An Easy Kind of Hard

Following our RSVP to the adoption event we underwent weeks of anticipation and also uncertainty. We understood that during this particular event the kids and parents would be doing different experiments and labs together but other than that, we had no idea what to expect. How many kids would be there? How awkward would it be? Would they like us? What if we don't make a connection? So many looming questions, and so very much uncertainty. Uncertainty may be one of the benchmark feelings of foster care, and it may even be one of the benchmarks of adoption as a whole. I’d imagine if you went to an adoptive or foster parent and asked them what they felt throughout their process, uncertainty would be at the top of the list.

We left for this event in early March and brought our babiest baby along with us to see how different kids would interact and respond to her and we left Nora and Calvin with friends. There are literally hundreds of little moments that were able to make our attendance at this event possible: the timing of work schedules, B’s age, our official licensing date, the childcare provided to us, a local gathering of foster parents we went to afterward, and the only explanation is God. Everything lined up for us to make it to this event, and while we didn’t know it then— we see it clearly in hindsight.

Once we arrived at the college we entered a conference room and awkwardly settled on a table and made polite small talk with another foster parent there looking to adopt kids other than his current foster placement. We sat at a round table and participated in some clumsy ice breakers, experienced what it means for a child to attach inappropriately to strangers (who were oddly, us, in this case), and our hearts broke a little bit more for the kids we met who had been to upwards of a dozen different events without any promise of an adoption. And then, three kids walked into the room.

This is where we first saw our kids. Two girls and a boy walked into this sterile conference room and we could tell these were the kids that were mentioned in the email originally inviting us to this event. As the day went on we watched this giddy-smily girl (Kya) stay close to her older sister (Samara), and a curious and easy going boy (Samuel) shoot up for experiments. I helped this tween girl make a polymer bouncy ball, and we smiled in wonder as she held baby B with such tenderness and care. Sweet Samuel came up and asked if he could give her a hug, and that was it. We knew then that they were ours. They gave us hugs at the end of the event, we climbed in our car and there really wasn't a lot to talk about, we just knew. As the movie “Instant Family” describes: We had a cosmic connection.

Prior to the event we had inquired about a different sibling group that we saw on the gallery before meeting our kids, and on our drive home it was decided that we would remove that inquiry and would wholly pursue the adoption of our sibling group of three. I wish I could say this was the end, and it was smooth sailing from there...but no, it wasn't. There were four other families who had inquired about our kids and we wanted to do everything we could to establish our connection, and make our family memorable to the workers reviewing our file. When the kids’ workers thought of Samara, Sam, and Kya, we wanted them to also think of us. We wrote personal letters to the workers with evidence of felt connection and appealed to them every way we could. We had friends and family write references, and then finally about a week after initially emailing our interest, we were notified that we were the chosen family to move forward with our kids.

Our first meeting with our kids' workers and our workers involved a general overview of their history. We got a better sight picture of what life was like for them prior to their removal from their home, and we also got to know their histories inside their foster placements. This was all very general and after this meeting we were required to take some time and decide if we were willing to move forward. The answer, was an obvious yes. Nothing we heard shocked us, although it did break us. This story of what the kids suffered before being brought into care is not my story to tell, they will find a way to come to terms with their stories on their own, and find a way to tell it. But for me, it was only heartbreak. Our next meeting would be a “full disclosure” where we would be provided medical records, and a detailed history of the kids including their birth records, court statements made by representatives and their CASA (court appointed special advocate), and all the in between, but alas— more waiting.

Finally full disclosure came, and it was just….so much. Dan was temporarily gone for work during this meeting so he video chatted in. We received a large 5 inch binder for each child and walked through the “highlights” with the workers and were left to discuss alone together for a minimum of three days afterward. These binders included the names and numbers of therapists, previous and current foster placements, and all the in between. Dan made the calls, because “know your gifts.” And I read the binders. All of them. Each and every word. I took sticky notes and tabbed questions, highlighted interesting things, and cried. Of all the moments in our journey this moment sticks out most of all to me.

Inside each binder are the kids’ birth records. Literally every document that the hospital had was put in this binder. I read through the admittance paperwork where their birth parents filled in their histories and signed their names. I read their birth stories through medical jargon and imagined how I would have told them to my friends instead. In each binder there were breastfeeding charts indicating when their biological mom attempted to feed them, and for how long. I read nurse notes, and saw their tiny footprints, and I cried. Here in these pages there was proof, that even though their birth parents didn’t love them as they ought to have, or as well as they should have, they loved them as much as they were able. They were there in the very beginning. My Samara, a tiny baby was there wrapped in blankets in a hospital with a birth mom who no doubt didn’t know what was in store for them down the road. I imagine she was much like me as I had only recently held Beatrice in my arms in the hospital. I was full of wonder and awe, hopes and dreams, and I imagine this mother was too. This is how adoption is. It is tangled and messy, both happy and sad. It is full of past dread, and future hope.

After my reading, and Dan’s calls and our required 3 days of waiting we had made a decision. This was it. We were moving forward. This was the one time the ball was really in “our court.” We had waited on the state to inform us of so many things and the timing was almost always theirs. But here we could take as much time as we wanted and our yes or our no was ours alone. We decided. And then we had a calendar meeting where we discussed the transition of moving the kids into our home. I won’t bore you with the details, but there were some real logistics to this as the kids’ hometown is about 5 hours south of ours. But finally we had a day, The kids would come home with us on May 24th. There was more state pushback about dates and timing but again, God decided. He had everything planned.

There happened to be another adoption event closer to us in the midst of these meetings, but we weren’t allowed to tell the kids about our adoption yet. We were going to spend time exclusively with them including Nora, Calvin and B. What happens if other people try to hang out with them? Will other kids be offended that we only pay attention to ours? What will we say when we see them? This event was so stressful. You know how you feel like when you go to the store everyone is silently seeing how well you handle your children? Well, imagine the person at the store is the lady who decides whether or not you can adopt your children and you’re not at a store, you're at a huge ranch you’ve never been to and one of your soon to be kids keeps running acres away. It was dusty and dirty and hot, and I was a wreck. And then came the goodbyes. Our sweet kids hugged us once again, and this time, with tears and groanings that said to us, "I just want you to love me." Oh what we would have given to tell them this great news, that this would be our last goodbye.

Three weeks after this event, we drove to their hometown and notified the kids that we would be their family, and shortly after that—they moved in. Summertime was mostly honeymooning. We took a huge road trip home to Idaho and showed the kids mountains and waterfalls, and log cabins, and lakes, and home. We fell in love a little bit more day after day I think—not without some hard moments of correction and awkwardness, but love all the same.

Now six months later, the novelty is gone, and we begin to really see each other. Not the best parts of each other that we put out there in the early days. But the real parts. The “I’m sorry” and “Please forgive me” parts. The, “I’m your mom and you can’t talk to me that way” and the “Let’s watch hallmark and eat Halloween candy” parts. We have all kinds of moments over here and they are, each and every one, wildly wonderful. I type this now as my 12 year old sits, deep in concentration, at the table working on her comic strip assignment. She is precise and unflinching in her execution and it reminds me of her dad. My 11 year old sits with his dad in the office playing video games right now and they bond over Star wars and galaxies far far away, and honestly I don’t really get it—but it’s theirs and it is special. My sweet Kya sleeps on her bunk in between her babiest sister and her sister friend. She is probably uncovered because the child does not know how to keep the blanket on her, but I bet you a million dollars she made sure her unicorn was tucked in nice and warm.

Six months later and this is where we are. It’s an easy kind of hard. We don’t drown in preteen drama because we are grateful that we have the preteen that brings it. The emotional rollercoaster of our middle girls is challenging, but worth every ounce of energy to build the bonds of sisterhood. Sam is sweet and tender but for the life of him cannot remember deodorant and I don't even have enough eye rolls for this particular drama, but I will take all the middle school boy smell in the world if it means he stays here with us. This is our normal. There is bickering and laughter and so very much noise. There is whining and running, and our kids warm up the time out chair a lot. But it is ours.

Psalm 40:4-5

Blessed is the man who makes the LORD his trust, who does not turn to the proud, to those who go astray after a lie! You have multiplied, O LORD my God, your wondrous deeds and your thoughts toward us; none can compare with you! I will proclaim and tell of them, yet they are more than can be told.

An Easy Kind of Hard

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