The Light's Getting Brighter

You’re gonna think I’m crazy. Not crazy in a bad way but in a [insert appropriate word to describe someone who is one extreme one day and another extreme the next day] way. 

Less than 24 hours ago I blogged about my horrible day yesterday, but I had a great day today. I had one of those wow-I-surprised-myself-at-that-sagely-and-loving-response-to-my-kids kind of days. 

I’m going to have to think through what made me thrive on this day. Was it the meeting I had this morning with a bunch of kick-butt moms about how to minister to people near and far? I do love caring for people’s hearts. Hmm... gotta chew on that one a little bit. 

So, anyhow, I came up with a great solution for bedtime routines when Clint is on a trip: one of the kids gets to sleep with me for the night, and the other one gets snuggle time with me in his/her bed. For years, when Clint went on trips, Connor slept with me every night. In December, when Clint took his first trip post-Isabelle, I still let Connor sleep with me almost every night. I just didn’t desire to have Isabelle sleep with me. Clint and I actually got into a huge fight over the phone back then, because he was (kindly) encouraging me to let her sleep with me at least a couple of nights, and I felt judged. Really, I was probably feeling very very guilty. (“I know I should, but I don’t wanna, so back off,” was basically what I said to him. Eek.) It was also hard for Connor to give up those nights with his mommy, whom he was already having to share during the days. 

Anyhow, fast forward to today. Connor didn’t object to this new arrangement, and I’m so thankful! Thank You, Jesus! And when I snuggled with Isabelle in her bed tonight, I had a flurry of memories and emotions. At one point, she scratched around her scar on her chest, and I thought how strange it must have been for her to wake up one day and have a huge scar on her chest. Or how strange and sad it was for her that very first day when she was handed off to us. 

Tonight I recounted to her how she was so scared to meet us that day. She replied, “Isabelle scary. I sorry, Mommy. Isabelle scary. You [for]give me?”  

“You mean Isabelle was scared, not scary. You didn’t know who we were, so it was okay that you were scared. But we came and got you and brought you home to be a part of our family.” 

She then said a bunch of words strung together that didn’t quite make sense and at the same time made perfect sense, “Isabelle princess. Mommy Daddy rescue. Pirates. Arrrrrgggghhhh. Come home!” 

And as I lay there, looking at her big brown eyes in the dim light, I realized that my heart was feeling affection. And pride. And... love. It’s happening to me, people! That light at the end of the tunnel (you know, the end that’s the beginning of feeling like she’s one of my own) is getting brighter! 

Oh, I thought of the appropriate words I couldn’t think of earlier: yesterday versus today was night and day. (I hope I don’t flip back to the “night” tomorrow!)

If you’ve been praying for me these last few days, keep it going, ‘cause it’s really really working!

Gotcha Day, 1 year later

Isabelle’s Gotcha Day was a couple of weeks ago. When I would feel discouraged, in the back of my mind I thought that it would suddenly get better once we’d had her one full year. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a magical anniversary that made me turn a corner. 

There are still days like today, when I’m so so so incredibly angry with her. Days when I seem to be the only person she doesn’t want to be with. Days that, when I tell her that it’s time to go home from a friend’s house, I can’t have compassion for her sobs. Days when her declarations of, “I don’t want to go home!” communicates to me, “I don’t want to go home with YOU!” 

There’s my pessimist side. Forcing myself to look at the things I can be thankful for, I’d say that the moments of being furious with her are further apart. There are days when I really adore her. Days when I can rejoice in her and see that she is the perfect little addition to our family. (She has an awesome little sense of humor and rolls with the McClure clan.) Days when I can envision the two of us to be great together. Days when I see light at the end of the tunnel. 

Huh. It shouldn’t surprise me, but that did wonders to my heart to remember what I can be thankful for. 

Washing off the makeup

It certainly has been a long time since I wrote on my blog. Some adoptive parents know exactly what this means....

How does one write a blog when this adoption thing has been is really, really hard?

I remember last summer, when the honeymoon phase was a distant memory, and I scoured the Internet for signs that I was normal. That other adoptive moms struggled with similar issues. I’m sure they’re out there, but I couldn’t find any.

If you’re wanting to hear happy and heart-warming stories about how delightful life has been in this new “norm” for the McClure family, I suggest you look away. Because, as I’ve learned, sobbed, processed, and searched in my heart, I’ve been seeing some things about myself that bring me here to my first post in six months:

One, I like to speak truth. I loathe being fake. Not all of the time but most, I cannot not tell the truth, even if no one’s backing me into a corner to tell the truth. I love being real about my faults, and I love sharing what I’ve learned through my stumblings.

Two–and this is often at odds with what I wrote above–I hate feeling judged. I know for a fact that I imagine others’ judgment far more than its occurrence. Yet, even if it’s imaginary, I don’t like it and therefore try to avoid it.

So this is how I take those two things and have made life “work”: I only disclose some of the truth. I don’t mind being transparent with my faults as long as they keep me on one side of acceptance. For example, I can tell my other mom friends that I yelled at my kids today. Many moms yell at their kids. I’d venture to say that most moms yell at their kids. I wish I didn’t, but that is one of my faults. There. I am not being cavalier about it, but I have no problem confessing that to friends who can relate. (Though, admittedly, I find it harder to publish that on a blog. See? There goes my confession impulse right there.) I’ve heard before that there's a difference between being transparent and being vulnerable. Transparent is listed in the dictionary as “having thoughts, feelings, or motives that are easily perceived.” Vulnerable, on the other hands is, “susceptible to physical or emotional attack or harm.” I’m good at being transparent. Understandably, I’m rarely vulnerable.

Adoption has pushed me in ways I’ve never been pushed. And knowing that God does things for a reason, I want to take the road that involves less of, “Why did you do this to me???” to more of, “Okay, Father, how do you want to redeem this heartache (of all involved) for Your glory?” This will involve vulnerability. This fear of feeling condemned for my spectacular failures has the possibility to keep my heart hidden and engulfed in shame. Or I can share it with others whose hearts, as well as my own, will be nudged into the light, where the enemy can no longer condemn and jeer.

So, now my blog will often be about this process of adoption for me–of taking a stranger into our home and growing in love for her as my own. And the process, at least right now, is filled with more tears than giggles and more crying out to God than thanking Him for this season. It will be filled with Real. And it will push me to an uncomfortable–yet strangely freeing–place of being vulnerable.

So, speaking truth beats out hiding from possible judgment. There may only be a handful of you out there who can relate to me or be helped in any way by what I write, but, actually I think this blog is mostly for me anyways.

An Adoption Epiphany

LOTS has happened since I wrote my last post. We traveled back to Asia, packed up our apartment, and moved to a new city. And now that most of the boxes are unpacked and life-as-we'll-know-it has begun (we've been here now for a month), I've had time to look back on our last five months since getting Isabelle.

First off, the Lord led us to an absolutely insane first five months after adoption–from living out of suitcases for three months, to major surgery, to international travel, to moving cities. If someone else told me that they were going to do these things in the first five months of having their adopted child, I'd think that they should brush up on their decision making skills!

Anyhow, it was our life, and it was His will. And it has been one of the hardest periods of our lives. Yet the Lord has given me Aha moments recently.

One of them happened in the middle of the night, actually. Isabelle had come to our room and tried to climb into bed with us. Desiring a decent night's sleep after weeks of both kids crawling into bed with us, I encouraged her to go back to bed (where Connor was still sleeping). She reluctantly left our room. When Clint checked in on her a few minutes later, he found her at one end of the couch, sitting at the feet of a single guy friend who had slept on our couch that night, whom she'd met a few hours prior.

Frankly, I wanted to get mad at her. After the indiscriminate affection for strangers all summer long (and the, "I love you," she casually tossed to a friend of ours she'd met a day before), I was dumbstruck that she'd climbed into bed with a veritable stranger. It was as though she was saying, "You won't give me what I want? Well, this other guy will do."

Then it hit me. Under the irritation and frustration, I was hurt. Because, after four months of kissing, hugging, feeding, comforting, and all the sacrificing that parenting takes, she was willing to go to someone else for something that's reserved for special relationships. One doesn't crawl into bed with just anybody, you know?

There's beauty in the parent-child relationship, a special attachment that's built over time and care. By the time Connor could walk, talk, and make decisions about who he wanted to seek, there was never a doubt in anyone's mind that he was ours. Sure, he'd talk to others, play with others, laugh with others, but he knew who mommy and daddy were and that the three of us were together. We knew that he liked us best! And it's that awesome reciprocation that makes all the sacrifice worth it. So, after four months of pain, toil, and mothering, deep down inside, I desired from Isabelle an I-know-you're-my-mom-and-no-one-else-will-do type of reciprocation. And it made me sad that she wasn't there yet.

It was an epiphany that I needed. Before, it had just flat out irked me that she blew kisses to strangers. Everyone else thinks it's adorable, so why am I so bothered by it? Now it makes so much sense, when I see that I was jealous for her affection. I'd never quite understood it in the Bible when it talks of God being jealous for His people. Now it's so clear that it's not from ego but from a desire to have a special relationship with His children.

Cute stuff Isabelle does

Hope you out there haven't given up on my blog! I'm not so good at keeping up, but when I do get around to posting, it's pretty cute stuff, no? Anyhow, here are a few of the cute things Isabelle does.

"Poop Candy"

One of them, you may have already heard, was how she called the reward candy for pooping in the potty as "poop candy." It was both cute and embarrassing when she exited a bathroom at Olive Garden squealing with glee, "Poop candy! Poop CANDY!!!" 

After a couple of weeks of success with "poop candy," it was becoming apparent that she was, well, shall we say, abusing the reward, so we suspended the program. That day, after she pooped, she exclaimed as usual, "POOP CANDY!!!" When Clint said, "Poop, no candy," she said in a noticeably subdued but still hopeful tone, "Poop candy." Clint again said, "Poop, no candy." In a quivery voice from one who knew defeat was inevitable, she finally eeked out, "Poop... candy???" 

Pretty Isabelle

In order to illicit an "Isabelle, you're so pretty," from Clint, sometimes she'll first get his attention then brush her hair off her forehead. The first time she tried this, he didn't immediately catch on to what she was fishing for, so she mouthed the word "pretty." He got the point!

Kisses

This last one is both cute and exasperating. Isabelle likes to blow kisses. This is usually quite delightful for the cashiers, waitresses, and relatives she's just met, and I'm sure Isabelle loves the response from her adoring fans. However, Clint and I are finding it not so cute that she's doling out kisses to random strangers. Last week, she and Clint were waiting in an armchair outside a store at the mall when a Sears employee who was on his break asked if the seat next to them was available. She blew him a kiss. Also, she kissed on the mouth someone who had come to our house to visit. They had met merely half an hour before that! We love that she's full of affection for us, but when she gives affection so easily to strangers, we wonder a little where we stand!

She gets her moves from her Dad...

When waiting for Sung at an outlet mall, you can wait a looooong time! How do you pass the hours? You bust a move of course.

Location:Partridge Ln,Derry,United States

Hospital pictures and video

Ok, peeps. Here are the pics and video I promised. They were taken on Day Five of Isabelle's hospital stay.

When she received the headband as a gift, she wanted Clint to take pictures from every angle so that she could admire herself. Who needs mirrors, right?











Since only one of us could stay with her at night, Clint and Connor stayed at the local Ronald McDonald House (which is a wonderful charity, by the way; McDonald's restaurants provide 15% of the RMH budget, so you can feel philanthropic rather than remorseful the next time you eat a Big Mac). This video was of her talking to Clint that night. P.S. the Chinese that she's speaking means, "Daddy loves Daddy."

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