Learning to Be

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.

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.

One will dig and the other will hold the bucket. Delilah likes to swing and Cami likes to push.

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.

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.

They know the doing is not the only important thing. They know how to simply BE.

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.

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.

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.

Believing in Love

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

"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........

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.

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.

Of course I was with them. "

Queen of Hearts

Their Prince Has Come

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.

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!

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.

"There was this one toy......remember, mom? The white pipes you brought home from the toy library".

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.

A few minutes later, Mark told the girls he had to run an errand and he would be back home quickly.

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.

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!

Sensory Appreciation

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.

I had no idea!

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.

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!

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.



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.

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.

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.

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.

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.


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.

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!

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.

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.

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 that is a sensory experience I try to AVOID!!!!!

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.

Winter Bath

Sometimes when it's too cold to go outside and the boredom sets in,
I like to fix a fancy bath for the girls.

We have a room heater,
bubbles, body wash, special washcloths and towels,
and lotion for afterwards.

These baths are not about getting a good scrub,
getting clean is a fringe benefit.
These morning baths,
while the winter sun shines full in the window,
are about water play,
on a cozy day.

After the towels and lotion,
the hair brushing and dressing,
we snuggle on the sofa for reading,
and I inhale the scent of my bubbly clean girls
and I know I have a slice of heaven.

Hardwired?

Cami asked for a drawing book.
Yesterday I bought two spiral bound sketch books
and new markers.

Here is a sample of Cami's drawing.
She has pages and pages of this type of design.
Is it just me?
Or does this look a little like Chinese writing?

I'm fascinated by the idea of hardwiring
and what we know
without even realizing we know it.

Orphans do not experience the things
they are biologically expecting.
Most importantly,
they lose the sight and sound and smell of their mother.
A certain death,
is the message their body gives them.
And ever after,
they are reminded,
even from safe havens
their bodies prepare
for the fight of their life.

But Cami is a survivor,
and so much beauty survived with her.
This writing is from her soul.
And the only thing that could impress me more
was if it actually could be read!!!

The Dark Side

I have decided there is no good excitement here anymore....
Holidays,
Snow days,
Close your eyes for a surprise,
Visits with friends,
a morning at school,
the doctor,
the church,
it is all too much.
And it always ends badly.

Cami is a child who both seeks out extra sensory experiences
during the day,
and
Has a difficult time processing the sensory input
she receives.

Basically,
what goes in must come out.
The bigger the fun,
the louder the cries,
the further the fall.

Later.
When it is all over,
and the friends are gone,
and the cake is eaten,
and the night is coming,
Cami will lose control.

Of course she can not say,
Gee, mom, I've had a big day......
I think I need some time to unwind.
Instead,
something,
anything,
totally unrelated to the excitement
will push her over the edge.

She will rage.
Her body will tremble and fight
every attempt at comfort.
She will scream
and yell, "NOOOOOOOOOO"
regardless.

I have tried many ways
of dealing with her rages,
because
they are a hard time for everyone.
But I find it cannot be fixed,
with a word or a gesture,
the course must be run.
The pent up stress must be released.

And only then,
when the trembling stops
and she looks at me again,
with eyes that truly see,
may I pick her up and hold her to me.

Offering comfort
I tell her simple things.
I promise again to always love and take care.
I validate her anger.
I tell her I am also mad.
She should not have lain in a dull room,
cold bed,
for two empty years.
She deserved better.
She deserves everything.

This is the dark side of a child's heart.
No one wants to tell us
to speak of it
But how could we expect
an orphan
to suffer such a loss and void
and have no damages.

The raging darkness in the void seeps out
and winds around our legs,
threatens to pull taunt choking our throat.
But when the child is spent
and the rage has quieted,
I believe a tiny bit of the
Darkness has died,
and some of the Light
has come in.

I Will Not Be Cold

With record breaking cold weather here in the South
I was trying to convince Cami to wear
her fuzzy blanket sleeper to bed
last night.

She wanted to wear lighter weight cotton pajamas.
I told her I just didn't want her to be cold.
She answered:
"Don't worry, mom, I'll be sleeping right beside you,
in your bed.
I will not be cold.'

She was speaking the truth.
And she has known cold.
Living two years in an orphanage
without heat.
She wore her pink coat day and night.
She was lucky to have it.
But she was likely still cold.

I am so thankful when those toasty toes
touch me in sleep.
We are warm.
I hope there are enough
soft blankets and hugs
to erase
her memories of being cold and alone.

Little Lights in Their Eyes

The days are different now.
We did not send the girls back to preschool
after winter break.
Now with the severely cold weather
I'm thankful to have cozy mornings of
hot milk and coffee.

We are not new to homeschooling.
Our homeschool adventure began in 1997.
I am not overly concerned
with academics.
At this age,
I look for teachable moments,
little lights in their eyes,
lots of hands on experiences,
and books,
rooms full of books.

Cami loves writing her ABCs.
Delilah loves puzzles.
Cami wants to know how to spell words
for the grocery list.
Delilah mostly loves the color Blue.

I love watching their minds
make sense of the world,
ask questions,
and come up with new ideas.
I really love being the one who gets to see
the world
Through the eyes of a child again.