Paris Arrival & Day 1

Heathrow Terminal 5
Eat where the pilots eat.

We flew Denver, London, Paris - got in late, figured out how to get a taxi (marshaled areas depending on your destination, all in English, once you got past the hawkers who looked like they'd just returned from a bar fight) and found our hotel quickly despite the peak hour traffic and, quite dully, went to bed.  It definitely worked to our advantage with jet-lag etc.  Although we did note, before we fell asleep, that our  hotel room had raspberry pink shag carpeting, and it was marvelous.

Next day, R doing what he does best directed us to a great crepe place here in the Marais - Breizh Café.

Breizh Café
It's modest appearance belies the fabulous menu.

They do the most amazing buckwheat crepes, savory and sweet. (Although with the number of plates of oysters we saw going out, buckwheat crepes are not their only specialty).  Like most popular places in Paris the owner was sending people away who did not have a reservation.  One of the waitresses who spoke a little English was about to turn us away sadly, but then the owner said wait, and snuck her a thumbs up when a table left.  I'd say that was pretty fortunate given that group after group were turned away after we were seated.

We started with charcuterie - a large plate of cured meats - one of which had a round, squiggly sort of appearance.  Quite frankly it looked like a thin slice of cured brain, but ehhhhhh - it was delicious.  Later on our food tour on Sunday, we discovered it was likely snout.  Not sure if you think that is better or worse, but I figure if I came all this way to eat, it's no time for sticking my nose up at things (that's some foreign foodie humour for you).

As for the crepes,  R's was an onion confit, mine artichoke - with ham, cheese and an egg cooked over easy in the middle that you could drag over all the other components.  Quite delicious, especially with the recommended cup of cider (which, after I'd drunk half a delicious cup, I realized was likely alcoholic but seems to be widely drunk at all times of the day here). We finished with a baked apple and salted caramel crepe with buckwheat ice cream.  Outstanding.

Of amusing note, there was a tan plastic bottle of Whole Foods 365 brand grade A maple syrup on the shelf behind the kitchen, and sitting next to us were three valley girls discussing their history of boyfriends.  It's certainly a place frequented by English speakers, but the food was absolutely worth it.

This.

I'm taking back my pens.

on our way...

held over in Denver, FBI called in, appeared to be a possible child abduction???  broke my heart saying goodbye to my girls... each of them moved in different ways... oh how I miss them.  after our flight to London, a freezing, freezing terminal 5 at Heathrow.  one hour pop over to Paris, to a cheerily tooth-sucking taxi driver who insisted he didn't know any english.  if that is true I knew more french than he did english, which is highly suspect... but it didn't cost us as much to get to the hotel as I feared it might, especially given it was peak hour traffic.  sighted Notre Dame on the way in, which made me extremely glad.  I love this city, and I have waited so very long to be here with R.  sounds of the city outside the hotel.  deliriously happy and tired.

Do Overs

Ten years ago, I was getting married in two weeks.  I was a hot mess.

Back then I probably would have said I was "really really stressed out".  Being stressed out back then was kinda fashionable, you know?  Like how people 'round these parts say "I'm just so busy right now..." It's cool.  It makes you just a little bit more important when you can't squeeze another thing into your schedule.

But I wasn't cool, I was a hot mess.

A quick engagement, mad wedding planning, no availability for anything in town, a tight budget, and trying immigrate - plus being the first to leave the nest added a whole 'nother level of complication that left me sobbing and quivering and nauseous.  Plan A was for if we were able to fly home together, and Plan B was if I wasn't given a visa and he flew home while I stayed with my folks.

Now don't get me wrong, the guy was totally worth it.  Totally.  But when it came down to it, the getting married part, and then getting my visa sorted out was kind of a non-event.  In fact, once I realized that I shouldn't have worried about it at all and saw how much emotional wastage there was, I got a little light-headed and had to sit down.  Why had I put myself through all of that?

Well part of it was, I was young.  I'd never gone through anything like that before - and likely never would again.  And when you're dealing with international governments, a strict timeline and strict time limits, things get emotionally and mentally sticky.  If my visa got denied, it was on me.  That's a lot of pressure.  And a lot of money.

Fast forward 10 years.  We get the call to say, "get your girl"... and everything goes crazy.  I knew it would be hard logistically, but the emotional and mental strain that happened over the next few days knocked me for six.  Still, this time gave me strange dejavu.  Everytime something would go wrong, and the nausea would start to build, I'd harken back to the other time and think, "What can I do differently this time?"  And while this time, my hope was anchored far deeper, and my trust more secure, there was still moment where all I wanted to do was go to bed and shut the door and give up.  I felt like I couldn't go on, but didn't know how to disconnect my heart from my hope.  With a tight time frame, international visas, immigrating, and no availability haunting me again I felt weirdly out of touch with the whole experience.  Shouldn't planning an international adventure to get your daughter be fun?  Exciting?  Exhilerating?

I've come to the conclusion that, in adoption, those feelings are for the other people - the people who get to watch the adventure unfold.  It's sort of their reward for supporting you and doing fundraisers with you and listening to your story three fifteen twenty times.  They get the rush and the excitement and the goosebumps.  And that's not a complaint, I think that's ok.

It's just different on the other side.  Right now, I don't need the warm fuzzies, I need grace.  I need grace to lean on when I'm weeping from frustration.  I need grace to know my friendships will survive my absent mindedness, and grace to know my kids will forgive their mother being on the phone and internet so long.  And I need grace from my own sense of control and fear. 

Because eventually, I will get those other things too - I get a lifetime of being a mother to this little girl, and the idea is, she gets a lifetime in a family instead of being alone.  And when I'm laying in bed at night, with the shattered remains of my lists scattered through my brain, and I picture her little face, or what her hand might feel like to touch, or the first time I make her laugh, or even the first time she feels comfortable enough to receive a hug from me, I get the warm fuzzies too.

But I have paid dearly for those warm fuzzies over the last 19 months.  And you know what?  In a way she has too.  And will.  The excitement will come, for both and all of us, but when it does I have a feeling it might be tempered greatly by the fact that it was initiated first by tragedy.  Perhaps one day, hopefully soon, the sting will start to dull, and the thrills will be ours to relish.

Until then, the pleasure I find is in small, insignificant mothery things like going and buying her some shoes.  Brand new.  Her first pair.  Fashionable, cute, and impractical.  Maybe not a lot to some, but to us?  Fun.  Exciting.  Exhilarating.

And to follow up...

Sometimes telling yourself things will get better is a bad idea.

Because sometimes things need to get worse...

These tickets were a hard fought battle, let me tell you.  And I'm not just talking about logistics, I'm talking everything outside too - kids, homeschool, international administrative "stuff" - that was the squeeze.

I was feeling faint of heart, but a good verbal shoulder shake by the hubby helped me dig deep, and well... guess what?  (Oh Lord, bless our poor travel agent!) We asked for a last minute add to our tickets, just to compare, and our ticket prices dropped by almost $500 a piece!  I was pretty floored.

Which was good because it's looking like the hotel we wanted is sold out.  You gotta laugh.

And take your kids on a spontaneous play date.

Today

My blog is pretty barren.  I have accumulated an interesting collection of ill-fated posts, unfinished due to an adoption-induced emotional congestion that did not improve with time.

In fact, in thinking about how things have gone over the last 18 months, I've been surprisingly uninspired.

Part of that is because of the dizzying bunny-hopping that happens - I've spoken of it before.  You wait, wait, wait... something happens... you wait, wait, wait some more.  Some of it is just so marvelously wonderful that you tuck it away in your brain and in your heart so tightly so that it will become a part of you and never leave you.

We finally got the news yesterday that seemed so dream-like.  Make travel plans.  Go get your girl.

Surreal.

Emails, phone calls, back and forth across the countries at a blistering pace.  Children in upheaval and showing it.  Straining communication over terrible phone lines, options, flights sold out, other options, Dad will be home late, time given up here or there, or some such thing.  What had seemed like such a straightforward itinerary was unraveling all the way around the world.  In the middle of it all I'm dealing with something viral, sickening... I want to put it down to stress or hormones or something fixed.  It's probably not.  Just par for the course when you are planning a major international trip that accommodates at minimum 5 major cities, and the activities of 6 family members...  Oh and the length of your trip is longer than the time you have before you leave.

It will look different in a few days, and that is comforting.  A little.  Tonight I am blitzed, and longing for bed and peace, and still have my lists... oh the lists.

I wanted to write this down, this rare moment of emotional clarity, because so much of the emotional journey of adoption is weird.  Indescribably weird.  Some mothers I know or have read can articulate with a certain fervor their sense of motherhood, family, and emotional bonds.  That hasn't been the case for me, at least, not out loud.  Heck, it took me nearly a year to use the name we gave her out loud.

I am supposing this is likely because for me, while the hormonal aspects of pregnancy were certainly there, most of the attachment and bonding of motherhood was the being, and the doing.

Do I love this girlie?  Oh yes I do.  Is this all worth it?  Oh yes, it is! 

This sick feeling I've had in my gut all day trying to get us to India is really only there because I want to be in the same space as this child... I want to breathe the same air she is breathing... 

And I want to be her mother.


Heart strained and body tired tonight.  Tomorrow a different view, a different taste. 

Amusement

So my littlest one, was trying to be grown up and say "See you later alligator... " but it just came out "Goodbye alligator" which she knew, judging by her expression, wasn't quite right. So she tried some others:

Goodbye crocodile!

Goodbye hippopotamus!

Goodbye a squirrel!

Goodbye lions!

(Still not right...)

Goodbye unicorn!

Goodbye dizzy flowers!

Goodbye chocolate trees!

Yes, that must be it. Chocolate trees. Thus satisfied, she left the room.

(The next time my kids say "see you later alligator" I am definitely going to respond with "goodbye a squirrel"!)

Pt. 4

The morning the panel was meeting to make their decision, my heart would NOT stop racing.  I wasn't nervous at all - it was the anticipation of the future being shaped as I took each breath.  Somewhere, people were talking about her, about us, and carefully considering. 

Thinking about it was going to put me beside myself so I started playing music.  The same song, over and over again - gentle, calm, soothing... focusing.

 

It worked.  My heartbeat slowed... I calmed down... I prayed, and waited.

And then the call.

"We've chosen you to be S's family."

And I burst into tears.

Pt. 3

So at our agency when there is more than one family interested in a waiting child, they send you some pretty extensive questionnaires to turn in, do a phone interview with you, and then a panel of social workers and relevant country workers convene to make a decision.

Because we had just started our homestudy, we knew that this was the first glimpse they would have of our family.  We wanted desperately to answer in truthful, meaningful ways so that they could make the right decision, but these questions were deep, man... really, really deep.  Yes, we had thought through a lot of these things, but discussing things informally between each other, or our fellow parenting class participants was one thing.  Telling a faceless panel of strangers our deepest heart's longing and desire, in a succinct and articulate way was something else entirely.

It was a labour of love, those questionnaires.  We thought about them constantly, stayed up late writing and contemplating, and the day before they were due, in the haze of my fatigue, I saved over one of them.

An entire document, hours of work, lots of heart plumbing, vanished.

There was a back up copy, several edits ago that I had emailed to myself, but not the eloquent version that we had created.  There was that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach... what if we could never get that eloquence back?  What if these were the questions that made their decisions?

It was agonizing putting those answers back where were hoped they should go... plunging again into the far reaches to try and scavenge some articulation.  But we did it.  Then we sent them all in.  And we waited.

The phone interview was arranged.  We waited nervously on the other end of the phone, and I prayed fervently that my brain wouldn't do what it does when I know I have an answer to a question, but can't for the life of me think what it is.  Of course it did.

But it was ok.  The person we were talking to was patient and gracious and tried to set us at ease, although, isn't it always hard to be at ease when your future feels heavily dependent on you?  We answered well and honestly, and probably optimistically, but purposefully.  We talked for about an hour, answering questions, asking questions and finally we were done. 

It was all up to the panel then.

a wee bit of encouragement

Do not be afraid, for I am with you;
I will bring your children from the east and gather you from the west;
I will say to the north, Give them up!
and to the south, 'Do not hold them back.
Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the ends of the earth--
everyone who is called by my name,
whom I created for my glory,
whom I formed and made.

Isaiah 43:5-7

Pt. 2

So how did our perspective start to change?

We thought, given much of the media coverage of the plight of girls in many countries, that there was an overabundance of girls available for adoption.  Also, having 3 girls of our own, we felt like we might be a blessing to another little girl, giving her sisters to grow up with, so we had initially thought we might end up with another daughter.

But did you know that the current climate of adoption around the world is that families are needed for boys?  When we discovered this was the case in India, we opened our hearts up to the idea of a son.  Perhaps that was what God's plan was?  If so, we were excited about that possibility too!

Another group that came to our attention was children with special needs, or "waiting children".  I had always associated the phrase "special needs" with something terminal, or severe.  But there were so many other categories that come under this umbrella in the adoption community, including minor correctable medical issues, older children, and sibling groups.

But then, amongst the haze of wondering, and the same week we signed up with our adoption agency, a little girl showed up on their Waiting Child listing.  R & I each found her separately and said, "Hey, did you see that little girl...?"  "Yes!  I saw her too!"

She had some special needs that we felt we were open to.  Without seeing her photo, we felt our hearts tugged on in a unique way.  So we made some inquiries and received more information about her.

We consulted with our pediatrician about her case.

We talked.

Researched.

Prayed.

Waited.

Discussed.

Researched.

Prayed.

And as I waited and contemplated the implications of it all on our family, our lives, our story, I realized I was only looking at it from our perspective.

So I sat with this idea for a day or so.  I read a couple of articles that further moved my heart and I finally went to R and said, "I think maybe I'm looking at this all wrong.  Yes we need to think about the implications for our family.  But it can't stop there.  We also need to think about it from her point of view.  Are we the right family for her?"

(At this point I really thought it must take a certain kind of arrogance to go into a process like this and assume you're going to be the best option for a child.  Could we be arrogant like that?)

So my prayers started to change.  No longer "God, please choose a child for us..."

But,

"God, would you please choose our family for one of your children?"

And the more we prayed and waited, the more we realized how much we wanted to find out if He might choose us to be hers.

But as it turned out, we weren't the only ones.

Serenity now...

Pt. 1

It was an ordinary Saturday.  And by ordinary, I mean I may have still been in my pajamas even though it was the middle of the afternoon.  No one had brushed their hair.  I think we'd been looking at music or books - something insignificant - and the kids were playing.  The conversation came up like it always had over the past two years, abruptly, awkwardly and accidentally.  What were we going to do next?  And when?
But for whatever reason that Saturday, the shadows of every other conversation unresolved were chased away by the comfort of decision, and the extraordinary pleasure of complete unity.  As much as we could plan it, no more babies for us.  But yes to more children.  Adoption.  International adoption.  And our country was India. 

Although we had for a long time and for various reasons felt a cultural affinity for India and supported social justice causes there, we didn't know what the adoption landscape looked like.  But we knew adoption was possible, and that it took a long time, so logically we should get cracking...  So from music and books to searching about adoption from India and within 15 minutes we had more information than we could absorb.  But we could tell even at first glance this was going to get interesting real quick.  India, notoriously bureaucratic at the best of times, had halted all new dossiers in an attempt to clear a backlog of cases and introduce a new, more stream-lined process of adoption throughout the country.  What timing we had!

I was mildly bummed, but we both felt compelled to keep pursuing however and wherever it may lead.  If this was a worthy pursuit, the way would be made clear.  In just a few days our search for an adoption agency narrowed, and our perspective started to change...

lemons. lots of lemons.

We were recently handed some lemons, both literally and figuratively.

Because I was dealing with life lemons, these actual lemons (two boxes of them) sat with perky optimism in the garage while I lived in a place of happy denial inside, eating a jar of nutella.

The thing is, I actually like lemons; lemonade, lemon curd, lemon bars, lemon cheesecake, lotions, balms and whatnot.  Oh the places we'd go little languishing lemons, if only life didn't get in the way!

In a rare moment of clarity, I decided the only thing for it was to squeeze them.  No, I'm not going to make the proverbial "lemonade".  Forced optimism is a bitter pill to swallow right now.  So I just milked them for what they are worth, and am moving on.

I keep trying to write about our story - what's going on, what we're up to in the process.  People around us are very kind and ask regularly if there is any news, and I'm grateful for every single one of them.

The adoption process is kind of like learning to drive stick - there is a lot of bunny hopping.  You wait, talking, wondering, trying to figure things out and then you lurch forward in dramatic fashion with enough force to give you emotional and mental whiplash.  That's not a criticism - it's just the nature of the beast.

So I hesitate to write about the ever-changing landscape of our adoption... Perhaps because the story isn't done yet?

Sigur Rós - Ekki múkk from Sigur Rós on Vimeo.

vision

You stand there on the top of your hill, all the questions and journey of your decision-making behind you, and you declare with fists in the air and all your might, the wind in your hair and a vision of your next life's accomplishment looming with Matterhorn-like grandeur before you...

We.  Are.  Adopting!

Your words echo back to you with exhilarating confidence and then fade away into the distance...

adopting... adopting... adopting...

And you're confident that after reading all the stories, and after witnessing all the little miracles that got you to this place, all the challenges ahead of you in this journey are going to play out like this:

And some of them do.

Some however play out like this:

 ...aaaaand hello Fire Swamp.


Does your grand vision still exist, is it there?  Yes.  It's obscured by trees, the dark of the valley, the ducking and dodging of spitting fire, over-sized rodents and quick sand, and the tending of your own wounds... but it's still there.

If you have a propensity towards self-reflection, it is tempting to become ungracious with yourself.  "Why can't I be standing back on my little hill?  Why can't I see my vision of mountains and glory?  What have I done wrong on this journey to be so disconnected from my destination?"  And fear sets in...

But you learn.  There is more beyond the limit of your tree-filled vision.  It is dark here, but light beyond.

And as Wesley says, "No, no. We have already succeeded. I mean, what are the three terrors of the Fire Swamp? One, the flame spurt - no problem. There's a popping sound preceding each; we can avoid that. Two, the lightning sand, which you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that too. "

As for the ROUSes... I'll address them in another post.

Someone who has read the story before (or watched the movie) can tell you that either way, a glorious leap of faith or a tumble into the valley, doesn't determine the end of the story.  But it can make you stronger, and more faithful and make the ending that. much. sweeter.

love & obedience

We are doing something crazy:

There is this child.

We are strangers to them. 

This child has no family.

This child has issues - some of them you can see, some of them you can't.  Some of them don't even exist yet.

And we are going to say to this stranger-child, "Hey!  There is a lot - an awful lot - that stands between us and you, but we are willing to cross all those bridges.  We'll span the oceans.  We are willing to let your issues be our issues.  Your mess, our mess.  Your story, our story.  We are willing to be your family and love you always."

Wait, you say.  That's not crazy.  That is exciting, noble, wonderful!

Perhaps.

There is a cost you see... the hidden, secret cost. 

Because to take a complete stranger with all their mysterious messiness, and call them family... to open your arms to a child whose unknowns will shake you to your core, whose potential for disaster may outweigh your potential to love, and be willing to chose to love even still...

That means you have to stop looking at what you want.

Stop looking at what you need.

Take all those things that you are so desperate to call you own - your dreams, your fears, your hopes, every deceitful, pacifying half truth you tell yourself, your reputation and your friendships - every good and bad that defines you...

...and give them up.

Then you must choose to be obedient to a vision of love that is outlandish.

wild

misunderstood

presumptive

bold

undeserved

stubborn

hopeful

And you must choose it in your darkest hours, in the blindness of your selfishness, in the midnight of your despair.  Again and again, over and over and with every breath...

You must choose love, and obedience.

Pondering the future.

Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a dog.

I'm thinking maybe something of the medium height variety, with some poodle or collie in them (those breeds are smart and don't shed the same way as regular dogs).

I always imagined when I was a grown up that I would have a boy dog and name him Quasar.

My husband and oldest daughter would rather have a cat. I guess that might make for an interesting menagerie.

One day.



(edit: I did not know would not post again here for about 3 years. in that time a lot changed.  among other things we had another daughter, and a cat found us.)

Sofa Illuminations

A perplexing revelation came to me as I was sitting here just now, talking to a friend of mine in The Netherlands about Australia's amazing mangoes...

Christmas time is always interesting for me. Instead of it warming up (as I'm used to) it cools down... Instead of the smell of ripe tropical fruit, the smell of scented pinecones greets you when you walk into the grocery store. People are pulling out scarves and woolens, instead of tank tops and flip flops.
Before Christmas, on a cold wintery day, a friend sipped hot chocolate with me as we watched snow laden clouds drift gloomily across the sky, and asked "What do you miss most about Christmas in Australia?"
Without hesitation I said, "Mangoes."

The smell, the sickly sweet bins of them that you drift past at the local corner shop... the way they spice up the air when you cut into them... the slippery seed at the center that holds so much goodness and requires so much flossing afterwards...

But they're not the same here, they're more bitter, and less intoxicating.

Then a dear friend of ours married a man from Uganda, right before Christmas. R and I sang at their wedding. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the reception area to see that the place cards on the table were mangoes! Not ordinary store bought mangoes, but large, fat, red-ripening mangoes that made my heart pound. The kind where, when you sniff the stem, all you can think about is summer as a child and your face sticky with mango juice.

It was like a gift from heaven for me. In the middle of a cold winter, a home country touch of Christmas.

I treasured those mangoes. I took them home, and for fear they would go bad in my refrigerator while I was gone, I wrapped them carefully in a sweater and put them in my hand luggage for the plane ride to Denver the next day. They arrived safe and sound, and into the refrigerator they went.

Periodically, I would pull them out of the refrigerator and put them on the counter, thinking that today would be the day I'd cut into them and share them with the family, but somehow they would sit there just long enough to be overlooked, and then returned to the refrigerator by someone kind enough to try and preserve them for me... And then later I would pull them out again, to get them to room temperature, and smell them for a while, and thing about how wonderful a surprise they were... and then they'd disappear into the refrigerator again.

They were left in Denver, uneaten.

And as I sat here, talking to my friend about mangoes, I remembered them. Those two luscious, ruby coloured mangoes that smelled so sweet, and were such a gift... and a small question dropped into my mind...

"How often do you do that?"

It was a painful question for me.

How often are we blessed... do we receive a beautiful gift, and then never truly enjoy it? How often do we look at it, admire it, caress it... and never partake of it?

Food for thought.