My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

Land of the free

Memorial Day post pic 2Memorial Day. Pools everywhere open for the season. Grills are fired up. Sparkles are sparkling. That’s what it’s always been—a day off and a homecoming party for our good friend summer. I wouldn’t say I grew up without a patriotic heart; I knew all the words to the national anthem and belt out the alto part with my sisters. But, Memorial Day was more about burgers and hammocks than the red, white, and blue.

This weekend marks my 37th Memorial Day. Along the journey of the last several, my heart swelled for those stars and stripes and all they represent.

Four years ago, when I rode those escalators up to the 5th floor of an office building in Guangzhou, I rose my right hand and took an oath of truth, the last step in a 3-year journey that started before the life of the little one I wore on my side started. Our Chinese translators were not allowed into the room with us, a room packed full of American citizens who all either cradled or held the little hands of Chinese children who were nearly American citizens too. Despite the nearly tangible fatigue of red tape in that room, I could almost hear the sound of the national anthem in my heart as I saw the freedom I have in a new way.

I’ve never been more grateful for the sacrifice of the brave before me as I am now. I have never felt as indebted to those who have fought the fight and continue to do so to protect the freedom that I live everyday as a wife and mother of four—one of whom was not born to me within these borders but who now calls it her home too.

I don’t agree with all American policies. There are all sorts of things awry here, I know, but politics and patriotism are not the same thing. And, perhaps international adoptive parents should be the most patriotic of all, not in an egocentric or arrogant sort of way at all but with deep gratitude for those who have paid the greatest price for our peace and freedom, a freedom that allows our family to be a family.

The sun is shining today, and the air is just warm enough to tease us to go to the pool and try taking a dip in the water that still feels like spring. We’ll grill cheeseburgers, and my husband and I will sit together out back while the kids ride scooters in our driveway. Traditions are sweet especially when they help us celebrate a day that means more now to me than it did before. The freedom so many people have given their lives for is what has made our family what it is.

Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: “In God is our trust.”
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

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How to serve my country {award-winning guest post}

Sevenly posterI have a poster in my room that says, “You don’t need a reason to help someone.” It reminds me that it’s not just me in the world and not everything is for me.

I can serve my country by serving others. Our country was started to help others. Our country is about helping others, loving others, and serving others. That could be giving homeless children warm food or it could be as little as picking up a piece of trash so someone else doesn’t need to. Some people might think, “Make a meal? That uses so much time. I could be doing something useful. I don’t want to help someone!” I want to say something to the people who think that: people matter! Life is not fair, and that’s okay! You might be helping someone when you don’t even know it. Sometimes my mom says, “Can you clean up the toys?” My brother says, “But, I didn’t do it!” Then, my mom says, “I didn’t do it either, but I am helping.”

Just like my poster says: you don’t need a reason to help someone. You can serve your country today by helping someone in big or little ways.

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Memorial Day post pic

Ashlyn is a Raudenbush rockstar, leading the Raudy kids as the second born and oldest girl with growing wisdom. She loves reading books and writing her own, playing softball, creating and running her own business (check out Bead it for Disney), playing flute, and growing in her faith. She’s never been to China but loves that her parents go there and is hoping to stowaway in one of their bags (or actually buy a plane ticket) and join them next spring. She can also say she’s met the Mayor and a whole bunch of other important people because she just won 2nd place in a district-wide essay contest and is now $50 closer to that trip to China.

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Once upon a time until forever – Part 2

There’s a new picture hanging in my kitchen today, a new masterpiece to our mixed media gallery, hanging between Olaf magnets and a flyer from school.

Yesterday was her last Chinese class of the year. Little dark-haired people skitted around the room while soft-spoken Lao Shi tried to shepherd their bodies with seemingly swelling energy. Typically, one of us sits in her class and typically tries to read despite the reason why we’re there. But, with the senioritis that suspiciously attacked even these preschoolers, I was needed.

Lao Shi had brought photocopies for the children to complete and staple together as memory books of the year. Way over the heads of children who can barely write their own names, most of them were scribbling and distracted and alternating between singing Liang Zhi Lao Hu and Let it Go. Lydia clutched a red pen in her little fingers, firmly held it motionless over the ABOUT ME page before her and swung her feet with gusto below her. As the teacher tried to help other kids, I pulled up to her desk to help her, filling in the blanks with the words she supplied to me.

My age: 5.

Where I was born: China.

My parents: Mommy and Daddy.

Brothers & Sisters: Ashlyn, Drew and Evan.

Pets: Mojo and Bebo.

My picture: 

Okay, Lydia. Go ahead. You draw a picture of yourself there.

Pressing hard on the page, she drew her typical person—a round circle for a head, an oval torso, stick arms and legs, eyes and a smile, and some hair around the head. But, then she started intensely working on that torso. I thought she was intent on giving herself a dress that matched the one she was wearing. I watched until she put the pen down with contentment.

That’s a big belly and inside that is a baby that was beautiful called Yue Yue that became Lydia.

It was not a dress she was intensely drawing, it was herself in the womb of her first mother. I smiled and waited for her and for the lump in my throat to dissipate a little. While I waited, she picked up the pen again and went back to her drawing, this time drawing a little body on the chest of the stick figure that was her China mommy.

A doctor helped me to come out of her belly because that’s what doctors do.

Is that your China mommy holding you?

Yup….I don’t know her name.

I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know her name either. I wish we did….

No one stopped to listen. No one there sat with me and marveled at all this little 5 year old girl is processing when she is told to complete a picture appropriate for the title ABOUT ME. This little moment just blended into the energy of the room and class went on without a notice of another step in the journey of a little girl and the woman who is her second mother.

Lydia on swing

 

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Living in Two Time Zones

world-map

It’s 7. 7pm and 7am.

I’ve been essentially in one place for the last 10 days, following all our predictable patterns of school drop offs, softball games, grocery store visits, and walks to the playground. I haven’t been outside a 30 mile radius of ground zero—home. Yet, here I am, living in two time zones.

A 12 hour time difference makes things convenient. There’s no need to count on your hand. And, there’s something strangely comforting knowing my watch face has the same expression as his on the other side of the world. But, a 12 hour time difference is so inconvenient. His alarm rings to start his day when our oven timer dings telling us dinner is done. When he’s breathing deeply and shutting down after a long day of being on, I’m breathing deeply midmorning and telling myself to keep going. This morning and this evening are used synonymously around here to the confusion of most everyone besides ourselves.

We’ve made 5 trips to Asia in the last 7 months since our big leap leaving corporate America to do nonprofit work full-time. Each one of those trips sent only one of us on a plane…or two or three…while the other stayed put to keep those predictable patterns. We live in two time zones now, Mark and I.

He’ll be home on Thursday which is a good thing. But, I’m not counting down the days because I know that every one of the minutes filling the 2 weeks he’s gone whether whether it is in morning or evening is being used in significant ways. It’s inconvenient, yes, and I’ve had a moment or two of putting my head in my hands wondering if I’d make it to the next morning…or evening. But, this is what it’s about. This is where He wants us. It’s crazy yet the one of few things in our lives that makes perfect sense. He called us to live in two time zones, and so we are, no matter where we physically are.

I’ll be starting the bedtime routine around here in minutes. I’m fairly certain Mark will text right in the middle of the chaos to touch base before he meets the rest of his team to start the day. It’ll be maddeningly inconvenient. But, I’ll press pause on everything and let the kids run wild while I hang on his every word on the little screen in my hand until 12 hours from now when we do it again.

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