What's In A Name?

I had a friend suggest that I write a blog entry about names.

Superman and I always knew we'd have a Mr. C and a J-Man. The two names go together like hot chocolate and whipped cream.

J-Man had a unique name that started with a "G" when he came to us. We chose to move his first name to his middle name, and thus he became J-G-L. I think birth names are an important part of an adopted child's identity. To get rid of it completely, in my humble opinion, and in our circumstance, just seemed like we would be trying to "erase" his previous history. We decided we wanted him to know what name his birth mom gave him and have the choice to go by that name later in life if he ever chose to do so. Again, this is just what we felt would work for us--not necessarily the solution across the board.

We followed the same method with M and N. They kept part of their birth names as their middle names. We plan on doing the same with G once we finalize with her next year.

M had called all his foster moms AND birth mom "mommy." I didn't even tell him what to call me when he came to our home--he just automatically called me "mommy." We would show him pictures of his birth mom and foster mom and ask who they were, and he would say, "mommy." After a few months when we showed him photos, he just said, "I don't know." I would pick him up in his Sunday school class, and he would often stare at me for a minute, knowing he recognized me, but not remembering if I was the one that he was supposed to go with.

Actually, with M, we planned on calling him by his birth name and tacking on his "new" name to give him some transition time. We planned to call him, "D-M" for awhile until he got used to it. But, just for kicks, on the first day, we called him "M" to see if he would answer to it. He did, so the name just stuck! Kids are amazingly adaptive and resilient, and he quickly responded to his new name.

Names are great. Each of our kids names has a special meaning, a reason we chose it, dear to our hearts.

Here's M and N the day they officially, legally, forever-ly got their "new" names:

How We Make Plans...And the Lord Determines Our Steps

I can be selfish at times. I mean, all of us can be selfish...we're all capable. But I actually choose to be selfish on occasion. I know. I'm an awful person.

You see, I had plans. I had planned on a couple kids (a couple meaning two), a calm life being able to fully enjoy watching my kids grow, but not being harried at all. No, not me. I would never take on more than I could feasibly handle. Oh, yeah. And I planned on going on a cruise with Superman* for our 10th anniversary. I also planned on being able to carry a small purse when I had little children. I didn't plan on having to carry a big ol' old lady bag (no offense to those of you out there who have already gone through "the change"). I was going to still wear makeup and earrings and sometimes get my nails done and sit around and eat Bon Bons (ok, maybe not that last part).

*my husband

In all seriousness, though, I did have plans for my life. I never saw myself parenting FIVE (I wish there was some kind of flashing lights I could put on that word FIVE) kids. To be quite honest, when we found out that M and N's birth mom was pregnant, I told Superman no way. There was no freakin' way I was going to take on another kid.

M was 3 when we got him. He and N had been in 3 homes and had gone through more than any child should have to experience. He was pretty much non-verbal. He uttered sounds, but really didn't talk. He was a sweet boy, but I felt frustrated by his inability to communicate at times. N was one year old and needed a mom. She had never had anyone to bond with and so when she had me, she latched on like a, well, like a leech. She freaked out if Superman looked at her. She wouldn't let me put her down. She screamed if I left the room. If I took the kids to the park, she clung to me like I was going to disappear if she looked away. It was tough. So there was NO WAY I was going to take on a baby.

Well, thankfully I'm married to Superman. He insisted that it was our responsibility to take in G. We had room in our car, room in our home (we decided to add on a few bedrooms and a bathroom after we got M and N) and definitely had enough room in our hearts, so we had no excuse. Sigh. Sometimes it's hard being married to such a wise man. Really, it is.

So, once again, it was up to me. I knew that my heart said NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. I felt overwhelmed even thinking about getting a brand new baby while still tending to 4 other little ones. So I went back to my ol' prayer asking the Lord to change my heart. Only this time, I actually believed He would do it. And sure enough, He did.

When G came to us, I bonded with her quicker than I did with any of our other kids--even with Mr. C. I immediately felt intensely connected to her, as if I had birthed her myself. I have to praise God for his faithfulness and devotion to me. He truly is an amazing God who answers prayers and provides for our needs.

Don't get me wrong--it's hard at times. There have been tears, meltdowns, feelings of inadequacy and doubt. There have been heartfelt prayers asking for the Lord to sustain me when I felt like I just had nothing more to give. But, I'm still alive. I'm still kickin'.

And, here I am. I carry a big purse. My life is anything BUT calm. Our 10th anniversary came and went and we are definitely not going on a romantic cruise any time in our near future. I do have to commend myself that I usually do wear makeup, but the earrings are a hit-or-miss. But, it's all worth it. I can't imagine if I would have denied little G coming into our lives. She has graced us in ways beyond imagination and I know the Lord will do great things through her.

So, my friends. We all have plans, but the Lord truly does determine our steps.

The Beginning of Our Adoption Journey

June 11, 2004. We bring home J-Man, a little 6-month-old bundle of joy. We've taken all the classes, read the books...you name it. But nothing could truly prepare me for the roller coaster of emotions I felt during the following months. No one ever told me that it may take awhile to bond with this little one. I mean, it seems obvious now, but I must be dense or something. I was expecting to hold this little guy and immediately fall in love with him. But instead, I looked at him and as the months wore on, I thought of him more as a "nephew" than a "son."

My soul was in anguish. I felt like there must be something wrong with me. I would look at Mr. C: our dear biological son, and be filled with pride. My heart would skip a beat when I saw him accomplishing new things, learning about the world around him. But with J-Man, he was like a child I was babysitting. I wanted to protect him, take care of him, provide for his needs. But I didn't yearn for him when he was in my absence. I didn't look at him and think, "That's my son. He's perfect."

I prayed nightly that the Lord would change my heart. I felt my worst nightmare was coming true--I had brought this little boy into our lives, but I didn't love him like he needed. I desperately sought comfort and guidance from the Lord. I confessed to Superman (my husband) that I was struggling. He comforted me, told me to give it time, that it would be a process, not something to happen overnight, but I had to work at it.

Almost seven months went by. One morning, J-Man took his first step. Suddenly, my heart went pitter patter and I thought, "That's my son! He's perfect!" And I realized, surprisingly, that the Lord had answered my prayers. Yes, my friends. I doubted. Sure, I prayed those prayers, but I didn't really believe that they would be answered in the way I expected! Quietly, nonchalantly, He had taken my heart, and reformed it. I loved this child! I looked at him and filled with pride. I was joyful in his triumphs and saddened by his struggles. How this happened is a mystery to me. I only know that HE did it. I've never looked at Prayer the same.

First post on this new blog

Have you ever woken up in the morning and wondered how you became a grown up? I think I'm a grown up now. I mean, there are 5 rug rats running around here. I cook food, wipe bums, kiss ow-ees, fasten seat belts, unfasten seat belts...fasten seat belts, unfasten seat belts...I brush hair, brush teeth, brush the toilet (with a toilet brush, of course!), and brush off minor complaints from small ones tugging on my shirt. I think that makes me a grown up. Right?

I remember one starry night when I was 6 or 7 years old, sitting on the porch of the house I grew up in. I didn't like the way my life was going...not one bit. I wanted someone to swoop down, rescue me from what I thought was a pitiful existence, and plant me in that perfect family. You know--the one that had two loving parents that would dote on me, opportunities laid out before me, hugs and kisses abounding, and more money than we would know what to do with so we could travel to exotic places walking hand-in-hand along white sandy beaches. That family. Alas, I knew it was not going to happen. So, I promised myself that I would one day rescue someone else. I don't think I planned on giving them white sandy beaches, but the love and kisses I thought I could do.

Fast forward about 20 years. My husband, my soul mate, the man I truly call my best friend, and I decide we're ready to change our lives. We have a kid...Mr. C. You know, the "old fashioned" way. We're happy. We're content. We are filled with awe and wonder at this little creature the Lord has planted in our home. But soon we know we are meant for more. We know there is someone out there waiting for us to find him.

When Mr. C is just 6 months old, we start the process of foster-adoption. We do classes, fill out paperwork, jump through hoops and whine about how much red tape is involved in helping a child who is waiting for a home. Right before Mr. C's first birthday, we get matched with a chubby (and I mean CHUBBY) little black boy (that's right--I did say "black." I realize that "African-American" is politically correct, but this boy is darn proud of being called a Godly Black Man!) He was almost 6 months old at the time. His name starts with a J, and will thus be called "J-Man" on this blog. We're happy. We're content. We're done having kids (ha! so we think...) and are ready to start our life as a family of four.

A few years go by, we move a couple times, and finally settle in a cute little house in a cute little town. 1300 square feet is plenty of room for our {complete} family. We're enjoying life as our kids get a little older and more self-sufficient. But, alas, once again the Lord has other plans for us, and before we know it, we're re-doing the classes, the paperwork and all the red tape that we did before so we can add to our family yet again. After about 7 months, we're matched with a boy and a girl, M and N, ages 3 and 1. And soon, our calm, collected lives become more chaotic and enriching. Soon after the kids are placed with us, we find out birth mom is pregnant...surprise! #5 is on the way! Seven months later, little G graces us with her presence at just 6 weeks old.

And now...here we are, almost 9 months later. Mr. C is now 6, J-Man is 5, M is 4, N is 2 and G is 10 months old. Silence is not a regular attender of our household activities. However, I wouldn't trade in the craziness of it all for anything.

So, such is the story of how we got where we are. I've been feeling as of late that it's time to start chronicling life as an adoptive mom...the joys, the trials, and the humor. So, dust off that seat, get those old french fries out of the cracks, and strap on your seat belt (if you can get it in past the sticky mess that's in the belt buckle)! You're in for a wild ride...