Finding my Feet

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to go to Knoxville to spend the weekend in a More to Life training re-grounding myself. It has been a rough few weeks with one of the kids and I needed time to recommit to my purpose in parenting. 

I appreciate that wherever I am, I get to benefit from the wisdom and experience of those around me. Having some distance allows me to see with my heart what I was struggling (and failing) to see with my brain. Mostly I see how blessed I am.

All I ever wanted to be was a mom. Have I said that lately? It's true. I planned it from the moment I could make plans. Mom and teacher. Teacher and mom. That was THE plan. It took me a good long time to get to both of them but I did eventually get to both, in spades. And then I was blessed with these five beautiful, sweet-hearted children. They are truly, each of them very kind, loving, generous and good. They all love me, which is AMAZING, and I am so very grateful to have them. 

Other adoptive parents will understand. There is a weird experience we have in which people say to us, "You did a good thing, adopting these kids" (or something of that nature), usually in reference to foster kids. Know this. It was never that way. The big secret is: we all went into for ourselves. We came to adoption because it was how we got to be parents. It was for US. And if you know much about adoption you know, grief and pain is a part of the process, especially for the adopted person. It's an extremely hard road. It is really never a clear path for most adopted people and can often remain unresolved forever. It's so very challenging, if not devastating. So to have someone say we did something that was in some way "good," is awkward and really hard to know what to do with. And even more so when we are struggling in our parental role.

But I digress. Knoxville happened. I went in knowing I wanted to handle some surprises of the past couple weeks that I hadn't really processed. I wanted a way forward that was both proactive and loving, as opposed to reactive and defensive. I unearthed that out there. Among the truths I uncovered were these simple ones: 

My purpose as a parent is to love.  

I can count on Life to deliver the lessons. 

Yep you heard that right. My purpose is to love! No more long lectures are needed! I can count on Life to deliver the lessons. I know that's true because I've had plenty delivered to me! 

A friend of mine said it well last weekend. He said,: "I'm laying down the drama of the teaching parent. My new parenting style is Love First". Every day this man is going to pray for an open and loving heart and every night, he is going to ask himself: How did I show love and acceptance to my children today? 

It's beautiful, isn't it? 

I can hear you doubting right now. "All this love stuff sounds too pie in the sky", you say. Too hippy dippy. Well, let me tell you, when you have walked on this dusty road I've been on for the past 13 years with these last 3 precious ones, there are some diamonds that get uncovered in the trenches and one of
those gems is this:

I, Dreena Tischler, am most definitely not in charge of anyone

                                                                        (except myself).

That's right. My part is to love, because in the end, that's actually all I can do. We've done the teaching  . . . at this point, the choosing is up to them. They have to get their own life-shocks and their own learning; and we hope it is not all the hard way. And apparently, some of it is.

We're all still learning, right?  

So that's me, right here, right now. I've found my feet again and it's a good place for me to be in. I am grateful.

PS - I've had queries about our middle child. He's entered his rehab program and is in good spirits. He's in the beginning phases and we are hopeful. Send your arrows of love through the ether! Right now he can't have cards or visitors aside from "Dad" and me, but maybe one day. They are in a lock down situation. Actually, if you want to wish him well, you can email me or send me a card and I can save it until he can have it. That could work. Or I can read it to him over the phone. He gets calls. So if you want to help, there's a way. Bless you!

Ripping my Heart Out

The headline is: the tests are in and The Captain was recommended for a residential treatment for his addiction. It is not what he was hoping for, which is heart breaking, but probably what is needed. 

I grew up in a small community in which alcoholism was endemic. Thus, I've been fortunate to grow up in a context in which people with addictions are understood and cared for but not judged. I am grateful to have been spared the susceptibility to that particular struggle and so I have spent the summer educating myself about the nature of addiction. Let me say, though, in brutal honesty, sex addition is not something people want to talk about. A lot of people don't believe it's a real thing and social mores don't allow open and honest conversation around anything so scary. 

So here I am, Mom to a kid a year from being a legal adult, and hoping with all my heart that there truly is a cure for his addiction. Because I am here to tell you, it's a real thing. My greatest fear is that he will not get better and wind up in big prison. What I am less sure about is if this kid will be able to let go and get better because the one thing I've learned in my summer of research is this: the addicted person has to want to let go of the addiction. We need something akin to a miracle here. 

Years ago when had just adopted our first baby, I had read one million parenting books. Okay, I'm exaggerating. Adoption takes a while, so I read 8 or 9 parenting books. My sister-in-law, best bud, and work mate, Sharon, would occasionally try to give me advice. So she would say something and I'd reply "well, yes, but research says . . . (blah blah blah)."  

Then she would laugh and say, "Oh yes, I forgot, you're a BOOK parent. You have the manual. You'll be okay."  Which after you've been a parent six months you realize is a joke because obviously, there is no manual! I did eventually calm down and start taking people's advice, just so you know. It was truly heartbreaking that Sharon, who was my soulmate, died when my oldest two were only 8 and 6 and I never really got to capitalize on all her parenting experience. However, her hand is on the rudder at times like today. 

I started writing this at 4:30 AM after a very fitful night. Our boy called last night, pretty frantic. On Saturday, when I'd seen him, he'd been sad, but fairly calm. Now the panic is setting in. I've seen this in friends who are headed to rehab. There is real fear in having to let go of something that literally takes up your whole life. So my night was hard because even when it's best, we don't want our kids to suffer. We know they have to do that suffering themselves but we would love to take it for them if we could. 

Send The Captain your good thoughts, your prayers, your love, and your warrior arrows -- he needs it all. It's going to take every outpouring of good will toward him to shore him up. Later he will probably be able to get snail mail and if that happens, I'll let you know how I can give you the details. For now, we'll have to trust the heart space to deliver; it's trustworthy.

I'm a little worried that the details are not ironed out yet. The juvenile justice system lacks in the way of communication but we will find out more today. We have a hearing and the judge will rule if he will for certain go to residential treatment. If so, the next few days are going to be very hard on him. Watching my child go through this is ripping my heart out. 

I'll do it though, because I know I can. "I've got 'the manual', I'll be okay!"  We all will. 

Seeing the World Through "Me-Colored" Glasses

 Yesterday I had a heartbreaking moment with Tink. A friend and I were talking about cats and how we loved our cats. I said that I had done the impossible for me, that I actually loved this particular cat so much that it would be my last cat. Our friend agreed. She too had an extraordinarily loveable cat, "a member of the family. She's not replaceable," our friend remarked. "How could we just get another cat?"

At that point, Tink looked up from her drawing and said, "Yeah, it would be like if you had a kid and gave it up for adoption and then just went and had some more kids."

The conversation got interrupted right then by the door or the dogs but oh, how that stabbed my heart! What a profound and honest statement. I got a chance to talk to her about it later but I know I can't ever really understand that pain of being "given away" and then replaced, which is how she sees it. 

Grief is inherent in adoption. Any book on adoption reiterates this point over and over but it is impossible to truly understand. And I know that I am only seeing "dimly" -- like through scratched sunglasses -- or in a not-funhouse mirror -- that I have no true idea what they are going through.

When your kids first come to you, they grieve for their caregivers and their original families. That part is tough, very tough. It breaks your heart. Kids, especially little ones, are resilient and crave connection, so that stage is eclipsed by everyday activities and the business of building a life together. They are grieving, for sure, but they carry on. 

For many adopted persons, it's the age of self awareness where the grief really begins to set in. As if middle school and all it encompasses were not enough to deal with, children also become much more aware of the differences between themselves and their adoptive families and also begin to deal with the pain of losing their original families.

It's such a personal and private loss; made even more difficult when you're worried about breaking your adoptive parents hearts. Even though we always speak openly with our kids about being adopted and the circumstances surrounding our family, none of that prepares them for the pain of coming to terms with it on a heart level. 

The grief of adoption is like any other loss; it lays dormant for a while and then, when least expected, hits you like a brick to the face. Tinker -- in that moment -- listening to us talking about cats for crying out loud and her seeing herself as having been given away -- no, actually thrown away -- and then replaced. Is it any wonder this child craves love and attention? 

Remember being an adolescent? It was so awful! I'm too tall, too short; too skinny, too fat; too dark too fair, too curly too straight. Whatever I am, is never enough. 40 years later with so much of my childhood a blur, those pains remain sharp and clear in my memory. Add to that a belief that you were literally unwanted  by the person who gave you life. Can you imagine the pain?

Image by creatifrankenstein from Pixabay 

PLEASE NOTE: I am NOT saying that it is true that these were her birth mother's intentions at all. I do not in any way think that. My thoughts, however, are not relevant here. What I'm talking about is a child's core belief. And this core belief was incidentally exposed in this little conversation, thankfully, so now can be cared for and treated kindly. 

It reminds me once again that I always have to be mindful of the lenses through which children view their world. We treat the "wounds" we see, but the ones that need the most care and attention are the ones we can't see. I have to find a way to look through the "me colored" glasses my kids are wearing to have the compassion and wisdom to get them the help they need. 

AFTERWORD: I spoke to The Blitz about this later, to see how he felt about it. He said, "I understand it wasn't voluntary. It was her only choice and the other kids . . . they were to fill the hole in her heart." 

 

Tinker Turns the Page on Another Year

 I turned around twice and this baby is 15 years old! It seems like a heartbeat. Have I even slept? Being a middle child myself, I appreciate that middle children are firecrackers. It's what keeps life interesting! And life with Tinker is definitely always fun and interesting.  (When your birthday is on the last week of school and your mom's a teacher, the news takes a minute to post!)

We just finished another season of softball and she was fortunate again to be drafted onto a team with another great coach who was super patient and taught her a lot. She is in JROTC and it's her favorite thing about high school. She has always  loved school but this is her absolute best thing ever. It's exercise, it's competition, you don't have to be quiet or sit much, there aren't too many girls; it's made for her! 

Don't let your brother cut your hair

Tink's big goal right now is to earn the right to take Driver's Ed next summer. We set up a program so that she can objectively earn it and I promise you, like everything she sets her mind to, she will get there. I'll do a post on what we came up with, program-wise, in a few days.

The girl is learning to cook. It's a miracle. So far, she's made shells and homemade marinara sauce and then, last night, Mediterranean Couscous Bowls. She's doing great!

Scroll down for a couple more snaps of our girl through the years. 

Pasta shells w/ Marinara

 

Mediterranean Couscous Bowls

 

The BIG, Bad THING - Suicide

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Some of my earliest memories center around a family tragedy that was only whispered about in my family for years. We had a tacit agreement to keep it under wraps, like most "unpleasantries" in families. Now, 60 years later, I hope we know better.

My grandfather killed himself when I was 4 years old. He made an attempt when we were visiting, one which I thwarted. He succeeded as soon as we left town. Two days later we were back for the burial.

We know now that depression can have a strong genetic tie, and that suicide, in particular, has a tendency to be contagious, especially when not spoken about. And it can seem very hard to talk about. 

We blame ourselves. We blame each other. We think if we talk about it, it might make someone uncomfortable or it give them ideas. This is NOT TRUE. They already have the idea. In order to stem the tide of suicide, we have to talk about it. 

Depression is the leading cause of suicide. It is is the 2nd leading cause of death in teens. 4 times as many males take their lives as females. In my family, as far as I know, 5 people died by suicide, 4 were male. There is suicide risk in both sides of my gene pool. A history of trauma and/or PTSD increases the risk of suicide exponentially.

I am writing this  after one of my kids recently tried to take their life for the third time. My greatest fear is that the next time, they'll succeed. This time, it was really close.

How do you know if someone is considering suicide? Here are some warning signs: (source)

• The recent suicide, or death by other means, of a friend or relative.
• Preoccupation with themes of death or expressing suicidal thoughts.
• Depression, conduct disorder and problems with adjustment such as substance abuse, particularly when two or more of these are present.
• Giving away prized possessions
• Major changes in sleep patterns - too much or too little.
• Withdrawal from friends/ family or other major behavioral changes.
• Dropping out of group activities.
• Lack of interest in the future.

This year at school, we had a very good training on suicide. It was about plain speaking. If you think someone is considering suicide, you MUST ASK THEM. 

• Are you considering suicide?
• Do you have a plan?
• Do you have a time frame?
• Have you talked to someone?
• Can we call 988 (the Suicide Lifeline) together? 

Importantly, DON'T leave the person alone. 

Thanks for reading. Please share. We don't talk about this enough. 

The Way Through

 So I guess if you read my last two posts, you are probably thinking, this is not at all helpful! In retrospect, I should have pre-written these three posts so I could have released them close together. Hindsight is great and that is not my life these days so here we are! But here is the third post -- the yes, but how, post -- and sorry it was not more closely on the heels of It's Been a Minute and The Sound of Bells. I should have warned you that my life is a fast-moving train and sometime that train does not stop very long! Suffice it to say there have been a couple of emergencies -- both at home and work -- in the past two weeks. All is well now, and I'm back!

Here is the thing about forming your family through adoption and foster care: it's a surprise bag. I know, I know, you don't know what's inside that gene package of genetic children either, but you have a pretty good idea of the outside forces that acted upon that child both inside and outside the womb. What happens in adoption is that these babies come to us with trauma they don't know about themselves, can't know about and can't talk about. We don't know about it, can't know about it, but it's our job to help them survive it and overcome it. 

First, though, we have to get ourselves through. For that, you need a plan, a system, a blueprint or a map -- a way through.

In the real crisis moments, the crisis is what carries you through, but in the days afterward, you need a tribe. I started building my Mama tribe in my early years of parenting and homeschooling so a lot of my tribe are the mamas who homeschooled with me when the Bigs were little plus some Adoptive parents I met in the early days. The tribe has grown over the years and now includes other teachers, grandmas, and other foster-to-adopt parents too. 

Our families are our go-to support system, for sure but life is long and you will need more! If your children are young, heed my warning: start branching out now! No family has arms big enough to hold you through all your child's life. You may need your own Mama tribe at some point. 

Find a creative outlet of some sort. Remember before our phones were our cameras and Insta was our family album? Back in the "olden days" I scrapbooked . . . for HOURS. It was an amazing creative outlet. Now I knit. Equally time consuming and expensive but less to show for it. I cook, all the time. I read recipes and cookbooks and learn how to make ridiculous things no one here would eat. I spend entire summer days making things no one SHOULD eat. It's pure bliss. 

Professional help will, at times, be required. Both for the child and for you. From time to time, people are going to hand you list of various kinds of counselors that work with adopted children. Hold onto those lists. You may not need them now but one day they will come in handy. Find counselors that specialize in adoption. If your child(ren) came from foster care, find someone who deals with trauma. This can be VERY HARD. Don't give up. Keep asking. Call that number on the insurance card, ask the counselor at your child's school, ask your pediatrician and ask other parents. Someone knows someone . . . you might just have to get lucky to find them. There is a shortage of people working with these kids but your persistence will pay off. Do not give up. 

 Don't forget to deal with your own trauma. Get help for yourself. You need someone whose only objective is to help you. You or your spouse's job, may even have something called EAP, Employee Assistance Program, which gives 8 free counseling sessions every year. Take advantage of it --that's what it's there for. Again, you may have to be a little persistent, but don't give up. 

Ask the school for help. Trust me, if you are having this much trouble with your child at home, the school is also having some mighty struggles. Those calls you are getting are only 10% of what is actually happening at school. Ask the school what they think is going on with your child. What do they recommend? They will be tactful but they will have some ideas. Teachers and administrators see a lot of kids. They probably have a good guess as to what is going on and a suggestion for next steps. They may recommend you ask your pediatrician for a certain kind of testing or they may ask you if the school can do some kind of testing. Personally, I'd consider it. At least you can rule out some things. 

Ask your pediatrician if medication will help. If you are still reading this long post, you need help. No one wants their child to need medicine but you do want your child to succeed. You can decide to try it. Try it for a semester of school and see if your child is more successful at school and home and then decide if you want to continue. Keep notes for a few days on all that is going on so when you go to the doctor you don't freeze up and forget to say some things. Sometimes, I hand them the notes so I don't have to say all the things in front of the kids, since the kids don't really like it. You can do that too. 

Call your local MHMR for more resources. You need a case manager. We did not have good case management in the past, but we have it now and it's amazing. They offer a lot. 2 of our 3 youngest are in case management and it does make a difference. Some insurance programs ALSO offer case management services. Superior Medicaid does, for instance,  and suddenly, we have so much more from them than we had before! 

And if you have done all this and you are still struggling, I feel you. I have been where you are. Try to remember, it's a season. It's not all day, every day. It will get better. Do this: start over at the top of the list. Rebuild your tribe. Find respite care. Somehow, some way, you have GOT to have a break. I'm so sorry for what you are going through. Just get this this hour, this moment and know, you will be okay. When you lay down tonight, take deep breaths, pat yourself on the heart, and tell yourself, "well done, you did your best."

It will get better. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. Don't give up. You have this. Thank you for the difference you making. 

The Sound of Bells

 Last night I had a very confusing dream that melded many parts of my life together, as dreams do, but in the end, sent me a messenger. I really appreciated it. Sometimes I need the clairvoyant wake up call. 

On first waking, I'm vulnerable to memories that are more subconscious than most. I love that state of semi-awake-ness because it's fertile ground for self-awareness. Anyway, this morning I had a flashback to 12 or even 13 years ago when the "Littles" really were little. I was waiting for our appointment with the attachment therapist with one of them when I ran into a couple I was acquainted with from homeschooling circles with their adopted-from-foster-care children.

This family was a lot further along the parenting journey than we were. At that time, our oldest was 13 and their oldest was 15. They had 4 kids, I think, stretched along a big spectrum of age, but all siblings. I think the two older were teens and the two younger were middle elementary. They were dealing with a lot of vexing issues with these kids: sexual issues, legal issues, theft, hoarding, toileting, social problems, emotional issues, behavior, learning differences. They were a little jaded on that particular day, but frank and open. 

What I remember most was hearing them talk about all they'd been through in the preceding couple of years and thinking, "How do they cope with all this?" Meanwhile, it my own head, warning bells rang. I knew full well that little boy sitting NEXT to me, who wouldn't sit on my lap if I PAID him, who'd never been attached to anyone in his three years of life, was in a bad way. Clang, clang, clang. 

I did what any sane person would do. I tried to shut up those bells. I leaned over to that beautiful boy, touched him on the nose, and started singing our "together" song: "Twinkle, twinkle, little star, what a special boy you are!" Clang, clang, clang. 

I lost touch with that family because my new life as Mother-to-five didn't allow much time with the group in which our paths had crossed initially. I could use their expertise today! 

Fast forward 13 years, we are in the throes of our 2nd juvenile legal issue. I sat in the Juvenile Justice Center a few weeks ago unable to feel upset. Some poor mom beside me was bawling her eyes out and I'm just cool as a cucumber. A few years before, I'd been in her shoes but the second time around, it's just not as upsetting. Weirdly, what upset me later, was that we KNEW the probation supervisor when she came out to speak to us. NO one wants to be the parent who already knows the person in charge of working with juveniles who have committed crimes. Clang, clang, clang.

I was driving home, unreasonably mad at my child, and silent as a crypt. Finally, child asks, "why are you mad at me?"  I told them. "I'm mad because I don't want to BE the parent who knows the probation officer."  It wasn't reasonable. I admitted it and let it go. It was a tough road though because this kid was supposed to go on the spring break cruise with me and now can't leave the county for six months. Clunk.

One of the kids has just been identified with ED, (Emotional Disturbance) and by the end of the year, will be placed in Focus Classes in high school. I'm relieved, I think they need the help. They get in so much trouble for their impulsive words and their remorse later is real. If we can help them learn to curb this, it may actually be life-changing for them. One of the other kids' case managers mentioned that testing for that second child. I'm wondering. 

Just know, back when we first started adoption and again when we got into foster care, we read the books. We attended the classes. We knew the statistics. We did the attachment training. Our kids have have more counseling at their young age than most entire families have in a lifetime. We just somehow still didn't think it would happen to OUR kids because we believed -- as all adoptive parents must -- that love is enough.  

And it is enough. Love is enough . . enough to get you through the next day or the next crisis or the next celebration. 

The Captain just turned 16! He worked hard to bring his grades up with only a little help from us and now he's eligible for the HS baseball and plays in his first official game this week! So there you go.

Come on, ring those bells!

It's Been a Minute

It's Been a Minute

The last couple of years have been a little . . .well . . . let's say nutty. I'll spare you the details and start with now. I've decided to start updating the blog because I think it might be helpful for other people with adopted kids or maybe even just other people with teens. 

I do not have all the answers. I'm fairly certain that often I don't have ANY answers. What I have noticed though, is that knowing we're not alone and that what we're going through, if not "normal" is at least not "uncommon," is very helpful. So here I am, warts and all. It won't be pretty but it will be true.

That said, there may be times that for moral or legal reasons, I can't tell the whole story. You'll just have to trust that details left out are out because they are (1) protecting kids or (2) they can't be disclosed at this time. 

The "Littles" will all have birthdays in the next two months and will be 16, 15, and 14.  I can't believe it. A couple days ago we celebrated 13 years of Tischler life together. Wow. I think about the tiny strangers that came to our house that blustery February day and honestly can't imagine (and barely remember) life without them.  

I thought I'd be overwhelmed with child management but that was not it. I was overwhelmed with laundry and still am! I worried I would lose them but they stuck to me like glue. The real challenge was nights. I don't think I slept the first 2 months they were here; The Captain was so traumatized that it took him literally hours to fall asleep and the Blitz also had serious sleeping issues. Oh, I long for those easy days of toddler life! 

These  days, we have teen problems. Do you remember being a teen?  I do, and it's been a minute!  It was AWFUL! I felt ugly and unloved, pretty much all the time. And guess what? That's what it's like being a teen. Not much has changed. Except, now they have 1000 times more images a day to compare themselves to and strangers on the internet to help them feel bad about themselves. 

These three are all very cute and talented. I hope one day they will truly know it. They aren't at a place to take my word for it, of course. The Captain made the JV Baseball team, a pretty big deal. Tink is in the community youth choir and The Blitz is on his middle  school Theater UIL team and his MS Cheer Squad as the Mascot. 

It's not all roses though. There have been very serious, thorny problems too. School problems. Legal problems. Family problems. Moral problems. And it has not been at all smooth sailing. 

That's why I think I need to restart the blog: to remind you and me that we can all get through it. In short . . . to say that even though there are the problems --- all those lumpy problems -- at the end of the day, inside these thorny, horny (yes, I said it), awkward teens, there are also those sweet little kids just trying to be loved. 

So, here I am, back again. Let's wander up this rocky road together. Cheers. 

My Song

Today's post is simply a link to my blog on Adoption.com
For copyright reasons, I cannot re-post it here, but I can sure send you there! 

This post is for all of you who think I've lost my mind; it gives you a glimpse into why we do foster care and why the three "Littles" are now Tischlers! 

(click on the words "link to my blog" to see the post)

A Reunion, of Sorts

All five of our kids have been "open adoptions but their stories are different. Here is one.

For most of her life, our 14-year-old, "Pepper," has had no interest in meeting her birth family.  She is a calm sort of person.  It looked like she had decided she would know when the time was right.  On occasion when I brought it up, I had assured her that I would do what I could to help her if she ever changed her mind.

In truth, I felt this was the best decision for her because her birth mother never responded to my letters and photos.  Although it was an open adoption, that does not necessarily mean that the parties meet.  Many years ago, I spoke briefly with her birth grandmother who assured me that B-mom was always excited to get the letters and photos, but was not yet ready to see us.  In subsequent years, I regularly searched for the family on the internet and in this way learned when one of Pepper's half-brothers died in a car accident.

In December  of 2009, I sent her a Christmas card with a handful of photos.  In early January, the card came back and the postmaster had handwritten on the envelope, "Sorry.  Deceased."  She was a woman my age!  Shocked, I scoured the internet for an obituary.  Sure enough, I found it -- she had died in January of cancer.  Oh dear.

I was a terrible thing to have to tell our child.  She was in shock for a few weeks and then she grieved.  Oh, how she grieved.  I think the biggest loss was that of the opportunity to meet her birth-mother.  She had reserved this for when she was "ready" and I had supported this choice, neither of us remembering that we never know how many days we have to accomplish such things.

I wrote the funeral home and they promised to forward a note to Bmom's mother.  I sent off a sympathy card and 3 days later, the phone rang.  It was Pepper's birth-grandmother.  I could hear her voice shaking as she identified herself.  In a few sentences, she filled in the details of her daughter's illness and death.   I heard myself promise to bring Pepper to meet her -- with no idea how I would convince my daughter to do such a thing.

About the same time, I realized that Pepper's surviving half-siblings would all be adults.  I looked for the only female child online and found her in My Space.  I sent her a brief note that read, essentially, "I was sorry to learn of the death of your mother.  I am Pepper's mom.  Do you know who I am? If you do and are willing, I'd like to be in touch with you."

Only hours later, she responded.  I couldn't believe it.  Not only did she know who I was, she had been looking for us.  She and I became My Space and then Facebook friends.  A few weeks later, Pepper "friended" her too.  We finally set a date in April to make the 5 hour drive to Pepper's birth city to meet her Grandmother and birth sister.

The day for the meeting finally arrived.  Birth-grandma had just had knee replacement so she was in a rehab facility and the meeting would take place there.  Birth-sister and her 10 month old baby would meet us in her grandmother's room.

Even though this meeting took place 9 months ago, I have a few salient memories.  First and foremost, I remember B-Grandma's ear to ear smile when we walked in.  In pain and temporarily bed-ridden, she was still the consumate hostess.

"Come here, honey," she said to my daughter; "Sit down and let me talk to you."

She told my daughter the circumstances of her birth and the reasons her birth family -- not only her birth mother -- made an adoption plan for her.  We were both surprised to learn that Pepper's birth mother and her birth uncle had also been adopted.  B-Grandma reiterated over and over that love was the overriding reason for the plan.  It was balm for my daughter's aching heart.

The meeting with her birth sister was equally surprising. She and my daughter look quite alike and have the exact same mouth. It was uncanny.  As we visited in B-Grandma's room, sister was pretty quiet, but at lunch afterward, she talked a lot about her life growing up.  She had been 7 when my daughter was born, and she had not had an easy childhood and adolescence.   Those stories were hard for my daughter to learn.

We ended the day with a visit to the foster family that loved her for her first three weeks.  In many ways, this redeemed the visit.  Seeing the love with which they surrounded each of their foster kids, partaking of their love of cooking, being in their warm home (and warm embrace) made her day.  She needed to end the day on a high note and this did it.  I am not sure what the future holds, but I think it holds more meetings, more photos, and more depth of knowledge.  And as Pepper gets to know herself, we know ourselves better too, somehow.

Grief and loss is inherent in the adoption process.   The infertile couple has lost something, the birth family have lost something and, certainly, the adopted person has lost something.  As parents who long ago began to love this child unconditionally, we can temporarily forget.  But she can never forget and there is always a remnant of that loss with her.  It is holy ground to walk alongside someone on such a path.

Is our open adoption story like the fairy-tale we were presented at our first adoption seminar?  No, but we had done our adoption research and we were prepared for complications which we have in fact, encountered.  More importantly, perhaps, it is our open adoption story and it is still unfolding with each of our kids.

(Note -- I am sorry for the long delay in bringing this story "to press."  Our storage device crashed some months ago and it has taken a long time to retrieve the pictures; I finally decided to publish now and add pics later.)

National Adoption Day aka TISCHLER Adoption Day!

We had an amazing day yesterday, when "The Littles" officially joined our clan.  For today only I'm using everyone's real names in the post, just so you don't have to work your brain so hard!  Just a minute ago, I was reading the headlines to Paul:  "28 Former Foster Children Welcomed into 11 Families in McClennan County,"  and Gabriel said, "Me, Mama?  That was me?"  It was the sweetest moment ever!

We had to drive to Waco (85 miles or so) to McClennan County for the National Adoption Day.  The good folks at McClennan County did a great job of making it fun for the kids -- which is great because really only Gabriel had a clue about any of it.  They had a fun party room with a balloon-animal guy, life size Toy Story characters (Woody, Buzz Lightyear, Raggedy Andy and a Toy Soldier), balloons, chicken, pizza and cake!  Oh and chocolate milk.  And grapes.  Every kids' dream and every mom's choking-hazard nightmare!  But they loved it.

The day was extra sweet for Paul and I because ALL the grandparents were there.  Paul's Mom, Gerry Tischler and my folks -- Les and Donna Huntley --- traveled up with us and Paul's dad and step-mom, Fred and Pam Tischler drove down to meet us.

Our CPS caseworker, CPS adoption worker, Gabriel's original caseworker, our Marywood worker, and our CASA volunteer and superviser were all there to enjoy the fruits of their labor.  There are lots of "hard" days in the world of CPS so it was truly wonderful to see them have a good day!   They have all worked so hard on behalf of these kids!

Enough talk -- on with the photos!

Benjamin, Gabriel, Marguerite

Gerry Tischler, Allison holding Bennie, Donna and Les Huntley, Dreena holding Maggie Rose, Paul holding Gabriel, Chanelle

The welcoming committee

All of us with the judge

"The Littles with Kara -- their worker

Fred and Pam Tischler (waiting our turn!)

The Judge!

Pam and Maggie Rose

The big girls, Alli and Chanelle

Ms. Diane - CASA volunteer for the kids

We Need Another Shoe Rack

The title says it all.  When we suddenly almost doubled the population of our home, some systems failed!  We have a serious plethora of shoes, but no extras.  Storage of every kind is an ongoing issue.

Things are really hoppin' around here what with the kidlets, the laundry, the dishes and the organization issues.  The days fly by so fast, I'm afraid I'll someday forget how wild and wonderful it all is.  Sometimes I have a really great idea or recipe, so this is where I'll store it.  Hopefully it will one day be of use to someone.   This blog is really just another extravagance -- me treating me to a big ole bag of love -- and lessons learned.

I have no real belief that I will draw any big readership ,but I wish I'd known about blogging when the girls were little because all that stuff I just knew I'd remember forever, I've already forgotten.  So here it is - a little peek into the life of a couple of nuts that suddenly decided to parent 3 tiny little cuties in addition to the remarkable two they already had.    For future reference, here's the current census of the household.  Everyone has been nicknamed so they won't have to kill me later:
 
Dear Hubby, aka DH - he's 48 on the outside -- young on the inside
Pepper -- Girl, Just started high school and just turned 14
Sunshine - Girl, 12 years old -- home-schooled 7th grader
The Captain - Boy, 3 years young
Tinkerbell , aka Tink, aka Tinker-- Girl, obviously, 2
The Blitz - Boy, 17 mos.

and the furry friends:
Bubby, aka Tyler Bing, chi-terrier mix of unknown age, thought to be 8
Daisy, lab-shepherd mix, 12, a good, good girl
Kiki la Vaca, 13 year old kitty with Hereford cow markings

Oh, and me;  51, certifiable.