The importance of a voice

These last two weeks, I actually sensed God's desire for me to open up more about my personal life. I've written about my struggle in telling the whole truth in the memoir I recently finished writing, and about the severity of my experience with post-adoption depression after we brought our daughter Evangeline home from Ukraine. 

A little bit of electricity zapped my fingertips as I hit the publish tab on both posts. What would people think if I put myself out there? I should just keep these things to myself.

This year, in addition to therapy and after school activities and church and writing and querying agents for my book, I've also had the privilege to speak to a handful of MOPS groups in the Chicago land area. I talk about the birth of my daughter in the former Soviet Union and her diagnosis of Down syndrome and about the grief that ensued for almost a year over the loss of the child I expected. I have other presentations about how to teach our kids to be good friends to those around us with special needs, and about loss and grief in motherhood. 

Every time I have a presentation, there is a part of me that is afraid of judgement. Maybe I shouldn't share all of me. Maybe I should just share the good Christian/ pastor's wife/ missionary parts of me and tuck away the other parts: the mom who didn't want her child. The mom who went to a bottle of Chardonnay instead of to the Lord. The mom who adopted another child with Down syndrome; a quasi stab at redemption, only to find that she, of course, was still the one who needed redeeming.

But each time, and I'm serious when I say this, I can almost hear God's voice saying, "share all of you, Gillian. Because in the hard parts, in the times you made bad choices, in your brokenness and lack of faith, I was there. And that's MY story in you."

Before I speak, I usually run to the bathroom and grab a wad of toilet paper to sop up the sweat underneath my arms. I smooth my hair, and look at myself in the mirror. 

I think of God's voice telling me not to waste the life he's given me. I think of one mom who may be struggling. If my voice encourages her to speak up to someone about her struggles, than sharing the ugly parts of me is more than worth it.

And I think of Polly's voice, chattering in my ear non-stop throughout the day. I think about her reciting the Star Spangled Banner with her class in the morning at school. I think about when she tells me that she loves me, and how it fills me up to the brim of my existence with thanks and praise that I get to be her mom.

I think about Evangeline. Oh, how I long to hear her voice. I anticipate it. I wait for it. And until then I stand up for her as her voice.

So, I step out in front of strangers and tell them my story, and I keep querying agnets for my book, and I keep writing down my rambling thoughts here. 

I include the embarrassing parts for sure. But I also include the best parts, how Polly and I are crazy in love now. How thankful I am to be Evangeline's mom. How awed I am that God knew I needed to be broken in such specific ways in order to be used for his purposes and for his glory alone.

Last night, I got an email from someone who attended one of my talks in September thanking me for my willingness to be vulnerable and for sharing my dark moments, thoughts and actions in my presentation. She is a mother to a child with special needs. Here's a little bit of what she wrote:

 

What you said made me feel “normal”, connected and accepted.  (I’m tearing up as I write this to you, even now, because it meant so much to me and I understand how difficult it is to be honest like that with others…even if they are “strangers”.)

That's really the point of why I do what I do. 

I have a voice, and I am learning not to be afraid to use it.

What about you? How are you using your voice?

The wrong diagnosis, one mother's struggle with post-adoption depression

 One of the first times I was with my daughter in Ukraine in 2009

Second opinion

Last Thursday I took Evangeline, our adopted daughter from Ukraine, five years old, diagnosed with Down syndrome, to a developmental pediatrician.

"I heard this doctor is good at what he does, and I want his opinion about Evie's lack of development since she's been home from Ukraine," I affirmed rather loudly to my husband Sergei in an effort to hide that really, I was taking Evangeline to this doctor for a second opinion.

A year ago, Evie was evaluated at the Erikson Institute here in Chicago for Autism. At the time, her main activities included rocking back and forth, sitting on her bed, and looking at a light-up toy. Her eye contact was sporadic at best and she could not tolerate textured food nor touch (unless it was rough housing). I was certain we would come home with a dual diagnosis of ASD (autism spectrum disorder) and Down syndrome because almost every time I reached out to my beautiful blond little girl, my hand would get slapped.

After several appointments, Erikson concluded that Evangeline was not on the spectrum, but probably suffered from the debilitating effects of orphanage life paired with cognitive and developmental delays that can accompany Down syndrome.

But I wanted an answer

When the report came in the mail, I opened the letter while sitting on the toilet seat behind a locked bathroom door and cried. On some level, I wanted the dual diagnosis because I wanted answers. I wanted to know why Evie ground her teeth constantly, why she sought out dust and dirt to eat but refused real food. I wanted to know why she scratched her sisters when they tried to hug her, and cried at loud noises, and sat off to the side of our lives alone, most days, rocking.

But I did not get a concrete answer. I got a "keep doing what you are doing. Find more therapy opportunities, give her time to bond with your family." And slowly over the next few weeks, I started to shut down. I found it too painful to try to connect with my daughter. For months, I went through the everyday motions of caring for my family as best I could, all the while holding back from climbing into bed. I no longer attempted to bond with Evie. If she was fine being a part of our family without really being close to me, than maybe, I could live like that too.

Wrong person diagnosed

I was seeking out the wrong diagnosis for the wrong family member. Sure, it was good to have Evie evaluated a year ago. She certainly had characteristics that could point to ASD. But really, I was the one who needed the most help. I was struggling from post-adoption depression, which could have only been aggravated by a little post-traumatic stress disorder thrown in after Polly's stroke, diagnosis of Moyamoya, and two brain surgeries. After our time at the Erikson Institute, I quietly unravelled.

I have struggled with depression all my life, but alas, it is kind of like that pesky monthly period for women. Every month I am shocked that my foul mood results with menstruation. And I am 36 years old!

Depression is like that for me, too. It sneaks up on me: a few aches and pains, feeling a little down in the dumps, sleeping poorly. I fight, I do what I absolutely need to for the family and then when I can't anymore, I get into bed and I don't get out.

I started to see a doctor and a therapist, but I wasn't feeling better. I cried out to God to help me, to show me how to trust him and get back on track, but to no avail. I struggled for months, but still, somehow managed to post perky facebook stati often enough so that people outside my direct family wouldn't suspect a thing.

But I was drowning.

About three months ago, God gave me the strength to try again to get help for my depression. I went back to my doctor and let her put me on a higher dosed anti-depressant. I started seeing a different therapist and we clicked right away. I started to wake up in the morning and notice that the sun was shining.

And I saw Evangeline, a little girl considerably changed from a year ago.

Since Evie has been with us (over two years) there have been little breakthroughs here and there in our bonding. I liken them to nicking the surface of a frozen lake with a BB gun.

Now that I am above water again in life, the ice is starting to thaw. I can sit a stare at Evie for a while, marvel at her button nose, appreciate her smell, want to pull her to me.

Why the second opinion?

So, why did I take Evie for the second opinion last week?

Because I wanted to make sure that a dual diagnosis isn't in the picture for our girl. A lot of her behaviors have fallen away but she has a lot left. And although we are doing much better, I am now struggling with the guilt of that missed time when a shadow of a mother was parenting my daughter.

At the appointment, Evie climbed up into a chair, uninterested in the train set the doctor attempted to entice her with. But she laughed when he tickled her, and followed his finger as he played with her, and looked both the doctor and me in the eye almost the whole time.

I loved the doctor. He was a bit brash and un-orthodox (took a text from his wife during our interview and laughed out loud at what she wrote :). But he cut to the chase with me and it was just what I needed.

"I don't see any definite red flags regarding a dual diagnosis off the bat, of course, if you'd like, we can do a full evaluation of Evangeline to get more in-depth. But I have to ask, why are you here? You've already had your daughter evaluated at Erikson?"

"Because, well", I took a deep breath. "Because I am afraid I am not doing enough. Our other daughter got sick and ended up needing two brain surgeries six weeks after Evangeline came home from Ukraine and I. . . well, I've struggled with depression." I kind of left my answer there but in my heart I added, I am afraid that I have already failed her.

"Mrs. Marchenko, your family has been through a very difficult time these last few years. I want you to know, you are doing a good job with your kids."

I had to look away as the tears pooled in my eyes.

"And now, Ms. Evangeline," the doctor turned to Evie and let me attempt to compose myself.

After the visit to the doctor, I realized I had been looking for two things: 1) the wrong diagnosis, and 2) validation that I am the right mom for my child.

I share all of this with you because I am notorious for putting it all out there. It doesn't occur to me to keep things to myself. My husband takes issue with my need to tell people how much I spent on the sales rack at Target.

But more importantly, I share this because adoption is beautiful, but it is also very hard. I share this because  other parents and caregivers are struggling today. Post-adoption depression is real. I want you to know you are not alone. At some point, your feelings may be out of your control. Get help. There is no shame in taking care of yourself in order to care for your family.

One last thing: With God's help, we all can be the right parents for our children.

Post-adoption depression resources:
Adoptive Families
Baby Center
Adoption Issues

Jen Hatmaker, After the Airport

Leading the way

When Polly was born and we learned of her diagnosis of Down syndrome, I grieved the child I expected. I didn't know much about Down syndrome. My mind quickly flipped to un-flattering images of a child sitting alone at recess,or a mother in her golden years walking slowly through the aisles of Wal-Mart so that her adult daughter, still a child, could keep up. Sadly, it took me a while to let my guard down and fall in love with Polly.

Polly's older sisters led the way. From the moment they met her, they dripped with love for her. They loved everything about her: "Oh, look at her pudgy little hands! Look at her wispy brown hair. Isn't she just the cutest little thing ever?" When we later explained to them that Polly had Down syndrome, and that she would need a little extra help doing things, they didn't bat an eye. "I guess it's good that God gave her older sisters then, huh, mom?" Elaina said.

Indeed.

Two years ago, when Evangeline joined our family, Elaina and Zoya took the lead once again. Elaina stayed with me for seven weeks in Ukraine until the adoption was finalized. She spent long, Kiev days tickling Evie and helping me take her outside for walks as we waited for the paperwork for the adoption to go through. Once again, I struggled, and my kids led the way.

Snapshot from today:

A toy came home in Polly's backpack today from Kindergarten. It's one of those birthday favors. You blow on it and it flings out in front of you. What fun! Polly figured it out right away, and I was thrilled that it wasn't one with sound.

A little while later while I was finishing up an email on the computer, I saw Polly bring her new toy into the kitchen. Evie was sitting up on top of the table (one of her new favorite perches in the house), kicking her feet off the edge.

"Look, Evie," Polly said, moving carefully, climbing up on the bench and then sitting down next to her on the table. "Look, Evie, it blows out," she said, and then promptly gave a demonstration. I fought the urge to intervene. Evangeline is easily spooked and she is not Polly's biggest fan. Most people love a happy, in your face five-year-old but Evangeline could do without. But I took a breath and waited to see what happened.

"You see that, Evie. It's red. It's pretty. It's fun." Polly blew on her toy again. "You like that, Evie. Do you?"

And the most amazing thing happened. Instead of reaching out and grabbing the toy. Instead of crying. Instead of getting the heck out of dodge (read: getting down off the table and away from Polly a.s.a.p.) Evie laughed.

She laughed.

Polly blew her toy again. Evie kept laughing. And for about five minutes they seemed like they were, I don't know what's the word?, playing together.

It was magical.

When Polly was born, I worried that she would feel alone but I learned quickly that her sisters would never let that happen. When Evangeline joined our family, I worried, I still worry, that we won't be able to reach her. Some days she is very far into her own world. And then today, Polly initiated a game with Evie and Evie, just a little, for a few moments, let her in. Polly had Elaina and Zoya to prod her along in her development, and now she is starting to lead the way for Evie.

The magic is now gone. Polly broke her toy because she kept twisting the blow out part. Evie stole all of Polly's pretzels out of her favorite ice-cream bowl. Polly is running circles around the house yelling, "hey, Evie, leave my snack alone" and Evangeline has climbed off the table. As I type she is eating pretzel bits off my, um, super clean kitchen floor. 

But I don't care. I'll take the five magical moments when I saw Polly work her sister mojo on Evie.

Sisters are the best therapists in the world.

Evangeline is five years old today! Thoughts about five years.

Today is Evangeline's birthday. She has officially joined her sister Polly in the five-year-old club.

This morning I sent Evie's favorite treat to school with her to share with her classmates: mini-Hershey chocolate bars :). Before she woke up I hung the Marchenko family birthday sign up for her in the dining room, and each time her three sisters woke up today the first thing they said was, "today is Evie's birthday! Yeah Evie!"Evangeline has been home with us a little over two years so this is her third birthday with us.

In the last two years I've had mixed emotions about Evie's birthday. This year is no different. I woke up today wondering about her birth mom. Is she thinking of Evangeline? Does she go over the day she gave birth five years ago, recalling every detail? Does she remember the moment she decided to sever her parenting rights? Does she think of it all with sadness, or hope, or confusion?

Don't get me wrong. I cannot judge Evie's birth mom. I was not in her shoes. There is no way I can know what she was thinking or feeling when she had Evangeline.

I am just glad that she had her. And I am glad that I get to share in the privilege of being Evie's mother with the woman who grew her in her womb.

Sometimes at the park while Evangeline is swinging, another mother will ask me about her.

"How old is your daughter?"

"She's almost five," I say, and the mother may look at me out the corner of her eye, because Evie more so resembles a two-year-old with her cute, tiny gymnast legs that still house baby pudge. And she doesn't talk. She still doesn't really sign. She's short and little. How can she be five?

When people ask me how old Evangeline is, I consider just lying and saying she is two. That way everything about Evie will be more appropriate and comfortable for all involved.

But today I am thinking about the number five. Evie has been alive five years. And they were hard earned years: two-and-a-half  in an orphanage in Ukraine and the rest with us here in the States. Evie has survived more in her little life than I can ever fathom.

And yet, she has a smile for me today of all days, on her birthday.

So I say happy FIFTH birthday to my youngest daughter. Congratulations, honey. You've come so far. And I can't wait to see what God has for you next.

(And stay tuned for birthday party pictures in the next few days :).

Friday Feature: Why don't parents who adopt do more? By Leah Spring

Thanks to Leah from Garden of Eagan, a follow mother to kids with Down syndrome and an adoptive mom, for letting me snag her wonderful blog post for today's Friday Feature. I read it first thing this morning, and was challenged and convicted to do more for Evangeline. I've always loved the way Leah shoots from the hip. Enjoy!

Leah with her son Axel

A bloggy friend of mine wrote a blog post this morning that I found interesting, and caused me to think again about some things I've seen in the community of international adoption over the last couple of years.

Adopting Children with special needs

It goes back to adopting children who have specific medical diagnosis such as Down syndrome, CP, etc. I KNOW Ds. Not only did we have an older child with DS when we chose to adopt, but I had spent years working with and around both adults and children who have DS. I can look at many children adopted out of institutional settings who have DS and tell you "that's institutional behavior" or "that's just a Ds thing." Not always, but much of the time. It's just part of knowing Ds, I guess. I've never seen anything Axel does that has left me wondering which it is (Ds vs. institutional behavior) but I have wondered what he's input he's looking for in various stimming behaviors. I guess it's safe to say that our comfort zone is in the world of DS.

When we chose to adopt, we started the process for a child who has Apert syndrome. I know a little about AS from previous experience, but I didn't know a lot. Dean had never heard about it so knew nothing about it at all. I started digging. Dean started digging. We both sat on our own computers researching AS. Dean made connections with other families who were raising kids with AS, and I did the same. We found there is a family who has an adult daughter with AS at the new church we were attending. We felt like we had an idea what to expect, and which specialists we needed to line up in advance of bringing this child home. We knew there were lots of very painful surgeries, and having been a mom who has dealt with a lot of post-operative wound care, I understood what that involved. I understood what it's like to see my kids in physical pain after surgery. We also looked at our proximity to medical care necessary for a child who has Apert syndrome. We live close to all of it. And isn't it funny now that we're going all the way to Philadelphia for Axel's AAI? But that's my point I guess...the ability to access the specialists needed. Anyway, in the scheme of things we felt prepared. There would still be surprises, and struggle, but we had prepared as much as possible without actually having the child to care for.

In the end that isn't the child we brought home. (Someday maybe we will, it hasn't been for lack of trying on our part!) Instead we brought home Axel, who had no known medical issues. (pretty unusual for a kid with DS, and foreign to me since Angela has almost everything a kid with DS can have. LOL) But we also knew that Axel's little body was probably hiding some secrets, and boy was he! Still, once we're done dealing with his neck he still has a few minor medical things to address. These were put on the back burner as soon as we found out about the AAI, like getting his tear ducts cleaned out so his eyes aren't constantly watering.

Why don't parents who adopt do more research?

So while reading other adoption blogs, I'm a bit shocked when I see people who've never parented a child with complex needs adopt kids who have just that, or big name diagnosis, like DS, and they do NO research about the issue. Like, nothing more than light reading. They're still in the "Kids with Ds are so sweet!" mindset. (Angela will dispel that myth for you, by the way.) Probably part of the reason this is so confusing to me is my nature is to dig for information. I am a research junkie. I've seen families who have older kids who are non-verbal not give them any way to communicate, either sign, a device, PECS or anything. Now if their child won't use them, that's one thing, but some don't ever bother to try them. Not because they don't have the resources, but because they don't want to. Really? REALLY! Like the child they've brought home will NEVER go out in the world and have to communicate his wants and needs to anyone other than his or her parents. REALLY?

Why don't parents who adopt do more in general?

Here's another issue that I'm seeing more of: Families who adopt children with complex medical needs, but they happen to live quite a distance from the key medical facilities they will need to frequent with that child. That's fine if you are comfortable driving the distance. I did it for years with Angela before moving to "the cities". I had to learn to be comfortable driving downtown, and through the worst parts of the city since all the children's hospitals seem to be located in the highest crime areas. (Why is that anyway???)

What I have seen are parents posting things such as "There is just no way we are driving back and forth to the city once a week. We don't have time for it, and besides, I am not comfortable driving in the city." Really? So you bring a child home who needs medical care, and just don't do it because YOU don't want to? Didn't you know when you adopted this child how much TIME all the medical stuff takes? Doesn't that fall under the realm of medical neglect?

I have seen other parents refuse therapies for their newly adopted children because, "We accept them just the way they are." I'm sorry people, but while it's great that we love our children, and yes they are now getting FOOD, a FAMILY and LOVE, there are other things too, like speech therapy, occupational therapy and for some kids feeding therapy that they may need to overcome the delays caused by their years of severe neglect. I have a lot of friends who have turned down early intervention services for their biological children who have special needs. I "get" the intrusiveness they're avoiding. But when we bring these kids home out of institutional settings, this is more than just trying to help a baby keep up with their peers. This is YEARS of catch up. We cannot expect that our children will stay with us forever and never want to get out on their own. What child wants to live with their parents forever? Not only that, but we, the parents, could get hit by a mack truck tomorrow. Our job, as a parent of ANY child, is to help them reach their FULL potential so they can function in society as independently as possible. That's our job, weather our children are typically developing or not. NOBODY wants to be dependent on anyone else, and our kids who have disabilities are no different.

Jumping down off my totally judgmental soap box now.

Read more from Leah at her blog, Garden of Eagan.

Wordless Wednesday, What are you looking at? LINKY*

Evangeline then, Evangeline now

On June 24th, 2009, we stood in a court room in Ukraine before a judge, and were granted the legal request of making Evangeline our daughter.

Two years ago, today.

Where does the time go?

The last two years have been up and down. Sometimes, Evangeline feels like the very fiber of my being, and other days, I still wonder if her mom will show up to take her home.

But I love her. God is teaching me so much about myself, and about him, through her.

She is a precious child. Worthwhile, valuable, purposeful.

Thank you, Lord, for bringing her to us.

Hard earned love

I gave an update on Polly recently. Now I'd like to update on Ms. Evangeline Marchenko.

Good news to report! Evie and I are finally in that gooey love you usually have with a newborn. She's been home eighteen months. I honestly wasn't sure if it was going to come.

I see her smile and I can't help but smile back. Throughout the day we seek each other out. This is a big deal. Before, it seemed like when she sought me I wasn't willing or able and when I sought her she wasn't willing or able. We kept missing each other. And we were frustrated with each other. At times we both felt rejected. Most of the time we both felt lost.

Now she comes to me and puts her arms up for me to take her. Most of the time when she wants me, I can't think of anything better than spending some time loving on my girl. She loves for me to swing her around. She loves for me to sing songs. She takes my hands in hers. She plays with toys. She seeks me out when she gets hurt.

It's been a long time coming. I can't say exactly what we did to cultivate this love. I mean, we did stuff. We've done brushing and holding and joint compressions. We go to attachment therapy. But I'm still not sure when I actually started to love her. I just did. And I thank God that it came.

I love her. I love her little heart shaped face. I love the sparkle in her eye. I lover her strong little Ukrainian gymnast body. I love that her eyebrows meet in the middle creating one long uni-brow.

Evangeline has not progressed much cognitively since she came home in August of 2009. She is just now starting to show an interest in toys. She still, mostly doesn't communicate. And I'm not sure if she ever will. But her emotional growth is substantial. She cries for her sisters. She says 'Mama' and 'Papa.'

I think she is starting to believe she is home. What more could a mother want?

Our love is hard earned.

Adopting isn't magical. It's difficult. A child comes home with you after months of dossier prep and in our case, extensive money and international travel. We know she's home in theory. Only she doesn't know that because she has never known what home is. And secretly, our hearts don't feel like it's the right child. Because all of sudden the reality of the child you dreamt about is here. And she acts differently than you thought she would. She smells different than your other kids. When she falls down she wants her crib instead of you. It hurts. And most of the time, it's painful.

But I just wanted to put down on paper tonight that it is worth it. It is oh, so worth it.

Our love is hard earned. But the reward is that much greater because of it.

I am over the moon for Evangeline. Our family couldn't imagine life without her. We are so glad that God orchestrated her being in our family. We got her!

Hard earned love is the best.

Creating Space

Evangeline and I are doing so much better.

Case in point: tonight Sergei is at a party with Elaina and Zoya. Polly and Evie are fed and changed, ready for bed. They are playing and watching Caillou. Evie just stopped what she was doing, came over and climbed up on my lap and gave me a huge hug.

I can't tell you how that makes me feel. Well, that's not entirely true. If you've read Pocket Lint this last year than you know that our bonding has been difficult.

Today someone who just completed an international adoption wrote that she's been home for three weeks and she still feels like she is babysitting someone else's kid.

I know that feeling.

I felt that for quite a while when Evie came home. Adopting her was supposed to happen. In theory I knew it wasn't only a correct response to God to adopt Evangeline because he adopted me, but I also knew that specifically for us, the Marchenko family, this was his will.

That's why it was so hard when I didn't feel much for Evie after she came home.

I know, I was naive. I had no clue what it meant to adopt. I had no idea what it would do to both my heart and Evie's. Both our lives were turned upside down.

About a month ago Evangeline and I started attachment therapy at the Erickson Institute here in Chicago.

Honestly, most Mondays I don't want to go. It's a hassle every week to get there. All we do is sit in a room and play for an hour once we are there.

I pull out all my tricks; Itsy Bitsy Spider, peek a boo, all the things I know Evie likes. I know she'll respond. And the therapist sits next to us with a serious, curious look on her face, watching my every move. I catch myself daydreaming, 'she's probably judging me. She probably is a mother. She probably has a perfect relationship with her kid. And she's one of those ladies who doesn't need to wear make-up to be beautiful. Hmph.'

I tickle, I laugh, I make Evie giggle by hanging her up side down.

I am kind of faking. We never last a whole hour playing at home, not with three other sisters around, homework, housework, writing, and Polly's arms wrapped around both me and Evie, eagerly wanting to join in whatever game I've initiated. And I get tired playing. But what am I going to do? There's a chick sitting there watching us. It's not like I can check facebook on my cell.

But something magical happens when Evie and I go to therapy. We play. The therapist and I talk. We say our goodbye when the hour is done. I hold Evie's hand and guide her out of the office and down the hall. I press the down button on the elevator and Evie looks around wide-eyed. We walk slowly outside to the car. Evie loves the commotion of downtown Chicago. I stare at the reflection on the building. It's just the two of us, together, walking.

Magic doesn't happen in the little room with green walls and brightly colored blocks and baby dolls. The magic is in finding childcare for the other three kids and maneuvering our day so that Evie and I can slip away, walk while holding hands, play a bit without Polly on top of us. I get a little time to focus on Evie.

That's where the magic is: in creating space.

It took both of us a while to create space in our hearts for each other. And I'm not saying that everything is easy and sweet. We both still struggle as we mold together.

But a space has been cleared out in our lives for one another.

And it is being cultivated through the every day, usual things we do. It's cultivated by taking two hours out every Monday to go downtown to play.

We create space.

That's all the magic I need.

Evangeline's birthday party pictures

Evangeline's fourth birthday was a weighty day for me. Whenever I talk to people about our adoption journey I usually end up telling them about kids being transferred to institutions after they turn four years old. I tell them about children who are transferred who don't survive the first few years. There are kids who have died in institutions because of the lack of love and affection, or because of a common cold that turns deadly without medical care.

Evie was one of those kids determined to be transferred to an institution. But instead, on her fourth birthday, she was surrounded by family who loves her. We had laughter and presents and cupcakes.

Evangeline is still more interested in the wrapping paper and bags.

She wasn't real sure of the cupcake at first.

She loved the dancing part of the evening, though.

The gang: Evie, Zoya, Elaina, Polly, Mike (Karli's friend), and my niece Karli.

Evie's sisters helped her with the presents and cards :).

Polly showed Evie how to properly eat a cupcake.

Party down!

Blow out your candle!
This is improvement.
Last year she screamed bloody murder when she saw the candles.

OK, yea, I like cupcakes.

I'm happy!

Our Ukrainian birthday cake song.
It's a family tradition to sing and do the dance.

Happy Birthday sweet girl. We love you.

Today I read on facebook that a little boy waiting for his family to come get him through Reece's Rainbow was transferred to an institution. They don't know where. Please pray that this sweet family can still adopt him.

Go to Reece's Rainbow for more information about adopting kids with Down syndrome. If you can't adopt, you can pray, or give financially or pick a kid and fundraise for him.

Sergei and Evie

In Ukraine while adopting her.

In Chicago on her fourth birthday.

Reece's Rainbow's 2010 Christmas Angel Tree

A great way to give this year as we had into the holiday season is to pick a little one with Down syndrome from Reece's Rainbow and participate in the angel tree project.

Reece's Rainbow's website explains it all so much better than I could. (The following is taken from Reece's Rainbow)

Our 5th Annual Christmas Angel Tree

Running from November 1-December 31 each year, the Christmas Angel Tree is our most important fundraiser of every year.

During this time, all of our children with Down syndrome from ages 0-5 are openly listed on one page and eligible for grant donations. Each child has a Christmas WARRIOR who has a blog button for their chosen child and provides a focused fundraising effort for that one child throughout the project. Children can have multiple warriors, but we work hard to ensure that each child has at least ONE prior to the launch of the project. As a donor, you can make a larger donation for one child, or smaller donations for many children. Every penny helps!

The goal is to raise $1000 or more for each of our nearly (200) waiting children with Down syndrome. Through the focused efforts of our generous donors and Christmas Warriors, we know we can reach it!

This is also a very personal and meaningful GIFT IDEA, and gift cards will be sent with the ornament to your intended recipient. These are great for friends and family, but also for teachers, therapists, caregivers, doctors, etc. Even if you do not celebrate Christmas, our gift cards make wonderful gifts for Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or any other seasonal celebration. We also welcome international sponsors through Paypal!

You can choose to make a larger donation for one child, or smaller donations for several children. $5 of your donation for each ornament desired will be shared with our Voice of Hope Fund, to help cover the costs of the ornaments, shipping, and Paypal fees, and to further the work of our ministry in the future.

Reece’s Rainbow is a true non-profit, and relies completely on private donations to this fund to remain operational, so your gifts for that are greatly appreciated throughout the year.

With a nearly 90% prenatal termination rate of our angels with Down syndrome here in the United States, it is our HONOR and OBLIGATION to rescue those who were blessed enough to be born.

On November 1, a new link will appear on this page for our Angel Tree Sponsor Page, where each of the children will be posted and eligible for Christmas grant donations.

If you have any questions or ideas on how you can help, please contact us! When you donate $35 or more for a child, you will receive a beautiful photo ornament (WHEN DONATION MADE BEFORE DECEMBER 15!) of your sponsored child to hang on your tree! This is a very special way to “share Christmas” with an orphaned child, and to make it possible for other families to afford the high cost of rescuing them from orphanages and mental institutions around the world!

I am going to go sign up to be a Christmas Warrior. How about you? Reece's Rainbow connected us to Evangeline... let's help other kids find families!