The Preschool Christmas Program {a Mommy Fail and a Second Chance}

As we left M’s Christmas program, we all talked about K’s upcoming program and how excited we were to see her up on the stage singing with her little school friends. We could tell she was feeling like a big girl. I was sure her program was the following week, probably the last day of school before Christmas break. I knew the preschool would be sending a reminder home a week or so beforehand.

The next day, Wednesday, I was getting ready to leave the office to grab lunch with a few of my co-workers. As I was waiting for our group to gather, I clicked on Facebook on my phone. This picture was at the top of my newsfeed!!!!

GASP!!! See the little girl in the faded, purple hand-me-down play clothes standing in the middle of all of the other children in their holiday finest? Oh. My. Word! That’s K performing in her preschool’s Christmas program.

I thought of her looking out into the audience and not seeing us. I worried about her noticing that she was the only little girl not wearing tights and fancy shoes. This was a colossal mommy fail! I imagined what the tennis skirt moms must be thinking about me now. I called D in a panic. D and his dad have been tag-teaming the preschool drop-off and pick-up. Apparently the flyer with all the program details was sent home the week before—and was floating around in D or his dad’s car! But it was too late now to worry about the details or tracking that paper down. D and I both rushed to the school hoping to catch the end of the program. I was so upset.

There were hardly any cars in the parking lot when we pulled in. It was clear that we’d completely missed the program. I felt terrible and was consumed by a major wave of working mommy guilt. I took it out on D. “ You should have been more responsible with her school papers! Didn’t you notice that she was the only one not dressed up this morning? Didn’t they say anything like ‘See you at the program’ when you dropped her off this morning?” Poor guy. He is such a hands-on daddy and does so much to help with our girls. And he has a lot of other stuff on his plate right now, too. He honestly hadn’t noticed the signs posted on every door of the preschool that we passed as we made our way to the gym where K’s class was playing. I’m pretty sure I apologized to D later, but typing up this post is reminding me to make sure.

K caught sight of us and ran up and hugged us. As we hugged, I pulled the picture of her class up on my phone. “Look at you up on the stage in your show!” I exclaimed as I choked back tears. She gave me a kiss and smiled at the picture and ran back off to play with her friends. Her teachers told us she did a great job and sang her little heart out. She apparently didn’t realize we weren’t in the audience. And she apparently didn’t mind that she wasn’t all dressed up. But being there was important to ME. And I’d missed it.

The preschool director walked over to us as we stood in the gym. She’d seen our panicked faces as we ran in. “You know, the Tuesday-Thursday and five-morning kids (K only goes to preschool three mornings a week) will be putting on the same program again tomorrow. Why don’t you bring K and just let her do the program again with them?” she offered. “We’ll just consider today’s program a dress rehearsal and you won’t have to be upset about missing it.” Wow. A second chance! What a blessing!

As we were getting ready for bed that night, I told K how excited I was about her show. “I didn’t see you this morning” she told me. “Well, tomorrow, we’ll stand up and wave at you. Daddy and Mama will be there. You’ll see us.”

And we were. I stood in the back and waved and sang along. D knelt on the floor in the front taking video. Even Pa was there. It was such a precious little program.

Here are some excerpts:

Lately I’ve been asking myself how I think I’m going to have it together with five children when I often feel like I’m struggling to stay on top of things with three. I expect a lot from myself and really do a lot of juggling. And while I do my best, I also know that, unfortunately, despite my good intentions and best efforts, sometimes I’m going to drop the ball. And I won’t always get the mercy of a do-over. And I’ll want to beat myself up for it! And I’m sure there’ll be people who shake their heads at me and wonder what I’m thinking trying to raise so many kids and have a career and be involved in charitable activities in my community and all around the world. Thankfully, I’m not accountable to them, but the Lord who has called me to this. He’s given me more responsibilities than I ever thought I’d have, but he’s also blessed me more abundantly than I ever imagined. And I’m also accountable to my children and my husband. I love them so much and want to be the best wife and mommy and example to them that I can be. But I know I’m going to disappoint them and let them down from time to time. Darn it. I’ve tried to be intentional in grace-based parenting this year. Hopefully, I’ll succeed in raising children who are willing to extend Mama some grace every now and then—I’m gonna need it! I love my life and am so thankful God picked me—despite all my fears and failures and quirks—to live this adventure with these children I love so dearly.

Three years ago today. . .

our lives were forever changed.

The Power of a Pair of Heels

Weeks before her school’s Christmas program, Miss M had already envisioned how she wanted to look. The note sent home from school instructed that the children wear their “holiday best.” Miss M wanted to wear her “green Santa dress, white tights, and some new shiny black dress shoes.” And she wanted her hair in a low ponytail curled with hot rollers and accented with a crystal-encrusted barrette. Detail-oriented like her Mama. We laid everything out the afternoon before. Thankfully, the green dress was clean and ready to go (We've let our girls wear their beloved “Santa dresses” all year long. We got a lot of double-takes back in the heat of July in Florida!). But new shoes and tights were in order, so we made a trip to the shoe store to complete the ensemble. We found the section with her size and I started pulling out all the black patent leather shoes. She smiled at the cute little Mary Jane flats (my favorite!) and sat down on the floor to try them on. I kept pulling down shoes until I saw only one other pair left. I reachhed down to the bottom shelf and, as I pulled out the shoebox, M and I simultaneously noticed it—a HEEL! But it was too late. . . no turning back now! Her eyes got wide and she pursed her lips trying to contain her excitement. “I LOOOOOOOOVE those!”, she swooned. Granted, the heel was less than an inch high, probably no higher than the heel on her riding boots. But still! To me, it’s just another sign of how fast she’s growing up. Too fast!

She quickly slipped her feet in and pranced herself up and down the aisle like she was 10 feet tall, her little ankles wobbling a bit with each stride. She assured me she could make it onto the stage and through the performance without twisting her ankle. I asked her if she thought she was old enough to wear heels. "Well, you know I am only 10 months away from being a tween." A TWEEN?!?! When did she learn that word? I made a big deal about how grown up she looked--like she'd skipped the tweens and went straight to the teens--and how D was going to faint when he saw her wearing HIGH HEELS!

We got home and she told D to close his eyes while she put on her new shoes. She struck a sassy little pose and told him to look. He fell on the floor. “You’re getting too big!” he moaned. “Don’t worry, Daddy” she told him, “I may be wearing high heels, but I’m not going to date anyone but you until I turn 25.” She’s adorable. And 25? What a relief! She gave him a hug and skipped off to join the littles watching Elf for the 156th time.

D and I got cozy on our bed and watched another episode of Parenthood. About 45 minutes later, just as our show was going off, Miss M came in our room and told us her clothes were laid out for the next day, her teeth had been brushed, her backpack was ready to go and her lunch was packed and in the fridge. What??? My girls have never packed their own lunches. And nagging is reminders are always required when it comes to their bedtime chores. It had to be the heels! This story has repeated itself all through the holiday season. Sure, heels and shorts look funny together. But the unbelievably helpful and impressively great attitude of the young-woman-in-a-little-girl’s body wearing them made it impossible to say no. She’s put some miles on those patent leather beauties this Christmas! And it just tickles me to death when, after church or wherever we’ve been out and about to, she grabs my arm to steady herself as we walk to the car and says things like "Mama and I might be walking a little slower than y’all. We are wearing high heels, you know."

It’s amazing how people tend to live up (or down) to what they think others’ perceptions of them are. M thought she looked like a teenager in those shoes so whenever she wore them she acted how she thought a teenager should act. Maybe I shouldn’t be dreading the teen years after all! I still don't know what to think about the whole "tween" concept. But I do know I love her TONS and she’s growing up way TOO FAST!

Haiti First Adoption Trip Journal, Days 3 and 4 (11/24-25/12): More Playdates and Saying Goodbye

Saturday was hair day in the children’s village. As we entered the gates, we saw all the boys seated in a line on a small retaining wall abutting the driveway. They were waiting for their turns to sit in a chair on the opposite side of the driveway for their trims (J is the only boy in the village who has a little ‘fro, the rest wear their hair trimmed very short. On the front porches of the cottages, special mothers were seated behind little girls twisting and braiding their hair.

As soon as they noticed us, the boys sitting on the wall started chanting “H’s Mama! H’s Mama!” I guess I made an impression the day before. What a welcome! As the big boys chanted, a sweet little face with a shy, smirky little smile peeked out at us from toward the end of the line. Our precious HM.

One of the men took his hand and walked him to us. The big boys continued to chant. M got shy when he reached us. I offered my hand. He looked at me, looked at my tote bag (my “bag of tricks” which he knew contained snacks and surprises), took my hand and we headed toward the covered pavilion next to the playground.

D walked back to the cottage and was told that J was already down for his morning nap. Baby boy gets his sleep!

I sat with M on the floor of the pavilion and I took a coloring book and crayons out of my bag. One by one I removed the crayons from the box and said each color in French (thinking they might be close to the names of the colors in Kreyol). Apparently they are because M knew what I was doing and proceeded to point to each of the crayons and tell me the colors, which sounded very close to what I’d told him. I picked up a crayon and handed one to M so we could color together. He got an excited look on his face and took a bite of it! After a couple of chews and me making “yucky” expressions, he spit it out and let me help him get all the little green “crayon crumbs” out of his teeth and mouth. Blah! I started coloring and he joined in.

When he was ready to move on to a different activity, I pulled out a sheet of stickers and the three of us sat for together and enjoyed sticking them on our faces and in his coloring book.

About this time, one of the special mothers walked up with J. I ran out to get him, not realizing I still had a big cat sticker on my forehead. She handed J to me and smiled. D thought she gave me a look of approval. I didn’t see it but of course that would make me glad. It was so important to me that the special mothers see how adored and loved our boys are and that they believe we will give them a good life. M has been living at the village for over a year now. J for most of his life. I know there’s a lot of love between our boys and their special mothers. l can only imagine how hard it is for these women to love and care for children for so long then say goodbye and send them off. K’s Enat cried when we left Hannah’s Hope, and she’d only cared for K for three months. When I was in Ethiopia in October, I went back and visited Hannah’s Hope and a couple of K’s special mothers. Though lots of children have passed through in the past 3 years, the special mothers and staff still remembered K and I could tell that it meant a lot to them to see how she’s grown and how beautiful she is and that she’s happy and healthy and doing well. Hopefully, we will get to know our boys’ special mothers better during future visits.

Of course , J was as smiley and happy as he was the day before. I could just eat him up!

M ran back to the cottage for a minute and returned with Gravedigger. We spent lots of time rolling the truck back and forth along the concrete floor. We ate cookies. We turned up the volume on my phone and played some music and danced. We played “this little piggy” on their toes. We pulled Goodnight Moon out of my bag and D read it to the boys. After a couple of hours, we walked them back to the cottage for lunch and naptime. We told the special mothers we’d be back in a bit. M got sad again. Our hearts ached again. Saying goodbye wasn’t any easier than the night before.

We went back to the hotel and had a lunch of French fries and cokes. We walked along the beach and met Patric. I showed him the bracelet I’d bought that morning from Tutu. Back at our bungalow, we laid on the bed and watched an episode of Parenthood. I was an emotional mess and my ugly cry surfaced during every parent-child “moment”. We freshened up and headed back to the children’s village around 2 o’clock.

M was still asleep when we walked into the cottage. We saw him on a bed in a back room using his coloring book for a pillow. Goodnight Moon and Goodnight Gorilla were in his arms. He was clutching Gravedigger in his hand. I noticed J’s little chewy toy next to him as he slept in the pack-n-play, but didn’t see any other toys in the cottage. Before our trip, our agency rep warned me to not be alarmed about the lack of toys in the cottages, that they keep lots of toys in the village playroom. I wondered if M would get to keep his little truck and books after we left or if they’d be sent to the playroom. He was so possessive and proud of “his” stuff. It might break his little heart to have it taken from him. I guess we’ll see next time we visit.

As soon as we walked into the cottage, the other children woke M up. He gathered all his stuff and came to us. We decided to head to the playground for our afternoon play date. M LOVED swinging in the swing, but it was obvious that he hadn’t done it before. I swung with him in my lap for a bit then D held him in the swing and let him do it “by himself”, which he grinned from ear to ear about. He thought it was hilarious for me to tickle him or get his toes on the upswing, or lay underneath him, or do cartwheels and the “Mama Dance” in front of him. A special mother brought J out to us about then. As we played, she spent the rest of the afternoon hand-washing the children’s laundry in a tub of water. She hung it all on the play equipment to dry in the sun.

I had a hat in my bag. “Chapo Ma Chapo!” M giggled when I put it on his head. He looked adorable in it but thought it was more fun to play a game of us putting it on him and him pulling it off and running away. Or he’d pull it down over his eyes and we’d pretend to look for him. He’d laugh and laugh and finally rip the hat off and we’d act all surprised to finally find him.

Nothing makes me love my husband more than watching him interact with our daughters. And the same was true with our sons. D’s a great dad--silly, playful, nurturing, sensitive, strong, gentle. These little boys need a daddy. I think they’re getting the best one!

Right about sunset, the children in our boys’ cottage came outside and sat along the walkway to the front porch. They started singing “This Little Light of Mine” in Kreyol. We walked over and joined them. I sat next to M and D sat with J in his lap. We sang along in English, complete with the motions taught to us by Uncle Shelby and Aunt Connie so many years ago. The children smiled and seemed delighted about us singing with them. After This Little Light, the little girls started everyone singing “Glory, Hallelujah!” (King of Kings and Lord of Lords), which they sang in Kreyol and we again accompanied in English. One of the special mothers came out on the porch and led them in another song that we didn’t know. She had M sing a verse by himself. What a brave little boy! His little voice and accent are so precious.

He was singing for his supper—literally. The special mother went into the cottage and came out with something that looked like a bowl of cream of wheat. She called M up to the porch and sat him in a chair opposite her and fed him dinner. It was all business and over in about 3 minutes.

After M’s dinner, we decided it was a good time to say goodbye. I’d been holding M’s books and truck while he ate and gave those back to him. We gave him hugs and kisses and handed J over to one of the special mothers. Once again, M cried as we walked away from the cottage. It felt good to know that he liked having us there. And that maybe some bonding was starting to happen. But once again, our hearts hurt, too. Being able to visit is wonderful. But saying goodbye is so, so hard!

We enjoyed pina coladas and sunset again as we waited for the restaurant to open for dinner. We watched the fishing boats sail by and started making plans for our next visits. Before this trip, we were told that we were welcome to bring the boys back to the hotel to swim or play on the beach if we thought the boys would do okay. We’d packed little swim trunks and floaties and sand toys, but agreed that we didn’t think M was quite ready for us to take him away from the comfort and familiarity of the children’s village. Maybe that’ll happen next time. Maybe next time we’ll hire a driver to take us up into the mountains or just explore the area a bit. We want to visit and get more involved with some different charities in Port-au-Prince and the area our sons are from. And D has a number of contacts we’d like to build relationships with. Over spring break or maybe this summer, we’d like to bring the girls with us. They’d love the pool at the hotel. The resort is safe and secure and offers enough activities and comforts of home to provide a good opportunity to introduce them to a developing country without overwhelming them. We don’t want them to pity Haiti; but we do want to raise them to be compassionate and to understand what poverty is and what it means to make a difference. We want them to see the good in Haiti, to connect with the people and see the value of partnering with and empowering others. We want them to tell their friends (and especially their Haitian brothers) how awesome Haiti is. We look forward to bringing some of our friends and family to Haiti to share its beauty and our heart for its people with them, and hopefully ignite a love for Haiti in them, too.

As we were eating dinner, the hotel manager came to our table with a phone. Mansour was on the other end. He asked about our trip and told us that he was sorry he didn’t meet us on this trip but that we would be seeing a lot of him in our post-IBESR required trip, which could be in a few weeks or a few months. He would be sending a driver in the morning to take us back to the airport.

After dinner, we went back to our room to try to catch up on and tune into all the big college football games of the day. Our Gators (surprisingly!) beat Florida State. Yay! Notre Dame beat USC (we were actually rooting for USC in this one!). And ol’ Urban Meyer coached Ohio State to a win over Michigan. Y’all know the B family is crazy about college football! I know D can hardly wait to have sons to share gameday fun and memories with.

Before we left, we had a suitcase full of children’s clothes we needed to drop off at the children’s village. How we came to obtain all the donations is a story in itself. A couple of days before we left, I sent Mama on a shopping mission to locate a pair of 3T swim trunks for M, in case we were able to bring him back to the hotel to swim or play at the beach. I’d gone shopping the weekend before and couldn’t find anything—didn’t realize how hard it would be to find swim trunks in November—after all, we swim and beach year-round in Florida! Well, Mama went all over town and had no luck finding anything, either. After a day of hunting, she decided to give up. As she was walking out to her car in the Kohl’s parking lot, a friend of hers happened to drive by. They chatted for a few minutes and she mentioned to her friend what she’d been looking for and about our trip and our adoption and her friend said “I’ve got 2 garbage bags full of size 3T boy stuff in my trunk that my son outgrew that I’ve been wanting to drop off at Goodwill. I know I have a couple of pairs of swim trunks in there and a bunch of other clothes. I’ll give it all to you if you don’t think your daughter would mind hand-me-downs?” Well of course, I didn’t mind! Receiving all those clothes was totally a God wink! What a blessing! And they were all in great condition, too! I set aside a couple of Woody-Buzz and Cars shirts out for K, kept the swim trunks for M to wear on our next visit, and we donated the rest to the children’s village. They weren’t donated specifically for M, but there is a good chance he’ll get to wear some of them because they happen to be just his size!

We didn’t want M to see us that morning because we knew our short visit wouldn’t make sense to him. It would probably be too confusing for M and emotional for all of us for us to make a quick stop and run off, so we had Mario park the van outside the gates and run the donation bags to Supreme’s office. We didn’t want to chance one of the older boys catching a glimpse of us and starting the “H’s Mama!” chant again.

It was great to be able to return to the airport by daylight and see everything we’d missed when we drove in on Thursday night. It was Sunday morning and we saw lots of people dressed up and walking to church. The roads were not as busy, so I was able to relax and enjoy the ride and the scenery without so much fear for my life. Mario’s frequent honks were pretty effective in keeping people out of our way. We drove by many simple churches and could see crowds gathered inside to worship. We saw a number of cemeteries and markets and crowded residential areas. People were fetching water, washing clothes, cooking over fires, tinkering with their motos, sitting on their front stoops. Daily life in Haiti.

We passed a large tent city as we entered Port-Au-Prince. It’s been three since the earthquake and over 20,000 displaced people are still living in a city of tents, sewage, crime, disease and despair. One big, final dose of reality to swallow before we left. Yes, Haiti is awesome. Haiti has huge needs, too. It’s a place of contradiction. A dichotomy that pulls your heart and mind in so many different directions that it’s hard to process or even think straight. Part of me wished to stay forever. Part of me wished to just escape with my sons. There are thousands of NGOs on the ground, yet Haiti is still the poorest country in the world. It’s right in our backyard, yet solutions and sustainability seem more challenging there than anywhere. It’s Beautiful and it’s awful at the same time.

Paradise.

Poverty.

A chunk of my heart will remain in Haiti long after my sons come home.

We waved good-bye and I hollered out “Orevwa, Mario!” to Guy(?) and we played the I’ll-carry-your-baggage-for-free-but-I-really-expect-a-couple-of-bucks game. This time we were caught a bit off-guard because the routine was the same but the men were all dressed in American Airlines garb. We were able to quickly check our bags and get our boarding passes and make our way though the several security stations (D said the lines were much, much shorter than on his previous trip). Once at the gate area, we headed upstairs to the small lounge where we’d be spending the next 3 hours waiting and people watching. D and I can entertain ourselves for hours and hours studying people and their mannerisms and the way they act and interact with each other. The Americans and Canadians (mostly folks on mission trips) were especially amusing to D and me that morning. Aren’t humans funny creatures? I have to believe God must think we’re pretty funny sometimes, too. That our little quirks and habits we make Him laugh and bring Him joy similarly to the way our children’s uniqueness and personalities and antics do us?

As we were sitting in the lounge, we heard a bit of commotion behind us and turned to see President Martelly and his entourage making their way through the airport! He apparently flies commercial and they had just filled up the business class section on the plane from Miami that we were about to board to return to Miami. Since we’ve been home, we were able to watch his UN address on C-SPAN (the trip he was returning from). On the Monday before we left, we’d received an email telling us that our file was sitting on his desk awaiting his signature. Only Martelly’s and the IBESR’s director’s signatures are required and we will move on to the next step of the process. There seems to be no rhyme or reason in the signing timeframes. Some people get through in weeks, others wait months and months and even years. I’ve read more than one story of families who waited nearly a year before they were told their file had fallen behind a filing cabinet at some point and had just been discovered. I would imagine the longer a file sits, and the more paper that piles up on top of it, the more likely that is to happen. Anyway, I may or may not have hollered “Sign our Dispensation!” as he passed by. He was almost gone before I thought to grab my camera. Here’s the not-so-great picture I got (he’s the bald one with glasses above the man in the security vest):

After Martelly passed through, D and I got engrossed in a conversation with each other and while we’d casually noticed that the people we were originally up there with had all gone downstairs and whole crowd upstairs changed, we had no idea how much time had actually passed and we just kept on talking and cracking ourselves up about who knows what. For some reason—only God!—I decided to see how much longer we had to wait and when I pulled out my phone it was 1:15—10 minutes before our plane was scheduled to leave! CLOSE CALL!! Time really does fly when you’re having fun! We didn’t even realize we were having so much fun—but we were both sure we had another hour or more to wait. We ran downstairs and were among the last few people to get on the plane before they shut the doors. We came so close to missing that flight! I have no idea what we would have done if we’d missed it. Thank you, Lord, for prompting me to look at my phone!

We had enough time in Miami to stop at the food court for some yummy, greasy comfort food from Nathan’s. We shared a loaded hot dog, a Philly steak and a big order of chili cheese fries. Yum! We drove straight from Tampa to Mama’s to get the girls—it was so good to see them!

Not sure when our next trip to visit the boys will be, but we definitely want to get back in the next couple of months. In the meantime, we’ll just continue to wait. For updates and new pictures of the boys. And for word that our file is making progress through the system.

We love all the celebration and tradition of Christmas and are making lots of memories with our girls. But we seem incomplete. Two little faces are missing out on the wonder and magic of the season. Two children who are in our hearts are missing from our photographs. I pray they’re home next year and that we get to wake up to find Monster Trucks and soccer balls and all sorts of crazy boy fun under our Christmas tree.

Haiti First Adoption Trip Journal, Day 2 (11/23/12): Our First Playdate

As we walked out to the beach Friday morning, we were quickly greeted by a couple of teenaged salesmen anxious to show us their “work”. While I doubt they actually created any of the jewelry and such that they were carrying in the baskets on their heads (there were some items that I suspect were not even made in Haiti), Patric and Tutu were certainly charming and worked hard to try to close a deal. D, who himself is skilled in the art of sales, engaged the boys in conversation as I perused their goods. I told Tutu I didn’t have money with me but that if he would meet me back at the beach the next morning, I would buy something from him. He seemed to think that was an acceptable arrangement. He pulled out a bracelet and handed it to me and said, “for you, for no charge, for being my friend.” I told him no thank you. He said “Please. Take as a gift. No charge. No problem for me.” I replied that “taking for free is a problem for me”. He smiled. I told him I’d look for him on Saturday.

We went to breakfast. Pancakes for D. Ham and cheese omelet for me. Passion fruit juice. And coffee—surprisingly good coffee! After breakfast, we returned to our bungalow to finish getting ready for the day and to text our good friends Brian (and Jen) and Joy. Brian, Joy and D have been friends since 4th grade. Jen is one of my VBFFs. These peeps have not only been a constant source of encouragement through the adoption process and life’s ups and downs but they also happen to be an integral part of the big dream I mentioned a few posts ago.

Once I had my face on and my hair fixed (as well as I could fix it given the humidity), it was time to head to the children’s village. We walked out of the gates of faux Haiti and through the neighborhood behind the resort. Goats, pigs, chickens and an occasional cow roamed free along the dirt road. Men at work filling potholes with gravel stopped and watched as we walked by. They seemed to appreciate a friendly “Bonjou!” We turned and walked down a more narrow dirt road leading to the children’s village. The view was incredible. We were uphill from the ocean and could see it over the bushes to our right.

To the left were green mountains—the tops hidden by fog.

We had to jump over what appeared to be (and smelled like) a puddle of raw sewage dumped from an opening in the wall of another orphanage. We heard what sounded like a brand new, just-born baby crying in the brush. We could tell there were little homes tucked away in there and wondered if someone had just given birth. The cries lasted less than a minute, at which point I hoped the wee one was contentedly nursing.

We reached the gates of the children’s village, took a deep breath and knocked to summon the guard. He opened the gate for us and walked with us back to the boys’ cottage. J was asleep in a pack-n-play just inside the cottage entrance. A special mother said he'd probably sleep for a couple more hours, which meant he’d be waking up about the same time M and the other children returned from school. We oohed and ahhhed over him for a few minutes and decided to go back to the hotel for a bit to let him sleep and return after school/naptime.

As we approached the reception area of the hotel, one of the men at the desk waved us over. He told us they forgot to give us our welcome drink when we arrived the night before and to follow him to the poolside bar, where he pulled out two fruity drinks. We sipped our drinks and watched a bit of soccer on the TV behind the bar.

We waited about an hour and finally couldn’t take it anymore. We decided to go back out into the neighborhood and explore the area behind the resort as we moseyed back down to the children’s village.

We wandered down several different dirt paths that led to points overlooking the ocean and made our way to the village promptly at one o’clock. The guard opened the gate and we walked back to the boys’ cottage. As we entered the doorway, we saw a silhouette of a naked little boy in the doorway to the back patio. We immediately recognized it as our M. He’d just received a bath. There were two special mothers in the cottage. One of them lifted J out of his pack-n-play, at which point the children in the living room area of the cottage all started saying calling out his name, emphasizing the SON at the end of his name. A big ol’ grin spread across his face. He’s the baby of the cottage (the youngest child in the village) and they all seemed to think of him as their baby brother. While one special mother took M into one of the bedrooms to get him dressed for our play date, the other carried J onto the front porch and handed him to us. In our arms at last!

There is no moment that compares to holding your child for the first time. And as someone who has become a mother both by giving birth and by adoption, I can say that it is equally special and just as meaningful no matter what path you take to get there. Adoption is just as miraculous as childbirth. And just as life-changing. In that moment, the volume of love in your heart miraculously multiplies. You feel a surge of pure, unconditional, overwhelming love, protectiveness, anticipation of a lifetime of joy and memories, and the serious responsibility of sheltering a precious little, innocent body and shepherding a heart. I’ve been blessed to experience it five times and on this trip, twice in one day.

I couldn’t believe how loveable our little J was. He’s the smiliest, happiest baby you ever met. Anytime I looked at him and talked baby talk he would get the biggest grin on his face. He’s got two bottom teeth and I think more must be coming in because he wanted to put everything in his little wet and drooly mouth. He was such a content little thing and had such a sweet personality. Adorable as he can be, with little arm dimples and squeezable thighs.

As we sat on the porch making a big fuss over J, a special mother walked M out onto the porch. He was wearing a pajama shirt with a picture of the Incredible Hulk and Spiderman. The special mother nudged M toward me and took J out of my arms motioning that she was taking him in to change him. I could tell M was unsure about the situation. I sat him in my lap and took a minute to kiss his head and breathe in his sweet, just-bathed-and-coated-in-baby-powder scent. I didn’t want to rush things, though. A benefit, perhaps, of the Haiti adoption process? You’re free to take it slow and there’s time to build a relationship, to lay some sort of foundation before whisking your child away. We figure by the end of the process, we will be more like a fun aunt and uncle that comes to visit every few months than parents. But at least we won’t be strangers. Hopefully there will be some level of comfort and trust and familiarity. At this point, though, we were still strangers to M. We didn’t look like him and we didn’t speak his language. Our plan was to take an easy, relaxed pace, try to make sure he felt comfortable with us and that he had some control of the situation and to get to know him through laughter and play.

About a week before we left, the girls found a little Matchbox Monster Truck with “Gravedigger” emblazoned on the side in one of their toyboxes. Must have made its way to our house in one of the boxes we received from the cleanout of Mom and Dad B’s house, probably something our nephews played with 10 or 12 years ago. As I was packing the night before we left, Miss A gave it to me to give to Max. It was the first thing I grabbed when I reached into my “bag of tricks” while sitting there on the porch. I rolled it over M’s legs and arms and made my best truck engine sound, interjecting random “beep-beep!”s, which I knew he would be familiar with if it was Mario who drove their van to and from school. I sat him down on the porch and moved a few feet away from him and rolled the truck to him. He cracked a little smile and rolled it back. After a few minutes of rolling it back and forth, I decided to get silly and rolled it under my legs, behind my back, upside down, and from any goofy, contorted pose I could come up with. He’d roll it back to me and I’d make big, exaggerated gestures while catching it. He thought it was funny. “Machina!” he kept exclaiming in his sweet little Kreyol accented voice. I got some happy squeals and belly laughs.

The special mother returned with J. I kept playing with M as she handed J to D. She might have thought I was crazy. D thought he could tell that she liked how I was playing with M. I wondered how other visiting parents act with their kids as I noticed the special mothers spying on me and smiling and laughing as I danced and did cartwheels and entertained my son. I do wonder what they really thought, as I recently read that it is not common for adults in Haiti to engage in play with children. But we were determined that M associate us with warm, fuzzy, happy feelings and having FUN! I’m an introvert and most people think of me as quiet and reserved—that is, most people other than my husband and children! I LOVE to make my kiddos laugh, love having a house filled with laughter, and am never more concerned with what others think than I am with making memories.

M’s laughter drew an audience as the other children began to peep out of the door of the cottage. They were laughing and telling the others to come look at the woman on their front porch. The white woman (I heard the word “blanca” several times).

After a little while, we got concerned that we might be causing a distraction from whatever was going on in the house, D and I decided to walk over to the play yard. I offered M my hand and he looked at me and smiled as he took it.

We plopped down in a grassy area next to the swings. Gravedigger’s wheels didn’t roll so easily in the grass, so I reached into my bag of tricks and pulled out. . . Goodnight Gorilla. A favorite book of our girls. And one I thought would be fun to read with M since it has no words. We have a lot of fun sounds and fun expressions that we insert as special effects when we read it—a story about a clever little monkey who unlocks the cages of all the animals in the zoo and they all follow the sleepily oblivious zookeeper home and into his bed. I handed the book to M. He ran over to the path leading to his cottage where he was in sight of the other children and he held the book up for the other children to see. “Ma liv!” he said in a sing-song voice as he flaunted. This was something he would repeat each time we gave him something. We suspected that he must have seen other children receive gifts from their visiting parents and now it was HIS turn to show off. He came back and sat down next to D and they turned the pages of the book together.

I played with J, my little chunk of pure sweetness. He never fussed or got restless like he was tired, but after awhile, he drifted off to sleep on my lap.

I had some cookies in my bag and offered one to M. Once again, he ran toward the cottage to flaunt it before gobbling it up. We ran around the play yard, played on the swings and danced to children’s music that we played on my phone. All the while, M kept careful inventory of his “liv” and his “machina” and J’s little teething toy, never letting them out of his sight. (As an aside, I noticed a LOT of similarity between French and Haitian Kreyol. Not a perfect match, but seems like it would be very helpful in communicating. Ordering Rosetta Stone to refresh my fluency will be at the top of my agenda when I get home!)

The final item to come out of my bag of tricks was bubbles. The bubbles were a hit. We spent the rest of the afternoon blowing bubbles, catching bubbles and running around the play yard with M. M loved to catch bubbles made by D and his silly bubble kazoo. And he had so much fun playing “chase” and “catch“ with D crawling on his hands and knees coming after him. His giggles were priceless. We played and played and played.

At about 5 o'clock, one of the special mothers came out and told us it was time for J to eat. We could see that dinner preparations were being made in the cottages. We thought it would be best to end our time with M on a good note, so we decided to walk him back to the cottage with the special mother. We gave him little hugs and kisses and told him goodbye. We turned around to wave as we reached the end of the little gravel walkway to the cottage. His special mother ran her finger down her cheek, gesturing to us that M was crying. Oh, my heart. Our first goodbye. He doesn’t understand that from now on, our separations will only be temporary. But how many times will we come and go until we’re together forever? These precious boys don’t really know or love us yet but we already love them as deeply as any parents can love their children.

We walked back to the resort with lumps in our throats. We ordered two pina coladas from the hotel bar and carried them down to the beach to watch the sunset. We had the beach all to ourselves. Fishing boats sailed past as the sun set behind the mountains. So peaceful and serene.

The tears that I’d been suppressing all day—I knew M wouldn’t have understood and my ugly cry face would probably have scared all the children—finally came. Tears of sadness for all our boys have been through. Tears of frustration for all the uncertainties and red tape and waiting and goodbyes. Tears of joy for finally being able to hold our boys, play with them, touch their beautiful brown skin, look into their eyes, take in their smells, and listen to their giggles. And above all else, tears of overwhelming gratefulness for what the Lord has done. I can’t help but draw parallels between adoption here on earth and our adoption by the Lord. From brokenness and pain to hope, healing, redemption, joy and purpose. They are so similar and both so beautiful. I am thankful that he has made us His own, rescued us from an ordinary life and called us to this incredible journey. He is so good!

Haiti First Adoption Trip Journal, Day 1 (Thanksgiving): Meeting our Boys

I love how our adoption stories have woven extra details into our holidays. They will always make this season an even more meaningful time of year for our family. On Christmas Eve, D and I boarded a plane for Ethiopia to meet K. On New Years’ Eve, we boarded a plane in Ethiopia to bring her home. On New Years’ Day, we arrived home with K and were greeted by friends and family and our girls—finally all together as a family of five. And now, on every Thanksgiving, we will remember that it was on Thanksgiving Day that D and I flew to Haiti to meet our boys for the first time.

Traveling to Haiti was a unique experience. Such an easy trip. An hour flight from Tampa to Miami, then an hour-and-a-half flight to Port-Au-Prince. My brain isn’t used to processing the first-world/third-world transition so quickly. Over the course of a 17 hour flight to Africa, you have an opportunity to think of what’s to come and set your expectations. Not only that, but by the time the plane lands, you’re sleep-deprived. Your body clock is messed up due to crossing 7 time zones. Your eyes are puffy. You’ve got cankles. You feel like you’ve traveled halfway around the world and that seems to help prepare you to disembark into something completely foreign.

But when your plane lands in Haiti, you’re only 90 minutes removed from the glitz and glamour of Miami. Those 90 minutes have been filled with spectacular views as you’ve flown over the aqua-blue Caribbean and the Bahamas and various other tropical islands. You see Haiti approaching, the blue water and sandy beaches in the foreground and green mountains in the background. It’s looks so lush and gorgeous, like something straight from a travel magazine (and much of it really is!). And yet, while you know in your mind that you are about to land in what is now the poorest country in the world (click HERE for the article), it's still so surreal to descend into Port-Au-Prince amidst thousands of rusted tin roofs and slums. How can such a short flight take you a world away? How can all this poverty exist so close to home?

Goodbye, Florida!

Hello Haiti!

We landed around 4 p.m. and made our way through immigration and baggage claim and down the corridor to our driver who was holding a sign with our name on it. I’ll add here, and you’ll understand later, that the whole time we were in Haiti I thought his name was Mario and even yelled out “Merci, Mario. Orevwa!” as we waived goodbye to him at the end of our trip. Then D told me that when he referred to him as Mario on the first night it was a joking reference to Mario Andretti the race car driver. We think his real name might be Guy, but that’s another one that might be easy to misinterpret, so I guess we’ll need to confirm on the next trip.

As it is arriving at Bole International in Addis, as soon as you exit Toussaint L’Ouverture, you’re surrounded by men begging to carry your suitcase. D knew the drill and his opinion on this scenario is that you either say no and brush past them and come off looking like a jerk, or you carry a couple of dollars in your pocket and be prepared to play their game. They reach for your bags. You say “nah, I got it” and they strike up a conversation. After a minute or two, they insist on carrying your bags for no charge because they like you so much (this “I’ll do it for YOU for free” or “I’ll give this to YOU for free” sales technique was repeated in several different contexts over the course of our trip). You still decline the offer but enjoy the conversation as you walk along. Then, when you finally get to the van, you let them grab the bag and throw it in for you (though you could easily do it yourself) and you give them a couple of bucks. It goes back into the economy and you don’t feel like a scrooge—it’s not like these guys have all sorts of alternative employment options. Plus, once you know the routine, the game is fun and the conversation is interesting.

Almost as fun and interesting as driving through Port-Au-Prince at rush hour. No lanes, cars driving six wide down what would appear to be a four lane road, no traffic lights, tap-tap taxi trucks crammed FULL of people riding home from work or wherever they had spent the day—squished like sardines, hanging out of the back, sitting on the top. The tap-taps are awesomely painted with bright colors and phrases and groovy pictures—everything from Jesus to Obama to Wyclef. We didn't want to be even more conspicuous than we already felt (just the two of us in the back of a huge fishbowl-like van) by hanging out of the windows with our cameras, so we just observed and I borrowed these pictures to illustrate what we saw from Megan at Urban Casita:

You know, our vans will be maxed out when our boys get home. I’ve been looking at vehicle options with more seating capacity. How much more fun would it be to drive a 12 passenger van if it were painted tap-tap style?

We passed by motos with 3 and 4 passengers and other random items (if you want a good laugh, click HERE to check out one of my favorite Haiti bloggers, Gwenn Mangine’s, documentation of interesting and hilarious things seen on a moto), occasional UN vehicles carrying what appeared to be troops and important-looking people, and crowds of people surrounding van at every stop trying to sell us all sorts of stuff. We picked up Supreme, one of the children’s village managers who had been running an errand while Mario picked us up, made our way back through town and headed for the country.

The children’s village where our sons live is about an hour drive from Port-Au-Prince. And what an hour drive that was! It was dark by the time we got out of town. We encountered a few police check points (not sure what they were checking for but some drivers in other vehicles had to show them paperwork before they could proceed), took a detour through some small villages when we reached a bridge that had washed out (crossed a couple of bridges that looked like they were close to being washed out as well), dodged potholes the size of swimming pools, pedestrians, cows, goats and pigs. We held our breath as we played chicken with drivers coming from the other direction. Seems the rule is that there are no rules as to what side of the road anyone is supposed to be occupying until you get close enough to oncoming headlights to see who’s driving the bigger van or truck. If you’re the smaller one, hope there’s room at that last second for you to get out of their way and around the hole or vehicle you’re passing before a head-on collision. We had a really close call once as we confidently sped forward toward a single oncoming light until at the last minute realized it was not a little moto but a giant Coke truck with a headlight out. Whoa. I had many flash backs of that oncoming train segment in the old Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride at Disney. It was a wild ride. Mario honked his horn about every 20 seconds, apparently fair warning to anyone in the vicinity to get the heck out of our way. Mario was a driver who meant business. For some reason, I panic about this much less in a developing country than I would were it happening driving down the highway in the states. D can attest to that—I get white-knuckled riding down I-275 with him! I still need to write about my off-the-beaten-tourist-track experience taking a ride in a budget taxi in Ethiopia a few weeks ago. Another harrowing but hilarious experience. Maybe I figure drivers in other countires have more experience with such driving? Maybe I’m just more of an adrenaline junkie when I’m traveling?

When not closing my eyes and bracing myself for a possible loss of a game of chicken, I enjoyed the drive up the coast, through the little villages and into the country. We passed hundreds of little roadside stands lit by single candles and could see people inside selling random items and occasionally appearing to be getting their fortunes told. Fires dotted the hillsides. People were gathered on the streetcorners or wherever there was a random light bulb turned on, men playing cards or trying to work on their motos. People lined up with their jugs at the community well, getting water for the next morning’s baths or cooking. I love people watching and it was just fascinating to get a glimpse of a typical Thursday night in these communities.

Supreme turned around and asked us if we wanted to stop by the children’s village before going to the hotel. We were surprised because since it was already dark, we assumed we’d have to wait until the next morning to meet the boys. But of course we said yes!

We pulled into the gates of the village and walked with Supreme to the office and he left to go see if it was okay with the boys’ special mother for us to visit their cottage for a few minutes. He came back and told us J was already asleep but M was still up and we could go meet him. We followed Supreme through the village. We passed the play yard and recognized the equipment from the backgrounds of various photos of M we’ve received. We walked a little gravel path to the cottage. It was dark in the cottage. Two little girls in sleep caps were sharing a wooden chair just inside the door. Three little boys were sharing the top bunk of a bed in a bedroom to the left, with two more underneath. Supreme led us into that room, where little J was sleeping in a crib next to the bunk bed. We tiptoed in and, by the light of Supreme’s cell phone, peeked our littlest guy sleeping. Is there anything more precious than a sleeping baby? Don’t think so. He was chunkier and even more handsome in life than the 4 or 5 pictures we’ve received of him. His baby hair was fine and silky and he was the only boy in the village with a little ‘fro. He was adorable.

As we were admiring J, the special mother ushered M in. Supreme talked to him in Creole and we heard him tell M that we were his Mama and Papi. The two girls in the wooden chair turned around and giggled. The little boys in the bunk bed snickered. Supreme told us that all the children in the cottage are matched with families and that they’ve seen other parents come visit. They seemed to enjoy watching M be the center of attention in what some of them must remember as an awkward situation. We went to M and knelt down in front of him, on his level, and gently touched his little arm. He bit his lip and looked away, out of the room. We knew it was bedtime and could see that he was tired and uncomfortable. His special mother spoke to him and I could tell she was urging him to say or do something or trying to get him to show some of his personality (she had him sing for us a couple of days later). But I didn’t want to rush things or force us on him. In that moment, just being close, being able to touch our boys, seeing that they were safe and healthy and not crying or hungry or hurting, was enough for me. We told Supreme to tell M that we wanted him to go get some rest and that we would be back to play with him after school tomorrow. M listened and then turned to us and looked at our faces. We gave him hugs and I kissed his little cheek and told him goodbye. We were in Haiti. We got to see our sons. I was overcome with peace, relief, and gratefulness.

We walked back to the van and made the very short drive to our hotel where Supreme helped us get checked in. He offered to come pick us up the next day to take us to the village and seemed surprised when we told him we were fine walking if he thought we’d be okay. We want to visit as often as we can and were determined to make our trip as easy as possible on the village staff. He said that would be no problem. We said goodnight to Supreme and the porter escorted us to our bungalow overlooking the ocean.

We weren’t expecting such nice accommodations! The view was unbelievable—the ocean right in front of us, mountains behind us, tropical plants and trees all around. I called the resort Faux Haiti because the difference between how we were pampered inside the gates and how people lived outside the gates couldn’t have been more striking. In our room we had electricity (from 5 p.m. to 8 a.m.), air conditioning!, a flat screen TV on the wall with HGTV and ESPN, a big comfy bed, hot water (or so we thought, we actually never got it warmer than cool, but cool turned out to be fine when it was 90+ degrees outside) but running water in any event. Even a potty you could flush toilet paper down! (something you can’t do in Zambia or Ethiopia) It was pretty sweet. We hadn’t planned on our trip to Haiti also being a romantic getaway or vacation. Certainly not the purpose of our trip, but definitely icing on the cake. Haiti’s landscape is beautiful and I think there is real economic potential in tourism for the country.

We took a short stroll on the moonlit beach to the open-air restaurant for dinner (breakfast and dinner were included in our room rate). We perused the menu and decided that we didn’t think we were hungry enough to order two meals, so decided to share one order of spaghetti with warm bread and butter on the side. We dined with the beach on one side of us, the pool area behind us, and the best hits of the 80’s and 90’s piping in over the resort speakers.

After dinner, we strolled back across the beach to our bungalow and were thrilled to discover that the free WiFi signal reached our room! I’m going to add here how thankful we are for the support and kindness that we’ve received from friends and family through this journey. You have no idea how much it means to us to get emails, text messages, phone calls, etc… asking how the process is going, telling us you’re praying for us and sharing our excitement. The adoption process is an emotional rollercoaster and having cheerleaders and encouragers in your family and circle of friends makes such a difference. Here I am turning on my phone and being blown away by text messages and facebook posts sent by friends and family throughout the day:

I could feel the love and it brought me to tears.

Then D got the brilliant idea to see if we could connect to Netflix and watch Parenthood. We could! D and I haven’t had a TV show we’ve followed since before Miss M was born but someone recently told us that they thought we’d enjoy Parenthood and Friday Night Lights. We decided to try Parenthood first, which we found out is in its 5th season but all the past seasons are on Netflix. We started with season one, got hooked, and are now making our way through season two. It’s not a kid appropriate show so we like to curl up cozy on the sofa and watch it on one of our iphone screens. We laugh (because we don’t want to cry) about how if we’d watched the show 5 or 6 years ago we would've thought the family was so dysfunctional, but how after all that’s happened in our extended family, they actually seem to have it more together than ours does! We wish our parents were still married and miss the security and comfort that brought. You can never, ever, ever let yourself stop guarding your heart or give up on your marriage and God’s power to redeem it! Doesn’t matter if you’ve been married 34 years (like my folks) or 45 years (like D’s folks), you can never stop trying! And it doesn’t matter if you’re 4 years old or 40 years old, having your parents divorce sucks. That was a tangent, but anyway, I hope when our kids grow up that they’ll be each other’s closest friends and confidantes, that we’ll all put family first, love each other despite our imperfections, stick together even when times are tough, have each others' backs, turn to each other for advice, and that D and I will grow old together surrounded by our kids and grandkids and having lots of big, fun gatherings at our home. I love that about the Bravermans. We are loving this show and watched 2 or 3 episodes a night while in Haiti.

After our Parenthood fix, it was off to bed to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Friday would be a big day. Supreme told us that M would be in school until around 1, so we decided to walk over and hang out with J for a couple of hours in morning and then return for an after-school play date with M. We almost needed to pinch ourselves to be sure that the days’ events had actually transpired. We kept asking each other “Is this really happening?” We were giddy with excitement about what was to come and feeling oh, so thankful for the journey so far. What an unforgettable Thanksgiving. What a blessed, beautiful life. Soli Deo Gloria.