Nothing Wasted

We finished another school year, which, in many ways, encouraged me with so much progress for my Lotus Bud.  There will always be challenges and frustrations teaching a child with hidden special needs, particularly when the parent-child attachment is still so rocky, but I was so proud of the baby steps of progress I could look back and see in her.  Then, we got to the last few weeks of school, and for whatever reason, it was as though that progress had never happened.  She lost it.  It was gone.  Suddenly, with our eyes set on second grade this coming fall, we were back to not being able to count... literally.  I believe, that like our other peaks and valleys, this is likely a temporary setback.  But when you're dealing with a child from a hard place, things can be rather unpredictable.

It has been a rough month since then as well, even though school is over.  We've seen regression in her social behaviors, acting out, and sensory behaviors, including one incident that resulted in Lil Bit's hand getting broken.  It was an accident, but also a direct result of J ignoring the instructions I gave.

I have spent the past two and (almost) a half years in varying levels of fight, flight, or freeze mode myself.  Just as J's trauma is not an isolated event, but rather an entire time period that shaped her life in her most tender, formative years, the trauma as an adoptive mama is ongoing as well.  For those who, like us, had a very volatile beginning, and have dealt with significant struggles in attachment, it can feel terrifying, hopeless, and incredibly frustrating beyond typical parenting challenges.  For nearly two and a half years, I have had my hands clenched tight.  Wanting to trust the Lord.  Wanting to open myself to this child and love her the way I thought a mother should love a child, and feeling like a complete failure every time my heart recoiled at her, knowing that she would rip it out again and again.  I have lived in fear, something I swore I would never do.  I have lived in terror that if I trusted God again, He would let me (make me?) hurt more.  He would allow me, like Job, to be sifted by the enemy, when I already felt sifted into nothingness.  I didn't want to welcome that.  I wanted his comfort, but I could not bear the thought that He might be preparing me for something even harder by allowing me to go through this.  Everything in me screamed, "No more!!! NO. MORE."  

We all walk through fire in our lives.  Sometimes it's a tragedy that happens in the blink of an eye, and you spend the rest of your life trying to heal and cope with that moment in time.  Sometimes, it is a long, drawn out, indefinite suffering.  I know that as I live each day with this child, the wound from our initial and extremely traumatic meeting will be ripped open over and over again.  I want so desperately to be able to trust her, but reality tells me that she will break my trust daily through lies and manipulation.  I want to be close to her, but how can one feel safe or comfortable with another person who proves daily that they are untrustworthy and need constant vigilance, or subconsciously sabotages your relationship?  She is acting out of her trauma, and because I am as safe as it gets for her, it falls on me.  And although I do my best to act in the way that I should, I, in turn, think and feel out of the trauma I have experienced as a result of her trauma.  It is indeed a vicious cycle.

But here's the thing:

All of this time, when all I could feel was the shock and rage at first, and then the long, dark emptiness, He has been pursuing me relentlessly.  And do you know what?  He has caught me again.  After two and a half years of asking the biggest, scariest, most blasphemous questions of him, of pounding on his chest in anger, of curling up in a ball and refusing to fully open my hands to him, He has caught me up in his arms at last.  And He is, ever so gently, opening my heart and my hands again, sloughing off the resentment, bitterness, and fear.  And as He has made me secure again in his love, He has also given me a picture of this portion of my journey.  Life comes out of darkness.  Just as He called the world into existence out of nothingness, He brings new life from the darkness of the womb everyday.  This love for my Lotus Bud is labor.  A long, hard, languishing labor.  And just as a mother bears down to bring her child out into the light and life is the result of the pain, so it will be with with Lotus Bud.  A baby pains its mother in the birthing.  The mother knows the pain is coming, and accepts it for the joy on the other side... for love.  So it is with this 54 pound, 49 inch child of my heart.  The labor is longer, and even more painful than that of a babe, but I can choose to look upon it without fear or resentment.  And as I bear down, day after day, minute after minute, with the sweat pouring down, I can choose to remember that none of this is wasted.  Not one moment of it.  And life will come out of the darkness.                    

Drumroll please...

Friends...

JP's psychoaccoustic therapy is FULLY FUNDED as of just a few minutes ago!!!

Thank you so much to everyone who gave.  I am always blown away by how the Lord provides in ways that I never expected, and thankful for those who are faithful to follow the prompting of the Holy Spirit to reach out.  Thank you also for your continued prayers.  I am emailing our counselor immediately to tell her to order JP's listening device so that we can get started asap on this new therapy.  For the first time in a long while, I feel more hope than despair as I look toward our future as a family.  It has been a long, long road, and I know there is still quite a journey ahead of us, but I believe that we are about to take a significant leap forward in our attachment process.  And you all are a part of that: part of the ugly-beautiful work of redemption.  Again, thank you!  What a blessing it is to have so many people standing with us.  I am going to bed tonight with a full heart.   

Urgent Need

Friends: we need your help.

We've been doing counseling with JP for a couple of months. Over the past week or so, we've seen some of her trauma behaviors escalate significantly, with the most frightening being that she ran away from home on Monday. Thankfully, I realized she was gone minutes after she left the house, and I found her within 15 minutes...but she was already over a mile away from our house when I caught up with her. I don't think it's possible to describe the terror of the moment I knew she was gone and I could not see her in either direction on the road. 

We had an emergency meeting with our counselor, and in light of these escalating reactive responses, she has recommended a psychoacoustic therapy that sounds incredibly promising for reducing stress, anxiety, reactive behaviors, and even sensory behaviors. We believe this could have an incredible impact on JP's healing. The price tag was a bit of a blow, though: $2100 all together for the device (which our therapist gives us at wholesale) plus her time in creating a schedule and walking us through all the steps. I won't lie: That is staggering to us considering that our new not-so-affordable health insurance has caused JP's medical bills to nearly double. So this will be on top of the annual $8-10K we have to come up with just to keep her alive and healthy, and standard therapy costs, which are worth every penny, but incredibly expensive. While I normally wouldn't post something this personal for her here, I felt like I didn't have a choice but to ask for help in such a time sensitive circumstance.

We haven't fundraised since before we brought JP home, but as we all know, adoption doesn't end at the airport. If you feel led to be a part of JP's continued healing, or know someone who might have a heart for this, please share and check out the "Donate" button at the top right corner of our blog, which will go directly to JP's therapy via PayPal. I know not everyone is called to adopt a child into their home, but for those who want to be a part of the continuing work of adoption and healing for a child, this is a great opportunity to partner with us in that. We are exhausted, in every possible way, and I am thankful that we have a support group of brothers and sisters to help hold our arms up when we have nothing left.  We covet your prayers, for JP and for our family.  

Soli Deo Gloria.

Following the Signs

I love that my kids are old enough to listen to (and actually request!) chapter books.  Right now, we're reading through The Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis, some of my favorite books in the entire world.  Lewis had quite a knack for succinctly and profoundly writing deep truths in a way that invites even young children into spiritual realities... of course through the language of children: fairytales.

One such truth, which even this sort-of-grown-up-kid needs to remember daily is imparted by Puddleglum, the marshwiggle in The Silver Chair.

‘Oh, if only we knew!’, said Jill.
‘I think we do know,’ said Puddleglum.
‘Do you mean you think everything will come right if we do untie him?’ said Scrubb.
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Puddleglum, ‘You see, Aslan didn’t tell Pole what would happen. He only told her what to do.’ (italics mine)

I'd say that pretty much sums up where I am right now.  Just when things seem to be leveling out, we end up in the valley again.  And I struggle in the valley, because hasn't the Church, or at least the evangelical church (not hating here, just pointing out a pattern), always taught that obedience brings blessing?  That when you serve others with your whole heart or sacrifice for another, it blesses you abundantly more than it could ever bless them?  I'm not disagreeing with those statements, because I have experienced those very sentiments as well.  But truly, when was the last time you heard a sermon on counting the cost of obedience?  At least in a western church?  I think the American church is largely afraid to tell people what the cost of following Christ could look like, because they're afraid people won't do it.  We do like our comfort, don't we?  

The truth is, God can accomplish his sovereign will with or without us.  Inviting us (or commanding us) to be a part of it is indeed so that we can experience the blessing of being part of what He is doing.  But it's also for our sanctification, and daggumit, fire hurts.  Often, in all the PR of the "go and make disciples" sermons, we gloss over the fact that obedience is hard, it rarely looks the way we expect, and we may or may not experience the warm fuzzies for a good long time, if ever.  We have our own ideas about what our "blessings" will look like as a result of our obedience.  Because, let's be honest, our society is a results-driven one.  It can feel both relieving and alarming to let go of what we think should come out of all this hard work and investment of our time, our finances... our lives.  But then, Jesus didn't tell us exactly what would happen when we pick up our crosses and follow him.  He did say we would have trouble.  He also said, "Take heart, for I have overcome the world."  

And there it is: the result, the reward... HE is the reward.  Right here, right now, in the middle of the doggedly-trudging-through-the-muddy-trenches ick, I am wholly his, and He is mine.  

Sanctification.

He is making me look more like him.  He's causing me to lean on him instead of my own understanding.  He's reminding me to press into his strength when I want to collapse right in the middle of the path.  He is offering his new compassion every morning when my heart and soul feel bone dry.  I am my Beloved's and He is mine.  His banner over me is love.

You may not be in the adoption trenches, but whatever your journey of sanctification, let me leave you with this strange mercy as you face the darkness:

"Courage friends... whether we live or die, Aslan will be our good lord."

                                                                                            

One Year

One year: That's hard to believe.  And I wish I had the brain space to write something deeply profound at this huge mile marker.  But it's been a heck of a day, and I am spent.  So here's the less than eloquent version of my one year memories.

What is the biggest thing I have learned over this past year?  That no matter how hard I try, I can't be everything this sweet girl needs.  I'm not always master of my emotions, or my attitude.  I mess up regularly.  But the moment I am willing to let go of the expectations I had for myself- how I would feel, how I would act- is the moment I am more than I could ever be on my own.  My Lotus Bud desperately needed a family, but more than that, she needed to know about her perfect Father, who has loved her before she was even knit together in her first mother's womb.  She needed a Savior, who is perfect in every way, and still paid her ransom.  She knows the Name of her Savior now.  And I fully believe that someday soon, she will welcome him into her heart.

This year... it's been incredible, unexpected, insanely difficult, and beautiful in so many ways.  I look back at the child we brought home, and the child I see now.  Yes, I still struggle with attachment, but I see a happy, energetic, well-adjusted six year old, who is thriving in her forever home.  Yes, I still struggle daily to see past irritating mannerisms, difficulty focusing during school or daily tasks, or temper tantrums because she didn't get her own way, but my mind and my heart are finally starting to accept our new reality.  There are moments when I feel true affection.  Nothing contrived or manufactured, just true affection.  It isn't happening as quickly as I had hoped, but it is happening.

I've learned that God has been giving me more than I can handle on a regular basis for the past three years or so, and that's totally ok, because it reminds me to lean on him instead of my own understanding and abilities (because, let's be honest... no one in their right mind would have singled me out for being awesome at this.  He is adventurous, isn't He?).  And I truly believe that He will bring something beautiful out of all this that I can't possibly wrap my mind around right now.  Isn't that what He does?  He makes all things beautiful in his time.

So, the first year is behind us.  We've gone from daily raging meltdowns to occasional pouting.  We've gone from swinging like a monkey off my arm (ouch) to sitting next to me on the sofa while I read a chapter out of The Chronicles of Narnia (yes, I still have to remind her not to pick her nose or elbow me in the chest as we do this...).  We've gone from a complete aversion to touch, to voluntary warm hugs and goodnight kisses.  From not knowing any English to reading beginning reader books on her own.  I don't know what the years to come will hold, but I look forward to more progress, healing, and attachment for all of us as we begin year two together.  

Soli deo gloria.           

Firsts

I remember, years ago when I was stuck in the wretched "waiting".  Adoptive parents, you know the desolate place of which I speak.  I often let my mind wander, imagining what life would be like when our little Lotus Bud was finally in our arms.  I pictured so many firsts: first birthday home, first day of school, first holidays.  I imagined those beautiful brown eyes gazing up at the Christmas tree, sweet face bathed in the golden light, a look of awe on her face.

My goodness, I'm not sure why I let myself get on the Expectation Train.  Real life is so very different from what I imagined.  I wasn't expecting to have to look quite so hard for the beauty, in her or in myself.  I thought I would feel such strong emotions at this, one of my favorite times of year.  I wasn't expecting to feel so hollow and worn.  But that doesn't mean the moments aren't there.  Joy and beauty are always there for those who are willing to look for it.  Some days, I don't seem to be very willing, but as relentless as that battle is, my Father never gives up on me.

Isn't that what Advent is, though?  The joyful anticipation, the expectancy?

Long lay the world in sin and error pining

Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn 

Joy is coming.  Joy is here.  Emmanuel, God with us.  In the middle of the dirty manger, Hope was born.  

Hope.

Maybe this was our first Thanksgiving all together, and our first Christmas is coming.  But there will be another first: another day when I do feel an overflowing love. Another day when the beauty is so overwhelming that there's no denying it.  Looks like I'm still in the "waiting," even though my waking eyes look upon my daughter.  I'm waiting for God to give me his eyes for her again.  He did it once.  He can do it again.

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice, rejoice

Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel     

I'm beginning to see the light

Homeschooling a sensory and ELL kiddo often takes me to my limits in the patience department, even with the very small amount of official school work that we do. But that reality alone makes every victory won that much sweeter.

Up until now, J has learned letter sounds, but could not make the connection of stringing the sounds together into a word. Rather than stress her out, I just started letting her observe N's reading lesson so she could absorb the information without the pressure of figuring out the words on her own. The past few days, I've noticed her whispering some of the answers to herself while N was reading for me, so after N's lesson today, I sent N in to color and decided to try the lesson over again with J. At first, she shut down and gave me the whole, "I can't do it" line. I told her I heard her reading when N was working, and that I didn't expect her to do things perfectly; I just wanted her to be willing to give it her best effort, and I would help her. She went for it, and successfully sounded out multiple words BY HERSELF, and a FOUR sentence "story" at the end of the lesson with a little help from me. We were both teary-eyed by the end. She was just glowing.  

What a sweet connection moment it was for us when I could look her in the eye and tell her how proud I was that she worked so hard, and didn't give up on herself.  I could see her confidence soaring, and she was so proud to tell Daddy about what she had done.  While I normally wouldn't push on reading at this point, the Holy Spirit prompted me to nudge her this time, to let her know it was ok to try and fail, but that it was worth the risk to try.  I'm so glad I listened, and I'm so glad she felt safe enough with me to go for it.  I may have missed her first words, but I feel like I got a bit of that gift back today.

We've also talked this week about house rules.  Fun, right?  I have felt like all I did was correct, correct, correct, all day everyday.  I was exasperated, and the kids must have been too.  So I did some analyzing (and praying).  Was I expecting too much?  Was I being a total Scrooge and trying to micromanage everything they did?  My conclusion was that our most common issues could all be boiled down into five basic rules.  While those rules can encompass many different scenarios, I thought it might be simpler for the girls if I could just remind them of one of the five overarching rules rather than nit-picking every little issue.  So, in no particular order, the house rules are:

1. Speak kindly and respectfully

2. Wild and crazy behavior is for OUTside

3. Practice good table manners

4. Listen and obey the first time

5. Take good care of your things and clean up after yourself

So yeah, rule number two can be used for everything from running and screaming to acting like we live inside a pinball machine.  Rule three is suitable for nose picking, gibberish, squirming, twisting around, not using napkins...you get the picture.  But simply restating the rule causes them to have to stop and think about what they need to correct to follow the rule rather than me having to harp on every little behavior.  I wasn't sure if that was going to make a difference, but surprisingly, it has drastically changed our week from the norm.  They are quicker to get back on track, they are learning to stop and think, and they even seem to be more cooperative in most situations.  Granted, it may be the newness factor, and it might blow up in my face tomorrow, but for right now, I'm thankful that it's working.  It makes all the difference in the world for me emotionally and mentally.  We've also had a lot more time to do fun stuff, and I've been able to reward them with more privileges to go along with those responsibilities.  

It's been a great week, and I'm thankful. 

Time warp

Sometimes I find myself going back to the single referral picture we got in the spring of last year, and I can't seem to reconcile that picture with our current reality.  The child in that picture, in her visa picture (from when she first came to the orphanage at age two) seem like a completely different person: so small, so placid, or was it timid?  Now I look at the gangly, wild six year old whom I call daughter, and I feel like I'm in two different worlds looking at two different children.

Today has been a trenches kind of day.  A run laps around the farm to help get emotions under control kind of day.  An I'm still in my pajamas at 5:30pm kind of day.  A nothing is going wrong now but I'm so exhausted from the last seven hours (and seven months) that I'm struggling to be present in the moment kind of day.  I go back to those pictures and remember that longing, that compassion.  I look at my present and feel frustration and emotional exhaustion.  Will I ever feel like I'm really her mom?  Like she is my precious daughter?

Precious.  That is what she is.  That is how HE sees her, and how He sees me, no matter how many times I fall short.  I require so much grace, and yet I am often so resentful of having to extend the same grace.  Why is that?  I'm so resentful that my life has been imploded, that I'm spread out thinner than I can possibly bear every single day with no finish line in sight, that my darling N is having to process such a difficult situation as well.  I forget what JP has gone through.  In those moments of defiance or chaos, I forget what she has experienced in her short life, and have to force myself to remember that all is not what it would have been if I had carried her in my womb and held her from her first moments on this earth.  Five and a half years.  That's what we missed, and it is such a long road to redemption, on all sides.  And I resist it, because I'm tired, and being refined hurts like hell, because that's what is being burned away, hell.  

I have always identified closely with the apostle Peter.  I understand his impetuousness, his zeal, his propensity for sticking his foot in his mouth, his long road to discernment and listening.  One of my favorite verses about him is Matthew 16:18, when Jesus gave him the name Peter:

"And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it."

As my sister so aptly pointed out to me a couple of weeks ago, the way this verse is worded, "the gates of hell" implies either an assault on the fortress, or an escape from captivity.  I have never been afraid of charging the gate.  Give me my sword.  Well, the gate has been charged and the first battle won.  What do I fear?  A cage.  And the trenches feel very much like a cage.  Sitting with your tail in the mud in an indefinite, slow, steady, crawling kind of battle.  God help me.

God, help me.

The only way to even survive this battle, to win it, is to keep my eyes on him and do every single tiny thing, day in and day out, as though I am doing it directly for him, and no one else.  When I look past the person in front of me and see the face of my Love, all is glorious.  

Lord, let the scales fall from my eyes so I can see you through all this mess.  Open my eyes to see my enemy for who he is and renew my strength to fight him with everything in me. 

"Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me." (emphasis mine)

        

Bye bye, summer

I think I may have been in denial about school starting this month until the past couple of days.  How can summer already be over?  We've had a blast (most of the time) swimming, playing on the swing set, running through the sprinkler.  I love the spontaneity of summer.  I love not having to be anywhere at any certain time.  I love just being able to play, explore, roam, relax...

Ok, I'll be honest: Those moments were intertwined with crazy meltdowns, moments of sheer insanity, and constant mischief.  Such is the life of a mother with small children.

It's time for structure.  I won't say I'm ready for winter.  I hate the cold.  But I am ready to have a more specific schedule with guided times of learning and play to help reign in all that crazy spontaneity.  I am actually ready to dive into home schooling these two precious hooligans and see how we do.  I've already got my daily schedule outlined, and before you chuckle at my lofty expectations, they are really only four short blocks of school work interspersed with plenty of play, snacks, meals, and other fun activities.  The point is, there will be a specific purpose and direction to each day, and they need that.  I am a firm believer in allowing children unstructured play time to expand and indulge their imaginations, but too many hours of unguided time will end up being filled with normal four and five year old shenanigans.  You know, like squirting yogurt all over the furniture on the porch and licking it off.  

There is plenty of flexibility and extra time blocked into this new schedule, but I am ready to have some structure again and stop feeling quite so scattered and inefficient.  I think it will help minimize the meltdowns that have begun rearing their ugly heads again.  I believe it will provide margin and security.  I believe it will help all of us to know what to expect out of our day.  And somewhere along the line, I hope they learn something, both academic and practical.  Thankfully, they are both young enough that we can ease our way into these waters without the pressure of heavy subject matter.  

Six months in I am still having to leave feelings on the sidelines, rather than freaking out that some days I seem to be moving backward instead of forward in attachment.  It's time to let go of those expectations that have crept back in and just do what needs doing.  So here we go.  Wish us luck.  Pray hard.  Check back in a few weeks and see if this is a success or if I've just managed to find a quicker road to losing all my marbles.  Only time will tell.  For real.  Pray.  Geronimoooooo!      

Three months home

That's hard to believe.  I'm not sure where the month of April went.  We did have some milestone moments since I last blogged, though.  I believe it was the first day of Spring, March 21st that I got my first voluntary goodnight kiss.  JP started pre-K at N's preschool and has loved it.  I remember her second day, she ran out the door with N and Daddy, and paused briefly to look back and shout, "I lub you, Mommy!"  

I think we are finally evening out a bit in the affection department.  She started out completely resistant to it.  She swung the other way once we got home and was utterly smothering in her need to be constantly hanging on me.  That was rough for me, particularly first thing in the morning when I reeeeeeally need my personal space.  But now, she is very affectionate without being over the top.  She loves to hold my hand and give hugs, but she's no longer acting as a third leg attached to my personage all day long.  She's also very affectionate with our family and friends, and it has been interesting trying to explain the difference between friends that are ok to hug, and random strangers that I might smile and speak to in passing.  The other day at Panera, I was taking JP to the restroom, and a lady smiled at us and said, "Your daughters are beautiful."  I smiled and thanked her, and apparently, JP took that to mean that we were now buddies.  As we walked past the woman's table, JP reached out and brushed her face with her hand.  I quickly intercepted, but the woman was very gracious.  I tried to explain to JP that we don't touch people we don't know, and so far, it seems the message has gone through.  Still, any time we have friends over or she sees familiar faces at church, that person better be ready for a bear hug!  I'm very thankful that she is responding well to our family and friends.

I have also tried occasionally peppering in the use of the name we gave her (her first name) in addition to the name she was given when she arrived at the orphanage.  I showed her how N has two names, and explained that we gave her another name so that she could have two as well.  The other day, she used the magnetic letters on the easel to spell out the name we picked, and went around chanting it all day!  Obviously, at five years old, if she wants to be called by her given name, that is totally fine with us.  We just wanted to let her become familiar with the name we picked as well, and make her own decision.  I want her to view it as a gift, rather than feeling like we are trying to take away the one thing she brought with her... her name.  She seems to be responding to both names now, so we will see where that goes.  

All in all, attachment is coming along a little bit at a time.  I still feel very exasperated much of the time, mainly because the girls have wasted no time jumping straight into full blown sibling rivalry.  Two girls, 13 months apart, both strong willed.  It gets a little wild around here.  JP is definitely the instigator, and N retaliates spectacularly.  Cue tattling.  It has been interesting to see them find their balance.  N definitely acts like the first born in most ways, even though she is younger.  They both really enjoy trying to boss the other one around.  Gracious.  Let's just say there are plenty of opportunities for them to learn to navigate conflict and resolution.  Thankfully, hearing other moms of multiples talk (whether adopted or bio), this sounds like completely normal sibling interactions, so I'm not too fussed about it.  I'm annoyed, but not worried. =)  

Last night, as I was hugging JP goodnight, she asked me to pray with her.  My heart just about melted.  It is a blessing to have those sweet moments to remind me that being a mother is about beauty in the middle of the mess.  It's definitely the toughest job I will ever have, but my girls are worth it.

Silver Lining

Goodness, there are so many things people don't tell you about adoption post-airport.  And it's probably because nobody told them about it either, and they're withering under the guilt of their feelings.

Well, you can always count on me to tell it like it is!  But in all seriousness, I don't think I would be making it right now if it weren't for the moms ahead of me reaching back, grabbing my hand, encouraging me to press on and rest in the truth that this is all completely normal and temporary.  Thanks, mamas.  You know who you are.

The thing is, I was as prepared as you can be for trauma, fits, raging, culture shock, grief, for attachment to take time.  What I was not prepared for was how difficult it would be for me to feel like she is mine.  I mean, our daughter by birth drives me nuts constantly.  She is strong willed, stubborn, and bursting with energy.  But at the end of the day, I delight in her, and I know her beautiful heart; she is mine, and I love her all the way to the moon and back.  After all we went through to get JP here, all the battles, all the tears I shed, I did not expect to feel like someone in permanent nanny mode to another person's difficult child.  But again (thank you, adoptive mamas), I've been given the freedom to allow my own attachment to happen in its time.  And each day, I force myself to get out of bed, put one foot in front of the other, and give the only kind of love I can give: the choosing love.  The real love.  The love that only comes from the Holy Spirit at work in me, because I have nothing of my own to offer up right now.  The feelings will come.

And yesterday, I got a tiny glimpse of them.  A fellow Indimama just got word that they can travel to bring their daughter home from the same orphanage that JP was in.  They posted her picture on FB, and JP saw it over my shoulder.  She immediately said the little girl's name and the orphanage name, and started chattering to me.  She showed me how tall this girl was, and how old she was.  Then she started naming her other friends there and showing me their height and ages with her hands and broken English.  It's silly, but I felt myself tearing up.  I think it is the first time in our almost two months together that we simply had a communicative interaction that did not involve a want, need, defiance, or just mindless gibberish for the sake of sound.  She was just telling me a story about something that was important to her.  It made me so happy.  I got to see a little bit of her heart, the real child underneath.  I got to enjoy a moment with her that was just sharing.  I had a little tiny glimpse of feeling my heart swell with love for her as a person, not an idea, not a responsibility, but a person.  Maybe those moments are the exception rather than the rule, but I'll take the silver lining as proof  that the sun does exist behind the clouds. 

One month home

Well, one month plus a few days, but I'm not sure I could accurately tell you the date at this point.  Sometimes I feel very poetic when I write.  Today is not one of those days.  Heck, this week isn't even one of those weeks.  These days, I am mostly living on a dry sense of humor and wine chocolate.  

In all honesty, things are going well for JP.  She is making great strides in attachment.  She constantly wants our attention to show us a bite of food she's taken, another rock she's put in her basket, another streak of color she's drawn on her page... or just to look at her whether she's actually done anything new or not.  She definitely likes hugs now, although she still really doesn't do kisses much.  She and N are playing and laughing hysterically (and loudly) together constantly, until they both want the same toy, and then it (loudly) goes downhill very quickly.  Tantrums have gone from 1-2 per day to one or two every few days.  We have been loving, but very firm on boundaries, and I think she is starting to recognize that consistency.  

Mostly, we have pretty good days.  I can't explain how those good days still manage to be so. stinking. exhausting.  I now carry ear plugs in my pocket at all times, because I reach a point nearly everyday where I have to take the volume down about 30 decibels, or I'm going to lose it.  I occasionally lock myself in the bathroom for a few minutes of relative peace and quiet.  I've even taken to locking my bedroom door too just so that the knocking and fingers groping under the door are not directly visible to me... even if I know they're there.  This is the never ending winter.  It is cold.  And they are loud.  And crazy.  ALL THE TIME.  I love my children dearly, and I thank God for them.  That doesn't stop me from bundling them up and sending them outside to run laps, even if it's 40 degrees.  They have rooms full of toys, but all they want to do are the things we only allow outside: run, and yell.  Something's gotta give.

It was finally sunny and warm today, and we got to go out and play for real.  We spent hours out there, and let me tell you, it makes all the difference in the world.  We all got some activity, and they were able to run, play, and yell as much as they wanted to.  It was glorious. They were tired this evening, which means dinner was actually somewhat pleasant, instead of looking like a scene out of a Looney Toons Taz cartoon.  If Spring will actually stick around, I just might survive these first few months of adjustment.

It's hard to explain how this feels similar to bringing home a newborn.  We definitely have a different set of challenges, and I am getting more sleep than I did when N was a newborn, but good day or bad, I am totally and completely exhausted by bedtime.  It's more mental and emotional than physical, but it makes you feel tired in body when it seems like you've been filled up that morning to literally have every last drop sucked out of you over the course of the day.  That exhaustion lasted for months with N.  I can only imagine it will be a similar run with JP.  She needs us as much as a newborn would, but we have all the parenting challenges that come with a five year old (any five year old) along with the attachment and emotional needs that are specific to her background.  And I'll be honest, the exhaustion has had a large effect on my ability to feel attached to her as well.  I struggle with it daily.  I love her.  But it's not the same yet.  I would have been the first to argue that you can love a child that is not from your body just as much as a biological child.  And I still believe that.  But once they are home, and reality hits, you realize that it doesn't happen overnight, no matter how desperate you felt during the waiting.  She is my daughter, but it doesn't feel like it yet to me.  I've just accepted that for now, my feelings are on hold.  I am choosing to love her and mother her every single day, to wear myself out doing it, then to crawl into bed so I can get up and do it all over again the next day.  Some days I do it really well.  A lot of days, I feel it is painfully obvious that I am barely getting by.  But when people ask how it's going, all I know to say is, "pretty well, all things considered," because well, it is... but I still feel almost numb as I go through the daily motions of motherhood.  Perhaps I will thrive again someday.  I hope that my children will know me and remember me as more than the shell of a human being I feel like right now.  I suppose all this just makes it painfully obvious that I need just as much grace everyday as she does.  Here's hoping the light at the end of the tunnel I keep hearing about is still there.  I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other until I round the bend and see it for myself.            

Home at last

It's hard to believe that this time last week, we were somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean flying home.  This week seems to somehow have flown and crawled by.  

We were so excited to finally be home, and it was just beautiful to see how N helped JP to open up almost immediately.  The innocent love of a child is sometimes the clearest picture of God's own heart.  N immediately took her sister's hand, and they held hands all the way to the van, and all the way home.  The shyness faded away pretty quickly once we got JP home and she checked out her room and the playroom for the first time!  They were playing dress up in the princess tent almost before I finished my bathroom break.  When S made it home a few hours later, the first thing JP did was grab his hand and take him up to show off her room.  =)  It has been amazing to watch her watch us with N, and really start to see what family affection looks like.  Just within the past few days, she has willingly hugged us (not just "the lean").  She even let me kiss her goodnight last night.  Baby steps.  And we are celebrating every one of them.

I'll be honest, dear ones: Adoption is hard, pre- and post-airport.  I fought for this child, cried for this child, loved her with all my heart for over two years.  You can imagine how terrifying it was to finally be with her and realize those good feelings were gone.  I wasn't attached to her.  I chose love, but I didn't "feel" love toward her.  I felt fear, anxiety, deep sadness.  What if she always resented us for taking her from the only caregivers she could remember?  What if she destroyed our family life?  What if all of this was too much for N at such a young age and had a detrimental effect on her?  There was no end to the "what ifs" swirling around in my head.  I was so thankful for the adoptive mamas who reached out to me, even while we were in India to tell me that all of those feelings were completely normal.  And to promise me that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.  If I ever have the chance to do that for another mama, I will count it as worth it, because I can't tell you how those women quieted my spirit with their honest, loving hearts.

And that's why I will never pretend that redemption is easy, but I will also promise to look for the little victories along the way.  There is much work still to be done, but there is much to celebrate as well, and I find myself stopping to give thanks in my heart over so many tiny things each day.  I have been praying since day one with JP for the Lord to give me a deep love for her, to cause me to see her as He does now that we have jumped straight into the trenches with her.  And do you know what?  He didn't wait long to start filling me with that love.  It's there, renewed every morning, renewed through every testing time and battle of wills, through little moments when she lets me comfort and be close to her as a mother should.  And for that, I am thankful.    

To India, and back again, part 6- 2/7/14

Our coordinator was able to get the negative sputum test reports on Sunday evening, and first thing Monday morning, we headed to the original clinic so the doctor could sign off on JP's medical packet. She got a little teary eyed while we were there. I tried to explain that she didn't have to do anymore tests, bless her heart. I'm glad FIVE negative tests were finally enough to prove to the CDC that she doesn't have TB. Poor baby. 

As soon as we got the medical packet, we rushed to the embassy. We had already done the interview and paid our fee when we were there on Thursday. There was hardly anyone there then. When we walked in Monday it was packed out. The gentleman at the desk knew our coordinator, so he took our paperwork right back. For about an hour or an hour and a half we waited, and wondered, and prayed...and prayed some more. We didn't know if they would issue the visa then or tell us to come back in the afternoon, or, worse, the next day. Finally, they called us up and handed us JP's passport, complete with visa, as well as our official Hague adoption certificate. Thank you, Lord!  

We had to check out of the hotel at 2:00, but our flight out wasn't until 11:35pm. Our coordinator surprised us by giving us a hotel room at his hotel (on his tab) so we could relax before our flight. Of course, there's not much relaxing going on with a hyper five year old in the room, but I was so thankful we didn't just have to walk around the mall for six hours. 

Our driver dropped us at the airport, and we were on our way. I swear we had to go through half a dozen security checks, and everyone was very curious about JP being with us. We got interrogated by airport staff about every five minutes. Thankfully, there was no trouble, and we got on our flight without any problems. JP slept the first seven hours...and climbed the walls for the next eight and a half. Kudos to those of you who take long flights with young children. I hope I never have to do it again, because not only was I unable to sleep, but I was constantly having to keep her from breaking things or disturbing others around us. By the time we touched down in Newark, I was pretty frazzled, but oh, so happy to be back in the good old US of A. We went through immigration without a problem, got the official stamp declaring JP a US citizen, and got our bag to go through and recheck it on home. That's when we found out that our flight home had been canceled, along with hundreds of other flights, thanks to the snow storm that came through yesterday. All of Newark was about to hear this mama ugly cry. 

Initially, they said they couldn't get us home until tomorrow, but after hearing our story, the rep was able to finagle some things around and get JP and I on the next flight out. Husband was on standby, but he didn't make the first flight. Thankfully, he got the last seat on the next flight and was home within about three hours of us. It made me sad not to walk into the airport together for our little welcoming committee, but at that point, we were just so glad to be home, we didn't think too much about it. One battle down. Another beginning.

To India, and back again, part 5- 2/2/14

Friday began with the first sputum test. We had to wake P up early without giving her a bite of food or even a drink of water, get her dressed, and drive 45 minutes to the testing facility. We waited for another 30 minutes for the doctors to arrive. Then we had to walk up six flights of stairs to the roof, and try to explain to this poor, shivering child that she had to hock up a bunch of loogies for us. That was fun. For a while, she looked like she was going to cry. I think she was very confused, even with a staff member explaining in Hindi. But she eventually started hacking and we showered her with praise. I can honestly say that's the first time I've praised a child for drooling. After we finished, we had to get some food in her belly and make sure she got her meds on time. We were back at the hotel by 9:30am, just staring at each other, trying to figure out what in the world we were going to do for the next 10 hours to keep her busy. 

We did the usual rotation of coloring, balloons, and TV, with a couple of attempts in there to walk around the attached mall just to get out of the room. If you know me at all, you'll know how much I love malls (if you don't know me well, that last bit was in sarcastic font). The best part was the three story toy store on one side. We let P pick a toy, and she chose a stuffed lion.  We got N a tiger, because when I asked her what she wanted us to bring her from India, she said a tiger. "A real one??" I asked. "No, Mama!  Just a pretend one, you silly goose."  One pretend tiger. Check. 

That day was when we had our first real dose of defiance. Some of it, I'm sure, was simply her trying to exert control when she feels completely out of control. And I think part of it was just being bored. She's used to a busy schedule including six hours of school a day, so balloons and coloring are probably not going to occupy her mind after that. It was a long day. A very long day. And the next morning when we went for P's second sputum test, I begged our coordinator to take us out later that day. He was happy to get us out of the hotel room, so we went to a local market with items from all the different states in India. I picked up a few more gifts and souvenirs, and then P and I got matching henna on our hands. Karyn Purvis would be so proud. Well, at least about that part.  Probably not so much about the four plus hours of TV per day. But hey, we're not trying to win the Stellar Parents of the Week award here. Right now, we are embracing survival mode, and just rolling with whatever keeps everyone's sanity as close to in tact as possible. We finished up our outing with some authentic Indian food at at local restaurant, which was super tasty. P horked it down like it was her job. Thus far, she's had a healthy appetite, but has not shown any tendencies toward gorging or hoarding food. That's good news. It means she probably did not go hungry at the orphanage. 

This morning (Sunday) we went back for P's final sputum test. Each morning we've gone after the first, they've confirmed a negative result for the previous day's test. She finished her final loogie hocking, and we came back to the hotel for a little bit before going out with our coordinator again. He took us to a historical garden, park sort of thing. There were several dilapidated moseleums with the most beautiful architecture. The hand carved stone and paintings were amazing. It was also nice to walk around in some fresh air, away from the constant yelling, honking, and smoggy air of the city. It was like a little sanctuary in the center of the chaos. Because chaos is really the only way to describe the roads in Delhi (or Mumbai). There are no acknowledged traffic lanes, lights, or signals. They do exist, but no one pays any attention to them. The streets are filled with cars, tuk tuks, rickshaws, motorcycles (with little children riding along- very few helmets), bicycles, pedestrians, and children begging for food at every forced red light. There are no car seats, seat belts, or rules of any kind, really. As our coordinator says, traffic flows like water in India. Well, if water constantly lays on its horn and just goes wherever the heck it feels like whenever it feels like it, then that is true. It is definitely sensory overload up in there, y'all. Still, it's time not spent in our room, so no worries. We ate out again and then came back to await the call from the clinic. Our coordinator decided to go on out to the testing center to "Sit on their heads" to encourage them to work faster. I guess it worked, because he called at about 5:30 to let us know that he had the test results in his hand!  Tomorrow morning, we will go to the clinic to have the first doctor sign off on the medical packet, and then go to the embassy to beg them to give us P's visa. They said on Thursday that they would give us priority (after I stood there sobbing because they wouldn't let me go home). Hopefully they will be true to their word and issue the visa ASAP. Our flight leaves out tomorrow night at 11:35pm. We can't really afford to change it again, so they're just going to have to get it done. I've got P bathed and our bags packed up. I will be tracking our plane as soon as I wake up in the morning. I cannot wait to be home!!!

To India, and back again, part 4- 2/1/14

Day three with JP brought more baby steps forward. We went out to do some shopping. We have to watch her closely, because she does not want us to hold her hands, but she will wander off if we don't keep a close eye on her. Shopping was fun, and then we headed over to the clinic again. The doctor called to let us know that the embassy would also require an X-Ray TB test. That seemed pointless, as the X-ray is only supposed to be necessary if the skin test was reactive. Still we were thankful that the doctor called and told us (which is unheard of) so we wouldn't waste time. After the X-ray, we headed back to the hotel to relax. I got out the bubbles, and JP lit up. She was laughing and chattering away all afternoon. We also started to see her ornery streak come out. That is also normal for a child from a hard place to test you with bad behavior just to see if you'll stick around. It was mostly just mischief, getting into things she knew she shouldn't, but we did have some full out defiance as well. We were so happy with the thought that we would get her test results the next day, and hopefully her visa. We were already looking at switching our flights to leave out the next night, Thursday. 

The next morning, we went back to the clinic to get JP's medical report to take to the embassy. Her skin test was fine, as was her X-ray. That's when the doctor told us that he had discovered a CDC requirement that all people with her specific medical need were also required to take the TB sputum test, no matter what. That test takes three days to collect. We were devastated. I don't think I can properly communicate how desperately S and I wanted to be home. It had been a hard week. We were exhausted. And even though the hotel staff here is AMAZING, we were ready to be in our home with both girls in one place. Our hearts have been split between two continents for far too long. 

We begged the embassy for an exemption, but they did not have the authority to give it. Only the CDC could, and we may as well have asked them to let us go to the moon. The wheels turn oh so slowly with the government, and taking the tests would be quicker than waiting for a response from the CDC. So S and I had another good cry that night, emailed my parents to tell them dad would need to take off more work, emailed our travel agent to try and change our tickets to Monday night in the hope we would have JP's visa by then. And $2,000 later we had changed our tickets and extended our stay with the hotel. 

We put our heads down to push on through, and tried to focus on enjoying our time with JP, even if we were running very short on entertainment and emotional energy. JP is two different people here: quiet and unresponsive around others, boisterous and energetic around us. I can't wait to be home where we can let her run and play in the yard and expend some of that energy! Still, as difficult as it is to be couped up in a hotel room for 10 hours a day with an energetic five year old, we are thankful that she has come out of her shell with us. She is not physically affectionate yet in the form of hugs or holding hands, but it is beautiful to see her make an effort to connect with us in other ways. She will write words, blow up a balloon, or put her jewelry on her animals and then call "Amma!" to show me what she's done. She will offer us the after dinner mints that come with room service, or help us clean things up without being asked. Even seeing her ask me for help in the bathroom or getting dressed is a very positive sign.  She may not be ready for parent-child affection, but she has begun to rely on us and trust us to provide for her very quickly. Those are excellent steps toward attachment. I look down the road even a few months and years, and dream of the child she will become. I pray the Lord gives her joy she's never even imagined, and that she finds her freedom, her identity in HIM, her heavenly Father.  

To India, and back again, part 3- 2/1/14

We were not sure what to expect when JP woke up on Tuesday morning, but after some initial apprehension, she accepted a little breakfast and got up without a fuss. We had to get her ready to take to the clinic for her TB test that morning, and she was mostly cooperative. 

She waits very patiently both in the car and waiting rooms, and we have spent HOURS in both of those places this week. She took the TB skin test without even flinching.   We came back to the room after our appointment, and little by little made some baby steps forward. We got out the balloons, and discovered that they do, in fact, span all cultures. We got our first smiles through playing with them. What an encouragement. Even though we had the head knowledge that attachment takes a lot of time and effort, it's still hard not to feel like your child will hate you forever and destroy your family life as you know it. Perhaps that sounds melodramatic, but I promise you that the emotions and hormones flooding through an adoptive mama's system are very much the same as a mom who has just given birth. I have seen many similarities in my feelings through this week to the feelings I had in the weeks after N's rather traumatic entry into the world. Perhaps it is not uncommon for new mothers to have a sort of "buyer's remorse", no matter how their children enter their families, and no matter how long and hard they prayed for those children.  Or maybe that's just wishful thinking, and I'm a Lone Ranger in those struggles. Either way, it's the truth, and I won't sugar coat this journey and make it anything less than it is. Joy and suffering so often go hand in hand.  I won't minimize the suffering, because it would also nullify the joy. Still, I wouldn't mind seeing some blessings that aren't in disguise at some point!

To India, and back again, part 2- 2/1/14

Is it possible that I have lived a lifetime in the past week?  Because it feels like I have. There may be a time in the future when I come back and write about this in more detail, but right now, I will simply have to type what pours out of my heart. 

We made it to India late Sunday night, and after shuffling through the inevitable crowd of people being herded through immigration, we laid eyes on the outside world of India for the very first time. The word chaos does not even begin to describe that scene. We wandered out into a square surrounded by hundreds of  people, none of which were from the hotel we were trying to get to. After finally asking another hotel driver for help calling ours, and not being entirely sure that message went through, we finally hired an airport taxi and prayed for our lives as we zipped off toward what we hoped was the right hotel. We finally arrived, got cleaned up, and passed out in the bed, hours away from meeting our daughter for the first time. 

Our in country coordinator met us in the lobby the next morning and we left for JP's orphanage. After having a chance to talk with the director about her past, her routine, likes and dislikes, etc., they finally brought JP into the room. I did not expect her to run into our arms, but nothing can really prepare you for that moment. She seemed to be in shock, basically unresponsive even to familiar people. She did not want us to touch her at all. She did not smile. But when it came time to get up and go, she suddenly went from "freeze" to "fight" mode. She fought getting in the car, and in the end, the director had to put her in the car, and I had to physically restrain her so S could get in and shut the door. JP began screaming and pounding my leg with her fists trying to get away from me and climb into the front seat with our coordinator. We allowed that, just to calm her down. She settled down and went back to being sullen and unresponsive. 

It was a long day for everyone. We had to go to the airport to fly to Delhi. She did allow us to hold her hand in the airport, and she did very well on the plane. But when we got to the hotel and our coordinator pulled away in the car, the tears began again. She was wailing for either a caretaker or a friend, I'm not sure, and she was trying to beat down the door to get out of the room. It was utterly heartbreaking. When you have a newborn who cries, you can take your child in your arms and comfort her. When you have a new child from a traumatic background who cries, you can't do that. All you can do is sit there and let your heart break with hers. JP was inconsolable for about 20 minutes, and then finally calmed down, let me put her jammies on (over her clothes), and passed out in the bed. She was filthy, and had some visible nits in her hair, but bathing was just not an option. 

After JP fell asleep, S and I retreated to the bathroom to have a good cry as well. We were both horribly homesick for N, and we were devastated that we couldn't do anything to comfort our daughter here. Again, we expected JP to grieve. And in a way, we were thankful for it, because it shows she was attached to her caregivers. And if she's capable of attaching to them, then that attachment will eventually be transferred to us. Still, no amount of knowledge can prepare you for the emotions of that moment: helplessness, fear, heartache, depression. I say all of these things not to discourage anyone from adoption, but rather to be completely honest about the reality of what redemption and restoration look like. Jesus endured the agony of the cross because of the joy set before him, and so He and we endure the agony of redemption because HE is the joy set before us, and we are willing to do whatever it takes to wholeheartedly run into his arms. What a vivid reminder this is of His work to win our hearts and draw us up out of the pit.

To India, and back again, part 1- 1/25/14

So here we are, stranded in Newark. I should back up. 

We planned our trip, booked flights and hotels, tied up loose ends at the house, and had a strange sense of calm mixed in with excitement as we prepared to leave on Friday afternoon. We were finally on our way to bring JP home. N did great, and this mama's heart was thankful for that. We said our airport goodbyes. She went back home with my parents, and we went through security eagerly awaiting our first leg of the journey being behind us.  Well, I was probably more eager than my sweet husband, who loathes flying. All was well until about a half hour before we were supposed to board, when we realized something was amiss. Our plane out of Chicago was delayed because of weather, and the lav had frozen, so they were awaiting an entirely new plane altogether. 

Long story short (I feel like I'm going to have to say that a lot), our flight was delayed four hours, and yes, we missed our connecting flight to India. And every other connecting flight out of the US. After what seemed like forever at the customer service desk, we finally accepted the fact that the farthest we were getting was Newark last night. So we made it, with gusty winds and a questionable landing. But we made it. They gave us a voucher for a hotel, and somewhere around 11:30pm, we made a bolt from the airport to the hotel shuttle in single digit temperatures. No, we did not bring winter clothes. It's 80 degrees in India. Thankfully, though, international travel has taught me to carry everything I need on my back at all times, and my survivalist packing skills came in very handy. I dug as many layers as I could find out of my bag, and as we wound our way through the icy industrial yards of NJ, I silently thanked the Lord that we had all of our personal belongings. Our single checked bag only holds things we are hoping to have at the Delhi hotel, nothing terribly crucial. 

We'll hang out here until about lunch time when we have to check out. Then it's back to the airport to pray, pray, pray that our flight out to Mumbai is on time and good to go tonight. We should leave at 8:10, which will put us touching down in India about 12 hours before we are supposed to go pick JP up on Monday morning. Our flight to Delhi leaves Monday evening to be there for her medical appointment on Tuesday morning. Needless to say, we do NOT want this to get pushed back, as it will push everything else back and require us to change our tickets home to the following Monday. We are supposed to be home Monday the 3rd around noon, and although I normally enjoy travel, all I want right now is to get JP, get home, and have all of my children in one place with me. It has been a long time coming. 

Yes, I know I need to enjoy this. And while I can't say that I'm necessarily at that point, my faith and trust in the One who has orchestrated this great adventure from the beginning, from BEFORE the beginning, is without question. I have seen him break down wall after wall after wall, and I am confident of this: He will not stop now. As always, your prayers are felt and appreciated. Pray us on to India tonight, friends!  We are almost to our sweet girl!

Playing catch up, big time 1/25/14

I believe the last time I blogged, we had just gotten our temporary CO on the house. Oh my goodness, it has been a whirlwind since then. I wish I had time to go into all the details, but sitting here, stranded in Newark (yes, you read that right... I'm getting to that part), I'm going to have to hit the high points. 

We started moving in the night before Christmas Eve. It was a strange Christmas, and one of the most difficult since we lost my father-in-law five years ago, but we were thankful to be spending it in our home, even if we were up to our ears in boxes and work to do. After that, very little work was done on the house. We went from bare drywall to temporary CO in three weeks. Wow! And then, we were in, and the urgency factor dissipated for everyone except us. But I knew this was not the time to lose steam. And I was right. 

On January 7th, we got word that we finally received written orders for JP, and the RIPA was applying for her passport!  Thankfully, the county was merciful once again, and gave us permanent CO on January 9th without even coming inside to inspect. The inside stuff was mostly just punch list items, important, but not crucial to livability. The outside... Oh my. We literally waited for weeks for retaining wall excavation, concrete, block, concrete in the block, railing around the block, and final seed and straw. The grade on the back side of the house still isn't raised up to the level it's supposed to be. We definitely had weather issues. We also had nobody-shows-up-when-they-should issues over and over again. But, long story short, we got CO. And after a longer story, finally got the bank underwriters to let us close on our loan without losing our rate lock. What a mess. 

And then, January 17, I got the email that I'm still in shock over: JP's passport was issued, and we could start looking at flights to India. After waiting through a 27 month adoption process, it is still surreal to believe that we are finally a family of four, and so very close to being all together. It's hard to  believe that was only eight days ago. 

And yes, we're still stranded in Newark, but that story will be continued in my next post.