13

Dear 13 year old son,

So today hasn't been such a great day. You think I'm much too strict, too nosy, and too overprotective. I tell you what you can't eat, can't wear, and can't watch on television. I monitor the websites you go to and put filters on anything that even has a chance of connecting to the internet. 

I even banned the trick you came up with on the trampoline. That definitely didn't make me your friend. You stomped up the stairs mumbling under your breath. And I'm fairly certain it wasn't to rise up and call me blessed.

What I want you to know, son, is that your Dad and I?  We aren't the fun police, contrary to the rumors you hear. We aren't here to make your life a prison sentence that terminates when you turn 18. We aren't even here to be your best friend. (WHAT?!?!)

One day, I'm guessing, you're going to see the reason behind it all. You may never tell us, but I guarantee at some point you'll find yourself saying "I get it." 

Until that day please know that we set boundaries because we've seen the world out there that fights for your heart and mind and allegiances. We know what can happen if you eat pizza and hot dogs every meal for 10 years. We also know that you honestly believe you're invincible. We have rules and limits in place for you to protect you. God has given us this amazing responsibility to parent you. With His direction, we do what we do. 

We are crazy about you.

Love, 

Mom

If you give a girl some paper

If your 8 year old daughter has severe ear pain on a Saturday, you might just take her to the after-hours clinic. And while being examined, the doctor may comment on the amount of wax in said daughter's ear. This will probably lead to an hour long session of "let's see if we can get this hardened, packed wax out of her ear so I can see her eardrum." The doctor may even ask multiple times "Are you aboslutely, positively sure you haven't stuck anything in your ear???" After over an hour in the exam room, the doctor will prescribe an antibiotic even though she still can't see the eardrum.

After ten days on antitbiotic, you will take your daughter to her regular pediatrician for a follow-up visit. While looking in her ear, the doctor may comment on the amount of wax in little girl's ear. This will again lead to a few minutes of trying to remove the hardened wax. Once again, you might hear the doctor ask "Is she sure she hasn't stuck anything in her ear?" And you will probably feel like you are experiencing dejavu. Eight year old daughter will answer that she is absolutely, positively sure she has put nothing in her ear. Ever. Never, ever, ever. Until the doctor leaves the room. Then your daughter might say, "Well......maybe, I think, I did put something in there. Hey - that's why I can't hear!!" And after an intense interrogation, you will discover that the 8 year old did indeed stick a piece of paper in her ear. She will probably have no idea when she did this or where or what kind of paper it was or how it got so far into her ear canal. Leading you to wonder if she has suffered amnesia at some point.

The doctor will smile knowingly and begin to tell your daughter how big and brave she is for telling the truth and call her a truth hero. All the while you will be smiling on the outside, but inside you will be screaming "FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD, CAN WE NOT MAKE HER OUT TO BE A SUPERSTAR? SHE IS EIGHT YEARS OLD AND STUFFED PAPER IN HER EAR!"

While the doctor attempts to remove the paper from her ear, your daughter will have a nosebleed. Not a quick little drop of blood that is easily cleaned up, but one of the most intense, gushing nosebleeds ever. The nurse will feel extremely sorry for her and offer her hot chocolate, crackers, stickers and Hello Kitty coloring sheets.

Finally, the pediatrician will tell you she cannot rescue the paper and send you to the ENT on the other side of town. On your way to the ENT, your daughter might just smile and proclaim this the "best day ever" because she isn't in school and now has approximately 5.2 billion stickers. You should probably know that this will not make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Once at the ENT, the doctor will see that little girl has had a nosebleed and question you as to why she's never been brought in before now to remedy this. You will stare at him and not answer. After looking in your daughter's ear and confirming what everyone else already knows, he will proceed to numb her nose in preparation for cauterizing the blood vessels. Next, he will finally retrieve three relatively large pieces of disintegrating paper from your daughter's ear. You may think to yourself that you should take a picture to document this moment, but you'll be quickly rushed off to begin phase two of the appointment and never have a chance.

The ENT doctor will cauterize your daughter's nose and then may even tell her to "take it easy for a few days." When she hears this, little girl will turn to you and grin. You will not feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

On the way home, your daughter will ask if she can get in her pajamas and watch movies the rest of the day. You will concede because it is now well into the afternoon, and you need time to sit and process the fact that, once again, your eight year old daughter wins the award for doing something her older brothers would never dare to do.

At the end of the day you may finally crack a smile and slightly laugh to yourself as you write your next blog post in your head. However, you will definitely fall to sleep dreaming of the medical bills you have yet to see - all because of a little piece of paper.

An open letter to birthmothers everywhere

Dear birthmothers everywhere,

I was reminded today that Sunday is "Sanctity of Human Life Sunday" in our churches. And while many churches will show emotional vidoes speaking out against abortion, or have a handout with the latest abortion statistics stuck in the bulletin (only to be thrown on the floor or left behind in the chair), or mention how much God hates abortion (which He does, by the way), probably very, very few will mention you. However, you are never far off in my thoughts.

As an adoptee, I certainly appreciate my own birthmother and her sacrifice. She wasn't married and didn't have the greatest support system. Raising me alone would have been extremely hard. I wasn't what she had asked for. I wasn't conceived the way she hoped her first child would be. I definitely wasn't part of her future plans. Abortion would have been the easy way out. Getting rid of "the problem" would have been the world's answer for her. But, you see, just like the rest of you, she didn't see me as a problem to erase. She saw me as a life that mattered, not something to be thrown away. And I'm forever grateful that she did.

As a mother of biological children, I cannot imagine the sacrifice of giving a child up for adoption. After carrying a child for 9 months, feeling the kicks and movements inside of you. Knowing that this baby - who was infintely more than a wad of tissue at the moment of conception - is part of you. Part of your DNA. Yet, knowing that another woman would be called Mommy. Knowing that you would not raise the one that made you uncomfortable at night, gave you heartburn and swollen ankles, and 25 extra pounds. Then, laboring to deliver this same child. Hearing his first cry. Seeing her smushed, wrinkled, beautiful face, but handing her over to someone else. I just cannot imagine the sacrifice and amount of selflessness that requires. 

As an adoptive mom, I am eternally grateful to a woman I don't know. I look at my feisty Eliana. Her dark eyes that sparkle with each smile. I watch her facial expressions, hear her giggles, see her victories and cry with her in her heartbreak, and I think about her birthmother far away in another country. Does she wonder about her little girl every day? Does she think about what she looks like now? Does she worry if she's safe and happy? I want to tell her, yes! But, more than that, I want to say thank you. Our prayers for a little girl were answered by you. God used you to give us what we longed for. Thank you for seeing her life as one not to be wasted. She is a dynamic, strong-willed little girl who God is going to use in mighty ways. Thank you for your sacrifice. 

Birthmothers, know that you are special. You are loved. Thank you.

On your side,

Rebecca

The Asperger's Road

Ten years ago I wrote this blog post. 

And 3 years ago, this one.

You would think by now, I would have learned the lessons God has been teaching me all these years.

But you would be wrong.

If I'm being honest, the diagnosis of Noah's Asperger's broke me. I did not want to think about my then seven year old being anything but "normal." There were too many dreams I had for him. And Asperger's didn't fit into any of those plans. I was a bit angry, and I let God know it.

How was he supposed to do all the things "normal" kids do when I was being told he'd much rather stay in his own little world. How was he going to play sports, like other boys, when most Asperger's kids want nothing to do with athletics? How was he going to change the world when he most likely wouldn't want to leave the confines of his own home?

I was determined that Asperger's would not defeat Noah. Or me. 

We took one day at a time. Some days were better than others. We dealt with routines, obsessions, behaviors, social cues. Things like greeting someone, answering the telephone, and listening to other people's concerns didn't come naturally to him. But, they weren't things he couldn't learn. So, we taught these skills and a whole lot more.

Little by little, God began to break me. He revealed the pride in my heart. The ugliness of comparing my son - this gift I was given - to others. Wanting the picture-perfect child to show off to the world. He reminded me that Noah is "fearfully and wonderfully made." And I began, supernaturally, to let go of those dreams I had for my son and look forward to seeing God's plans for him unfold. I accepted him for the amazing child he was, instead of wishing for different circumstances.

We've walked down this road for five years now. Sometimes, it's still a struggle. Watching my middle-school aged child relate better to younger children can leave me in tears. Watching the reactions on the faces of kids his age when Noah talks about not-so-normal things - breaks my heart into pieces.  Sleepless nights due to a newborn are expected. By the time your child is in 6th grade? You just expect those issues to be gone. But they're not over in this house yet.

Then there are those moments when I look at him and see his pure heart. His innocence. His brilliance, creativity, and insight into things of God. He'll go through his routine of telling me "Good night. I love you. I love you." and blinking his eyes twice before bed, and I'll smile. He'll pray the same prayer at bedtime that he's prayed the past 2,000 nights - and I'll hear his 2,000th request for a woman in Thailand, who has believed a lie, to hear truth - and I know that God is smiling, too. 

Through it all, God reminds me that Noah is His child, and He loves him more than I ever will. His plans for him are far more amazing than mine could ever be.

Noah may not ever change the world, but he has definitely changed mine. 

A couple of months ago, I was introduced to singer/songwriter Andy Gullahorn at a concert at our church. He wrote a song for a friend whose son had been diagnosed with Asperger's. Kyle and I both sat and listened and were taken back in time to all those emotions. Here it is. (Even though it's called Sleeping Sound - and Noah is not usually doing that. :))

The Brogdons visit Mount Vernon

Well, my friends, 31 days has come and gone. I did not manage to write all 31 days. BUT, I did post more for the month of October than ever before. Gotta start somewhere.

The kids and I took off Saturday and headed to Mount Vernon to visit George Washington's home. The weather was perfect, the fall leaves were at peak color, and the kids were all happy. Those three things may never happen again simultaneously, so I took lots of pictures to document it.

 It was homeschool day at Mt. Vernon (which is why we were there), so we were surrounded by families with children who were reciting facts about Washington's life and quoting his writings. My boys just kept wondering when we would see his dentures like the brochure promised. Ellie kept asking whose house we were at and why was it so old.

However, our shining moment took place in the museum. Lucas had gotten too hot inside and had taken off his hoodie. My suggestion of tying it around his waste was met with a sigh, a stare, and a "I'll just carry it." Obviously, I have no idea what is cool and should just put my shawl back on, grab my cane, and keep on walking.

Anyway, since it was not anchored to his body, my ADHD son started swinging his hoodie around while we were walking. I reminded him several times that this was not a smart decision. Eventually, I got tired of repeating myself and, since I refused to carry the hoodie for him, I began to ignore all the extraneous movement.

We stopped to look at a display of George Washington - as a wax figure. The kids were admiring how life-like it was when suddenly an extremely loud alarm sounded and lights began flashing. My kids looked at me panic-stricken, and I immediately began looking for the nearest exit. That's when I noticed that everyone seemed to be looking at us. And, out of the corner of my eye, I saw people walking in our direction.

Then it hit me. We had been standing very close to the low railing of this exhibit. Lucas had been swinging his hoodie around in front of him. He must have crossed the barrier and set off the alarm!

I managed to stay calm and not raise my voice. This was an especially winning moment for me because what I really wanted to do was snatch Lucas by the ear (if I could reach it) and say "Do you see what you've done? You didn't listen to me and now you've set off this alarm. We'll be lucky if they ever let us come back or enter any national monument or museum again. I'm sure the President already knows what is happening and every major news network will be covering this by evening."

Clearly, I do not ever overreact.

Chaos only reigned for a moment. The alarm stopped and everyone went back to their business. Lucas was only slightly scarred. Evidently not enough to stop swinging his hoodie around for the rest of our time there, but for a moment I could tell he was a little amused embarrassed.

We made it back without being arrested or fined for setting off alarms. The kids really did enjoy the day. The scenery itself was worth the ticket price - the history was just a bonus. I highly recommend it to anyone traveling in the DC area.

Just be sure when you're at the wax statue of young George, do not cross that barrier. He's obviously securely guarded.

videos, missing pictures, and awesome books

Y'all.  I'm so sorry that this 31 days of blogging has turned to hit-or-miss-whenever-Rebecca-gets-her-act-together days of blogging.

I'm still beating my personal record, though, so it's not all bad.

You know what's truly bad? Blogger still hates me and every video I've made in the past 4 days. I cannot for the life of me get any video to upload. So, even though I do have video of Ellie and the boys talking about adoption, I can't get it to post.

You know what's even worse? In the process of importing over 300 photos of everything from a family trip to DC to soccer games to a photo shoot Kyle did with the kids this weekend, something happened and they all disappeared. Poof! They're gone. 

So in the best interest of myself and to save you from a incoherent blog post due to my temporary insanity, I'm going to make this short.

This book?

If you have adopted, are in the process of adopting, are thinking of adopting, know someone who has adopted, or even just like the word "adopted" do yourself a favor and get your hands on a copy of this. Then lock yourself away from the world for a little while and read it. Trust me. It'll do you good.

Good news/bad news

The good news: I finally got the boys to cooperate and answer some questions on video. They had some great insights into what they remember and how they perceive adoption. Ellie got in on the action with her own video, too.

The bad news: Blogger hates me and refuses to upload my video. Okay, not really. But, I cannot get any videos to upload this morning. Should that change and Blogger decide to make friends again, I will update this page.

Until then - I leave you with this picture. Early days with Ellie were quite an adventure. Never knew what she'd look like after naptime. On this day, she climbed out of her crib to explore and discovered Desitin. She also decided her dress was not good enough and needed an extra touch of a pajama shirt.