A single mom to three boys working hard to live my truest life. I hope as I share the beauty, the gratitude, the grief, the hard…you find inspiration + hope to show up to your life as honestly as possible.
I will never forget the week leading to Sage's second birthday. It will forever mark a time in our life where the absolute grace of God was on our family.
When his second birthday finally arrived, I couldn't have been more grateful to call myself his mama. The gratitude of being his has always run deep, but after our previous week, it was ten fold.
I stared at him sleeping soundly far past his usual waking hour, and saw his features resembling more of a kid than a baby.
You guys. This is such a wild ride, this whole four babes under two years.
There are many times I am wishing a drone was following me around, recoding our ridiculous reality.
I wish you could see us load and unload the van — ha! We have to go through the trunk and over the back seat for Sage and Ira, and it makes me giggle 60% of the time (the other 40% I am being kicked in the face).
On Christmas Eve Eve, we thought it would be a really great idea to go on a 3 mile walk for a terrible coffee. What else would you do with four 23+ pound children, one stroller, and in 31 degree windy weather? We are so smart and active you guys. We are so Oregonian. So we walked and we regretted and everyone slept for the first half but everyone then cried for the second half.
If I'm honest though, right now I sort of feel like someone might feel after having a pile of bricks dumped on them, after just being thrown approximately 1500 babies to care for.
It's 8 pm on a Monday evening when they join our family.
Nothing came with them but the clothes on their bodies, 4 toys, some diapers, and an old Mickey Mouse bag.
Our community rallied with car seats and pack n plays and formula while I did a quick run to Safeway for whole milk and bananas. Safeway gift cards were emailed, some Paypal gifts, extra Amazon Christmas gifts, and a giant Target run full of warm jackets and matching outfits.
I want my son growing up proud of his blackness.
I hope he claims it, celebrates it, finds confidence in it.
People already ask me, "What is he?" From talking with my friends of color, I know this question won't stop when he's old enough to respond for himself, and will continue through his life.
I usually say, "Biracial," unless I'm feeling really snarky, then I smile and say, "A toddler."
Saying my son is biracial is true, yes, but often times I wonder if it is doing him a disservice in the long run: our world is very black and white. It just is. For now he is a super cute and extremely adorable toddler. But soon enough he will be a 15 year old black teen, looking like an 18-20 year old black man.
She dumped the Aveda dry shampoo into her greasy hair, added some mascara to yesterday’s, and rubbed the Mary Kay eye cream into the dark circles letting everyone know she was tired.
Just as she finished rubbing it into her skin, one of her two one-year-olds threw his dad’s book into the toilet with a splash. She stomped her foot and yelled at him for being in her bathroom when she asked him nicely to play in his room for just five minutes.
Two of my closest friends recently had their first babies, and I’ll admit, I was nervous about how it was all going to go down. I didn’t know what negative feelings might surface as I was reminded – yet again – that their story would never be my story.
We get to hear from Anna's beautiful heart today.
Growing up, it never dawned on me that I was white. I just was. It wasn't something I needed to notice or care about, it was just how I and my little world was. Everyone looked like me and if someone didn't look like me, it didn't matter much because I knew God created all people equally.
And then I was married and our world sort of fell apart—or so it felt—and we found ourselves moving from one town to another city and attending a church passionate about the Gospel and racial reconciliation. My husband started grad school and had documentaries to watch, like Eye of The Storm. We were in the adoption process and were reading everything we could regarding adoption, including adopting outside of our race. In the heat of an intense and discouraging election season, it seemed as though scales fell off our eyes and we no longer had the option of being blissfully ignorant to what our world was really like.
The weight of love was overwhelming. Witnessing with our eyes and feeling with our souls we experienced the weight of sacrificial love. The room’s air bled tragic love.
How could someone’s tragic loss be our unfathomable gain? How would I ever fully understand this paradox?
“So how do you make sure the baby you get looks like you? How do you make sure he's white with blue eyes?” Our friend’s voice was tender and caring, inquiring about our upcoming adoption, even though his questions cut through me like a dagger.
I remember thinking through my response slowly, explaining why that a “look” was not something for which we we are looking. I shared that adoption won’t ever be a secret or anything we are ashamed of, and that we will celebrate the beauty of diversity and embrace any culture into our family.
Adoption is a big and complex piece of our big and complex world. It is not cut and dry, it is not black and white, and truth be told: it is a mess.
I truly believe if we chip away at the stigmas and tear down the myths, maybe more people who could be adopting and fostering will step into it. I don't believe everyone should adopt or foster, but I do believe we all play a role in it somehow.
All that said, here are the most frequently asked questions and the answers I will give, based on our journey thus far:
We all want to love our friends and family well, right!? I hope so! I know I do. I hope this list is helpful to you and gives you some ideas of how to support your friends who have or are adopting transracially.
Disclaimer: this post is written by a white mama and is geared towards white friends who have other white friends, raising children of color. All races and ethnicities adopt outside of their race, and I'm sure these apply to them as well.
Here are three ways you can be as awesome as my sister and support your friends/family who have or are adopting transracially:
These are the days they all talk about, and to the bottom of myself, I do not want to forsake them or fill them with bitterness. I don't want to have sadness and feelings of unfairness shadowing the immense joy it is to be these boys's mama and this man's wife.
These three boys are my whole world.
I don't want to miss my whole world because I'm mad I have to pay my bills or be an adult. I don't want to miss my whole world, right in front of my eyes, because my husband is pursuing a dream and ideal way to provide for our family.
He has always only been supportive of me and my dream of writing, even though it's never been easy for our family. It's been a sacrifice for us all, and I want to be the beautiful soul I was created to be and excitedly support my husband through his new journey.
"I just have to ask... do you love Sage as much as you love Ira? I mean, I know you say that you do...but I'm just so curious if it's true."
We sat on my living room floor when she asked me this. With a world of confidence and pride in my chest I was able to nod and beam and let her know that I absolutely love Sage as much as I love Ira.
Here are our fall crafts!
...
I continually find it is always through the tears and the pain I find the most growth. It's always through the transition from vibrant days to in-my-face confrontation that I evolve and relearn what it means to be humble. I never want to lash out and hurt others, as a defensive reaction. I never want to choose my comfort and protection of my heart over truly seeing a human for who they are and what they're crying out about.
The struggle is real around here and I battle blaming myself for not being a more structured, routine-oriented mom. I look at other moms who have an amazing routine, who have had their babies sleeping through the night since they were 3 months old and on a strict eating/sleeping schedule.
But I can't do that to myself—blame and battle and belittle—so I remind myself we are all different with different strengths and different personalities and different lives. Right? Those mamas who have it down are not perfect at something...right?
Im tired, much like the rest of you.
My website and blog is not solely an adoption blog, but it is one of the areas of life I write about a lot.
I took a ton of questions during October and will be answering those as well as sharing aspects of our adoption journey that have shaped us, made us better people, and taught us life lessons.
Losing a baby is a tragic and irrevocable loss, whether via miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss.
Not only is it tragic, but you don't ever forget the trauma and loss. Your baby was a part of you and deserving of his or her space in your life. (S)he moves into your heart, taking up residence as sorrow and grief for the rest of your time on earth.
Irrevocable loss is like that: it creates a sorrow that just sort of moves into you. Sometimes its quiet and unnoticeable, other times its loud and hurts like nothing else.
I was furious, and felt betrayed.
The days unfolded one at a time, slowly and painfully, holding horrors I never imagined experiencing. When doctors warned me of the possibility of miscarriage, I had no idea the toll it would take on me.
I had not the slightest hint of an idea I would be wrecked completely, stripped of my will to keep going. I thought I wasn’t handling infertility and the wait well?
In honor of National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, we are hosting a few giveaways on Instagram through the month of October.
![She Wanted What Was Best For Her Son [million ways to mother]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5850be0d03596ef94b5f7921/1511135740836-90ZKHYA1FANZNT3QYJ8H/this-undeserved-life.jpg)
