Our Day...Gotcha!

on this very day, two years ago, they handed you over and placed you in my arms.  it was like no other "birth" i'd ever experienced but it was one that i had dreamed of for several years.

First contact.  May 30, 2011

i shake as i write.

i'm not sure if it's the overindulgence of coffee from this morning or the fact that i know you will one day read this and it scares me to think how you will interpret my words.  i never know with you.  you always keep me on my toes, testing me, taunting me....teaching me.

just yesterday, i found some of your diaries that were kept for you at your orphanage by your nannies and various missionaries that visited your orphanage.  there are so many names, so many who held you, so many who gave you hugs and kisses.  so many who loved you.  all of them, i had once prayed for, even though i'd never known them, nor would i ever.

they called you eve.  that was your name in the orphanage.  eve.  you also had the name yu yi.  another name.  and then in we came.  two big white people who swooped you up and started calling you echo?  how were you to know who you are?  how were you to know your name?

so many names.

as i went through your things and placed them in your room, i could not help but feel a million emotions.  one was excitement.  your new room.  this bedroom that i envisioned you in the moment we moved in.  once i saw that we would have a "spare" bedroom, i knew deep within that it would not be spare for long.  no, not for long.  i remembered moving into this house in december.  by january, i began my search for you and my focus became secretly neurotic by february.  i was determined to get you in that room as quickly as possible.  time was of the essence it seemed.

i also felt sadness.  so many things you had to go through to get where you are.  i can be so impatient with you at times, pushing you along, forcing you to blend in, buck up, get it right, calm down, speed up, act right, smile, eat your dinner, don't eat too much, use your words, don't talk now...

so many rules.

and i must be honest that i felt a twinge of anger.  i wanted more of your history.  i wanted a letter from your birth mom.  there.  i said it.  she held onto you for 2 months before placing you at the back door of your orphanage.  she had quiet moments with you, she fed you, she put you to sleep, she carried you for nine months!  just a letter... a tiny letter for me to have. for you to have.  i wanted a letter.  i wanted to know more about you.  i wanted to keep that among all of your most precious keepsakes.  i cry now thinking about it.  it makes me angry that i get angry about this simple thing.  a letter.  i should be much stronger than this by now.  i should have an answer for you, ready for the day that you ask questions that will rock my world.  questions about your birth mom, the who's, the why's, the what ifs.  yes, i should be ready.  and i'm not.  i have no idea what i will say to you one day when you ask these things.  you didn't come with a manual and so half the time, i just have to wing it.

i wing it.  the best way i can.  and even when it's my best, i fail.  there are days that i'm scared you won't love me like i love you.  it makes me want to pull away, to keep my distance, to keep you at arms length so that i don't get hurt when you tell me one day that i'm not the mom you wanted.  i know that's silly for an adult to feel that way.  but i wonder if you feel that way too sometimes.  maybe we feel those emotions together?  maybe we are both afraid of loving too much.  maybe we are afraid to let some of our walls down.

July 2011

today marks two years.  "gotcha day".  i first heard about this day from a little girl named jade.  i taught her in 2nd grade before having children of my own.  she was spunky and bright.  a total tom-boy.  we were in line, going to the lunchroom when i asked her, "why are you so bouncy today?"  (truly, i'd never seen her in such high spirits before!)  she told me that this was her "gotcha day".  i had no idea what that was but wanted to know more.  she told me all about it.  she told me that this was her best day, even better than her birthday!  and then she said, "my mom loves this day!"  i choke back tears even now.  little jade and her mom shared that day together.  of course her mother loved it.

i love this day too.  i love this day because it was the first day i held you, the first day we became a complete family.  it was our family birth day.  you completed it.  in my moments of guilt for loving this day more than your birthday, i remind myself of jade and her bouncy little walk that day.  i remind myself that THIS is the day that we share together.  THIS is our day.  this is not the miracle of conception or the miracle of birth but rather the miracle of adoption.  because it is a miracle that you, of all the chinese babies, you were the one they placed in my arms.  you were the one i'd waited for.

you had so many names until that point, but in that moment you had a new name.  mine.  you were mine, you are mine, you will always be mine.  and as scary as that may be for you, it is forever true.  you can't get rid of me.  i'm yours.

echo, you are such a bright and loving little girl.  you love attention, hugs, laps to sit in, people to spoil you.  you crave approval in almost all areas.  you strive to succeed and loath failure.  you are witty.  you are kind.  you are a grouchy morning person.  (you make me and your sister look like angels in the morning!)  you adore your brothers, you admire your sister, you're in awe of your daddy.  you love being outside.  you are impatient, you are stubborn.  you are a fighter.

my favorite spot to kiss you is right in between your eyes.  i love how soft your skin is.  i love your nose, your brown eyes and the mysterious way that your eyelids smoosh your lashes down but they never seem to get in your eyes...i love your beauty spot on your arm.

happy Gotcha Day to my sweet, loving, spunky, naughty, fighting, whining, stubborn little girl.  this is our day, echo.  this is my letter to you, as your mom.

now we have a letter.

let's put it in your keepsake box.

March 2013

April 2013

"The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace."  Numbers 6:24-26

My Little White Flag

i've taken a moment to sit down.  i can count on one hand how many times my bottom has met the couch in the last several weeks.  it seems every time i get close to contact with this beloved piece of furniture, something needs to be done, someone needs me or there is somewhere i need to go.  and although my older children have found a new independence after moving back, there is still much that i have to do with them, for them and to them.

the day we moved back, my older two children asked if they could start waking before me to fix their own breakfast.  usually they wake me to help them or lay in bed until they know i'm up.  lately, they've wanted to get up and do it themselves.  they promised to clean up after they finished.  i had to give this a bit of thought.  it might be kinda nice to have some help in the mornings.  normally, my day starts with an elbow in the face or a knee in my pelvis, and hearing a small child say, "is it morning time?!" or "the sun is up!"  this is followed by my mother-octopus arms going into full effect as i single-handedly feed my tiny army in less than 30 minutes.  usually they all request a different breakfast and i find myself making not one, but 3-4 different breakfasts.  hmmm, yes, having them do for themselves might be nice...i'll wave that white flag.  i surrender.  you guys give it a go.  see how it works out.  i give.  so after watching reese and maddox complete the task on their own for 3 days in a row, i decided they could do it.  they haven't looked back since and continue to surprise me with their independence.  they've even taught zane how to fend for himself in the mornings.  oh sweet relief.

thank goodness i waved my white flag.  i've never known what it is like to fix breakfast for one child.  echo's eggs have never been so warm, her banana cut so freshly...and my coffee?  oh yes, it is hot as well.

last week, i had cleaned the closets and reached a point of mental and physical exhaustion.  i put echo down for a nap and somehow managed to get horizontal on our couch.  the children were watching wipe out.  zane had made his way over to press his little body into mine saying, "move over a little mommy, i want your warm spot."  

really?  i just got here?  i can't even have my own "warm spot" because you want to take even that.  but i was so tired, i moved over to have him take over.  i waved my white flag.  i give up.  i give in.  i surrender.  after letting me rest for a few minutes, zane turned to me and got right in my face.  "mommy, are you sick?"  i told him no.  "mommy, am i sick?"  i told him no and briefly thought how sad that he thinks one of us must be sick just because i've laid down.  but before i could think anymore, he replied, "good, because i want to kiss you on the lips."  and with that he grabbed my face and laid one on me.

thank goodness i waved my flag in that moment.  a passionate kiss from a freshly turned 5 year old is rare and wonderful.

and a few days ago, echo had one of her days where words could or would not form for her.  when she gets into her mood, it is as if she is locked up and no one can find the key.  this was her day.  pure lock-down.  i'm a talker, a thinker, a communicator.  so to have this one shut down on me is pure torture.  it makes me want to kick and scream and cry.  heath has described it like putting two immovable forces in front of each other.  i fight, she fights, i step up, she steps up.  i push her to talk, she sits in silence.  we were late for an event, a friend's retirement, that i had been looking forward to for months.  we were late because she refused to pee in the potty, even though i knew she had to go.

i got her into the car along with the other hoodlums, ran back into the house to grab something and stopped for a quick prayer, i was desperate.  "Lord, help me to love this child when she seems unlovable like this.  i give up.  i give in.  i need help.  i need Your heart and Your eyes.  i wave my flag.  i surrender."  

i have found, since that plea, that i've regained a little more patience.  i've had the dearest of friends reach out to comfort and help.  i've been given contacts of professionals to call for her speech therapy.  i've been given hope.  not that hope was lost at all!  no, this little one is far from hopeless.  honestly, i think she is such a strong cookie!  she is strong, capable and resilient.

i'm so glad i waved that white flag.  i've waved my little echo flag quite a bit.  it shouldn't amaze me when God swoops in and lifts me up or holds me tight to get me through, and yet, it is still amazing that He answers.  such a tiny request.  such a huge answer.

yes, my white flag has been used quite a bit these last few weeks.  usually i like to regard myself as a fighter, one who needs little, one who can laugh her way out of anything, one who can see the light at the end of any tunnel.  but there are moments when i just have to give up.  give in.

wave my little white flag.

i constantly tell myself to buck up, fight the good fight, hang in there, be strong, keep going, find my way, feel my way, fight my way through whatever is going on in life.  big and small.  but it's the moments and times when i wave my flag that everything becomes more clear, more manageable, more freeing.  i gain perspective.  i gain insight.  i gain patience and peace.

last night i told echo is was time for daddy to take her up to bed. i expected her to give me that pouty face and shut down.  toddlers know when they are the first to go to bed.  she knows very well that the other get to stay up later and she can't stand it.  i asked for a kiss and told her i loved her.  she simply stood up and looked at all of us and said, "i love you guys".  i think my jaw hit the ground right that second.  and then she went down the line, "i love you reesie, i love you zane, i love you maddox, i love you mommy, i love you daddy."

maybe she's waving her flag too.  maybe she's giving in just a little as well.  maybe she's letting her wall down, surrendering.

you know that phrase, "God never gives us more than we can handle".  well, i believe we do have times in our lives where there is more than we can handle.  and it's in those times that we have to call on  The Big upstairs to pull us through.  i was making that phone call.  "i need You."

the wilson summer started 5 weeks ago.  we have more than 2 months to go.  i'm going to wrangle these kids the best way i can, honor independence where i need to, steal passionate kisses when i can, and communicate as often as possible.  i'm also going to keep a few little white flags in my back pocket.  i never know when i'm going to have to throw one up.

moms, it's summer time.  get your flags ready.

"Lord, I crawled across the barrenness to you with my empty cup...If only I had known you better, I'd have come running with a bucket."  -Nancy Spiegelberg 

Don't Close The Door

i've caught myself saying a common phrase over the last couple of weeks since we've been back in the states.

"don't close the door!" when the three big kids clamber in the car and shut echo out so that she can't get in.  seriously, that's just mean.

"don't close the door!" when the children are playing upstairs, running and slamming doors while laughing and yelling.  i can just visualize a finger getting smashed.

"don't close the door."  while echo "helps" to put groceries away.  i leave all cabinets and fridge doors open while i unload.  time saver.

"don't close the door." as the children run outside to play.  i need to hear them from the kitchen as i clean up after the meal.

"don't close the door."  as i open the dishwasher.  i like to have them air-dry overnight.

"don't close the door." i say to heath as we go to sleep at night.  i want to make sure the children know they can come in at any time.

i have wanted to sit down and write about my last couple of days while in london and yet, the days (and now weeks) are starting to go by.  i feel as though i did not put a final stamp on my time there.  i left it open and undone.  messy and without closure.  i don't like to leave things in any of these ways so i needed to sit down and write.

our last few days were just what i thought they would be, rushed, stressful and quick.  our last few days were unexpected in that i thought we would be able to do just a little bit more before we left, a few more sites to see, a couple more places to go.  and our last days were everything i hoped they would be, sweet goodbyes to friends and neighbors, trainers, baristas and david.  our last few days held a little bit of every emotion and it was all wrapped into one.  i bet that's the way that most goodbyes usually go.

saying goodbye to our porters was tough.  the children and i wrote them letters and we went by and said our thanks and gave our farewells.  it was difficult to leave them, the "safety", that they had been for almost two years for us.  these men had kept up with our going and coming on a daily basis.  i think it's safe to say that they knew us better than most, if by only watching how we go in and out all day long.  a continuous revolving door.  not to mention their desk was right by our front door.  i'm sure they heard more than they wanted to.  and our huge front window was right where they positioned themselves during the day.  i'm guessing they saw enough as well.  poor guys.

we said goodbye to Flat 1.  i walked through each room as the children waited outside talking with the porters.  i took in the sights, the smells, the sounds.  it brought me back to the day we first moved in and how we began this journey in the first place.  we had filled this flat with love and laughter, tears, potty training, bedtime stories, cooked turkeys, burnt dinners, movie nights, dance parties...the list is endless.  we had filled it and now it was empty.  all those memories were packed up.  as i left, i felt "don't close the door".  because to close it would feel too painful.

we walked across the street to see david.  i'd written david a three page letter.  yes, hand-written.  i can't tell you the last time i wrote a three page, hand-written letter....high-school maybe?  i'm serious.  who hand-writes letters anymore?  i had written all the things that i'd wanted to say to david but never took the time, had the guts or felt the need to say.  i wrote it all out.  honestly, it seemed almost like a love-letter.  that sounds really silly.  but it was more of a love-letter than anything else.  how could it not be?  i loved him.

when we saw david, the children rushed to him and began to tell him that we were leaving, today was our last day.  he knew this day was coming and he asked them questions and smiled and acted excited for them.  i handed him my note and a few quid and asked him to read it, please don't throw it away.  please keep it and read it.  we talked awhile longer, got a quick photo of him and the children, gave big hand squeezes and walked away.  i turned around to see him opening the letter as soon as we walked away.  he couldn't wait to read it.

the baristas at our local starbucks had asked us to come by on our last day.  they presented us with a london mug that had been signed by each employee.  the 6 of us sat by a window and had our last cup of coffee together....well, the kids had a hot chocolate and echo had a babyccino...

as we hailed our last taxi and were piling in, we saw david across the street and gave our final waves and shouts.  the kids were yelling across the street to him like he was their uncle buck and we were only leaving for a holiday.  we clambered in, "don't close the door" crept to my mind.  as we pulled away, i continued to wave to david like i, myself, was 6 years old.  and then the tears came, fast and furious.  big, wet tears as we pulled out of church street and onto kensington high street.  sweet maddox put his hand on my knee and asked, "are you crying because you'll miss david?"

i'm crying because i will miss everything.  i'm crying because i hate goodbye.  i'm crying because our journey is over.  i'm crying because i'm sad.  i'm crying because i'm happy.  i'm crying because we are going home.  home.

our flight home turned out to be one of the best trips.  not only were the kids easy and fantastic, but it was the pilot's final flight.  we were greeted in atlanta with two huge firetrucks hosing the plane down as a celebratory retirement tradition.  the pilot's family were all on the aircraft and we signed his uniform for him before landing.  we saw him later at baggage claim and he gave our children sweet treats and wings to wear on their shirts.  he was having one of the best nights of his life.  his smile said it all.

he was certainly closing a door.

and when we arrived home, we pulled into our driveway to see balloons, a welcome home banner, gifts for the kids, sweet tea and other surprises.  our fridge had unknowingly been stocked and the house was cleaned.  we have amazing friends indeed.  indeed.

and to open the door to our home and take in the sights, the smells, the sounds....home.  truly, there is no place like it.  in that moment, as i closed the door, i felt the weight come off.  the fear, the anxiety, the commotion, the confusion, the excitement, the anticipation.  i felt it all come off.  and i knew it was okay.

i closed the door.

i closed it gently, lightly, timidly.

i closed it quietly.

it's okay to close doors.  we have to close a few to open others, right?  it's what we do in life.  we stop.  so we can begin again.  we close.  so we can open.

the fast pace of life hasn't stopped for us since moving out of the city.  it's only gotten more busy.  we are back to reality.  reality is good.

in the last two weeks we've had many doors open over here, car doors, house doors, bathroom doors, closet doors...oh, the closet doors as i clean, straighten and organize those closets!  i don't like to have these doors closed.  i like to have them open.

there is still so much in this life to do.  our children are so young.  we have many new beginnings coming our way.  i have to keep an open mind and an open heart with everything that comes our way.  "don't close the door", i tell myself.

keep it open.  

be ready for anything.