:03:00.000-07:00

Truth be told, I don't spend a lot of time thinking about Noah's birth father. Perhaps because I'm his mom, I feel a much stronger pull towards his birth mother - even though we have comparably little information on her.

She carried my son, birthed him, loved him, and made an adoption plan for him. I carry an ongoing concern, endless gratitude, a fair share of curiosity, and a genuine worry for her well being.

But birth father? He's on the very outside of my radar. He's there, somewhere... but he's murky. He remains that way for most of the year. Until Father's Day arrives.

Every June, this mysterious person creeps into my thoughts.

Somewhere out there, my son has a birth father. He's not on our paperwork. There's a blank spot on the forms where his information should be. But that empty space doesn't erase the fact that he's out there.

Scratching for something tangible, I've tried to formulate a picture of him in my mind. Comparing Noah's features to his brother's, I try and identify his unique features.

Noah's eyes are distinct, so he must get his big brown peepers from his birth dad. His hair is a mess of curls while his brother's is poker straight. Maybe the curls come from Dad's side?

What's his heritage? When I look into his golden brown eyes and sweep the brown curls off my sons' forehead, I wonder about his ancestry, and his birth family's story.

I wonder what else has he taken from his genetic father. Do they have the same laugh? Do they both love soccer and hate vegetables? Are his many allergies something his birth dad also endured? What lucky or unlucky genes has he passed forward when our son was conceived over four years ago?

I have no answers. The canvas is blank. The story's not told. Somewhere out there my son has a birth father. Does he know he's a dad? Does he have any idea what an incredible son he helped create?

Wherever you are, birth father, whatever kept you from your son's life, I hope you are making something incredible out of your life. Your son is doing just that. Happy Father's Day.

Lessons in Blessings

2011-06-09T14:10:00.000-07:00

I'm curled up next to the window on the 8th floor of Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto. Down the hallway, machines beep and hum. Shoes clack along the linoleum floors. In our room, all is quiet as the warm summer sun streams in the window. Two feet away, my teenage sister Becky is recovering from surgery. She's sleeping off the morphine in the bed next to me.

We are so blessed.

Coming here, I thought this trip would bring a better appreciation for sisterhood, a new opportunity to "mother" and tend to the young woman who had grown from the baby I fell in love with seventeen years ago. I thought it would be about healing and reconnecting.

While those things are happening, the most profound outcome of this trip is realizing just how fortunate we've been in this lifetime. How blessed we are to have one another. How fragile our children are, and how lucky we are compared to some of the families who also call Sick Kids "home" today.

That realization crept in while I sat in the parents room during Becky's surgery. I claimed a seat in a corner, curled up with a venti coffee, and pretended to read from the collection of dog-eared magazines.

A middle-aged couple breezed in, sat down, and instantly started complaining. Their twelve year old son was having emergency surgery for a burst appendix. The father was busy rescheduling business appointments, intermittently apologizing and complaining that his son's surgery might impact the contract he was working on. In between phone calls, the couple said little.

I got up and moved. I chose the busy centre of the room. A young mother and father balanced two pre-school aged daughters. At one point the mother glanced at the clock and commented "Well, it's been 8 hours, we're at the mid-way point." She sighed, returning her focus to her young daughters.

While I wondered what kind of surgery could possibly take 16 hours, I glanced over to the corner where Appendix Dad was still on his cell phone. Appendix Mom was gnawing her fingernails in silence. The hours passed and Appendix Parents made their way to recovery. Families came and went. Another young couple sat down next to us.

Young Couple's son had cancer. He was only 3 years old and was having treatment administered via his spinal cord. 16 Hour Family shared their son's experience with cancer. His surgery today was to replace his liver (for the second time). Their precious seven year old son had conquered cancer, and was back for his second organ transplant. All this before the second grade.

As the families chatted, it became clear what a blessing they were to one another. Somehow, both families had extra love to extend to each other while their tiny sons endured precarious surgeries.

It occurred to me that the families who had endured the most, whose children were literal warriors in their fight to stay on this earth, seemed somehow more grounded, more compassionate, and so completely undeserving of their plight.

These families had seen mortality on their children's faces and defied it. I don't know if they came to parenting as fighters, but they wore that badge, and wore it bravely.

I'm not worried about the 16 Hour boy, or the 3 year old battling cancer. Their families knows what they need to do to help them win their fight. My concern is for the twelve year old with the burst appendix.... does his family know how lucky they are that this surgery may be his first and last? Would they have noticed the other families, and counted their blessings if they had shut their phones off and opened their hearts a little to the other parents in the room?

I'm not too different from the Appendix parents. My phone was off, and my heart was open, but my mouth was closed. I didn't share any words of encouragement, didn't help to halve the pain either family brought into that waiting room.

Maybe I sat there to learn - to quietly be reminded that my son, and most of our children, are blessed beyond comprehension.

Privacy Planning for Your Adoptive Family

2011-06-02T10:56:00.000-07:00

(From Rainbowkids.com weekly newsletter 2 June 2011. Available at http://www.rainbowkids.com/)

"Can you imagine sitting in an airport next to your husband or wife and suddenly watching them stand up and announce to the busy concourse: "Everyone, everyone, listen up. I want you all to know that my wife had MANY lovers before me, and man did she used to have a drinking problem."

Shocking, yes? And yet, for many families it is difficult to understand why a child, who has no control over the sharing of their private information (abuse, abandonment, health issues, or just being adopted) would feel small, weak, or angry when their personal history is shared by their adoptive families with others."

Click here for the full article by Elisabeth O'Toole on privacy guarding your family.

New profiles are up!

2011-05-20T10:18:00.000-07:00

A handful of new kids and sibling groups are up on the MCFD Waiting Child Bulletin!

Visit http://www.mcf.gov.bc.ca/adoption/bulletin_external/ to meet the new additions... perhaps today is the day you'll "meet" your kids?

The Grass is Always Muddier In Your Own Backyard

2011-05-18T14:26:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me yesterday, as I was stripping the mud-covered jeans, jacket, and saturated boots off my flailing three year old, that perhaps owning a back yard isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Some say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Comedienne Erma Bombeck noted that it's always greener over the septic tank.

Yet no one warned me that the grass is always muddiest in your own backyard. One of the biggest selling features of our place was the yard - green grass, lots of space for Noah to run around in, and NO swimming pool to give me heart palpitations from worrying myself sick.

We knew the yard needed a bit of levelling and aerating, and put it on our seemingly endless list of "things to do" to fix up our home and make it shine.

Yesterday "fix backyard" went from number 15 or 20 on the list to number 1.

There's a puddle.
WAAAAY in the back.
It's basically a pool of muddy waters.
It's avoidable.
It's not particularly noticeable til you are way out in the yard.

And it took about four seconds for Noah to find it, and take a running leap into the mud.

He has excellent form for a three year old. Olympic diving potential, I might even wager. He landed squarely in the puddle, and emerged, jeans soaking, hair covered in muck, grinning from ear to ear.

I'm not sure whether to sign him up for swimming lessons or simply close off the backyard until the drainage is complete.

Then I had a flashback to the day we met Noah's big brother. We went to the beach because both boys love water. And his big brother took a flying leap towards the ocean and landed - like a true Olympian - in a muddy tide pool.

Huh. Perhaps the need to launch oneself into muddy waters is genetic. Or perhaps it's something all little boys inevitably attempt.

I hope you liked your mud bath, Noah. Just remember, you might have a bunny for a wife, but that doesn't make you a barnyard animal. So could you PLEASE stay out of the puddles?

I'm a Mother-in-Law, to the Easter Bunny. Oh well, at least she's got a job...

2011-05-18T11:55:00.000-07:00

My son certainly gets points for imagination. Over the past few months, he's crafted an imaginary friend, who became his imaginary wife, who then took physical form in his three foot tall yellow Easter bunny.

Today his wife has a name, and Princess the Easter bunny has some interesting habits. Not that being married to a three year old human while inhabiting the stuffed body of a mythical holiday creature isn't interesting enough.

"Princess got a job, Mommy." Noah advised me last night. "Oh really?" I responded "and where does Princess work?"

"In my lightbulb, because you broke it, Mommy."

Actually, he's only half-right. His lightbulb works perfectly, we just happened to have disconnected it, much to his dismay at 10:30pm when he wants to play.

"Princess works while I'm sleeping, Mommy." Well that's interesting news. Because last week Princess was found on the floor piled up under other stuffed animals.

"Princess is snuggling with our babies, Mommy." Noah explained when I asked what his wife was doing face down on the carpet. "I had a long day. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep and she can watch the babies."

I smirked a little. "How many babies do you and Princess have, Noah?"

"Um... ten!" he announced. "Now I'm exhausted. It's time to sleep."

Great. Now I'm not only a mother-in law, but I'm also a grandmother to ten. I better get a flow chart started so I don't miss any of their birthdays....

Transitioning? The Kid is Fine... It's the Adoptive Parent Who's Having Trouble

2011-05-13T11:54:00.000-07:00

Last week we had the 'adventure' of moving from our two bedroom apartment to a house.... which might have been fun.

MIGHT have been fun. Large, dramatic emphasis on MIGHT have been.

You see, it had fun potential, if only our moving dates matched. Instead, we were out of our apartment on Friday morning, and scheduled to move in the following Monday afternoon.

I worried. I feared my little son would be vulnerable to anxiety about leaving behind the only home he remembered. I worried that dragging him across the Salish Sea to Grammy's house would create trauma when we came 'home' on Monday to a new house where nothing smelled or seemed familiar and all his worldly possessions were piled up in boxes.

I bit my nails for nothing. We spent mother's day weekend careening around Grammy's house, stuffing our faces with leftover Easter chocolate, and visiting cousins and playing with kids of all ages and sizes.

We went to parks and played in the yard and talked about our "new house" and all the fun we'd be having in it.

In the end, all I needed to do to assure my son that he was safe was show him the backyard. "YAY MOMMY! PUDDLES!" He was instantly at home in the mud.

Soon enough, he stripped himself nude and hopped in the tub. He ran out the front door and played happily in the carport. (Thankfully he'd been redressed before the public outing.) He had immediately claimed this house as his own. Infact, this morning, he announced that he and his four foot tall stuffed bunnny would be getting married and moving into the master bedroom.

Um, I'm glad you like the house, son, but you are not marrying a stuffed bunny and evicting your parents. At least, not while you're three years old and still wearing footed pajamas.

Four days in, he still hadn't asked about our old apartment. Not once. I tempted fate this morning and said casually over breakfast "So Noah, do you like this house? Do you miss our old place?"

He chewed on his scrambled eggs for a minute before replying. "Nuh-uh. Scooby Doo likes this house! A-wooooooooooooo!" Well, if it's good enough for Scooby, it must be good enough for Noah.

And that is GREAT news for this nervous Mommy.

Back in the Saddle Again

2011-05-05T10:08:00.000-07:00

It feels good to be back! After a year and a half as Education Coordinator, I am thrilled to be returning to my role as Adoption Support Coordinator for families in the Vancouver/Coastal region.

I'd like to congratulate Michelle McBratney on her new position as Family Finder. She's still a part of the AFABC team, but will work with specific families in her new role.

More congrats... this time to Yvonne Devitt as she returns to her position as Education Coordinator. Yvonne served AFABC and our families in this role for nearly ten years and has returned with fresh ideas for the future of our Education Department.

If you had Michelle, Yvonne, or myself on email, never fear! Even with all these changes, our emails remain the same - and our support to you as families never wavers!

I'm thrilled to be back! I'm rolling up my sleeves and planning some events in Greater Vancouver and the Sunshine Coast.

If you live in Squamish/Whistler area would like to see a summer event in your area, I'm all ears! Please contact me at 604-320-7330 ext 105, or email me at sreid@bcadoption.com. Let's get something together for our Sea to Sky Families this summer!

...And for families living on or planning to visit the Sunshine Coast, now's a great time to book your spot at the Father's Day Weekend Family Camp. Bring your tent or RV and the whole family! Registration required: www.sunshinecoastcamp.eventbrite.com

Zsa Zsa, Tell Me it's Not True!

2011-04-14T14:08:00.000-07:00

Zsazsa Gabor's husband, Prince Frederic von Anhalt, has announced his plans to have a baby with his 94 year old wife.

Don't panic, folks. The Prince is only 67 himself, a spry retiree who has the "time to take care of it". IT. Yes, he really said it.

Since Zsazsa lost her leg last year, injured her hip, and hasn't walked since a car accident several years ago (and, I'm thinking, since she's nearly a centenarian!) the couple plan to employ a surrogate and egg donor in order to fulfill their baby plans.

The Prince worries that, once his ailing wife passes on, he might get lonely - and creating a baby is a logical solution for the retiree. They also fear the end of the Gabor family name, and are racing time to produce a child before Zsazsa passes on.

I typically don't comment on individual families' plans to add children through birth, adoption, or surrogacy. But when the intended mother is nearly 100, and their baby plans are inspired by the threat of boredom or loneliness, I have to speak up.

My grandmother is in her 90s. She had her last baby later in life, but that child is now grown and in her 40's. It was so late, in fact, that my grandmother and my aunt (mother and daughter) were pregnant at the same time.

But even that's not possible for Gabor. Her only daughter Francesca Hilton is 64 herself, and would be - many would argue - a little old to be parenting a newborn.

My ninety something grandmother loves babies, but when her great-grand babies come to visit, it's for a few hours at most. After all, grandma is 92. She lived through the Great Depression, survived World War II, crossed the ocean on a ship to build a life in Canada, and is now enjoying her golden years in peace and quiet.

Shouldn't Zsazsa be afforded the same serenity at this stage in her life?

If her royal husband is feeling lonely or despondent, I have a few suggestions for the chap - now that he's retired and has time to "take care of" things.

1) Become a volunteer grandparent. That way, he won't have to buy diapers for himself and the new baby at the same time.

2) Adopt an older teen. Let the child decide if he or she would like to take on the Gabor name, and have a 90 something mom and 60 something Dad. I promise, adopting a teen will leave you VERY entertained and busy as you face the remainder of your life on earth!

3) Adopt me! I have parents. Very loving ones. But I'm in the age range you could be looking at for kids. True, Mom Zsazsa will still be 65 years older than me, but Dad and I will be close enough in age to get along well.

The one condition, of course, is that I get to keep my biological parents. I'll even take on the name Gabor, particularly if I get to be a Princess, and if it makes you think twice about creating a baby just to keep you entertained.

Generations of Toilet Training

2011-04-12T13:31:00.000-07:00

Before I became a parent, I had grandiose plans to have my child toilet trained by two, reading at three, and filing my taxes on his fourth birthday.

Perhaps it's the relaxed attitude of my generation, but we're into year three already and I'm still lining up for Pull Ups at the grocery store. Noah knows every word of "Once Upon a Potty", yet he's not reading, he's merely reciting the words from memory. And my taxes?? I can't even file them, so there's no hope for Noah completing this year's return.

(Noah, if you read this post years later, I'm sorry for "outing" you as a mostly trained 3 year old. But remember, I did NOT include pictures of you sitting on the toilet... whereas your grandmother has framed pictures of ME snacking on a purple popsicle while chilling on the commode when I was your age...)

I digress.

Back to YOUR toilet training. A generation ago, if your child was 2 and not trained, there was something wrong with both parent and child. One generation further back, my grandmother gained fame and posterity for "training" her children at 6 months. I suspect she may have spent a lot of time hanging her babies over the toilet, but she swears they were "cured of diapers" well before their first birthday.

Today, it's anyone's guess. We know more about the human body and how little bladders really ARE little and we shouldn't rush or shame our kids into producing ONLY on the toilet.

Even the way we train has changed a lot. This weekend we bought a whole stack of "big boy underwear". Some had cars and trucks on them, others had monsters or blue stripes. We bought a package of mini marshmallows to reward him every time he peed on the toilet.

After we got home, we called one of Noah's grandmothers to share the excitement. After the phone call, Noah proudly annouced, "I can't pee on my monsters or they will bite my bum!"

I was momentarily stunned, but Noah was delighted. The idea of inciting a biting frenzy on his bum filled him with giggles - not fear... although the giggles didn't work and he ended up peeing on the monsters before the end of the weekend.

We're getting there, though - slow and steady. And I'm happy to annouce I'm paying less attention to the calendar and MORE attention to my son's cues.

A co-worker gave me the best advice, and I'm taking this to heart "How many adults do YOU know who aren't toilet trained?" It's true - he'll get there when he's ready. And we can giggle about monsters until that day.

Nice Nostrils!

2011-04-06T13:53:00.000-07:00

This morning Noah went to the dentist. We chose a pediatric practice, since his many experiences with doctors had left him with minor "white coat syndrome".

Luckily for Noah, the whole office is a kids paradise: video games, play rooms, and an overflowing treasure chest of prizes to reward kids after their visit.

Noah bounced around as usual, picking up toys, peering in exam rooms, hopping on and off of couches as he awaited his turn.

"Wow, and I thought my kids were busy!" One mom of three boys commented. "Oh, look at his curls!! Did he get them from Mom?" She squealed. As usual, I just smiled and said "Oh, I don't know.... " A busy dental office with a bouncing Noah didn't feel like the right place to stop time and explain our beautiful family story.

Noah actually sat still for 3.5 seconds - long enough to allow an x-ray to be taken of his top teeth. The dentist remarked that his four adult teeth (on the top half, at least!) were all present and waiting to emerge in a few years. She asked if there was any orthodontic problems in the family, and as usual I just shrugged, smiled, and said "I don't know!"

I think the lightbulb turned on (or the notes in his file finally made contact with her scanning eyes) because she stopped, smiled, and turned her focus back on Noah.

"Well Noah, you sure got that beautiful smile from somewhere special!"

At that my frizzy haired 3 year old smiled brightly at the woman staring down at him from above. "Nice clean teeth, Noah! You sure did a good job brushing your teeth!"

With that, my son replied. "Nice clean nostrils, lady! You sure did a good job picking your nose!"

Now, THAT's my boy!

Where are Your Birth Babies, Momma?

2011-03-30T19:47:00.000-07:00

Noah asked me where babies came from this morning. As usual, I turned the question back to its inquisitive source.

"Where do YOU think babies come from?"

Quick on the draw, he very confidently replied "From bananas, Mommy. They grow in a banana and come out of the peel when they are ready. Surprise! It's a baby, not a banana!"

I tried not to laugh too hard.

"Well, babies actually grow in their mother's tummy." I explained. We talked about dogs having puppies, cats having kittens ("and bananas having baby bananas?" "-Um, not quite, son....")

I further explained that Noah was very special because he had his mommy Sarah and his birth mommy. Then we discussed that he and J were brothers because they had the same birth mommy.

He seemed slightly less confused - at least he seemed sure that mammals begat mammals, rather than springing forth from tropical fruit.

"So, I grew in my birth mommy's tummy. And then I hatched, and THEN I came to live with you and daddy?"

"Yes, my love. Sometimes babies can't stay with their birth mommies, and we were so happy you could be our son!"

"Okay mommy. But... where are YOUR birth babies?"

Oh Noah. I love you. And we'll get through all this confusion together in time.

I don't think I got the chance to answer him. He interrupted soon after. "Hey, Momma, I'm hungry. Can I eat a banana?"

Sure - now that you know you didn't hatch from one.

Father's Day Weekend Family Camp

2011-03-25T11:31:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1QsCqXJUO4&playnext=1&list=PLB1DB86EADB21F4DB
What are you doing Father's Day weekend? I'm going camping. With my 3 year old!!

AFABC is hosting a Family Camp on Father's Day weekend... and you're invited to join us!

Stay at Porpoise Bay Provincial Park in Sechelt at our group campground. Spaces remain for both RV and tent campers... visit http://www.sunshinecoastcamp.eventbrite.com/ to book your site and register your family for this fun filled weekend.

A few highlights...
*optional hike tour with Talaysay Tours(small fee)
*rock painting and scavenger hunt for the kids
*nightly music and marshmallows at the group campfire site... bring your instruments!

Spaces are limited in the group site, so book early to enjoy this kick-start to summer on Father's Day weekend.

Hope to see many of our families from the Sunshine Coast... and beyond! All are welcome this weekend.

See you in Sechelt on June 17th!

For park info and regulations, please visit: Porpoise Bay Provincial Park

Day 1 of 1/2 Marathon Training

2011-03-24T13:27:00.000-07:00

My first task was to locate my Iong-since abandoned i-pod. I found it at the bottom of my purse, covered in Cheerio dust, with a breath mint stuck to the screen. (At least it escaped the half-capped lip gloss that's been lurking around the depths.)

Charging it up, adding a few inspirational songs (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?), I set out into the dwindling sunshine on the empty roads.

My plan was to run until my legs or lungs gave out - but I didn't have the foresight to predict neither one would be interested in giving out - just giving UP - on that particular evening.

As dusk enveloped our quiet neighbourhood, I could feel the cold clammy hands of nightfall and hear the sound of defeat (or was it an impending heart attack?) in my ears.

Mid-way through the run my i-pod went flying out of my pocket and landed in the bushes. No problem - I hooked myself back up, brushed the dirt off the headphones, and went back on my way.

Then the battery died. Which was fortuitous, as I may not have otherwise heard the clicking sound on the pavement behind me. As it turned out, a new four-legged friend had come join me.

A long haired collie had joined me on my twilight run. Its owner was nowhere to be found - which was unusual, but not unheard of in our quiet neighbourhood.

At first I expected it to run off, but the dog stayed with me. I kept running, it would pick up pace next to me. When I stopped, gasping for air, it would slow down, or stop and look patiently up at me.

The dog ended up following me most of the way home. I just kept thinking "Here I am, out of shape, trying to run, and Lassie is standing by in case I need an ambulance."

Overall, day one of the training was a good experience!

I'm heading outdoors again tonight. If Lassie shows up, and she has a St. Bernard in tow, I'm taking that as a sign I should NOT be doing the half marathon!

Support Adoption & Sponsor me for the Scotia Bank 1/2 Marathon

2011-03-21T14:31:00.000-07:00

Help me help them... lend your support to AFABC and help support adoption. Join me in person and come run the Scotia Bank 1/2 Marathon this June 26th.... or put your money where your feet would be and sponsor me and Team Adopt to help support adoption!

Fostered... and Loved. Forever.

2011-03-18T16:03:00.000-07:00

I still remember meeting my first foster brother. His arrival turned my teenage world upside down, or at least knocked it off its axis for a few weeks. He doesn't know it, but ten years later, he's still impacting my life.

I think about him and the reasons why he eventually aged out of care. And I look at my son and think you're not so very different from that scared young man. And I wonder, am I capable of making an impact on another life? Am I ready to open my home to a child, knowing their stay is temporary?

Prior to his arrival, I thought I had this family thing cornered. Some of us were biologically related, others came home through adoption. But all of us were permanent fixtures.

That changed the day a young man arrived. He was skinny and mouthy and not happy to be moving into a home with so many kids. I was in my late teens and not happy to be sharing a home with him either.

He was only 12 years old, but his beautiful brown eyes betrayed a lifetime of adult experiences. Where had he been before he arrived, backpack slung on his shoulder, clothes and a handful of toys in a suitcase?

He stayed for about a year, even following my parents to their new home on Vancouver Island. On more than one occasion, he would plead with my mother and father, "Will you adopt me? Please? "

I've never asked my mom how much it hurt to hear those words, how much pain it caused them both when she answered honestly "No, I can't". Eventually, the boy moved in with an extended relative, but his stay with our family left its mark. In truth, he never really left.

A few years ago, I ran into him at the mall on Vancouver Island. I was there with my mom and with Noah - who at the time was snoozing peacefully in his snugly.

He came running up, smiling "Hi Mom!" he beamed. They exchanged a big hug. "He still calls you mom?" I asked later. Turns out he had never stopped - and that he was welcome at our home whenever he wanted to stop by.

I think I underestimated my parents' commitment to their foster children. I was humbled to see the love they had for their 'temporary' son was really more permanent than I had given them credit for.

I said hello and introduced the baby to him. I watched his eyes flicker when mom explained to him that Noah was once her foster son, too. "So you adopted him, eh?" I smiled, and watched as he quickly broke eye contact.

I'd give anything to know what he was thinking. Was it "why him and not me?" Did he still wonder why my parents said no, or did he understand their role a little better now that he'd grown? Did it make him feel less worthy, knowing that adoption was now an inter-generational part of our family? Did he feel like he alone had not been denied official welcome and permanency?

I wanted to tell him about all of those that came after him. The boys and girls, the babies and sibling groups, who were not meant to stay forever. The tears my mother shed when the children moved on, the grief she felt that no one seemed to comprehend or even bother to empathize with.

Did he know the pain it caused when she watched a child leave her arms and home? Could he guess how that pain was twinned by the pride of seeing "her babies" embraced by the loving arms of their parents? Could he imagine her joy when they went home to birth family or were introduced to adoptive mom or dad? Did he know she cried those same tears for him, had the same worries over his future, and keeps that same love on hand for him whenever he needs it?

Mom, you may not have adopted or fostered me. You "only" gave birth to me the old fashioned way. But you've set an amazing example to your children - ALL of us, whether we called you mom for a day, a week, or a lifetime. Thank you.

And brother, if you're reading this. We may not share a name, but we share some pretty incredible parents. I'm glad you came to stay with us that day. I'm glad you're part of our family.

Eyes Wide Open

2011-03-16T14:20:00.000-07:00

I had a long conversation - several of them, actually - with prospective parents who aren't quite ready to explore openness.

"We just don't want to deal with birth parents," one said.
"We don't want our kid to be confused or feel divided loyalties," another explained.
"It's better for the kids to just focus on their new family... isn't it?"
"Why can't they wait til they're grown ups? It'll be less confusing for them that way."

I've heard these myths voiced often enough to know they not only still exist, but also remain rather prevalent in the minds of many prospective parents.

There was a time when similar thoughts raced through my mind. Knowing what I do now, growing from what my son has taught me, I still understand where the apprehension comes from. But I can't accept those reasons for my son or our family. Noah's losses aren't compensated by the perceived benefits of his closed adoption.

At first, when we sat around the table planning Noah's life, the social worker looked me in the eye and told me some delicate reasons why Noah's birth mother chose not to remain in contact.

At first, I felt a rush of relief. I remember thinking "I won't have to share him!" but now, looking back, it was never about sharing. It was about keeping Noah connected to the woman who gave him life. The woman who could answer the questions I never could.

In time, my feelings towards birth mother have changed. Initially, I was in awe of her. For creating this perfect child. At the same time, I was equally confused by her ability to move on without the promise of a connection. I convinced myself it was because it was too hard for her to see her son call another woman "mommy".

That's where I was wrong. By presuming what her reasons were, I formed false opinions about who she was and what motivated her to make the most difficult decision of her lifetime.

I don't know her. I couldn't keep pretending to understand her motivations, and I had to give up on the fantasy of who she was. If I couldn't do that, I would have a hard time helping Noah through his inevitable fantasies about who she is and what life might have been like with her.

I quickly came to see that my presumptions about WHY were simply conjecture. There could have been a hundred reasons. There may be many competing factors that helped birth mom decide that a closed adoption was the best plan.

I have no idea why she said no. Did she believe the myths prospective parents sometimes voice? That her son would do better with just one set of parents? That knowing each other would add confusion, not clarity, to her son's self-image? Was it really too painful? Or was it a practical reason? One made by another or one forced upon her?

Knowing that I may never know, and accepting that reality has helped me move back to where I should have been all along: looking at this adoption from Noah's perspective.

I won't have any answer for my son when he says "Mommy, why did she say no?" But at least I won't be filling his head with my own presumptions of why --- when the only one who knows, and can explain, is the very one who's missing.

At least going in with eyes wide open will help me communicate openly with my son about his closed adoption. And if we can't have an open adoption, at least we can have open communication about it, as hard as that may be to accept.

Closed Adoptions in the Age of Openness

2011-02-24T15:05:00.000-08:00

Many of our children grow up maintaining contact with birth relatives. Birth family members might visit, or we may share our lives via emails or letters. It might be as simple as a birthday card or holiday greetings, or an exchange of photographs throughout the years.

But what about those of us with closed adoptions? In this age of openness, how do we offer a connection to our children who have none?

When my siblings were adopted in the 80's and 90's, each came with a tragically singular reminder of their birth families. My brothers, adopted in 1988, arrived with a pair of beaded moccasins. Their birth mother didn't know she was carrying twins, and had only one pair to pass on to her sons.

My youngest brother had a single knit bootie. Mint green in colour, with his birth name attached, scrawled in unfamiliar writing on a scrap of masking tape. Did his birth mother trace the letters to his name? Or was it a hospital nurse, hastily attaching an identity to the single bootie before it was lost like its match?

My sister came with a little box of purple and gold bracelets. They were tiny, and only fit her until she was two or three years old. There was no note, no card, just the purple bracelets swaddled in cotton in a tiny box. Her birth parents knew they were having a daughter.

My son has no such memento. His birth mother gave him the most beautiful gift - his life, but there were nothing tangible left in his hospital crib. I have nothing to hold safe for my son as he grows.

I don't say this with bitterness or blame; we celebrate the little we know of Noah's birth mother. I say this because I
am searching for a way to fill the void our son will feel when he asks about the woman who gave him life. When those questions come, I can only speculate instead of answer.

When my son asks - and he WILL ask "Mommy, did my birth mother leave me anything?" I will have to gauge my answer very carefully. Today, my response would go like this:

Yes, my son. Your birth mother gave you many gifts.
First, she gave you older brothers. So that you would have someone to grow and love, someone who looks like you that can be part of your life even though she cannot. Next, she gave you a safe place to grow - right under her heart, before you were born.
Then, she gave you life. And with that gift came the bittersweet decision to ask Mommy and Daddy to be your parents.
Today, she gives you love. We don't see or talk to your birth mom right now, but the moment I held you I could feel love emanating from your little body. That love came from somewhere.

Your birth mother gave you other gifts. She passed on her hazel eyes, her gorgeous cheekbones, her knobby knees and toes. I wonder if she has your crazy sense of humour, your giggle, or the quiver you and your brother share. Does her whole body shake with excitement the way her sons do?

I hope one day you can meet again. And see where that love and those giggles and that smile all came from.
We don't have baby booties or photographs or openness with birth mom. But she created him, this life unlike any other. I give thanks for him with every breath that I take. I hope you're out there somewhere safe. And if you happen upon this, know that our hearts are open while you walk your own path on this journey.

Noah's First Adoption Panel

2011-02-22T12:54:00.000-08:00

On Friday, I did something a little crazy. I took my wild son with me to speak on an adoption panel. We had the opportunity to share our experience with participants at MCFD's Vancouver/Coastal Adoption Education Program.

I did my best to bribe him. "If you're a good listener and behave nicely, I'll take you to the park afterwards." (See the picture above? He got his reward. The bribe worked... sort of.)

When we left that morning, my husband called out, "Have fun, you two! You'll either inspire everyone to adopt or convince them all to run screaming for the door."

Noah is a spirited fellow. Usually, he is rather angelic and sweet - the perfect poster child for adoption. Occasionally, however, he's a hissing, teeth gnashing, feral little creature. And it's impossible to tell when sweet, cherubic Noah will disappear and let his fiendish sub-personality take over.

Things went well at first. There was a little room next to the meeting space where another child was busily playing his DS. I packed Noah's portable movie player, and some toys, his favourite blanket, and a light snack. He settled in well.

Things continued to run smoothly until he met one of the social workers -a very dear man who's helped countless kids and families throughout his career. Noah took one look at him and declared "YOU ARE NOT A NICE MAN! SHOO! SHOO!"

I'm sorry, Stuart. I really am. I did not prompt him to declare that you're "not nice". I don't know where he got it from. I don't know why he said it. I'm just glad you don't take things personally.

The panel continued basically unimpeded, save for Noah's frequent visits. Every few minutes, Noah felt it essential to storm into the meeting room and help himself to chips. He sat on my lap for five or ten seconds, then headed for the door.

Once he exhausted the chip supply, he ate all the pineapple and every scrap of melon from the fruit tray. (If you're reading this, MCFD, please send the food bill c/o the Adoptive Families Association of BC....)

I think we had a good impact on the parents. Noah was a fairly well behaved little man; he put on a good show of honest three year old enthusiasm, and didn't have any serious meltdowns.

On the way out the door I whispered in his ear. Noah stopped, smiled, waved, and declared "Happy Adopting!" to the families in the room. See? There are benefits to the parroting abilities of your pre-schooler. If only I could remember that the next time I stub my toe....

Noah's Enchanted Trip

2011-02-15T11:38:00.000-08:00

Dear Noah,

Thanks for being such a good sport at Disneyland. You did great in the long lines in the glorious heat (26 Celsius under a cloudless sky... in February??)

I do owe you an apology, though. I'm sorry I took you on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. I didn't know they would be firing cannons directly at us. Nor did I think the flapping parrot would incite terror into your little heart. You seem to like squawking birds and unruly pirates when viewed through the safety of the television screen.

I'm glad you liked to meet all the characters. I don't know if I should be disturbed that the evil queen from Snow White was your ultimate favourite.

I love that you take direction so well from authority figures. I just wish you hadn't listened when the queen told you to blast any princesses you saw at Disneyland. Your merry little roar is cute for the first few renditions, but when you bellow at every princess - either the grown up kind, or the four year olds in their princess gowns, it makes for a noisy afternoon!!

Mostly I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, and made the most of this adventure. I love that you parked yourself squarely in front of Minnie Mouse's dishwasher, and declared that you wanted to wash dishes instead of ride the roller coaster.

I love that you watched the fireworks in awe, and looked at me serenely before asking "Hey Mommy, can I bark at the fireworks?"

Bark away, my son. Hope you had a wonderful time!

Love,

Mommy

"Mommy! We Forgot My Sister!"

2011-02-04T12:09:00.000-08:00

We were on the ferry, heading home from a visit to grandma's house. We were enjoying relative calm until Noah stood straight up and declared,"MOMMY! We forgot my sister!"

An old lady two rows over looked at me in mild panic. Nearby, a concerned mother - juggling her own three pre-schoolers, shot me a "I totally understand" look.

The funny thing is, Noah doesn't have a sister.

"What do you mean, Noah?"

"We forgot Allie!" he cried. Real tears. Or maybe crocodile ones, I'm not sure.

"Allie" (not her real name) is my foster sister.... Noah's aunt, in a way, except that he's two years older than her.

"Oh, sweet. Allie lives with Grammy and Opa."

"But Mommy - I want her to be MINE SISTER!" he crossed his arms over his chest, raised his chin, and gave me his best "I'm a teenager trapped in a three-year-old's body" look.

Great. Last month he was lamenting the cruel reality that he could not live with his brother. This month I had to break his heart again and explain that Allie couldn't live with us.

"Well, Noah, Allie is a very special girl. But she lives with Grammy and Opa. She needs to stay there right now, that's her home."

"But Mommy, she's MINE SISTER!" he insisted. "We both have yellow jammies!" -- he had a point. They both got bright yellow footed pajamas for Christmas. Perhaps that's all it took to solidify their sibling bond - at least in the mind of my three year old.

Maybe one day he'll have a sister or brother, or maybe some of each. And I'll get them all matching jammies to celebrate home coming day. I just hope - while Noah waits - he can stop accusing me of child abandonment on the ferry.

Luckily You Didn't Inherit my Soccer Gene

2011-02-02T14:32:00.000-08:00

This is my son playing soccer:

This is my son, still playing soccer. He is joyfully getting hit in the head with a soccer ball:

You can't see it, but he's smiling.

This is what makes my son so much fun. And what makes him a complete opposite of me, his (adoptive) mother. Thank God for the miracle of adoption and the genetics we do not share.

I played soccer for one season. I hid from the ball. It rained (or snowed) at every practice. My knees froze. I often forgot my shin pads, and ended up rolling magazines and stuffing them down my socks so it looked like I had the proper gear on.

I hadn't discovered the miracle of bobby pins. My hair took to the rain and wind like a brillo pad to warm water. It looked like I felt: terrible. I wanted off the field.

But my son? He LOVES soccer. ESPECIALLY in the rain. He loves running through puddles and splashing and slipping to his heart's content. Chasing that ball through mud-covered fields, slipping in the swamp that is our local park. He literally shines when covered in wet earth. His favourite memory is finding a worm in his hair one day after a particularly messy and muddy practice.

Me? I'd rather curl up in the fetal position, or drink gatorade on the sidelines than pick arachnids out of my hair after a practice.

Thank God for genetics - and not having them in common! I promise I'll be the best soccer mom possible. Not sure entirely what that looks like, but I will do it happily, even if it involves de-bugging you after every game.

Why Did You Adopt? No, Really, WHY?

2011-02-02T12:11:00.000-08:00

It's not an uncommon question: "Why did you adopt?" I've been asked so many times that my well-rehearsed answer rolls effortlessly off my tongue. "We fell in love with our son, and we were lucky enough to be chosen to parent him."

This time, the follow up question made me pause "No, REALLY, why did you adopt?" What - was my answer not sufficient?

"What do you mean?" I blinked, thankful I'd put sufficient mascara on that morning for my winces to make an impact.

"Well, why adoption?"

Oh. That question. You meant to ask: Why not biological parenting? Why not adopt a Chia pet? Or a road, since my municipality sees fit to make an adoption plan for them? Why not live child-free? Why not abandon all plans for white picket fences, mortgages, grandkids, and old age security, and head for white sand beaches in the Caribbean, the cold frost of the Arctic, or the sand storms in the Middle East?

"Uh, because we REALLY REALLY love our son, that's why." I replied, trying not to sound sunburnt, frosty, or parched.

"But.... but why ADOPTION?" she pestered.

I was starting to get annoyed. "Why did you marry Josh?"

"Because I love him, of course!" she smiled a little.

"Right. But why JOSH? Why not your ex, Chris, or Josh's much taller, less husky, better paid, older brother? Or why not remain single?" (Sorry, Josh.)

She smiled a little. "Well, Josh was the one. We just knew it." She was getting googly eyed on me... I was going to lose the point of my conversation. I tried to steer her back on course.

"See? That's why we adopted. We knew it was our path. And when we met our son, we knew he was ours. Others meet after the match is made, and that's as beautiful and romantic and meant-to-be as any Hollywood romance - even yours and Josh's."

Did she get it? I think so. Does it matter? Not a bit. I've answered this type of question before. Someone will pose it again down the road. In the meantime, I'll keep on loving my son. More than any sandy beach or Arctic adventure. I'll love him and his journey more than any other child or any other way we could have built our family. And DEFINITELY more than a Chia pet.

Celebradoptions

2011-01-25T14:45:00.000-08:00

I guess on some level celebrities are just more lavish, sometimes uppity versions of ourselves. They might be a bit more tanned, their bodies may be a smidge more plastic, their shoes might be prettier (and hopefully less comfortable!). Deep down, if you scratch the surface, they must be real people underneath... right?? I sure hope so, because often they have an adoption connection.

I was driving in to work today and the morning show host (Drew Savage - who is also an adoptee) - was reporting on the recent news about Oprah and her newly found sister Patricia.

They played a clip with Oprah crying, expressing her gratitude that her sister did not try to exploit her relationship and 'sell her out' for money. Not really the focus I was hoping to hear. What about "I'm so glad I found my sister!" from the 56 year old billionaire. I'm sure their joy was celebrated, too, but the media has this nasty tendency to cling to the potentially scandalous side of any story.

When she brought her baby girl home, the media zoomed right in on the fact that Katherine Heigl had adopted a "SPECIAL NEEDS" baby from Korea. If People magazine could print in flashing neon lights, I'm sure those two words would have vibrated in fluorescence.

What I'd love to see the media embrace are stories of people beating the odds... follow up with Oprah a year from now, and see how beautiful the relationship is between the sisters.

Find people like Emma Thompson, who morally adopted a teen from Rwanda. Heck, find ANYone else connected to Hollywood who has adopted a teen. Then give them an Academy Award, Golden Globe, Grammy, and a lifetime achievement award for their commitment to kids.

I like the glitz and glam of Hollywood as much as anyone else. I just wish they could bend their view of adoption into one as hopeful and joy-filled as mine...

300+ Teens Are Waiting. What are YOU Waiting for?

2011-01-18T15:41:00.000-08:00

Adopting a teenager can be a hard sell. I once had a parent ask me "Why would I want to adopt a teenager? I have one already. He's driving me crazy!" My reply was simple, "You can drop your one off, but you have to take two in return."

Most prospective parents come to us asking for the little baby (like my nephew Isaiah, pictured above). Few inquire about teens or tweens (like my sister Georgia, also pictured above, who is equally as cute as Isaiah.) For the record, neither are available for adoption, folks... but they do make good poster children!

But adopting a teenager? It's specialized parenting. It's a calling. Parenting teens is a beautiful gift, but you may not see full reciprocation for some time. After all, a teen in foster care has been taught that adults are there for the short term. Do you think some adults have commitment issues? Try convincing a teen who has been let down by every parent they've ever had that you're different & are going to stick around.

Teens are already at a disadvantage in a lot of ways.... they're generally (often unfairly) less than popular with us adult folk. They've lost that cutesy baby face. They don't "need" us in the same way that babies or toddlers need us. They use all the hot water and tie up your phone line. They might drop the F bomb, and it doesn't sound as cute coming out of a 14 year old's mouth as from a 3 year old who picked up the unmentionable vocabulary somewhere/somehow.

Teens are ready-made people.... capable of independent thought, and exploring their independence... but they still need a mom or dad to call their own. They need somewhere to go for holidays, they need someone to watch them graduate. They need a parent to call when they have children themselves and don't know the answer or just need an ear or a shoulder to cry on.

The sceptic inside all of us wonders, "Why would I bother? They won't be home for more than a few years!" Well, that's true. They won't be home forever. But the truth is that kids in BC age out of care at 19. Some US states extend fostering until the age of 21, but BC tells our youth that at 19 they are more than capable of emancipation and complete self-sufficiency.

My reply is: "How many 19 year olds do YOU know that are living on their own and functioning completely independent of their parents?"

I don't know any of the top of my head. I left home at 22 - and the only reason I did was because my parents retired and moved away! I was still in university at 23; most kids who go on to post-secondary either commute from home or live in residence.

For kids who age out of care and plan to attend university, the options are grim financially. I commuted for most of my degree and I'm STILL paying off my student loans as I approach my 30th birthday. How does someone alone in the world even qualify for a student loan? That's assuming they were able to graduate with grades good enough to continue their studies, given that they probably moved around through different homes and different schools in high school.

There are lots of positive things about teenagers, and spending time with my baby sister, who is now almost 13 herself, is a good reminder.

If you needed a good reason to consider teen adoption, here are ten to get you started:

1) We can program your ipod and dvr. (Or teach you what those are in the first place!)

2)) We sleep through the night…even if you never will again!

3) We will be ready to move out sooner…but we can still visit.

4) No formula, diapers or bottles required.

5) We can pick up after ourselves and do our own laundry.

6) We will keep you up-to-date with the fashions and trends.

7) You get to dress us up for the prom, and walk us down the aisle at our wedding.

8) We can show you new dance moves.

9) We will teach you how to be more patient, understanding, kind, and empathetic. And, most importantly

10) We all need someone to share our life, dreams, achievements, and holidays.

Ponderings from Parents at the Park

2011-01-18T11:37:00.000-08:00

and......

We took Noah to the park this weekend. It was a cloudy, cool Saturday. Despite the weather, there was a sprinkling of children enjoying the late winter afternoon.

One family played angelically with their two and a half year old twin daughters. Angelically, that is, until my son arrived.

Each girl had a bouncy ball that they passed gracefully back and forth between one of their parents. Noah bowled in and grabbed one ball, tossed it across the park, and exclaimed "Now, girl, go get it! Just like a puppy! ARF!"

I wanted to hide until the slide or launch myself off a teeter-totter. The dad raised an eyebrow and tried not to smirk. "I always wanted a son..." he said to no one in particular.

So me, with my experience growing up in large family and my insurmountable Irish bluntness, replied to his rhetorical musing with "Well, what's stopping you?"

"Fear." He replied simply. "What if we ended up with twin girls again?!"

I snickered. "You're talking to the wrong person. I'm one of 12 kids, my husband is one of 5."

He looked shocked and said "But you only have ONE child, right?" I nodded. "I think maybe I AM talking to the right person!"

We chatted back and forth about our kids for a bit. He continued musing. "We thought about adopting a little boy, but you know..."

I remained quiet for a minute. "I do know, actually! We welcomed our son home about 2 years ago. Best decision ever."

At that point Noah began barking and howling. "I'm Scooby DOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he announced. "And I'm going to get the girls!"

The dad seemed unfazed, as his tow headed two year olds were chased mercilessly by my boisterous son.

I'm not sure how we might have influenced his decision - positively or negatively - towards adoption. Perhaps it was just a fleeting thought, like "maybe we should climb Mount Everest" or "maybe I should run a marathon". Maybe it was merely a wishful thought, one that so many of us have but so few of us latch on to.

So park parents -- if you never get the chance to parent a son, at least you saw an excellent example (if I may say so, in my unbiased opinion!) of just how awesome parenting a little boy can be.... even if he howls and arfs at your daughters.

My 3 Year Old's View on Jesus, Bathtime, and Fatherhood

2011-01-12T14:53:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday, we attended the christening of our friends' baby boy. Noah fits into a peaceful chapel about as easily as a bull into a china shop, so we wisely took our seats on the far end of the church.

Evidently, not far enough.

"MOMMY! MOMMY! What is Jesus doing to baby Darragh?"
"Shhh... Noah. That's not Jesus, that's Father. He's baptising Darragh."
"MOMMY! Is Jesus giving Darragh a bath? I WANT A BATH! Yoo hoo.. Jesus? Bath time for Noah?"

Giggles in the pews, and a few seconds of silence....

Next came the candle lighting ceremony.
"What's uncle Connor doing?"
"All the fathers are lighting a candle for their babies. Now shhh!"
"Oh, look, he's lighting it! Oh mommy, he DID IT! Yay CONNOR!"

More silence. For three glorious seconds.
"But Mommy, you said Jesus is Darragh's father."
I smacked myself in the forehead and said nothing.
"Hey Mommy, is it bath time yet? I fink it's my turn."

The next time I feel confused about family roles (my child has HOW MANY MOTHERS?) I will remember our friend's baptism and comfort myself with the fact that my son is more concerned about getting in on bathtime then he is with determining relationships between everyone involved.

And for us leading non-traditional families, with members even we can't assign a role to, just be thankful that you have this complicated cacophany of loved ones in your life.... even if you don't get the bath you were hoping for. And if the star of the show turns out NOT to be Jesus after all.

I Don't Want a Sister - I Want a Dinosaur!!!

2011-01-12T14:27:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while, we test the water with Noah and ask him point blank: "So, would you like a brother or sister?"

Sometimes he answers yes, other times no, but most recently, he's vehemently proclaimed: "I don't want a sister - I want a DINOSAUR!!!"

He then proceeds to stomp around the house roaring like his ancient extinct idol, smashing fallen cheerios and threatening breakables in his wake.

"Don't you think it would be fun?"

"No sister! I. Want. A. Dinosaur!"

"But Noah, you can't go to the park with a dinosaur. He might eat you up!"

"Mommy. You are so ridiculous. He won't eat me up. I'm not delicious!"

So... he's three now. Diametrically opposed to acquiring a sibling. Inexplicably enchanted with carnivourous prehistoric creatures.

Oh well. Last month he wanted a puppy. Which could be easily enough acquired... at least I have no qualms or quasi-guilt for saying "Sorry, son, but you are NOT getting a dinosaur for a sibling."

Knee Pads, Helmet, and Ice Skates, Oh My!

2011-01-06T15:21:00.000-08:00

"Mooooooooommy! Fix my rice cakes!" (Not the usual request at the hockey rink!)

"You mean your ice skates?" "YES mommy! Fix my rice cakes!"

Noah's learning to skate. His aunt is a skating coach and has offered to help Noah find his stride.

I'm less than talented on the ice; I don't drive in the snow, I don't ski, I don't snowboard, and Lord help me if I get up the nerve (and the insanity) to set foot into bladed skate and step out onto the ice.

"Mommy, are you gonna skate with me!?"

"Maybe when you get REALLY good and can hold me up, okay Noah?"

He collapses into giggles.

"Mommy, you are too big! I can't protect you!"

Gee, thanks honey. Now... when your aunty is done parading you around the hockey rink, get back onto solid ground and I'll hold you while you'd little enough to let me.

I wish your whole life could be as simple as learning to skate. Put a few bumper pads on your knees and elbows, strap a helmet to your noggin, and send you out with a trusted adult to spread your wings and learn to fly (err.. glide, at least) while Mom cheers you on from the sidelines.

"Enjoy these years!" a mom called out to me when we were leaving. Noah was having a routine tantrum and I had to forcibly carry him out - legs kicking, mouth frothing, hands slapping.

I knew exactly what she meant. Along with the bumps, bruises, and toddler-sized rages, come the hugs, kisses, and unexpected praises.

Grow slow, little man. Some day you'll be big enough to teach me how to skate. In the meantime, I'm enjoying every day with you and your wonderful, spirited little self.

I Wish My Brother Could Live with Me.

2011-01-06T14:58:00.000-08:00

Noah and I were kicking the ball around the other day. We were talking about sports and how proud I was that he'd become such a great soccer player.

"Just like my brother, right mommy!?" "Yes, that's right, Noah!"

"Oh mommy, I wish my brother could come live with me. Then we could play soccer together. Mommy, if I ask Santa, do you think he will bring me my brother?"

I stopped kicking the soccer ball.

I knew these questions would come. I knew he would recognize the injustice that his brothers couldn't live with him. I just didn't think he's be so young, or so matter-of-fact in his questioning.

"Well, sweetie, your brother has his own family. They would miss each other if he came to live with us."

"Oh, well can I go see him? Can we go to the beach and eat candy and swim in the cold ocean?"

Oh Noah. Yes, my dear. I will take you to the beach and we'll invite your brother. And I'll bring some tooth-rotting candy. "Yes, but you'll have to wait until summer time for swimming."

Noah smiled at me. "How about a candy tonight? Please?"

"Of course!"

"Can I have two? One for me and one for my brother?"

"Of course!" He ended up with a handful of skittles and an devilishly sugared-up grin. I can't bring your brother home, son, but I can give you hyperglycemia if it makes the circumstances easier to swallow.

Thriving in Plain Sight: the Visible Adoptive Families

2010-11-24T13:42:00.000-08:00

If you scratch the surface of current adoption literature, blogs, and publications, you'll discover lots of opinions and suggestions for visible families. You can debate, offer support, lend a mentoring hand, or just show your adoptive love for transracial adoptive families in a variety of ways.

This is great news - every little bit of positive progression helps us offer our children a bit of extra self-love and reprieve from the stares and inappropriate questions they never asked for and don't deserve.

Many of our children are reminded every day that everyone knows (and many wonder aloud about how it was) that they became a part of their family through adoption.

Visible adoptive families are becoming more common, just as transracial/multiracial families are in general. The stares are still here, but the tools to manage them and celebrate diversity are growing stronger.

Things weren't always that way - at least in my world of white privilege. When several of my siblings were growing up as visibly different in our mostly Caucasian family, I didn't know how to answer the questions or respond to the double-takes.

Pre-adoption, I was blonde-haired Cindy Brady in our family of six kids, two parents, one overfed German Shepherd, and a five ton Buick station wagon. (Yes, it counted as a family member. It weighed more than a herd of elephants and had attitude.)

Enter younger siblings. Welcome unwelcome questions from strangers. I was fourteen when my parents adopted for the fourth time. (They said it was the last time... but they said that a lot!)

I took my newest sister out on the town a lot. Mostly to the mall with my friends or to the park, or swimming.

A few months went by and I ran into an old friend at the park. "Wow, I heard you had a baby. Let me see her.... Oh! So her dad's Indian? Cool."

I looked at my friend like she had three heads. Torn between defensive pride for my sister and distraught by the rumour, I had no idea what to say other than the truth. "She's my sister. She's adopted."

My friend (herself Indian) replied, "Oh. Why'd your parents adopt an Indian baby? Weren't there any white ones?"

I had NO prepared answer for that, only a reaction. "They adopted her because they wanted a baby. And... you're an idiot."

Probably not the most eloquent response, but it was an honest 14 year old reaction. Adoption wasn't new to me. My parents are serial adopters who somehow ended up with 12 kids when they finally decided their quiver was full.

Managing stupid questions? That was new. Thankfully, it's all part of the training for today's transracial adoptive families. Kudos to all those who work to celebrate, support, educate, and nurture the visible adoptive family.

And to my friend from the park who asked me a question all those years ago.... sorry for calling you an idiot. If you're reading this, yes there were white babies. You can apply to adopt one if you'd like! And if you do, I can help you prepare to deal with all the unwelcome questions you'll inevitably encounter.

Happy Adoption Awareness Month! Have You Been to Wendy's Yet?

2010-11-19T12:47:00.000-08:00

As you might know, Wendy's Restaurant is a BIG supporter of adoption. Their founder, Dave Thomas, was an adoptee. To help support and promote adoption, he created the Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption.

Although Dave passed on in 2002, his work continues. Canada embraced his legacy with the Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption Canada. We've welcomed Wendy's adoption programs in four provinces and collectively served 240 children nation wide.

Here at AFABC, we have two full-time child-specific recruiters who operate under the Wendy's Wonderful Kids program. Their work includes finding connections and permanent homes for some of BC's waiting children.

November is Adoption Awareness Month, and Wendy's helps celebrate. This year, they are selling 2011 calendars for $5.00 at Canadian restaurants. Each month features a different piece of artwork created by children from across Canada. Two pieces were designed by BC children, and all the artists features were adopted (or are waiting to be adopted) through the assistance of the WWK programs.

If you haven't done so already, visit your local Wendy's and pick up a calendar in support of Adoption Awareness month.

To learn more about the Dave Thomas Foundation of Canada, visit click here.

To learn more about adopting through the Wendy's Wonderful Kids program, visit the AFABC website or contact our adoption recruitment workers:

Anne Melcombe (Fraser Region) amelcombe@bcadoption.com

or

Kirsty Stormer (Vancouver/Coastal Region)
kstormer@bcadoption.com

Happy Adoption Awareness Month! Now go get your calendar (and a frosty).

Oh Brother! Openness.. with siblings

2010-11-17T15:20:00.000-08:00

I attended a webinar today documenting the status of adoptive families in the US. In 2007, researchers surveyed over 2000 families, and their findings were presented today courtesy of The US Department of Health and Human Services . Statistics were graphed, often divided by type of adoption: from foster care, international, or private adoption. (BC's equivalent would be domestic adoption facilitated through a licensed agency.)

Although not representative of BC families, the US equivalent is close enough that we can expect some parallels between our attitudes, expectations, and trends surrounding adoption.

On that note, I learned a few things that surprised me...

1) 71% of adopted children adopted through any program (foster care, private, or internationally) have at least one known birth sibling. Of these, only 29% were adopted along with their biological sibling. The remaining 71% of known siblings were either not available for adoption, available but not adopted by the child's adoptive parents, or there was no reason provided by the adoptive parents.

Let's recap: more than 7/10 adopted children have at least one birth sibling.
Of these, less than 3/10 of children with siblings were adopted by the same family.

That's a lot of kids growing up in different homes! My son falls into this category. So do several of my five siblings through adoption. It's not unusual, not unexpected. Any number of circumstances can prevent children from being raised together. Children may become available at different times, sometimes an adoption plan is made for only one or some of their children, half siblings may be adopted or raised by a family member that is related to only one of the children, the needs of a child may supersede their right to grow up with sibs, etc, etc.

My initial reaction was "Oh well, at least with openness agreements, many of these kids will grow up knowing their birth siblings.... won't they?"

Sadly, that's not always the case....

The percentage of US families who had openness with birth relative(s) AFTER that adoption:
Foster Care Adoptions: 39%
Private Adoptions: 68%
International: 6%
... this breakdown is for ALL adoptions, inclusive of children with or without known birth siblings.

Now... based on the number of adoptions per pathway versus the overall number of US adoptions, less than 42% of US adopted children had openness with at least one birth relative.

Clearly, some kids are not connected to their siblings (or any birth relative for that matter!) - particularly if they were adopted internationally or through foster care.

I understand the fear some adoptive parents have about openness with birth parents or adult relatives. What if there are safety factors? What if there are control or parenting issues? What about solidifying my role as parent of my adopted child? What about practical challenges, like distance between the families? What about personality clashes? What if there just aren't enough hours in the day? What if I adopted my child from half a world away? What if the information was just not available? What if I want openness, but the birth family does not?

All reasonable questions. All understandable fears. Clearly, openness is not an option for EVERY family, and not in the best interest of EVERY child. But when there are siblings growing up apart from one another, many arguments against openness seem to hold less weight.

What I have difficulty understanding is families who have the option of having a safe level of openness between siblings.... but choose not to nurture these relationships. I couldn't excluding my son from knowing his brother. At the same time, I'm heartbroken for my son, knowing he has a second sibling that we are not - at this time, at least - privileged to know.

Talking to adult adoptees, many have shared how much they hope for a relationship with siblings. The presumed desire to know one's birth parent is sometimes less pronounced than the desire to know one's brothers or sisters. What if we had an opportunity to give our children a relationship with their siblings during the time it should happen naturally... during their childhood?

As scary as openness seemed, explaining to my son that we had the option of knowing his brother but chose not to? That seemed infinitely scarier, and impossible to explain.

Thank You for Thinking I'm Abusive. No, Really - Thank You!

2010-11-13T11:54:00.000-08:00

We were back at our favourite hang-out: Children's Hospital ER. This was our first visit due to allegedly detrimental parenting. I say allegedly because I vehemently maintain we did NOT cause (nor fail to prevent) the reason for our visit.

Noah did was most pre-schoolers will do at some point; fall down and bonk his head. More accurately, his face was involved, but the results were scary enough to warrant another pilgrimage to our favourite Emergency Room.

I'd come in late from a baby shower, and Noah heard my key in the door. He instantly sprang to consciousness. I tossed my heels in the closet, hung my coat up and donned my mommy cape. Then I went to tuck him in.

After a brief cuddle I told him to hop into bed. Which he attempted. Except that he slipped on the body pillow we stash next to his bed (lest he fall out and hit his head - oh the irony!) and he did a perfect face plant onto the wooden bed frame.

I knew it was bad because he didn't cry. He just held his breath for a few seconds before letting out a pitiful howl. I fumbled for the light switch and expected to see blood everywhere or a dangling eyeball.

But I didn't see anything gory. Luckily, the screaming began and I carried Noah out in the kitchen for a full assessment. We could see the bruise forming, and thought we'd lucked out... but then we got The Announcement:

"Mommy! I'm going to BARF!" Which, in true Noah style, he promptly did. Everywhere. And then we noticed the dozens of burst capillaries all over his face.

So... off we went to Children's. Are we neurotic, overly cautious parents? Perhaps. But when your child bumps his face and then barfs, the natural worry is that he's suffered a concussion. I wasn't about to start taking chances with our little man. (He was fine, actually. But we're glad we got him checked out.)

On the drive in, it crossed my mind that perhaps the staff would suspect us of hitting Noah or somehow causing his injury. That fear was confirmed in subtle ways.

I was asked six or seven times (by various hospital staff) how the accident occurred. They asked verification questions that slightly altered my story to check and see if there were any inconsistencies. They even went so far as to ask Noah directly to explain how he got hurt. Thankfully, he's articulate and capable of accurate recollection. (He even quoted me directly, duplicating my tone of voice with my specific instructions about how exactly I'd like him to get to bed.)

I was really glad for this vigilance. They didn't have to bother, did they? With two hours waits and children much sicker than our son, it would have been easy to process him as fast as possible and move on to the next sick or injured child.

They could have bought into the myth that normal looking, middle class people don't hurt their kids. (That's something only drug addicted persons, or the mentally ill are capable of, isn't it? And all of them are poor or appear so, aren't they?) But the well-trained hospital staff know better, thankfully. Everyone is a suspect, and that's how it should be.

Our single-child household looked fairly comfortable in the waiting room. We didn't scream "neglect" or "abuse" (unless dragging your child out in his PJs at 2 am is considered abusive). I still had my dress clothes on from my night out, and Kevin looked presentable, even though I wondered aloud why he wore shorts and a t-shirt in November.

I was glad the cop in the waiting room didn't give us a break, either. She was there for another purpose - she already had her notepad out when we arrived. But she kept an eye on us that night as soon as she saw us walk in with our toddler and his bruised face.

I'm so thankful for her wordless accusation. In the adoption world, there are countless resilient children who started out in life suffering from abuse and neglect. Most came to be adopted thanks to the care and concern of teachers, social workers, neighbours, extended family - and yes, medical staff and emergency responders who keep an accusatory eye out for the little ones they spend their life caring for.

Thank you for thinking I'm abusive. Honestly, thank you. It reassures me you are looking out for all this city's children, That warms my heart even while you're determining if I even have one.

Jumping Jelly Beans & Mexican Vacations.... Just Your Average Baby Shower

2010-11-10T14:22:00.000-08:00

Typical baby shower graphic. Please note the presence of a pregnant belly,
and the absence of copy of approved homestudy/openness agreement/
and guests including adoptive parents, judges, social workers, foster parents, etc...

Last night I had the priviledge of attending a "celebrity baby shower" in downtown Vancouver. I won tickets from The Beat to attend a baby shower for their pregnant morning show host Nira Arora.

It ended up being a feel good, charity diaper drive event held at Absolute Spa in the Century Hotel. Guests got spoiled - free spa treatments, make-up sessions, and tons of fun party games were promised. The icing on the baby cake was a trip for four to Mexico. (Sadly, I did not win. I call conspiracy, but that's another story.)

When I won the event tickets, I called up a good girl friend - one that is terrified of parenthood and has no immediate, or longterm plans for motherhood. Perfect. We could talk about school or work or vacations if the baby stuff became too much for either of us.

I was a bit trepidacious because I hadn't been to a baby shower in a couple of years. In fact, one of the lasts one I attended was my own. Just over two years ago we celebrated our brand new, seven-month-old bundle of joy.

I wondered how much obvious disparity I'd feel between my own shower and the one offered for this expectant mom. Would the games, as usual, focus overtly on the pregnancy? When showers are hosted prior to the child's birth or adoption, it's hard NOT to put the emphasis on the parent-to-be.

I knew I'd be talking to other women - many of them mothers, some of them expecting, and honestly didn't want to have to explain to total strangers (or on-air personalities) that the reason I had no serious strech marks or opinions on VBacs or breast-feeding bras or belly bands was because it never applied to me.

Don't get me wrong, I adore pregnant bellies and newborn nieces and nephews and am just as excited to hear a friend's pregnancy announcement as I am to hear that a child has come home through adoption. The problem is, I have adoption on the brain, and events which highlight the differences between biological and adoptive parenting don't ease the adopt-o-cephalus I'm experiencing.

You see, I've been to showers where attendees must guess the number of linked toilet paper sheets required to circumnavigate the pregnant belly. I've been asked to contribute to a pie chart of pregnancy cravings. I've lent my wedding band to a party host who dangled my ring over an expanding belly, and feigned interest as she chanted something in pig Latin and rolled my eyes quietly as she announced, "She's having a boy! No, a girl! Um... well, one or the other for sure!"

I've played "pin the baby on pregnant lady" or, worse "pin the sperm on the egg". I've even heard of parents who've been asked bring baby photos of themselves and their children. The purpose? For other guests to match up mother-to-child. (Um, excuse me, if we're guessing based on looks the adoptive family is NOT going to win this round! Or maybe they will, if the point is to stump the entire crowd.)

I've heard guests exchange whispered horror stories of their own deliveries - "LOOK at her. She's as big as a house. Hope she's having an epidural."

I would like an epidural, please.

What happened last night ... was actually surprising. There were games, like match the celebrity to their children... but guess what? At least 1/3 of that list included adoptive families. There was focus on mom and baby bump, of course, but nothing that offended the highly critical eye of this adoption advocate.

Darn it, I actually had a good time! I even took home a spa gift bag for generating the longest list of baby items in a five minute period. 65 items, thank you very much - and none of them were specific to biological parenting!

So while I did not win the trip to Mexico (I'm still waiting for a jelly bean re-count, Beat executives!) I had a REALLY great time at a baby shower. Although I doubt it was planned this way, it was perfectly respectful of all types of parenting. I even got a free foot massage to finish the night.

Hmm. I might not need that epidural after all.

3 Months Later...

2010-11-03T13:59:00.000-07:00

When I last posted, I was itching with ire towards our local hospital. That was 3 months ago, and we haven't seen the emergency room (or the ill-educated admitting clerk) since.

What I'd love to post about now are all the adoption-related adventures we went on during our summer vacation... but those adventures didn't happen. Our adventures were just basic, outrageous family shenanigans.

At first, I hesitated to document them here. I told myself, "This is an adoption blog. People come here to read about my family's life, our challenges, our struggles, and hopefully, our joys."

What I wasn't thinking was the importance of including the non-adoption related pieces that make our family tick. And that's my point today. Adoption is a piece of our family's story. It's our origin, it's our past, it's hopefully our future, and it's my life's work. But outside the job I'm passionate about, and the people I'm fiercely in love with who have been touched by adoption, we're just regular (okay, I admit it, STRANGE and WEIRD but close to normal!) people.

So I can share my stories of crazy rainstorms in Ireland, and barfing on the side of a superhighway. And barfing while waiting in line at the Eiffel Tower. And badly translated ingredient lists (who knew there were two words for peanut in French?) on our shopping adventures in Paris.

I can let you in on the fun and not worry that "hey, this story doesn't help my audience figure out this part of the adoption puzzle!" It helps because it reassures us that families are families.... even when they involve individuals as silly as me and my loved ones.

How to Get Your Blood Boiling with a Simple Fever

2010-08-05T11:00:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Noah and I were back in the ER. He'd spiked a fever of 104F (about 40 C for you properly-educated Canadians) after tylenol, so we brought him in to get checked out.

The registration clerk took down our particulars and sent us over to see the triage nurse. She was fantastic - giving Noah bubbles to play with (i.e. eat) and engaging him while she collected his medical history.

Inevitably, the question of his early days and prenatal history came up, and I filled the nurse in on relevant parts of our adoption story.

We were sent back to the clerk to have a few more details added. At that point she asked for a contact number.

"Can I have his mother's full name, address and phone number?"

"Yes, I'm Sarah Reid, and my address and phone number are the same as what I've given you already."

She stared blankly at me for a few minutes. "It says here he's adopted. I need the contact info for his MOTHER. That's the policy. We need to contact her if something comes up later on." She smiled (at least, I think it was a smile).

It was a good thing for her I had a roasting toddler in my arms, because it shielded my outrage a little. "Noah has a birth mother. And I am his mother through adoption. Put my name down as the contact." (I carried on silently "before I reach across that desk and give you a personal info session on adoption and roles and what NOT to say to a stressed out mom in an emergency room.")

"Well, I know, but the form says I need his... you know, his real mother's information..." she started faltering. "But maybe you don't know it."

That was it. "Hi. I'm Sarah. This is my son Noah. I'm checking him into your hospital. You need a contact person, preferrably his mother. Hurray! That's me."

I then spelled my name for her and waited for the low-wattage lightbulb above her head to turn on.... it never did.

I went back to the waiting room and sat amongst the bleeding and the barfing and wondered briefly how many other adoptive families this woman had offended. Then I took care of my son.

On my to-do list: draft a form letter for medical professionals about the roles and responsibilities of adoptive, foster and birth parents, and mail 20 copies to my local hospital, attention admitting department.

'Despicable Me' Review

2010-07-19T15:50:00.000-07:00

We had a GREAT time at the movies last week. 'Despicable Me' was anything but despicable. The plot was ridiculous enough to satisfy kids and adults alike, with enough physical comedy and scripted humour to satisfy both young and old in the audience.

The mommy in me was on high alert, of course. Admittedly, the adoption piece COULD have been more authentic. Here's what stood out for me:

1) No homestudy. No social workers at all!!! Just a syrupy-sweet, stab-you-in-the-back orphanage director. Turns out she's a mono-linguist who melts at being called a donkey by a Russian-accented villain speaking Spanish to her English-only ears.

2) Insufficient background check. I needed 3 references (or was it four??) plus a criminal records check, and a physical from my doctor... nope. The villain (hero?) in this story only needed talented minions who could overtake the orphanage's computer system and plump up his past accomplishments.

.. and what I loved:

1) Attachment/boundary testing/true teenage behaviour realistically portrayed "You'll NEVER be my Dad" (from the eldest of the three girls).

But this is Hollywood, and a kid's movie -- about stealing the moon. So honestly, did I expect literalism on the adoption front? No, of course not!

Aside from the adoption side of the story, it really was a great little movie. You'll enjoy it if you have kids (or if you want kids, or like kids.... I hope you do if you're reading my blog. Unless you're reading this to reinforce your dislike of children, and if that's why you're here, shame on you!)

In any case, go see it. My little man giggled so hard and so often that he started a ripple effect during the quiet moments. (If you're wondering what those little yellow guys are at the top of the page, those are the villain's minions: the source of my son's constant giggles). Just hearing those giggles was worth the ticket price.

'Despicable Me' Preview

2010-07-08T15:25:00.000-07:00

You've devoted your life to plotting increasingly despicable schemes. You rule an army of pint sized "minions". You disarm your fellow coffee shop patrons with a futuristic freeze gun, all to avoid the dreaded Starbucks line. You've stolen the Statue of Liberty, although it's merely the Vegas replica.

At this stage of your life, what's left to conquer? What is an evil villain to do? Are there any mountains left unclimbed? Yes! There's so much more to life. So you plot to steal the moon... and conquer parenthood at the same time. (If you're going to be despicable and paternal, you might as well do them together.)

'Despicable Me' opens in theatres tomorrow evening. Who wouldn't love to watch a cartoon starring Steve Carell with an unconvincing Russian accent? Count me in, please!

Sometime this weekend, I'm heading back to the theatre with my two year old. We'll be reviewing 'Despicable Me', and deciding if it does adoption justice ( - as much as a cartoon about moon stealing and celebrated villany can, that is!)

The film opens tomorrow night, and I'm heading in optimistically, hoping this time Hollywood gets the adoption piece right. Already there are a few red flags: the commercials refer to the girls as being "inherited", while the film's website labels them "orphans" (which could be accurate, dependent on their history).

Given the storyline, I'm willing to offer the film the opportunity to redeem itself. What I love most about this movie, is that this time, the evil villain is the one adopting children. That's a lovely role reversal! (Usually it's the saintly unsuspecting parents who acquire demon children through adoption....)

I'm also quite pleased at the family's demographics. A single father, permitted to adopt a sibling group of three sisters? Wow, how delightfully progressive!

I wonder who did his homestudy, though.... honestly, if your current business venture is to steal the moon, are you really going to offer a safe, secure, permanent home to three young girls? (On a side note, do evil villains qualify for PAA? It might impact my future career options if they do...)

I'm looking forward to a light-hearted adoption story. Stay tuned to read if I'm over the moon for 'Despicable Me'.

Hurray! (And Uh-Oh). He's Getting it!

2010-06-27T12:18:00.000-07:00

A few weeks back, I made the wonderful discovery that children under the age of 3 are free at the movie theater. (I'm quite sure it's because children 2 and under generally aren't capable of sitting through an entire film.)

But we tried Noah out, hoping he'd do well since it was dark and the screen was enormous. And, well, because we had popcorn to bribe him with.

He did awesome!! Most movies these days are 3-D (or at least digital 3-D) and he even managed the required glasses (albeit upside down) for most of the show.

Last night we tried again, and I took him and my brother-in-law to see Toy Story 3. (Which, by the way, made me CRY!!! Something happened to my hormones when I became a mother.... so watch out, prospective parents!)

Noah and I were chatting about the movie this morning, particularly about a scene where an injured stuffed animal from a daycare found a new owner. (Details changed slightly for those intending to watch the movie & hate spoilers.)

"Wemember, Mommy? The stuffy found a new daddy?" I smiled at him and said "Yes he did, love!"

He thought about it for a few minutes, came back and announced excitedly "MOMMY! That stuffy... he got adotted!"

"Yes, he did get adopted, Noah! Isn't that wonderful?" I had to smile a little to myself. He's starting to get it! (Hurray!... and uh-oh). I'd better brush up on my answers to the tougher questions that are just ahead.

Happy adoption day, stuffy!

Canada's Citizenship Flaw... Oops, I mean LAW

2010-06-17T15:55:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer alert: I am not an adoption lawyer. I am not working for (or against) Immigration Canada. I am not an international adoptive parent, although I have the great pleasure of working with and offering support to many wonderful families built through international adoption.

This is my humble summary of a much-discussed amendment to Canada's Immigration laws, and what that means for adoptive parents, their children, and even GRANDchildren, should the current laws remain in effect.

(Disclaimer over, thank you.)

For inter-country families, one piece of the incredibly complex adoption puzzle is determining how your child will arrive on Canadian soil. Your choices seem simple: as a Canadian citizen, or as a permanent resident.

There wasn't always a choice. Prior to December 2007, Canadians who adopted from overseas (or across the border) used to bring their children home exclusively as permanent residents. Now, if they meet certain criteria and the adoption is completed in the home country, many families have the option of applying for direct Canadian citizenship for their adopted children.

At first glance, this seems ideal.

However, an amendment (which came into effect in April 2009) to Canada's new citizenship law , stipulated that the direct citizenship route would be open to children adopted internationally ONLY if

a) at least one of their adoptive parents were born in Canada
or
b) at least one parent became Canadian through the naturalization process. (Meaning, they were permanent residents of Canada who then became citizens.)

The goal of the amendment was to prevent the 'handing down' of Canadian citizenship to multiple generations of Canadians who may not have lived much (if any) of their lives on Canadian soil. But the law doesn't make sense for children who are born abroad to Canadians, or adopted abroad by Canadians who then raise these children here in Canada.

You might be asking "what impact does this have for me and my adopted child?" A huge one!

From Immigration Canada's website (emphasis added by yours truly):

Children adopted outside Canada who take the direct route to citizenship will be treated just like any child born outside Canada to a Canadian parent. This means that if that adopted person has, or adopts, a child outside Canada, their child will not be Canadian at birth or eligible for a citizenship grant using the direct route, unless the other parent was born or naturalized in Canada.

Children adopted outside Canada who come to the country as permanent residents and obtain citizenship through a regular grant are subject to the same rules as anyone born or naturalized in Canada. This means that any children they have outside Canada would automatically acquire Canadian citizenship, and their children adopted outside Canada would be eligible for a grant of citizenship through the direct route, without having to first become permanent residents.

Wait... let's run through this again.

Cindy is Canadian, born in Canada. She adopts her daughter Lily from China and chooses the direct citizenship route. Lily is a Canadian citizen. She lived in Canada from age 2 until 25, when she moves abroad. While overseas, Lily gives birth or adopts a child... let's call him Jack. Little Jack is not granted Canadian citizenship directly, unless his father happens to be Canadian by birth or naturalization. Unfortunately, Jack's father is not Canadian.

So Cindy is Canadian. Her daughter Lily is Canadian. But baby Jack is not Canadian, unless he becomes one through the permanent residency route.

So... what does that mean if Jack is born in a country where citizenship is not awarded simply because the child is born within that country's borders?

Little Jack could be stateless. Seem unlikely? Think again.... it's already happened. Although there is no adoption thread in her story, Rachel Chandler was born in Beijing to a Canadian father and a Chinese mother. She was denied Canadian citizenship, and her parents could pay a fine for having their daughter out of wedlock in order for Rachel to be granted Chinese citizenship, but why should they?

Sadly, Immigration Canada advised the Chandlers to look elsewhere for citizenship, or apply for a permanent residency permit for their daughter. (In this case, Immigration Canada suggested Ireland, as Rachel's paternal grandfather was born there.) See this article from the Vancouver Sun on Rachel's case.

While this may be old news to some families, it may be brand new to many, especially if you are just thinking about adoption or don't get paid to pay attention to citizenship laws and how that relates to adoption for Canadian families.

What do you think.... does the law create a two-tiered citizenship policy for our nation? How am I to explain the discrepancy to our adopted children, when it doesn't make sense to me as an adult?

Part Two: Would you Adopt Me? Anyone?

2010-06-14T15:30:00.000-07:00

First off, thanks Mom, for being one of only two people who offered to adopt me. Only one problem: I'm not so sure they would let you... given that you're already my legal parent. And to answer your question, Mom, no, I wasn't plotting your demise!! Nor was I fantasizing about you & dad's untimely disappearance, or imagining an unexpected end to your parental rights.

Thanks, Mom, for being one of two people out there who volunteered to hop in Michael J Fox's DeLoreon and return to 1993 to adopt me. (Seriously, who would turn down the opportunity to visit the 90's again? Oh... wait... perhaps that's why I had so little interest.)

I did have one other offer - from a friend in Ontario who said she would take me, but not all of my siblings because she didn't have enough bedrooms. Which is great, except that BC legislation discourages inter-provincial placements except for relatives or those with pre-existing relationships. And I think she might have been in grade two in 1993... so that wouldn't have worked anyways.

The reason I profiled myself was quite simple: I wanted to illustrate a point, one that many adoptive parents are asked to consider on the first day of their Adoption Education Program. There's a flyer out there called "Special Needs Touch Us All" and it's accurately titled: it helps us understand that every one of us, even the perfect ones, have flaws and quirks and a challenge or two.

I think I'd probably adopt myself, but I'd need a lot of support and counselling, and honestly, the sibling factor might have scared me away. I grew up with more siblings than toes on my feet, but I'm not sure I'm cut out to lead a mega-family. At least... not yet.

Last I checked, the largest sibling group that's waiting for a family in BC has 5 children in it. And yes, there are families out there who have adopted large sibling groups. I know of one family who doubled their number of kids in one fell swoop; bringing home 4 little ones to complement the 4 biological children they had already.

I'm not asking you all to adopt me. (I tried that the other day, and it failed miserably.) I'm also not asking you to descend en masse upon your nearest MCFD office and demand paperwork to apply for that sibling group of five. (It would be nice... but, nope, not asking you.... unless you feel the calling!)

All I'm asking is that you think about special placement needs as a chapter in a child's life book, and not as the title to their story. That's not to say I'm minimizing or ignoring legitimate diagnoses or circumstances. It just means, look at the needs, learn about them, and then look at the GOOD stuff our kids have to offer. And weigh the risks and benefits... and follow your head AND your heart.

Remember, you have special placement needs, too... and you're loved and loveable. You already mean the world to someone. If you let them, these kids might mean the world to you, and you to them.

Would You Adopt Me?

2010-06-12T14:36:00.000-07:00

I often wonder if anyone would have adopted me if I had been a 'waiting child'. I wonder if my special placement needs would have been too much for any prospective parent to consider. I wonder how many people would have clicked on my pseudonym and quickly decided that "Sally" had too much baggage, or FAR too many siblings, or more medical needs then they were equipped to manage.

So, I thought I'd try it out..... Let's pretend we're back in oh... 1993. That's a mostly good year. Lots of important things happened. The Canadiens won the cup, and the Blue Jays won the World Series. The US elected Clinton, Whitney Houston pledged "I Will Always Love You" and we said goodbye to "Cheers" and hello to "Frasier, Late Night with Conan O'Brien, and Beavis and Butthead" (I said MOSTLY good year, didn't I?)

It's also the year I turned 12. So... would you have wanted to adopt my twelve year old self? Heck, would I have wanted to? Let's find out:

Sally, born in November, 1981, is a happy 12 year old girl. This blond haired blue eyed tomgirl loves books and chocolate ice cream. Her favourite colour is neon green. Sally is finishing grade six and excels at reading and writing. She struggles with PE, where she frequently fails to hit the volleyball and conveniently forgets to bring her gym shoes. Sally can be a behavioural challenge during square dancing season, and needs frequent reminders that participation is mandatory. Sally is quite messy by nature, and needs constant reminders to clean her room.

Sally is part of a large sibling group. Six of her siblings (brothers age 2, 3, 7(twins), 17, and a sister, age 15) are also available for adoption. The hope is for Sally to be placed with at least one of her siblings.

Sally has type one diabetes, and requires multiple daily injections, a strict diet, and frequent visits with her healthcare team. She needs a family committed to maintaining this area of her health.

Sally's adoptive parents must be willing to have openness with all nine of Sally's siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents.

So.... what do you think? Would you adopt me?

New Waiting Child Profiles... Woo hoo!!!

2010-06-07T15:41:00.000-07:00

For some waiting parents, the day the adoption profiles are updated is a little bit like receiving an early birthday present. For people new to adoption, it can be the lightbulb moment when a prospective mom or dad finally says "Hey! He's the one... now, how do we bring him home?"

There are close to two hundred waiting children who are profiled online (and close to 1,000 registered in total across the province). Every few months, a handful more are added to the MCFD's online Waiting Child Bulletin.

On days like these, you get to read about waiting kids who are brand new to the profile page. If you're an approved waiting parent who can't wait to sink their (figurative) teeth into their newest family member, it's a bit like that first bite of chocolate birthday cake after a 364 day wait. (Some of us could do without the extra candle... but the cake is just as delicious as the year before!)

Here at the office, I sit back and smile and count the phone calls and emails that come in to the Waiting Child Hotline. Inevitably, there are more than usual in the days following the new additions.

It's a bit wonderful, actually.... knowing there are fledgling prospective parents out there, some of whom just needed a little nudge to make the call or send the email to find out just what adoption might look like for their family.

Sometimes all it takes is a connection (even if it's short-lived) with a certain child's profile, and those numbers are dialed or that email is sent... and before you know it, you're on your way.

I'm so glad so many of you have taken that nudge to heart. If you've seen a profile, or have been thinking about adoption, or aren't quite sure if adopting a Waiting Child is for you.... why not check it out for yourself?

No, we're not unveiling a photolisting. We're not hosting a meet and greet.... but we are inviting you to a Waiting Child Information Session.

If you live in the Vancouver or Fraser districts, there are a handful (very small handful!) of spots remaining in our June 24th session. For folks living in Abbotsford (and beyond!), register here for the June 16th session in your neck of the woods.

The best part of the two hour session? (Besides meeting one of the funnest social workers around, and learning all the steps and hearing about the kids?) I'll be there.... and as usual, I'm bringing chocolate.

So you can have your cake an eat it, too.... and best of all, you might just find a waiting child or two that would be perfect for your family.

Happy Welcome Home Day, Noah!

2010-06-05T07:42:00.000-07:00

Happy Welcome Home Day, Noah!

I can't believe it's been two years since you officially joined our family. (You were in our hearts for much longer, little man!) Looking back, it's been an amazing experience... and we're still just getting started!

I can't believe how little you were (and we all thought you were so big!) You've gotten so big and learned so much and taught us so much in two short years.

Enjoy your cake today, even if you don't quite understand why you're getting it. (You're so much like your mother; never question chocolate, just devour it!)

Happy Welcome Home Day, son! Mommy & Daddy love you more than you will ever know.

"It Must Be Genetic", Except that it Isn't

2010-05-31T12:25:00.000-07:00

So my husband has always had difficulty keeping bugs, flies, bees, sand, (you name it!) out of his eyes and lungs. As a young man, it was exponentially worse than it is right now. Things would make their way into his eyes in the most unlikely ways.

One time he was riding his motorcycle (complete with full face helmet, vents CLOSED), when a bug somehow flew up under his chinstrap and got trapped in the helmet. The insect got mad and somehow buzzed its way into Kevin's eye.

Another time he was out rollerblading and a bug (perhaps a small moth? We're not really sure) made it way into Kevin's mouth, down his windpipe, and into his lungs. I asked if he was rollerblading with his mouth open, and all I got was a filthy look. Apparently not.

The worst event happened out of the blue - quite literally, in fact. Kevin was walking up the driveway of our friends' house when a housefly flew directly into his eye.

Yup. A housefly. After the attack, Kevin made his way to the front door, rang the bell, and waited for his friend to answer. I wasn't there to witness this one, but as the story goes, Kevin stumbled to the closest mirror, and tried desperately to remove the offending fly from his eye.

You'd think removing a housefly would be easy. It's not exactly tiny. But, no luck. The little bugger crawled up Kevin's eyeball and hid out way back in his eye socket. Kevin panicked. He could FEEL the fly squirming around in there, but could no longer SEE it and could definitely not reach it by himself.

I got a phone call about five minutes later from my friend Amanda. She was laughing hysterically and could barely spit out "Don't WORRY, but we're taking Kevin to the hospital!" I was momentarily panicked until she explained it was due to yet another fly-in-the-eye.

At the emergency room, the clerk at the registration desk laughed so hard she fell off her chair. The triage nurse accused him of abusing the medical system, but Kevin insisted on being seen.

Sparing you the gross details, suffice it to say it took an extra long q-tip and a very compassionate (although equally amused) emergency room doctor to remove the housefly from Kevin's eye.

You might be wondering... what on earth does this have to do with adoption? Actually, plenty. You see, it seems our son has somehow -- inexplicably -- inherited his father's predisposition for getting stuff caught in his eye.

Kevin started it, of course. We were playing volleyball at Spanish Banks yesterday afternoon, with Noah merrily digging in the sand beside the courts. After a particularly nice dive, Kevin's hand flew up to his face... the culprit, this time, was a nice dose of sand in the eye.

The game was paused while Kevin went off in search of more water to rinse the offending grains out of his eye. Declining help (removing objects from his eye is routine business, you see), Noah and I stayed and played quietly in the sand. I looked up for one second before Noah let out a piercing howl.

"MOMMY! I got SAND in mine eye!" he cried. So, off to the car we went where I watched my two boys struggle at the same time with sand in their respective eyes.

"It must be genetic," someone laughed when we returned, eyes cleared, to the court. I laughed. Yup. It must be... except that it isn't!

Summer Events in Vancouver/Coastal

2010-05-27T10:38:00.000-07:00

AFABC is hosting and joining in a number of free family events in your community this summer. Join us at the following celebrations! For events hosted by AFABC, RSVP to Michelle McBratney at michellem@bcadoption.com or by phone at 604-320-7330 ext. 105.

East Side Pride
Saturday, June 26th
11am at Grandview Park, Vancouver
This is a free community event. RSVP not required, just look for AFABC at the event!

North Shore Auto Mall Family Day
Sunday, August 8th (please note date correction!)
12pm - 4pm
This is a free community event. RSVP not required, just look for AFABC at the event!

AFABC Sunshine Coast BBQ
Saturday, July 24th
Roberts Creek
1:30pm - 3:30pm
Register online at http://www.afabc.eventbrite.com/
Contact to Michelle McBratney at michellem@bcadoption.com or by phone at 604-320-7330 ext. 105

MCFD & AFABC Fraser/Vancouver Summer Picnic
Sunday August 22nd, 2010
Queen's Park, New Westminster
11am - 2pm
Register online at: http://burnabyvancouverpicnic.eventbrite.com/

AFABC Squamish End-of Summer Picnic
Saturday, September 11th
Time & location TBD.

Hope to see you all there!

Adoption in Your Cartoons

2010-05-25T12:14:00.000-07:00

Growing up, I didn't think too much about the portrayal of adoption in the tv shows I watched. Adoption wasn't even on my radar until I was six and the first two of my five siblings were welcomed home.

I do, however, recall my devotion to the kids' show Punky Brewster. Although I raised an eyebrow at the fact that she was being raised by an elderly man instead of a young mom and/or dad....what puzzled me most was why she insisted on mismatched socks and shoes.

As incredulous as her story was (a young girl who starts out surviving on her own in an abandoned apartment), it did have some good adoption lessons. Her best friend was being raised by her grandmother (showing another thriving type of non-nuclear family). Punky did well under the grumpy yet loving eye of her elderly foster father. And it was presented in a way that it didn't seem impossible or strange... it was just this little girl's story. At least, in the way my childhood memory recalls it it was perfectly normal.

Now that I'm twenty something years older and a mom myself, I'm looking carefully at the programs my son is watching. And not just for the usual reasons (violence, language, etc.). I want to make sure his life and our family is respected along with every other kind. So imagine my surprise when a cartoon about dinosaurs would set a really positive example of adoption.

Noah loves dinosaurs. He also loves trains. Television programmers know these are two pretty common denominators for little people.... so PBS came out with a program called Dinosaur Train.

Noah watches it while we're getting ready in the morning, so I don't typically sit down with him and enjoy the preschool programming from start to finish. I couldn't help but notice that a pteranodon mother (think winged dinosaur) happened to be raising four children; three little pteranodons and a bright orange T-rex named Buddy.

Eventually I got the chance to figure out how this happened. According to the introduction, a T-rex egg mysteriously found its way into a pteranodon nest, and the mother (though surprised at her offspring) immediately accepted him for who he was an raised him as if she gave birth... er, laid him like her other three children.

It's nice to see a positive representation of adoption.... even though the producers failed to address the obvious: would a baby T-rex really be able to resist devouring his siblings? Ah, well, that's the magic of television for you!

To Noah's Birth Mom on Mother's Day

2010-05-09T16:02:00.000-07:00

I never got the chance to thank you for the little boy we share. For the trust your heart had that strangers could love your son with the same intensity that you do. Thank you for giving him all that he needed to get started in this beautiful world. Noah came to us brimming with love, and I know it was from you. I know you would be very proud of him today.

I wish there was a way for you to meet him, to see his smile, the way his face lights up and his eyes sparkle. The little dimple in his chin. The brilliance of his hazel eyes. They are the same colour as his big brother's... we're told he got them from you. I wonder if he has your laugh, your sense of humour, your personality.

I hope you know that the son we share is loved beyond measure. That he knows his story; that somewhere, his birth mother is thinking about him, and loving him. We're here, too. Thinking about you today and wishing you love and peace, wherever you might be.

Happy Mother's Day.

Actual News Headline: "Adopted Daughter Charged with Killing Mom"

2010-05-08T18:02:00.000-07:00

Well, this is not the headline an adoptive mother wants to see. This is not the headline an adoptive mother wants her CHILDREN to see. This is not the headline anyone touched by adoption wants to see. This type of headline simply shouldn't be.

The story itself is tragic - a middle aged woman was arrested and charged in the killing of her elderly mother. A terrible, sordid allegation. I just don't see why the adoption detail needed to be included. It certainly does nothing to help the case of BC's Waiting kids (who, by the way, are not killers in the making!)

When I first saw the story, I sat down and wrote a thoughtful but direct email to the story's editor (see below).

Then I googled the name of the accused, to see how many other headlines popped up. Every.single.article. included the fact that she was adopted. How disappointing.

I'm only glad my son is too young to understand this article - it gives me time to notify the editor of every newspaper that ran the story's irrelevant detail a chance to think about their word choice (oh dear, you can tell I'm parenting a toddler, can't you?) before he's old enough to understand.

An excerpt from the little note I sent to the local paper. If the headline bothers you, feel free to modify my letter and send it along as your own:

Dear Editor,

As an adoptive mother, and sibling to five through the miracle of adoption, I find it upsetting that you needed to include the fact that Vancouver's latest accused murderer committed her crime against her adoptive mother.

Were you taken in by the Hollywood myth of the recent flop horror movie "Orphan"? Do you believe that children who join their families through adoption have a predisposed tendency to kill their parents? Or are you simply trying to illustrate that a good woman - the widow of a police constable - fell victim to the violent rage (allegedly, of course) of her daughter, and, oh, and by the way, it was perpetrated by the child she adopted?

It's estimated that one in three Canadians are touched by adoption - meaning they, or someone they know dearly, came to their family through this ancient custom. Ever year, BC families welcome over 600 children into their homes. 50 or so are adopted at birth through licensed agencies. About 300 come internationally, from countries like China, or Haiti, or simply across the border from the US. And 300 are adopted from foster care through BC's Waiting Child program.

Perhaps you haven't heard any successful adoption stories. Or perhaps you have, but don't know that adoption is part of the story. I have six examples in my immediate family alone, all welcomed through foster care adoption. Newspaper headlines like yours, however, with their negative undertones about adoption, don't help the situation for BC's Waiting kids. Each year, 300 are adopted, but there are 700 more who wait... sometimes never getting that chance at a forever family.

If you'd like to learn the real story about adoption, or perhaps do an article on one of the many success stories (kids who DON'T grow up to murder their parents, for instance), it's worth a visit to www.bcadopt.com, and www.mcf.gov.bc.ca/adoption. Perhaps you can turn at least one person's mind towards believing in adoption. Who knows, it might even be your own.

Sincerely,

Sarah Reid
Mother to a 2.5 year old, 36 pounds of curly haired bliss & sister to five.. all welcomed joyfully through adoption.

"ARE" (No, Not a Pirate Noise, an Adoption Event)

2010-05-06T23:54:00.000-07:00

A few of us from AFABC attended an Adoption Resource Exchange today. About 15 kids (or siblings groups) were profiled, and over a hundred prospective parents joined in. AFABC was there to support our families who were in attendance (and of course provide our legendary chocolate cookies).

You might be wondering "What's an Adoption Resource Exchange?" -- not too long ago, I wondered that, too! It's basically a matching event for prospective adoptive parents who have completed their homestudies and are waiting to be matched. They come together along with their adoption workers, to hear from guardianship workers about some of the children in care who are looking for families. There's time for networking with other families and with social workers, and plenty of time to ask questions about the kids who are being profiled.

It's a pretty powerful event for all involved. It's one thing to read a description of a waiting child on the MCFD website; it's another thing entirely to watch a video recording of the same child and have the privilege of watching them shine.

There's only one way into an ARE, and that's to be invited by your social worker. And if your social worker doesn't invite you, ask them to!!! The ARE is open to both MCFD and Agency families, provided your complete, up-to-date homestudy is Ministry-approved and you are waiting for a match.

Some families attend and discover that several of the kids or siblings groups being profiled meet their family's criteria. That's wonderful! Others attend and find that none of the children are a match. That's okay, too. I like to remind families that even if you *don't* find a match from attending an ARE, you've still had the opportunity to witness what BC's Waiting Children are all about.

Equally important is the opportunity to have your family's profile handed directly to Ministry guardianship workers - the professionals who will have arguably the biggest role in determining which family is right for each child on their caseload. A few guardianship workers who were *not* profiling children attended just for the opportunity to meet prospective parents. That's a pretty stellar thing for a social worker to do; taking a whole day out of their work week solely to meet with prospective parents.

If you missed out on today's ARE and would like to attend, the next one will be sometime this fall. Put the bug in your social worker's ear that you'd like an invite.... and I'll look forward to seeing you at the next one!

The "Perfect Child" Myth

2010-04-24T09:31:00.000-07:00

Experts warn prospective parents that in adoption, there is no "perfect child". They tell you that adoption is based on grief & loss (which it is) and we have to "give up" our expectations of the fictional idealized birth child. You know the one I'm talking about; the heaven-sent cherub with perfectly sculptured features, the brilliance of Einstein, the poetry of Shakespeare, and your family nose or laugh or your partner's eyes. What they don't always tell you is that the "perfect child" doesn't exist, even in birth families.

We're further warned that being adopted means coming with the dreaded "Special Placement Needs". That they might need help in certain areas, or supports, or different life plans. Or come with a sibling, or need extra time to attach. Oh, the horror. (please note my sarcasm)

When I heard that speech, I remember thinking distinctly "That's GARBAGE. Why would I want to pass on my family nose!?!?" That's not to say we haven't dreamed of having a biological child. Most people do. It just means that choosing adoption didn't feel like such a shift from what we envisioned in the first place. In fact, when we welcomed our son home, we sat smugly and thought "Well, if adoption isn't about receiving the perfect child, somebody out there missed the memo!"

In time we learned -- like all parents do, that our child indeed was not perfect. But he was perfect for US and our family. He's hilarious and witty and charming and naughty and spirited and... well, perfection.

When I talk to prospective parents who are grieving their infertility, I try and help them be open to the idea that - after they'd worked through their grief and were ready - adoption didn't have to feel like a consolation prize. Some families - mine included, planned to adopt before we ever entertained the idea of a biological family. Our son saw to that himself, when he claimed me as his mother and stole my heart over two years ago.

I guess I'll never understand the myth of the "perfect child" when I look at my little one and know unquestionably that he was meant to be our son. For those of you who are waiting, or wondering, or just plain bewildered about the possibility, consider these wise words:

"We get the kids we deserve." - which is a lovely left-handed compliment. It basically means, no one is perfect, but somewhere out there, is the "almost" perfect person who's been waiting for someone just like you.

God Help Us. He Can Open the Deadbolt.

2010-04-16T09:12:00.000-07:00

We knew this day was coming - the day when our bright-eyed little man would finally be tall enough and dexterous enough to manipulate the deadbolt on our front door. We live in an apartment -- which buys us few seconds before he can get to the elevator. If he gets that far alone he could easily adventure himself onto other floors or arrive in the lobby with easy access to the street. (He has no problem pushing the right buttons... on elevators and mothers alike!)

Anyways, a few days ago, he mastered the deadbolt task. He had a look of pure delight on his face when the lock released and he found himself free! Noah ran gleefully into the hallway, exclaiming "I Get out! I be naughty! Hurray!"

Yesterday, however, he went too far. I dared to use the restroom last night, and in my absence, Noah crashed the baby gate we use to keep the master bedroom 'off limits'. In thirty seconds, he'd helped himself to a small key and was swiftly headed towards the front door.

He didn't realized I had been watching him in silence since my return to hawk-like supervision. So I just stood behind him and followed him.

He opened the deadbolt.
He let out a maniacal laugh. (I only wish I was kidding.)
He opened the door and looked left and right.
"Hello? Where is everybody?" he chirped.

Then he bolted. I followed, and watched him sprint towards the end of the hallway.

Key in hand, he stood on his tiptoes and popped the key into the lock of our neighbour's apartment. "I go visit Gloria!" he said to himself.

"Uh, not tonight, Noah." I said, raining on his parade. He looked a little sheepish but was deliciously unrepentant. "I find a key, I go visit! I LOCK MOMMY OUT!"

Was that... a threat? Dear God, he can open the deadbolt. In theory, he could leave me stranded in the hallway.

I love my two year old... but today we're going to the hardware store for a chain lock that he CAN'T reach to let himself out. And we're hiding our keys so he can't break into the neighbour's apartment!

You Got a Friend in Me ~ (Either that, or in the Chihuahua)

2010-04-03T11:57:00.000-07:00

Noah has a new favourite movie -- the Disney/Pixar classic Toy Story. I quite like it, too, since I remember watching it with my youngest siblings when THEY were Noah's age. It's a cute little movie, and my son's already singing "You got a friend in me" to people and pets and plant life alike.

Noah's not sure yet if he's in camp Woody or camp Buzz, but he has picked up on certain plot elements. He then applies them to his own life, which is rather unsettling (and reinforces our commitment to NOT let him watch Rambo until he's 25, despite his constant pleading.)

Yesterday morning when I popped him in the bath, he inspected the bottom of his foot. "Whatcha doing, Noah?" I asked. "Mommy or daddy writed der name on me? Hmm? Hmm?" Oh dear. Perhaps we should have, like Andy did to Buzz and Woody in his new movie. This wasn't in the adoption education training I took.... but I grabbed a bath crayon anyways. I got as far as drawing an orange "M" on the sole of my son's foot before the tickle factor spoiled my plans to "claim" Noah by marking him as mine.

Despite getting off on the right foot, my love of Toy Story would turn to loathing later that afternoon. "Mommy, you gotta moving buddy?" Noah asked. (In Toy Story, all the toys choose a 'moving buddy' in an effort to keep everyone accounted for when the human family moves.) I thought "oh, how sweet." I smiled at my son and said "Noah, we're not moving, but if we do someday, do you want to be my moving buddy?"

He thought about it for a moment and shook his head "No, DADDY's my moving buddy." Fair enough, I thought. But I challenged his loyalty anyways... "Who's gonna be mommy's moving buddy then?"

And Noah pondered my question thoughtfully. "Mommy, you can have SANCHO." Which would be fine, except that Sancho is our neighbour's four pound chihuahua. Gee. Thanks, Noah.

Out of Birth Order does not equal Disorder

2010-03-23T23:28:00.000-07:00

I've had a few contacts recently on the topic of birth order and adoption. Questions and comments on the subject ranged from "Can we do it?" (Meaning, is it permissible?) to "Could we do it?" (Meaning, is it advisable?) to "Why WOULD we do it?" and "Why wouldn't we?"

Word on the street and in some adoptive circles is that out-of-birth order adoptions are... quite bluntly... out of order. Toying with the natural pecking order in a family can't be ideal.... could it?

Given the right families, the right children, and the right supports, out of birth order placements can and have succeeded.

"Wow, that seems like a lot of work," you might say. And it is. But guess what? Adoptive parenting is a lot of work. (Good, immensely rewarding, important work, but lots of it!) Being a child in an adoptive family requires tenacity, and thoughtful preparation on the part of the adults involved. These challenges don't scare us away.

We've proven our adaptability right from the start. As adoptive families we take on many challenging and rewarding roles. All members of the family must work together and celebrate our diversity. We walk proudly as conspicuous transracial families. We parent children with (GASP!) special placement needs. We tackle grief and loss, we take on attachment, we help our children heal from past abuse or neglect. We foster openness. We don't just survive, we thrive.

Basically, we rock. It's just too bad they don't hand out super hero capes to each family member every time we welcome a new child home.

We're given all these special roles as adoptive family members. And yet.... somewhere along the line, the mystical "they" decided (through scientific research and careful consultation) that parenting children out of birth order is a BAD idea. In effect, stating that our shoulders are broad enough to bear the challenges of adoptive parenting.... but that messing with birth order was, simply, too much of a burden for the parents or children to bear.

I had a lot of trouble defending that research in light of the families I know who have defied its findings. Larger families especially seem to have an easier time of welcoming an "out of birth order" sibling into the fold.

One of the major arguments is that it upsets the roles of children (both the new members and the 'old'). Well, doesn't that happen ANY time you add a child? The youngest becomes the oldest, or the middle. The newly adopted child may have been the youngest, oldest, or only in their birth or foster home. Being adopted may mean they assume a different position in their new family constellation. Blended families bring kids of all ages together under one roof, and those families thrive successfully, too.

If you've bucked the birth order in your adoptive family, let us know. I'm willing to bet they happen, and happen successfully, more often than we hear.

Ah, Nuts! More Fun & Games at Children's Hospital ER

2010-03-19T00:15:00.000-07:00

I know, you know, friends know, our family knows... heck, the whole WORLD knows that Noah is allergic to peanuts. He wears his "Spessil whale bwayclet" (special whale bracelet) medic alert on his arm every day. We pack along an epi-pen and a bottle of Benadryl everywhere we go. We read labels and interrogate bakers of homemade foods. We do all that we can -- but sometimes even that isn't enough.

Unfortunately, our obsessively protective, peanut-fearing parenting didn't keep us from the ER on Sunday night.

Although we are careful and cautious and neurotically trained to check for peanuts, Noah has decided that ONE life-threatening allergy wasn't enough for him. Perhaps he determined that, in order to properly celebrate his age, he needed to embrace a second serious allergy. (Besides, it's no fun and games if we're constantly in a state of good health, now is it Noah?)

Sunday was starting out as a really good day. It began at my parents' house on Vancouver Island. After a weekend of fun, it was time to head home to see Noah's daddy and celebrate his grandma's birthday. On the ferry ride back, we watched a pod of orcas playing alongside our boat. Yes, it really was a great day.

We enjoyed a lovely dinner at Grandma's house and were just finishing dessert when our good day went downhill faster than a Canadian bobsled.

Kevin's sister had gone out of her way to order a specially made, peanut-free birthday cake. The bakery had promised a completely scrubbed down kitchen, and special handling to eliminate the risk of cross-contamination.

We didn't hesitate long before giving Noah his piece of cake. We trusted... foolishly, perhaps, but not without due diligence. (or so we thought).

A few minutes after devouring the cake, Noah notified us "I itchy!". A few minutes more, and we notice the rash. Kevin's mom noticed the wheezing, and we were out the door in a flash.

Kevin's is not a paramedic or a nascar driver, but he can fake it under pressure. While I sat in the backseat belting out "Oscar Meyer Weiner" with the windows rolled down and the wind & rain blowing in to keep our son awake, we beat our previous record. We SAFELY got to Children's Hospital in just under 20 minutes.

Arriving quickly was good, because we wouldn't have wanted to wait any longer than necessary to see a doctor. We wanted to get there RIGHT AWAY to begin our mandatory 2.5 hour wait to see a physician.

In the waiting period, we sat and stared at the hot, angry welt that spread across Noah's arm. We felt comforted when it settled down, and Noah regained some of his usual feist. Then the swelling went up on the OTHER arm, and we were fast tracked to the so called "RAT" zone (Rapid treatment something or other, which, by the way, is a complete misnomer!)

At the end of the night, we went away with a tired little guy and renewed fear and loathing for peanuts. The next day, however, our pediatrician gave us a prescription for another type of epi-pen, and an unexpected suggestion:

"You know, I believe Noah reacted to almonds last night, not peanuts." We learned how bakeries often use almond paste in their product, and sometimes forget to declare this as an allergen.

We know he's allergic to almonds (he's allergic to EVERYTHING!) but learning that they, too, could put his life at risk was just a little much for this mommy.

I don't want to become one of those seemingly deranged parents of kids with allergies... but I want my son to grow up, with as few visits to the ER as possible. (I even shed a silent selfish tear when I realized that Toblerones are now a thing of the past!)

So if you see me or another crazed mother in the grocery store looking wildly at the nutritional information on the back of each product, just let us be. If your family is blessed to thrive without allergies, have a little patience for the kids who make it harder for you to pack your children's lunches.... and thank you for leaving your peanut butter at home for my little guy's sake!

"Your Grandma Black Like Mine?" Lessons From a Three Year Old

2010-03-10T23:09:00.000-08:00

This photo was taken on Christmas morning. My little guy rode shotgun in the red shirt, while my nephew Kyo (in the white lab coat he'd begged Santa for) was at the wheel. A couple of my siblings were standing by to catch them in case the boys careened off the trike or suddenly decided that sharing was no longer fun.

As it happened, Noah and Kyo got along great that day. No stitches, no bite marks, no punches or kicks. It was downright serendipitous.

Over our Christmas visit, we'd been practicing colours with Noah. And because Noah and Kyo are always in each other's arms (or at each other's throats!) the colour lessons must have brushed off on Kyo. My no-fun, adult aim was to try and put some accuracey into Noah's vibrant descriptions of our beautiful world.

In December, Noah had his way with the colour wheel:
"Look at the blue tree mommy!" (Um, yes... except it's green, like most trees!)
"You eating green toast mommy?" (Do you like green eggs and ham, Noah? Yum! My toast is brown.)
"Look at Santa Claus!! He's got nice yellow shirt! Right Mommy? Okaaaaay?" (Sigh... okay. It's yellow!)

I think my efforts went a little overboard, because on our next visit, Kyo had lots to say about colour, too. "My grandma is BLACK." He announced as we were getting our shoes off. I smiled as Noah chimed in "Yay, BLACK GRANDMA!" and both boys giggled to themselves.

"Sarah, is your grandma black like mine?" Kyo asked. "My grandma is white." I replied. At that point, Kyo and Noah scampered up the stairs and onto their next adventure.

I didn't think much of the conversation until dinner time, when Noah said something about "Black grandmas!" in between bites of "purple" mashed potatoes. I briefly explained to Kyo's mom about our conversation and how Kyo had told me with great pride that "My grandma is BLACK!"

At that, Amber burst into giggles. "But Kyo's grandma isn't black, she's white!" We tried to figure out what Kyo must have meant. In the end we weren't sure... maybe because Amber's mom wears a lot of dark clothing.

What was clear, though, was how UNimportant colour was to my nephew and my son. It didn't matter if they got the colour right. Maybe I should let my son call Santa's suit yellow and potatoes purple for a little longer.

As he grows, Kyo will keep learning about himself and his heritage. He'll be able to articulate with pride that the colour of his skin, the shape of his eyes, and the curl of his hair were determined by his African, Asian, Aboriginal, and Caucasian ancestors.

Until then, if Kyo's not sure what colour his grandma is, or if Noah insists that trees are blue, I'm going to let them. We won't stop celebrating the colours in our family, but we'll learn more about colours another day. These little cousins just want to be 2 and 3 year olds on a tricycle for a while.

I Feeling Bebber! (uh-oh)

2010-03-05T07:55:00.000-08:00

He's feeling better, folks!!! And he's told (or shown) me in a hundred different ways:

He emptied the toilet paper roll in record time.
He emptied the contents of his supposedly "child proof", "leak proof" sippy cup all over our suede couch.
He ate all his lunch. (Hurray!)
He demanded a spontaneous trip to Disneyland to visit Goofy. (Sorry, kiddo... not tonight.)

He crawled up in my lap, when I was exasperated at the end of a long day. He gave me a quick kiss on my cheek and said "Noah such a naughty boy, right mommy?"

Now, how on earth am I supposed to respond to that? He must be feeling better, because he knows exactly how to climb into my heart while stepping on my kneecaps.

I KNOW he's feeling better. My husband knows it, too.

Kevin was giving Noah a time-out after supper. (His current punishment-worthy offense was tossing a fork at his mother's forehead. I think he might be good at javelin when he's older....)

Anyways, I listened to their conversation while scrubbing spaghetti sauce out of my hairline.

"Noah, you need to sit down and fold your hands."
"NO! NO sit down! Wanna play my toys! Wanna have a candy, play soccer, go for walk on my trike!"
"Noah, sit down and fold your hands."
"FIRST play on trike, then time out, Daddy?"

I burst into giggles. Kevin remained stoic, somehow.

"Noah, sit down and fold your hands. You hit mommy in the head with your fork!!!"
"You're right. I need a time out."
I had to ask Kevin to repeat it for me later, but at that point, my fiesty, fork hurling toddler sat down on his own accord, folded his hands in his lap and accepted his punishment.

What. Just. Happened??

I'm not really sure. I think he relented to authority. I think he realized that throwing forks at his mother's head was not a commendable action. I think he's starting to get it. And, most importantly, he's back to his old self!

My little guy is feeling better. And he's growing up. *sniff, sniff, sniff*.

Croup and Ear Infections and Barfing, Oh My!

2010-03-03T15:45:00.000-08:00

Noah likes to live life LARGE. He won't settle for a simple sniffle. He won't submit to a simple cold. If he's going to get sick, he's going ALL OUT.
On Friday night, he was running around, giggling, laughing, getting into trouble. He was the usual naughty Noah that we love so much.

Other than a bit of a runny nose, he seemed in good health when he finally surrendered to sleep on Friday evening. By Saturday morning, though, hell had arrived. And hell, in our house, goes by the name of croup.

We hate croup. Any parent who's watched their child bark and cough and struggle for air understands. It's the worst feeling on earth. We trucked him off to the doctor first thing Saturday morning and were temporarily reassured. So far he had no fever, nothing in his lungs, and the hope was he'd kick the virus in a day or two.

Noah had other plans, of course, as did the croup. By Saturday afternoon the fever arrived. And the vomit-a-thon began. Noah's always been a puker, and anytime he catches a cough he gets congested. He chokes, and proceeds to barf up everything he's eaten in the past six hours.

It's lovely, really. We've bought shares in Tide laundry detergent. Noah gets towels for his birthday. Our hot water bill will be $600,000 next month. We used our carpet cleaner sixteen times this weekend.

Sunday was a write-off. It's a blur of Tylenol, Tide, Disney movies, Chicken Soup, and Chicken Soup version 2.0 (the not-so-fun kind that you have to scrub out of carpet... the kind that makes you never want to eat again).

Monday was fun, too. I had a doctor's appointment in the morning, and Noah came along. He decided to barf all over himself in the waiting room. Thank God I never leave home without a complete change of clothes for Noah, 4000 baby wipes, and my sense of humour. Noah wasn't amused, however, when the nurse provided us with an empty Purdy's chocolate bag to transport his dirty clothes in.

Noah's getting good at recognizing corporate logos, and the bag had a faint scent of chocolate. This reduced him to tears when he realized he was NOT getting candy as a treat for tossing his cookies.

Poor Noah.

By afternoon we were sitting in his pediatrician's office. He reacted with absolute terror to the otoscope. He howled through the exam. Tears, kicks and punches were peppered with screeches of "No thank you! No touch mine ears! No thanks!"

Such a polite boy. Sure enough, he had a double ear infection. Hip hip hurray, we were off to the pharmacy.

Noah passed out in the car, of course. I wrestled him out of his car seat. Usually this wakes him up instantly. Did it wake him this time? Nope, still asleep.

I tossed him onto my left shoulder as gently as I could (given that he was 34 pounds of sleeping toddler). Did this wake him? Nope, still asleep.

I staggered into the drug store, made my way to the pharmacy, and plunked down in the chair in front of the pharmacist. I glanced at the boy hanging off my shoulder. "Are you awake yet?" Nope, still asleep.

"I'll put a rush on your order," the pharmacist smiled. Thank God. Sound-asleep-Noah and I waddled around the store, filling our basket with life's essentials: children's gravol, laundry detergent, two pounds of toblerone, chicken soup.

They paged us on the intercom and we hurried over to pick up his medicine. The pharmacist laughed this time. "He's STILL asleep! What a big boy you are taking a nap on your poor mother."

Um, thanks. But did he wake up then? Nope, still asleep. He waited until I'd paid for all the groceries, carried them out to the car, and wrestled him back into his car seat.

When I was fastening the last buckle Noah's eyes shot open and he looked at me plainly and said: "Hi Mommy. Had a nice nap. (cough cough cough) NO GO TO DOCTOR. Wanna chocolate chip pease. (cough cough cough). I gotta cough. Gonna choke and barf on mine car seat."

How lovely. Get better soon, little son!

AFABC in Your Grocery Store for a Limited Time

2010-02-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

For a few more weeks, you can pick up your March copy of Today's Parent. The second last page features an article on AFABC, and details of the award for our organization.

Many thanks again to the editors of Today's Parent for selecting AFABC for this award. Their generous $2000.00 will go towards Family Fun Day, our November Adoption Awareness Month event. We'll see you all in Burnaby this fall for the celebration.

My Olympic Event: The Mommathalon (Part II)

2010-02-23T15:45:00.000-08:00

I was in the running for a medal, I really was. I had a freshly diapered, properly clothed toddler on my hands. But every competitor knows the make-or-break event is the finale: getting to the ferry on time. Could I endure?

I looked at the kitchen clock: 2:11pm. The bus for the ferry came at 2:30pm, a full 15 minute walk away. I gave my son a hopeful sideways glance.

Somehow in the 1.3 seconds that it took for me to look away and then look back at him again, Noah managed to glue a raisin to his hair and brew an evil grin across his face.

"ACK! We're late! Grab your coat, we gotta hurry!" I said to Noah and the Raisin and the Evil Grin. I ran to his bedroom to pack the extra diapers NO Olympic mother can compete without, and returned to the race.

In blinding speed, I rescued my ballet flats from certain death inside the washing machine. I found my car keys tucked inside the toybox. I wrestled Noah into the jogging stroller, tied my little sister's birthday present to the handlebar and headed out onto the course.

There was no one cheering me on. I was an isolated Olympian. No one waved the Canadian flag, rang a cow bell, or belted out O Canada as I hustled up to the highway. I was the lone runner, until a little voice called out "FASTER mommy!" from the stroller below. That solitary cheer was good enough to keep me going.

Approaching the highway crossing, I had to execute my next move perfectly: cross the road without falling flat on my face or sending the stroller careening into a ditch.

Could I do it? Did I have what it took to catch the bus, and medal with the world's best mommas?

Alas, tragedy struck. The birthday present, which had been rattling back and forth as I sprinted towards the bus stop, suddenly dropped from the handlebars and crashed to the pavement below.

The gift - a variety of goth-inspired nail enamels, bounced off my right foot and shattered on the road below. I thought I could feel glass in my foot and looked down in horror to see my ankle covered in sticky liquid.

Thankfully, the liquid was glittery and black (nail polish, of course), and the pain was only my shattered ego. To add insult to injury, I looked up to see the bus drive by across the road. It left us in the dust and debris of shattered nail polish and broken Olympic dreams.

I looked at the pooling varnish on the roadside and the raisin glistening in my son's hair. "Babe, we missed the bus, honey!"

"Dat's okay mommy. Maybe next time." Noah said. Thanks for the cheer, little buddy. In the end, we called a cab and we STILL made it to the ferry on time. But no one was waiting with flowers and national anthems at the terminal.

Although I didn't collect an Olympic medal that day, I did enjoy a little bit of sunshine with my world class little one. And that's reason enough to celebrate for his Momma.

My Olympic Event - The Mommathalon (Part One)

2010-02-22T09:23:00.000-08:00

Proudly representing Canada, I competed in the world's most revered athletic competition: the Mommathalon.

Although not an official Olympic competition (the IOC is still arguing over its season: should the Mommathalon qualify as a winter or summer sport?), this multi-disciplinary athletic competition is not for the weak-hearted.

It started out on a brilliant Saturday morning. Conditions were perfect for the Mommathalon. The sun glinted off the (little bits of) snow on the local mountains, and my lungs were filled with fresh air. I could taste victory on my tongue. Climbing into my unofficial team Canada uniform (lululemon pants, a ragged t-shirt, and my $10 HBC red mittens, I headed off to the gym for the qualifying round.)

After busting my lungs on the treadmill for 10km -- with several breaks for sheer exhaustion, and for a severe wardrobe malfuntion -- (an untied shoelace!) I made it home alive and thus qualified for the first event: the toddler bath.

Olympic rules for this event are simple: the aim is to bathe your toddler in as short a time as possible, with the least amount of bath water on the floor/splattered on the mirror.

Disqualifications include: throwing the baby out with the bath water, complaints from the downstairs neighbours that water leaked through their ceiling, and the mommy-guilt disqualifer: accidentally washing baby's hair with Nair.

It was a dicey event, as Noah was also in a competitive mood. Word in the Olympic village was that the US sponsors of Sesame Street had planted a special on whales into that morning's episode. It was an obvious threat to the TV audience, particularly Canadian competitors.

Noah decided he was a whale, and that included filling his cheeks with soapy bath water and spouting the contents directly at his mother. This quick-thinking mother used her core defense (the shower curtain) to avoid a catastrophe. In the end, I had two demerits (one for neglecting to clean my son's left foot, the other for a fully drenched left sleeve), but we moved on quickly to the second event.

"The diaper and dress" competition is a timed event; the faster, the better. The only rules were: diaper must be in the usual place (taped around toddler's head is not sufficient) and clothing must be on the appropriate body part. (No socks on the hands or t shirts hanging from toes.) Mothers know this event can make or break their chances. If Mom loses her grip on a half-naked toddler, her hopes for a medal are quickly dashed.

It was a dicey competition. Already at a disadvantage from an overactive bathtime, I took hold of my son's uncleaned (and therefore less slippery) left foot and held on for dear life. Although not technically illegal, the use of threats or bribes is frowned upon in this event. But this mother was not holding back.

"Want to go to Grammy's? Want a chocolate chip? Want to have everything left to you in my will?"

That got his attention. I had him diapered, dressed, and hands folded in a spectacular 93 seconds. Which was fantastic, except that he looked at me, smiled and annouced "I went poo."

I doubled up on the bribes "want a pound of chocolate? Want to run free at the park for seven hours? Want a pony?" and we had him re-diapered and dressed in a respectable (but no longer record-breaking) 2 minutes, 11.45 seconds.

So how did we fare? Would I represent Canada on the Modium (momma podium) or slip up in the third and final event? Stay tuned for Part Two of the Mommathalon, including the back-breaking finale, "Get to the Ferry Terminal on Time".

In Defense of Ministry Kids. And Intercountry Kids. And Licensed Agency Kids. And, Well, Kids who are Adopted in General

2010-02-08T15:03:00.000-08:00

I was having a great morning last week. An EXCELLENT morning. I was at a parent & tots group at the rec centre with my son, and was really enjoying myself.

I started chatting with another mom. I had guessed she was a transracial adoptive parent, but did not want to pry/offend/presume. I gave her the little gift of *not* inquiring about her child's adoption story and instead just talked to her about her little one, if this was her first, and how she was enjoying parenthood, etc.

The mom asked me a question about Noah's early infancy that I couldn't answer honestly without bending the truth.... and I knew if she was an adoptive parent, she'd probably be happy to know she wasn't the only one in the room.

So I explained that Noah joined our family through adoption. I saw the mother's eyes widen a little bit. I'm in my 20s, sitting in ragged gym shoes, and my toddler is running around with his glorious blonde curls, laughing and smiling. I drive a base model sedan with scratches from here to kingdom come. I parked right next to her Mercedes SUV and had waved to her on our way in.

I could almost see the question on her lips "Where did you adopt him from?" and the unspeakable follow up, which usually remains unspoken "And how much did his adoption cost?"

The silence was a bit deafening, so I gently asked "did your little one join your family through adoption, too?" To which she smiled broadly, scooped her munchkin up and proudly said "YES!"

We talked about the age at which our babies came home, and she was astounded that Noah was adopted from within Canada at age 7 months. I offered "we adopted Noah through the Ministry" and the silence was no longer deafening, it began to echo. I just smiled at her stupidly, because, well, I love my son and I'm not going to start defending him until I know what other mom is thinking.

I didn't have to wait too long. "Oooh, we looked at the Ministry, too." She commented. "But all those kids are so DAMAGED."

I looked at the little 'perfect infant' sitting next to her- the little child who, by the very fact that he was an adoptee, and the fact that he was in a transracial family, also had "special placement needs". He, too, would have his own unique challenges and questions in the years that followed. I looked at them and my heart broke a little bit.

I sat there, toying with my options. On one hand, I have to be professional in how I respond. It's kind of my job. On the other hand, I have the right to defend my child and his peers and all the WAITING children in the Ministry program who will only wait longer if the prevailing notion is that every one of them is damaged and unable to be parented. If I go on the attack, I'll never be able to gently lead this lady towards expanding her way of thinking. I took a deep breath. I did a mental inventory of the hats I could have worn: adoption support, intercountry support, enraged adoptive mother, sympathetic listener, and just hung all the hats up.

I spoke like one proud parent talking to another: "Well, our little guy is doing just great. I don't find him damaged at all. A handful, certainly! But first and foremost a kid." I smiled.

And with that, my little blond haired angel came running across the room, tripped, fell, and landed squarely on the other woman's baby.

Way to go, Noah. Not exactly the approach I was looking for, but at least you got your point across. You showed her, by your giggles before you fell, and the horrified look on your face once you got OFF her baby, and how you patted him on the head and said "You okay baby!?" that you were just a KID. Just like her kid, just like every kid.

You are loved and lovable and deserving of love. And you are certainly NOT damaged. Just like her baby, you needed someone to love you forever, a mommy and a daddy, or one or two of each. You needed someone to pick you up when you fall and wipe your nose when you sneeze. And just love you for who you are and embrace your capabilities and your challenges like we do for ALL our children, no matter how they came to us.

In defense of Ministry kids, and Intercountry kids, and kids adopted from within Canada, and kids adopted by their step parents... and kids who joined their family through any non-traditional means..... the lesson is the same. I'm a KID! LOVE ME!

And Noah, of course, had his own sly message. I'm lovable, BUT.... if you ever call me damaged again, watch out. And he can do that, because he's two. And I'm 28.

Way to go Noah. I'm proud of you, son.

DON'T LOOK AT ME! (The Terrible Twos Strikes Again)

2010-02-01T20:01:00.000-08:00

Ah, the terrible twos. I never doubted your power, not for a moment. Just when we thought we had Noah's manners down pat, you struck again.

This time, we were in church. Noah's behaviours were so wild that we had to relocate mid-way through the service to what we fondly refer to as the "naughty Noah room". It's really a four walled prison cell with a plexiglass viewing window, and the disembodied voice of the minister piped in for good measure.

The pews are all gnawed by generation after generation of pint-sized parishoners. The song books are half-shredded. And usually, there's a gaggle of young families in various stages of riot mode hanging out in the naughty room.

This time, there was one young mom and her baby, who looked to be about 8 months old. He sat quietly on the floor with his pacifier, occasionally crawling about inspecting forgotten cheerios or the pattern in the carpet.

Noah behaved himself reasonably well upon arrival to this room -- which is strange because we don't reward him for the naughtiness that necessitates the change of scenery. We don't let him down to play. He sits on our lap or next to us and munches on cheerios (from our supply, of course, not the casualties on the floor). I think he just likes that room because it's closer to the exit door.

Every once in a while, he climbs up on my lap, cradles my face in his pudgy little hands and hollers "I ALL DONE CHURCH MOMMY!" I stifle my giggles, re-seat him on the bench, and try to pay attention to the service.

All went well until the end of church, when Noah took one look at the poor unsuspecting baby, and declared "DON'T LOOK AT ME!!!"

Sigh. Another day, another attack of the terrible twos. There's always next week Noah.

A Retreat to Remember

2010-01-31T16:40:00.000-08:00

After months of planning, hours of meeting, and too many chocolate chip cookies from Costco to count, our retreat day finally arrived.

We ended up welcoming two dozen adoptive parents of persons with FASD to our "Growing Together" Retreat... a jam-packed day designed to give a break, a voice, and a little bit of reprieve to parents who very much deserve it. They earn it every day.

Three of my sibs have the diagnosis, and while that was our "normal" from the moment they joined our family, it was always clear to me that the FASD world was special. You had to live it to understand it.

In the months after we joined the FASD club, I saw my parents (for the first time) as human. They couldn't fix every problem. They couldn't anticipate every behaviour. Typical strategies were useless. And no one from the club was there immediately to say "That's normal. That's not your fault. That's the way things are. Here, let me help."

I think they could have used a day like yesterday. It would have helped remind them that, even after FASD became our everyday, my parents were still unique people!

The families who joined us yesterday had varying stories; some had young children who were recently diagnosed, others had lived in the FASD world for decades. All were a joy to welcome and visit with.

Thanks to all for joining us, and to the many supporters who helped us host the event. It was a wonderful day to be part of.

Dear Noah: Please Stay in Your Bed. Love, Mommy

2010-01-22T22:24:00.000-08:00

Dear Noah,

That's it. I surrender.

I am no longer going to pick you up while you're sleeping. I'm not going to drag you, my thirty-something pounds of sleeping toddler, and trip over your collection of stuffies, and stub my toe for the tenth time tonight while I put you back in your bed to sleep.

Because if I do, I will have to watch in amazement as you pull yourself -- WHILE STILL SLEEPING -- off your bed, onto the carpet, dragging your pillow in one hand and your special blanket in the other.... only to witness you throw yourself face down on the floor. Again.

My child, if you want to sleep in a heap on the carpet, I am just going to have to let you.

Do you hear me, little Noah? That's right. Go ahead. Pretend to enjoy yourself!

I'm not going to come back in five minutes to make sure you're still breathing.

Nope. Not going to.

Not gonna worry.

I'm NOT going to pick you up again. I'm not going to drag you to your bed. I'm just going to let you lie on the floor in a heap because you insist.

Sigh. That's it. I surrender.

Good night, little man. Sleep well.

Love,
Mommy

Counting My Blessings

2010-01-19T21:25:00.000-08:00

Some days, you need to count your blessings and be thankful for the opportunities you are given. Today I would like to express my thanks for the TEN blessings I have right here in my arms.

My list of blessings:

1) One naughty, conniving little man. That I love with my whole heart.
2) Two big green eyes staring widely in wonder.
3) Three people in our family. A little triangle of mommy, daddy, and son.
4) Four pm: the time when I give up on Noah taking his nap, if he insists on rebelling against it.
5) Five little fingers on each hand. Exploring, testing, reaching, learning.
6) Six owies (only six!) that needed kissing better today.
7) Seven. Seven months old, Noah's age when he finally came home.
8) Eight: the number of stuffies that line his toddler bed.
9) Nine: The number of months Noah's birth mother carried him under her heart.
10) Ten: How I feel on a scale of 1 to 10 when I think about our lives and how blessed I am to be Noah's mother.

On a day when many mothers and fathers and children and families cannot count their blessings on one finger... let alone fill both hands, I must take a moment to be thankful for all the blessings I have in my life.

The little one - who is such a big blessing, has taught me more than any school book or life lesson ever could. My hands are filled with blessings, and I can't ask for anything else in this lifetime.

Diaper Wars: You Can't Negotiate with a Two Year Old

2010-01-18T13:09:00.000-08:00

In the early days of parenthood, we'd been told to watch for signs of speech and language delays for our little man.

Determined to give him the best chance possible, we did all that we could to encourage language from the early months. We took him to the Infant Development Program. We read him stories throughout the day. We named EVERYTHING we came into contact with. We incorporated sign language so that before his first birthday, he could express that he wanted "more" or was "finished", if he needed a bottle, and (we hoped!) would be able to indicate if he was tired. (We're still waiting for an intentional verbal or non-verbal expression that he'd like to sleep, but that's another story.)

As luck and determination would have it, the speech delays that had been forecast never materialized. In fact, he's so chatty most of the time that I catch myself wondering where the off switch is. At two years old, his vocabulary is snowballing rapidly, and the depths of our conversations have increased so much that I sometimes have to stop and remind myself that he's only two and I need to respond more age-appropriately.

The scary part is, he has enough wit and wisdom about him that he thinks he can negotiate with me. It's a terrifying realization for any parent, particularly of a two year old.

One day, just before nap time, Noah whipped his diaper off again in some randomly inappropriate way. (Is it ever appropriate unless you're changing it?) I caught myself trying to rationalize with him:

"Noah, if you take your diaper off you'll pee all over the floor. Then you'll slip and break your neck."

I even went so far as to recount an episode that actually happened to my youngest brothers when they were two and three years respectively:

"Noah, when Uncle Connor and Uncle Cory were little, Uncle Cory peed on the floor and Uncle Connor came running along and slipped and fell and got a concussion. Do you know what a concussion is?"

He stared at me and shook his head slowly, feigning comprehension.

I continued, "A concussion happens when you hit your head very hard. It's a, big, big owie inside your head. Your brains bounce around like a soccer ball. Uncle Connor fell down and got a concussion."

Noah blinked "no ca-cusion, Mommy. Get a big time out instead. Please?"

Sigh. He thought I was threatening in him with a concussion. I felt absolutely terrible. So I tried a different approach.

"Noah, you need to keep your diaper on. Your bum is going to get cold!"

He just stared up at me and said. "Mommy, I don't like my diaper. Gonna take it off. Gonna get big time out. Den I pee da bed."

We were at an impasse. I was trying to rationalize with my two year old, and he was rationalizing right back. He knew what he was doing. He hated his diaper, so his diaper was gone. He recognized there would be a consequence, and he was going to wet the bed anyways.

What have I got myself in for? "Well, Noah, since you won't keep your diaper on, Mommy has to put you in your backwards jammies, even for your nap. And I know you like to wear your big boy clothes during the day."

He got a look in his eye. THE look. The look that tells you he knows his parent feels defeated. "Okay mommy. I wear my jammies. Den I get a chocolate chip?"

I shook my head NO very firmly. The US government does not negotiate with terrorists. And I do not negotiate with two year olds. "You will go to sleep in your backwards jammies." I whipped a pair out of the closet, taped his diaper on as snugly as I could, wrangled him into his backwards pajamas, and tucked him into bed. "Good NIGHT, Noah."

I turned off the light to his room, rounded the corner into the hallway and pretended to walk away. I stood and listened to him try to wrestle himself out of his jammies. After a few minutes of "Ack! Ack! ACK!" and tossing himself about the room, he finally proclaimed to himself. "I is stuck. No get diaper off. No be naughty. Oh well. Good try, Noah. Maybe next time. GOOD NIGHT MOMMY!"

Lord help me. And Lord help me when we try to toilet train him!

Help for Haiti

2010-01-16T10:49:00.000-08:00

The earthquake in Haiti has had a devastating impact. That devastation extends to many families in British Columbia. For those families who are in process - who have had a proposal for a child and are waiting to bring them home, the news is especially heart-wrenching.

AFABC has created a special page devoted to Haiti. It includes ways you can support the rescue and relief efforts, and includes links to the Canadian Embassy and other crucial information sources for those that have family members or friends on the island.AFABC Help for Haiti Links.

AFABC will be releasing a special *enews* bulletin to our membership regarding the earthquake. If you have children in Haiti, (if you haven't already), please contact your Licensed Agency who may have information for you and will offer specialized supports for your family. AFABC has five Adoption Support Coordinators throughout the province (including myself!) and we are here to offer our support to you as well.

Our thoughts, prayers, and love are with everyone affected by this tragedy.

Little Meeting, Big Impact

2010-01-10T18:26:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it's the little things that make a big impact in this world.

A few weeks back I got a client call requesting we run a support group meeting for waiting parents. I pulled out my calendar, we chose a date, and I sent an invite out to our relevant membership.

Today was support group day, and when I woke up I was feeling a little reluctant to leave my son at home. He was an extra snuggly monster this morning, and the days when he wants to set up "snuggle camp" are becoming fewer and further between.

But the meeting was this afternoon, and by the time I left at 1pm, I'd already rescued six breakables from certain death at the hands of my toddler. I'd endured three tantrums, four time-outs, and successfully scrubbed maple syrup out of said-toddler's curls. By 1pm, I was ready for a little break!

The support group meeting ended up having a small turn out, but a big impact. We had just six people in attendance. As prior experiences have taught me, sometimes the more intimate groups have the best conversations and become the most effective means of touching people. Today was no exception to that rule.

I went to the meeting expecting to facilitate a group that is dear to my heart but to which I don't personally belong. My plan was to facilitate but not participate except when relevant or when requested.

As it turned out, I got to witness and chat with a remarkable group of really caring parents and prospective parents. I got to revisit the time in my life not so very long ago when my husband and I were taking those uncertain steps towards the big leap into adoptive parenting. Hearing their stories and sharing those hopes reminded me that even the littlest meetings can have a very big impact.

After handing in the keys to the workshop room and walking back into the rainy city streets, I felt absolute gratitude to have had the opportunity to be a part of a group with such a wonderful, caring dynamic.

Thank you to the five friends who came to share their time today. We may not have filled the room, but those two hours went further than you may have realized - at least for this Adoption Support Coordinator.

Dare I Say it... Success??!!

2010-01-08T09:17:00.000-08:00

At the risk of condemning myself to another vicious cycle of terrible bedtimes, I'm going to go ahead and say it: Houston, we have a sleeper.

Last night was no miracle. I think Noah finally drifted off to sleep at around 10:30pm.

But he didn't crash the gate.
He didn't rip his backwards pajamas off.
He didn't bounce himself off his bed or ricochet off the corner of any piece of furniture.

He didn't bleed, pee, vomit, or cry on anything.

Of course, he tried the usual tactics:
"I want anudder story!"
"I want a bath!"'

And our usual (arguably cruel response) of "And I want a unicorn!" was met with a rebuttal of "ACK! Ack! ACK! No UNICORN!" but he quickly realized his Napoleonic demands would go unheeded.

It was actually NOAH that called out "Close your eyes, no noise. Good Night!" to us instead of the other way around.

Huh.

So my hubby and I headed to bed while he was still chirping to himself at 10:15. We left both the doors wide open in case he executed an escape plan.

Instead, he sang himself to sleep:

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear POTATO, Happy birthday to you!" Whatever makes you happy, my son. And whatever gets you to sleep. :)