Why is 6 Afraid of 7? Because it's an Epic Book by Jen Hatmaker

In the spirit of full disclosure, let me start with a confession: I have a huge girl crush on Jen Hatmaker. It began when my friend Lisa sent me a link to this blog post about the exhausting work of welcoming adopted children into your family. I would seriously rather you read that post right now than this post, if you had to choose one. It's just so good. So honest, so funny, so heartbreaking, so human. I loved her instantly. I texted my friend Anna, who is also in the process of adopting through the foster system, and told her she HAD to check out this Jen Hatmaker character (She was way ahead of me, as per usual). I started following her on twitter where it became evident we share a love of all the same "F"s: family, food, faith, and football. It was then that I became 100% convinced that she was my long lost best friend.

So when she extended an offer to send a free copy of her forthcoming book, '7,' to any bloggers who were interested in reviewing it, I was on it like white on rice - or in "our" case, like mayo on a fully loaded panini sandwich. It arrived just after Christmas and I know that God really wanted me to read it because my 10 month old actually slept on the plane ride home from my in-laws, allowing me to get totally hooked.

Here's the premise (taken from JenHatmaker.com):

"A seven-month experimental mutiny against excess, tackling seven areas of overconsumption in the spirit of a fast; a fast from greed, irresponsibility, apathy, and insatiability. Each area boiled down to just seven choices for a month:

Food.
Clothes.
Possessions.
Media.
Waste.
Spending.
Stress.

Only seven foods for a month. Only seven pieces of clothes for a month. Give away seven things we own a day for a month. Eliminate seven forms of media for a month. Adopt seven substantial habits for a greener life. Spend money in only seven places. Practice "seven sacred pauses" a day and observe the Sabbath...a deeply reduced life to find a greatly increased God."

Crazytown, right? Give away 7 things A DAY for an entire month? Maybe we weren't meant to be best friends. Or if we were, she'd be the salt-of-the-earth type of friend that is relatable and funny in spurts, but mostly too pious to really enjoy.

In '7,' though, Jen Hatmaker manages to chronicle her "experimental mutiny" with thought provoking wisdom and relatable humor that reaffirmed my girl crush once and for all. She sets the stage by noting that "When we hear 'fast,' we put on a yoke of self-denial. When God said 'fast,' He meant to take off the yoke of oppression," but she isn't too pious to include her private conversation with a failed dinner entree: "I hate you, separated cheddar cheese sauce that ruined my creamy sauce. Why are you so temperamental about heat? Velveeta would never treat me like this."

Long story short, I loved the book. It dominated so many of my conversational contributions that I can now refer to it as "that book that makes me want to be a better person" and my friends know what I'm talking about. I alternated between reading it strictly as an observer and engaging it in a personal way, wondering how Hatmaker's observations about her own overconsumption were applicable to my life as well. It's an enjoyable read either way, and a potential life changer if you lean toward the latter.

Case in point: Reading '7' was the push I needed to declare my 2012 New Years Resolution to only shop second hand. It also spurred me to contact a local under-privelaged elementary school to see if they could make use of some items that I would have normally just donated to the Goodwill. It turns out that they can in fact use our old electronics, and they could use some school uniforms too, so now I've rallied some girlfriends to collect as many as we can.

Read this book if you want to be challenged about your own contribution to the consumer machine. Read this book if you could use a laugh at the expense of a soccer mom who takes away her kid's TV and video games for a month when they didn't even get in trouble. Read this book if you could use a good cry. Or a good laugh.

And just in case she's reading this: Dear Jen, I love you. Not in a creepy stalker way, but in a it's-really-a-shame-our-life-paths-didn't-cross-because-I-bet-we-would-have-had-a-good-time kind of a way. My favorite part of '7' was the adoption story sub-plot, and I completely lost my sh*t when you were all, "I want you to know their names." So tender. Keep it up, and keep it coming. XOXO - Anna

Five for Friday: Rules of Engagement for Healthy Marital Fighting

These have been culled and invented over our 8+ happy years together, entirely out of necessity. We actually follow these rules, and I totally credit our practice of fighting fair for a good chunk of our happy marriage.

1. No Name Calling. Includes names like 'control freak,' 'imbecile,' and 'crazy person,' not that any of these have ever been uttered in our household. Also includes all name-calling expletives.

2. No Raising Your Voice. I know this kind of takes the fun out of it, but maybe that's the point.

3. No Generalizations. You always do that. You never do this. You're so [adjective] all the time. The idea is that if we're fighting, it's because of a specific incident that likely just happened. So now we're worked up, which is the worst time to do anything other than try to resolve the specific instance at hand. When a generalization is thrown into the ring, the appropriate response is, "Right now we're discussing X. If you feel that you'd also like to discuss the more general issue of Y, please initiate that conversation when we're more calm and have a better chance of seeing eye-to-eye. For now, let's stick to X."

4. No Interrupting. Want to make a mad person madder? Don't let them finish their sentence.

5. No Imitations. I know this seems bizarre, but does your husband use the same crotchety old lady voice to imitate both you and his grandma? As in, "And then you were all, [crotchety old lady voice begins now:] 'It's your turn to do the dishes!'" To which you reply, "I did NOT say it like that! I DO NOT sound like that!" So maybe you were about to have a tiny little fight about the dishes, but now you're going to have a big fat fight because you're seeing red over the misrepresentation of what you said. The appropriate alternative to impressions is, "When you said X (e.g when you asked me to do the dishes), it felt like Y (e.g. it felt like you were talking down to me)."

New Years Resolutions: Adoption Remix

No, I don't have a second set of New Years Resolutions specifically centered around our forthcoming adoption. I do have a second set of thoughts about 2012, though.

I'm entering 2012 feeling full of sadness about our adoption. I am still completely excited about growing our family, about meeting this next baby, about everything that comes with a new baby (okay, maybe not the sleep deprivation part, but pretty much everything else). We are still completely sure that we want to do this. We still have peace in our hearts about this journey.

But as I greet this new year, the peace in my heart feels heavy. I can't help but remember the start of 2011, the year that we would become parents and meet the baby that was in my [oh so large] belly at the time. I didn't make any resolutions because the year seemed to hold so much change. I knew that simply adapting to that change would likely consume me. I already felt so much love for the baby growing inside of me (whom we wouldn't know the gender of until his birth), I could only imagine how that love would rock my world when there was an actual baby in my arms. And now that he's here, it would be impossible to overstate how much I love him, and how changed I am by his presence in my life.

And then I think about the baby that we will meet in 2012, likely growing in his or her mother's belly right now. I wonder if she's feeling the same things I felt last year - overwhelming love, excited anticipation, the promise to be a good mom. Does she rub her belly every morning as she wakes up like I did, grateful to feel her baby kicking around in there? Does she look at other babies and wonder what her baby will look like? Do tears come to her eyes like they did to mine when she thinks about finally feeling that baby resting on her chest?

I hope that all of those things are true. I hope with palpable desperation that the baby in her belly feels a mother's love. But knowing what will happen next, that a Child Protection Services worker will have to take that baby away from her due to "abuse or neglect," my heart breaks for her. There are a million roads that could have possibly led her to that end - addiction, mental illness, an abusive partner, systematic failure to impart basic life skills - but no matter what the circumstances are, I can't fathom a situation in which having your baby taken away from you is not completely devastating. And so my heart feels heavy for her. I'm sharing in her heartbreak today.

My heart breaks for the baby, too. He or she will become a part of our family only because the family that was supposed to raise him or her was unable to. Worse, for that failure to even be known by us means that there will be actual hardship. The baby that we will call ours will suffer "abuse or neglect," and then grow up without a biological family. In so many ways, it's downright unnatural. In so many ways, it seems impossible to survive. I feel crushed under the weight of it all. I'm sharing in this sweet baby's heartbreak today.

And then there's us. The adult children of two sets of married parents that both still buy us stocking stuffers. The parents to a healthy baby boy that came easily and with nothing but joy. A support system of friends that have known us since a time before cell phones. And none of it seems fair. Our good fortune feels so lavish, so uncommon, so completely opposite to the despair that our baby will be born into. My heart breaks for the injustice of it all.

*****

After a week or so of this heartbreak stirring up inside of me, I finally told Shane how I was feeling last night. To say the words out loud seemed almost impossible. I wept for the mother, for the baby, for the thousands of babies everywhere that might never belong to a loving family, for our own family for being so brave to support us through this all. Bless his heart, Shane just let me weep. He didn't try to lessen it or fix it or make sense of it, all of which would have been impossible anyways. He just listened until I had unloaded it all, and then he quietly said the only thing that could have possibly felt both true and hopeful at that moment: It's God's baby. It's not ours, and it's not hers; he or she belongs to God. Just like Louie belongs to God. Just like we all do.

New Years Resolutions: Something Lame, Something New

I'm not great at New Years Resolutions. Well, I can't think of any that have been particularly transformative, at least. I don't necessarily expect this year to be any different, as lame as that sounds. The things that I most hope to accomplish this year are so cliche it's embarrassing. Lose some weight, save some money, blah blah blah. The thought that half of all Americans (I totally made that up) are resolving to do the exact same things, and the knowledge that most of them will fail (I also made that up, but I'm pretty sure I could find a statistic to back me up) is frankly depressing.

I have one creative resolution that I haven't totally committed to yet, but maybe by telling you about it right now I'll be forced to own it. What if every purchase I made in 2012, with the exception of food, was secondhand? Clothing, household items, gifts (?), furniture, all of it. This appeals to me for a variety of reasons:

1. 'Reusing' is one of the original ways to go green. I certainly haven't made going green a big priority (I considered using cloth diapers for approximately zero seconds before deciding that that the ability to throw a poopy diaper away and never touch it again was totally worth ruining the planet. Yeah, I'm the worst.), but I'm all for incorporating a greener lifestyle one step at a time.

2. Curbing impulse shopping. I'm really not a huge impulse shopper, and even my husband would back me up on that. I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't come home from a diaper run to Target with shoes and earrings, though. Since a lot of secondhand shopping requires a fair amount of effort (finding something on Craigslist, having cash, driving to a stranger's house, bathing in Purell upon leaving the Goodwill, etc), I'll have to decide ahead of time that I really need something and that I need it enough to do put in all that effort.

3. Saving money. Used stuff costs less than new stuff. The end.

4. A fun little challenge. I'm not going to lie: I actually like shopping at thrift stores. I enjoy the hunt, the thrill of finding a rare treasure, the bargain. It kind of turns shopping into a sport. Making it a way of life for a whole year is a challenge I think could be pretty rewarding.

So, what do you think? Am I crazy? Would you be totally offended/repulsed if I gave you something used as a gift? What if it was as cute as this Pinterest find:

Source: blog.craftzine.com via Nicole on Pinterest

Secondhand find (Bob Ross style painting) + minor crafting (stick on letter decals, paint the whole thing, remove decals) = one of a kind art. Chance that I would lose steam and make Shane do the "crafting" part: high to quite high.

Assorted Tips, Hope They Help

I'm following Seth Godin's lead and offering up some totally random assorted tips, because seriously, who doesn't love unsolicited advice???

1. Never underestimate the value of a sincere apology. If you blew it, own it.

2. If you're washing your hair every day, you're wasting your time.

3. There is probably at least one thing that's making you ask yourself, "Am I normal?" The answer is probably yes - the scope of "normal" is much broader than you think.

4. The only 2 things that you can do to actually slow your skin's aging process are to use a prescription retinoid and minimize your UV exposure by staying out of the sun or wearing SPF 30 (or higher) every day. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling you something.

5. If you're thinking about getting a dog, you probably shouldn't.

6. All you can do is all you can do. Remind yourself of this often, especially if you're a mom.

7. The best way to clean your microwave is to nuke a bowl of water for 2-3 minutes and let it sit in the closed microwave for another minute or so, then just wiped it out with a kitchen sponge. Seriously, you're welcome.

8. Save money on groceries without using the word 'coupon' as a verb: Never pay more than $1.99 per pound for chicken breasts, and never pay more than $2.00 for a box of cereal. These sale prices are easy to come by at least once a month.

9. Once something is in your closet it doesn't matter what a good deal it was.

10. Pick your favorite thing in your nearby natural environment (the sunset, the ocean, the mountains, etc) and make it a point to be around it more often.

An Open Response to An Open Letter: Hoping My Kids are Grateful

My friend who’s an adult adoptee and has been very thoughtful in offering encouragement and perspective about adoption since I’ve started sharing our adoption journey recently sent me a link to “An open letter to APs [Adoptive Parents], PAPs [Prospective Adoptive Parents], and anyone who has even considered adoption.” My friend included the disclaimer that she didn’t necessarily agree with everything in the letter, but noted that the writer details some issues that Shane and I should keep in mind as we raise an adopted child. I’m grateful that she passed the link along to me, although it wasn’t an easy read.

I encourage you to read the whole thing if you’re particularly interested in the topic and have the time, but for those of you who’d like the CliffsNotes, here is my own synopsis of the main points:

• “To be joyful about adopting a child is to be glad that [a] tragedy happened... The very foundation of adoption is that of loss.”
• “Adoption should be the very last resort after all other options have been tried” to keep a biological family together.
• “Adopted people know we are a... Plan “B”... please don’t put the added pressure on an adopted child by forcing them to live up to the unspoken standard of the child you couldn’t conceive...”
• Adoptive parents should be totally open with their adopted children about their heritage and adoption story without ever disparaging the child’s biological family.
• “Adoptees are the only subset of society who are wholly expected to be grateful for our very lives, and with this expectation comes the need to try to suppress any negative emotion or feeling.”
• Don’t make a big celebration out of the anniversary of the day a child was adopted since the foundation of adoption is one of loss in one form or another. Also, birthdays can be very difficult for adoptees and big birthday celebrations should be exercised with caution.
• “Adoption should be about finding homes for children in need, NOT finding children for people to fill a need.”

Pretty rough, right? This letter sparked a lot of introspection for me and a lot of conversation for Shane and I together. I wanted to share some of those thoughts here.

First, I want to commend the writer for putting voice to her feelings and thoughts, and furthermore for using her voice to educate others. She has obviously suffered a great wound, and it takes tremendous courage and dedication to pursue a road of healing.

Admittedly, I felt a little scorned as a “PAP,” although I don’t believe that was the writer’s intention. Even though I think we’re “exempt” from some of her admonitions since we’re adopting through the foster care system (ensuring that preservation of the biological family is the first priority and that no one is pressured into giving up their child), and we’re fortunate enough to be able to conceive biological children of our own (making the whole "Plan 'B'" thing a moot point), I didn’t emerge unscathed. Ultimately, I felt like like the point of view from which Shane and I are approaching adoption, one of gratitude and love and tremendous responsibility, is not even considered in the letter. Moreover, the writer seems in many instances to use her personal experience as an absolute, to assume that all adoptees share her thinking.

What unsettled me most in this open letter was the writer’s contempt towards the idea that adoptees should feel grateful that they were adopted. While I painfully understand that adoption can only occur after some sort of loss and that no one should be made to feel grateful for personal tragedy, is it possible to separate that tragedy and subsequent need for adoption from the life that follows? I’m not asking if it’s possible to pretend that the tragedy and adoption didn’t happen, I’m asking if it’s possible to be grateful for one’s life story despite that wound. Is it possible to be glad that you were raised by the family that adopted you while still acknowledging that it’s a great loss to have little or no relationship with your biological parents? I can’t help but wonder if some adoptees are grateful that they’ve been adopted into their respective adoptive families.

In the same way that the writer of this letter is looking at the world through her personal experiences, I am looking at the world through my own experiences, and my personal experience includes a tremendous amount of gratitude for my family. I was raised in a family that loved me deeply, made my needs a priority, provided me with an education, taught me the priceless values of self-respect and hard work, and modeled healthy relationships for me. Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful for that. And the thing is, I hope that Shane and I can provide the kind of family that our kids - both biological and adopted - will be grateful for. I hope we can come alongside them as they suffer the injustices of childhood, that we can see them for who they are and foster their individual spirits, that we can paint on their hearts the notion that they are created in the image of a perfect and wonderful God and that that is how we see them as our children. I don’t expect our kids to be grateful, not for a few decades at least, but I sure hope that I can earn their gratitude one day.

As I compare the writer’s bad experience of being made to feel that gratitude was expected of her with my own hopes to create a family worth being thankful for, I wonder - and this is not a rhetorical question - when it comes to hoping that my kids will be glad that I am their mom and that this is their life, am I supposed to treat my biological kids differently than my adopted kids? If I’m willing to do the work, can I hope and pray that all my kids are happy that I call them my own?

Dog Days Are Over. Maybe.

Okay I'm just going to say it: We're thinking about getting rid of our dogs. Wipe that look off your face and just hear me out.

Let's just get a few facts out on the table:

1.) The dogs are supposedly "Shane's dogs." He's the one that wanted them. He promised to take care of them. (If you have an 8 year old son this probably sounds familiar, right?) He even said that he would take Jim to work in his truck every day.

2.) None of that is happening.

3.) What *is* happening is that now that I am a stay at home mom (not to be confused with a SAHM) *I* am taking care of them. I manage their mess to make our home appropriate for our crawling baby. I manage the constant confusion between dog toys and baby toys that everyone seems to have. I turn into a guest on Jerry Springer every time the mailman incites a bark fest that threatens to wake the baby. I am mortified every time a thoughtful friend stops by and my dogs try to attack her and then run away.

4.) We fight about it. It starts with me nagging, then Shane gets defensive, and there's just no way out of it. I'm annoyed that they cause so much work and hassle for me, and Shane is annoyed that I'm annoyed. It's not great.

So. These fights have been building over the last year since I've been home. In my experience, recurring fights get a little worse each time they happen, and this is no exception. It's reached a boiling point recently.

Then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, Shane announces that he's ready to get rid of the dogs if that's what I want to do. I am dumbfounded. I did not even know this was an option. In all of my complaining about the dogs I just wanted them to not be my problem. It didn't occur to me that the solution to this would be anything other than making them Shane's problem.

You would think, as Shane thought, that I would be happy about this. He thought that I would be posting a "Loving Home Needed" ad on Craigslist before he could even get the words out of his mouth. Instead, we fought more.

We fought because I am conflicted about the implications of getting rid of them. Not the implications for them, the implications for me. It's the age old question: What will people think of me?

As I worked myself into a total tailspin about the prospect of getting rid of them, I realized that the reason it felt so heavy is because it is a concrete example that I can't do it all. I am failing at managing a house and a baby and a baby on the way and these two dogs. And admitting that out loud, much less admitting through taking action, is depressing.

I know I'm supposed to already know that nobody can do it all, and I'm supposed to say that admitting it feels freeing or something. Well it doesn't, okay? It feels like everyone else can manage their babies and their pets, and I can't. Everyone else is all laid back and patient and either vacuums every day or is somehow totally at peace with dog hair all over the place. I mean, what other explanation is there for the fact that gazillions of families have kids and dogs, but having 1 kid and 20 pounds of dog is making me crazy?

In the meantime, we've reached a compromise. Shane will train the dogs. Since I refuse to let the story read, 'It was due to Anna's inability to tolerate the dogs that alternate housing had to be found,' I demanded that the onus be put back on Shane. Now, the story might read, 'It was because Shane never invested the time to train the dogs that alternate housing had to be found. Anna remains thin, attractive, and able to manage the household with grace and poise.' Shane has until February to specifically train the dogs to remain calm when someone comes to the door. If that can be accomplished, I have agreed to make peace with the additional housework the dogs create.

Stay tuned.

Competent is Complicated: The To-Do List of Foster/Adoption

So. We've decided to adopt a child through the foster care system in Sacramento County. Now what?

Now, we work. I've been staring at a blank computer screen for nearly a half hour now, trying to figure out how to write this. How to make it interesting and relatable, how to be accurate yet clever. The bottom line is this: The County doesn't really care about the emotional journey that has led us here. They are not interested in my sentimental reflections or [attempted] irreverent wit. They are not impressed by us at all.

They just want to know that we're competent. The thing is, 'competent' is complicated. We're not just talking about caring for a child, we're not even just talking about raising a child, we're talking about parenting a child who has other parents - "real" parents - who have in some way failed at being parents. We're talking about parenting that child in a way that honors those parents while acknowledging the wounds they have caused. Parenting in a way that attempts to heal those wounds no matter how many times they re-open. Parenting in a way that says, "I love you exactly as much as I would if I had carried you in my own belly," yet makes sense of the myriad court hearings and biological parent visitations and other reminders that this child definitely did not grow in my own belly.

So it is understandable that proving our competency is a long and complicated process. I think of it as a parallel pregnancy journey. Weren't we more than happy to attend all of those prenatal doctor appointments? Didn't I voluntarily spend hours googling every pregnancy topic I could think of and checking in each week to see how big our growing baby was, in the universally accepted fruit-measurement system (e.g. "week 15: your baby is as big as an orange now!")? The yoga, the birthing classes, the hospital tour, the trips to Dairy Queen - preparing for a baby all adds up.

This is exactly the same, only totally different. Here's a quick rundown of the steps we're required to take:

1.) Orientation Meeting. A general overview of the foster care system and the foster to adopt process. (3 hours)

2.) Application. Over 30 pages, took about 5 hours to complete. Every insurance policy number, everywhere we lived and worked, an essay about our upbringing, an essay about why we're doing this, our thoughts on discipline, personal information about our marriage, how much money we make, how much money we spend, more.

3.) Four personal (non-family) referrals. We provide names and addresses and the county mails them each a referral questionnaire so that we never see it.

4.) CPR & First Aid Certification

5.) Physical exam

6.) TB test

7.) Two sets of fingerprints (each)

8.) Eight weeks of parenting classes. (24 hours total)

9.) An additional "regulations" class (3 more hours)

10.) Home Inspection. To make sure everything is childproof, there are adequate smoke detectors, fire extinguishers, etc.

*** At this point we will be certified to be foster parents, but not yet approved to be adoptive parents. Prospective adoptive parents (that's us) generally don't have a child placed with them until they are approved for adoption.

11.) Home Study. A series of 3 to 4 interviews conducted over the course of a few months - including interviewing us separately - to make sure we can hack it and that our marriage can hack it.

We're currently just about at step ten. Sacramento County currently has TWO social workers that do Adoption Home Studies (there are over 3,400 children in the foster care system in the greater Sacramento region, for those of you keeping score at home). Due to this severe under staffing, we've been told that our Home Study probably won't be completed until 6-9 months from the time our application was received.

So we wait. And we work. And we pray.

Where Do [Adopted] Babies Come From?

As I covered in my last post, I've known about the birds and the bees for quite some time now. When considering adoption, though, babies can come from all kinds of crazy places. I mean, all babies come from a uterus, let's be honest, but that uterus can live in all kinds of crazy places.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have decided to adopt from a faraway, exotic land called...Sacramento County. Specifically, we are adopting through the foster care system, a process known as foster-to-adopt (or fost-adopt, as the cool kids say).

Fost-adopt wasn't even on my radar when I first started thinking about adoption as a young adult, and it wasn't even on my radar when Shane and I first discussed adoption in those very early, very hypothetical conversations. I just knew that I wanted to be a family for a child who needed a family, and beyond that I really didn't care much about the details of how that would go down.

When adoption would come up in conversation with friends or acquaintances in those early days, our consideration of adoption was often met with remarks like, "Isn't adoption super expensive?" or "I think it takes like 10 years and $20,000 to adopt a baby... are you guys ready for that?" I'm not sure I really understand the motivation behind asking questions like that. It usually just felt like thinly veiled disbelief (There's no way these idiots know what it takes to adopt a baby; this will never happen). To be honest, though, I didn't have much of an answer. I remember thinking that if spending tens of thousands of dollars was the only way to adopt a child who needs a home that something was very, very broken.

I felt confident that there had to be a more straightforward way to bring a child into our family though adoption than hiring lawyers and spending tens of thousands of dollars. Surely there was an avenue for people like us - who weren't dead set on Russia or Ethiopia or Caucasian - to adopt a kid who needs a family. I knew in my heart that there was a way, I just didn't know what that way was.

And then some friends-of-friends adopted their third child and showed us the way. We were casually acquainted with this family through mutual friends and our church, which they also attended. They had 2 children, both of whom were adopted domestically after they discovered that they were unable to have biological children. I knew they had used an adoption lawyer (translation: spent a lot of money), and I didn't really think of this family as 'adoption advocates' or anything. Many people probably didn't even know that their kids were adopted. When they decided to have a third child, however, they opted to adopt through the foster care systems with the help of an agency called Angels.

As I heard about what they were doing - becoming foster parents with the plan of adopting their foster child - I knew that this was the way for us. This is what my heart had been wanting all these years.

The practical reason that I knew this was our path to adoption is the accessibility. Bottom line: We can't afford the lawyer fees, agency fees, and potential travel fees that private and/or international adoption entail. I suppose that if we felt a strong desire to adopt from a particular country we could have made it a priority to save the $8,000 to $20,000 required to do so (see one family's Haitian adoption cost breakdown here). Our desire to adopt has never been about a connection to any particular country, though, so that kind of financial planning was never really on the table.

The sentimental reason that I knew foster-to-adopt was our path is because we are capable. While adopting through the foster care system generally won't cost you a dime, the "emotional cost" can be immeasurable. The catch, as it were, is that the county's first goal for foster children is to reunite them with their biological families. What this means for prospective adoptive parents is that we could potentially have a foster child placed in our home whom we hope to adopt - we bond with them and care for them and love them as our child - and then the county could decide that the formerly abusive or negligent parent has gotten their act together and should resume parenting. It is a daunting prospect, to say the least. For us, though, it's not a deal breaker, and the fact that it doesn't feel totally wrong kind of makes it exactly right.

What I mean is that we feel like we can afford the emotional cost. We acknowledge how painful it could be to consider a child ours, and then have that child taken away from us; we acknowledge that having a transracial family (a likely possibility) brings with it a host of challenges; we are aware that the myriad hoops that we will have to jump through will be frustrating and exhausting... and we feel like we can survive it. We have an emotional safe deposit box that holds a mind-boggling support system of family and friends, a decade-long romance built on trust and communication, and faith in the Good Lord's plan for our lives. It's not that we feel that we're strong enough or good enough or spiritual enough, it's that we feel that we have been given enough. We feel like we can be those people. We are becoming those people.

The One Where I Make My Parents Tell Me Where Babies Come From

In my last few posts I've laid out the basic storyline of how Shane and I individually and cooperatively decided that we'd like to pursue adoption as a means of creating our family. In summary (this is an exercise for myself more than a reminder for you): I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my own family and a compassion for others who didn't have an opportunity to experience such fulfilling family relationships. For Shane, although the initial idea of adoption came as a suggestion from me, the birth of our son awakened a compassion in him for children whose needs are going unmet, and it also created an awareness that his capacity for unconditional love could be freely shared with a child that was not blood-related to him.

Part of the backdrop for these realizations on our part, however, is that I've known several family members and friends who have adopted children in one form or another, and I think our exposure to these relationships helped to make adoption seem like a more accessible concept for our family. As with almost anything, having the opportunity to see it done - and in these instances done well - allows an observer the chance to imagine themselves in that situation. I really believe that our exposure to these adoption stories is what created a fertile planting ground for our "seed of desire" and "seed of curiosity" regarding adopting a child of our own.

*****

The first adoption relationship that I was aware of is actually that of my father and his mother. My biological paternal grandmother died in childbirth with my father, her firstborn. Her widower, my grandpa, remarried 18 months later and his new wife took on the task of raising my father as her own, in addition to bearing 3 more children. Although this isn't really adoption in the way that most people think of adoption, there is no getting around the fact that my dad is in no way biologically related to his mother. But let me tell you, that woman is his mom, dammit. And I mean that in the best way possible.

The second adoption relationship that came onto my radar is that of my cousin, Sam, who was adopted from Korea as an infant. I was 6 years old when Sam was adopted, and it is one of my first memories of being a flat-out brat. One night as my parents were tucking me in, they sat on the edge of my bed and told me that they had great news to share with me. After years of trying to have a baby, my aunt and uncle were going to adopt a baby from Korea and he would be here very soon. I'm not exactly sure how at this point in time I knew how babies are made, but I did. I mean, I'm sure I didn't know all of the details, but I knew that it involved the phrase "when a mommy and a daddy love each very much," private parts, and Madonna music. But do you know what I did upon hearing this wonderful family news? I played dumb and asked my parents how someone "tries" to have a baby. Just to watch them squirm. What. A. Brat.

Anyways, my own brattiness aside, Sam's adoption was received as a joyous occasion amongst our family and aside from that initial announcement I can't recall any instance from my childhood in which the fact that he was adopted was even a second thought. He is just another cousin at the kid table, and I mean that in the best way possible.

The third adoption story that I was aware of is that of my mom's friend who adopted 2 children from Ethiopia after genetic testing revealed that she was a carrier for a terminal disease. I was 12 when she traveled to Ethiopia to pick up her 6 month old son after a lengthly legal process. I still remember his chubby brown face amongst a sea of adoring white people on his first birthday - the classic cupcake-on-the-highchair-tray scene playing out in exactly the same fashion as it does in millions of families all across America. And now, 18 years later, that seems only fitting because they are a quintessential American family, and I mean that in the best way possible.

*****

In my adult years I encountered more acquaintances and friends-of-friends who had adoption stories of their own, but the above three stories are what really shaped my personal view of adoption as just another way to have children. I saw families have children through their own pregnancies, and in these cases I saw families have children through adoption, and from my perspective they all just looked like families.

And being a family is what this whole thing is about.

Two to Tango

Shane and I recently celebrated the TEN year anniversary of our first date. It was a DECADE ago that he invited me to his dorm room to watch 'The Nightmare Before Christmas" on Halloween night. Yeah, that sounds weird to me too, now, but apparently it worked. We dated for a year, got engaged, and were married nine months after that. I was 21, and he was 23. Yeah, that sounds crazy to me too, now, but apparently it's working.

Somewhere along the line during those dating months, we wistfully discussed all of the fun hypotheticals: What do you want to be when you grow up? Where would you want to live one day? How old do you want to be when you have kids? How many kids do you want to have? What football team will you teach them to root for? (What? Not all 21 year old girls vet the NFL preferences of their potential mates?)

Since by that time in my life I had already done the math on the 'surplus of family love (me)+ deficit of family love (many children out there) = adoption' equation in my mind, during one of these conversations I mentioned that I'd like to adopt in addition to having biological children. I don't remember the exact conversation or specifically what Shane said in response, but I remember thinking that he wasn't into the idea.

In reality, he probably said something like, "That's interesting." And when we were far enough along in our relationship that the hypothetical conversations had turned to more practical conversations about our future together, he probably said something like, "Let's just cross that bridge when we get there." I suspected that he thought my desire to adopt was a lark, or at least that it was something that was too impractical to actually happen, like living abroad for a year or finding jobs that allowed us to travel the world.

As the conversation progressed over the years, he expressed a concern that he might not feel as connected to an adopted child as he would to the biological children that we both hoped to have as well. He worried that the love that he imagined would come naturally for a child that shared our DNA, that looked like us and in some ways acted like us, would come unnaturally or not at all for a child that more-or-less showed up on our doorstep one day.

He also worried about the "risk" of committing to raise a child whose genetic background and in-utero history were unknown to us. What if the birth mother did drugs while she was pregnant? What if learning disabilities ran rampant in their family? What if they were (gasp) Raiders fans? (Oh wait, that would have been my concern)

Shane didn't really know anyone who was adopted. To him, adoption had been somewhat of a theoretical concept, something that "other people" do - probably because they can't have children of their own. As is the case with most people, Shane expected to fall in love, get married, have children, and generally live happily ever after. You know, a normal life with a normal family.

Slowly over the years of our marriage, however, our conversations about adoption planted a seed of curiosity in him. He observed my family's relationship with my cousin Sam, who is adopted from Korea. He looked more closely at families in our church who had adopted children. He started to consider what it would be like for him, for us. It started to seem less "out there," less scary.

When I gave birth to our son, Louie, this past February we were both instantly in love with him. I had wondered how the experience of having a biological child would impact my own desire to adopt, and I worried that it could be a deal-breaker for Shane, who at that point was "open" to adopting if I insisted on it. What neither of us expected was for the experience of having our biological son to overwhelm us both with the feeling that we simply HAD. TO. ADOPT. Which is exactly what happened.

Shane says that the change for him was the realization that the immense and unconditional love that he felt for our son really didn't have anything to do with the fact that we shared his DNA, it had much more to do with the feeling that this child was a gift - innocent and miraculous and perfect - that had been entrusted to us. Shane felt strongly after our son's birth that if Louie had in fact just showed up on our doorstep that he would be just as much of a gift, and that the fatherly love Shane felt would have come just as naturally. He recognized that certainly all babies are perfect and innocent and miraculous, and this one just happened to be related to us.

So it was decided. The next baby would just show up on our doorstep. Well, we would do a lot of homework and jump through a lot of hoops and ask God to give us superhuman strength, and then a baby would just show up on our doorstep. And it will be ours. And the love has already come, in case anyone was worried.

Five for Friday: What Our Adoption Story Isn't

1. It isn't meant to make anyone feel bad, for any reason. This is such a deeply personal story, one that draws on nearly every part of who Shane and I are as individuals and as a family. To do the story justice it requires some over-sharing and a great deal of vulnerability. I often worry that things that I might say here could be perceived as hurtful. When I go on and on about our loving families, for example, I can understand how that would feel like a slap in the face to someone who has longed for a better family relationship. When I talk about my experience having a biological child who is healthy and happy, I can understand how that would feel like salt in the wound of someone who is desperately trying to have a biological child of their own. And I'm sure there are things that I'll say here that could be hurtful for reasons I don't even know yet. I'd like to offer a preemptive apology to anyone who is hurt by anything that I say here. I am telling our story as honestly as I can, and I hope that you can extend me the grace to do so knowing that any hurt is unintentional.

2. It isn't an Instruction Manual or an Expert Opinion. We are not experts. We are figuring this out one step at a time. We are doing our best to be as educated as possible about the process that we are pursuing, but at best we will still only be experts about the exact way that our process plays out. I do hope that what I share here is informative and that you are able to occasionally learn something about adoption, and about families in general, but this is meant to be a personal story about our family.

3. It isn't a Sales Pitch. We are passionate about adoption. We are really excited about this next phase of expanding our family and we probably talk about it enough to be pretty obnoxious. We're not trying to talk anyone else into being passionate about adoption, though. Don't get me wrong, I think adoption is an important social issue and one that is totally worth being passionate about for anyone, but so are a million other things and I think passion has to be a little bit organic. Adoption is not for everyone, I get that. It's for us, though, and that's all that we're talking about here.

4. It isn't a Sermon. You know when you hear about someone you know taking a somewhat extreme stance on something, and you immediately start thinking about all of the reasons that their stance is stupid, but mostly you're just preemptively working on a defense for your own stance, because you assume that the other person is judging anyone who doesn't agree with their extreme stance? Please don't do that. Well, not to me anyways. I'm not here to imply in ANY way that we are more Christian/spiritual/humanitarian because we are choosing to adopt. I'm also not here to imply in ANY way that if you think we're crazy that you are less Christian/spiritual/humanitarian. Mama don't preach.

5. It isn't Finished. We are still very much at the beginning of this journey. It could get really ugly, or it could play out like a Hallmark card. I reserve the right to change my mind about anything that I say, because I don't know where this is going to take me and how it's going to shape me yet. So not only am I shirking any responsibility for being any kind of 'adoption expert,' I'm also saying that I don't even have all of the answers about our own story. If you feel like you're getting ripped off, I will gladly refund all of your money.

Our Adoption Story: Part One of {Indefinite}

An announcement: We're going to adopt a baby. Boom goes the dynamite.

We've been thinking about this seriously for several years and taking tangible steps towards making it happen for several months, and are now far enough along in the process that it feels only natural to start talking openly about it.

I'd like to use this blog as a place to tell our adoption story because 1.) I love telling stories, and 2.) I think this story will be worth sharing. And with that, I'd like to start at the beginning:

*****

We're adopting because we want to. This isn't a plan B or an alternate route, this is just part of how we're having kids. Like how most couples talk about when they'll have kids and how many kids they'd like to have and how far apart they'd like them and do they care if they have boys or girls etc. It's exactly like that, except that adoption is on the table too. For us it feels like a normal part of our family planning conversation.

I know that the next question is, "How did you arrive at this place?" and I'm not sure I have a great answer. I mean, I have an answer, but there is no AHA! moment or anything. For me, adoption has appealed to me since young adulthood (and I'm using the Barnes and Noble definition of "young adult" here, as in high school-ish age*). It was around then that I was aware enough of the world around me to understand how immensely lucky I am to have a family that loves me unconditionally, that cares deeply about ensuring that all of my needs are met, and that has equipped me with all of the tools that I have needed to be a happy and independent adult with fulfilling and sincere relationships.

Inherent in that realization, of course, is the recognition that many people are not so lucky. I did not merit or deserve the circumstances that I was born into, and I don't take that for granted (Clarification: The most valuable thing about the circumstances that I was born into is a familial love so deep that it will make you go blind if you stare directly at it. While my family was fortunate enough to always be able to provide all of the tangible things that I needed, it is the intangible love, the modeling of healthy relationships, and the unending stream of encouragement that I am most grateful for and what I am referring to when I refer to being born into great circumstances).

Essentially, I felt that I had a surplus of family love, and that I wanted to bring people into that family love who had a deficit. Adoption seemed like the most natural way to go about this. And from that general thought process a desire to adopt began.

While we are Christians and that has come into a play a lot as we've arrived where we are today in this journey, I want to reiterate that this began as a desire. This began without any supernatural visions, scripture references, or humanitarian data. This began as a seed of desire for a child. It feels important to say that because if there is anything that I want our next child to know, it is how desperately they are wanted.

*****

Coming Soon: I start talking in "we" terms and Shane enters the story.

*Yes, this means that I'm judging you if you're over 18 and trying to defend the literary merits of the Twilight books.

Five for Friday: Things that Made my Most Recent Haircut One of My Best

1. Groupon! As we adjust to life on a single income, I've parted ways with my quarterly highlight appointment and I've made peace with trusting my tresses to whichever "stylist" has an opening at Super Cuts. But wait, there in my inbox: it's a bird, it's a plane, it's a ... Groupon! I have had 3 haircuts since Louie was born nearly 8 months ago, all utilizing the sweet sweet savings that only a Groupon can offer. Groupon has me right where they want me with these salon savings - 50% off a haircut at a nice salon brings the price down to just over what I'd pay at Super Cuts, so it's not so cheap that I question it's legitimacy or devalue it, just cheap enough that I feel like I'm getting a great deal, thankyouverymuch.

2. Wine! It's pretty standard for the receptionist at a nice salon to ask if she can get you something to drink, presumably some fancy pants cucumber water or maybe a hot tea. At this particular haircut, however, the choices included beer and wine. I'll be honest, a beer sounded pretty awesome on this unseasonable hot afternoon, but it felt a little white trash. I classed it up with a glass of red wine and kicked back with a copy of Teen Vogue while I waited for 'Camille.' Take your time, Camille, take your time.

3. A proper respect for the sanctity of the head massage. Who doesn't love a good head massage? I'll tell you who: Someone who is desperately looking forward to the bliss of a professional salon head massage, and instead gets hurried through a lukewarm shampoo session during which the stylist asks a series of questions that leave you wondering where to look and how loud to talk. My girl Camille, she gets the head massage. She gets it so much that she asked me to thoroughly explain what I had in mind for my haircut before she even took me over to the shampoo area so that we wouldn't have to talk at all during the shampoo. She took her time, kept the temperature perfect, and didn't hesitate to really get in there and suds the hell out of my scalp. It was heavenly.

4. Low pressure sales approach. It's ironic that I've made my living perfecting the art of sales for the last decade, because I loathe being put on the spot by over eager commission seekers. Having had my hair cut at this salon before, I was prepared for the thorough explanation of every product that would go into my hair, complete with a written "prescription" that I would awkwardly be handed upon checking out. There are a few people that you always want to keep in your good graces, and the person who takes a scissor to your head is one of them, which makes declining the sale a delicate dance. While Camille did explain which products she put in my hair, her approach felt very "just FYI," not so much "so what would you like to buy today?" Thanks, girl, for not killing my wine + head massage buzz.

5. A great out-the-door style. I have long wavy hair, which by it's very nature is pretty forgiving in terms of imperfect haircuts. A little unevenness here, a weird cowlick there - my hair forgives you. The curse of my waves is their indecisiveness. Neither glossy and straight nor truly curly, my hair requires a nudge in either direction to look decent. Most stylists don't seem to get this and they blowdry my hair every which way until I look exactly like the "before" girl in a Frizz Ease ad. Then they furrow their brow a little as they realize the error in their ways, but, pressed for time, they run a flat iron though it a few times and send me on my way. Not so with Miss Camille. Best. Blowdry. Ever. I knew I was in good hands when she told me that she would style my hair into "Victoria's Secret waves, not Texas hair." She wasn't lying - my hair looked so good that I swear I increased a full cup size.

Dear Large Groups of Girls: I Love/Hate You.

Women are curious creatures.We buy ill-fitting jeans simply because the logo on the back pockets lets all our friends know that we spent $150 on them, and when you compliment our shirt we'll excitedly inform you that we bought it for $7 at Ross. We order extra cheese on our pizza, but salad dressing on the side. We want our partners to do what we want , but we want them to do it because they want to do it.

Basically, we're crazy.

There are some things that can be expected when groups of women gather together, and some of these things drive me crazy.

For starters, there is a collective inability to make decisions that makes Brett Favre look downright resolute. Have you witnessed what goes down when a group of girls tries to decide where to go for dinner? First, 87 options are presented. Then anyone who has heard anything unfavorable about any of the options will share this information, but quickly add a disclaimer that she's still willing to go there if that's what everyone else wants ("I heard that they don't use very high quality meats there, like the chicken breasts are from imprisoned chickens who's dads were never very nice to them, but I can totally just order a salad if that's where you guys want to go") . So now there are still 87 options, but 15 of them have an asterisks next to their name.

Next, the group will consider the logistics of each option: Will there be enough seating, how far is the drive, how does the particular social scene of each restaurant compare with the current energy level of the group, etc. This part of the conversation will take about 20 minutes and will involve everyone talking at the same time. Still, it will just be a time of sharing ideas. None of the 87 options will be ruled out.

Then, as if the Lord has given someone a prophetic vision, one girl will declare above the crowd, "You know what sounds so good?" And she will present an idea that was somehow left out of all the previous discussion. How did we miss this? Why did no one think to suggest this, this most perfect restaurant option that has ever existed in the history of food? The group will collectively oooh and aaah over the perfection of this idea. Yes! That does sound so good! I'm going to order extra cheese on my pizza and my salad dressing on the side! Squeals of laughter will begin to emerge as the decision is somehow reached without anyone ever actually making a decision. Then it's time to figure out who's driving and who's going in which car. God help us.

* * * * * * *

Underneath all the crazy, though, there can be something sacred that emerges when women convene. When you are lucky enough to be with women who are honest about their imperfections, sincere about their desires, diligent in their integrity and earnest in their affection, there can be a feeling that anything is possible. Not in an 87 options for dinner kind of a way, but in a way that feels like you are free to survey the landscape around you, choose a destination that you'd like to reach, and begin blazing a trail to get there.

I am lucky enough to have women like that in my life. Some near, some far, some journeying down paths that closely resemble the path that I walk along, some who are on paths that I can barely relate to. I am a better person because of what happens when I'm with them. I hope that I am contributing something to their lives as well.

And if we ever decide to all get together for dinner, let's just do a pot luck, okay?

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