Playing Politics with Forever Families

I never lost faith that I would be a mother to a second child.  Through years of poor health that made it inadvisable to conceive, followed by multiple surgeries that made it impossible to conceive, I never gave up hope.

Through what seemed like reams of paperwork, tense social worker interviews and hurried trips to the county courthouse, I never gave up hope that adoption was the answer.

Through endless months of waiting, disappointing setbacks and changed legal procedures, I never once gave up hope that I would bring a little girl into my home and make her my daughter.

So, today, my heart is breaking for the 46 families in the process of adopting children from Russia. Today their hopes for a child to call their own were ripped away with one signature. Russian President Vladimir Putin has signed a law banning U.S. couples from adopting Russian children in what seems like retaliation for an American law banning Russian nationals involved in human rights violations from entering the United States.

Dreams of forever families have turned into nightmares because of politics.

Over 740,000 children are housed in Russia’s orphanages. Over the past two decades, the U.S. has been the number one destination for Russian adoptees with 60,000 Russian children being adopted into American families. One of those is my daughter.

The first picture I saw of my daughter…love at first sight.

Five years ago, the Hubs and I spent the holidays planning our first trip to Russia to meet our daughter. A week before Christmas, we received a referral of a little girl in need of a forever family. She was eight months old with big blue eyes and chubby cheeks. She won my heart before I ever saw her in person.

I spent the next few weeks learning Russian phrases–please…thank you…hello…good-bye…I love you. I read up on Russian customs and traditions, so I could show the people of Russia that I respected them and felt honored to be chosen to raise one of their children.

During that trip to Siberia, the hubs and I spent a total of five hours with the little girl whom the orphanage workers affectionately called Dasha. We held her. We fed her. We played with her. By the time we left, we were in love with her.

I cannot imagine the agony of those parents who have recently met their children and woke up this morning to the news that they will never again see them…that their promises to return will go unfulfilled. The despair of the children waiting endlessly for their forever families to return is heartbreaking.

This picture was taken minutes before we had to say goodbye until our adoption was finalized five months later.

When I left Baby Home 95 in Novokuznetsk, Russia in January 2008, I knew I would see my little girl again. In my heart, I knew she was my daughter.  I prayed every night that she be warm and happy, and my arms ached to hold her when I found out she was sick with chicken pox. I was her mother, and every day that passed without her, widened an emptiness inside me.

Those 46 mothers are in my prayers today, and their loss is heavy on my heart.

When asked what adoption “feels like”, I often say it is every bit as painful as childbirth. Watching other people have the children you can never have hurts. Having a stranger approve you as being suitable to be a parent hurts. Waiting hurts. Leaving hurts. Now, being a victim of politics hurts.

I can only hope that somehow the lawmakers can see beyond their political battles and find it within their hearts to allow these 46 mothers and fathers to complete their adoptions before the doors are closed completely. These are mothers and fathers and families, and they only want to spend forever together.

Stiletto Momma

Top 10 Momma-Can’t-Stop-Smiling Moments of 2012

Sometimes I don’t even realize it’s there until I notice my cheeks are sore. It starts with a glimpse of something–a person, a picture, words on a page, a text message.

It starts with an upturning of lips, then a thump of the heart as the grin widens to a full-on smile–the kind that puts a twinkle in the eye and makes the heart feel larger in the chest.

That’s a Momma-can’t-stop-smiling moment, and as I reflect on the year that is nearing its end, I’d like to share those moments that have made my top ten.

1. The Older One Realizes His Dream. Watching your child’s dream come true is a humbling experience. Years ago, I treated the Older One to dinner at the local Chinese restaurant. I watched his face light up when he cracked his fortune cookie open at the end of the meal. I wanted to know what could cause such joy in a 14-year-old, so I asked what his fortune was. “‘Your greatest dream will come true,’” he read.

“What’s your greatest dream?” I asked.

“To play Division I football.”

I wasn’t surprised. Since he won his first city championship at age six, football had been his passion, and in October, his dream came true when he took to the field and played his first downs for the Army Black Knights.

I cheered from the stands and smiled through the whole five minutes of game-play. My cheeks still hurt 30 minutes later.

Check out #55…His dream is coming true.

2. The Young One Finds Her Sport. After the Hubs and I started the paperwork to adopt a girl from Russia, I began planning her after-school activities. She wasn’t even born yet, but I knew she would be an athlete–at least that’s what I hoped for her.

Playing a sport is a source of self-confidence, and above all else, I want my daughter to believe in herself, to feel strong and capable, and to be confident. She found all those things this year on the soccer field.

She out-ran the boys with an effortless stride. She stole the ball from the opposing team with a relentless desire to win, and she beamed like an angle with each goal.

I captured sheer joy on my camera, and I now know we have many more soccer games in our future.

That’s a confident, happy little girl!

3. Twenty Years and Counting. In September, the Hubs and I celebrated twenty years of marriage. I’ve been able to spend half my life with my best friend by my side. We’ve watched our son grow into a remarkable young man, and we’ve survived the painful reality of infertility when we found our daughter on the other side of the world. We’ve grown, and we’ve changed. But we have done it together. I can’t help but smile about that.

4. Fifty Years and Counting. In 1962, a blizzard roared through western Pennsylvania on the eve of my parents’ wedding. Although my grandmother had to put chains on her tires before she could take my mom to the church, and my dad had to shovel more than a foot of snow from the church’s sidewalk, they still said “I do”.

I do…again.

Two weeks ago, they said those words for the second time as they renewed their vows on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. I smiled through my tears as my dad recited a poem about growing old together, and I understood that my 20 years of togetherness is nothing compared to the love these two amazing people share.

5. Adopting a Fluffy One. When I first saw the Fluffy One at the shelter, I knew she was meant to be a part of our family. After quizzing me on the type of canine we were looking for, the shelter attendant took me into the room reserved for small dogs and puppies. “I have the perfect dog for you,” she declared. “She just came in last week. I’ll warn you though…she’s a diva.”

I wanted to tell her another diva would fit right in at my house, but I refrained.

“We named her Audrey after Audrey Hepburn.” Seriously? You named her after one of my fashion icons!

“Oh, no,” she said as she opened the crate door. “Her papers need changed. Here,” she said, thrusting the ball of fluff into my hands, “Hold her while I clean this up.”

That’s all it took. I filled out the application before I left, then called the Hubs from the car to tell him I’d found our doggie.

She’s not Audrey anymore, but she’s still a diva!

6. Furry Plays Again. The dog toy box had remained untouched for almost two years before we brought the Fluffy One home. The Furry One had stopped playing when he was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease.

All that changed when Fluffy joined the family. Little by little we saw Furry change. He went from setting his boundaries with a gruff growl to watching with cautionary interest as Fluffy threw what used to be his toys in the air.

Almost three months later, he finally gave in. He pulled himself from the sofa and rolled on the floor with his new sister. His growls are playful. His tail is wagging, and Momma is happy to have two puppies in the house again.

The Furry One doesn’t hang out in his bed quite as much any more!

7. Stiletto Momma Wears Out a Pair of Gym Shoes. Normally, the pumps give out before the trainers, but this year, I decided to not let my daily Crohn’s Disease symptoms keep me down. I got back in the gym. Three cardio sessions and at least two weightlifting classes each week since mid-January, and I have bi’s, tri’s and traps again!

8. Baking for Soldiers. I have sent 13 packages to Afghanistan and Iraq. Thirteen soldiers who are strangers to me have tasted my snickerdoodles. They have shared my care packages with their battle buddies and read my words of appreciation when I thanked them for their service. West Point Moms Bake is the organization that provides me the names of the men and women protecting our freedom, and participating in this effort has been the most fulfilling experience of my life.

Two of my 13 care packages that have hopefully made a few soldiers smile.

9. Capturing Life Through a Lens. For our anniversary this year (the big two-oh mentioned above), the Hubs and I scrapped our plans for a weekend getaway, and opted instead to splurge on a digital SLR camera. Many of my can’t-stop-smiling moments have come from reviewing the hundreds of pictures I’ve snapped since September.

10. A Blogger is Born. I’ve been a writer since the sixth grade when I started to pen my first novel. I didn’t get much further than the first chapter, but it was the first of many attempts to record my imaginings. I’ve written short stories, essays, and a few poems. I’ve held internships that afforded me my first official byline and a portfolio of published pieces.

Life, however, sometimes gets in the way of dreams, and I put my journalism degree in a drawer when marketing jobs were easier to come by. This year, however, I returned to my own passion when Stiletto Momma was born.

I have recaptured the joy of writing…that amazing feeling of losing myself for a few hours and the immense feeling of accomplishment that comes from seeing my words in print.

I smile with each click of the “Publish” button, and I smile with each “like”, each follow notification and each comment from a reader.

Thank you, dear reader, for encouraging me on this journey and for making me smile on a regular basis.

This is what has made me smile in 2012, and I’m looking forward to sharing many more with you in 2013. What’s your favorite can’t-stop-smiling moment of the year?

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Stiletto Momma

* This post was written for the WordPress Daily Post Weekly Challenge which tasked bloggers with writing a post to wrap up the year.

Roots In My Heart

Mine wasn’t the first face my daughter saw when she entered the world. It wasn’t the second or third or even the 100th face she looked at by the time she finally looked at mine in the over-warm visitors room of a 400-child orphanage in Novokuznetsk, Russia.

She probably looked at me and saw a strange lady with crazy curly orange hair. She probably heard my voice and was scared by the nonsense that came from my lips.

She must have been confused by the hugs of strangers.

And what did she think when her caregivers explained to her in her native language that soon she would fly across the ocean to live with a new family, learn a new language and live in a new culture?

Me and the Hubs with the Young One outside Baby Home 95 in Novokuznetsk, Russia, on “Family Day”–the day we officially adopted the Young One into our family!

Four years later, she tells me with a proud smile that she was a baby in Russia. In the next breath, she states quietly that she didn’t grow in my belly like her big brother.

She knows she was adopted, but at five, she doesn’t comprehend entirely what that means for her.

In a few more years, I fully expect her to ask me who her “real” mother is. What did she look like? What did she do for a living? Did she have more kids? Are there other children in this big world who could be her siblings?

I won’t have the answers for her. I know very little about her birth mother other than her name, her age at the time of the birth and the fact that she gave me the greatest gift a woman can give another.

I can tell my child about her nationality, the country of her birth, the town where she was placed for adoption and the story of how I came so far to find the daughter I always wanted.

I have few details to give my child on her origins, but when she asks those questions, I will be sure to hold her close and tell her that her roots are in my heart, and they have been growing there since I first saw her face.

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Today’s Five Minute Friday prompt is “Roots”. This had special mean for me. What does it say to you? Join us on Lisa-Jo Baker’s site and tell us.

Puppy Tough Love

It is a sunny October afternoon, and sun filters through the picture windows that make up the north facing wall of the great room.

The Furry One takes a nap.

I find the Furry One in his usual spot on the plush sofa. He lounges on his side, his head and a paw dangling off the edge. His eyes are closed, but when he senses my approach, they pop open, and he is alert.

We both turn our heads toward the foyer when we hear the approaching sounds of scampering feet and joyful yips, followed by a fruitless chorus of no-no’s.

Furry pushes his slightly overweight body to a sitting position, leans back into the couch and heaves a weary sigh, “Puppies,” he declares with a droop of his shiny black fur covered head.

I have come today to interview Furry about the turmoil that entered his life last month when his family returned home with a tiny white Maltese that he has come to know as The Fluffy One. He shakes his head again, and we begin.

Stiletto Momma: Tell me how it’s been.

Furry One: I haven’t had a decent nap in a month. I used to wake up, go outside, mark my territory, come back in, do a little treat-begging performance, nap for a few hours, then do it all over again. I was up to about eight solid naps a day.

Momma: Wow! That’s some professional-caliber napping. What happened?

Furry: Fluffy is what happened. *sigh*

Just then a fluffy ball with four legs zips into the room, and stops at the floor below Furry’s seat. Between frantic flips of a long flowing tail, I can just make out Fluffy’s big brown eyes and pink tongue.

The Fluffy One in a calm moment.

Fluffy: Furry! Furry! I’m back from my walk. I’m back from my walk. Did you miss me? Did ya? Did ya? Furry?

Furry: See what I mean?

Momma: Yes. She certainly is…um…energetic.

Furry: She’s crazy!

Fluffy: What’s “crazy” mean, Furry? Furry? Furry?

Fluffy high jumps from the floor to the couch directly to Furry’s left.

Furry: Seriously, how am I supposed to take a nap with this noise going on all day. It doesn’t stop!

He stands and gingerly lowers himself to the floor.

Furry: I’m ten years old. These are my golden years. My job was to protect my boy when he was younger, but now that he’s grown up and moved to that obedience school at West Point, I’m retired. I should be able to sleep when I want to without being interrupted.

Momma: I can understand that. It’s a big change. Let’s talk about how Fluffy came to be here. She’s a shelter dog, isn’t she?

Furry: Yeah, that’s about the only good thing that’s come from this. She was a stray. Someone just dropped her off on the side of the road one day, as if that five pounds of fluff could really fend for herself. Now, THAT makes me mad. Can you imagine how scared she must have been, and all because someone didn’t realize a puppy is a lot of work or some breeder thought she was too small. I’d like to take her previous owners out to the middle of nowhere with no food and no water, and tell them, “You were cute once, but I don’t want you anymore. Good luck getting out of here alive. Bye.”

Momma: You were a shelter dog too, right?

Furry: That’s right.  I was just a pup like Fluffy. That was a scary time–not knowing when I’d get another meal or a warm bed. I survived, but you have to have some street smarts to keep it together in a shelter. It’s no place for a dog like Fluffy. I mean, just look at her….

He points with his nose to the spot beside him where Fluffy is spinning in quick frantic circles.

Fluffy: Furry, look! A big hairy monster is chasing me! But don’t worry. I’m gonna get it! I’m gonna get it! I’m gonna get it this time!

Furry: That’s your tail, Fluffy. Stop it! You’re embarrassing yourself!

Momma: Have you been showing her the ropes since she got here?

Furry: *sigh* I do what I can.  Oh! There she goes again! It’s the Fluffy 500. You might want to move out of the way.

I jump to a vacant recliner as Furry bounds back to the couch, then we watch as the Fluffy One sprints around the room, weaving between the furniture as fast as her little legs will carry her.

Furry: Puppies…

Momma: There has to be something good about Fluffy coming to your family.

Furry: Well, maybe.

He’s quiet while he thinks and watches Fluffy throw a knotted and holey sock in the air.

Furry: I do kinda like that I don’t have to be alone anymore. I don’t like it when my people leave me by myself. It’s a big house, and sometimes when it’s just me here, I think about being left alone before I had this family. At least now I have someone to lay down with when they’re away. I had a brother once, and that’s how it was back then. He was the dog who was with my family when they adopted me. I miss him since he went to the Rainbow Bridge. He used to yell at me too…a lot!

He smiles at the memory.

Momma: Why did he yell at you?

Furry: Oh, lots of reasons. Mostly it was because I was a puppy and wanted to play. I used to take that sock…

He points to Fluffy’s current plaything.

Furry: …and throw it in his face. Ha! Ha! He’d get so mad at me. First, he’d growl. Then he’d throw it right back at me, and we’d each take an end and pull and shake! That was the best time!

Momma: How long has he been gone?

Furry: Five years. That’s a long time in dog years. I remember when…What the…!

Furry has been interrupted by a flying sock flung from Fluffy’s playful antics. It lands a paw’s length away from Furry’s nose. Fluffy stops and stares tentatively at Furry.

Fluffy: Uh-oh…

Furry: Fluffy!

Furry stands.

Furry: That’s not how you do it. You don’t throw it by the end. You have to get in the middle. Then you throw it. Like this.

He lets the old blue sock fly. It meets its mark on Fluffy’s back. She turns several circles before pulling it back to the floor, then tosses it back to Furry just as he taught her. She plops her bottom to the floor and wags her tail, waiting for his reaction.

Furry: You know, you might not be so bad after all, Fluffy…That was pretty good, but I bet I can beat you in tug of war….

Yips and playful growls echo down the hall as today’s lesson in puppy tough love continues.

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Love your puppies, and please adopt from your local shelter!

Stiletto Momma

**This post was written for the WordPress Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge: Something Different, where bloggers were challenged to write in a different style. As you can see, I traded in my usual story-teller style for that of a magazine interviewer. I’ve been pondering how best to introduce my readers to the newest addition to the family–the Fluffy One. This challenge gave me the perfect outlet, and let me flex my creativity with the story from the Furry One’s perspective. Check out the DPChallenge for more out-of-the-box posts.

One Woman’s Decision is Another Woman’s Miracle

My family has been blessed with its newest member–a beautiful baby boy born to my niece, who is but a child herself. At only 14, she has made the decision to become a mother.

I have tried my best to a supportive aunt, and as an adoptive mom, I felt it my responsibility to make sure she knew adoption was an option for her and her baby. I told her that she did not have to be a teen mom and encouraged her to consider making an adoption plan. I also reminded her that she would have one less cousin if adoption were not the loving gift of family it is.

Ultimately, it was her decision to make, and she chose the path she believed to be the best for both of them. I respect her decision and offer her prayers of guidance as she embarks on this new phase of her young life.

Me and My Miracle…THEN

With the birth of her baby, however, I can’t help but think about another young woman half a world away who found herself in a similar position five years ago. She made a very different decision and, in the process, changed the course of many lives.

I know very little about her. I know her name, and I know that unlike my niece, she was not a teenager facing this decision.

I don’t know her hair color or eye color or if she is tall or short.

I don’t know if she loved the father of the baby she carried for nine months. I don’t know if she agonized about her decision, consulted loved ones, or knew immediately that she would not keep the baby.

I don’t know if she viewed her decision to be altruistic or if she berated herself for being selfish.

I don’t know if she had family or close friends who supported her decision or if they criticized it.

I don’t know how she first learned about adoption. Maybe she had an aunt who pointed her in that direction.

There are so many things I do not know about the woman who gave birth to my daughter. But there are some things I do know. The most significant one is that the day she made the decision to choose adoption, she set in motion an unbelievable miracle that has changed an entire family forever.

Me and My Miracle…NOW

With one plan of action, she gave another woman a child she could never have on her own. She gave a man the opportunity to be wrapped around a little girl’s finger and a boy the chance to be called “brother”.

She let two sets of grandparents witness their own children’s greatest dream come true, and she inspired others who have witnessed this blessing to consider adoption as a way to grow their own families.

Most important, she gave a beautiful baby girl the greatest gift she could possibly bestow–a FAMILY who loves her and showers her with all the love and affection they possibly can.

So, I would like to tell her, “Thank you!”

Thank you for your courage and the wisdom that led you to your decision. Thank you for making an adoption plan.

Thank you for my daughter.

Stiletto Momma

Remembering Siberia

The memory of the bitter cold that night four years ago is so vivid that I can still feel the frigid air invading the brand new down parka I had bought for this occasion. I can still see the darkness broken only by the airplane’s interior lights…feel my grip tight on my husband’s arm as we waited to board…and hear the foreign sounds of a language for which I knew only the words “please” and “thank you”.

As exhausted as I was, I couldn’t sleep once we finally found our seats inside the cramped confines of Siberia Airlines.  As we flew through the night, I remember my fascination with the mountains we glided over. Their whiteness shown bright against the black sky–a result of a fresh blanket of snow that made the landscape glisten.

The first picture I saw of my daughter.

I was on my way to Siberia…to the economically depressed mining town of Novokuznetsk, Russia…to Baby Home #95…to an overly warm room on the second floor of an institution housing 400 children all waiting for families…to the little baby I desperately wanted to call mine.

There are days I am still in awe that my husband and I flew to the other side of the world to complete our family. Our son was never meant to be an only child.  Life conspired against us, however, and he remained that way for 14 years. By the time we boarded that plane January 23, 2008, we had endured as much heartbreak as any other couple faced with the realization that adoption was the only way we could grow our family.

When we walked into that room in Baby Home #95, I was filled with equal parts excitement and anxiety. Just a few short weeks ago, I had been given three pictures of an eight-month old girl named Daria. I had studied those three images over and over, but I was overwhelmed with the fear that I would not recognize her when we were finally face to face. What if they brought in several babies, and I couldn’t pick out the one that was meant to be mine?

A Forever Family

Then came the fear of rejection.  What if I did happened to recognize her, but she refused to come to me? What if our foreign words failed to offer her comfort? What if she cried, and the agency liaison assigned to observe our interaction reported that these Americans were not fit to raise a daughter of Russia?

To keep the nerves at bay, I pulled out the accordion file that carried all of our documents and reached for the checklist from our adoption agency. We were to use this to record our observations of this little girl’s motor skills and to test her visual and auditory senses. I read how we should lay her on her back and encourage her to roll over; put her on her hands and knees and see if she would crawl to a toy; clap our hands loudly to check for hearing; and move a toy back and forth to see if she could track it with her eyes.  Then I thought of the acquaintance who had ventured on a similar trip to the Ukraine a year ago, but returned without her child because he failed to pass those tests.

I was afraid the exhaustion and jet lag would get the best of me when finally, the door opened, and I heard our translator say softly in my ear, “There’s your girl.”

Smiles for everyone!

And there she was. As beautiful as imagined. As sweet and well-natured as her caregiver claimed. I opened my arms to her, and she welcomed me with a steady gaze and a coo that needs no translation.

I had found the reason for our inability to conceive another child. We were meant to be the parents of this beautiful little girl. We were meant to wait for her for 14 years, just as she was meant to wait for us to finally be her forever family.

Our waiting wasn’t over with that meeting. As Russian law dictated, we were to leave her at Baby Home #95 and return to the USA to await review by a judge, but before we left, we had one more piece of business to see to. We were required to state our intentions for this child. Did we intend to adopt this child and make her ours. I had no hesitation when I signed that document.

In my heart, she was already mine.

Stiletto Momma