tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38772575191152148002024-03-19T02:34:30.942-07:00Invisible HandsMaps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-50477525270637371262011-03-25T11:22:00.000-07:002011-03-25T11:22:50.274-07:00Hear Ye, Hear Ye.... New Blog<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Important Update!!!!!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">I have started a new blog, continued in the spirit of learning from and sharing our life's journey. Hope you will join us there......</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.drawingmapsofchina.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Drawing Maps of China </span></span></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-52519898031324968642010-08-07T17:02:00.000-07:002010-08-07T17:12:17.115-07:00Cami's Adoption Day<div style="text-align: center;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />It was about this time in August of 2007, we traveled to China for our first time </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">and we met the sweetest baby in the world!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I wanted so badly to create a video that showed the heart of our story.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Instead, I ended up with a video tainted by so many technical problems,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">it's hard to follow the story in places.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But I hope you will try.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">During this special time,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">as we celebrate Cami and who she was and all she has become,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I invite you go back with us to the beginning of our journey.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There are some places where the film freezes.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The music usually continues.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Please wait, and the video will resume. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(Like I said, there are some technical difficulties)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But it is still a treasure to us. </span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><br /></a></span></div><br /><br /><br /><object width="568" height="466"><param name="movie" value="http://www.humzoo.com/videos/player/?vid=296"><embed src="http://www.humzoo.com/videos/player/?vid=296" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="568" height="466"></embed></object>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-32976535920999628902010-06-18T12:09:00.000-07:002010-06-18T15:10:01.993-07:00Paradox of Adult Children<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjctq308R-xjojk7mzrKJ8mKb6mjmhQzFJDtuYI4Nzh4nOWaAa97ZQNG6VnYGPguBeuNPKQK4HB_S2jeVF6ThZuQnY-suFKzWwUQ83nV7BK_2UGQw3rRsN-yRKczQDUXI4AmUibeOtet5WM/s1600/044.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjctq308R-xjojk7mzrKJ8mKb6mjmhQzFJDtuYI4Nzh4nOWaAa97ZQNG6VnYGPguBeuNPKQK4HB_S2jeVF6ThZuQnY-suFKzWwUQ83nV7BK_2UGQw3rRsN-yRKczQDUXI4AmUibeOtet5WM/s400/044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484238880717854850" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lately they come to me,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">smelling faintly of</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">smoke and leaves</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">and other people's cars.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">They come</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for renewal and validation,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">they come begging,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">like street performers</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">hiding behind</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">tricks, or grades or funny stories.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Aching for approval or more often,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for money,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">willing me to open</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">the mother wallet</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">and let the spirits move</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">to finance their dreams,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">or their snacks,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">or gas for their car.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">They come to me</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">all false bravado and devil may care</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">never knowing</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I see</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">the trembling hand</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">or lowered shifty eyes revealing</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">haunted hurting hearts.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">At night</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">they come to me</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">still needing some small goodbye ritual</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">and never knowing</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I can still see them</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">all blankets and thumbs and small feet kicking.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">They come</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">with more questions than answers.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Evasive,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">tilling secret gardens,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">proof they are growing away from me,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">don't need me</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">But still,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">they come.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Finding their way</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">in from the cold</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">They let me reach for their hand</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">For a moment</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I pull them close and smell their hair</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">and know they are mine.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Even</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Behind stubble and bangs of a nameless color. </span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">they still sweat grass and pool water and wind.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">mixed with a secret scent we share,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">branded onto my heart</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">from the first day</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I knew them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Even though they have again stolen my sleep,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">overtaken all my prayers</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">and recklessly wrapped themselves up</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">in most moments of possible peace.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">There is hope</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">echoing</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">down the hallway</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">because</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">they come.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To me.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To home.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Where</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">hearts still open wide.</span><br /><br /></span><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent;" /></a></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-48743084489327204872010-06-03T11:17:00.001-07:002010-06-03T13:27:32.022-07:00A Story, A Story<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHoVzUj-OtWOPaOGSNSqrfE0aTyMljQ9Tp7UmVcJ6lU2_6Y9ubisCRBMLsdWi4rbMDjSZWzFRarFO9cYBw_vtKVtaOAkvjiDMpSyxHZAX-8CYxoihconlHuC1MVK5H3HblfGa2qAJK2c__/s1600/011.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 364px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHoVzUj-OtWOPaOGSNSqrfE0aTyMljQ9Tp7UmVcJ6lU2_6Y9ubisCRBMLsdWi4rbMDjSZWzFRarFO9cYBw_vtKVtaOAkvjiDMpSyxHZAX-8CYxoihconlHuC1MVK5H3HblfGa2qAJK2c__/s400/011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478613639491210978" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELycrWNUoThSdI117h4IiTg0yUTpdh5oQb1SnrGtuRlH29Wuke1HpsuX2Q8SGiYIhAOdjKdpcfDWhvdT0E0UhhSrYo60ClQEuwY2x90PuRKRDnfxeiK2OcPNTTnVfm67pIJINDS5MYpaB/s1600/009.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELycrWNUoThSdI117h4IiTg0yUTpdh5oQb1SnrGtuRlH29Wuke1HpsuX2Q8SGiYIhAOdjKdpcfDWhvdT0E0UhhSrYo60ClQEuwY2x90PuRKRDnfxeiK2OcPNTTnVfm67pIJINDS5MYpaB/s400/009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478613634821020418" border="0" /></a><br />Lately I've been contemplating parenting at my age. My friends are becoming grandparents and I'm knee deep in speech therapy, gymnastics classes, inflatable pools, and poster paint. <br /><br />I no longer wonder if I can do this......since I am doing it every day, with the help of coffee and an occasional Advil. I can still carry my girls up and down the steps. I never understood that story about picking up the calf and then one day you can't do it.....so I'm going to try and prove it wrong. <br /><br />And I have found myself considering the relative advantages of parenting young children in middle age. I've seen enough time go by in my life, and I've seen enough changes, both in myself and externally, that I am more accepting of the ups and downs of daily life. And I'm less flustered by attacks on my time or my plans. Maybe I've learned how to be careful and not make too many plans, since ANYTHING can happen and often will happen. <br /><br />Another observation I've made is the gift of being more fully present in the days of my life. I used to think I was working "toward" some yet to come time of life. Now I believe I am where I'm suppose to be and this is IT. There is not a dress rehearsal. <br /><br />I try to remind myself everyday that a smile, a kind word, or a hug when things go wrong can make an even bigger impression than mommy turning into the Incredibly Hulk and ranting and raving about bad drivers, slow checkout lanes, and spilled ( I knew that was going to happen) juice.<br /><br />Today started with a little stress. Delilah was going to try to take a preschool gymnastics class again. When she tried being in a class a few months ago, she did not listen to her teacher and she ended up roaming off to explore the gym on her own and quickly became a danger to herself and lots of gymnasts and cheerleaders practicing big tumbling skills. We had to remove her from the gym and hold her while she cried and Cami finished the class. Delilah wanted to go back in. She just didn't want to follow the rules. <br /><br />So after lots of encouragement, role playing, and instruction, Delilah was excited to have another chance to go to her very own class. Cami has been attending a class, which made Delilah miserable to be left behind. And today she did great. Even though I was stressed about it, she walked right into the gym with her teacher and pretty much ran circles around the other little girl in her class. But she stayed with her teacher and followed her instructions, even when I could tell her brain was tempting her with it's own ideas. At the end of class, she was given a Popsicle and she left feeling really great about life. <br /><br />Since I had watched Delilah push her bangs out of her face for an hour, I left the gym and drove straight to the hair salon where we often go for the girls haircuts. It was closed. Dark and empty. So many places have not been able to survive the economy. We will miss "Crewcuts and Pigtails", where the girls sat in little cars for haircuts and watched a DVD player installed at eye level and ate animal crackers. The haircut was barely a blip on their radar. A great concept, but a luxury, so when the economy changed, people didn't have to take their children to get haircuts as often. But today I was on a mission and would not be put off that easily. I drove across the street to a CostCutters Family Hair Salon. <br /><br />I noticed a sign on the reception desk that said, "No Checks". I didn't have much cash, but I knew I had my paypal card. Delilah's bangs trim took less than 30 seconds and I'm pretty sure the $5.95 price was total profit. The stylist didn't taper, feather, or anything special, but at least the eyes are now more easily seen. <br /><br />I pulled out my card to pay and even added a nice tip because the woman had been kind to Delilah and given her a little butterfly clip at the end. I was ready to leave, but suddenly the woman said, "oops, your card was declined". She tried it again. We waited. I hate those moments of waiting on a machine to decide my fate. Declined again. Hmmmm...... I thought I had money in that Paypal account, but it is also the account that some reoccuring charity gifts and miscellaneous charges are taken from and I don't keep up with when everything is due to be removed. <br /><br />The hair salon didn't care about all that. They were just waiting for me to pay them. And I had no other way to pay. So, I did what all quick on their feet thinking moms would agree made sense. I offered to go home and return with the payment AND my other daughter to have her bangs trimmed. Luckily they trusted me enough to let me go. <br /><br />I zoomed home and instructed Cami to quickly run to the bathroom and put on her shoes and we jumped back in the car heading for the salon. As soon as I walked in I decided to pay off the first haircut just to make sure the new (for emergency use only) card I had grabbed at home would work. It worked fine and I thought that was the end of my troubles. (Note to self: Keep more cash on hand)<br /><br />Up hopped Cami, into the chair of the fastest bangs cutter in the South. She had her ten seconds of attention and we re-gathered at the reception desk to pay for this second haircut. Again, I was poised to leave, when the message appeared on the computer screen, Card Declined. "Let me try that card again". <br /><br />Oh no.....the second decline said something about too many transactions for the same amount at the same place. I had caused suspicion by paying for our haircuts separately. The computer brain that decides whether or not to accept my plea for payment decided I was not worthy. <br /><br />Now What? I was starting to feel like a criminal. As if someone would go to such trouble to rip off a hair salon for a bang trim. But seriously, they were looking at me.....waiting. Okay, I said, I will go to the bank and get cash this time. I'll come right back. Thankfully they trusted me again and Cami and I dashed to the bank, and we did dash, because honestly, this whole event was starting to bore me. There were a hundred other things I needed to do. On the way to the bank Cami started seriously complaining that she needed to use the bathroom. (Didn't she just do that at home? I knew I told her to, but I couldn't remember following up to see if she had. In mama-world that could mean most anything)<br /><br />It definitely meant when I returned to the hair salon I couldn't just run in and toss them the money. I had to manhandle the car seat buckle for the 20th time and bring Cami back in with me. Ah! Cash. It always works. I paid again for an overpriced bang trim and left another tip because she trusted me. Again. Then, with receipt in hand, we had to pay homage, again, to the restroom at the back of the shop. And when you are with a 4 year old in a new bathroom, it must be properly explored and she MUST do all of the steps by herself which includes pulling off her own paper towel and coordinating the foot operated trash can. When said 4yo decides to do all her business in the salon bathroom in addition to all the exploring, long spans of time can be spent there. But I was patient and I smiled, because, what did it matter really. I was thankful for little bodies that work the way they should and for little minds that have room for details such as the scent of soap in this brand new place.<br /><br />Finally we exit. I'm feeling more than a little conspicuous by now. It would be nice to go home and crawl back into my cool bed. But since we were on a roll, I decided to take Cami on one more adventure....... to Staples. I thank the stylist and told her we would be back, though definitely NOT today. <br /><br />Staples was uneventful. But I have to say Cami has a knack for finding the coolest things in stores! We came home with a dry erase board by Crayola that has templates for writing letters and numbers along with blank templates for drawing. Something good for school. And as I re-entered the atmosphere of my house, I found it to be just as I left it, messy and muggy and waiting. Delilah was eating corn chips in the den right out of the bag and leaving a trail behind her. <br /><br />I wanted to forget it all. I wanted to forget I was a mom for a little while and sit down quietly. But breakfast needed to be cleaned up and lunch needed to be made, and even more pressing was the box of paints Cami had found at the store. Not the muted and pale watercolors we've had before, but real, thick and dark, poster paints. These were the real thing. School paints. And we are a school, right? So as soon as we set the bags down, the paints just HAD to come out. <br /><br />It was about as messy as I expected. Delilah somehow got paint on the BACK of her shirt and in her hair, but it's washable and the table cleaned up fine. I gave the girls a limit of two papers to paint and then the noodles were ready and finally I had that sit down with a cup of coffee. And I thought about how crazy the day had been and how happy we all really are and what the world must be coming to if you can no longer write a check for a haircut. And I realized that while it's far from perfect, I am DOING THIS. And I'm thoughtfully present and aware of all these precious days, though long they may be. And as tired and old as I feel, in the big scheme of things I hope my children remember me laughing. I hope they remember the paint. I hope I show them my soul because it's ageless. And I'm thankful to be right here where I am.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-62893775953935274772010-05-16T16:19:00.000-07:002010-05-16T16:58:29.039-07:00Memory and Language<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlIn7sA-cY58uCP6k1fRT4Gr2mA0u7wNcBKlyO0xd8Qb_G3sl7QP4YO-BrWLGu-mW_fTkEfLAf7P0jJB5l6BpOJFx9lA44BLH64ya2NOJBD2hUFDQ3wuoGsEh2AwxqxuucqC35DSYrRvl/s1600/003.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlIn7sA-cY58uCP6k1fRT4Gr2mA0u7wNcBKlyO0xd8Qb_G3sl7QP4YO-BrWLGu-mW_fTkEfLAf7P0jJB5l6BpOJFx9lA44BLH64ya2NOJBD2hUFDQ3wuoGsEh2AwxqxuucqC35DSYrRvl/s400/003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472019811229176770" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Having often wondered what memories of China are stored in my girls little minds, today I had an experience that chilled me to the bone.<br /><br />My understanding of the research was that children who lose their birth language may lose memories from that part of the brain. Having an experience as a two year old in China and then being adopted and losing the Chinese language as an unfortunate side affect of learning English might mean the experience was also lost.<br /><br />I have proof that isn't true. And I might have the research wrong. So feel free to comment the correct facts if you know them!<br /><br />Today has been a most difficult day with Delilah. She has been oppositional in a way we haven't seen since her first weeks home with us. We traveled to Inner Mongolia on June 8th last year so we are coming up on several important one year anniversaries.<br /><br />One of the behaviors Delilah returned to today was refusing to wear a diaper. She isn't potty trained and we are not pushing it as we are still sorting out her medical issues. Today we walked down memory lane as we saw her the way she was last summer...... absolutely determined not to wear a diaper.<br /><br />She did other things too. Like standing in front of the TV so no one could watch, taking something from her sister and running, just for the effect of it all. Ornery. That might be a good word to describer her today. But it was purposeful and intense, as if she was trying her best to behave badly.<br /><br />Late in the day, something came to my mind and I shared with Mark that it was probably about a year ago exactly that Delilah was removed from her foster family and taken to the orphanage where she had never been. We discussed how we might see this odd behavior over the next month. Orphanage life is brutal, but it is especially hard if you are almost three years old and you've never lived like that. How sad and frightened she must have been! She must have wondered who would take care of her. She must have wondered where her family had gone. I hated thinking about it last year, and I still hate it.<br /><br />There are some things we know about her time at the orphanage. We were told she cried so much that a particular nanny took pity on her and invited her to go home with her at night.<br /><br />We also know Delilah came to us with a severe injury to her left heel. She was heavily bandaged and had been to the hospital every day for a week. Her heel had been almost amputated in an accident we were told happened on her way home with the nanny. She had been riding on the back of the nanny's bicycle and her foot had gotten entangled in the spokes and there had been a crash. It was a terrible injury. It may have been handled differently if it happened to a child here, but we were just thankful she could walk and we could keep her out of pain and the antibiotics kept infection at bay. It was an open flesh wound, no doubt quite tramatic and painful and frightening for a child. Especially a child who had just lost the only family she had ever known.<br /><br />Today Delilah began to speak to us about this experience. She talked about it for a long time and she knew details of the story that we could not have told her because we did not know them!!!! She had been angry all day, judging by her statements and her behavior and her anger showed as she recounted the day the accident happened.......<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I sit on lady bicycle and go fast. I put my foot back and it get stuck in back of bicycle. I get big boo boo and cry and cry, .............. but other lady pick me up. I was soooooo mad. I miss you. Why you not pick me up?"</span><br /><br />It broke my heart to hear her slightly mixed up timeline. How I wish I could have comforted her when she had such a scary experience and felt so alone. When I think of how trauma looks in the eyes of children, Delilah's accident is a good example.<br /><br />And you see, she is mad........ who wouldn't be! She wants someone to be accountable. Who would let such a thing happen to a little child? Why weren't we there? It hurts her to remember being so alone. And her reaction is to hurt us back by pushing us away with her oppositional behavior.<br /><br />I know we will see the face of this pain many times, but today we held her and we told her how we wish we could have been with her then too, and how we were coming to her as fast as we could. We told her how we would have picked her up and held her if only we could have been there.<br /><br />We also told her in every way we could think of that we would always be her family. We would take care of her forever. I still think it must be a difficult concept for children to internalize, so it's crucial I make a point of emphasizing our permanence as a family regularly.<br /><br />So if I ever wondered what memories are hidden behind all the changes my girls have seen over the past couple years, I now believe the memories are alive and well, for better or worse, and I may see more of them as time goes by. I need to be open and alert and ready to recognize the precious nuggets of truth in the stories they tell!<br /><br />I'm excited and thankful to see Delilah able to relate memories from her first language in the language of her forever home. Quite an accomplishment for a still three year old!<br /><br /><br /></span></div><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent;" /></a></div></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-60097014250231007212010-04-10T17:04:00.000-07:002010-04-10T17:43:21.413-07:00Learning to Be<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-Hzn2GMWeHVTLqXvwKjJX2nbpPuykQHNRKYkFNX45TZZPRS91oAMxrRstol5w56QnEi5foyuW1WeBWy3ZgFN71tyvRA_RZGg1GZnRo9ZzG8ln-kIBOtG2Nb0i-FG1jKeuapr0zs29ESu/s1600/005-2.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 308px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-Hzn2GMWeHVTLqXvwKjJX2nbpPuykQHNRKYkFNX45TZZPRS91oAMxrRstol5w56QnEi5foyuW1WeBWy3ZgFN71tyvRA_RZGg1GZnRo9ZzG8ln-kIBOtG2Nb0i-FG1jKeuapr0zs29ESu/s400/005-2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458665374474910370" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family: courier new;">Responding to a call for water.........a bowl......and how about that trowel in the garage, I decided to stand by the window and watch my little girls playing in the back yard. I was sure they would ask for something else again soon.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">I had noticed the girls did not seem to fuss or argue with each other outside. I think they feel they have enough space, and I think they somehow understand the concept of sharing the world outdoors. They have learned to work it out. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">One will dig and the other will hold the bucket. Delilah likes to swing and Cami likes to push. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">I usually let them play out back alone because I can see them from all the windows in the kitchen and the den and I can always find something TO DO in the kitchen, to clean up from one meal or prepare for the next. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">But today, as I lingered by the door after doling out drinks of water, I allowed myself to be swept away, my spirit soaring like the little girl I used to be. And I saw something surprising. I saw my little girls already know something I am spiritually pursuing. Although they look busy at first glance, their busyness has a holy rhythm to it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">They know the doing is not the only important thing. They know how to simply BE.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Enraptured by the crow pecking in the mud for a worm, really feeling the wind lift the hair from their neck, hanging upside down on a swing and taking in the world from a new point of view. The kinds of things I try to remind myself to stop and become aware of, they are naturally enjoying.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">And there is another secret I saw unveiled from my post by the door. My girls know how to stop. They will comfortably sit and swing their legs for as long as they want to. They will sing a song, all the verses. They will take a break for water. They will step into the bush or climb up the tree for a closer look at something. Everything is worthwhile. Everything is meaningful. It is all connected. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">I'm not sure how we lose it, as adults. We mistake busyness for meaning. We come to see stillness as a waste of time. And with it, we lose more than we understand. There is a great gift in re-capturing the ability to sit comfortably in the pauses of life. I have an idea I will be delighted by what happens in the spaces in between, as soon as I learn to be still and be comfortable with the being.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1wteyXSpkF95V2KEbtQTPbX5RVsjo73kdn39BGNN4B6DSPpAzmoRWzbG0siJUk8bkpSaaZUVdIxwEO3Gf6OtaCuA2z6rRR4mmInGIrHVHc-dhpYb1YzEcGsB-OZdPVeiq4Ekm_SgEs9d/s1600/April+2010-6.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1wteyXSpkF95V2KEbtQTPbX5RVsjo73kdn39BGNN4B6DSPpAzmoRWzbG0siJUk8bkpSaaZUVdIxwEO3Gf6OtaCuA2z6rRR4mmInGIrHVHc-dhpYb1YzEcGsB-OZdPVeiq4Ekm_SgEs9d/s400/April+2010-6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458673442183416962" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent;" /></a></div></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-80996385624611713762010-03-23T06:41:00.000-07:002010-03-23T09:00:04.008-07:00Believing in Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Xi-zKMYfig0NRVsx-FyhZgT1dtmuB0kuE66r6j32NBe72vMGx_1EV5_n228mmEjtmCvmW3EPZ9rvs-A6wssvlbo3mT5j4ulbz7e418pj1kbvTASQQcNjfzGr9wlVhtucbFbo8bfkL_H5/s1600-h/042.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtK0q5vCABI35-7ogSEOc46n2LIkDhJ38jbizWZal99-og6EiYHzHOIaLA5UOv-G_beZtRTdutZF3N7910_fQcf7j17V9wEjSYUzKoFPm2wNmqaZioblQlNwqTRvaQXnIcsIwjOaPC8iHn/s1600-h/014.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKXUsbDCywBDgI6k69qjqK-jDdATQQWYRsvKlyfu7o28PiV4rzNllBSxtngUarB9FxwSb-_FLXAq8nMnu5nuAAS7jcIQRt2QMYFoBKphK_01bBUc1bbZcv9EmzmFRKpnHDimCQJJbs9Zv/s1600-h/013.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKXUsbDCywBDgI6k69qjqK-jDdATQQWYRsvKlyfu7o28PiV4rzNllBSxtngUarB9FxwSb-_FLXAq8nMnu5nuAAS7jcIQRt2QMYFoBKphK_01bBUc1bbZcv9EmzmFRKpnHDimCQJJbs9Zv/s400/013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451844868928339202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUNS15wH6Im_9HRIY8uUvwisQIGLUb3uTSCy3dTegy1n744AbVp6Jc8LNYgZHoTFaouVQ6Z_uSWEOY6DQES4tRo1xWW7L6JntNQuwT-UoH89rBiQ6m2GgV8TWw332n0W6rPPRhPp_KSzkk/s1600-h/012.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUNS15wH6Im_9HRIY8uUvwisQIGLUb3uTSCy3dTegy1n744AbVp6Jc8LNYgZHoTFaouVQ6Z_uSWEOY6DQES4tRo1xWW7L6JntNQuwT-UoH89rBiQ6m2GgV8TWw332n0W6rPPRhPp_KSzkk/s400/012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451844858417623922" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >Spring is all around us now, reminding us how it was never really gone at all, just hidden away, for a time, unable to show it's face in the shadow of winter's force and power. But given a chance, Spring will begin again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >During this time when what has been hidden and thought to be lost returns, fresh and more beautiful than we remembered, I find myself thinking of the other people who have loved my daughters. Other people. Other Springs. Other countries. Other lives.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >There is some disagreement in the adoption community about whether or not we should tell our daughters from China they were loved by their birth parents. I think the West romanticizes love too much. I think we put love in a box. I don't think we really know what love is. Most of us have never have our love for anyone put to the kind of test which would cause us to expand our definition of the word.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >Cami, at age 4 and a half, is already asking about her birth mother. "Why didn't she keep me"? There are many things I cannot tell her for sure about her mother, but I can tell her that she carried her, warm and safe, in her womb for 9 months. Because Cami was a healthy baby, other than her cleft, her birth mother probably ate very well and stayed healthy, likely out of concern for the baby within.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >I can also tell Cami she was loved in China by the women who kept this tiny cleft baby alive, and not just alive, but thriving, in a bleak, despairingly poor orphanage. Yes, she was loved. I believe in this kind of love without hesitation.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >Delilah's story is different. She lived two years with a foster family. We visited them when we went to China to adopt her, and their love, devotion, care, and grief shook the foundations of everything I previously believed about adoption. I can tell Delilah she was loved. We looked into the eyes of the family who loved her. We saw them fall to the ground in grief. We held their hands. And ultimately, we took their baby across the ocean. We took the best they had. And I am haunted by the brutality of that event. Damages done. We were unknowingly part of a disaster of kharmic proportion. In the name of Love.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >And now, I find all these people living in my head. The unknown mothers, the nannies, the foster family. The names don't come close to describing what they did and who they are to us, even now and for all time forward. They became part of us when the small child connected to them joined our family.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >During these days of early Spring, I hear their voices and I see their eyes, their veined hands and bowed heads, bending over, tending to a child, my child, and then looking up with surprise, to find the child has gone.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >I just read a novel by Lorrie Moore, called "A Gate at the Stairs". It is the story of a college girl who was hired as a nanny by a family preparing to adopt. Ultimately, the child cannot remain with the family and the nanny is no longer needed either. But the connection with the child will stay with her and she speaks eloquently of the connection between all the people who love a child:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"A little later in life, when this time seemed distant and shrunken, and every friendship from it had dwindled, I would encounter many women with stories sadder than Sarah's (foster mother)......Still, it wasn't, strictly speaking, Sarah's story. In the end I felt it belonged as much or more to Mary-Emma, whom, I realized, I had never stopped unconsciously to seek, riveted by little girls who would be her age in stores and malls and parks........</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mary Emma, a little girl with four women wondering after her, looking for her, sort of, without her even knowing. That was love of the most useless kind, unless you believed in love's power to waft in from a burning sky to the unseen grass it had designated as its beloved, unless you believed in the prayers of faraway nuns, unless you believed in miracles and magic, rapture and dice and Sufic chants and charms behind curtains and skillful clouds at smoky, unfathomable distances.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When I imagined all of these women with their hearts seeking and beaming their futile, worthless love through the air toward Mary-Emma, I pictured them all in a line, part search party, part refugee camp, and in my mind I set them on a path that went over hill and over dale and even on into meadows and trees. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Of course I was with them. "</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-style: italic;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Xi-zKMYfig0NRVsx-FyhZgT1dtmuB0kuE66r6j32NBe72vMGx_1EV5_n228mmEjtmCvmW3EPZ9rvs-A6wssvlbo3mT5j4ulbz7e418pj1kbvTASQQcNjfzGr9wlVhtucbFbo8bfkL_H5/s1600-h/042.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Xi-zKMYfig0NRVsx-FyhZgT1dtmuB0kuE66r6j32NBe72vMGx_1EV5_n228mmEjtmCvmW3EPZ9rvs-A6wssvlbo3mT5j4ulbz7e418pj1kbvTASQQcNjfzGr9wlVhtucbFbo8bfkL_H5/s400/042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451854406899810418" border="0" /></a></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent;" /></a></div></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-37248557633322665352010-02-18T11:35:00.001-08:002010-02-18T11:40:05.990-08:00Queen of Hearts<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mcinnis/4368688634/" title="008 by tumble_on_in, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2747/4368688634_a4612f554e.jpg" width="326" height="500" alt="008" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-43281684835979653742010-02-03T16:32:00.000-08:002010-02-18T12:42:52.071-08:00Their Prince Has Come<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4E2T131xdkZeSCcquwJmuJAmo26dgeMGp5xxULo5NBXlXSPunGVBhJxULEgDfqOHZrGkELuDOdoznAPWKKVDk3nbK2lMTuWS_bdDrT3forkRE_O388BNYu5BzMZuboYwyU0VAfBrHz1z/s1600-h/023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4E2T131xdkZeSCcquwJmuJAmo26dgeMGp5xxULo5NBXlXSPunGVBhJxULEgDfqOHZrGkELuDOdoznAPWKKVDk3nbK2lMTuWS_bdDrT3forkRE_O388BNYu5BzMZuboYwyU0VAfBrHz1z/s400/023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434187584694039458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-size:130%;">It was a cold and rainy winter afternoon. Mark was home, unable to work in the weather. The girls were climbing on him, fussing with one another, and generally crabby and bored.<br /><br />I happened to ask about toys.....wasn't there a toy they might like to play with, even though I know all toys pale in comparison to a day off with Dad!<br /><br />Mark asked the girls if there was anything in the world they could play with, what would it be. Cami gave it a long thought and then spoke up.<br /><br />"There was this one toy......remember, mom? The white pipes you brought home from the toy library".<br /><br />We talked for a while about the white PCV pipes and connectors. Open-ended toys like this offer so much to children. With a sprinkle of imagination, they can be used in a wide variety of ways and provide experiences which translate into math and reading concepts. Building toys are my favorite for children at every age.<br /><br />A few minutes later, Mark told the girls he had to run an errand and he would be back home quickly.<br /><br />How excited they were when he returned with long pieces of plastic piping and assorted connector pieces . With eager helpers by his side, Mark set about cutting and measuring and sanding the pipes. Less than an hour later we had a box full, and the girls set out to experiment and see what they could create.<br /><br />What was really created that day was a memory! A memory of a Dad who can make dreams come true. A dad who took the time to sprinkle some magic on a dull day. We are thankful everyday for the special Dad we have!<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: left; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; width: 67px; height: 54px;" /></a></div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXS8zGYJqa3VfD3kfuT1ZnWlg8q_6ljGHsOyOzRJxFUf5-Rzq85ZqWLbLomvOMS7x7cEiiqzaPFLFoapQNjcEhjQImrHGS8j4XC3eRDuTmFoG7r68-LrdZ5OKnUbGKxfiwYR7Wu1jNOVt0/s1600-h/012.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXS8zGYJqa3VfD3kfuT1ZnWlg8q_6ljGHsOyOzRJxFUf5-Rzq85ZqWLbLomvOMS7x7cEiiqzaPFLFoapQNjcEhjQImrHGS8j4XC3eRDuTmFoG7r68-LrdZ5OKnUbGKxfiwYR7Wu1jNOVt0/s400/012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434187578388663186" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8g3ZmG765ffj3MDAT5zWyPHsqcvqlkNiA18H6b9Uu0GmJd5gAeGwtdxsEsRXNbMPCnOtDyDWMiy4PgtERiF-Q7I25gC_eK-fnI94C21JyM-xS0sgeB9dfLpzkR4IN55lQxDE-92q9hR8/s1600-h/010.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8g3ZmG765ffj3MDAT5zWyPHsqcvqlkNiA18H6b9Uu0GmJd5gAeGwtdxsEsRXNbMPCnOtDyDWMiy4PgtERiF-Q7I25gC_eK-fnI94C21JyM-xS0sgeB9dfLpzkR4IN55lQxDE-92q9hR8/s400/010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434187567719428642" border="0" /></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-66869170121947887442010-01-23T12:47:00.000-08:002010-01-23T15:01:32.699-08:00Sensory Appreciation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpl46Ud9_qLT8znvpmUQITQ6vm-LYn5spqax9F-USHJk3M-bD1Jq5GPWtpPQbPXnHullUdp3IndIFdHifsFSSBOTj-a4skeSmbkjSytp-XCgs1UZxcbZzpGxStJIQ8I5aKPrBd5jDpMMG/s1600-h/126.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpl46Ud9_qLT8znvpmUQITQ6vm-LYn5spqax9F-USHJk3M-bD1Jq5GPWtpPQbPXnHullUdp3IndIFdHifsFSSBOTj-a4skeSmbkjSytp-XCgs1UZxcbZzpGxStJIQ8I5aKPrBd5jDpMMG/s320/126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430054647338676818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Going through the days and nights with Cami and Delilah is like walking through a sensory mine field. Before adoption I thought we all more or less experienced the world in the same way. Everyone knew what hot and cold felt like. We knew what felt scratchy or smooth. I thought everyone noticed these details vaguely and went on with their life.<br /><br />I had no idea!<br /><br />I have learned that some children seek extra sensory input. They actually have a physical need to run, spin, climb, swing, push and take in all the world has to offer. Both of my girls are hungry for sensory input. It works out well for us to spend time outside each day. We also have a trampoline in our den, and many hours each day are spent playing dance and gymnastics. An equal amount of energy is expended reaching for the forbidden sensory fruit like jumping off the stairs, scaling the pantry shelves, and building their own obstacle course.<br /><br />Trying to stop sensory seekers is difficult because even struggling in my arms or fighting off my interference in their shenanigans gives some degree of satisfying sensory experiences! To them. It gives bruises and sore muscles to me!<br /><br />Being outside can fill alot of needs at once. There is the bright sun, a breeze warm or cold, the feeling of grass and soil, and space to run and jump or climb. Shoveling or gathering stones or leaves seem to be enjoyable sensory work. We have tried crates full of beans and rice indoors, but time after time, the best exercise turned out to be throwing the beans EVERYWHERE before I could stop it. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrXgcI63IKorkR-lo1K5cvF3cFFJcxsqCwBAS_JAqxC2wJGc4UchQXSy54nQMK78PaNNJzvH6t7HOiPEtMOELZIao3TznEO3aNq7ZzMNbEmgnw945N65DG2pXkfOoCy1z8OV-kRBSFPmKy/s1600-h/018.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrXgcI63IKorkR-lo1K5cvF3cFFJcxsqCwBAS_JAqxC2wJGc4UchQXSy54nQMK78PaNNJzvH6t7HOiPEtMOELZIao3TznEO3aNq7ZzMNbEmgnw945N65DG2pXkfOoCy1z8OV-kRBSFPmKy/s400/018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430043292999851954" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Cami is sensory seeking most likely because the first two years of her life were spent in an orphanage where her view was probably the same day after day. From the pictures I've seen, there was not much color there, and I don't know how much she was allowed to explore her enviornment. In the winter, she wore a large puffy jacket day and night so movement was restricted.<br /><br />When we first met Cami, she was a little girl scared of so many things we hardly notice in our world. The noise of airplanes or the sound of birds singing were startling to her. She could not bring herself to reach out a touch a furry stuffed animal! Yet because her primitive self craved all the sights and sounds she had missed, she quickly put her trust in us and allowed us to introduce her to the world at large! She managed to overcome her fear of many things in order to experience the sensory input they provided. One part of her brain knew what she needed.<br /><br />Another part of Cami's brain did not like the stimulation of the moving, twirling, talking, and very typical world. So while Cami is busy seeking out new experiences, she is, at the same time, distracted by a part of her brain sounding off alarms that "enough is enough, too much already". So hers is a fragile balance. And at the end of the day, especially a noisy day filled with new sounds, tastes, or activities, Cami often has to let off steam in order to compensate for too much sensory input. The letting off steam is not pleasant (see earlier post about raging) so we try to counterbalance her world from the outside.<br /><br />And we try to respect her sensory needs and allow her home to be a sensory safe place. I cut the tags out of her clothes because they bother her. I wash and comb her hair very gently because any stimulation of her scalp is interpreted as painful. We avoid situations where I expect good behavior when there is a great deal of activity and noise. Restaurants, for example, are not a good place for us right now. I try to keep our world peaceful, though it is challenging.<br /><br />The other player in our sensory maze is Delilah, our party girl! She is also a sensory seeker. And her need for sensory input has no end. She loves to experience the physical world with her whole body.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnoBxUKLsob78lg83ZqR4LhmSqBqT0GKs5PI5mo2fSR_tQDvQitmYYH5AGPeXuAI0ud16ctII_ducOXk9SIXyoxW5okIQl9y4skXJj1x9HcnHwi4MiFbJBLjlTaASTIS2GOQpBdmhues4H/s1600-h/013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 388px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnoBxUKLsob78lg83ZqR4LhmSqBqT0GKs5PI5mo2fSR_tQDvQitmYYH5AGPeXuAI0ud16ctII_ducOXk9SIXyoxW5okIQl9y4skXJj1x9HcnHwi4MiFbJBLjlTaASTIS2GOQpBdmhues4H/s400/013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430050695111111730" border="0" /></a><br />Delilah's babyhood was not bland. The photos from her foster family show a colorful home and she slept with her foster mother and it seems she was carried everywhere for the first two years.<br /><br />Delilah craves sensory experiences because it is what she has grown to expect. She could almost be sensory typical, if she had a stopping point!!!! We worry about injury, though so far Delilah is both bouncy and followed by a troupe of guardian angels. I have also wondered if she registers pain within normal range because so little seems to bother her!<br /><br />Delilah loves to have her hair washed and brushed. Tangles do not seem to bother her, nor does the water running into her face when I rinse out the shampoo. She is a daredevil who climbs and jumps with no regard to danger. She has learned to appreciate sensory input without learning internal regulation.<br /><br />So what do all these sensory differences mean in our real life???? It means when I have two girls in the bath tub, one is crying because hair washing is so brutal and then the other is crying because it is absolutely, positively, two hours later, water gone cold, time to get out. <br /><br />It means if one girl lines up all the blocks according to color and size, the other will likely jump off the chair and crash them all to the ground. And then there will be crying again. It means one girl likes to be dressed to the shoes most days, and the other doesn't seems to notice hot or cold on her body as discomfort. It means going out into the world and trying to pack up two overstimulated girls to come home is very, very difficult. And <span style="font-weight: bold;">that </span>is a sensory experience I try to AVOID!!!!!<br /><br />Having children with special sensory needs means we do what we can to help our girls make peace with their physical world. We continue to offer safe sensory experiences and we continue to help them transition from one sensory state to another. And we hope, with love and maturity, the day will come when sensory input will come and go mostly unnoticed by the conscious mind of these beautiful and busy girls.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-57783293977313660222010-01-12T06:03:00.001-08:002010-02-18T16:37:27.009-08:00Winter Bath<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLNlkkT_dJpMhr7nawp7WtLZc2EuVtkhrMt5dDcMXs6uLZjDU6LEBLMh7SzWbdo9wvC-4JJIX9IW3LHquk44YvT_vqGCPj3GUfjMOAP6t-GV315mpJgce5VHmRaPiD23pRRcpXicFsVU9/s1600-h/bath1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 271px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLNlkkT_dJpMhr7nawp7WtLZc2EuVtkhrMt5dDcMXs6uLZjDU6LEBLMh7SzWbdo9wvC-4JJIX9IW3LHquk44YvT_vqGCPj3GUfjMOAP6t-GV315mpJgce5VHmRaPiD23pRRcpXicFsVU9/s400/bath1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425853991647419602" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:courier new;">Sometimes when it's too cold to go outside and the boredom sets in,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I like to fix a fancy bath for the girls.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">We have a room heater,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">bubbles, body wash, special washcloths and towels,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and lotion for afterwards.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">These baths are not about getting a good scrub,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">getting clean is a fringe benefit.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">These morning baths,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">while the winter sun shines full in the window,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">are about water play,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">on a cozy day.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">After the towels and lotion,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">the hair brushing and dressing,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">we snuggle on the sofa for reading,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and I inhale the scent of my bubbly clean girls</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and I know I have a slice of heaven.</span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQyInwBBecKDQoVVY_Shz6RzVmpniaz3wXBpoJgZP3MaNXSbTkjWS9Z-uEhcs-4ROoxD6NPbD_Yym8D8FicrqVOUZszqN767Y4smN_SnD8KxMrhy9n6IaNYzPAw8MziMEGkA5T1FRfxzYV/s1600-h/bath2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQyInwBBecKDQoVVY_Shz6RzVmpniaz3wXBpoJgZP3MaNXSbTkjWS9Z-uEhcs-4ROoxD6NPbD_Yym8D8FicrqVOUZszqN767Y4smN_SnD8KxMrhy9n6IaNYzPAw8MziMEGkA5T1FRfxzYV/s400/bath2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425853998626559346" border="0" /></a><br /><a style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0L2pamUUE54bigInIA1RPzMqAEwftDT3IcO8F-IBXaatEH_wE0AqKJqYvF3j40s5ue63cpT1AJfW5ZXh3_4ZLMOqbGAXWN2bfOYJ7s3aC6QyIw2j7_qKBLnlnQBuS3JAif4Z_KEM3i23/s1600-h/bath3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0L2pamUUE54bigInIA1RPzMqAEwftDT3IcO8F-IBXaatEH_wE0AqKJqYvF3j40s5ue63cpT1AJfW5ZXh3_4ZLMOqbGAXWN2bfOYJ7s3aC6QyIw2j7_qKBLnlnQBuS3JAif4Z_KEM3i23/s400/bath3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425854003208541746" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /></a></div></div></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-26002311996132349122010-01-10T18:20:00.000-08:002010-02-18T16:38:04.006-08:00Hardwired?<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVsZ5GC2CCsvbrq7hGxvF6ozTf7leheU_C4xvhMfXXucR6_RS0UDESUqyuVb8o8f1Acqb1sJraXf7uMN0wm4G0ika36uiRMG-2HUhjRFpjrCdSWEa9Ln0JiJDyyyvmgl-d4Ajx0Rk-pBiE/s1600-h/052.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 336px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVsZ5GC2CCsvbrq7hGxvF6ozTf7leheU_C4xvhMfXXucR6_RS0UDESUqyuVb8o8f1Acqb1sJraXf7uMN0wm4G0ika36uiRMG-2HUhjRFpjrCdSWEa9Ln0JiJDyyyvmgl-d4Ajx0Rk-pBiE/s400/052.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425301881382172034" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 102, 102);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">Cami asked for a drawing book.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">Yesterday I bought two spiral bound sketch books</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">and new markers.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">Here is a sample of Cami's drawing.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">She has pages and pages of this type of design.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">Is it just me?</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">Or does this look a little like Chinese writing?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">I'm fascinated by the idea of hardwiring</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">and what we know</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">without even realizing we know it.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">Orphans do not experience the things</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">they are biologically expecting.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">Most importantly,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">they lose the sight and sound and smell of their mother.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">A certain death,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">is the message their body gives them.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">And ever after,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">they are reminded,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">even from safe havens</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">their bodies prepare</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">for the fight of their life.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">But Cami is a survivor,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">and so much beauty survived with her.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">This writing is from her soul.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">And the only thing that could impress me more</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">was if it actually could be read!!!</span><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-57439116313313278092010-01-09T19:36:00.000-08:002010-02-18T16:38:55.952-08:00The Dark Side<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRZulCk7BxDPtSgmjxWGFaRpSptVdCJTZigwZAyUhP1PcU66mGleKnLT-XmRWLlzfXE4FV1B8JbutM6Z2evBVSMdJ2XqmzbQlSRmKk_NIf2djaM4TOzzYFTRrpHLzyvCSPpFNpVGc9eda/s1600-h/excitement.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRZulCk7BxDPtSgmjxWGFaRpSptVdCJTZigwZAyUhP1PcU66mGleKnLT-XmRWLlzfXE4FV1B8JbutM6Z2evBVSMdJ2XqmzbQlSRmKk_NIf2djaM4TOzzYFTRrpHLzyvCSPpFNpVGc9eda/s400/excitement.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424950284313796930" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:courier new;">I have decided there is no good excitement here anymore....</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Holidays,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Snow days,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Close your eyes for a surprise,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Visits with friends, </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">a morning at school, </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">the doctor, </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">the church, </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">it is all too much. </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">And it always ends badly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Cami is a child who both seeks out extra sensory experiences </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">during the day,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Has a difficult time processing the sensory input</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">she receives.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Basically,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">what goes in must come out.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">The bigger the fun,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">the louder the cries,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">the further the fall.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Later.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">When it is all over,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and the friends are gone,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and the cake is eaten,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and the night is coming,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Cami will lose control.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Of course she can not say,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Gee, mom, I've had a big day......</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I think I need some time to unwind.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Instead,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">something,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">anything,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">totally unrelated to the excitement</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">will push her over the edge.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">She will rage.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Her body will tremble and fight</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">every attempt at comfort.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">She will scream</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and yell, "NOOOOOOOOOO"</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">regardless.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I have tried many ways </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">of dealing with her rages,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">because</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">they are a hard time for everyone.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">But I find it cannot be fixed,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">with a word or a gesture,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">the course must be run.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">The pent up stress must be released.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">And only then, </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">when the trembling stops</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and she looks at me again,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">with eyes that truly see,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">may I pick her up and hold her to me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Offering comfort</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I tell her simple things.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I promise again to always love and take care.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I validate her anger.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I tell her I am also mad.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">She should not have lain in a dull room,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">cold bed,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">for two empty years.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">She deserved better.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">She deserves everything.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">This is the dark side of a child's heart.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">No one wants to tell us</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">to speak of it</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">But how could we expect</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">an orphan</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">to suffer such a loss and void</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and have no damages.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">The raging darkness in the void seeps out</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and winds around our legs,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">threatens to pull taunt choking our throat.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">But when the child is spent</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and the rage has quieted,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I believe a tiny bit of the</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Darkness has died,</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">and some of the Light</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">has come in.</span><br /></span><br /><a style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFEei_QBwEoLYLdJQd69qzIPMEeavo5qjvlWqGMB_bwUdD-HNB0z5rD0C0YanOCIAjhsbrqVWaJG984tbPyqzINHjpZZwiv5_ndNBNuUYU3gT5xUzLOCj1vs02TG-jrvPT3KajKNxon32/s1600-h/rage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 358px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFEei_QBwEoLYLdJQd69qzIPMEeavo5qjvlWqGMB_bwUdD-HNB0z5rD0C0YanOCIAjhsbrqVWaJG984tbPyqzINHjpZZwiv5_ndNBNuUYU3gT5xUzLOCj1vs02TG-jrvPT3KajKNxon32/s400/rage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424950286956322082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><br /></a></div></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-13845892037115609942010-01-09T06:53:00.001-08:002010-02-18T16:46:44.072-08:00I Will Not Be Cold<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfaFym98EF0ks_OUzemA2hn8CYxurDexM2bJ6SqfBNJR3LiBU8N44ApolRjuUvlbw_3en6P-dftKRBnlzBRsBoLyG8ddh2vI_Lgo_7yuS-SCNZ0H59UOIgVmJCSluJw1ielmdXYjxSOEUB/s1600-h/anniversary8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfaFym98EF0ks_OUzemA2hn8CYxurDexM2bJ6SqfBNJR3LiBU8N44ApolRjuUvlbw_3en6P-dftKRBnlzBRsBoLyG8ddh2vI_Lgo_7yuS-SCNZ0H59UOIgVmJCSluJw1ielmdXYjxSOEUB/s400/anniversary8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424764362404749570" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">With record breaking cold weather here in the South</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">I was trying to convince Cami to wear</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">her fuzzy blanket sleeper to bed</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">last night.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">She wanted to wear lighter weight cotton pajamas.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">I told her I just didn't want her to be cold.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">She answered:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">"Don't worry, mom, I'll be sleeping right beside you,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">in your bed.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">I will not be cold.'</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102); font-weight: bold;"> <span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">She was speaking the truth.</span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">And she has known cold.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">Living two years in an orphanage</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">without heat.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">She wore her pink coat day and night.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">She was lucky to have it.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">But she was likely still cold.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">I am so thankful when those toasty toes</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">touch me in sleep.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">We are warm.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">I hope there are enough </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">soft blankets and hugs</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">to erase</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">her memories of being cold and alone.</span></span><br /><br /></div><a style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtJnLy_vBxpNyW1SoknYnMn_xEqISPPNna10LvSvJQXtTJS-_tu5oz5C9nr6UP761oDaLC6Fu84MGeoBX0p1dPd_-KQUQDaRp50CTWp2E9Ox4y_pnuC2JZ4Ft9fu52MIH7PZttfexkamP/s1600-h/033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtJnLy_vBxpNyW1SoknYnMn_xEqISPPNna10LvSvJQXtTJS-_tu5oz5C9nr6UP761oDaLC6Fu84MGeoBX0p1dPd_-KQUQDaRp50CTWp2E9Ox4y_pnuC2JZ4Ft9fu52MIH7PZttfexkamP/s400/033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424755302923319570" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /></a><br /></div></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-2973743143632749082010-01-08T06:16:00.000-08:002010-02-18T16:41:17.177-08:00Little Lights in Their Eyes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMbU9Awn17E8wiHalH8U836Z5b1ltfrecqIhUhWaN_ol3Fqnf93-KIuo5WHVwK4aBNEMsQGeKbdZBn5GVvtgr_TYysZ3uGf2ah4wunOSGShaV9FU4uA4epRN_4GGypWYzq-QP9XMZHKjVz/s1600-h/homeschool2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 319px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMbU9Awn17E8wiHalH8U836Z5b1ltfrecqIhUhWaN_ol3Fqnf93-KIuo5WHVwK4aBNEMsQGeKbdZBn5GVvtgr_TYysZ3uGf2ah4wunOSGShaV9FU4uA4epRN_4GGypWYzq-QP9XMZHKjVz/s400/homeschool2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424375971064186626" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Ysd4BSMpVN0hskAuMeMzlJinFrA2cHTZI1Sc4QKnf4Zz06YpD4al9x53UKt-9ewWpy2ORkgbrLcfGmY9qPGC6yxCYQNk72HwdTrVEMCO_8nPlNi8gfRDMqLu_CP-qg2i2pxfHBDL503f/s1600-h/homeschool.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Ysd4BSMpVN0hskAuMeMzlJinFrA2cHTZI1Sc4QKnf4Zz06YpD4al9x53UKt-9ewWpy2ORkgbrLcfGmY9qPGC6yxCYQNk72HwdTrVEMCO_8nPlNi8gfRDMqLu_CP-qg2i2pxfHBDL503f/s400/homeschool.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424375965601008482" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >The days are different now.<br />We did not send the girls back to preschool<br />after winter break.<br />Now with the severely cold weather<br />I'm thankful to have cozy mornings of<br />hot milk and coffee.<br /><br />We are not new to homeschooling.<br />Our homeschool adventure began in 1997.<br />I am not overly concerned<br />with academics.<br />At this age,<br />I look for teachable moments,<br />little lights in their eyes,<br />lots of hands on experiences,<br />and books,<br />rooms full of books.<br /><br />Cami loves writing her ABCs.<br />Delilah loves puzzles.<br />Cami wants to know how to spell words<br />for the grocery list.<br />Delilah mostly loves the color Blue.<br /><br />I love watching their minds<br />make sense of the world,<br />ask questions,<br />and come up with new ideas.<br />I really love being the one who gets to see<br />the world<br />Through the eyes of a child again.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /></a></div></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-67041688657971538782010-01-06T18:13:00.000-08:002010-02-18T16:42:05.766-08:00The Smallest Reindeer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJjyWK-W2f5kQLeq3MQzZ7YUpg5wb0_oEV3M8kTRvJuoMylUvCkiD00vZbEG-uVPWKMK58ckwrPWHCJg719ETy_xENP0oVh0a6R6m7povAoSf6tYfVe6qzO31kpPiSLL7iqz8X4boFR0j/s1600-h/004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJjyWK-W2f5kQLeq3MQzZ7YUpg5wb0_oEV3M8kTRvJuoMylUvCkiD00vZbEG-uVPWKMK58ckwrPWHCJg719ETy_xENP0oVh0a6R6m7povAoSf6tYfVe6qzO31kpPiSLL7iqz8X4boFR0j/s400/004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423816324683236194" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >Christmas has come and gone.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >Delilah's first Christmas with us,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >though we heard from her foster family</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >she was the "light"</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >of their winter celebrations last year.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >On this day,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >in the middle of a brutal cold spell down South</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >so many of the Christmas toys</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >seem to have been</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >used up,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >broken,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >forgotten,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >sitting alone in the corner.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >But the imaginations run clear and bright.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >Christmas themes still dance just below the conscious mind,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >and Cami and Delilah stay busy.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >The photo shows a moment</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >just before the sleigh in the background took off.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >Cami is tying on the smallest reindeer,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >who accepted her assignment</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >and never asked</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >why she was not Santa Claus.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >The sleigh contained pillowcases</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >full of toys.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >I was given a doll without clothing.....</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >Maybe I will try and be a better girl next year.....</span><br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /></a></div></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-29661633128010857132010-01-05T18:27:00.000-08:002010-01-05T19:21:45.848-08:00Made In China<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwB6qpPqxgNMA8FHAolUHrG7l7jhUCaSUg6FWFMtbPmSFA08y_P7d6tRA1NBvNCtvXuOWPvFzpLDfi_jFL4S5eXnhwF5EX64HoKxqyQM2X3ZfQ663vVF0NxvqiFTSifJGIzSg4y7rxUmX/s1600-h/madeinchina.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwB6qpPqxgNMA8FHAolUHrG7l7jhUCaSUg6FWFMtbPmSFA08y_P7d6tRA1NBvNCtvXuOWPvFzpLDfi_jFL4S5eXnhwF5EX64HoKxqyQM2X3ZfQ663vVF0NxvqiFTSifJGIzSg4y7rxUmX/s400/madeinchina.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423449104054364962" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Every so often a book comes through our house and captures it's intended audience with such strength we find ourselves reading it time and again. A really powerful book finds us all tangled in hugs by the time we reach the last page.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Made-China-Adoption-Vanita-Oelschlager/dp/0980016231/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1262745440&sr=8-1"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Made In China; A Story of Adoption</span></a> by Vanita Oelshlager is a brightly illustrated story about a younger sister, adopted from China, who has her feelings hurt by the innocent teasing of her big sister. The older sibling sees the words, "made in China" on a household object and tells the little girl that just like the broom, she was Made In China. As she looks around she finds more and more things stamped with Made in China.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">"'It's just like you'/my big sister said,/'You're Made in China./It's stamped right on your head.'"</span><br /><br />Feeling sad and confused, the child seeks out her dad who she believes will have the answer to comfort her. Parents and children alike will smile at the loving wisdom of the father. He tells his daughter she was not made in China like a dress or a toy, but she was born in China to a mother who loved her. He explains how her birth mother was not able to take care of her and had to make a hard decision. He says he was waiting here for her.<br /><br />The story reminds us our daughters very likely smile the same smile as their mothers in China and reminds our children we are their family forever, not just with them for a little while. The tone is warm and loving and the gentle rhyming text holds the attention of children as young as three.<br /><br />From Amazon, "Kristen Blackwood (illustrator) has employed a blend of linoleum cuts outlined in black and computer coloring techniques to craft stunning illustrations. Ethnic features are realistic and enhance the simple text, depicting the birth mother as well as the adoptive family. The endpapers feature more than a dozen photos of Chinese adoptees of various ages, with a space for the reader to add a photo of herself. This title will be of special interest to families of Chinese adoptees, but could also serve as a springboard for discussing racial slurs and insensitivity for a much wider audience." Great for ages 3 and up.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-85973300759248643082010-01-04T16:36:00.000-08:002010-01-04T18:37:13.784-08:00Year of the Butterfly<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjarv4-80TDxUYj7cM4R_DwPfCFE3ATmZ-5mcPzVQIKv3i8g5P93EWLU-HwYD_NHWVJ73Al221GhoyFs3P16caryvMG77PmDpBMGrrt5tR_ceBrAUHoXBYZdplf4t3BlrjecpQNLfJVgKo/s1600-h/8TRY.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjarv4-80TDxUYj7cM4R_DwPfCFE3ATmZ-5mcPzVQIKv3i8g5P93EWLU-HwYD_NHWVJ73Al221GhoyFs3P16caryvMG77PmDpBMGrrt5tR_ceBrAUHoXBYZdplf4t3BlrjecpQNLfJVgKo/s400/8TRY.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423064074235654354" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Fr18exjsvkfkU3soCCvqa-5thncwPR7gz2nUBZd2v4Qi3P3qfktsYNtz_oy0Br9PTNhB28RJ1-1vvEQUr8c4oDN-ikwxSwhdIZKqcz_41QlsYZTyBBYZ-iWgYpm8IpN28MNDYdPtXkvq/s1600-h/dangnanwithgun.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 367px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Fr18exjsvkfkU3soCCvqa-5thncwPR7gz2nUBZd2v4Qi3P3qfktsYNtz_oy0Br9PTNhB28RJ1-1vvEQUr8c4oDN-ikwxSwhdIZKqcz_41QlsYZTyBBYZ-iWgYpm8IpN28MNDYdPtXkvq/s400/dangnanwithgun.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423064075825758242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >If there was a Chinese Year of the Butterfly,<br />Delilah would be the symbol.<br /><br />She squealed with delight when we passed shops on<br />Shaimen Island decorated with butterfly flags.<br />But it took longer for us to see<br />she not only loved butterflies,<br />she was becoming one.</span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I will confess<br />when we first shared photos of Delilah<br />many friends warned me<br />there was something very impish about her.<br />They told me I was in deep trouble.<br />And I was afraid.<br />Was I too old for a spirited child?<br /><br />Ha!<br />Can you imagine me in China<br />watching my new daughter hurling her bowl of noodles<br />against the wall!<br />I wondered if I would always feel so exhausted.<br /><br />What I didn't know yet<br />was the magic behind those laughing eyes.<br />And the gentle soul that puts stuffed animals in the freezer<br />and then wraps them in blankets and coos to them as they thaw out.<br /><br />She came into our family, promptly claiming the spot as "baby",<br />she surprised me by being such a good and gentle child.<br />She likes to sleep on top of us<br />and she has a lovely singing voice.<br /><br />Delilah spends most of her time in dress up clothing.<br />She believes she IS Mulan<br />and she shows a sympathy for other people's hurts<br />far beyond her age.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQovuHZ4KpeVW6dHElnG-kiqy-5Rp5utOcmTmfDYZ3iN-QVEZxMfv0Vzi15lqKfWNCjw-M7Y9MoGkxVBGL1ZAVFZC1WlTKLICRVUEoLpGkLkr_5L7PScMiFkKr3J47wqdo92Ci2cU3nPRg/s1600-h/028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQovuHZ4KpeVW6dHElnG-kiqy-5Rp5utOcmTmfDYZ3iN-QVEZxMfv0Vzi15lqKfWNCjw-M7Y9MoGkxVBGL1ZAVFZC1WlTKLICRVUEoLpGkLkr_5L7PScMiFkKr3J47wqdo92Ci2cU3nPRg/s400/028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423051300178824306" border="0" /></a><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbMaDEqe-L7hOIEh6VAT1t7k0YUrbKt7sKFk6vsBgU6MKvD4UJNB705b-2UBE4DgY_VqTZi9wakWnIE1SQ-_BcRMBnTWzuMG-iW-M2AJWtTjenMpJTLzBFdxOqNq28J8xHelXuoWqKxaG/s1600-h/018.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbMaDEqe-L7hOIEh6VAT1t7k0YUrbKt7sKFk6vsBgU6MKvD4UJNB705b-2UBE4DgY_VqTZi9wakWnIE1SQ-_BcRMBnTWzuMG-iW-M2AJWtTjenMpJTLzBFdxOqNq28J8xHelXuoWqKxaG/s400/018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423051292248290466" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPFSQMMZZuMb2MwUffVaMAZy03v0GutT1JaDK0iRJAPZ-HhGjY11SIhV3Gr1jHeC-r4T137Xl0gCy1ZR58Lt1IoeJWBlC0-cv-35cwlX5aUSJ9yh5EX0lU1Dos2E18j1xNzNgZD12ipo29/s1600-h/026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 360px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPFSQMMZZuMb2MwUffVaMAZy03v0GutT1JaDK0iRJAPZ-HhGjY11SIhV3Gr1jHeC-r4T137Xl0gCy1ZR58Lt1IoeJWBlC0-cv-35cwlX5aUSJ9yh5EX0lU1Dos2E18j1xNzNgZD12ipo29/s400/026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423051285461132578" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Delilah is like a butterfly,</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >carefree and beautiful to watch,</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >and a joy to follow as she lights gently</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >on the stepping stones of her life.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigDyOLmZc4nLzyX92PwizRcJ5NkCqOmgvI1jFX3x0ChTpOdrwYWUVytqdeI7inBHFw4QVhElDRhbdm4U-flOVrdqumd2HE1AnjaNzLJUVL5QbAKgKZqs8BDQ2Ke-86aYekQU0Igy9aJVA0/s1600-h/040.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigDyOLmZc4nLzyX92PwizRcJ5NkCqOmgvI1jFX3x0ChTpOdrwYWUVytqdeI7inBHFw4QVhElDRhbdm4U-flOVrdqumd2HE1AnjaNzLJUVL5QbAKgKZqs8BDQ2Ke-86aYekQU0Igy9aJVA0/s400/040.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423064080082356370" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; width: 103px; height: 82px;" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></div><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br /></div>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-17915210679775583912010-01-03T17:25:00.000-08:002010-01-03T18:29:38.054-08:00Sunday Snapshot<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcxE978Qg9eG-owhM-dy2Vp_3FTUJqvhnWQVb8kjjo6WgCmsi-_Vf0M8WZ3d6vuNBRpawXTC0IStM2Hvlew33txOIF9X3O3MOfdhby623Nv9eIffmy2C1ZTkp5-XYJjVdOtGhVQMHhWfa/s1600-h/anniversary11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcxE978Qg9eG-owhM-dy2Vp_3FTUJqvhnWQVb8kjjo6WgCmsi-_Vf0M8WZ3d6vuNBRpawXTC0IStM2Hvlew33txOIF9X3O3MOfdhby623Nv9eIffmy2C1ZTkp5-XYJjVdOtGhVQMHhWfa/s400/anniversary11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422703662733024242" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdkWYBViXvDRZ0w_QhfP9HUdfOv5IgM8bgpAOCZz7r7yYYyGbsF9m3KrOtc2_n9Vw77u0CDlVo9EjW4CvmuprDbzC6TXP80c9tVs2QvfwRUEJPsOCSdJ3eei2aEPuCdyXp6DhQjWPAaBZp/s1600-h/060.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 237px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdkWYBViXvDRZ0w_QhfP9HUdfOv5IgM8bgpAOCZz7r7yYYyGbsF9m3KrOtc2_n9Vw77u0CDlVo9EjW4CvmuprDbzC6TXP80c9tVs2QvfwRUEJPsOCSdJ3eei2aEPuCdyXp6DhQjWPAaBZp/s400/060.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422690822874816610" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">This Sunday Snapshot is a note about Cami. At four and a half, Cami knows many things.<br />And she is smart enough to ask about what she doesn't know.<br />She is a thinker.<br /><br />The other day she asked where ideas come from .<br />From your brain, her daddy said.<br />She thought for a moment and replied,<br />"I think some of my ideas come from my knee"<br /><br />Cami has the gift of organization.<br />Already being the mom of a few self confessed messy souls,<br />I am thrilled to have someone else in the house who loves order.<br />On Christmas afternoon Cami announced she was going to her room,<br />to organize her new things.<br />Earlier that morning she took each item out of her stocking and inspected it.<br />Then she put everything back in the stocking.<br />It now sits in her closet, pristine, just as Santa left it.<br />I bet some rainy day she will love discovering it again.<br /><br />Maybe because Cami lived in an orphanage for the first two years of her life,<br />she is aware of some things in a more serious way than other children.<br />Cami loves to be dressed warmly, in layers, including a sweatshirt or sweater.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4tiYpQmDaD9s-bgDnLmtNhvH0kYwFW1l4ffbSMwq194gWiDI8Gv7rHZkDGMRdgZQhFwth77AFD-IYxRfwHyc43BKqOI5KnlEhxGPSKtnbiylOWf_8obxAq4r71F4-SF3rsm8DCPsg9-0/s1600-h/n_a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4tiYpQmDaD9s-bgDnLmtNhvH0kYwFW1l4ffbSMwq194gWiDI8Gv7rHZkDGMRdgZQhFwth77AFD-IYxRfwHyc43BKqOI5KnlEhxGPSKtnbiylOWf_8obxAq4r71F4-SF3rsm8DCPsg9-0/s400/n_a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422702670434817570" border="0" /></a>Cami is highly aware of food.<br /><div style="text-align: center;">She plans her meals and eats all of them.<br />She has a mature palate for her age.<br />(especially interesting since she was born with hardly any palate)!!<br />When we met Cami, she wore Size 24 months.<br />She has been with us for 2 years and 4 months.<br />She now wears Size 5.<br />That is quite a bit of growing!<br />She is solid and strong.<br />How I would love to see her biological family!<br /><br />But most of all, Cami is aware of love.<br />I remember the first time we saw her laugh,<br />In the pool at the White Swan Hotel.<br />It was an odd thing,<br />as if it was her very first time laughing.<br />Perhaps it was.....<br /><br />Cami had to learn what it meant to have a family,<br />to sleep with a family,<br />to be held when she cried,<br />to be pampered and petted.<br /> Cami learned to love us all.<br /><br />And now she is a big sister,<br />and she is such a sweet caregiver.<br />She loves to teach Delilah new things<br />and to help her get dressed or reach things for her from the shelf.<br />Cami has lots of great Big Sister ideas<br />..........but she is right about ideas......<br />the idea of kicking Delilah when things go wrong<br />must be coming from her knee!!!! LOL<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyRinn8ZPbxthQo6bYqMaZE8_zTchREEWCKgOhNjGubUqTLiDwdZwgoOJsNH55nl6L1Ryy27zNmFMuYVmPRLDtJzH8-RgoG5aWxuu21-IOgbF01sSqYjnmyb9FSv9EC09NaWCGlckFbvvm/s1600-h/anniversary10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyRinn8ZPbxthQo6bYqMaZE8_zTchREEWCKgOhNjGubUqTLiDwdZwgoOJsNH55nl6L1Ryy27zNmFMuYVmPRLDtJzH8-RgoG5aWxuu21-IOgbF01sSqYjnmyb9FSv9EC09NaWCGlckFbvvm/s400/anniversary10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422703254622584834" border="0" /></a><br />Civil Affairs Office, Nanchang, Adoption Day, August 2007<br /></div><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; width: 89px; height: 72px;" /></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-13405319970675530892009-12-23T16:32:00.000-08:002009-12-23T16:38:52.698-08:00First Snow December 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCBVT2yLX9JC9wEYgS0cD2Qj_vj7ckQlf5nvZoGwVWbPlTUBaEFzLVNFjLkqjZ5YGx8iiN5k9woFArtpiZI6pvFmyP-XHW8xcbmRmfF_3t_eTSaLtvnN8jYyLO9xtq4A3atQ0q_NcqYCK0/s1600-h/Picnik+collage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCBVT2yLX9JC9wEYgS0cD2Qj_vj7ckQlf5nvZoGwVWbPlTUBaEFzLVNFjLkqjZ5YGx8iiN5k9woFArtpiZI6pvFmyP-XHW8xcbmRmfF_3t_eTSaLtvnN8jYyLO9xtq4A3atQ0q_NcqYCK0/s400/Picnik+collage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418594596435106722" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-23040837422984280162009-12-11T15:51:00.000-08:002010-02-18T16:44:51.197-08:00Flying By The Seat of Our Faith<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtL_V8xX5_mGGCPgD4dlHRCHNjRCPf95qBnyMbvO3T1FVMuplWgIbwyWA37sL6JOXTO-oSWboztWxBHLZGIT05aLD0QOuzRTevxHy96-lwzKnbGntukzTL-QD0UZRL_j0JqFr_w9lJVyi/s1600-h/DSC00963.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtL_V8xX5_mGGCPgD4dlHRCHNjRCPf95qBnyMbvO3T1FVMuplWgIbwyWA37sL6JOXTO-oSWboztWxBHLZGIT05aLD0QOuzRTevxHy96-lwzKnbGntukzTL-QD0UZRL_j0JqFr_w9lJVyi/s320/DSC00963.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414130881298826130" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >It's been more than a year since I saw the face of a baby named Dang Nan on ASIA's waiting child list. I am glad I listened to the small voice urging me to inquire about her. I expected to be told there was a long list of families wanting her. A young baby girl with such a sweet face! I was sure I had waited too late because I wasn't sure we could even afford another adoption so soon.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >Imagine my surprise when the agency told me we were the first family to request Dang Nan's file!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" > Perhaps the reason Dang Nan was still waiting was because she was born with a medical need known as Tethered Cord Syndrome, a type of Spina Bifida. Her future was uncertain and her condition had required one surgery in China already.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" > <span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">We felt comfortable with Tethered Cord as a special need immediately. I never doubted we could handle whatever needs she had immediately and in the future. I did some research on my own and then set up a consultation with an International Adoption Pediatrician.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >I sent the doctor the scant report on her surgery and followup at age 18 months. It was about a paragraph in length, so he didn't have much to go on. He also requested her growth report including head circumference measurements and any photographs we had of her.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >On the morning of our conference, the doctor was straightforward. For some reason I thought he would be bowled over by the same cute face I had been staring at day and night. But he was professional, honest and thorough. Tethered Cord Syndrome could be severe or mild. It could bother her now or later as she grew. The complications stemming from spinal deformities or spinal surgery might be serious.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >I pointed out how active the reports said she had been.....running, jumping, and even potty trained already and dry at night. Yes, the doctor agreed, these were all positive signs....... if they were completely true.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new; font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOFFUeVeqDEVPZ5AhyXO8jg0f-FWskF1Z0UHGjpJzNhH1SLyTIZ4ttiPXZcAdrqMqv2OgG8Ff9QYgGyNyyrpC3hLphmKvM-Jdx1f4mVsLa7qWEVdbKhc8a38DRI8fGBZjcmsAeBJyWE73/s1600-h/DSC09208.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOFFUeVeqDEVPZ5AhyXO8jg0f-FWskF1Z0UHGjpJzNhH1SLyTIZ4ttiPXZcAdrqMqv2OgG8Ff9QYgGyNyyrpC3hLphmKvM-Jdx1f4mVsLa7qWEVdbKhc8a38DRI8fGBZjcmsAeBJyWE73/s320/DSC09208.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414138143764639010" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >The doctor's gravest concern was her eyes. One eye appeared crossed toward her nose in all the photos. The doctor wanted to be very sure I understood the implications. Along with the eye position, Dang Nan had large head measurements. Some of the measurements were missing, so it was impossible to know if she genetically had a large head or if she had suffered hydrocephalus, which can be a side effect of spinal bifida. And if hydrocephalus is not treated, pressure can build in the brain, and in the worst case permanent cognitive damage can occur. And the funny eye position might be an indication of problems caused by the pressure on the brain.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >Again I pointed out the reported accomplishments of my smiling girl in Inner Mongolia. She could draw a circle, speak in sentences, and she knew the color red. But the doctor, doing the job we asked of him, declared the information we had about this child to indicate "moderate risk". </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >To this day, I really don't know what we were at moderate risk for, because even before the phone call with the doctor we had decided. Dang Nan would become our daughter.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >But I have to be honest and tell you I looked closely at her eyes in every photo I received. I was more than a little concerned about the eyes the entire time we waited. I worried she was not getting medical attention in China and her head was growing larger with hydrocephalus. Since this complication had been the main concern of the doctor, it remained on my mind during the long wait for travel. I worried far more than I should have. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >God was watching over the whole story. There were invisible hands holding onto to all of us.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >As miracles go, Dang Nan was one wrapped in giggles and adventure. We knew when we met her she was smart and quick. In fact, we spent the next several months trying to be smarter and quicker than she was!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >And today, the memory of her worrisome eyes, came back to me, full force, full circle. Today I took Delilah Dang Nan to an evaluation with a pediatric ophthalmologist. As it turns out, her vision is perfect, her eyes are healthy and stable. What looks like turning in of an eye in some photos is the result of having wide spaced Asian eyes and a tiny baby nose. The movement of her eyes is fine.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >But imagine if I had not be flying by the seat of my faith that long ago day when I first saw Delilah's referral picture!!! What if the unknown head measurements and the turned in eyes and the what-ifs and the maybes had been the voice we heeded. What if we had not been sure of the invisible hand of God guiding us and holding us. Oh, what we would have missed!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >There were times during our adoption wait when I was afraid, but never a time when I considered turning back from the path leading us to Delilah. And today I was reminded of the power and the glory of the God who led us down the path and entrusted her to our care.</span></span><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDNMLpA8wWr0M7fSxP2jyySeQ0zkNSDt6bvk-CRjvBOMQZc7_PrsyGVyYtmUZj0dDyuAlnXVZXJMVmjBfNrUspirKgtWrqO7P3vTYMTKpzqPYRuNxrpQfNUHPBPwenvbl82dR6MT3svvHW/s1600-h/020-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDNMLpA8wWr0M7fSxP2jyySeQ0zkNSDt6bvk-CRjvBOMQZc7_PrsyGVyYtmUZj0dDyuAlnXVZXJMVmjBfNrUspirKgtWrqO7P3vTYMTKpzqPYRuNxrpQfNUHPBPwenvbl82dR6MT3svvHW/s400/020-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414157775044080578" border="0" /></a><br /><a style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);" href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; width: 88px; height: 71px;" /></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-55809854149853307662009-12-02T04:49:00.001-08:002009-12-02T04:51:46.437-08:00Character Study<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3FZJFl6yAjU5S1j6vBDwsS15PchOwkSH3AJKc_L-0mtnNjNjuOWWxxiGJYFU0jxowrH2BoKuvQibPpfpgnmHLbB5eFm0ZDICFKJsO7s9y20BaQpVRIA688H-Q2noj0_HprCF7W4xjC7G/s1600-h/008.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 321px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3FZJFl6yAjU5S1j6vBDwsS15PchOwkSH3AJKc_L-0mtnNjNjuOWWxxiGJYFU0jxowrH2BoKuvQibPpfpgnmHLbB5eFm0ZDICFKJsO7s9y20BaQpVRIA688H-Q2noj0_HprCF7W4xjC7G/s400/008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410620581372588162" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmedGl5RBaWyzoYiCbNddm2hfTWGhKUYHm6IVbPxIP1KjS4ESsFjOI1z1tqFOKmAnlI4C23kIGYSn483Ufb1idFIzbqh22WF2B0tHHNrTj0xUuxSxYyZodGyq7Su2FE4AWQLrFAERXqsvw/s1600-h/009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 338px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmedGl5RBaWyzoYiCbNddm2hfTWGhKUYHm6IVbPxIP1KjS4ESsFjOI1z1tqFOKmAnlI4C23kIGYSn483Ufb1idFIzbqh22WF2B0tHHNrTj0xUuxSxYyZodGyq7Su2FE4AWQLrFAERXqsvw/s400/009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410620575724109522" border="0" /></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-75398682292817411812009-11-29T09:24:00.000-08:002010-02-18T16:52:56.542-08:00For Crying Out Loud<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUk8_dt3PFd18UJ2I4pwApjm4G4rAEFc5dK6xQ2apf_3eb3P2yy_qVcObm6YyPYlkGWfSBIGrIfVUvN6N63sb67TPUdGuMlXmky12cwyts022J5vVcGOET0KVGNfhzj7Uz0cuFmtiBUBRu/s1600/089.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUk8_dt3PFd18UJ2I4pwApjm4G4rAEFc5dK6xQ2apf_3eb3P2yy_qVcObm6YyPYlkGWfSBIGrIfVUvN6N63sb67TPUdGuMlXmky12cwyts022J5vVcGOET0KVGNfhzj7Uz0cuFmtiBUBRu/s400/089.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409921405767860610" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >As the holiday season rolls in, I am aware once more, how different our life has become. Different from before of course. Our family, consisting of mostly grown big kids a few years ago was blessed by excitement times two when Cami and Delilah tumbled into our lives. We have been given a chance to experience the holidays once again through the eyes of a child, and words fail me when I search for a way to express my gratitude and joy!<br /><br />It is a GIFT to live in this magical time and place.<br /><br />After much strategic planning and weighing the pros and cons, we packed up our bags and spent Thanksgiving with relatives,and there I began to see our family through other's eyes. It was certainly not the first time, but by spending time at a place we have traveled to many times over the past 25 years, so much was illuminated.<br /><br />Not only are we different from the average middle age couple because we are starting over with small children, we are different from our former selves as parents. Adoptive parenting really is different from parenting birth children. Sometimes people want to gloss over this difference and makes sure everything is equal between mothers who give birth and mothers who adopt. But it is really a shame NOT to acknowledge the ways, the incredible ways, lives can be forever altered by the presence of these sometimes puzzling little souls who hang in the balance between searching and embracing, and in the process, finding the Faith to learn to love and trust again.<br /><br />Whatever sorrow, whatever trouble, whatever weakness exists in one's heart, the holidays have a way of shining a light on it. Perhaps that could be a true gift of Christmas......the chance to unwrap our packaged grief and hold it close and begin to heal sitting in the soft light of candles and trees and angels.<br /><br />Adopted children come into our lives with stories as powerful as any history has known. Their hearts have broken too soon after they began to beat. They know the meaning of loneliness on a primal level. They have endured, struggled, and survived. They lived to see another day, another summer, another life.<br /><br />But there was a price to pay for survival. And I believe my goal as a mother is to fearlessly help them through the dark places and learn to trust the light again, and forever.<br /><br />As the holidays begin, I see my girls become stressed, even in the middle of all the traditions they are coming to love. During these times, my job is to pay attention so I can understand what they need, to hold them close, and to accept there is a sadness and pain at the center. Most importantly, I need to accept them exactly where they are and allow them to express their joy and their pain without judgment.<br /><br />Thanksgiving was a joyful mingling of laughter, food, pets, and cousins. My three and four year old girls enjoyed the attention as they danced and twirled their way through the day. Unlike the adults, the meal was a small moment to be endured, before they could return to their adventures. As the day wore on, I saw the slow unravelling. It was as if all the laughing and talking and anticipation had crawled inside them and expanded until it filled every crevice and had to be released.<br /><br />One child has a mantra she uses when she is overwhelmed. She moans, "Nooooooooooo" over and over in a variety of keys and tones. It usually fits any situation and it more than sums up her feelings about her life at the moment. However, it can be disturbing to others who are within hearing range and I project, perhaps wrongly, that everyone expects me to stop the noise. And I cannot. It cannot be quieted. Not by me. It has to run it's course, like a ritualistic dance and it is not mine to control.<br /><br />So I hold her. Not tightly, not with force, just gently allowing her to lay across my lap or put her head on my shoulder. At first she resists. She is deep in the privacy of her own pain. But I sit and I persist and I wait. Soon she will allow a hand on her back, my hand on her hand, and then a gentle pull onto my lap.<br /><br />After some time, the crying mantra will give way to a sad sobbing so pure and raw it breaks my heart. And then, in the end, no matter what the challenges or joys of the day have been, do you want to know what my small girl with a soul a big as the sky says?<br /><br />She looks at me, straight into my eyes, black coals burning truth and she says, "I miss my mommy in China". Then she hugs me and rises again, into this life, into the light where she grows and thrives and laughs and loves. She is back and balanced. Some weight has been lifted for now. But the loss remains. It will always be a part of her. My hope and my duty is to be a comfort in the storm and a companion on the journey.<br /><br />When someone asks, "What is wrong"?, I could answer "everything"........or I could tell the other side of the truth.....which is less understood but no less true:<br /><br />She needs to Cry Out Loud.</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-78438974421130747462009-11-09T06:48:00.000-08:002010-02-18T16:53:57.338-08:00The Heart of the Story<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfPQ6OgOxV2Z0uatZ1kIWZtsJJDyU6QKf7DrBRUxo4TfiRvsTXp5wvkjXFnEDOBlvJ-bBkR6QR5sLTI9iSG4mxkEw1RXGpo1Gs6mrDZokaJx0rCm5rxsvV4IYpfF7yQkX8KCb7MVrBHxe/s1600-h/047.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfPQ6OgOxV2Z0uatZ1kIWZtsJJDyU6QKf7DrBRUxo4TfiRvsTXp5wvkjXFnEDOBlvJ-bBkR6QR5sLTI9iSG4mxkEw1RXGpo1Gs6mrDZokaJx0rCm5rxsvV4IYpfF7yQkX8KCb7MVrBHxe/s400/047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402155029137346306" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >November is National Adoption Month. Yesterday many churches around the country celebrated Orphan Sunday, and all month events are planned to bring attention to the millions of children who live on the fringes of our planet. Children. Without parents. Without cuddles on the sofa and goodnight stories. Without toothbrushes and sweaters. Without shoes and bandaids. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >I imagine their hearts are broken.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >We are born human with expectations for certain simple things. We expect, from the first day, to be fed, to be warm, and to be loved. We expect someone to come if we cry. We expect someone to care. These are human needs.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >Another trait of being human is compassion. One third of American families consider adoption seriously at one point or another. We think about it, we imagine it. But only 2% of this third of families actually follows through with adoption. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >There are real reasons for that. Adoption can be complicated. There is a great deal of paperwork, but when taken one step at a time, one day at a time, it is manageable. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >Adoption can be expensive. This is true, but the expenses are manageable. The money is not due all at one time. And most people have untapped talents for funding adoptions. There are grants, credit lines, family loans, and fundraising. To be honest,in our personal experience, we can feel the financial strain from completing two adoptions in two years, but we are not going hungry or living without heat. We are not suffering at all in comparison to how much of the world lives. I am ashamed to even mention it honestly.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >Adoption can be risky. Yes, just like getting married and giving birth, you really don't know how things will turn out. I think this is where Faith and Commitment carried us. We adopted with Faith that we were answering a higher call to do something to make a difference in a child's life. And we adopted with the commitment of all parents who welcome a new child into their family and we knew we would provide whatever support was needed for this child, our child, medically and emotionally. And most importantly we committed to loving them unconditionally. Once that decision was made, nothing else really mattered. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >Adoption changes families. Physically. Emotionally. Eternally. Many times I have struggled to share my vision and global awareness with the older children in our family. Their life changed dramatically when we began the adoption process. We went from a family focused on teens, college, and cars, to a family focused on toddlers, pull ups, and toys with many pieces. They had to learn to live in extremes of noise logic...... crying babies interrupted their sleep, but their music could not be played loud if the babies were sleeping! It was suddenly hard to get a word in edgewise and time alone with mom or dad was rare. There were grumpy days that might have been normal teen angst, or it could have been a result of mom and dad doing something so far out of the ordinary that they feared their lives would never be like their friends lives again.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >I'll admit that there have been times when I felt guilty. I have worried there is not enough of me to go around. But as soon as I hit a low point, along comes a morning like this one, where my almost 20 year old son is helping Delilah write the letters of her name, and I know, I just know, that the same small white light in my heart that led us down this road has remained with us. And I believe again that the whole story is not yet told and the coming chapters may reveal more joy, more beauty, and more hope than I can even imagine. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >And this is only my story. There are thousands of stories being lived out around you. Adoption has probably touched the families of most people you know in one way or another. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >My reason for writing during November is to ask you to open your heart to adoption. But wait, I don't mean I expect everyone can or will adopt a child. Adoption is only one way to make a difference for the children in the world trying to grow up without a family. There is so much you can do to help the orphans of the world. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">In fact, you can do something from your home that will help a child in a third world country today! The needs are immediate and the situation is often severe. No effort is too small.</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" > Pray for them. When you hold your child wrapped in warm blankets, be aware that in China most orphanages are without heat and every winter babies lose fingers and toes to frost bite. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" > Educate yourself on the reasons for many children being separated from their parents. Is it poverty? Lack of health care? Illness? Become aware of the laws and policies that affect families on a global level. Support the ideas that encourage families in a positive way and speak out against the policies that manipulate the families already struggling for survival.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" > Awareness is the first step in changing any situation. Once you know the conditions in which some children live, you can never "not know". You can no longer pretend they do not exist. The images will be part of you.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" > Do some research and learn about people who are devoting their lives to making the lives of orphans less difficult and less hopeless. Missionaries, doctors, nurses, and ordinary people are giving their time and skills to help children who have no one else to speak for them. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" > Find an organization that you believe is doing good work and help them. In this economy, donations are less than normal across the board. Every little bit helps. In China $10 or $20 can buy alot of food for a child. One thing I do is to save all the coins and change I receive in a coffee can. When it is full, I go to a change machine and turn it into cash for a money order to send to one of my favorite organizations working in China.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" > Consider sponsoring an orphan in foster care in China. Your sponsorship of less than $50 a month can give a child the chance to live in a loving family, with warm clothes and plenty of food. The simple things in life can make all the difference.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" > And finally, in this time when we all have more </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >stuff</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" > than we know what to do with, why not consider honoring a friend or family member with a donation for the holdiays. Wouldn't it be an honor to know that because of your gift, a child had rice three times a day instead of once, or that they were able to have life-saving surgery. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >Below I am listing some of my favorite organizations helping children in China. Look at their websites, look at the faces of the children who have no voice, and consider in your heart what role you might be able to play in these innocent lives.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><a href="http://www.chinalittleflower.org/">China Little Flower</a> (caring for medically fragile, terminally ill, and premature infants in Northern China.)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.destinyshouse.com/">Destinys House</a><a href="http://www.destinyshouse.org/"> </a>(supplying shoes to orphans and starting up a new orphan care home in Central China.)<br /><a href="http://www.lovewithoutboundaries.com/"><br /></a><a href="http://lovewithoutboundaries.org/">Love Without Boundaries</a> (providing medical care and life saving surgeries to children in China. This organization made Cami's cleft surgery possible when she was 9 months old.)<br /><a href="http://www.halfthesky.org/"><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Half The Sky </span></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.ocdf.org/orphansupport/">Coal For Kids</a> (providing heat for orphanages that have no government support)<br /><br />and there are so many more! If you start exploring the possibilities, you may find yourself enthralled with all the stories people's lives are telling.<br /><br />What is your story?<br /><br />I would love for you to share it.<br /><br />If you are part of an organization or know of one that you think should be included, leave me a comment with the information and I will list it on the side bar!<br /></span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3877257519115214800.post-34771650516970404052009-10-24T17:43:00.000-07:002009-10-24T19:55:07.793-07:00Leaving With the Band<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWP3M2esDvX_5dDn8JYAtSf9XzPNnovPoSlAvCrQFJwh_i26BZ4CJ9mbA0oOaCdm-iUR13MTy9c4fPg5tOK1IvNjVfHmKysPDT32hjhA0AxgDKoUmldfogmJbHm2ZmWDkmP8Z8BkLwMBq/s1600-h/edit10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 394px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWP3M2esDvX_5dDn8JYAtSf9XzPNnovPoSlAvCrQFJwh_i26BZ4CJ9mbA0oOaCdm-iUR13MTy9c4fPg5tOK1IvNjVfHmKysPDT32hjhA0AxgDKoUmldfogmJbHm2ZmWDkmP8Z8BkLwMBq/s400/edit10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396361863251360834" /></a><br /><br />When I was a child, growing up in the ever so interesting 60s and 70s, when "family" was being redefined and parenting was starting to be seen as something more than just providing food and shelter to the miniature people living in the home, luck or fate landed me in a nice place to grow up. I was given the things I needed so I had time to think about the things I think about even now. <br /><br />My parents' goal for my brother and I was for us to be "well rounded" children. I remember how very proud my mother was the day I showed her my 4th Grade report card. I do not remember the grades I made, but I remember how my teacher had written, in her perfect and beautiful handwriting, "Sherri is a well-rounded little girl, a pleasure to have in the classroom". My mother had succeeded. I was rounding out quite nicely.<br /><br />When I inquired of my mother what in the world it meant to be well-rounded and why such a trait was so desired, she explained how a well-rounded person was able to do many things. In that time, some value must have been seen in the ability to enter into most any activity at a beginner level. Being well rounded on my report card meant, at least to my mother, I not only completd math problems on the blackboard, spelled the bonus words on my spelling tests, and wrute about my summer in three or more paragraphs, but I was also able to join most any group of players on the playground and not be chosen last when kick ball teams were picked. I jumped rope and took ballet lessons. I wanted a pony, even though I knew I would never have one, and I read Little Women and took art lessons. At the tender age of 10, I had dipped my fingers in many acceptable pies. <br /><br />But in my heart, I already knew I owned none of them. <br /><br />As part of my parents crusade to round out my brother and I, there were several years when we were one of the families in town with season tickets to the "Community Concerts". I'm not sure if such a thing still exists, but Community Concerts offered a variety of live performances by way of traveling shows who came to small towns where theatre and symphony were not everyday fare, but where parents desired to begin to enlighten themselves and their children together.<br /><br />Community Concerts were on Tuesday nights. My mind has held on to the smallest of details like this. This schedule meant I had to hurry home from my piano lesson and hurry out to the high school auditorium where the performances took place, the best facility our town had to offer. I don't remember ever knowing ahead of time what I would be seeing or hearing. <br /><br />But I remember dreading each performance with a fear and anxiety as heavy as an albatross around my neck. I dragged my feet to our seats and kept my eyes down, while my parents were trying to catch my eye to give me the "look" to reminded me how fortunate I was to be among the members of the community having this chance to be exposed to higher thinking, to music, to art. <br /><br />I hated Community Concerts with such a passion that almost 45 years later I can conjure up the feeling enough to feel my palms start to sweat a little. I hated them and dreaded them. But not for the reason you might think. <br /><br />Maybe you will be surprised. Or maybe you will not.<br /><br />I sat through years of "Community Concert" performances with my head down, staring at my hands, and fighting back tears. I remember pianists and soloists, quartets, sopranos, folk singers and more. While I appeared not to be engaged, I actually saw everything and heard everything. And what I didn't know I created. I gave them a life that filled in the blanks that the stage did not answer for me. And in the final moments, where the small town crowd, feeling somewhat high on enlightenment, stood for a rousing ovation and refused to sit down until the encore came, I stood too, beaming by then, and stretching on my tip toes, reaching from my heart, silently praying, "See me.....pick me....take me".<br /><br />It was agony, you see, for me to endure such a magical show and then have it end. I knew I would return to my ordinary life and the performers would move on to another town of faces they would not remember. I did not want to be one of the watchers. I wanted to be part of what happened up on the stage. I wanted to be part of whatever it was that moved people and made them hunger for more. And it was so incredibly painful for me to experience these great performances and then have to just go home that I came to dread and to despise sitting through them. <br /><br />My father once asked me why I never seemed to want to go to the shows. And I answered him honestly. I said, "Because I want to leave with the band". He left it at that. Either because he understood. Or because, as a pre-adolescent first daughter, I was a mystery enough without opening more cans of worms.<br /><br />Over my life, I've lost the ability to recall the specific artists I saw on the Community Concert tours. But I still recall the feeling much more often than I have time for in my ordinarily busy life. It will catch me off guard and make me feel out of sorts and frustrated. I still want to "leave with the band". I still want to be part of a group of people making a difference in the world. And as long as I have my memories I will not stop visualizing a small girl stepping out of the audience and walking toward the lights, stepping out of the ordinary and into the arena where anything is possible.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/308/014E4CCC6F2F356B18A22226EDEBC7F5.png" style="border: 0 !important; background: transparent;"/></a>Maps of Chinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02346082789657950799noreply@blogger.com6