The Day Everything Changed: Part I- a phone call.

How do you describe the day your life changed? How do you explain how you are no longer the person you once were? How is it that one event, one phone call, can completely change the way you feel about the world?

I hadn’t been thinking about the adoption. To tell you the truth, I had given up. Several times, in the weeks prior to this fateful day, I found myself among these fabulous women I have met during this adoption process. I looked at them and thought, ”I hope that they will continue to be my friend even though I won’t have kids.” I thought that surely we would still be friends? I could baby sit, and be Auntie Julie to their remarkable kiddos. In all areas of my life, I was trying to get my head around the fact that we would not be parents. We were going on ten years of trying. Enough, I thought, how many signs do I need to convince me that it is not in the cards? I didn’t think that it was going to happen. If, by some miracle it did happen, I thought, it definitely won’t be until the fall or winter. We had already set a record for waiting time at our agency. I thought about the big picture, and realized that I would not die if it didn’t work out. I thought about Steven and our life together. I felt clarity in knowing that life would go on. I felt grateful for love, health, family, and friends. I gave up on the children part. I let go of it. I wrote this post.

The next day, the phone rang.

On Wednesday morning, May 27th, 2009, I returned home from my local gym. I had had a sort of lazy workout (Yes, that was me on the Stairmaster, staring into space and mouthing the words to some ballad that I really shouldn’t be using as a workout song.) After about thirty-four minutes of fake exercise, I went home. Before stepping in the shower, I sat down to check my e-mail. Moses licked my salty shoulder, and the phone rang.

My phone came up with the name, Kristina. Kristina is my former social worker (when you wait nearly seventeen months, people change jobs). She had moved on to a position as head of the HIV + adoption program at CHSFS. I wasn’t sure why she was calling, but I am always happy to talk to her as she basically, in a word, rocks.

There was no way it could have been a referral call as I was told by CHSFS that my local Los Angeles social worker (at Vista del Mar) would be the person who would call me with a referral. I picked up the call and it was Jan, my current social worker at CHS. This is where it starts to get a little fuzzy. I can’t remember if she said, “I am here with Kristina,” or “Kristina is here with me,” or if I just noticed that it was Jan calling from Kristina’s extension. They were both on the phone. Jan, comedian that she is, decided to ‘mess’ with me a little. She said, “I’m just calling to go over your paperwork. I see that you are open to two children under 6 years of age is that correct?” I started to shake a little bit. Our file said up to 4 years old but we had modified it to go up to 6 after an unsuccessful attempt to view older siblings on the waiting list several months ago. When she asked this I thought, for a flash, is this a referral? Is this a referral for two 6 year olds? Then she said,” I see you are open on your medical conditions, is that correct?” Yes, I said thinking, is this referral for two 6 year olds with heart conditions? I started to shake a little bit.

She then said, “Well Kristina and I were wondering if you would be interested in reviewing the referral information for a 2 ½ year old girl and her 5 month old brother?”

“Yes”, I said, “of course.”

I think I may have freaked out at this point. You’ll have to ask them what I did or said, I do remember thinking that I wish I weren’t wearing such ratty gym clothes to meet our children for the first time. I also remember feeling something that I have never felt before: Happy Shock. I have heard bad news on the phone on more than one occasion, but I had never heard news like this. I was pacing around the house, my arms all tingly and my heart beating out of my chest.

“Would you like us to call your husband?”

Uh. Yea.

Steven was at work. He was in a meeting and had to uncharacteristically announce, ”I HAVE TO TAKE THIS CALL,” as he stepped out of the room.

During some complications with getting the conference call to work, I panicked and thought, they are going to give up and not tell us about these kids. I said, “Ladies, it’s been 17 months! Give me ten minutes!” They weren’t about to give up. We finally had Steven facilitate the conference call from his end. He is handy like that.

Then, something remarkable happened, they told us about our future.

It was an intense phone call. I thought that I had done a good job preparing myself to hear the information. I had had plenty of time to think about it. I thought that I would be ready. I thought I knew what it would feel like. I was wrong. I have never felt so much sadness and so much joy in such a short period of time. These children, these remarkable children, their lives, their story, I had no idea. I had no idea what it would mean.

Coming up… Part II - Chunk of Love and a Degas Ballerina in a blue dress.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words.

I could have spared you months and months of blathering by just posting this picture. This picture describes our adoption journey so far.

It describes it completely.

About two years ago I dragged Steven to an adoption seminar. It was sponsored by these people. It was depressing. There were at least a dozen women weeping quietly during the opening remarks. The couples in the audience were full of despair. They had suffered losses and disappointments. They were at their wits end. They were a grim looking bunch. We fit right in. Steven said,"Losers, a room full of losers." We felt like losers. We were all unsuccessful. We could not have a family. We were dejected, depleted, and depressed. We were not alone. This was the first formal adoption seminar that Steven had come to. It was like pulling teeth to get him there. I had already decided that adoption was our next step. Steven was reluctant to say the least.

Over a year later, (actually a year ago last Wednesday) Steven and I attended another adoption event. (Yes, it was a whole year later for those of you out there with a reluctant spouse). This next event was at the home of the woman in the picture. That's her on the left. No, it is not Thandie Newton. This woman had an open house for prospective adoptive families.

In California, (back then) you needed to find an out of state placement agency for your adoption. This open house was sponsored by Children's Home Society and Family Services. I am not sure if I can adequately describe what happened that evening. This woman, let's just call her Thandie because she is a dead ringer for her, was anything but a loser. We arrived at her house and were greeted by several small children. Thandie had adopted three children from Kazakhstan, one from Korea, and one from Ethiopia. The wee Ethiopian had been home just one week. Thandie helped present a slide show about the adoption process. She was so honest, open, and funny about her experiences. Her husband was as beautiful and open as she was. The kids were obviously thriving in their care. I am not describing them well enough.

Give me a minute....

Optimistic. Joyful. Full of Life. Unafraid. Full of Wonder. Elated.

They were the complete opposite of us in that sad auditorium a year prior. They were radiant. They were down to earth, smart, funny and willing to share every single detail of their experience.

Like I mentioned, I had already decided that I wanted to adopt. It was Steven who still needed a little help.

Help arrived. Help arrived in the form of the tiniest Cindy-Lou-Who. Cindy-Lou-Who bounded down the stairs in her fuzzy footie pajamas, with her pigtails swinging. She plunked herself down in her mom's lap, threw her arms around her neck, and laid her head down. She was smiling. She was secure. She was breathtakingly adorable.

On the way home, or maybe it was the next day, Steven said,"Okay, Let's do it." We filled out the application the next evening.

Today we went to a picnic sponsored by our agency.

The little girl that Steven is smiling at in the picture from today is Cindy-Lou-Who.

There she is, just as beautiful as she was a year ago. She is looking into the face of Kristina.


Kristina is our social worker. We hadn't met her until today. She lives in Minnesota. She is the woman who is going to tell us who are children are.

Glancing over from across the park, I had one of those full circle (or at least half circle) moments. There was Cindy-Lou, holding hands with her Ethiopian sister, Thandie, Kristina, and my once reluctant husband. Cindy's new sister, who just came home from Vietnam two days ago, was there too.

This is the second time this week that I felt a huge surge of hope run through my veins. My worries and anxieties about our adoption were temporarily erased.

I looked at how far we had come, and I saw a small, adorable glimpse of our imminent future.

Not bad for a Saturday afternoon in the park.

It's a New Day...

Check out these pictures that Rebekah found. Aren't they beautiful? They say so much about this historic election.

Another favorite picture from Grant Park...


My sister on the left, and her friend Nora.

Today I am meeting someone who will, at some time in the future, give me the best news of my entire life.

I hope that you too, have a profound Saturday.

Skooled.

What are you two doing here?


Just for the record, this is not the most ideal greeting from a social worker to an adoptive couple.

Steven and I had to take a two part, ten hour, adoption parenting class. The first part was in January (I think, was it that long ago?) Anyway, the teacher was a bit out of sorts that day, and I was not surprised that she canceled part two, the night before it was to take place.

When our agency finally called to reschedule they said, "S is no longer going to be teaching your class. We have a new social worker that will be taking over.”

“Oh, I said, what’s her name?”

"Her name is Fariba."

I thought to myself, how many adoption social workers named Fariba could there be in Los Angeles?

Fariba is the name of one of the instructors we had at our thirty hour, foster parent training program. We took these classes just over a year ago. I wrote about the experience here.

I was not entirely surprised when Steven and I showed up a few weeks ago for part two, and were greeted by our old friend Fariba saying, "What are you two doing here?”

I had been thinking about seeing her again. I was happy to have the opportunity to tell her why, after two months and thirty hours of training, we decided not to be foster parents. I printed up what I wrote about her here on the blog, and put it in a little thank you card.

I was kind of afraid that she might think that we were residents of Crazytown...

Who are these Julie and Steven people? Do they just take as many adoption classes as they can, year after year? Do they just miss being in school? They still don’t seem to have any children. What is up with these two! Crazytown denizens for sure.

I felt reassured when Fariba, with great thoughtfulness said, "From what I remember about you two, this is the right path for you to be on.”

What do you think gave it away?

Maybe it was the role-play we had to do in the foster class:

Fariba: Julie, would you like to play the foster- adoptive mother?

Me: Uh, sure. I guess so.

She picked other people to play the DCFS worker, and the birth parents.

In the scenario, I am given a tiny baby by the DCFS social worker. I hold the baby, feed her, and sing softly to her. I have a pretend visit with the birth mom. The birth mom leaves. Shortly after, the social worker comes back, and tells me the baby is going to be returned to the birth mother. She quickly takes the baby out of my arms. I sit there, empty handed , on a cold metal folding chair.

Well I bet you can guess how this went.

It was a one-way trip to Boo Hoo City for me. I was a weepy mess.

Fariba probably made a mental note to herself right then and there,"This Julie person… maybe not the best candidate for the Los Angeles foster-adopt program."

Fariba’s thirty hour foster parent training program was incredibly helpful. This latest class basically covered the same material. We even did an imagery exercise identical to one we had done before.

I am wondering how other adoptive parents feel about the classes they had to take to become home study "approved". Did you find them helpful? I recently learned that some agencies allow you to do the instruction at home (online or with a DVD). I wonder if that would be better. I do know that every potential adoptive parent that I have met, has voraciously read whatever they could get their hands on regarding adoption. They devour book after book.

I find it ridiculous that they made a certain adoptive couple take these classes. The couple was a Nigerian man and his nine months pregnant wife. His brother had died, and he was in the process of adopting his nephew. There he was, on a Saturday morning with his about to burst wife, learning how to incorporate his adoptive child’s culture into his own. They are both Nigerian. It is his nephew. Now, I understand the importance of screening everyone who wants to adopt. Everyone should be checked out. God knows there are uncles of mine that I wouldn’t have wanted to be placed with (totally kidding), but really why did this couple have to answer questions about how they were going to help this child, their nephew, maintain his culture? Silly.

Steven and I are finished with our required adoption education. I feel like we have only just begun. (Insert cheesy Carpenters song here.)

Home Study

Our homestudy is very close to being approved. Yippee!

These are some of the things it entailed:
Getting or creating the following;
Medical reports-(Physicals including tests for HIV, Hep A, B and C, TB tests, hearing,vision)
Autobiographies
Finger Prints
Employment verification forms
First two pages of the past three years of Federal income tax returns
Copy of bank statements
Copy of marriage certificate
Letter from therapist if in therapy or counseling in the last five years (that would be me)
Health Insurance info
List of all debts/assets
Description of Home
Three letters of recommendation (Thanks Guys!!!!)

Meetings with the social worker; Three times at her office, once at our house.

THEN...

This info was sent to our placing agency. They reviewed it and requested more info (specifically on the current equity of our home and a more detailed prognosis on my PAST Thyroid Cancer- reminded me of the Seinfeld episode,"Prognosis Negative.")

Soooooo, after just a few more steps we will move on to the Dossier process. The Dossier is composed of , for lack of a better term, "A shit-load of documents." Luckily some of them repeat, so we already have a good head start on that. The impending holidays may slow things down since everything needs to be notarized or certified or rectified or fossilized or testified to (Can I get a witness!) but I am hopeful we can get it together and get on the official waiting list soon.
Currently the wait for siblings is OVER 6-9 months and then an additional 3-4 months before traveling, once we are finally placed on the list. Big Sigh. I guess we will just do what we can and try to wait patiently for our children. I just don't want to look like this at their weddings.




As I sit here in my cozy house with a big cookie and a cup of coffee, I feel that it would be wrong for me to feel sorry for myself about how long this is going to take. I will try to avoid doing this. When I think about my potential children's present circumstances in Ethiopia, how can I feel anything but grateful for a what I have in my life? I do, however, feel sad that if it takes too long, my kids will never get to meet this guy...

That would be a shame. I already feel sad that they will definitely not meet Lummi. The holidays definitely have a dull pallor this year because of her absence. I really miss her.

She was always getting into her stocking.





I was thinking about is how cool it would be to be an adoption social worker. You'd really get to see how people live ( if freshly vacuumed dog hair free rugs is how you really live). I was thinking about how we were looking to buy this...

and how we were considering building one of these...




Would you get approved if you lived in a yurt or an earthship? I guess the yurt and the single unit earthship both kind of look like a traditional Ethiopian hut.


Maybe the kids would like it?

I didn't like the yurt. I think it was because when I opened the wood-burning stove there were almost three dozen dead birds who had flown in seeking warmth. I also didn't like living in the earthship as much as I thought I would. The bathroom smelled like, well, poop. It is great to use your water over and over and over again, but isn't there something you can do to make it smell less like an overused head on a boat?

One of the benefits though, is you can grow bananas year round in the middle of the desert.



I bet the most rewarding thing for a social worker would be the post-placement visits. If everything is going well, they get the satisfaction of seeing that they have helped build a family. That must be a sweet feeling.

The Poopy Diaper

I had a nightmare last night. It woke me up. I had a social worker meeting scheduled at our adoption agency (In real life I had this appointment last Monday.) We were told to bring gifts. When I got there their were several other thin white women with brown hair. We were all holding various gift bags that contained presents for our social worker. I said to one of them,"Oh your gift bags are the same colors as mine." She replied,"Yes, they are the colors of the Ethiopian flag." I snapped back,"I know.I know!" A secretary came in and said that unfortunately our social worker was running behind and we would have to wait. In the meantime, she asked us if we would do her a favor. Of course we all eagerly jumped at the chance.

This was the favor. She asked me to take two children to their school. There was an older girl and a younger boy, probably about five and four years old. I quickly grabbed the two of them and started up an escalator. When we got to the top it was a huge shopping mall. I asked the kids where the school was and they pointed to the right. I opened a series of doors. One of them was like a little mudroom or cubby room. It had a small bed and a pair of boots. The kids just kind of grinned at me because they knew I didn't know how to find the school. They were in no hurry to get there. I took them both down a different escalator and ended up in the lobby of a lovely, expensive, private school. "This is it," they said. In the excitement the boy had wet his diaper. I asked him if he had others and he said no. We were already late so I quickly found his classroom and asked his teacher if she had any diapers. She waved me away and the boy took his seat with his wet diaper. The girl had made her way to her classroom by herself.

I relaxed briefly. I thought, "Well at least I got them to school." I was about to make my way back to the adoption agency when that same teacher came up to me and said," You can't leave him in my classroom with a poopy diaper." I asked her if they had any, and if they had a change of clothes because she said that the diaper was beginning to leak. "Nope," was all she said. I grabbed the boy by the hand and we started back toward the mall. We took the escalator back up. I started looking frantically for a supply room or something that maybe the school set up. I couldn't find anything. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally stumbled back onto that little room I had found before. I opened the closet and there inside were diapers, wipes, new underwear and some short pants for my little friend. I got to work on my task. (If you are eating breakfast right now you might want to skip this part). This was a dirty diaper, really dirty. I would wipe and wipe and the poop kept coming. There was poop all over both of us. It was on my hands. I kept cleaning and cleaning but there was more. I reached for another wipe with my poopy hands and in walks the secretary, "The social worker is ready to see you now. How is it going with that dirty diaper? It looks like you missed a spot." She started to write something down on a little note pad. This is when I woke up.

This is either a dream rife with anxieties or an idea for the next great reality show. It really did feel like the other women and I were contestants and we had a series of "challenges" to win if we wanted to remain in the competition.

In real life it is not that bad. The social worker we have is fine. Social workers are on your side and truthfully I have never heard of someone being turned down for a home study. You really do have to tell them everything about yourself and that is a bit disconcerting.

For instance, my social worker said to me," So you have five years right?" "What?" I said. I didn't know what she was talking about. She was asking me if I have had five healthy years following my cancer diagnosis. I guess for most cancers when you reach five years you are doing pretty well- you are a survivor. Well, I have three years almost four. Is that enough? Will I be approved? Will having had cancer preclude me from being a mom? I starting getting a bit defensive,"Thyroid cancer is an easy cancer," I said (and it is comparatively), "I get checked all the time." It is hard enough having cancer. I was getting a bit angry that I had to prove that I am healthy. I understand why they want to know. They don't want to approve me to receive two toddlers and then have me promptly drop dead. But really, what guarantee do any of us have? We could be hit by a bus, shot at a shopping mall, killed in a crash, you get the idea.

Here are some other questions she asked me; Why do you think you will be a good mom? What values do you want to give your kids? Why did you see a therapist in 2004? What happens when you and Steven disagree on something? How did you know Steven was the one? If you get a boy and a girl will they have to share the same room? What kind of dogs do you have?

I guess in retrospect, it would be easier to have a stinky toddler placed on a mat in front of you... Survivors ready? And CHANGE THAT POOPY DIAPER!

Steven has his "individual challenge today," I'd better go prepare the gift bags.

Friday Friend or Family Feature...

Let me preface this by saying that I believe in adoption in all forms. I believe that the way that you adopt is a very personal decision based on your own individual strengths and weaknesses. The life that you have led up to the point of your adoption may very well determine which route you will take to find your children. I will hopefully be able to explain, over the next few months, how we came to our decision.

Originally we decided to be foster-to-adopt parents. We thought it would be a win/win situation. We would be giving needy kids a safe and loving home, and we would finally have the family that we always wanted. We signed up at a local agency and were thrilled that the agency was right in our neighborhood. We thought it would be an added bonus if we could serve our community as well (most of the kids came from just a few miles away). We attended thirty hours of training classes. These classes were amazing and are why I have chosen:

Jody, Fariba, and Patty

for today's feature. I am sure that they will not read this, and I don't have their pictures, but please take my word for it, these three women are beautiful inside and out. They work tirelessly as foster adoption social workers. Social workers on the whole, like teachers, are underpaid and under appreciated. They devote their lives to helping others and to creating positive changes in society.
These three women took us through an intense Modern Approach to Parenting curriculum that was definitely not for the faint of heart. The classes involved among other things, role-playing (imagine Steven's initial horror of having to "act" in front of a room full of people.) These role plays were invaluable. They taught us to put ourselves in the position of the people who lose their children to the DCFS. They presented a "falling down" kind of scenario where someone's really bad day just keeps getting worse and worse. These exercises helped us to empathize with the birth parents who, up until that point, had been pariahs in our minds.
Many of the classes were devoted to understanding the losses associated with adoption. This training has prepared us, a little bit, to deal with some of the ramifications of international adoption. Many of the classes dealt with trans racial parenting (98% of the kids in foster care are children of color.) We feel better equipped to deal with some of these issues because of these women.
We were good foster-adoptive parent candidates. I could stay at home and take these kids to the required birth parent visits (some at their center, some at rehab centers or even prisons). We could provide stability and love. Steven could have provided some great meals. We both could have taught them to trust adults again. Moses could have kissed their sad faces for hours on end. Teddy could have put his big Galoot chin on their shoulders and reassured them that they were in a safe place.We could have helped.

In the end, we just weren't strong enough.

We were terrified that we would receive our sibling placement, fall in love with our new kids only to have them returned to their parents. This sounded a lot like our experiences over the last five years (The joy of pregnancy followed by the despair of pregnancy failure.) Also, the foster-to-adopt system makes you bank on some one else's failure, (basically if the birth mom can't get her act together then the kids will remain yours). We didn't feel comfortable rooting for someone else's failure, ESPECIALLY the failure of our future children's birth parents. This idea rubbed us the wrong way. In addition to that, we felt completely unprepared to parent a baby born addicted to/or withdrawing from drugs. The majority of these children (we requested an infant,) would fall into this category.
In our case, we decided that we just couldn't handle the foster-to adopt route. This must be particularly disappointing to these social workers who spent those two months with us last year. We were the only couple in the class (they do these classes all year long) and there were only three other people in our group. I am sure though, that they have continued on with their work. They are recruiting and training those strong, resilient souls who will unselfishly parent these sweet children who need them. I am sorry we couldn't do it. Maybe someday down the line, when we have our family and are reassured that they won't be leaving, we will have gathered enough strength to take in a foster child. Right now we cannot. Thank you for teaching us some important lessons. Thank you for opening our eyes. Thank you for revealing to us our weaknesses, our prejudices and our strengths. Thank you for helping parents and children in the foster care system. Thank you for understanding that we want to parent children from Africa. Thank you for the training that will help us to parent in a more loving and enlightened way.

Steven requested that I mention his favorite part of the class. While I was on a short break from class, Jody asked him if he thought that I would be willing to participate in an exercise called, "The Annoying Habit." She needed a couple, and we were the only one. He said that of course I would do it. We had to stand, back to back, in the front of the room, while the rest of the class asked Steven to describe a really annoying habit that I have. Now you would think that it would take HOURS for Steven to come up with something annoying that I do, but surprisingly he was able to come up with a plethora of examples in mere seconds. So, there we are back to back, and Steven begins to tell everyone how I always nag at him to eat breakfast. He, apparently finds this annoying. (I think it is loving. I don't want him to get low blood sugar.) That morning I had bugged him about it, and insisted that he carry a banana to foster-parenting class.( I guess in retrospect he could have come up with something a lot more embarrassing or incriminating.) Anyway, as the class and the social workers berated him about this saying things like ,"How can you put up with that?" "How long has she forced you to eat breakfast? " "That is terrible, why does she do that?" You could see that Steven was getting visibly agitated. I could feel the heat coming off of him. He began to defend me. "Well she just wants me to be healthy," "She does it because she loves me," "She has other really good qualities." This exercise was amazing. It illustrated to us how foster kids who have been abused and removed from their parents will ALWAYS defend them. They are their parents. If they beat them, burned them, or stuffed them in a closet, these kids will defend them. Heady, emotional, interesting stuff.

We finished, Steven ate his banana, and we looked at each other lovingly. I was proud of him for defending me and he, I think, was relieved that my habit wasn't something much more annoying..



Steven with morning blueberry muffin. (I have heard that it is the most important meal of the day.)