Twelve years HOME!

 Got a text from Gavin tonight with a selfie that made me smile.

Think Krassimir had any idea when he first landed here in MN twelve years ago that there would be this much joy in his future?? :)

4 years ago today...

Natural/Unnatural

They always say that having children teaches you many things.

Over the last few weeks I've been trying to articulate, mostly to Matt, because he's available (and just a good person to talk to!) something I've been becoming increasingly aware of. And it's something that isn't going to come across very well, but I believe is important to get out — you just have to promise me you'll either quit reading here or else read the whole post.

 

There is something so automatic, so natural, about the emotions that well up inside of a mother when she looks at her children. I *love* these little people so much!

Owen - the one who made me a mother!

Little Leah

Reuben Matthew - look, a son! a gift from God

Beautiful Rinnah - so much hair!

And she gets a second one - I l-o-v-e this look, which I call the milk-induced-coma.

Tiny Evania within minutes of her birth. Holding her I knew I would do this again in a heartbeat.

So, apparently, I did. Twenty-one months later, here's Gloria. Pudgy, wrinkly, yummy Gloria.

There is something so very natural about the love that a mother has for her newborn baby. It is very instinctual – without even thinking, all of the snuzzly, wuzzly kisses and sweet talk and unquestioned devotion just naturally spring up as you first hold that wet, wiggly bundle of new life. For that matter, that love begins even before the baby is born as mommy talks to, carresses, and dreams about the little one growing inside of her.

Having both biological and adopted children, and in particular, a brand new baby fresh on the heels of the arrival of an adopted child (Evania was born almost 6 months to the day after Krassimir came home), has made me realize that as much as my gut reaction is to want to say otherwise, I love these children in different ways.

Before you start thinking this is a bad thing, take a look at this young man.

c. 1996

My love for him is not based on any sort of genetic connection (beyond the fact that we're both of German descent. But that's not why I love him.) Rather, I made a choice, and followed that up with a very solemn promise that is legally binding that he and I belong together now.

While the love that I have for Krassimir may not be “natural,” it is very real, and growing, and deep and in many ways intentional in a way that is different from that of my other six children. But looking at him does not elicit the same warm-fuzzy feelings that I get from the children who have been mine from the beginning.

This picture is just oozing with warm-fuzzies to me!

And I think that last statement holds the biggest clue to where the core of this issue lies. How often do we confuse love with feelings?

I'd started writing this entry you're reading now back in July, but I realized the beginning of it began over two years ago with something I started writing right after Evania was born and I was basking in the post-pregnancy hormonal glow of a perfect tiny pudgy baby of mine a mere six months after bringing Krassimir home as mine. Some of those thoughts have been folded into the writing here.

When I started thinking and writing about this in July I realized, in a rather stupid sense, that I really didn't have a clue what love was!! This hung me up for a while.

I was talking with a friend a few years ago about the fickle nature of love. Even our best and most loving actions may suddenly seem to turn and become something else. I see this in the way I relate to my whole family, but perhaps more clearly with Krassi. There are times when, for example, I am feeding him, or changing him, or just watching him play on the floor that I will find myself being irritated with his little habits (mouthing the floor, bending his left pinky finger back so far it touches his wrist, things like that). My irritation does not spring from love for him, but love for myself, and a desire for him to be so satisfied with his life here that he doesn’t feel the need to revert back to the old stimming behaviors that were his sole occupation for so many lonely years of his life. There are absolutely times, yes, when my re-directing of him is based out of love and concern for him (if left to self-regulate, he will wipe his right index finger on whatever surface is nearby and lick it - wipe-lick, wipe-lick, wipe-lick – until it’s deeply cracked and bleeding and takes weeks or more of care to help it heal). But there are also times when my response to these behaviors is not Krassi-motivated, but ME-motivated.

It takes a conscious effort to love my Krassimir.

Playing outside together with water balloons this past summer.

And then one night, working my way through 1 Corinthians, I stumbled upon chapter 13. Okay – anyone here who knows their Bible, and probably even those of you who don’t really know it well know that 1 Corinthians 13 is “The Love Chapter.” Seriously – I was in 1 Corinthians already as I was mulling this “what is love?” question over and over in my head, and didn’t think of it until I opened up my Bible one night and there it was!!!

What is love?

Love is patient. Patient. Yikes. Why does it have to start with that!!?

Love is kind. Kind is such a “ho-hum” sort of word. Nothing dramatic or exciting, nothing extreme or showy. Just “kind.” But that’s what love is. Love is kind.

At this point, I decided I’d probably read enough to keep me thinking for a good while!

Patience. Kindness. These are not responses that always come “naturally.” It’s pretty easy to be patient with a sweetly sleeping baby, or a cute-as-a-button toddler, but I’m guessing I’m not the only mother out there who has been less than patient when that baby is up after only a 10 minute nap, or up for the third time in the night, or when that toddler is standing stubbornly in a puddle on the floor with dirty underpants RIGHT next to the potty chair she refuses to sit on.

As I mulled over this, there was a sudden flip-flop in my mind. I do love some of my children better than I do others. And it is Krassimir that is likely the one I am the best at loving, because when I am patient and kind with him it is NOT stemming from my self-serving pride-filled estimations of the little human beings I had a role in producing (as adorable as they may be!) but rather is coming from something much closer to what love really is. That realization is a rather sobering one, and one that leaves me with a lot of room to grow in my love for every single one of them.

The thing that comes naturally to us is not really love, but is really a round-about form of self-love, something that only cares about what that little person makes me feel, rather than something self-sacrificial that truly puts the other one above myself.

In these months as we’ve been working to bring our girls home, I’m realizing how very much more I still have to learn about what love is.

What I know for certain is that love is a choice, and that it springs from trust and obedience to the One who IS love.

Oh God, would you teach me to love!!

Three years

Today marks three years since the Bulgarian courts declared us this boy's parents.

And we're sure glad they did. ;)

Twelve Years

 Somebody had a birthday today! Because cake and ice cream would be food, and thus a hated activity, we decided to DO something fun instead. Less than two weeks ago a new playground opened less than 15 minutes from our house - it's huge, and designed specifically to be accessible for kids with a wide range of disabilities. Even the slides are made of a special kind of plastic so as to not generate static electricity which could interfere with hearing aids - they tried to think of everything.

 

 Krassi loves to swing, and although quite a few of the playgrounds around here have swings like the one on the right that work for Reuben (and Evania, as you can see here), they don't provide enough security for Krassi. But the one on the left does!

 Most of the play structure can be reached in a wheelchair (though as a practical note, that's only good if all you want to do is wheel around on it and then come back down - yes, there are plenty of circles/routes to take, but only one way up and down, so it feels a little pointless.) Krassi likes slides, so we wheeled up to one, but then had to call Leah up to bring his wheelchair around down to the bottom for him!

This big platform has "couches" on either side, and is accessed from the ramps on the play structure - Krassi can just be wheeled onto it, we crank his locks down, and then it can be rocked. Once, the kids had it rocking hard enough we were glad K had anti-tip braces on his chair! All eight children you can see on the platform came with me. I'm holding Gloria.

We didn't go with just our seven, but because Matt was out of town for the day, we had room to bring two friends, on the condition that they knew they weren't there just to play, but were there to help me guide/care for Reuben, Evania, and Gloria so I could make the morning a special one for Krassimir. So we filled up Big Blue (as in, it was full! we could only bring two of the kids' three friends at that house!) and away we went.

Reuben's favorite part of the place was the splash park, as you can see in the photo above. He was soaking wet - it's going to take his shoes days to be dry enough to wear! But he was absolutely delighted. The splash park, too, was designed at a variety of scales, so after observing it for a few minutes to see where things ebbed and flowed, I was able to find a place where Krassi could get close enough to play with the water without getting himself and his chair quite as fully engaged as Reuben was!

He knows that's where the water's going to come from again in a moment!

Here's another example of where this preferred posture of his just doesn't really do much for him! The water's on! And he's missing it!!

Ah ha!!! There he's found it!

And even trying it with the left hand, too. Happy boy!

But Krassi's favorite part was the zip line. There are two of these running parallel - one with a round seat where you hang on, either standing or sitting, and one with a bucket seat like the swing Krassi was using earlier. This one we tried three different times, and each time, though you couldn't really tell from his face, he went through great contortions to get his hands together to sign "more" each time it slowed down!

I think my only disappointment with the playground is that although there were easily over a hundred people there this morning, Krassi was the only one in a wheelchair. Yes, I am very well aware that there is a very wide range of disabilities that a playground like this can cater to (the static-free slides, for example!) But, still, it was kind of a lonely feeling to be the only parent of a child in a chair at a place like this. So many, so many of the families and children there seemed to be just "normal" families with "normal" kids checking out a new playground.

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There's a reason this post is titled the way it is. Although this is a happy day because it marks a milestone - twelve years old! - for our oldest son, it's also a day that's raised some rather strong emotions. Twelve years ago today is when life suddenly started going very wrong for this precious little boy. Twelve years and one day ago, he was safe and warm and held within his mother's womb. I don't know much of anything about her - I don't know if she was worried, excited, ambivalent about the tiny life growing inside of her. I know that her baby's father was not in the picture. But what I do know, and brings me to tears every time I think of it, even now I can hardly type for the tears falling down my face, is that twelve years ago that tiny baby was born, too early for his little body to be ready to be on its own, and on that day he lost something so incredibly precious - his mother. Suddenly he was not only no longer within that safe, warm, held place where he ought to have been able to grow and prepare his tiny body for weeks yet, but the one person who had been with him every moment of his tiny life since it began was no longer with him. Instead, he spent two weeks in the hospital, and was then transferred to the preemie care unit at the orphanage where he would eventually be committed for the next nine and a half years of his life.

So much life, so much potential, was robbed from my little boy in the years he spent in that place. I wish someone had told his mother the truth - that she, with all her imperfections, could have done so much for that tiny baby boy had she just been encouraged to love him, hold him, talk to him, love him, keep him. I don't ever wish that Krassimir was not my boy, but I wish for him that he would never have had to be my boy.

There is so much loss wrapped up in adoption. The only reason we have gained our eldest son, and will hopefully soon have our two oldest daughters, is that all three of them have experienced one of the most serious losses any human being can have. The one person who was everything to them for all of those days, weeks, months of growing before their birth is just simply gone. And that loss happened at such a tender age, under already strenuous circumstances for a tiny person. It doesn't matter when a child is adopted, or what circumstances it happens under, at what age, what kind of care they had in the interim, all adoption is a story born out of a profound loss. And that is something incredibly sad.

I think back to the six little ones that I birthed into this world, and realize that I can never be that for Krassi, or for B, or T. I am (or will be) still their real mother in every true sense of the word, but I can never replace that mother.

Twelve years ago, my boy. I am so sorry. I can never replace what she should have been to you, but I hope that I can continue to become something precious to you in a different way. I, too, am a very imperfect mother - so inadequate compared to what you really need, what you ought to have, but I promise you, my tiny twelve-year-old - I am going to spend the rest of my life being your mother, and we'll keep growing into that together, won't we?

Visiting on trip one, March 2013

Letting me hold him on trip one.

From our pick-up trip, October 2013

Look what my boy can do/ Two Years Home

As we're quickly approaching two years we celebrate TODAY that it's been two years since Krassi came home, I'm doing more reflecting on how he's grown and changed.

It's funny sometimes how some of his progress seems so unnoticeable to me until someone else points it out, and then there are some things that seem like such big deals to me that may appear rather insignificant.

With that, check out what Krassi was doing a few days ago!

Can you figure out yet what he's doing that I'm so impressed with??

Check out which hand he's using to hold the cake pan insert that he loves to play with...it's his LEFT hand!

When Krassi came home, his left hand was essentially unusable - often held in a fist, and generally not an asset to him.

One of Krassi's referral photos (he was about 8 years old in this photo).

A sweet smiley one we received after we committed to adopting him (so he's about 8.5  years), but before we'd met him - but look at that left hand and arm again!

On our pick up trip...

A few weeks home...the right hand is busy working, and the left is mostly just tight.

 So, now look at him here again - he's got a good solid grip using his thumb in an appropriate way on that cylinder!! I think of the hours of time that have gone into stretching that left arm, doing reflex exercises on both hands to encourage proper grip. And that smile - I love that smile! - Krassi just eats up verbal praise. It is so easy to bring a smile to this sweet boy's face, and it's so amazing to watch how hard he will work to earn that affirmation.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking through old photos to find a few to illustrate his old grip brought me across a few other early ones that are fresh in our minds as we celebrate this two-year milestone.

These first two were of the very first moments that we met back in March, 2013. This poor little boy was absolutely terrified.

 What a joy it was even over the course of that week to see him begin to adjust to having us around. What a difference just a few days made.

And here are a few from our pick up trip...

Krassi and Mom on the balcony of our hotel - he looks so pale and so passive in this photo.

Out on a walk stopping to eat. There's that little left-handed fist again.

Back in the hotel - what a tiny guy. I remember his thighs being no thicker than his skin and bone calves, but to see him now, he's still skinny and small and still severely underweight for his age, but there's meat on those thighs these days!

This is within days of coming home.

We took a photo of him before bed tonight, but it's still on the camera. I'll get it up within the next few days.

We're so glad this little guy's part of our family!

{here's a quick link to the update post from a year ago}

Two years ago yesterday...

...Krassimir became part of our family. Of course, it took a few more months before we could actually go bring him home, but August 2nd is the date the Bulgarian courts made it official that he was our son.

Our family two years ago.

And our family today.

"Are they twins?"

One of my favorite questions to be asked when I'm out with the kids is, "Are they twins?" (in reference to Reuben and Krassimir, who are still essentially the same size.) I love this question because it opens up so many opportunities for interesting conversations with strangers about real topics that matter to me. There's the obvious topic of adoption - it's so neat to be able to introduce them as brothers, yes, but far from being twins, one of them is half the age of the other, and they're not even genetically related. But there are other topics, too. Although Krassimir's handicap is pretty obvious visually, Reuben's differences are usually pretty apparent as well by the time we've gotten this far into a conversation. ;) Sometimes I wonder if it's because the boys are both "different" that people assume they're twins, and less that they look particularly alike.  But to be able to speak in a positive light about the challenges of raising these boys - after all, one of them we didn't get a choice on, but the other we did! - opens the opportunity to talk about the value of all human life, and the richness that these two boys - and not just these, too, but all of our children, because I usually have at least some of the others with me - add to the world around them. The obvious small stature of Krassimir in comparison to his half-his-age brother provides the chance to talk about the injustices that exist in the world today - this isn't just happening "somewhere" to "someone" but it happened to real live person sitting with us at this very moment. And it's not okay.

No, they're not twins, but I'm so glad you asked.

Sundays

 Not many things can compete with a Sunday afternoon nap. After two later nights, the little boys were tired enough that while Vania took her nap, Reuben slept with mom and Krassi fell asleep snuggled up with Dad! How neat is that? It is no small thing for this boy to accept snuggling. We have made some significant progress in this area over the last two months (that I started to write a post about, but it's still stuck in half-finished draft stage), but if anything that only makes something like this even more precious. Our son who is still afraid to let someone be *too* close (emotionally) is giving us little glimpses into the scared, lonely little boy hiding under the I-can-survive-without-love outside that he had to learn in order to survive the early years of his life.

We don't have pictures of it, but we had some of the kids' music on this evening before bed, and a crew of us were dancing with it - Rinnah's quite the dancer, and Reuben was jumping, and even Leah popped in a few times with her dish drying cloth. I prefer dancing with a little one in my arms, so first 'Vania got a turn, and then Krassi worked his way into the room and he got a turn. I LOVE dancing with this boy! He laughs and laughs and laughs!! We twirl and spin and slide and bounce, and he's giggling the whole time with that huge, wide, lovely smile of his.

And as I was thinking about commenting to Matt that Krassi never got to spend Sunday evenings dancing with his mommy when he was little, the reality that far from dancing, he often didn't get to even see anybody - anybody! - on Sundays because the staff didn't really want to come in on Sundays, and the director didn't really want to pay them to do it anyway, so often Sundays were the day he didn't get his once-daily diaper change, and didn't even get his pour-it-down-your-throat gruel in a bottle.

There are many days when the horrifying conditions that were his only reality for eight long years seem so unreal that I can't find a place for them in my consciousness, and then some days like today when it floods back and catch in my throat and my heart.

Open your mouth for the mute,
For the rights of all the unfortunate. 
Open your mouth, judge righteously,
And defend the rights of the afflicted and needy.
(Proverbs 31: 8-9)

Twelve days ago, twelve of Krassimir's former orphanage-mates' nightmares became real-life as they were moved from the Pleven orphanage to a small group home run and staffed by people who lost their jobs when the new director took over the Pleven baby house. Plans for this move were happening unbeknownst to the current director until less than a week before the move was to take place. Originally, they were to take 20 of the older children from the orphanage into their new group home, but the new orphanage director (who continues to make good progress) managed to make a case for eight of them being too medically fragile to be cared for at the new group home. But that still leaves twelve defenseless children who grew up under the abuse and neglect of these people, who have had just over two years to begin to heal and grow, back in the hands of the very people who damaged them so severely.

I get sick to my stomach just thinking about it. Krassimir has very low cognitive abilities, but he has the ability to recognize people. We saw this about him in the first week we met him at his orphanage, showing a range of appropriate emotions: happiness (to his baba), ambivalence, trepidation (for us), and even now, he will recognize and respond with pleasure to seeing the face of a person he's only seen once before, but has treated him with kind ness! I can't imagine what it must be like for those twelve children to be not only seeing the faces of their abusers, but seeing only their faces now, and none of the faces they've been learning to trust.

There is very little from a human side that we can do to "open our mouths" for these afflicted, needy, voiceless children. But you can open your mouth to God on behalf of these children!

And there is something tangible you can do for at least one of those twelve children. I have not been very vocal in this way on my blog, but this situation really grabs me, so I'm going to throw it out there just in case God is directing one of you reading this to do something. Two of the children who've been transferred are currently available for international adoption, and one of them, nicknamed "Brandon", who reminds us very much of Krassi - same diagnosis, same age - just a week ago had a family who was already into the process of adopting another little boy with severe medical issues from a different orphanage in Bulgaria decide to add him to their adoption process. Unbeknownst to him, Brandon is not only going to get out of the horrific situation he's back in, but he's going to leave not to go back to the Pleven orphanage, but to a family!!! They are currently trying to raise the extra money that it will cost to adopt a second child rather quickly so they don't compromise their other soon-to-be-son's health by adding extra time to the adoption. If you're interested in helping, you can go here to donate funds to Brandon's family for his adoption expenses.

Brandon

And since I'm on this topic of speaking out for orphans, Matt and I have a friend from graduate school who has adopted a child from the Democratic Republic of Congo, but the government there has suspended the issuing of exit visas for these children. Hundreds of children in the Congo are legally adopted but have not been given the visas they need to travel to the US to live with their families. So they wait. And their families wait. This situation has been going on for over a year and a half, and some of these former orphans have died while waiting for their families to come get them, and the rest of them are just stuck there...waiting. A formal petition to our government has been initiated in an attempt to let President Obama know that these children matter, and asking him to intervene. If you are so inclined, you can go here to add your name to the petition.

We can't fix all the problems in this world, but we are told to speak out on behalf of those who have no voice, so that's all I'm asking - if God is telling you to act on their behalf, here are a few ways you can do that.