New Skills and New Friends

I’ve been working on a blog post in my head for several days (perhaps weeks) now, but every time I think I find the time to sit down and write it out, some other person here needs me or I am so exhausted I can barely drag myself to the couch for some evening television time.

And the posts I’ve been working on have ran the gamut of subjects, but most of them have been about the challenges of being tired parents caring for a 2-year old who is totally into everything. It’s funny, because around here we groan and cheer at the very same time. We groan because Matthew is into absolutely everything. But we cheer too because he’s learning new things and showcasing his skills in a veritable cirque de soleil.

I’m not kidding about him being into everything. For example, one of his favorite things to do is drive little matchbox cars on the keys of the new piano we just brought into our house. He opens the lid, then proceeds to play at being Mozart with a metal car in his hand. Sometimes he takes to banging on the keys so hard it sounds like the walls will cave in.

He also likes to pull the wooden vents out of the floor and fling them across the room. He chucks very large toys across the hardwood floors. He crawls under the table and plays and laughs to himself. And one of his favorite games is being chased around the dining room table. He literally squeals with delight as his brother or sister chases him.

When we put something up high, he promptly does everything he can to reach it down again. And if he can’t reach it, he starts to yell and cry. He expresses frustration—which is frustrating and lovely to me, both. He yanks on his high chair when he’s hungry, pushes away the spoon when he’s full, and fusses in a sing-song tone when he’s tired.

It’s all rather exhausting, but we’re so delighted that we don’t mind being tired. Our boy is learning so much. When I look back to January 1, I can’t believe all the skills he’s gained in less than two months.

But perhaps one of the most amazing things happened this very night when Matthew and I were sitting in the living room reading bedtime books. We read the same ones every night, mostly to build routine with him, and I’ve selected a few specific ones that have objects in them that he likes and knows. His favorite book right now is Spot Loves His Daddy. In that book, a father and son pair of dogs have a little adventure together. They play in the park with a ball, go to the beach, play on the hillside with a kite while a little bird watches, feed the ducks at the pond (“quack, quack”), and read a bedtime story at night. The very last page is of Spot, the dog, with a soccer ball (the same one earlier in the book).

We’ve been working on the word “ball.” Matthew obviously knows this word because when we ask him to go get a ball, he does. But tonight we were looking at the book and I got to the last page. I said, “Matthew, where’s the ball,” and my boy stuck out his pointer finger and pointed right to it.

I could hardly believe it!

Just so I knew this momentous achievement wasn’t an act of luck, we read the entire book a second time so we could arrive once more on the back page. And I said again, “Matthew, where’s the ball?” And of course my smart boy pointed to the ball again with his pointer finger.

It’s such a delight to watch him learn and begin to understand the world around him. I can’t tell you what a gift it is to finally have him come up and grab me by the hand and lead me somewhere in the house. Usually it’s just because he’s dropped a car behind the bookshelf and needs me to fetch it, but I’m thrilled no matter what he needs from me. The point is HE NEEDS SOMETHING FROM ME. And he has learned to express it.

One last little blessing of the past week has been finally meeting another adoptive family whom we’ve been in communication with since last fall. They traveled in early January to pick up their daughter, who was also born with a cleft lip and palate. I’ve mentioned them before, but we were so grateful to have them join us for dinner on Saturday night. It warmed my heart to see Matthew and their youngest daughter side by side in the high chair—both China-babes, both having lived through placement in an American family, and both going through a similar process to repair their cleft lips and palates.

And the big siblings enjoyed their time together too. In some ways being an adoptive family is so normal and feels the same as being an all-biological family. But it’s also different, and this is complicated by having a child with a cleft lip and palate. We are grateful for these new friends who are walking a similar journey to us. And I feel especially thankful that Matthew will grow up knowing other children who share a similar life adventure.

This is a long post—if you’ve made it all the way through, you show great fortitude. We continue to be encouraged by this adoption journey and all the amazing people we’ve come to know through the process. And we are, of course, always grateful for the love and support of the family and friends who have seen us through this long season and promise to stay beside us no matter what comes.

A sink bath during a weekend away at a log cabin in Anacortes.

I'm not so sure about this, Mom.

Matthew and his new buddy Amara, who came home from China in January.

Smiling kids who all have little siblings adopted from China (plus they really enjoyed each other's company!).

How it really is these days

I realized today that although I’ve been pretty good keeping up with this blog in terms of documenting all the major events in our life, it’s been quite a while since I’ve given a real update about how Matthew is doing, and about how we are doing having Matthew in our family.

It was easier to be raw and real in China, when it seemed like we wore every emotion on our sleeve, when family and friends were so far away we breathed the distance with every breath, and when nothing was familiar except the words on the page.

Now it’s different. We’re home, living life together, facing the many challenges that any family faces, and trying to find a new rhythm together, a new normal.

So I’m happy to tell you that after eight long months, we’ve finally found that rhythm.

“Nobody said adoption was for sissies,” wrote some friends on their blog three days after they returned from China with their newly adopted daughter. How right they are. And I might even be willing to change that statement so it says, “nobody said parenting was for sissies,” because as any parent of a child knows, parenting takes patience, energy, resilience, creativity and just plain determination.

But perhaps this adoption thing is something else entirely. Perhaps when a child isn’t born into a family but instead spends 18 months lying in a crib with no one touching him or talking to him, he comes home to parents who have to teach him how to be a boy—how to be a human being, really. And that teaching is hard work, enough to leave a mama bone tired at the end of a day, and a daddy too.

Bone tired we have been. And we’ve given this journey every little part of ourselves. So what a gift it is, eight months later, to arrive at a place where we are finally seeing the fruits of our labor.

Let me explain.

But first, allow me this one confession. I have spent the last four weeks feeling very ANGRY at China and the child welfare system there. I know, I know—when we brought Matthew home, I wrote about wanting always to feel gratitude for his orphanage that they kept him alive and helped him grow for 18 months. But for some reason in late December, I started reading some other adoption blogs and ran into some very hard orphanage stories. One orphanage, in particular, has stuck with me. It’s located very close to Matthew’s orphanage, and the adoptive parents who visited it were overwhelmed with its horror.  Things went on there that should never happen to children. It was similar in size to Matthew’s orphanage (about 30-35 children) with a very small staff of caregivers. Children were strapped to toilets for hours at a time until they could produce results, children who were as young as 12 months. Cribs were metal railings with wooden slats—no mattress or covering under the babies. This is likely what Matthew slept on as well, which explains his fascination with hard surfaces, especially the wood floors in our house. Walls were whitewashed and lacked color. There were very little toys.

It was a terrible place.

But the worst part was that when this particular family went to leave the orphanage, the orphanage director sat them down and asked them to sign a paper saying they had visited the orphanage and “found it satisfactory.” The adoptive parents could hardly pick up the pen and sign the paper—but they knew that if they didn’t sign, all 30 of the children in this orphanage might no longer be eligible for adoption. It’s a complicated system, in China, like in many other places in the world where “orphans” are cast aside and institutionalized.

And as we have encountered so many challenges with Matthew—the most recent being his language and communication—I’ve felt angry again and again about the circumstances of his first 18 months. Aaron and I are quite sure that he never sustained any actual abuse. But he was the victim of institutional neglect that left him without much human contact, and with very little stimulation. When we think of all the challenges that face him already because he is an international adoptee and has a cleft lip and palate, we can hardly fathom how different his development might have been had he received nurture and touch from the very beginning of his life. And what’s even more ironic is that we were matched with him on his one-year birthday but were forced (by the adoption system) to wait until he was 18 months to pick him up. Six long months (another 50% of his life) that he was lying in that orphanage with no one to touch or talk to him.

So I’ve let myself be angry, although I haven’t exactly known where to vent it. I do understand that orphaned children are the result of many factors, not just some policies in China. Children are often the victims of our world’s greed, poverty, and strange moral decision-making. Matthew is just one child among thousands (probably millions) who have gotten caught up in this. China certainly isn’t solely to blame.

But still this mama’s heart has ached over this travesty.

It’s amazing, though, because being more acquainted with this system and imagining Matthew’s orphanage life a little more clearly, I’ve also grown in my understanding of my son, which I consider a gift. When I think about him lying in a crib for 18 months without a caregiver’s touch and consistent voice, when I think about him crying with no one to respond to him, it first makes my heart break, but it also helps make sense of some of his “strange” behavior. Like how it’s taken eight months for him to make eye contact with me, or how he’s just now initiating relationships.

And that is the good news. After all this time, coming through three surgeries and a significant amount of pain, transition, and trauma, our boy is waking up to the world around him. He’s not saying words yet, but he’s starting to use some sign language to tell us things (more, milk, all done, bye). He’s making car noises, trying to imitate sounds, and asking us for help by his body and his eyes. He wants to be held ALL THE TIME, his warm body melting into mine. He’s grown sturdy and strong (and even a little chubby, having gained 9 pounds since he got home 7 ½ months ago). He is eating a huge amount of solid food, loves trying new things, plays hard all day long, and reaches for me or Aaron every chance he can get. And he cries (thank goodness) and when he cries, he knows we’ll be there in an instant to hold or hug him, or to help him. In our house, crying does mean something. And he’s learned this during the past eight months.

It’s a miracle. A miracle.

I am so proud of him—my smart, strong boy who is unlearning past habits (like isolation, withdrawal, lack of communication) and starting to learn new patterns of communicating and interacting with us. It’s all so gorgeous, I can hardly write about it without feeling tears come to my eyes.

I’m quite sure I will always feel both gratitude and anger toward China and its systems for Matthew’s early months of life. I will also feel so thankful that he ended up matched with our family and has made us complete as a family of five. I can’t imagine life without him—really, truly.

As I watched my three children playing together earlier this evening, it dawned on me that what once felt strange and new now feels normal—as it should be. Matthew is here, he has found his place in our family, and he will be with us forever. The first 18 months, although they seemed long when we got home, will dissolve into almost no time at all as Matthew grows up in our family and continues to learn and develop.

This is probably the best gift of all.

So don’t get me wrong—we still have plenty of challenging days, where our energy doesn’t seem like enough and our questions and worries are still huge. But when I hold my boy close at bedtime, singing my mama songs in his ear, rubbing his head and feet, giving him kisses, I’m so proud of his courage and strength, so grateful that he is home and we have settled into this new life.

And I can’t wait to see what waits ahead for him—and for us—on this incredible journey.

Our Northwest boy home from a walk in the rain with his mama!

Matthew's Baptism

This morning, Matthew was baptized at our church, First Presbyterian of Snohomish. It was a special day for all of us, as we remembered together how God made Matthew and has already been accompanying him on his life journey.

Our dear friends Phil and Kaitlin were in town with their two sweet girls (Mara and Vivian). They are Matthew's godparents and joined us up front for the baptism. After the service, we hosted a gathering at our house and invited a whole host of friends and family to come celebrate with us.

It's been a blessed day--and a special time to celebrate Matthew and his life. We love him and are so thankful that he is part of our family. It was a gift to us to see all the other people in our lives who also love him and pledge to supporting him and walking beside him in life.

Here are a few photos from the day:

Kaitlin holds Matthew while Pastor Charlie pours the water on his head.

A slightly blurry photo--but you get the picture!

Pastor Ann prays for Matthew.

Matthew and his godparents, Phil and Kaitlin.

A photo after the service.

Matthew with my parents Barbara & Bruce (aka Marmie & Bapa)

Kaitlin with her sweet daughter Vivian.

Matthew's baptism cake.

My dear friend Nina (and her husband Joel in the corner) who came to celebrate with us.

So far in January . . .

we've kept ourselves busy with many adventures and activities. It's been a good month of slowing down and settling in. No more surgeries, no more huge transitions--just good, full life. Here are a few things going on at our house:

Matthew has discovered the outside. He stands here and watches cars.

Our boy is smiling A LOT. This warms his mama's heart.

We celebrated my cousin's bridal shower and my grandma got to come!

Maya and I paid Gonna another special visit.

Matthew tried on his baptism outfit (I think he likes it!)

Some friends gave us their piano and Maya has started lessons!

Marielle Rose

A few days ago, we welcomed the newest Eklund to the family. Marielle Rose, daughter of my brother Nathan and sister-in-law Keriann, was born on January 11 (9 days early). We are so excited that she is here and we can't wait to meet her.

I get to fly to New Jersey in late February to meet Marielle and help Nathan and Keri for a few days. The rest of our family looks forward to meeting Marielle when she comes to the Northwest in April sometime.

Welcome, Marielle.

2012

As is my long-standing New Year’s Eve tradition, I’m sitting in my quiet house in the front of my fireplace thinking back on the past 12 months. In prior years, I’ve actually been able to think through each month and remember all the adventures—but there’s something about the past year we’ve just lived that makes all the little details impossible to separate one from another. Perhaps it’s because there have just been too many.

In our Christmas card, I tried to give a quick summary: we’ve been to China and back, grown from four family members to five, settled into our new house, and survived three surgeries at Children’s Hospital. It’s been quite a year for us.

I remember last December, at this very moment, looking both back and ahead—as I knew that 2012 would be the year that Matthew would come home to us. It isn’t hard to remember the whole host of emotions I felt last December 31. I remember watching the clock in the morning, counting down the minutes until it was midnight in Guangdong Province, where Matthew’s orphanage was. I remember knowing that 2012 was going to be an important year—but I couldn’t have imagined exactly how it would be.

This afternoon I had a phone conversation with a new friend who, along with her husband, is about to leave for China in a couple days to pick up their daughter who is 14 months and was also born with a cleft lip and palate. She’s feeling a nervousness that I remember well—so many unknowns, questions, wonderings. Leaving her older daughter at home with a grandparent and traveling so far away. Our time of travel seems just like yesterday in some ways, while also it seems like such a long time ago. I don’t know how much of my advice will actually be useful to her, but it felt so nice to tell someone else, “it’s hard and wonderful and amazing and scary all at the same time. You’re not alone.”

Mostly what I realize about adoption is that while the travel seems like such a big deal at the time, it’s just the very beginning of a very long story. Most of what matters and what’s really important is the time that’s spent with your child once you are home living normal life—a “new” normal, truly, because life will never feel like the “old” normal again. But that’s just as it should be.

I feel a deep sense of gratitude today for all the friends and family who share life’s journey with us. As I talked on the phone today about our trip to China, I remembered vividly my own conversation with a China-cleft lip and palate-adoption mama (Thank you, Meegan!) a few days before we traveled. She shared so many things with me that were helpful while we were away . . . but mostly it was an incredible gift for me to know I wasn’t alone—that others had walked the path we were about to walk—and that we’d have a whole host of friends and family who would be with us in spirit while we were away.

Your prayers, thoughts, notes, visits, meals, hugs, and kinship have wrapped around our family in 2012. When I think back to this year, even if I don’t remember much of anything else, I won’t ever forget how incredibly blessed we are to live amidst the most amazing people I could imagine. I wrote this in a Facebook post a few days ago, but I’m quite sure that I’d give up everything else in my life if I could just keep my deep faith and the love of our family and friends.

We are rich beyond measure, for which I have inexpressible gratitude. And as I look ahead to 2013, I am quite sure that both challenges and joys will cross our path, and we will continue to forge ahead in this life as a family—buoyed by your love and care, digging deeply into this life that is ours, doing whatever small good we can for our world.

Happy 2013, everyone.

Matthew in his orphanage in XuCheng Town, December 2011

Matthew, December 2011

Matthew, December 2011

Matthew playing in Marmie and Bapa's living room, December 2012

Our boy in the tub, December 2012

Playing at Grandma and Grandpa Russell's house, December 2012

Family Photos

These are a series of photos we had taken by my friend Christi (who also took the black and whites of Matthew back in the fall). If you got our Christmas card, you've seen some of these already--but I've been wanting to share them on the blog.

What's most amazing to me about these pictures is that when I look at my three kids now, they look like they belong together. I didn't feel that way on June 7 when we arrived home from China with Matthew. It's taken time for our family of five to knit together, but now these are my three beautiful children who all belong to me and to each other. I've always known (from experience!) that family is made, not born. But to watch this happen in my own home with my own children is a gift I can't put words to.

I'm grateful for the sense of completion I feel when I look at our family. We're all together, finally, and I'm one thankful mama.

December in Photos

Instead of detailing the adventures of the past month, I thought I'd let the pictures tell their own stories. Enjoy!

Going to see the Wizard of Oz at Seattle Children's Theater

Matthew all bundled up for his first Christmas tree-cutting experience.

The big kids loved pulling the cart out to find the tree.

Sweet Samuel

And here it is--our perfect tree.

All decorated, with the angel on top

Maya posing after her Nutcracker performance

Maya's holiday concert--can you find our girl?

The annual stuffed-animal Christmas pageant (narrated by Bapa)

Matthew exploring his world

Matthew's first Idaho snow walk

Aaron and his little sister

Still getting used to the snow . . .

Sam loved sledding

A very cute Maya smile

All three of our kids in the snow

Maya giving her brothers a sled ride

Sledding duo

Grandpa gives Matthew a push on the snow

Whee . . . there he goes.

And now he's getting the hang of it.

Sweet boy.

Opening presents on Christmas morning.