The last day

Again, it has been forever since I've blogged.  Right now, I'm capturing one of those rare moments when complete silence and daytime intersect at my house.  When I say "rare," I mean, like, "seizing-a-unicorn-rare".  I'm hoping to get back into writing again.  I recently was listening to a sermon about filling your life with things that stir your soul, and writing is one of them.  So are running, podcasts, pages, coffee, Bengal Spice tea, the back patio, and early mornings.  I'm hoping to have a lot more of all of those in days to come because... I'm staying home with the girls next school year.  More on the reasoning behind that decision another time, but for today, I just walked out the doors of teaching in the public school system for the last time, maybe ever.

I need a year to decompress and reevaluate, but after that, I'm really not sure that I'll ever go back to teaching again.  I've mentioned that to several people and, not to toot my own horn, but the response is typically the same: "Oh, but you're so good at it!"  At some point,  it doesn't really matter how talented you are if you've completely lost your sanity and six years later, I've reached that point.

During this last year of teaching, I worked at an extremely low-income school, which was much different than any school at which I've worked in the past and also much different than any other school in my district.  I'll make a few observations about working at that school specifically and then about teaching in general.

About teaching at a low-income school:

The good:
-The friendships I formed at Title I School were fewer but deeper than friendships I formed at other schools.  The relationships I built with my assistant and with the kindergarten teacher across the hall are the kind that last a lifetime.  That statement, "It takes a village to raise a child" is really true.  When the needs of students are so great, you really do have to lean on other people to meet them (and your own).
-I learned a ton.  I mean, wow.  The past year of teaching opened my eyes to more than I learned in all four years of school, student teaching, and my first five years of teaching combined.
-All students can learn.  The home lives of some of my students were a disaster.  Most of them came in at four years old, not knowing any letters of the alphabet and unable to recognize their names or count to 10.  A couple weren't completely potty-trained.  All of them learned astronomical amounts.  None of them were the same as when they came in.

The bad:
-Gifted kids get overlooked in a classroom and school where there are so many needs.
-Our school didn't have any walls (thankfully, that is being fixed), so anytime someone ran down the halls yelling the "f word" (which was often), everyone heard it.
-What are parent volunteers?  At other schools where I've worked, parents came up to help make copies, cut out lamination, read with the students, and work on other projects.  That just didn't happen this year.  I had some sweet parents of students in my class, but many were single parents who worked long hours, which is completely understandable but also a huge change from where I worked across town and never made a single copy for myself.

The ugly:
-I literally spent thousands of dollars on my classroom and my students.  I'm grateful that my husband and I have the kind of money that made that possible, but I wasn't just buying fancy art supplies or materials for science lessons (though I did buy some of those); I often bought copy paper and snacks.
-I had students in my class with urgent dental needs, as in, major toothaches and infections that prevented them from being able to focus.  I had students with bed bug bites, rashes from sleeping in urine, and only one pair of shoes that was worn for every type of weather.  These are basic needs, y'all.  And these are kiddos who are expected to perform at the same level as the kids across town whose parents make six figures.
-Because Title I School doesn't have the test scores of other schools in the district, a disproportional amount of attention is focused on testing grades 3-5, to the neglect of the younger grades which could benefit from the same services such as tutors, reading and math specialists, and behavior interventionists.  This is a problem because when small gaps in academics or behavior are not noted and served early, they become major gaps by the time those students actually do reach testing grades, and so the cycle continues.
-Due to the problems mentioned above, teachers at low-income schools work harder than teachers at wealthy schools (and get paid the same amount).  At least I did.  Thus, teachers at low-income schools get burned out quickly and the consistency that these children need is obsolete.
-Since my class was partly special education, I was supposed to have two assistants.  One quit in December, and I can count on two hands the number of subs who came to my classroom for her during the entire second semester.  The position was never filled.  At times, my other assistant needed to be gone for legitimate reasons (she has 3 kids), and it was rare that she would ever have a sub, either.  There were two women who would consistently sub in our building, and one had to bring her 3-year-old daughter every time.  Everyone else would typically sub at Title I School one time and never come back.


A random, neutral observation:
-White children often have as many struggles as minority children.  The struggles are different, but they are definitely present.  Title I School does not have a minority majority, and almost everyone qualifies for free or reduced-price lunches, low-income housing, and Sooner Care.  Many have incarcerated parents, and some don't have parents involved in their lives at all.

About teaching in general:

The good:
-It is darn rewarding.  Gosh.  It is unbelievably challenging, but when that lightbulb goes on for a kid for the first time, or sometimes even the hundredth, or when a parent thanks you with tears in her eyes, or when debilitating shyness turns into confidence...those are good, good moments.
-This profession allows you to meet some truly inspiring people and develop deep friendships.
-Two words: Summers off.

The bad:
-Obviously, the pay is terrible.  But honestly, most people don't teach because of the pay.  You know what you're getting when you sign up.

The ugly:
-To be an effective teacher anymore, your job almost has to consume you.  My mom, who teaches in Texas, does not agree with this, but she teaches middle school math and basically covers the same material seven times a day.  In elementary school, every subject must be planned every day.  The people, it seems, who are the best teachers these days are the ones like my mom, who don't have children at home anymore, or single people straight out of college who can devote tons of time and energy to their job.
-I do think that I made a difference in the lives of my students this year, but the truth is, I didn't change their lives forever.  It takes year after year after year of teachers making a difference to truly make things different for a child.  And even sometimes, year after year of good teaching cannot change a life.  The problem is systemic.  I have no control over what happens to a child when he goes home.
-I also cannot make a child's disability go away.  Yes, all students can learn astronomical amounts, but not all students can learn at the same rate as others.  I went into special education because I loved the way Camp Summit gave children confidence and provided them with opportunities to experience things, with support, that other children get to experience on a regular basis.  The public school system crushes these children and does not provide teachers with the support they need to reach them.

If you know a teacher, especially a teacher in Oklahoma, give her a big hug today.  It's good work, but it's hard and thankless, too.  Even in the summers.  I had my last day, and I plan to spoil all the teachers I know in my time off next school year.  I know there will be days when I miss the most rewarding job on the planet, but I don't think I'll ever look back.

Piper met her birth mom.

On New Year's Day, Piper and her birth mom met for the first time since Piper was born 2.5 years ago.  I would love to post pictures, but, out of respect for Anna, I'll refrain.

Adoption is so weird and wonderful.  I have a really hard time putting that day into words, so this is probably all going to be "word vomit," but I feel like it's such a big event that it's worth recording.

Piper and her birth mom look exactly the same.  Even some of their mannerisms are the same.  It is very strange, and kind of sad, to look at the precious child who lives with you and realize that you two share no similar features.  No one will ever look at Piper in a crowd and think, "She belongs to that lady (me)."  Likewise, I'm sure that it is very strange, and kind of sad, for Anna to look at the child who is her little "mini-me" and hear her call me, "Mommy." 

Anna has another baby now, Olivia, who lives with her.  Olivia came to the meeting day with her dad (not Piper's birth father) and Anna, so Piper got to meet her half sister.  She is about two months younger than Caroline (our youngest), who was also there. 

We met at Pop's (a restaurant in Oklahoma City with thousands of flavors of soda bottles on the walls).  We all ate, Piper decided that she hates soda because "it's spicy", and Anna walked around with her, read to her (Piper's favorite activity), and bought her a jumbo lollipop that Piper talked about for days.  We chatted for awhile, and then the babies got fussy, so we all went back to our two separate homes.  On the way home, Piper said, "Miss Anna.  She's so nice." 

It was a happy day for everyone, but also a reminder of loss on both ends.  I would venture to guess that the evening was harder for Anna than it was for us.  I don't think she ever questions her decision because of the position that she was in at the time of giving Piper to us, but I know that my heart would ache if I ever heard Caroline talk about her adventures with a "Mommy" who wasn't me. 

How do you explain these things to a toddler?  Honestly, I have no idea.  I'm not sure that we're doing it "right", so I just pray that God will use the few good words that come out of my mouth to speak to Piper's heart and cover over my mistakes.  We tell her that, just like Mommy had Caroline in her tummy and then Caroline came out and lived with us, Piper was in Miss Anna's tummy and then she came out and lived with us.  We also tell her that Olivia came out of Miss Anna's tummy, too, but she lives with Miss Anna.  We tell her that Miss Anna loves her very much, and that Miss Anna is very special.  We've used the term "birth mom," but Piper really doesn't understand that.  We are trying to be open and honest with Piper about her adoption because we feel that if we hide this from her, she won't be able to trust us down the road, about this or anything else.  We also think that by our keeping her adoption a secret, Piper will miss out on knowing someone (Anna) who is so cherished by our whole family.  

On the way out that day, Anna cried and gave me a long, tight hug.  She said, "She (Piper) really is awesome.  Thank you for letting me see her."  I find it hard to believe that she would need to thank me for letting her see the child that she birthed, just as it seems weird to me that people think we are so generous for having an open adoption.  To me, I can't imagine it being any other way.  I have the attitude that God has gifted me with both of my children, and at the end of the day, they belong to Him anyway.  I don't want to hold onto my children so tightly that I fear them loving or spending time with someone else.  I am hopeful that we will see Anna more in the future, as the proverbial ice has been broken now, and that this is just the start of a beautiful relationship with the rest of Piper's family.

About Having Kids and Having Plans

I had an interesting conversation with the guy who came to my workplace to update insurance information this week.  He appeared to be about my age or maybe a couple of years older and wasn't married (or at least wasn't wearing a ring).  I met with him after school on Friday, so the weekend was on everyone's mind.  Our conversation went something like this (between signing on the dotted lines, etc.):

Him: So, do you have any big plans this weekend?
Me: No, not really.  I have two little girls at home, so they keep me pretty busy.  We'll probably just hang around the house.
Him: You have two kids already?  How old were you when you had your first? (Apparently I look like a baby.)
Me: We adopted my daughter when I was 25, and now we have a six-month-old.  
Him: Wow, you must have been really mature to have adopted a child at 25.  I'm nowhere near mature enough for that.
Me: I suppose if you wait until you're ready, you'd never do it.
Him: That is an interesting point.  Your lifestyle sounds so different from mine.

My lifestyle probably is a lot different from his.  Before we had kids, waking up at 4:30 on weekdays and 6:00 (if I'm lucky) on weekends sounded absurd.  I would come home after work on Fridays, grab a glass of wine or a snack, and watch two hours of "Say Yes to the Dress" before Andrew even got home.  I stayed up late, and most weekends were packed with social activities such as movies, car races, or parties. 

After Piper was born, I knew I had never loved any human except my husband more than I loved her, and I had also never been more exhausted.  Having a newborn takes every ounce of your attention and sleep because they literally cannot do anything for themselves.  So, we planned to wait until Piper was in Pre-K, when childcare would be free and she would be more self-sufficient, to start the adoption process again.  God had other plans, and Caroline was born shortly after Piper turned two.  And that is when I figured out the true meaning of "busy" and "sleep-deprived".  When people say that the adjustment of going from one child to two is far greater than the adjustment of going from no children to one, they really mean it.  There truly is never a moment (except sometimes in the middle of the night, and even that isn't guaranteed) when someone doesn't need something. 

I probably wasn't "really mature" when we adopted Piper (I'm probably still not!).  I've heard lots of people say, "I'm too selfish to have kids" or "I enjoy my personal time/space too much" or "I'm too busy for kids" or "Kids are too expensive," and I would say that probably all of those things are true- about the people talking and about me.  I'm selfish, I do enjoy my own time, kids are expensive, and a full-time job in itself is enough to keep anyone busy. 

Having kids is hard, and my life is so different than it used to be, but it's also one of the most joyful things I've ever done.  Sometimes I wish for a morning to sleep in until 8:00, a date with my husband, or, my goodness, just one quiet moment(!), but I don't ever wish for my old life back.  My children force me to be less selfish, better with my time, more patient, and less tight-fisted with my money.  At the end of the day, they've taught me to be a better person in general, and at the end of my life, I know I won't look back and think, "I wish I had had less time with them and more time doing my own thing."  Some days, I think my heart will burst from a little smile of Caroline's, and then Piper says, "I love you, Mommy," and it does.

Children might not be for everyone, and I certainly don't think that there should be an expectation to have a certain number of kids.  Some people are great with five kids, and I am not one of them.  But if you're waiting until the stars align or until you are "ready" for a first baby (or a second or third), just know that you're always going to be selfish and immature and that your parents were, no doubt, selfish and immature when they had you, and they probably had no money at one point and they probably seemed boring and socially inadequate when you and your siblings were little...and you made it and they made it, and everyone learned a whole lot along the way.

Why and How We Celebrate "Gotcha Day"

(Side note: Wow, it has been two months since my last post.  This is not for lack of inspiration, but really, I don’t know how people with multiple children and full-time jobs manage to do anything but work, take care of their families, and possibly squeeze in a trip to the gym.  Hence the absence of blogging for several weeks.  I know you’ve been missing me.)

Just like all other issues surrounding adoption, everyone seems to have an opinion about “Gotcha Day.”  Y’all, I tell you, the opinions WEAR. ME. OUT.  “Here’s why you shouldn’t adopt a baby of another race.”  “Let me give you this book of a million reasons why open adoptions are the answer to everyone’s problems everywhere.”  “This is exactly how you should tell your child about his adoption, or why you should never tell him about it at all.”  The stuff people say can be quite appalling, even when well-intended, and I know that the last thing anyone needs is yet another post aimed at lambasting people whose opinions differ from theirs.  When raising a family, there are rarely ever black-and-white answers that apply to all people.  All of that said, my husband and I have put a lot of thought into why we want to celebrate “Gotcha Day” with our daughter, and this post isn’t meant to be critical but helpful.  There are legitimate reasons for deciding either way.  Your family, your choice.

A little background information on “Gotcha Day” and our family’s history:  

“Gotcha Day” is traditionally a day set aside for adoptive families to celebrate the time when an adopted child officially became a member of their family.  It is most commonly celebrated with international adoptions and adoptions from foster care, since the child is typically older in those cases and most likely did not live with the adoptive family from birth.  “Gotcha Day” can, however, be celebrated by anyone (like us) who has adopted a child.  

After years of infertility, my husband and I adopted a newborn through an agency in Oklahoma City and were able to be present for our daughter’s delivery.  She came home with us from the hospital, but she was technically under custody of the adoption agency for six months, at which time we appeared before a judge to finalize the adoption.  This is the day that we now celebrate as “Gotcha Day” because it is when she took our last name and was declared to be in our custody.  Piper’s birthday is in June, but we celebrate her “Gotcha Day” on December 30.  We also have a biological child, Caroline, who was born earlier this year.  Now that you know all of that…

1. Yes, we call it “Gotcha Day”.  Some families find this term offensive (I suppose because it can sound as though one acquired a child in the same way that a car or a house would be obtained) and elect to name the day something else, such as “Family Day”, “Forever Family Day”, or “Adoption Day”.  We like “Gotcha Day” because it is the day that we officially “got” custody of our daughter.  Though Caroline wasn’t born yet, she “got” a sister that day.  “Adoption Day” is also fine, but we weren’t fans of “Family Day” or “Forever Family Day” because Piper’s birth mother is also her family, and we felt like those names minimized her role in Piper’s life.  In my opinion, whatever you call the day is just semantics.  Words mean different things to different people. 

2.  We don’t do big gifts.  We have a special dinner at Zio’s (where we went after her finalization) with a dessert of her choosing.  We look at pictures of her birth and finalization day and retell her the whole story of her adoption, as she has heard many times before.  Birthdays are reserved for big gifts.

3.  Caroline won’t have a “Gotcha Day”, but we still plan to celebrate Piper’s.  Some people say that this is unfair to the biological child, but just because something isn’t “fair” (meaning that both people have it) doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth a celebration.  My brother isn’t married, but we celebrated my wedding.  I’m not a National Merit Scholar, but we celebrated his accomplishment.  We both graduated high school and college, and everybody celebrated.  Big life events deserve a party.

4.  We use “Gotcha Day” as a day to celebrate our daughter’s birth mother.  Though Piper is very important to our family, Anna is, too.  “Gotcha Day” is about more than just Piper, and we always want her to know that.  There is a bigger story behind “Gotcha Day” than taking an oath before a judge and signing some papers; there is the story of a brave 17-year-old whose life is forever valuable to us.  As my mom says, “A person can never have too much love.”  Piper gets to have our love and her birth mother’s.  That’s worth celebrating.

5.  We need to be reminded of God’s goodness.  I am forgetful.  I have the best life, full of countless blessings, and I daily forget what He has done for me.  There are times when I sit back and ponder the wonder of adoption, but I need a tangible reminder of it sometimes, too.  “Gotcha Day” is a day specifically set aside so that I can remember.    

6.  We want our girls to know how special they are to us.  “Well, shouldn’t they know that every day of the year?” you say.  Yes, they should.  But, see #5.  I am forgetful.  Furthermore, there are days when I’m tired, busy, lazy, and (embarrassingly) not intentional.  “Gotcha Day” is an opportunity to seize by reminding Piper that she is special and that we are thrilled to have her as a part of our family.  It’s something tangible for my distracted soul, sort of like Christmas.  I should celebrate the birth of Christ every day of the year, but I am forgetful, tired, busy, lazy, and not intentional, and I need to set aside purposeful time to make much of my Savior. 

7.  Like all other aspects of adoption and many other aspects of life, “Gotcha Day” is simultaneously full of joy and loss.  Just because something isn’t purely joy doesn’t mean that we must remember only the loss.  Though I don’t fully understand the hurt, I realize that Anna went through horrible pain and loss so that we could have Piper.  We went through years of sadness and loss in dealing with infertility, too.  The day after Piper was born was the most wonderful and terrible day at the same time.  My heart hurt for Anna and her boyfriend, yet I was so thankful for their gift that came home in our arms.  Celebrating “Gotcha Day” doesn’t minimize the pain.  It helps us recount the whole story of how God started building our family- joy, loss, and all.  It’s the same reason that we celebrate September 12^th in our family- the day that our marriage was shattered and also it was saved.  It’s also the reason why we celebrate baptisms.  Our adoption into God’s family came at a great price to Himself.  Loss and joy.  Celebrating the whole story.     

8.  “Gotcha Day” didn’t rid Piper of her identity.  She will always be spunky, stubborn, Mexican, hilarious, and beautiful.  She got a new last name, but it didn’t change who she was.  I changed my last name when I got married, but I was still the same person.  I, like Piper, gained a new name and another family to add to the one I already had.

9.  Celebrating “Gotcha Day” will be Piper’s choice as she gets older.  There may come a day when it is too painful for Piper to think about her adoption.  I pray she doesn’t, but she may be tempted with thoughts that Anna didn’t love or want her and had to “get rid of” her (quite the opposite is true!).  If that year ever comes, I’m willing to let Piper skip the celebration, and to hopefully open up a conversation with her about her adoption.

 

10.  Sometimes we’ll hit a home run, and sometimes we’ll strike out, and either way, the sun will rise tomorrow.  We don’t claim to parent the “right way” (as if there was one), and we may be failing miserably in the “Gotcha Day” celebrations, as well.  But we’ll all live to tell about it.  Anyway, it’s one day.  We have 364 more, just this year(!), to get something right. 

We’re all on the same team.  There is not a wide network of families who have adopted.  We need each other.  Let’s get our panties out of a wad and be kind to others whose opinions may differ from our own.  No adoption story is exactly the same, so our celebrations (or lack thereof) don’t have to be, either.    

Happy Gotcha Day, Piper Anna!

“Born not from our flesh but born in our hearts, you were wanted and longed for and loved from the start.”

Finalization Day 2013

Finalization Day 2013

Gotcha Day 2015 with her friend at dinner

Early morning hugs on Gotcha Day 2015

Piper and Dad at the Bagel Shop, Gotcha Day 2015

And this one, because I'm obsessed with our family, and it's the first picture we've had together in 2+ years.

Grow Where You Are Planted

I remember when I first moved to Norman for college in the summer of 2006.  I despised everything about the town except for the university.  I hated that I would walk by a beautiful house on one street and find a dump within 50 feet of it (what zoning?), thought it was weird that there were bus stops and people actually waited at them to catch the city bus (where is your new BMW?), and lamented the loss of my Lifetime Fitness membership because most gyms in Norman are not big, corporate establishments.  Growing up in suburban Dallas with a bunch of rich, white folks left me with little tolerance for much that was different from the people and lifestyle I had grown accustomed to over the past 18 years.

During my years at the University of Oklahoma, I met my husband, who, much to my dismay at the time, is from Oklahoma.  We married and settled down in Norman, a place I swore I would leave as soon as I graduated.  I’m still here, almost 10 years after I arrived.  And, by God’s grace, I’ve grown to love this place.  Continue reading here.

On Productivity and Perspective

After a whole summer plus almost seven glorious weeks at home enjoying my little ones, I'm headed back to work tomorrow.  I have mixed emotions, naturally.  I feel so much purpose in my job as a Pre-K teacher.  And I love my own children.  I told Piper this morning that we were all just going to go to Momma's work together tomorrow.  She seemed to think that would be fine.

I am productive at my job.  If there is one thing I can do well, it is cranking out lesson plans.  I can efficiently gather materials for centers, execute small group instruction, and write individual behavior and education plans.  I have my "off" days, like everyone else, and I am not under any delusion that I am the best teacher ever to exist.  But I know how to get things done.

Home is a different story.  My two-year-old was just getting pretty good at entertaining herself for a short time when I gave birth to Caroline.  Y'all, it took me three hours to make dinner on Friday.  Three hours!  This is about how long it takes to do anything anymore.  Get out the onions to chop.  Toddler wakes up from nap.  "I want a snack."  Start chopping onions.  "I need to go potty."  Finish chopping onions, get out meat to brown.  Toddler begins coloring on the table with chalk.  Baby wakes up (girl can scream when she's hungry).  Start feeding baby.  She spits up in my hair, for the third time today.  Finish feeding baby.  Blowout!  All over my jeans that just came out of the laundry (which is forever overflowing)!  Toddler is playing in the cleaning supplies.  Finish browning meat.  "Piper, you can't put your hand on Sissy's tummy when you're trying to stand up!"  Calm two crying children... You get it.  This is normal life.  Days full of nonstop activity, yet I rarely have anything to show for them when my husband walks in the door at 6:00 p.m.  I write things on my daily to-do list, and they may or may not be done three days later.  A prime example is the fact that, so far, it has taken me 53 minutes and approximately seven interruptions to write this blog post.

I have had to completely change my perspective on how I view this season of my life.  My children cause interruptions, but they themselves are not interruptions.  They are gifts.  I have found that, 95 percent of the time when I get frustrated with the way my day is going, it is because my plans (which usually are self-centered) have gone awry.  Andrew was getting ready to go for a run a few nights ago when both girls woke up screaming.  His response was, "Well, I'm basically not going to get to do things when I want to do them anymore, ever, right now."  We're both coming around to accepting that.

This time is a season.  These girls are a blessing.  This work is good.  I might not have anything tangible to show for all I've done with my kids at the end of the day, but I get to mold young hearts and minds, teach them about the world around them, and hope that God will use my filthy hands to point them to Christ.  There could be nothing more productive or important than that.  And one day, I'm sure I'll miss these little people needing me so much.           

  

Enough.

Confession: I am a worrier.

In our culture today, worrying has become a relatively minor sin, or, as Jerry Bridges would call it, a "respectable sin".  Saying, "I am a worrier" sounds less offensive than, "I am a cheater" or, "I am a liar."  "Everyone worries" is a common argument.  In fact, many people (Christians or otherwise) would not consider worrying to be a sin at all.  The truth is that worrying belittles God.  Essentially, it is saying to God that we do not trust Him to take care of our future and that we do not believe him to be enough for our present.  (Continue reading here.)