Would You Adopt Me?

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!!!

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!

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

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!