The wisdom of children

One early morning when Zoya was a year and a half, Elaina, then three years old, came into our bedroom, crawled up in between Sergei and me in bed and placed her hand on my chest.

            “Mom, Zoya’s crying.”

            “I hear her, Lainie.”

            “Well, then, get up and get her,” she admonished.

            “Elaina, I will.  I just don’t want to get up this second.”

            She was silent for a minute.

            “Mom, you shouldn’t have had kids if it’s too hard for you.”

Oh, the wisdom of children.

Elaina update! My rocket child

It's taken me longer than I planned, but here's the final update on my kids.

Elaina: almost 11 years old, performing as Galinda in "Wicked"

Elaina will be eleven years old at the end of September. She's our oldest and I have always described her as a rocket, shooting out into the world. Everything she does is at a hundred and ten percent and at a hundred and ten miles per hour.

As a baby, she cried between four to seven hours a day for six months straight. Now I know that she just wanted to get going with life. Once she could crawl and then walk, the crying stopped.

It's something about my first born... every time she performs in public; singing in an end of the year recital at school, helping with the worship team at church, dancing at the local, weekly ballet class... that makes me want to plop myself down in the middle of the venue and cry buckets of tears.

I cannot believe I have children. I cannot believe that God would trust me with them. I can't believe they are not only surviving, but thriving under my care. Seeing Elaina burst forward into life always shocks me. I'm her mother. This compassionate, stubborn, fun, somewhat anal person is my child.

We moved to Ukraine as missionaries when Elaina was just 2 and 1/2 years old (Zoya was 9 months). I struggled to acclimate to life as she picked up Russian like it was Sunday's paper on a leisurely Monday morning. She transformed into a little Ukrainian girl: speaking the language, eating the food, laughing at the jokes, as easily as a well loved transformer doll. I, on the other hand, resembled the Tin Man in the "Wizard of Oz" in search of the magical oil can to help me move.

When she was around four years old, I signed Elaina up for a ballet class down the street from our house in Kiev. Twice a week she got dressed in a serious black leotard. I worked at slicking her hair back into a tight bun in an effort to make her look like all the other Ukrainian ballerinas.

The teacher was mean. She barked out orders: no smiling!, stand up straight!, don't look to the right or left! and I stood outside the door in the cold, old Soviet building worrying that I was messing up Elaina's little self esteem for life.

On the morning of her ballet show (it really just was an open class), Sergei and Zoya walked down to the nearest store and bought her one bright pink flower. We settled into seats in the classroom and waited for the music to start.

And then it did: the music lurched forward and a line of unsmiling, concentrated Ukrainian four and five year olds dashed out into the center of the room. The moment I saw Elaina: my daughter, who at that point was my hero, dancing in a foreign country, no longer foreign to her, I started to cry so hard my whole face was wet. I tried to calm myself down. But as I watched her, looking intently out of the corner of her eye, and trying to follow her counterparts to a T, I was overwhelmed that this was my daughter, dancing into life, unafraid, secure.

And that's just how it is with Elaina. I watch her move confidently into life with grace and strength. Oh sure, she's a bit obsessive; she has been called bossy from time to time and she stresses over straight As in school. But even in her personality flaws I am learning from her. She is forgiving of herself and others. She loves God. She's talented. She's kind.

Last week, Elaina starred in a production of "Wicked", put on by a Chicago Park District summer camp. She was Galinda, the good witch.

I found myself once again, sitting in an old building with butterflies in my stomach, waiting to watch my daughter do something amazing and scary. The moment I heard her voice in the song "Popular," I breathed in deep in my gut and let the breath sit there inside me for a moment. Her voice filled the room and I blew out slowly.

God has blessed me with Elaina. He has blessed me with all four of my daughters. It's hard work and I complain too much about motherhood. I fail; I yell, I get angry, I get bored. But times like that, when I watch one of my children intrinsically connected to me, step more into her own skin, it's sweet. I can't quite describe it. It's like pieces of hard candy coming down to me from heaven.

Zoya update

Zoya, 9 years old

I've decided that a good analogy for a nine year old girl is the board game Risk. Let me explain...

For six weeks of the summer, Zoya is going to a day camp where she gets to swim and do crafts and go on field trips.

Every day she battles mean girls and mosquitoes. Some days she conquers small worlds of kid clicks and places her signet ring stamp on new territories, marking parts of the park like the terrain of a giant Risk board. Other days, she chooses to sit quietly to the side and eat a small bag of Doritos instead.

I love this about my daughter. She has boundaries.

Growing up is difficult. I worry about my girls. "Mom, she doesn't like me!" "Mom, that boy said I have chicken legs." "She told the other girls not to talk to me."

So far, though, Zoya is maturing with ease. She's a kid with imagination and boundaries. If a few girls are fighting around her, she simply removes herself. I didn't figure out how to navigate hard situations like that til' at least my late twenties.

If you were to meet Zoya for the first time, you may find her quiet. Her heart seems to wear a hard hat. But don't worry. It pumps steadily underneath its protective cover. It pumps compassion and street smarts. It pumps adventure and loyalty.

When we switched around rooms upstairs, Zoya got her own room and was able to pick a few new decorations to make it distinctly Zo. She chose a travel theme, and has a picture of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, a constellations map, and stickers showcasing New York City and London. She has taped a piece of paper onto the wall, a list of ten places in the world she wants to visit when she grows up. A few places noted: Madagascar, The North Pole, Australia.

"Mom, don't tell Papa I asked you because I already talked to him about this three times and he said that I need to stop asking, that we would wait and see, but, will you buy me a ticket to Paris when I graduate from high school?"

Zoya is growing in her relationship with God. Almost every night we, as a family, read a passage from the Bible and talk about it. We say a few prayers. Zoya's comprehension of the stories has really grown. Last year around this time, we'd have to remind her to pay attention and quiz her afterword to ensure she wasn't busy focusing on something else (like a piece of string) during our family time. But this year, after the story is read, she provides great summaries. She answers questions in light of Jesus.

Zoya is not the nine year old poster child. She's a tad lazy, and will quietly get out of chores by slipping up to her room to read or make packing lists for future adventures. If there is only one Popsicle left in the freezer, she'd take it for herself in a second. But I am having a great time parenting her. I learn about resilience and quiet contentment from Zoya. She teaches me that I have the power to simply remove myself from hard places. And my imagination has grown by leaps and bounds from her proximity.

Friday Feature: Mothers be Good to Your Daughters, By Becky Daye

Big thanks to this week's Friday Feature Blogger, Becky Daye. Read more from Becky at her blog Daye by Daye.

My daughter is going into 3rd grade in the Fall. I am excited for this year in her life. This past year has been difficult for her and my prayer is that a new school, a new teacher and new friends will be wonderful for her.

She is strong willed. That might be putting it mildly! She is full of creativity and is constantly thinking of new things to do and act out. She talks nonstop and often shares her thoughts that she should probably keep to herself.

As her mama, it is tiring! I want her to express herself and be who God is making her to be. But I see the looks in friends eyes or I see those same eyes roll and each time I find myself trying to correct her speech or explain her actions to a bewildered crowd.

She's creative! She's intelligent! She's strong! She's a leader! But they see strange. A know-it-all. Opinionated. Bossy.

I wish there was a formula for moms- that just being good to your daughters was enough.

This past year of difficulty has taught me a ton about being my daughter's mom. I am learning to truly lay my concerns for her at the feet of Jesus. I am striving to pray more and correct less. I am learning to focus on the strengths of her personality and I am learning to trust God with her weaknesses.

The most important lesson that my Heavenly Father is sweetly teaching me is that HE is enough. HE is the one who made my girl. HE delights in her. HE has a plan for her.

If I truly believe this to be true, then I have to release my desires to change her and to make her respond the way that I want her to. As I release these things, I begin to see the work of the Holy Spirit in her life.

We had a sweet time together this past week as we snuggled in her bed at bedtime. She cried a little and told me that she was so thankful that I was her mommy. As I breathed in the sweetness of that moment, I thanked my Father for His work in my life.

HE is the one who is making me and shaping me into the mom that he wants me to be. I'm growing right along with my girl.

There isn't a formula for how to raise the perfect child. But there is a God who promises to lead us and guide us along the way. And every once in awhile, He has a way of reminding us that HE has the power to change hearts.

Thank you Father for your work in my life. Thank you for changing me and making me into the woman that you want me to be. Thank you for the work that you are doing in my daughter's life and for the sweet reminders that you have a plan for her! Amen.

Interested in guest posting at Pocket Lint for a Friday Feature? Email me at gillian@rcn.com. Let's talk!

Mom, I'm fine

My mom called a couple days ago, very concerned. She read my post about vacation.

"Are you OK?" she asked, blowing out air with her words, making her voice all breathy and serious.

I am unequivocally becoming my mother as I age, a fact rendered every time I bend over to pick up a kid's toy. We bend over like jack knives, absolutely no movement in the knees, it's like a high dive into the carpet.

We share other characteristics too; cushiony middles (but Zo says we make the best pillows), small noses, a thin line for a top lip, the ability to talk to just about anyone anywhere and intense mood swings (my teen years were, um... fun.)

Mostly, I'm fine with becoming my mom. I like her. Well, I guess the days I try to burrow under my bed in an effort to ignore the world is not exactly fantastic.

So while appreciating my tongue in cheek verbiage about our vacation last week in my post, she also knows when I'm reaching a low point.

It's true, last week was a low point.

I am actually an introvert, so a full week living with 150 of my closest family members can tucker me out.

But I rested and prayed and watched a whole season of Everwood on Netflix.

And this week I'm better.

Honest, mom. Don't worry.

I'm scared of July 25th

I'm scared of a date on a calendar; July 25th.

The reason that date scares me is because it's the date that Elaina, Evangeline and I came home from Ukraine last summer after spending seven weeks there finalizing Evie's adoption. I thought that by our first year anniversary home with Evangeline we would be well bonded, in love, and that Evie would be a different child and I would be a different mother. I was talking to a dear, honest friend who is also an adoptive mother the other night on the phone. She was telling me that her mantra in her head at first was, 'Let's just get through this first year. If we get through this first year it will have to be better."

Crap.

June is almost here which means July is right around the corner and between acclimating to four children and Polly's strokes and surgeries for Moyamoya, Evangeline and I have done nothing more than a dance of two steps forward and one step back.

I realized I haven't even taken pictures of her nor the other girls recently. A part of me wants to get through this time and forget about it. I don't want pictures reminding me of the pain and struggle we've gone through in order to mold into a family of six. Most days there is still a tinge of grief.

Sometimes I am at a loss on how to love her.

Oh, we have good days... good weeks even. But overall, this whole experience has
been difficult. Really difficult. Not-what-I-expected difficult. Evie is not who I expected her to be but more importantly, I'm not who I expected I would be as an adoptive mom.

We see light in Evie's eyes. Sergei and I find ourselves watching Evie do funny things or make cute faces and we laugh. "I'm so glad she's ours", we tell each other. She's mesmerizing.

But other times, the times she eats the mop and dives for a pile of dirt on the playground and cries when I pick her up to rock her, scratching my face in order to get away, rocking herself into a stupor, I find myself frustrated, at a loss, convinced I am failing miserably. Surely, another woman could do better than me.

So many other friends who adopted at the same time are doing well.

And it makes me mad.

So, I'm scared of July 25th.

Because although we've come a long way we have a long way to go.

The switch will flip some day, right?. Evie and I will love one another better, more often, in more tangible ways. But the interim hurts. Rejections sucks. Evie and I take turns rejecting each other. And the underlying nagging pain is this: I'm the mother... I should not feel like rejecting my child.

There, I said it.

This relationship with my fourth daughter has brought a new dimension to my relationship with God. It's poignant. It's not wasted.

I am thankful for invisible fishing lure line, taunt, strong, connecting me to Jesus.

And tomorrow I'm going to try again. I'm going to pray for love and patience and therapy strategies and creative ways to engage Evie. We're going to visit a developmental therapist to see what else Evie is dealing with besides Down syndrome (I suspect she is somewhere on the Autism spectrum as well) and see what other help we can receive. I'm going to interview more therapy helpers, students who major in special education. We want someone to work with Evie and Polly for a few hours a week this summer because when I think about doing it on my own I get dizzy.

So I've admitted these things (things I can't say out loud to anyone but somehow I can write it here). I'm going to look my four girls in the eye tomorrow morning, assure them and myself of my love and more importantly of God's love and then make oatmeal and toast for breakfast.

Another day.

Tonight as Polly fell asleep she kept asking me to kiss a boo boo on her elbow.

If only everything could be fixed with a kiss...

(Note: I welcome comments... more than welcome, I actually crave validation and I know that's another issue... but anyway, if you are inclined to comment that I'm a good mom and not to worry, things will get better, thanks, but that's not really the kind of validation I seek. God bless...)

Mother's Day always puts me in a funk

Top ten reasons why Mother's Day puts me in a funk every year...

10) I usually have to figure out flowers for the kids to give their mothers at church which doesn't seem fair.

9) I have to buy my mom a gift (I am terrible at picking out gifts so that stresses me out). And this year I wanted to get her something good because her mom died a month ago and she is grieving.

8) All my mommy friends don't seem to have butts the size of Texas, like me.

7) Around Mother's Day I usually have a freak out session on my kids because of self imposed stress, wondering if I'm a good enough mother.

6) I have to face the fact that I'm a 35 year old mother of four. Ouch.

5) Is Mother's Day always on Sunday? It feels like it is. Holidays and Sundays running together are hard.

4) I grieve for friends and family who wanted a baby this year and didn't get one.

3) (*new this year) I think about Evangeline's birth mother and it makes me sad. Sad that she didn't want Evie or sad that she did... I can't explain but it's not black and white. I know that giving up Evie had to break her heart.

2) I think about all the motherless children in the world and feel badly that some days I fantasize about going to work full-time in an effort to get away from my kids.

1) I'm afraid that someone is going to out me...that I'm not really mother material.

The good news is I'm slowly getting out of my funk, hugging my kids, and moving on to obsess about something else.

Thirty-five

Today is my birthday. I'm 35 years old.

And I'm trying to figure out how that actually happened?

On Sunday after church we had some people over for pulled pork sandwiches and warm Coca-cola (forgot to put it in the fridge, it's the Ukrainian in me...everyone drinks warm beverages there). I was sitting next to a fairly new guy at church who joined the worship group. We were having a nice conversation about music and church; what we like, what could change, why music is important in a service. I really enjoyed myself until I realized this guy was 19 which meant I was sixteen years older than him.

16 years!

In so many ways I can't believe I'm thirty-five but in other ways with all that we've already experienced sometimes I think my soul is even older.

This morning I woke up to sing songy 'happy birthdays' from the girls, giggles from Polly and Evie. Sergei taped the obligatory 'happy birthday' sign up in the dinning room, I bought myself a dress at Target with birthday money from my folks and ate three tag-along Girl Scout Cookies after lunch.

Sergei is taking me to dinner tonight, some place new, a surprise.

I have hope for this next year. I hope nothing major happens (but then again, I know better). I hope that Evie falls more in love with us and starts to open her heart to those around her. I hope Polly stays healthy, I count on her jokes and happiness every day. I hope Elaina and Zoya feel loved by God and their parents; I hope for many opportunities to play Clue and Wii tennis and to learn how to french braid their hair. I hope Sergei continues to stay close to Jesus and finds strength in God to do all that he's been asked to do. I hope I can put others before myself this year, that I can get serious about the story I'm writing, that I'll exercise and appreciate friends on my street and in my church. And then there's that pesky fear of the dentist chair I need to get over. I hope that I pray and read scripture and be open enough to let God change me.

I'm thankful today.

35's not going to be so bad.

Amazed

All four of my daughters are soundly sleeping in bed. The house is quiet, the hum of warm air pushing through old, cold pipes the only sound.

It soothes me.

I can't believe that Polly completed her second surgery this week. She came home today and after dinner was already 'shopping,' walking at the speed of a jog with plastic bracelets jingling on her wrists and a Blues Clues purse swung over her shoulder. Along the right side of her face from her ear up to her temple a sewn crimson incision is stitched with fine thread. The healing process already in full swing. Eventually it well match they faded scar on the other side of her head from the first surgery.

Two days ago my daughter was put into a deep sleep while a capable surgeon sawed through her skull. He found healthy arteries to replace those that had thinned and attached them to her brain to create new blood flow, stuff that will help her to think; to learn her ABCs and how to do math, as Sergei and I ate salads in the hospital cafeteria. The surgeon tonight, the guy with a firm handshake, the one I trusted to help my child reach out for her potential, in all likelihood is having a late dinner with a loved one or watching a mindless movie with a drink in his hand.

And Polly's smile is back. She became more and more herself at the hospital today, asking after her sisters and apologizing to the sweet nurse for crying when her IV was removed.

On October 18th Polina had three seizures and a stroke. On October 19th after a day of testing; an MRI and an MRA, an EEG, no food, no sleep, we learned that she was not only born with Down syndrome but also with Moyamoya disease. A syndrome that thins arteries in her head to the point of strokes; if untreated, a debilitating disease and scary as hell.

Today Polly is home. With God's help, a ton of prayer, baked Ziti from friends and play dates for the other children, the gift of modern medicine and a renown hospital ten minutes down the street, Polly not only weathered the storms of two brain surgeries and what they entailed but she treated it all as a mere vacation...a time to get away from every day life and catch up on back to back Caillou episodes, cuddles with Mama and Papa and all the apple juice and pizza she could stand.

Tonight as she sleeps I feel like my recovery is going to take longer. I have to process God's provision, his unbelievable care for his children, being in the right place at the right time for Polly's distinct needs to be met. And other, more subtle things like my own mother who gives up her life for weeks at a time to come and fold my underwear, love on her granddaughters and wash the kitchen floor on her hands and knees and my husband, who does every night shift at the hospital so I can have a good night's sleep in my own bed because he loves me. Friends calling just because they care and our girls, those amazing creatures who get upset about the wrong cereal bowl and pull each other's hair... girls who are being molded by these experiences, God-willing, into people who not only understand the gift from God in Jesus, but who actually believe it for themselves and not just to please their parents.

I'm not sure what people without faith in God do in times like this? I suppose they muster up energy and ability and focus all the good vibes and thoughts they have towards a positive outcome.

I myself am so unbelievably thankful that stuff like this isn't left up to chance or to my own strength.

My daughter is sleeping soundly in her bed at home tonight.

I am amazed.

First day of school!

Evangeline had her first day of school today! She was excited to go out (we've been home a lot over Christmas). Of course, Polly and Lainie and Zoya were more excited than Evie about school but she was game to go along in the van.

Once she got to her classroom, though, Evie was excited! I hung out with her there for about an hour. Thankfully, the OT was in the classroom for the morning and helped Evie get situated.
I left her in her class for an hour and when I returned to pick her up the teacher said she had cried a bit (which is a good sign for bonding, right?)but that overall she did well. Evie was happy to see me (another good sign...I was worried she wouldn't want me). We came home, had lunch and she initiated a few hugs (WOW). Now she's taking a nap.

I'm pleased...we'll see how tomorrow goes.

Christmas

I really needed this Christmas.

These last few days both with our church and with family have been like a thick layer of balm on our chapped lives.

Things were already looking up when Polina surprised us all by bouncing back from her indirect by-pass brain surgery for Moyamoya like a champ, basically strutting down the hallway and out the hospital door last Sunday morning. She came home happy to see her sisters and asking for pizza. Her recovery from this huge surgery amazes me. And the peace God gave Sergei and I encourages me. I dare say we're ready for round two (her next surgery is scheduled for January 21).

We had a beautiful service on Christmas Eve and had a few friends over afterwards to toast Jesus. On Christmas morning Elaina and Zoya woke the rest of us at 7am. Downstairs the girls were instantly buzzed by mounds of wrapped shinny gifts holding magical mysteries, Sergei brewed a quick pot of coffee and we gathered around the tree for a little bit of reading and prayer.

Presents were opened and we spent the rest of the day at home tinkering with new toys and gadgets, snacking on cinnamon rolls and playing Wii tennis.

I couldn't help but watch my children intently all. day. long.

My presents were appreciated; a candle from Zoya, bubble bath from Elaina, comfy jammies, a yoga mat and a crock pot cook book from Sergei. But my real gifts were unwrapped in my mind throughout the day; health and happiness. This weekend I decided to stop and look around and breathe.

OK, so we are in the midst of brain surgeries and pending tonsillectomies. Elaina is tired all the time and Zoya's eczema is bizerk lately.

Evangeline has yet to see all the specialists required; she really needs to get in to see a pediatric dentist and most of the time her eyes still look sad. She spits and pulls hair and bites. I can't read her cues and at night when I lay down to sleep I worry that I'm not doing enough.

Last year I sheepishly hung a stocking for the little girl we hoped to bring home from Ukraine. This year Evie is here, suspicious of the antics of her sisters and less than interested in her toys... but here. She seems more present too, passing out (albeit sparingly) hugs and cuddles, smiling here and there.

And tonight she let me rock her to sleep for the first time.

This weekend we had health and happiness. Sergei cooked a wonderful Christmas dinner, Zoya is turning out to be quite the little athlete. Elaina includes her little sisters in her games, is thrilled with her new outfit and text messaging gadget. I made high score on the Bop It (100, if you care to know). Polly loves her new caillou doll and her incision is healing nicely. Evie decided she likes animal crackers and has moved into a booster seat at the main table.

Health and happiness. One day at a time.

Merry Christmas.

One week

The kids seem better after the stomach flu wormed it's way into our house about five days ago. Polly is up and eating and drinking and playing. Phew!

Right now she is making circles around the dinning room table with an empty brown paper bag, a ruler and an old receipt from the grocery store. Very important business going on.

The snow is really coming down. The dinner dishes are rinsed and stacked neatly in the dishwasher. The 'littles' are already dressed in footie pajamas. We have no where to go tonight. Homework is done. The sick bucket has been scrubbed and placed out of sight until the next middle of the night emergency when it's services are rendered. Our tree is up and the lights make the whole living room sparkle. It's the perfect kind of night for a blizzard.

Looking in, one would probably think ours is a typical family; nothing pressing, relaxed, not in crisis.

And we are...tonight.

Tomorrow starts our week countdown for Polly's first brain surgery for her Moyamoya syndrome. At this time next week a hospital bag will be packed, sitters will be in place. I'll ly down next to my little girl and sing to her a bedtime song. She'll ask me to rub her cheek lightly and we'll stay like that, together...until she drifts off unaware of the even deeper sleep the next day will bring.

But tonight I'm choosing to enjoy my girls. The four little souls who just made a grand exodus to the playroom and are building a pretend city where they rule as queens and princesses.