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My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

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I love a good story

7.30.15

Bear creek lobbyI’m fairly certain our four children are amidst and producing a good bit of noise right now. But, I couldn’t tell you what that noise is entirely because it’s far from where we are. They’re at an amusement park with Grammy who actually called us and asked to take them for two nights. We obliged because we want to be kind to her and want good things for our children.

What were we to do while they were gone?

We kinda skipped town. With a gift certificate in hand, we took off and are presently sitting here in a cozy little spot by a fireplace with a beautiful view of a green ski slope and a glassy outside pool with our laps full of Bibles, notebooks, and our MacBooks. That’s how we roll.

My thoughts are full of the last time we sat in this same place surrounded by friends, men and women energized by rest and fellowship together. We laughed about silly things because we could. And, we asked how they were doing and meant it. We told our stories. We listened to even more stories. Maybe that’s why I find myself liking this place so much; it’s where stories were shared.

Oh, how I love our stories. God is the author who brings to life the characters, the setting, and plots that knit everything together. But, how generous He is to allow us to claim our stories as our own and tell them in spoken and written word alike. Every story is as different as the ones sharing them. Some seem rather simple at first telling; some are riddled with twists and turns. Regardless, I think the best stories are not the ones with reported happy endings that are neat and are easy to follow. The best ones are the cliffhangers that leave us on the edge of our seats, straining to understand them, that require us to ask questions and think hard to get it. They are the ones that aren’t easy to tell or easy to hear. They aren’t comfortable by definition. They are the ones that we know aren’t actually finished yet when the storyteller takes a deep breath and is done with words for now. They are the ones without necessarily the promise of happy endings on this side of eternity and yet have glimpses of hope even if it’s the listener who has to point them out.

Stories are how we make sense of things, aren’t they? We understand the world and literally all of history through stories self-articulated and told to us. I find myself sitting here quietly longing for more stories like a child does before bed, asking God to supply more people around me who can muster the courage to unwrap their hearts and tell their stories and who are willing to sit beside me to actively listen to my overthinking of my own.

That happened right here, and surely will happen again come April at Together Called 2016. And, it will happen before then with the girls who sit over cups of coffee with me at 6:30am on Wednesday mornings. And, it will happen in the counseling sessions as I sit on a coach and seek to encourage parents and children to walk through those places in their stories where they feel stuck. It will happen around our dinner table when we train our children to become good storytellers themselves. It will happen late at night when our sheer exhaustion brings down barriers and the hearts of a husband and wife are compelled to burst with stories and allow them to unify us.

It’s definitely not exclusive to this place or that Together Called weekend with kindred spirits. But, for now, I’ll stay right here and relish in the memories of storytelling that happened here and dream of the stories yet to be written and told, knowing there are some good ones coming.

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Posted by Kelly the Overthinker
Filed Under: Overthinking, The Sparrow Fund

Filled

7.29.15

She was missing her husband; I was missing mine. Both men were in China at the time. While they served together and worked hard to build relationships with students, we built our own with a continual text conversation through all hours and phone calls just to say what we were making for dinner. We literally did life together for 2 weeks from miles apart.

It was a brilliant idea–thank you very much–for us all to come together at the beach over Memorial Day weekend that year. Two mamas who could drink coffee and talk endlessly and 7 kids who loved Minecraft and playing in the pool equaled a simply perfect long weekend.

Screen Shot 2015-07-28 at 7.50.25 PM

…except…

there was someone missing…and I’m not talking about Mark and Zach. See that space right there in the middle? Clearly someone belonged right there.

This past week, a little over 2 years after that Memorial Day weekend, we still have 2 mamas who love their coffee and endless conversation and counseling sessions, but we have a different picture now.

Fenwick group shot

Hole filled.

And, hearts and arms filled as well.

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Posted by Kelly the Overthinker
Filed Under: adoption, why can't they just stay little forever

Away

7.28.15

Parenting isn’t all canon balls into the deep end, amusement rides, and ice cream cones. But, man, when we’re able to enjoy a week of those sugary sweet moments, it sure makes us breathe deeply and remember that parenthood also isn’t all sibling bickerings, chaotic dinners, and chores with whining.

girls on ride - 1

Drew in pool - 1

Lydia in pool - 1

Lazy mornings followed by lazy afternoons and time spent with each other, talking and dreaming, late nights with abbreviated bedtime routines. Lazy gets such a bad rap, does it not? Those are the images in their heads that I want to stay put, not ones of going places and doing stuff or lots of entertaining activities, but the pictures of real comfort when impromptu games of Battleship and Uno in our couch-potato attire trump a schedule and to-do lists and demands.

In 5 weeks, when my kids are asked no doubt what they did this summer, I hope the words not much are in their answers…and maybe Uno.

 

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Posted by Kelly the Overthinker
Filed Under: why can't they just stay little forever

Sleeping. Let’s talk about that.

7.19.15

We were invited to their house for decaf coffee, chocolate dipped strawberries, and an official brain-picking session. They are just starting their adoption adventure and having just had their first home-study visit that afternoon, they were chock full of questions for us. As they went down their question list, we jumped in with two feet, pulling from our own experiences and those of a whole bunch of other way more experienced families that we’ve been privy to walk alongside. I’m pretty sure we gave them a whole lot to think about given their note taking and wide eyes ranging from one parent traveling vs. both parents to sibling adjustments to attachment to going through that special needs list.

In between questions about what to pack and how to prepare your extended family for your intentional attachment efforts came this one:

The social worker today told us that 90% of the children who are adopted from China come home with sleep problems. Is that really true?

Try to picture the face of this young mom…of two very young children…as she asked. She kinda had that expression on her face like if I answered her with an affirmative, she may simply collapse onto her chocolate covered strawberries in utter defeat.

[Pause that whole scene right there.]

There’s no phone-a-friend Facebook opportunities in the middle of a live brain-picking session. If there were, I’d have had a lot to offer her because I later posted the question out there and got a whole lot of folks weighing in. In fact, the post rallied well over 60 comments from my peeps that were all over the board. In the end, here’s what I gleaned most from those comments: Yes, that social worker overstated that statistic, but for those of you whose children did or do have sleep issues, it’s 100% to you, and you may have benefited from a social worker clueing you into the greater potential for sleep issues in adopted children on the front end. 

[Unpause. Back to the scene.]

I looked at that young mother who had already received an earful from me, who looked exhausted already and was gritting her teeth in hopes I’d oddly completely contradict the social worker. And, I told her something along these lines…(give or take 90% of the words…kidding…)

Well, I think 90% is overstated for sure. So, if you simply want my opinion on a very-subjective statistic, I’d put it a lot less than that which maybe makes you feel better? But, I will say this. Whatever that statistic is for children born to you who have not experienced any trauma—which I’m sure is documented somewhere—it’s going to be higher for your child from China. Not considering the very short-term sleep issues which you all will face as you adjust to the time difference and recover from jet lag and not considering the longer but still short-term issues your child will face adjusting to all the newness of your family and home, you need to know that children who have had hard starts are going to have more sleep issues than those who have not statistically speaking. There’s lots of reasons for this; I’m sure you’ll read all about them. And, if you want to hear more about that, I’m glad to get into all that with you too. But, the bottom line is this: many do have trouble; but many do not. Go into this expecting that your new child may have sleep issues and that those sleep issues may be even more challenging to you than whatever sleep issues you’ve faced with your other kids. Your own attachment process will be challenged by it. And, you’re going to have to work together as a couple to handle whatever sleep issues arise in new ways, assuming you used the more go-to, traditional methods with your other children.

It may not have been the answer she and her husband were praying we’d give them really. But, you know what, they looked at each other and nodded. They’re tired and anticipating more tired is hard. But, there was solidarity in those nods to each other. And, there’s nothing that can prepare them best for this crazy adventure than that.

Lydia in 2012, about 2 years home. For the record, she had sleeping issues for about a year, issues that look way different than what we were used to. She slept as a coping mechanism and had to be trained to actually wake up.

Lydia in 2012, about 2 years home. For the record, she had sleeping issues for about a year, issues that look way different than what we were used to. She slept as a coping mechanism and had to be trained to actually wake up. How’s that for different?

 

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Posted by Kelly the Overthinker
Filed Under: adoption

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