Forever

Me: "Cover your mouth when you sneeze."

Paul: "Why?"

Me: "So you don't spray germs on people."

Paul: "Like dis?" Pretend sneezes into hand. "Like dis?" Pretend sneezes into elbow. "Like dis?" Pretend sneezes into tissue.

Me: "Yes, like that. Thank you. That's good manners. Friends like good manners."

Paul: "Like dis?" Sneezes full on into my face.

Me: Wiping face. "Ewww. No. Yuck."

Paul: "Friends no liken dat? Won't be my friend? You no liken dat? Won't be my mommy?"

Me: Stop mid-wipe. Get down eye-to-eye with Paul, hands on shoulders. "I will always be your mommy. No matter what. Always and forever."

Paul: "Whaddis forever?"

What is forever? How to explain forever to a child who has only known abandonment and disruption and temporary caregivers?

Forever is every day, every moment. It is every 5:30 am shout of realization that "I'm alone!" and crawling out of a warm bed, up the stairs, into a hug that says no you're not, you're not alone, I'm here. It is stories and songs and back rubs every night, even when you're missing Survivor, until he falls asleep in a cocoon of blankets and love. It is standing guard by the bathroom door to keep away monsters and mean dogs, even when you know all monsters and mean dogs were vanquished from the house years ago when Sam was small. It is wiping off sneezes and cleaning up messes and cutting up apples and peeling orange after orange after orange. It is gentle yet strong in the face of hurts, anger, defiance - teaching and reteaching that this is what love is, this is what family is. It is tickling sometimes and thinking chair sometimes and chores sometimes and sometimes not knowing what to do. It is falling down every night and praying, "God, I screwed that up. Help me show him Your forever love," and waking up every morning, "God, I need Your strength and patience today. Mine is all gone." and allowing God to pour His love in so I can pour it out again. It is "Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age" Matthew 28:20.

I cannot promise I will be with him forever. We don't know what tomorrow will bring. But I can be with him right now, show him love right now, and promise that THAT love, that tangible, everyday love, will stay with him always.

If ever there is a tomorrow when we're not together ... there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even we aren't together, I will always be with you. 
- A.A. Milne, author of Winnie-the-Pooh

It is patience for family pictures when he wants to play and act squirrelly, then realizing that squirrelly makes a really great picture!

Forever is letting him remember his first family and honoring his first family, the mommy and daddy who gave him life. It is sharing stories and pictures about the orphanage, letting him miss his friends and caregivers, letting him grieve all he had to give up to come home, even when that grieving is hurtful, painful, raw. It is praying for those friends he left behind to find their forever love in hugs and kisses and families of their own.

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh?" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you."
A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

BREAKING NEWS: Prayer warriors: please pray today and this week for Retselise, Paul's friend from MIS. Nancy, a missionary in Lesotho, visited last night, taking food from your generous donations of "lunch money" and found him very ill. Please pray for his health and please pray that Social Welfare will place him in the care of Ministry of Hope by this weekend. Retselise needs to know forever love. And how does a child learn forever love? From having someone they can be sure of.

Reselise with Nancy reading a letter from Paul.

Thanksgiving

We survived managed our first Thanksgiving week as a family of four. I won't lie - it got a little crazy  - but we have much for which to be thankful. I got a bit behind on my "Days of Thanksgiving" facebook postings (you'll see why), so here's a bit of a recap.

Monday: Paul's first Thanksgiving program for family. After a difficult bedtime working through pre-event anxieties, he woke early (no kidding) and then questioned relentlessly was I SURE he was supposed to wear a costume (Indian) to school and did Mrs. Wagner say and when did she say and when did she send the email and could he see the email? I showed him the email. He can't read, yet he seemed reassured. So he put on the costume. (Adorable.) This morning was a bit of an oddity because the kinders weren't supposed to get to school until 8:45 for the 9:00 program. I took Sam to school at 7:45 while Trent followed later with Paul. I love it when Trent drives to school because then he empathizes with the ceaseless questions and direction-giving.

Trent dropped off Paul a bit early (thanks, Mrs. Wagner!), then he, Sam (skipping class) and I snagged seats in the rapidly filling auditorium. This is where I started to cry - watching the room fill with moms, dads, grandparents, aunts, uncles. Based on the crowd, I'm guessing each kinder had 3.5 people to watch, photograph, support and clap for them. Which made me remember again all those children who, like Paul last Thanksgiving, had no one for whom they felt special. We sat next to a mom whose son from Haiti has been home one year - she understood.

Paul marched on stage with the other adorables. (He stood next to a little boy adopted from South Korea and a little girl adopted from Guatemala. A Thanksgiving melting pot.) Then he proceeded to glower at the audience through the entire program. While the other Indians and Pilgrims smiled and clapped and sang, he was clearly the one tasked with ensuring that no one in the audience made a false move toward the stage. Today I'm thankful no one made a false move toward the stage.

He's very clearly thrilled at the post-performance meet-and-greet

Tuesday: Today the Kinders were to perform the Thanksgiving program at chapel, for the other elementary students. Something flipped a switch in Paul. He was Mr. Personality on stage - singing, dancing, tying the fringe on his costume together so he couldn't pull apart his arms, raising his arms to show everyone that he was handcuffed. He just needed a dress rehearsal. And shorter fringe. Today I'm thankful for a teacher who can laugh when her student ties his arms together.

Wednesday: "Mum! No school today? Whatcha gonna do? Grandma's house? School tomorrow? When school? How many days? Show me five. When next day school can I buy lunch? Whatcha gonna eat?" Etcetera. Packing for a trip can get a little bit ... crazy ... when Paul's around. That need for control when feeling out of control goes into overdrive. And my patience isn't at its highest level in such moments. Which makes everything worse. However, he's a GREAT helper, so I made an extensive chore list for everyone. Paul even made his sister's bed, happily and creatively. (Granted, he owed her a chore for whacking her the day before, but nevertheless.)

Grandma's house was "So far. Why so far 'way?" but we passed the time by spotting boats and barns and cows and large painted chickens. Seventeen large painted chickens. We arrived and settled in and then Trent had a special treat for Paul - a trip to the attic to unearth Trent's old toys that Grandma saved for the last thirty years! Included in the loot: a football helmet and pads, Star Wars figures, matchbox cars and Rock 'Em, Sock 'Em robots! Today I'm thankful for large painted chickens and saved-for-thirty-years football pads.

Thursday: So, I was a little bit worried about trying to enforce manners with Paul in an unfamiliar house with lots of people he didn't know very well during a large meal with actual, breakable dishware. Turns out I didn't have to worry. I missed the meal entirely. I spent the day in bed or in the bathroom with a nasty stomach bug. So Paul's manners didn't bother me one bit. (But I'm told they were fine and he had fun talking smack with Uncle Deron.) Today I'm thankful for Carroll Thompson's graciousness  as she prepared and served the entire meal herself while I groaned upstairs. And also for indoor plumbing.

Friday: Ahhh...better. I could contemplate the idea of a saltine cracker and some Sprite. We traveled home and by evening I felt good enough to dress up and go to World Vision The Story Tour for a soaring, inspiring, soul-filling concert. Tell me your story, Show me your wounds, And I'll show you what love sees, When love looks at you. My heart filled at the hope that many of the waiting children would find sponsors who would pray for them, help meet their needs and let them know they're special. After meeting two children we sponsor through World Vision in May, I can personally speak to the amazing work of World Vision not only in individual lives, but in entire communities. We searched pictures for Lesotho kids - perchance there was someone we knew! Paul was clearly touched, too. Midway through the program he leaned over and asked, "Mum! Next school day, I go staff care or carpool?" But the next day he was still processing it because he said, "Mum, yous and daddy makes sure me and Sam got em food and you's take care of us. Some kids need 'em someone give 'em food, too?" Today I am thankful for people who care enough to care.

Saturday: We packed up again and headed to Nana and Papa's for lunch with my side of the family. Paul enjoyed playing legos and riding bikes with his boy cousins while Sam helped the little girls with their dress up dolls. My brother and sister-in-law brought home their girls (now 4 1/2 and 3) from Russia last year, so they understand the "complexity and delicacy" of weaving children from hard places into a family. Today I am grateful for our family and for their amazing support on this parenting journey.

Sunday: The goal today - unpack, do laundry, pay bills, decorate. Screech...rewind. Sam started feeling bad Saturday evening and, sure enough, spent most of the night in the bathroom. And so I spent most of the night in there with her. Because that's what mothers do, apparently. She finally started sleeping around 4 am, so I thought I'd catch a bit of a break, but then Trent came down with it, too. Paul, blessedly, did not. So I was left to contemplate which is the worser of parenting options: a sick kid or a healthy, energetic and super-clingy-after-such-a-crazy-week kid with sick and tired parents. After 24 hours of Paul being the only healthy and well-rested member of the family, I'm thinking the latter. But fortunately a friend's mom arranged a playdate, so he had a fun couple of hours playing and I had a chance to go to the store for more apple juice, Sprite and crackers. Today I am thankful for friends who have opened their hearts and their homes to our sweet boy.

Update on Operation Christmas Child Shoeboxes

Check out where OCC shoeboxes from Kentucky are heading. Yep, Lesotho's on the list. How cool would that be, if one of our boxes ended up in the hands of one of Paul's friends or of one of our sponsored kids? (FYI - Candy is hidden in gloves.) Yep, God knows how to work glimpses of Him into our every day.

And, aren't you impressed with this photo, which involved a screenshot of an email meshed with this coworker's picture of Paul into a Pages document and saved as a PDF file into iPhoto. Whew! Needless to say, I didn't get QUITE as much editing work done this Friday morning as I'd hoped. Go figure.

LET THE FESTIVITIES...stay very low key

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...everywhere we go...

I have a coworker who already has Christmas trees bought, in her house and decorated. (You know who you are.) She is now planning to decorate her office (which, incidentally, is directly below my office), so that all who drive by will see the lights shining so brightly in her window and will wonder why the window of the scrooge upstairs is so dark and spiritless. Bah humbug.

Despite my lack of enthusiasm about decorating, I'm excited about the holidays this year, I really am. Especially when I remember my holiday mood last year. By last Thanksgiving 2011 we had been matched with our Pacman for six months. We knew that he was struggling in the orphanage and we knew that there was absolutely nothing we could do about it. Others, who had been matched December 2010, were FINALLY getting their approval papers, but on our end all was silent. Fears that our paperwork had been lost, that the country might shut down adoptions, that Pacman needed help were very real and oh, so painful. (Waiting parents, I KNOW the angst you're feeling; that desire to trust in God's timing, in the country's process, in your agency conflicting with the parents' heart that needs to love, protect, cherish your child. I know. You are in my prayers.)

This Christmas he's with us! And I want to shout and sing and dance and bake cookies and buy gazoodles of presents and have parties and shower him with all the Collier-Thompson Christmas merriment that he's missed in his six years.

But I want to do so oh, so quietly and calmly because anticipation and anxiety about anything that deviates from our regularly scheduled programming puts all his systems on red alert. (And, oddly enough, I'm not at my best parenting potential when little man is bouncing off the walls at 4:45 a.m. because SOMETHING IS DIFFERENT TODAY wahoo.)

It has already started, this processing of holiday emotions, with Operation Christmas Child. In April, for Easter, while still at the orphanage, Paul received a Christmas Shoebox from Team Hope. (I know, Christmas for Easter, sometimes these things take time.)

With the build up to Operation Christmas Child at his school, and the showing of pictures and videos of kids with his similar history receiving shoeboxes, he had a lot of mixed emotions to work through. He remembers his shoebox of gifts very well, and the excitement that surrounded it. But he also remembers that the big boys took the little kids' candy. So when we packed his shoebox he insisted on hiding the candy in the gloves. And he remembers that he and his friends got toys, but then those toys went missing, too. So while we packed a shoebox for another boy somewhere around the world, he worried how the boy would keep the toys safe. And so we prayed for the safety of the boy and the safety of the toys. And "Why crying, Mommy? Why sad?" Sad tears for the ones still waiting; grateful tears for the one now home, now safe.

The giving of the shoeboxes in the CAL chapel parade was filled with excitement on his part and a fair amount of emotional detachment on my part (to keep from completely breaking down. Yes, dear, the guidance counselor is crying. Again.)

Not coincidentally, I think, the evening after OCC chapel and all the next morning, Mr. Control Freak reared his bossy little head. It's a coping mechanism, I get it, the anxiety and trauma that makes a six year old believe that he will truly die if he's not the boss of his world, but disciplining through it can suck the holiday joy right out of a person. I become robot-parent. Do not engage the crazy. Do not engage the crazy. All systems stuck on neutral. Unphased by drama. I am robot-parent. "No hurts." Repeat, "No hurts. It's OK to be mad, it's not OK to hurt." Do not engage the crazy. Eventually calm returned, the litter box got cleaned (another blog post, our is-this-healing-is-this-helping-Mama-needs-some-peace-RIGHT-NOW attachment discipline strategy) and family fun returned.

Next up, Thanksgiving school program complete with Indian costume and field trip to sing at nursing home. (Just hit me that I forgot to request a personal day the day of field trip and am not available to chaperone. Um, good luck with that.) We've been counting the sleeps and I may or may not have been fudging a little. "Still a lot of sleeps away. A lot. No worries. Everything is JUST THE SAME for a lot a lot of sleeps."

Then a trip to Grandma's for Thanksgiving. Which requires packing. He's usually great once we arrive at a place, family intact, but just kill me now with the packing. Trust takes time. Healing takes time. Packing=drama.

Then Christmas with all its hoopla and build up and anticipation. Dear friends, please just humor my indulgent fantasy about centering this entire month on the fact that it's Jesus's birthday and therefore we're very calmly and peacefully and THERE IS NOTHING DIFFERENT focusing on Him; about waking up late (say, 6:30 am) on Christmas morning wandering downstairs, and noticing, very low key, that, well lookit, there's a couple of presents left about for Jesus's birthday. Whaddya know and who woulda thunk it? Keep calm and carry on. 'Cuz this Christmas, we're family.

Christmas 2011, when I so desperately wanted him home.