lovelygirl and me

lovelygirl and me

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Still in it to win it

I haven't written in awhile. Not that I have given up on the whole process. Definitely still in there, fighting the good fight. Hanging on with dogged determination.

Still in it to win it.

Have you ever run the two mile in track? Not for leisure, but for a recorded time. I have. It isn't easy. Eight times around the track, around and around. My coach said that every time I passed by him, I gave him an evil glare when he yelled encouragement.

But, I hung in there. I never got any fancy medals, though I did come in 6th at State. Not too shabby, really.

By the third lap, you are wondering why the heck you joined track in the first place. One foot in front of the other, pounding the black top. Now they have fancier material to run on, made out of recycled old tires. Softer, bouncier. Back then, we ran on black top.

Fourth lap comes and you want to just quit, to stop and say, "I give up already!" But you don't. You keep running. Bone jarring strides. Thump. Thump. Thump. Bang. Bang. Bang. You just look ahead, see the upcoming curve that marks the end of the track, and think...okay, just once more around.

Five and six are about the same. Just keep running. Just keep running. Time seems to slow down. You might find someone to get behind, someone to break the wind for you. If you're lucky.

On the Seventh lap, you can't give up. You would look like a fool. An idiot. No, you have to make it across the finish line now. No turning back.

Something happens when you round that last corner and your legs pound you down the home stretch. The last yards. You muster up some hidden strength and try to sprint. I say try, because you honestly don't feel you have anything left in you to give. But you do it, somehow.

And you cross it.

The finish line.

Maybe not as fast as everyone expected, least of all the coach. Maybe not as fast as you had hoped...but you did it. There is a sense of triumph.

Of course, you feel like you want to puke, but still, the fact that you accomplished this great thing over-rides all other feelings.

I am in it to win it. I seek the finish line and the results thereafter.

A little girl, or two, or maybe a little girl and little boy. Who knows? I am ready to be a mother again to little ones.

We go to committee on two little darling sisters. No date yet. But, I can feel that I am at least on the seventh lap, rounding the corner towards the finish line. With these two at the line, I can sprint.

I am in it to win them.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

patiencepatiencepatience

Sigh.
I am trying hard to be patient. I really am.
It's so hard to have no control over something so important. At least not in this part of the roller coaster ride.
No one said adoption would be easy.
I just thought it was going to be when I first started this procedure. I thought I would be the nontypical one, the one who found a child right away, and was approved.
I thought I might have a child by Christmas for sure!
Now?
Not so sure. Not so sure.
So, we sent in another homestudy. This time for a 6 yr old girl, whose name starts with a "D." Ohhhh so cute.
Funny how I can totally picture each of these possibilities in our home, in our family.
I can picture myself tucking in the two little ones, the asian sisters, reading to them, coloring with them, kissing them goodnight. Totally.
Yet, I can also picture listening to the new "A" play her violin, and having soulful talks with her, then running her down to a soccer game and cheering her on!
The same with little 6 yr old "D" she loves camping, fishing, and playing outside. She also loves coloring and dolls. I can picture her running around the yard, with our doggies, playing; and laying on the floor coloring pictures of fairies and horses.
Am I that fickle?
I like to think that I am remaining open.
Open to the possibilities that exist.
Not stuck on one girl, like I was before.
Good. I learned something. That's important.
Now to learn patience.
Patience, patience...and more patience.
As I wait.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

dreamsslippingaway

I don't know what to do.

There may be a chance that the whole fiasco with "A" will hurt our chances to ever adopt a girl. How can this be?

Ten years ago, I had a room all painted, and ready. A bed made with a handmade quilt I stitched with love. Toys and clothes, neatly sat waiting.

A heart sat waiting too. Mine. My ex and I were going to adopt a little girl. Her name was Cheyenne.

She was four years old, and blonde hair with brown eyes. I had dresses for her and cute little socks. I had my sister come over and she took a home movie of me, telling Cheyenne how much I was looking forward to meeting her, to having her come stay at our house.

We never even got that far.

My ex, "B", canceled it. I didn't know the reasons at the time...figured it had something to do with revenge. But it more than just that, it was because he was going to be leaving me for someone else. I just wasn't aware of it yet.

So, my dreams of adopting a little girl slipped away. "B" had the power to send my dreams into oblivion.

Now I let my heart open up again to the possibilities. I took a chance again. It felt right to begin the process to adopt a girl. Everything seemed good.

So, we thought it was to be "A" from Idaho.

I can't go into all the reasons why we decided not to adopt her. But, a big one was that my husband, "S" couldn't do it. Reality was too much for him. Talking about the possibility of her being violent to me was one thing, but when confronted with it, a whole different story.

In a marriage it takes two. Both need to be there, present and willing. If one isn't then it won't work. I felt strongly that he needed to be willing also.

He couldn't say yes.

Now, it may cost me my dream again.

My soul feels betrayed.

Friday, October 8, 2010

feetgroundednow

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

Friday, June 11, 2010

The Waiting Game

June 11, 2010

It's a waiting game. The days go by slowly, I try and think of things to fill my time, to keep me distracted but somehow my mind ends up there. Thinking of adoption. Thinking of my daughter.

Where is she? What has she gone through? What will she go through to make her way to me and my family? How much pain has she gone through? Is she silent in her pain? Does she ache for a family to call her own? Will she be open to coming into ours? Or talked into it by the caseworkers?

These things go through my mind as I wait.

I send fleeting prayers up for her. That God will set His angels to protect her. To keep her safe. To help her heal. To help her begin the process of one more transition, hopefully her last.

Does she look up at the moon like I do? Maybe we are looking at it at the exact same time, wishing for each other.

Wednesday morning, I went to a class. It wasn't required, but I highly recommend it! "Understanding and Responding to the Sexual Behavior of Children." It's taught by Linda Bello, MSW, she is from the Portland State Universities Child Welfare Partnership program.

Good stuff. Meat to sink your teeth in. One out of every three girls will be sexually abused by the age of 18 yrs. That is a pretty high number. So sad too. Being robbed of their innocence, sometimes by their own fathers. Sometimes by a mother so desperate for drugs to get high on, that they pimp out their own daughters, letting some greasy, creepy guy take their little girls in the other room and do "whatever they want." How awful for those little girls.

I feel so sad that there will be a good chance our daughter has experienced something of this type of abuse. How can I help her heal from that? I want to so desperately.

To me, these kids are like a type of Helen Keller child...only instead of being physically deaf, blind and mute, they are developmentally, socially and mentally unable to cope in the real world. To them, all their abuse WAS the real world, they don't KNOW any difference! It will take a teacher, much like Anne Sullivan was to Helen Keller, who does not give up on them, who consistantly sets out to reteach them the world.

Anne Sullivan repeated the process over and over and over, until finally the light bulb came on and Helen understood. I hope I can be consistant enough, strong enough, with just the right amount of determination and love to reach through the shell and find the inner child...to re-teach her what real love is...

By example. I am not perfect. I know this. I make lots of mistakes. I did make alot of mistakes with my boys. I see that now more than ever. Their trauma was the whole divorce and our family being ripped apart. Everyone deals with trauma in their own way. I just want to be honest and real. To talk talk talk things out. I want to have unconditional love. No strings attached. Give for the purest reasons, with no thought of anything back. May never get anything back.

This little girl has already been through so much. She has hurt far more than I could imagine. My soul wraps her inside of me, to nurture her needs...even now, in my thoughts...while I wait.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Grafting a new branch to an old tree...

June 8, 2010

Merely a thought, an escaped idea on adoption:

Adoption
the grafting on of a new branch
to an old tree.
A tired
Wounded
hurting branch...
desperately needing nourishment.
Starving for security, trust and unconditional love.
When finally
Hugs
Kisses
Love
Bring tiny hesitant buds
to the surface
ready to spring forth
with newfound joy
Making her tree and ours
Complete.
Can I make you mine by dreaming you?
I scrunch my eyes shut tight
I can see you clear enough
Can I wish you into existance?
I try.
Somewhere out there
you wait for me
Waiting for my wishes and dreams to bring you to life
springing up in joyous rapture into my waiting arms
Can I make you mine by dreaming you?
Yes.
It seems like I have been dreaming this forever. At least eleven years. During my first marriage eons ago, we went through the adoption process. I had three boys, whom I loved with all my heart, but I also longed for a little girl to complete our family. I poured my heart and soul into it. Had a beautiful room all ready; toys, clothes, books and anything a four year old might want and dream of. After taking all the necessary classes, I waited anxiously for the packets of prospective adoptees to begin arriving.
They did too. By the 5th one, I had found her. A darling little 4 year old, named Cheyenne. Eagerly, I sent the packet back with a resounding "Yes!"
It wasn't meant to be. My husband at the time decided he didn't want to go through with it, and I was devestated. It felt like she had died. My daughter died, before I could even meet her.
I didn't find out for many months the reason he had said "no." He had been seeing a woman, and planned on leaving us to be with her. A double whammy. Feeling crushed beyond anything I had ever felt before, I struggled to go on. We divorced. I told the agency I just didn't feel it was right to bring a child into that pain and loss. They said I still could adopt, I just couldn't do it.
So, that was it. The end of my dream and my life as I knew it. I fled to the beach for comfort, renting a quaint little cottage for the weekend and cried my heart out. The sea has a way of embracing your soul, it is timeless and vast. It wraps you in it's salty arms and hugs you, letting you spill all your pain out into the waves, smashing them against the rocks, making them an integral part of the seascape.
And then a message. To me. To my wounded heart. I was sitting on a driftwood log, the tears had run out for the moment. The only sounds were the squawking of seagulls and the waves crashing on the shoreline. Something made me look down.
A set of footprints, one seemingly a ladies...and one, a small child. I could tell that they were together, most likely holding hands, walking along the beach, going from one treasure to another, meandering along together on a fun filled afternoon.
The promise came from deep within.
I would have a daughter. Someday, I would make it through all of this mess and confusion and pain. Someday, I would rise up again and become a strong woman and I would be ready for her.
So, now, after all of these years. I am ready. Ready to find her...my daughter. She is out there, waiting for me. I have waited for her a long time. My heart is ready. My arms are ready.