So many people have been soooo supportive of us, and our adoption endeavors..thank you very much! We need all the support we can get!
We have sent our home study out on two more possibilities:
One is a sibling group of two younger girls...a 4 yr old and 2 yr old. Oh so adorable. They have only been in one foster placement, which is a good thing. They are chinese. My first time around wanting to adopt, many years ago, I really wanted an asian child. They are so beautiful, and these two sisters are no exception! I doubt we would get chosen, since we are 40+ but you never know, right?
The other is an 11 yr old, from Oregon. Her first name starts with an "A" too! She is a beautiful girl, with a really good bulletin that states she likes sports, and plays the violin, and wants to play the piano too. She is also artistic. Anyone who really "gets" me...knows that the artistic, musical side would be something I would love to have in a daughter. She doesn't "act out" but instead is one of those kids who decided long ago, that their needs really didn't matter and they in turn take care of everyone elses needs.
My husband thinks that type of girl would be the best type for us. We aren't really the drill sargeant type of parents, who are tough and stern. We are more the loving, gentle type, and being caring and sweet. A better parent for that type of girl. The first "A" from Idaho NEEDED the other type, the drill sargeant.
Can you see the difference in this post? My feet are grounded. My head is not up in the clouds. I don't want to romanticize this, nor idealize it in any way, shape, or form! I fell hard last time. This time, I will try to be more realistic.
My feet on solid ground.
I have a fear of flying, and of very high places. Everytime I get on an airplane, I am terrified. I should have realized I was floating dangerously high off the ground with my whole dream of adopting. I am only human. Mistakes are okay if you learn from them. I'm trying to.
Feet on solid ground.
Keep them there. One step at a time. Eyes wide open. Mind full of questions. Heart that seeks truth.
Grounded now.
lovelygirl and me
Friday, October 8, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
stillontheadoptionrollercoaster
It didn't work out.
"A" and us. Not even close.
Here I was, trying to hammer in a puzzle piece that didn't even belong into that spot, shoving the corners down, forcing it to fit.
It just plain didn't.
I ache in my heart for that little girl.
Now we are on her list of people who let her down. It saddens me more than any of you reading this will ever know.
I need to know what to do different next time.
Less expectations? Better reading between the lines prior?
If we would have known all of it before hand, we wouldn't have let her come over. Let her get her hopes up...as well as ours.
It didn't work.
I felt like a failure at first.
I wasn't completely honest with myself, nor was my husband, "S" on what we could actually deal with.
"A" needs a mom just like her foster mom. I'm just not tough enough or hard enough.
It is what the adoption journey is about, is it not?
Ups and downs. Did I really think I would find the perfect girl on the first try?
I guess I did.
I learned a great deal about myself.
I'm not giving up.
There is a girl out there for us.
She is waiting...still.
We are waiting...still.
Ups and downs. Twists and turns.
Don't give up.
"A" and us. Not even close.
Here I was, trying to hammer in a puzzle piece that didn't even belong into that spot, shoving the corners down, forcing it to fit.
It just plain didn't.
I ache in my heart for that little girl.
Now we are on her list of people who let her down. It saddens me more than any of you reading this will ever know.
I need to know what to do different next time.
Less expectations? Better reading between the lines prior?
If we would have known all of it before hand, we wouldn't have let her come over. Let her get her hopes up...as well as ours.
It didn't work.
I felt like a failure at first.
I wasn't completely honest with myself, nor was my husband, "S" on what we could actually deal with.
"A" needs a mom just like her foster mom. I'm just not tough enough or hard enough.
It is what the adoption journey is about, is it not?
Ups and downs. Did I really think I would find the perfect girl on the first try?
I guess I did.
I learned a great deal about myself.
I'm not giving up.
There is a girl out there for us.
She is waiting...still.
We are waiting...still.
Ups and downs. Twists and turns.
Don't give up.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
needsandbridges
One of the important things we learned in the classes that we were required to take for adopting is what they call, "The Attachement Cycle."
For these kids, who come out of the foster system, attaching takes on a whole new meaning. They aren't just going to give their heart away, over and over, each time they are moved to another home. No way. They are going to carefully tuck that love away, keep it guarded.
So, how do you get them to love you? To attach to you?
Even if they don't have Reactive Attachment Disorder, which is a huge "LABEL" to put on any child, there will be attachment issues. Can you blame them?
In class we learned that in order to build the bridge of attachment, you need to meet their basic needs first and foremost.
NEEDS.
Necessities for growth. They need their physical needs met. By this, I mean health, food and warmth. Shelter. This may seem very basic, but some of these kids who were neglected never had that.
They need to feel secure, safe and protected. "A" has already mentioned she needs a family who will protect her.
They need to belong. To feel like they are actually a part of the family. I can't tell you how many stories I have heard of foster parents going on their "family vacation" who leave the foster kids behind at a respite home. How can that make a child feel like they belong? It doesn't.
Unconditional acceptance. They need to be accepted for who they are at that very moment. Unconditionally. Even if they are throwing a fit, they need to know that you still love them and accept them at that moment.
They need to be affirmed of their self worth, over and over again. Maybe forever.
Trust. Never promise anything to them that you will not completely follow through with.
If those basic needs are not met, they cannot attach. They can't trust you, they can't love you. They will have a whole in their heart that they will keep trying to fill with things, or with bad attention.
So, when a fit arrives, it's a perfect time to begin that bridge to attachment.
Instead of looking at the "action" whether it is screaming, or kicking, or slapping or swearing. Look BEYOND the action, and ask yourself, "What is their NEED at this moment?"
When a newborn baby enters the world, they are completely dependent on their parents or the adults in their lives. They have to learn how to communicate their needs, to get it across to the adult, and get their need met.
Generally, it begins, with what they taught us in class, as "Arrousal." What does arrousal look like in a newborn?
You got it, they cry. Let me tell you, they learn pretty quickly that if they cry, someone comes running and does their very best to take care of the need. Sometimes it's a guessing game...do they need their diaper changed or do they have gas, and need to be burped? Maybe they are hungry again, or maybe they need rocked to sleep.
Alot of foster kids learned early on that no one will come running to meet their needs, and they eventually give up. That is what the teacher called, "The Empty Glass Kids." They believe they were brought on this earth to meet everyone else's needs, but their own needs mean nothing.
Sad, huh?
If you meet the infant's needs, what happens? They relax. They fall asleep. They feel safe and secure. They want for nothing. (Until the next feeding time!)
The same falls true for foster kids. They don't necessarily know how to communicate their needs to you. Sometimes it will be a guessing game. What exactly does this child need?
"A" had a meltdown at her foster home today. It was after I had already called her and talked to her. She sounded happy while I talked to her, and her morning was going well at that point.
A half hour later, her foster mom called and said she was throwing a fit, and could I talk to her.
I said, "Sure! Of course!"
The bridge began at that moment. Carefully, tread carefully. Build each step slowly and surely, so it will not crumble and fall apart. Tentatively, I began to meet some of the small needs she had. Someone to listen. Someone to care. Someone to accept her just as she was.
I don't want a perfect child. I want a REAL child. She needed to know that she didn't need to be perfect, I still want her. I showed her that. And she calmed down. From crying hysterically, to talking normally with me.
The bridge may be a very long one. It might take awhile to get all the way acrossed. One small step towards her began today. A step I will cherish. I can be patient. It's too important not to be patient. "A" NEEDS me to be patient, and so I will.
A bridge to her, a bridge to "A's" heart.
For these kids, who come out of the foster system, attaching takes on a whole new meaning. They aren't just going to give their heart away, over and over, each time they are moved to another home. No way. They are going to carefully tuck that love away, keep it guarded.
So, how do you get them to love you? To attach to you?
Even if they don't have Reactive Attachment Disorder, which is a huge "LABEL" to put on any child, there will be attachment issues. Can you blame them?
In class we learned that in order to build the bridge of attachment, you need to meet their basic needs first and foremost.
NEEDS.
Necessities for growth. They need their physical needs met. By this, I mean health, food and warmth. Shelter. This may seem very basic, but some of these kids who were neglected never had that.
They need to feel secure, safe and protected. "A" has already mentioned she needs a family who will protect her.
They need to belong. To feel like they are actually a part of the family. I can't tell you how many stories I have heard of foster parents going on their "family vacation" who leave the foster kids behind at a respite home. How can that make a child feel like they belong? It doesn't.
Unconditional acceptance. They need to be accepted for who they are at that very moment. Unconditionally. Even if they are throwing a fit, they need to know that you still love them and accept them at that moment.
They need to be affirmed of their self worth, over and over again. Maybe forever.
Trust. Never promise anything to them that you will not completely follow through with.
If those basic needs are not met, they cannot attach. They can't trust you, they can't love you. They will have a whole in their heart that they will keep trying to fill with things, or with bad attention.
So, when a fit arrives, it's a perfect time to begin that bridge to attachment.
Instead of looking at the "action" whether it is screaming, or kicking, or slapping or swearing. Look BEYOND the action, and ask yourself, "What is their NEED at this moment?"
When a newborn baby enters the world, they are completely dependent on their parents or the adults in their lives. They have to learn how to communicate their needs, to get it across to the adult, and get their need met.
Generally, it begins, with what they taught us in class, as "Arrousal." What does arrousal look like in a newborn?
You got it, they cry. Let me tell you, they learn pretty quickly that if they cry, someone comes running and does their very best to take care of the need. Sometimes it's a guessing game...do they need their diaper changed or do they have gas, and need to be burped? Maybe they are hungry again, or maybe they need rocked to sleep.
Alot of foster kids learned early on that no one will come running to meet their needs, and they eventually give up. That is what the teacher called, "The Empty Glass Kids." They believe they were brought on this earth to meet everyone else's needs, but their own needs mean nothing.
Sad, huh?
If you meet the infant's needs, what happens? They relax. They fall asleep. They feel safe and secure. They want for nothing. (Until the next feeding time!)
The same falls true for foster kids. They don't necessarily know how to communicate their needs to you. Sometimes it will be a guessing game. What exactly does this child need?
"A" had a meltdown at her foster home today. It was after I had already called her and talked to her. She sounded happy while I talked to her, and her morning was going well at that point.
A half hour later, her foster mom called and said she was throwing a fit, and could I talk to her.
I said, "Sure! Of course!"
The bridge began at that moment. Carefully, tread carefully. Build each step slowly and surely, so it will not crumble and fall apart. Tentatively, I began to meet some of the small needs she had. Someone to listen. Someone to care. Someone to accept her just as she was.
I don't want a perfect child. I want a REAL child. She needed to know that she didn't need to be perfect, I still want her. I showed her that. And she calmed down. From crying hysterically, to talking normally with me.
The bridge may be a very long one. It might take awhile to get all the way acrossed. One small step towards her began today. A step I will cherish. I can be patient. It's too important not to be patient. "A" NEEDS me to be patient, and so I will.
A bridge to her, a bridge to "A's" heart.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
freshcleanpalette
My mother-in-law came over today, and together we painted the walls "Ultra White" in the room that will be our girl's room.
A fresh palette. When we bring her home, she can help decide what colors she wants on her walls, and what she wants painted. She will have an artist for a mom, so she can pretty much pick anything!
"Grandma" brought some things she had to dress up the room. Cute little music boxes, butterfly shaped glass dish with a lid and other girlie-girl things. She is excited too. Since she has no grandaughters, she has only been able to buy things for boys. Now she will have a grandaughter.
It's okay to spoil some. There is some making up to do in my way of thinking. Over due. In moderation. *Smile.* Can I really resist? I think not!
We dragged the bed in and set it up. Wish the room was bigger. What can I do? It is cute though. I think she will like it.
Starting over in a new home provides the chance to "wipe the slate clean" and "start over." You can't leave the past behind, but you can put it in a safe place and move on. It's our job to show her how.
A fresh, clean room. A new start. A fresh clean palette.
A fresh palette. When we bring her home, she can help decide what colors she wants on her walls, and what she wants painted. She will have an artist for a mom, so she can pretty much pick anything!
"Grandma" brought some things she had to dress up the room. Cute little music boxes, butterfly shaped glass dish with a lid and other girlie-girl things. She is excited too. Since she has no grandaughters, she has only been able to buy things for boys. Now she will have a grandaughter.
It's okay to spoil some. There is some making up to do in my way of thinking. Over due. In moderation. *Smile.* Can I really resist? I think not!
We dragged the bed in and set it up. Wish the room was bigger. What can I do? It is cute though. I think she will like it.
Starting over in a new home provides the chance to "wipe the slate clean" and "start over." You can't leave the past behind, but you can put it in a safe place and move on. It's our job to show her how.
A fresh, clean room. A new start. A fresh clean palette.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
onelesslonelygirl
Trying to look at the world through 10 year old "tween" eyes. Normal school girl crushes, fights with girl friends and all those things that have long since collected dust and cobwebs in the far recesses of my mind.
Now slash those. Contort them with pain and loss. Twist them with abuse and neglect. How does the world look now? How can one lonely girl see the world when all she knows is sorrow?
She wants to belong. To fit in. To be loved, unconditionally. No more bags packed. No more starting over. No more trying to be the perfect child so you won't be given back.
I can feel the longing in her heart. It stretches out across the vast mountains and valleys in the distance that separates us. Clinging desperately to my bleeding heart.
"If you let me inside your world, there'll be one less lonely girl."
Just a few lines from a song sung by the tween heart throb, Justin Beiber. Powerful words.
"I'm comin' for you, comin' for you."
Mother~someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you today just for who you are.
One less lonely girl.
Now slash those. Contort them with pain and loss. Twist them with abuse and neglect. How does the world look now? How can one lonely girl see the world when all she knows is sorrow?
She wants to belong. To fit in. To be loved, unconditionally. No more bags packed. No more starting over. No more trying to be the perfect child so you won't be given back.
I can feel the longing in her heart. It stretches out across the vast mountains and valleys in the distance that separates us. Clinging desperately to my bleeding heart.
"If you let me inside your world, there'll be one less lonely girl."
Just a few lines from a song sung by the tween heart throb, Justin Beiber. Powerful words.
"I'm comin' for you, comin' for you."
Mother~someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you today just for who you are.
One less lonely girl.
"A Grandma's Love"
I decided to put this story I wrote on my blog. It was published in a book called, "Relationships And Other Stuff." Hope you enjoy:
Standing guard upon the top of my old blue pie cabinet is a pair of chickens. Front and center, surrounded by an array of antique kitchen gadgets, they have quietly watched over my kitchen for a number of years now. A rooster and his hen nestle together in faded reds, greens and yellows.
My grandma gave them to me before she passed on. It was a hand-selected gift. Not from a fancy department store, but rather from the top of her refrigerator in her own kitchen. I accepted them with great humbleness as she told me how Grandpa had given them to her on one of their earliest anniversaries.
After my Grandpa’s death, many of the family members squabbled over Grandpa’s cherished items. It hurt Grandma greatly. So, she took it upon her self to hand out her own gifts before she, herself, died. She wanted to make sure each of us had something precious to remember her by.
I knew that each item meant something special to her, and that each represented memories she had that were attached to the item itself. So, when she handed me the rooster and hen, I searched her face for answers. I could not recall any particular moment with them. I knew they were a constant in the Schwilke household. Every family get- together that I could remember, the rooster and hen had presided over all.
She smiled, and then gently turned the rooster in the light, and there I could see small lines appearing at the base of the tail, wrapping around to the other side. Cracks. Faint as they were, they were there. It had been broken and glued back together.
“Your Grandpa fixed them,” she said simply. And I knew in my heart that I had been the culprit of the rooster losing his tail. I had broken it. She handed the hen to me.
I examined the hen, and could see that she too, had been broken--- more than the rooster had, for there were actual chips missing along the base of her head. Poor hen, I must have broken her entire head off. I couldn’t remember doing it, but I had.
Tears filled my eyes as I thought of Grandpa, painstakingly gluing this treasure back together. I don’t recall being spanked for the crime, or even hollered at. It was out of pure love for his wife that my Grandpa repaired this precious gift, a memento of their cherished day.
They had the best kind of love. Unconditional love. Through the years, when my grandma slowly gained weight, he used to say with a wink, “I don’t mind at all, it keeps all the other men away from my beautiful bride.” He always had a twinkle in his eye just for her. He often patted her backside, and she would giggle and say, “Oh, Harold!” and then she would go on singing the words to an old song, Beautiful Dreamer. I can still hear her singing or whistling that tune and smell the venison steaks sizzling in the frying pan.
As I stood with Grandma that day, I realized how deeply she loved me. Even though I had broken something very precious to her, she didn’t hold any anger towards me, and neither had Grandpa. They had continued loving me unconditionally, their clumsy granddaughter, as I grew into adulthood. She held me tight to her bosom after giving me her gifts, a long cherished hug told me of her love for me. It was to be the last hug she shared with me. My grandma passed away not long after.
Even now, after many years passed, the lesson keeps coming back to me. The proud rooster and his hen stand as a lesson in love. They remain a testament of the unconditional love that we all must have for each other. No earthly possession is so valuable that if broken accidentally by tiny hands should cause that love to waver.
I do not have any grandchildren yet, but hope someday I will. The rooster and the hen will make sure that I am reminded of how to love my little ones unconditionally. If tiny hands accidentally break them, I will remember my Grandma, and not be angry. A little glue and they will be as good as new. Ready to stand guard over the next generation: a Grandma’s gift of unconditional love.
Standing guard upon the top of my old blue pie cabinet is a pair of chickens. Front and center, surrounded by an array of antique kitchen gadgets, they have quietly watched over my kitchen for a number of years now. A rooster and his hen nestle together in faded reds, greens and yellows.
My grandma gave them to me before she passed on. It was a hand-selected gift. Not from a fancy department store, but rather from the top of her refrigerator in her own kitchen. I accepted them with great humbleness as she told me how Grandpa had given them to her on one of their earliest anniversaries.
After my Grandpa’s death, many of the family members squabbled over Grandpa’s cherished items. It hurt Grandma greatly. So, she took it upon her self to hand out her own gifts before she, herself, died. She wanted to make sure each of us had something precious to remember her by.
I knew that each item meant something special to her, and that each represented memories she had that were attached to the item itself. So, when she handed me the rooster and hen, I searched her face for answers. I could not recall any particular moment with them. I knew they were a constant in the Schwilke household. Every family get- together that I could remember, the rooster and hen had presided over all.
She smiled, and then gently turned the rooster in the light, and there I could see small lines appearing at the base of the tail, wrapping around to the other side. Cracks. Faint as they were, they were there. It had been broken and glued back together.
“Your Grandpa fixed them,” she said simply. And I knew in my heart that I had been the culprit of the rooster losing his tail. I had broken it. She handed the hen to me.
I examined the hen, and could see that she too, had been broken--- more than the rooster had, for there were actual chips missing along the base of her head. Poor hen, I must have broken her entire head off. I couldn’t remember doing it, but I had.
Tears filled my eyes as I thought of Grandpa, painstakingly gluing this treasure back together. I don’t recall being spanked for the crime, or even hollered at. It was out of pure love for his wife that my Grandpa repaired this precious gift, a memento of their cherished day.
They had the best kind of love. Unconditional love. Through the years, when my grandma slowly gained weight, he used to say with a wink, “I don’t mind at all, it keeps all the other men away from my beautiful bride.” He always had a twinkle in his eye just for her. He often patted her backside, and she would giggle and say, “Oh, Harold!” and then she would go on singing the words to an old song, Beautiful Dreamer. I can still hear her singing or whistling that tune and smell the venison steaks sizzling in the frying pan.
As I stood with Grandma that day, I realized how deeply she loved me. Even though I had broken something very precious to her, she didn’t hold any anger towards me, and neither had Grandpa. They had continued loving me unconditionally, their clumsy granddaughter, as I grew into adulthood. She held me tight to her bosom after giving me her gifts, a long cherished hug told me of her love for me. It was to be the last hug she shared with me. My grandma passed away not long after.
Even now, after many years passed, the lesson keeps coming back to me. The proud rooster and his hen stand as a lesson in love. They remain a testament of the unconditional love that we all must have for each other. No earthly possession is so valuable that if broken accidentally by tiny hands should cause that love to waver.
I do not have any grandchildren yet, but hope someday I will. The rooster and the hen will make sure that I am reminded of how to love my little ones unconditionally. If tiny hands accidentally break them, I will remember my Grandma, and not be angry. A little glue and they will be as good as new. Ready to stand guard over the next generation: a Grandma’s gift of unconditional love.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
tappingoffingers
Waiting is so hard! I am one of those people who try and respond right away to people's emails, texts or voice mails. When other's don't, I get a little frustrated.
I was supposed to let "A"'s caseworker know if that weekend works for us to go meet "A." Can I reach anyone??? Not even my own adoption worker answers my emails. sigh.
Impatience. I have waited a very long time to adopt. First one was foiled by my ex-husband cheating on me. So, over 10 years. Of waiting. Impatiently at times.
Seems funny, that not all people can understand that wait. They haven't experienced life yet. Haven't experienced loss. They take it for granted that if you want a child, just have one when you feel like it.
So, I sit. Tapping my fingers impatiently. Waiting.
I was supposed to let "A"'s caseworker know if that weekend works for us to go meet "A." Can I reach anyone??? Not even my own adoption worker answers my emails. sigh.
Impatience. I have waited a very long time to adopt. First one was foiled by my ex-husband cheating on me. So, over 10 years. Of waiting. Impatiently at times.
Seems funny, that not all people can understand that wait. They haven't experienced life yet. Haven't experienced loss. They take it for granted that if you want a child, just have one when you feel like it.
So, I sit. Tapping my fingers impatiently. Waiting.
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