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My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

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Dear daughter

1.16.15

Lydia with Mama 2There’s something pretty cool about us. You and I look pretty different. You’ve got dimples; I’ve only got wrinkles. You have a freckle on your tummy; the only fun thing I have on my tummy is a turtle tattoo. You’ve got long dark hair; I’ve got short brown hair with highlights of gray. You’ve got Chinese eyes that look like crescent moons; I’ve got big eyes that scrunch up when I look at you because you always make me smile. I like that we’re different. We go perfectly together, and our differences make us a really colorful and fun pair.

Some people assume that pairs are the same. They think pairs should match on the outside as well as on the inside. So, the fact that we’re different on the outside may make some people not know right away that we go together. They might do things like that man did last week and ask you where your mommy is when I’m standing right next to you. We might laugh when that happens, but sometimes, we won’t. And, that’s okay.

People may ask you other questions too. I expect they will because I’ve been asked lots and lots of questions since you became my daughter. Sometimes the questions are easy ones, and I can answer them right away without even thinking really. Other questions make me feel a little funny inside, and I have to think before I answer. And, sometimes, there are questions that make me feel a little sad or mad, and I just don’t want to answer at all. I imagine you might feel like that too. We may be different, but I bet we might feel a lot the same.

When people ask you questions or say things to you about us being different, it may be because they’re being mean. It’s true. Sometimes people are just mean for reasons I really don’t understand. But, you know what? I bet that most of the time, people will ask you questions not because they are trying to be mean at all. Maybe they are interested in the fact that we’re different because they want to have a family that looks different too. I like when that happens. Maybe they ask a question because their family already looks different, and they want to know if we’re like them. Those can be fun conversations too. Some may ask simply because they are curious, and that’s okay. We ask people questions when we’re curious too.

The thing is, we may think we can tell why people do the things we do, but a lot of times we really can’t. People’s hearts are pretty mysterious things, you know? But, regardless of what’s in their hearts and if they are curious, interested, or just plain mean, we need to respond with respect. Let me explain to you what I mean. When someone asks you a question, you have a choice to make. You can share something about your story—after all, you’re an amazing girl with an amazing story. You can respectfully answer their question and tell them something about yourself. Or, you can share something that’s not about you specifically but is about families like ours that look different from each other. That’s another good option that may be a little easier because it’s not as personal as sharing about yourself. Or, you can respond in another way entirely and not respond at all. That’s a perfectly fine option, and you don’t need my permission in advance to choose that one. I’m telling you right now that it’s fine with me. But, if you choose that option, know that you need to do it always with respect. You can tell them you don’t really like the question or ask if you can talk about something else. You can tell them they’re your friend but you’d rather not answer that question. You can even blame me if you want and tell them your mom told you not to talk about that. Don’t worry; I can take it. I’m your mom, and moms are cool like that.

I’m not expecting you to have some sort of issue tomorrow or even next week; so, you don’t need to worry. But, if you do—whenever you do—know you aren’t stuck; you have a choice to make. You’re the one in charge of how things go. And, know that even if I’m not there to help you, I’m cheering you on just like how you cheer me on when I wrestle with the kids in the living room and you yell, “Go Mommy! Go Mommy!” And, I wanna hear all about it afterwards so I can scrunch up my eyes again and smile real big at you because no matter what choice you make and how things go, I’m going to tell you I’m proud of you and that I love that we’re different and that I really, really love that you’re mine and I’m yours. I hope on those days that I need it, you can do the same thing for me because you’re my daughter; and daughters are cool like that.

No related posts.

Posted by Kelly the Overthinker
Filed Under: adoption, attachment, Lydia

It’s not the boobs that bother me #2014top10 #4

12.31.14

Screen Shot 2014-01-09 at 10.46.17 AM
87 comments, 4,483 likes, and 1,094 shares as of 10:45 this morning of this image shared on Dave Thomas Foundation’s Facebook page.

Dave Thomas Foundation does great work advocating for children. But, I think they made a mistake promoting this particular image and identifying it as “a true gem.”

I appreciate the sentiment—parents love their children no matter how they joined the family. I didn’t miss that point. But, I have some fundamental problems with the communication of that sentiment here.

  • All my children are my children. Period. I would never introduce my kids to someone new and single out any as birth children or adopted children. Some might say I have read too many blog posts from adults who were adopted who vulnerably share feeling like they did not fit in. But, even one blog post, one conversation with someone who was adopted is enough for me to decide that as a mother of a little one who joined us via adoption, I will never single her out like this. She will be acutely aware as she grows that she looks different than the rest of us. She certainly doesn’t need me pointing that out any more.
  • Adopted is a past tense verb, not an adjective. My daughter Lydia is energetic, silly, determined, strong, physically fearless and yet emotionally fragile, independent yet utterly dependent, and incredibly beautiful. She is Chinese, and she was adopted. We adopted her. I know some are rolling their eyes and writing me off right now as overthinking everything. Go ahead, tell me I’m overthinking it all and overreacting as I do. I know it can be a character flaw. But, you know what? She’s my daughter; I can overthink it.
  • I have not and will never forget she was adopted. Her story is one that involves deep pain and weeps of the brokenness of our world and yet the sovereignty of God and redemption of broken things. When I sat before an officer of the Chinese government charged with legally approving a child of the state becoming a precious daughter of ours, I promised she would be our child, that we would care for all her needs as if she had been born to us. But, in between the lines, I also promised that I would not neglect to recognize her story and walk alongside her as she grows and processes that story through different seasons of her life. I will never forget the stories of each one of my children and treat them as if their needs are all one in the same.

All that on top of the fact that her boobs are completely wrong.

my adoption cartoon

 ______

A few hours after posting this, the Dave Thomas Foundation actually commented on my Facebook post.

Screen Shot 2014-01-09 at 6.23.40 PM
Apparently, they thought it was the boobs that bothered me.

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Posted by Kelly the Overthinker
Filed Under: adoption, attachment

Her first day of kindergarten #2014top10 #8

12.31.14

We had a lot of late night conversations the months after Drew was born. I wanted to adopt. Mark didn’t feel the same. He wasn’t opposed to adoption; he’s sort of…well…more like opposed to noise and chaos. A man who enjoys peace and quiet who has a needy 4 year old, an independent 2 year old, a still-unfolding-from-the-womb infant, and a wife talking about adopting a fourth child = noise and chaos in every way.

Many of those conversations ended with me saying this:

I’m afraid that if we don’t do it, we’ll regret it the rest of our lives. I know that when we put her on the bus for kindergarten, we’ll look at her and say, ‘I’m so glad we did it.’

I don’t really know why that particular image equaled the image of parental contentment and joy for me. At the time I was speaking those words and imagining the day, I had not yet put even one child on a school bus. I think I identified that moment as a new chapter, when my baby would leave the season of babyhood and become a little girl, when my role as mother would not be over by any means or even get any easier but it would change dramatically. No longer would I be essentially the only influence in her little life; now, I would have to coach her to use discernment with other influences.

I clung to that image of a blurred dark haired little girl climbing bus stairs too big for her and wearing a backpack that extended beyond her shoulders through our process of saying yes to adoption and eventually yes to her specifically. Over the last four years, that image remained a blur until this week.

lyds_33 #firstdayofschoollyds_47 #firstdayofschoollyds_54 #firstdayofschoollyds_55 #firstdayofschool
This week, my baby put on a quientessential kindergarten dress with blue mary janes. She asked for two braids, one on each side. She put on a backpack extending beyond her tiny frame full of sharpened Dixon Ticonderoga pencils, fresh crayons, and classroom tissues. And, she stepped outside for a new adventure.

lyds_56 #firstdayofschoollyds_57 #firstdayofschoollyds_58 #firstdayofschoollyds_59 #firstdayofschool
She said she wasn’t nervous, only “cited.” She played the part, smiling big for the camera at the bus stop where moms and dads took pictures of their children too.

And, then we gathered around her to pray for her. And, she got a little more serious. And, so did I.

lyds_62 #firstdayofschoollyds_64 #firstdayofschool

The bus took forever, a literal reminder every minute of the significance of the moment every stop along the way to us. Every mom was saying goodbye to her baby. Every baby was thinking about things, wondering what color carpet square she’d get or if she’d make a friend that day.

lyds_65 #firstdayofschool
I think some babies maybe thought about things a little more than others.

Until flashing lights were in sight.

And loud brakes were heard.

And big doors opened to what seemed like even bigger steps.

And it was time to go.

lyds_68 #firstdayofschool
Just like that. She grabbed the railing and climbed the stairs.

My baby.

My little girl.

No longer an image in my imagination but my daughter.

lyds_71 #firstdayofschool
She looked back. And, I couldn’t look away.

And then, my heart rode away on a big yellow school bus.

lyds_73 #firstdayofschool bus
I’m so glad we did it. 

No related posts.

Posted by Kelly the Overthinker
Filed Under: attachment, Everyday life, Lydia, why can't they just stay little forever

We’re good

11.25.14

Coats were on and heads were being counted when she shared it with me.

Mommy, I have to tell you something. A girl in my class said, ‘Is your mom Chinese?’ I said, ‘No.” Then, she said, ‘Well, you have Chinese eyes so your mom has to be Chinese.’ But, I told her, ‘No, she doesn’t.’

Pause.

And a few seconds of quiet and eye contact.

Oh, honey, did that make you feel bad?

With a cock-eyed look and the tone of a teenager who thinks her mom was never a girl her age…

No.

The crew got out the door and went on with our plans. Lydia bounced around as usual, filling whatever space she is in with joy and a healthy dose of noise and chaos. Despite the normalcy of it all, I knew I had to get back to that conversation despite the sassy No she gave me. I knew I couldn’t just let that be as it was left.

It was a day later when we sat alone at the kitchen table, casually parallel. A blank page laid before her while her fists held too many crayons about to be put to work.

Hey Honey, remember that thing you told me about your friend asking if you had a Chinese mom?

She set to work, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth as it does every time she’s hard at work just like her mother’s does.

Yeah.

Well, some kids might feel a little sad about that, maybe about the fact that they are Chinese but don’t have a Chinese mom, or maybe just because they feel like someone was making fun of them. Some kids might not at all. But, some kids would, and that’s okay. I wonder if you maybe felt that way.

Nope. I told you already I didn’t.

Yup, you did. That’s right. But, I just wanted to make sure because it would be okay if you did. Okay?

Okay.

She continued to create as I watched beside her, filling the page that was empty with bright color much like she does every time she enters a room. Just when it looked complete and she put down her tools and leaned back to admire it, she abruptly leaned in close as if she was a master painter who noticed her masterpiece needed just one more touch of paint.

She picked up a crayon again and added:

Lydia
Mommy
I love you

Here you go!

She popped up and put it in my hands, promptly bouncing off to see what her sister was doing and leaving me alone with her creation, a tangible reminder that she and me are we even though we don’t have the same eyes. This time someone noticed we’re different didn’t bother her. I’m glad it didn’t as any mother would be glad that her little one’s heart is not injured by another little one. But, I’m ready if it ever does. I’ll sit beside her when it does and tell her I’m sorry. I’ll color my own picture for her in words.

Mommy
Lydia
I love you

This thing God did by putting us together, a little Chinese girl who has a Chinese mommy on the other side of the world who couldn’t parent her and a white mommy who wanted another little one, is good. It’s hard, and it’s founded in brokenness. But, it’s good. It’s good.

lydia in slide 3

No related posts.

Posted by Kelly the Overthinker
Filed Under: adoption, attachment

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