Storms March 20, 2012

Some days I think I should change the name of this blog to “You’re never going to believe what happened now” or “Guess what happened today!” I seriously cannot recall the last dull moment I have experienced for the reality of the weekly, sometimes daily, roller coaster ride that is my life. Maybe the tag line for adoption should be changed to “Tickets please! Get your tickets here!” At least this would give potential parents a heads up as to what is coming. Or better yet, “Arms up!”

At the moment, I am sitting in a camping chair in my driveway watching Morgan, age 3.5, ride her bike and occasionally push her baby stroller around the cul-du-sac with a stuffed animal strapped in. The storm that raged both inside and out of my house last night has passed and the sun has returned. Nothing but blue skies again. However, there is standing water in the street and exhaustion in my body left over from the night when thunderstorms and illness kept us all awake.

Morgan is suffering from some type of allergic reaction to an unknown substance. It all started last Monday when she came home from school with swollen eyes. We saw the doctor on Tuesday who confirmed my allergy suspensions and advised us to keep taking Benadryl. Unfortunately, the situation grew worse as the week progressed. By Friday, we had seen 3 doctors including an eye doctor.

So a week later, my baby’s eyes are still swollen and red. She has broken out in pimple like bumps over her body that cause her such discomfort. We have appointments with a dermatologist and an allergist. She is taking steroids and Benadryl. My girl is miserable! She can’t sleep, she wants me by her side at every moment, and she hurts. Did I mention potty training has gone out the window? In addition to spending my nights with Morgan, my days are filled with laundry.

All the doctors want to know about the history of this and the history of that. I don’t know any of it! So we wait and try to keep her comfortable. The term systemic is used a lot. What is wrong with my baby?

I am frustrated, exhausted, overwhelmed and just plain old tired. It isn’t even April and the medical issues under this roof in 2012 have been unreal. I get so frustrated and at the point when I think I will surely snap, I fall in love with her all over again. Me without my girls is like a foot without toes – unbalanced and dull. I wouldn’t trade them for the world and I doubt I would have listened in the pre-adoption phase had someone tried to “warn” me about the countless unknowns.

So back I go on the slow boat to health for 2 kids instead of just 1. These children have blessed me a thousand times over and I would walk across glass for any of them. And I would be the happiest woman alive if I could sleep for more than 2 consecutive hours. In the meantime, this toothless grin behind the stroller makes me smile.

A Texas Hoe Down March 9, 2012

Today was the annual Hoe Down at the elementary school for the kids in kindergarten, 1st, and 2nd grades.  I can’t even imagine how much time is spent teaching these little angels, and I use that term loosely, how to square dance.  This is my 4th year to attend and I am fairly certain I could do every one of the dance steps at this point.

McKenzie was so excited to take part in the Hoe Down.  I borrowed a Western shirt and Cowgirl hat from good friend and fellow mom.  We paired the shirt and hat with a denim skirt and black boots.  She was absolutely adorable and watching her dance made my heart smile.  I love to see my kids happy.  I love it when they smile.  They have a lot of crap to deal with in life so an old fashion hoe down is a good thing.  And who doesn’t  love to look cute?

Sitting in the packed cafeteria watching the square dancing complete with “honor your partner” and “square your corner”, it occurred to me this is the most traditional activity my children have ever taken part in.  Square dancing is definitely based on gender roles that do not exist in our home.  I watched McKenzie curtsey and her partner bow.  When and where in the world would she ever do this again?  Granted, our family is different from most in that we have 2 moms. The leadership of our family is based on equality rather than subservient roles common when square dancing became popular.  And yet, our family is traditional in that there are 2 parents, 1 mortgage, 2 cars, 3 kids, 1 cat, dinner together nightly, homework, bedtime rituals, bike riding, and chores.

I had a wonderful time at the hoe down and I am so glad McKenzie had fun regardless of the foreign concepts of bowing to your partner.  It was a throw back to another time and she had a taste of it.  For a brief 50 minutes, the roles were traditional and simple with nothing to do but dance.  It was, for sure, a good day.  And while I may not be traditional by the world’s standards, I can appreciate it when I see it.

Girls with Straight Hair March 6, 2012

It was a typical Saturday afternoon birthday party at one of the many local bouncy locations. I walked McKenzie into the party and was immediately on sensory overload! There were kids everywhere! McKenzie, who is the most sensitive of the 3, became very quiet. I could tell she was on overload as well.

It only took a minute to locate the birthday girl and her parents. McKenzie exchanged hugs and off they went to jump, slide, dive, and who knows what else. I spent 5-10 minutes making small talk with the parents and signing the CYA forms required by the Bouncy Business. I waved to McKenzie and blew a kiss before heading out the door to deliver the other 2 kids to their activities.

Two short hours later I return to House of Mania, or Bouncy Business #1, to pick up McKenzie. Every one at the party seems to be having a blast but McKenzie looks like the loneliest kid in the world. I keep asking her if she had a good time and she responds every time that she did. But a mother knows when something is “off”. And it was definitely “off”.

We say our good byes and get in the car. She remains quiet for about 15 minutes and then announces she wants straight hair like the other kids. The truth is emerging.

“Really? Tell me what is so special about straight hair?” I ask.

“Pony tails.”

“You have lots of pony tails!” I counter.
“No,” she explains. “I want 1 pony tail that hangs straight. I want straight hair like you.”

“You know what? I want curly hair like yours. We usually want we can’t have. I LOVE your curls! I prayed to God my whole life for curly hair and He gave me you!” I comfort.

“I was the only curly hair girl at the party. I felt very lonely,” she explains. “I was the only brown girl too.”

And with that, the tears come. She is sitting in the very back row of the minivan. I pull the car over and climb into the middle row. I give her permission to take off her seat belt and sit in my lap. I hold her while she cries.

McKenzie is growing in the self awareness that plagues her older sister. This is the first time she has verbalized a feeling of loneliness or feeling different. I wondered when this would happen because it came so much earlier for Madison. The wait is over.

It kills me not to be able to make things better for my kids. I hate not being able to take the pain away. Fortunately we have been through enough therapy for me to know the best thing I can do is to be “in it” with them. I can only comfort. I can only hug. I can only cry with them. I can’t give her straight hair. I can’t make her pink. I can merely be present. And that ain’t easy. Evidence #52,482 – Parenting isn’t for sissies.

All Hail Grey’s Anatomy! February 24, 2012

If I didn’t love Grey’s Anatomy before last night, I am their biggest fan today!  I am over the moon excited the writers have included real-life scenarios in their transracial adoption story line.  I nearly jumped off the couch last night when Dr. Bailey gave Derrek “the look” upon seeing Zola’s hair at day care.  I cannot tell you how many times I have gotten “the look”!  And I know I am not alone here.  That brief exchange on the screen in the first few minutes of the show spoke volumes and I knew we were in for some fantastic television!

Meredith and Zola - Grey's Anatomy

 

You see, it would be super easy for the writers to have this wealthy, white pair of doctors adopt a little baby from Africa and drive off into the sunset.  I mean, isn’t that what we all want to do?  We want to fulfill our dreams of parenting by adopting the child of our dreams and riding off into the sunset with nothing but unicorns and rainbows around us.  Well, hello!  That scenario couldn’t be further from the truth.  The Grey’s writers have obviously chosen to get real and the reality of transracial adoption starts with the hair. Can I get an Amen?

 

I am so proud of Grey’s!  In one single episode, a multitude of issues were hit on.  This leads me to wonder if cultural competency will ever be mentioned again.  I hope so!  I was so excited when this story line evolved last season.  At the suggestion of the brilliant Tiffany Wambach – neighbor/friend/critic/fellow artist – I sent the writers a copy of Brown Babies Pink Parents.  I thought for sure I would make a fabulous contributor to the story line.  I am certain they will call any day now, right?  Yeah right.  Regardless, Tiffany called this morning so excited about last night’s episode.  She said, “It’s like they crammed your whole book into an hour long drama! It was like a PSA for transracial families!”

 

While I would love to be involved in the unfolding of such a great story line, I am just thrilled to see families like ours on prime time television! And a realistic depiction of our families.  The more air time we get, the more legitimate multicultural families seem to the general public, which only benefits our kiddos.  So Grey’s Anatomy, I take my hat off to you and your team of actors, writers, and producers!  Thank you for including this beautiful family on your show!

 

Lunch with the 1st Grade February 22, 2012

Today I was invited to join McKenzie, age 6, for lunch at school.  While I am not a fan of cafeteria food, I am a huge fan of spending time with McKenzie.  She was already seated at the table when I arrived and the only open seat was across from McKenzie and between 2 of her friends.  It took less than 2 minutes for a friend I do not know to state the obvious. “How are you her mom?  She’s black and you’re not.”

And so it begins.  The adoption conversation with the entire table of 1st graders.

McKenzie, who does not and never has had any adoption issues to date, starts off by saying she was in foster care.  Wow.  This isn’t part of the script for our family.  I add the word adoption to the mix.  McKenzie explains she was born from someone else’s tummy and then I became her mom.  Looking around the table, I see wide eyes and open mouths.

“So why didn’t she live with her real mom?” asks a little Asian boy.

Me: Well, her birth mom wasn’t prepared to be a mom and needed someone who was able to be a mom to raise her.  That is how McKenzie became to be my daughter.  And I am unbelievably thankful I get to be her mom.

“So you’re not her REAL mom,” says chubby Hispanic girl.

Me: Of course I am real!  You want to touch my arm?  See, I’m real just like you.  I am her real mom.  I am not her birth mom or her tummy mom but I am definitely her real mom.

“I was born in my mommy’s tummy but a few days later I went to live with my Nana and Pop Pop.  And that’s who I live with my whole life.  That’s my family,” explains a little Hispanic boy.

Me: Exactly! Families are special and not all of them are the same.  Some kids live with a mom and dad.  Some kids live with 2 moms or 2 dads.  Some kids live with step parents or grandparents or single parents.  All of them are families.

Collective – COOOOL

“In my past life I was a cat,” announces little Indian boy.

I think we’ll call it a day, folks.  Kids are listening.  What are you saying?

I Want a Home Going February 20, 2012

The first memory I have of Whitney Houston is during Spring Break 1985.  I was in the 7th grade and went with my friend, Sarah, and her family to spend a few days at the beach on the Mississippi Gulf Coast.  We stayed up late, watching Friday Night Videos where a model was suppose to sing.  I remember thinking, “Yeah, she’s pretty, but can she sing.”  20 minutes later there was no doubt.  I remember going to the mall to buy her tape when we returned from the beach.  Boy she could sing!  I would put the cassette tape in my WalkMan and turn it up until all I could hear was The Voice.  I fantasized about singing just like her.

 

I am fairly certain I have owned, at one point or another, every tape and then CD she ever made.  While I wasn’t a huge fan of the movie The Body Guard, I LOVED her re-make of I Will Always Love You.  And I LOVED her re-make of Chaka Khan’s I’m Every Woman.  Do you remember the video?  Whitney was pregnant and positively glowing.  Several years later while I was in the very painful struggle to come out of the closet, I listened non stop to My Love is Your Love.  It is perhaps my favorite Whitney song.

 

I followed her career over the years, even watching the train wreck of a reality show Being Bobby Brown for just a glimpse of her.  Whitney was clearly in a life and death struggle with the demons all too many regular people have as well.  I literally had the breath knocked out of me last weekend when I read on Facebook that she had passed.  The scab on the scar of my Aunt Kathy’s death 8 years earlier was pulled off in a split second.  Grief is a funny thing.  You think you’ve worked through it and then BAM!  A pop icon dies (most likely) as the result of drugs and I am back on the floor of our old house hearing the dreaded words over the phone, “Kathy is dead.” Drugs suck.

 

I was glued to the television for most of last weekend.  I couldn’t turn away.  It is like the grief needed to be fed.  I felt sad most of the week and clearly saw the effects of grief on my day to day routine.  I kept reminding myself I didn’t know Whitney and this wasn’t happening to me,  but in a way, it was.  I checked in with my mother and her sisters to see if they were feeling the same way and they were.  Finally, I started crying.  The sadness just became too big for my heart to contain and the tears spilled forth.  Maddie and McKenzie saw me crying and I tried to explain about Whitney and Kathy.  While they didn’t really “get” it, Maddie was able to see grief rather than just feel her own from the adoption wounds that plague her.  She comforted me, hugged me, and helped me think happy thoughts.  What an amazing child.

 

On Saturday, I purposely stayed away from the television, knowing I couldn’t handle the funeral.  Silly me.  I thought Whitney’s funeral would last an hour or so.  Boy was I surprised when I turned the TV on 2 hours later in time to take part in her Home Going.  This has to be one of the greatest African American traditions of all times.  Sitting in my living room in Austin, I took part in Whitney Houston’s home going.  I prayed with the congregation.  I wept with the congregation.  And I stood up when Rev. Marvin Winans preached.  I mean, he PREACHED.  I was hollering Amen and looked around for my Bible to follow along.  I even found him on Google to see where he preaches every Sunday.  I had no idea there were black people in Minnesota.

 

I left my living room that afternoon feeling renewed and refreshed.  I had sweated out the grief with the rest of America.  White people need to control everything.  There is always a time table and a right and wrong.  Everything is so constrained. I don’t want a white funeral when my time comes.  I want a Home Going in the African American tradition.  I want people to cry for as long as they need to cry.  I want people to sing for as long as necessary.  I want Marvin Winans to PREACH the eulogy.  Okay, I do realize that is a tall order – the Winans part, but I can dream.  Shoot if Marvin is coming, tell him to bring Cece to SING.

 

Whitney Houston’s Home Going was a process of grieving, celebrating, remembering, and then rejoicing.  We moved through the process together and I am so thankful Cissy Houston decided to bring the whole world to church on a Saturday afternoon.  I needed to be reminded of the Word.  I needed to feel the Word.  Because in the end, only the Word remains and we return to where we began.   This is what I want for myself and for the people who love me.  A Home Going – a process through which we remember and celebrate and grieve together without a time line.  I feel so blessed to have been a part of this process.  And now I think I can crank up the music again and dance.

Life Happens While I Make Plans February 19, 2012

I live by the calendar. I always have. I am a multi-tasker at heart and this is the way to keep my family of 5 on track. For the last few months, today has been marked on the calendar for the quarterly board meeting of the Texas Council on Adoptable Children. This full day meeting takes place in Austin every 3 months and while I 100% believe in the cause, I hate being away from my kiddos on a Saturday. Okay, I’ll admit there are some days I enjoy time away from the family but usually not on a Saturday.

Our family has had a rough couple of months. We have been riddled with medical problems, behavior issues, and adoption stuff. I feel pretty drained both emotionally and physically from my duties as Mom. So imagine my delight when I received an e-mail last night cancelling today’s board meeting! Do you know what this means? I have a free day!

Everyone slept in this morning, which was fabulous. It rained all night, complete with thunder and lightening, making for fantastic rest. The forecast called for rain all day long and the ONLY thing on the calendar, besides the cancelled meeting, was Madison’s basketball game. Wow! This doesn’t happen every day.

We dressed in a hurry and headed out the door to the basketball game. I’ve missed the last 2 games so I was excited to watch my girl play her heart out. We get to the basketball court and we don’t recognize a soul. There is no one from her team in sight. That’s when I realized the game was at 11, not 10. Holy smokes! We have a free hour in a bonus day! This never happens! Our weekends are carefully calculated and rarely left to chance.

We decided to drive around to kill some time until our game was scheduled to begin. We discovered a little do-nut shop and went inside for some delicious treats. We each chose an item from behind the glass case, laughing at Morgan who bumped her head on the glass with excitement over the sweets. The girls shared a strawberry milk and we simply enjoyed being together.

For once I wasn’t watching the clock or checking the schedule. The rain poured down outside and we sat warm and dry in a little do-nut shop. I was completely relaxed. If the meeting hadn’t been cancelled or had I remembered the correct game time, I would have missed this precious time with my kids. I sat in that tiny booth, delighting in each of my daughters.

I am proud to share Maddie’s team won the game 16-8 and we have enjoyed this unexpected day together tremendously. There were naps, books, phone calls to catch up with loved ones, time to meet the new neighbors, and even a chance to sell the last 4 boxes of Girl Scout cookies. This was a great day – unexpected and totally appreciated.

Babysitting While White February 16, 2012

Many of you have read the horrible story out of Austin this week about the white grandfather walking his black granddaughter, age 5, through a city park when suddenly they were surrounded by police officers.  The grandfather was cuffed and separated from the granddaughter while police questioned their relationship.  If you have not read this very true story, please do so before continuing any further.

http://gritsforbreakfast.blogspot.com/2012/02/me-apd-and-babysitting-while-white-part.html

When I first read this story, which has gained national media coverage, I immediately thought of my father and how much he adores his granddaughters.  My oldest daughter is the first grandchild in our family and she most definitely set the tone for all other future grandchildren.  My parents adore all of them.  My father would have been crushed if this had happened to him.  #1 – Dad would have been humiliated #2 – Dad would have been beside himself with worry if he were separated from any of my children while police questioned their relationship.  My heart breaks for this blogger and grandfather.  And then my thoughts turned to this granddaughter and how terrified she must have been, not knowing what was happening.  The whole scenario is scary.

I can tell you first hand this is a HUGE fear of most multiracial adoptive families.  How can we prove our relationship in the blink of an eye?  Do we carry adoption papers with us wherever we go?  Maybe, but keep in mind those papers do not contain photographs.  I keep a substantial stack of baby pictures in my wallet in hopes this would prove to any authority figure that these are, in fact, my children.  I mean if I were kidnapping them, why would have their baby pictures?  My kids know that we do not play around with security at the airport and when asked their full names, they answer immediately.  They also know not to ever “kid” around about being our children while in line at the airport.  You see I am prepared for the airport, not the city park.

I shared this story last night with my fabulous friend, Gigi Bryant,  as we stood in line to meet Michael Oher of The Blindside and the Baltimore Ravens.  Gigi is tall and black and beautiful and we talk about race all the time.  We laugh together and share a level of honesty not many people can maintain.  Upon hearing my story about the grandfather and the 5 year old, she says, “Thank God he was white.”

And then it hit me.  My white privilege allows me to be outraged about this story. If this grandfather had been black and the 5 year old white, more than likely he would have been not only cuffed, but also hauled downtown.  The police could have called DFPS to care for the child while all of this was sorted out.  He could have been assaulted by the police.  Shoot, he could have been tried and convicted before anyone slowed down to ask, “What were you saying again about a granddaughter?”  This is the world we live in.

Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled the possible kidnapping of a child was taken seriously.  Had MY child been the suspected victim, I would have raised holy hell until every officer within radio reach was on the scene.  However, this situation was taken too far.  Cuffs were not necessary and surrounding the pair in the park with multiple squad cars and tasers drawn seems a bit much.  It shouldn’t have happened this way.  ON THE OTHER HAND, let us consider for just a moment if the tables were turned.  The scene would have been much uglier.  And it isn’t out of the realm of belief that shots could have even been fired.  All because a grandfather was walking his granddaughter through the park and someone thought it didn’t look right.

White privilege is alive and well in this country.  We, as Americans and even human beings, are not on an even playing field.  There isn’t much I can do about it directly but I can raise the level of consciousness and hope to God this never happens to my children or my Dad.

Dad and Morgan

Adoption Papers at the Doctor’s Office February 10, 2012

Who remembers the CBS comedy Designing Women?  I LOVED this show and reference it frequently.  I always wanted to be a combination of the sexy, sultry Suzanne and the sassy, silver tongued Julia.  Their co-worker and friend, Mary Jo, used to ask Julia if she was about to get “fired up” about something or the other and occasionally, Julia would give a warning.  Consider this your warning.  I am fired up.

Yesterday I took Madison to visit a pediatric surgeon to discuss an upcoming procedure.  When I made the appointment a few days prior, the scheduler asked if I was the patient’s biological mother.  I said no.  She asked if I was a step parent.  I said no.  She asked if I was an adoptive parent.  I said yes.  She then told me to bring the adoption papers with me to the appointment.

Uh, what?  Back the truck up.  Why do you need her adoption papers?  She explained it was to make sure the parent had the authority to authorize surgery.

Hmmmmm…. So does this mean biological parents need to leave a DNA sample?  What if I were divorced?  Would you need to see that documentation?  If I am responsible enough to seek out your services and bring her to the appointment, don’t you think I’m responsible enough to pay the bill?  These are just some of the thoughts racing through my head.  Since my kids were home while I was on the phone, I didn’t argue too much though I thought the whole thing was ridiculous.

Enter Kim from work and I tell her what I am required to bring with me.  Saying it out loud to another adult made it real.  Kim asked for the number to the office and said she would take care of it.  Kim started with the scheduler and moved onto the office manager.  She definitely went a full 9 rounds with the office manager and I am fairly certain both of them needed a blood pressure pill upon disconnecting the call.  Bottom line – I still had to bring the adoption papers.

I think this is a ridiculous requirement of a doctor’s office.  No matter how I look at this situation, I cannot see the point.  It clearly seems as if adoptive families are being singled out since birth parents are not having to prove paternity or maternity before an appointment.  What if the scheduler hadn’t told me in advance to bring the papers and asked for them in front of Maddie at check in?  I would have DIED because my daughter would have been put on the spot.

Our adoption is a legal matter that was settled many years ago.  It has NOTHING to do with Maddie’s health.  While we deal with adoption issues every week, the paperwork does not impact her health, our financial responsibility, or anything else when it comes to visiting a doctor.  If I weren’t such a lady, I would have crawled across that desk and used some language my daughter would need to look up in the dictionary.  Kim says I need to schedule an appointment with the office manager in order to plan a staff training on adoption.  Who knows.  For now, I need to focus on Maddie’s health.  But she better look out after that.  I plan to channel some Julia Sugarbaker!

How can it be February? February 7, 2012

Raise your hand if time is flying faster than you prefer?  Yep, that’s what I figured.  It seems like yesterday when I was preparing the kids to go back to school after the holiday and now Valentine’s Day is next week!  Believe me, I’ve been awake and present throughout January, but it was a hard month to say the very least.  On January 2, the baby took a dive off the sliding board in the back yard, landing face first on the ground and losing her 4 front teeth.  We went from a relaxed, playful day to the ER to the dentist to a pediatric oral surgeon.  The following day she had surgery to remove the 4 teeth still hanging in her mouth and to repair the bone she broke.

The bone, you ask?

Yes, the bone that holds your teeth in your head was broken.  We are so lucky she didn’t break her neck, but now I have a toothless 3 year old.  Of course, she was eating Cheetos a few days later, which as you know is the universal sign for mental and physical health.  That was a scary week and I feel as though I aged 10 years in 7 days.  Fortunately, she is doing great 6 weeks later and I have grown to love that toothless grin.

Once I recovered from Morgan’s face plant in the back yard, my wonderful friend, Connie, came to visit from Mississippi.  Connie is the reason I came out of the closet.  She has been a good friend for a long time, even before Kim or the kids.  We spent a week refinishing furniture, celebrating my birthday, and reminiscing.  So much fun!  We all cried when she left.

Speaking of the day Connie left, her departure triggered something in Madison that ripped the scab from her adoption wounds.  The week that followed Connie’s departure was filled with calls from the school, visits to the therapist, crying,  repercussions from the before mentioned behavior at school, and so much heartache for this Pink Mommy.  I hate to see my children hurt.  It isn’t easy to sit in the pain with them.  It is like riding the biggest, scariest wave in an unfamiliar ocean.  You hold onto each other, you wait for opportunities to breathe and you keep looking for the beach where you know there is safety and stillness.  All the while you are tossing and turning with fear and anxiety gripping your heart.  This was my week with Madison.

I have learned to hold fast when these times come.  I can’t change the fast that she is adopted.  I was naive in the beginning to think she would be unaffected by adoption since she came to us at 13 days old.  I was wrong.  Dead wrong.  The wounds of abandonment are fresh and real.  I can’t fix them.  I can only hold her hand and plunge forward with her.  This incredibly confident, out going young lady whispered in my ear several nights that week, “I just need to be near you.”  Talk about breaking your heart!

So we talk about it.  I no longer wait for her to initiate conversations because she won’t.  I ask carefully calculated questions and then I wait.  I hold her like a baby sometimes.  I offer praise.  I remind her frequently how much I love her.  I talk about birth mom and I say her name.  I encourage Maddie to say her name.  None of this is easy and I would be a liar if I said it doesn’t hurt because it does.  The truth is there would be no adoption in a perfect world.  Every adult who wanted to would have a child to parent and the adults who didn’t want a child wouldn’t.  Children wouldn’t experience the trauma and pain of adoption.  Isn’t it funny that I grew up thinking adoption was all rainbows and unicorns?  While adoption fulfilled my need to be a parent, there is a dark side and I live with it frequently.

So it is now February.  The roller coaster ride known as January has ended for now.  It is 1 Pm and I have not received a single call from the school thus far today.  This is a good sign.  I look for the signs every day.  For instance, Maddie was playing with her good friend and neighbor in the game room, which is across the hall from my office.  I heard them roll playing some kind of pretend game.  They each assumed new names.  I beamed when I heard the neighbor call Madison by her mother’s name.  You see, Maddie had assumed birth mom’s name in this game.  She felt comfortable enough to say it out loud, share it with a friend, and use it in normal conversation.  Maddie likened herself to birth  mom and that is a good thing.

After such a rough few weeks, you have to look for the silver lining.  You have to find the signs that life will go on and we will all survive the pain in our hearts.  Maddie has made a last-minute decision to enter a Black History Writing Contest at her school in which she researches an influential black woman in history.  The project is due tomorrow so tonight will be busy.  Do you see the sign?  Do you get it?  My daughter knows she is black.  And she’s proud.  That makes me smile.

Where are your signs? Keep looking.  They are there.