The last two nights Evie has had tear-free bedtimes.  Her legs are getting stronger and I’ve watched her run a few steps and climb onto and off of things.  When presented with a boundary, she moves on to the next thing without a major meltdown.  We’ve had a few play dates and she’s gone exploring for several minutes before looking back to see where I am.  Last night she ate pot roast.  Each night the whole family curls up to read stories before bed and she cuddles up and listens and points to the pictures.

Hard to believe all that’s happened in the last month.  Hard to believe that a month ago our little girl shrieked hysterically and flailed on the ground when presented with a boundary.  Hard to believe that she wouldn’t let me put her down.  Hard to believe that her legs were so bowed and weak that she tottered like a new walker and could barely raise her feet.  Hard to believe that her tummy muscles were so weak she couldn’t sit up without using her arms.  Hard to believe she drank from a bottle and refused most solid food.  Hard to believe she was terrified of Alex and strangers.  What a difference a month makes.

Earlier this week, she regressed for a couple of days, refusing to get in her high chair and wanting to be held all day, refusing food.  But only for a couple of days.  And then she bounced back and last night she wolfed down pot roast.  POT ROAST!!!

Her whole demeanor is happier, more relaxed, funnier and sillier!  And so is mine.  Last week I finally told God that I give up.  I was worrying about every bite she didn’t take and every dose of medicine that we couldn’t get down her.  Starting on Sunday, I began celebrating the positives instead – every bite she ate, every bit of medicine that got in, every wise choice and respected boundary.  And I don’t know how much she changed at first, but I did.  I relaxed and started ENJOYING her, enjoying the journey, enjoying the moments.  Such a difference!  God reminded me that He was with us for 2 years as we fought to get her here, and He didn’t abandon us at the U.S. Embassy after we got her visa!

I started praying for patience and gentleness toward my daughter, two attributes that I do not possess on my own.  And God answered.  When Evie refused food or had a meltdown, I felt patience and gentleness ooze out of me, instead of worry and frustration.  We played more, danced more, giggled and smiled and made funny faces.

Whew, mommies have a lot of power and a lot of responsibility!  Our attitudes can steer the course of entire households!  My whole family is more relaxed and loving life because I made a choice to let go.  That one step determined the course of our week.

I have to make that choice every day.  My kids and hard-working husband depend on me to let go, relax, and pour on the grace.  I never realized what kind of power mommies have, but we can set the mood for the whole family!  Yikes!  So instead of letting my mood happen in response to everyone’s behavior, I’m now proactively setting my mood, and everyone’s behavior is adjusting accordingly.  I didn’t think I had a dress code for my job, but I do!  I wear it on my face – a smiling mouth and twinkling eyes.  I wear it on my hands – tickling fingers and back rubbing palms.  I wear it on my legs – energized feet for dancing and taking walks, strong quads for spinning kids around and around.  I wear it on my arms – welcoming forearms and biceps for lifting and hugging.  The Uniform of Motherhood.

I did Evie’s hair today.  This will never ever be the blog to read to learn how to do hair.  I will never post tips.  Most likely, this might be a good place to learn what DOESN’T work. I barely know how to fix my own hair, which I’ve had for 33 years, so having a daughter with a very different hair structure is intimidating for me!!!  I never even put a brush through my son’s long hair until a couple of months ago when my mother mentioned that I might want to smooth the bed head down before church.  Oh.  Never thought of that.

Yeah.  So, ever since I found out last October that I was going to be Evie’s mommy, I’ve been lurking on hair blogs, reading up, visiting stores, reading ingredients.  I am a pretty darn good researcher…but putting it into practice…that takes, well, it takes balls.  I needed mom balls.  I needed to mom-up, stop reading, and just dig in and try.  I had all the tools.  I had the book (or site) learning.  But I was so afraid to make a mess of it that I couldn’t bring myself to try.  Evie has pretty short hair.  And extremely short patience.  But I strapped on my mom balls, put her in the booster seat, gave her Cheerios and milk, and put on the big purple dinosaur.  Barney’s gotten this family through a lot.  Nobody knock the big purple doofus.

Okay, I had 20 minutes to do…something.  I’m never going to get better if I don’t start.  So, I started making little puffs.  I tried to make straight parts.  Didn’t happen.  I tried to make them even.  Didn’t happen.  And she kept turning and swatting this unskilled white lady away.  But mom balls firmly in place, I kept at it.  And now we have puffs.

I’m not sure if I’m brave enough to take her out in public, because, well, they kinda suck.  And Elliott decided to shower her with grass clippings this afternoon, so now they have grass stuck in them and I’ve been picking it out all evening.

But.  I dipped my toe in the water.  And I posted a picture.  One that’s far enough away to not show off her crooked parts and her mollescum horns sticking out in between.  But I posted one.  Because, I’m hoping that someday, someday before her first prom, I will have better pictures to post and everyone will see that I persevered, overcame my inadequacy, and became the hair mom that Evie deserves.

Even with her puffs being not the greatest, I took her to the mirror, pointed to her puffs, and told her, “konjo (sp?),” which means “pretty” in Amharic.  She touched them over and over all day and kept saying konjo (There’s a click at the beginning of that word that’s like when you scrape peanut butter off the roof of your mouth, so I’m not sure if I’m pronouncing it well enough for her to know what I’m saying.  For all I know, I’m repeating “dung beetle” over and over.).  Anyway, my daughter feeling pretty.  That’s what it’s all about.  And I won’t take off my mom balls until I’ve given her that.

It feels like for every one beautiful, gorgeous moment of family life with Evie, there are ten really painful, difficult ones.  For every look of love beaming out of her eyes and into my heart, there are several looks of blinding hatred for the woman torturing her with ointments and bad-tasting medicines and creams and baths.

I have about a ton and a half of additional respect to heap onto the respect I already had for families with special needs children.  We’re dealing with superficial skin and teeth issues, and I feel like I spend half my week at various doctors’ offices, pharmacies, and smearing her flailing body with an array of ointments and trying everything to get her to choke down cruel-and-unusually tasting medicines.  I can’t imagine handling anything more severe.  I am at my sad little limit.

Everywhere we go, people come up to me and ask about the bumps all over her face, which just keep growing and spreading until she grabs one and yanks it off, smearing blood all over her sweet face.  A couple of her mollescum have grown cystic and are growing out of her head like horns, because her immune system is weakened and not fighting.  Enter more supplements to try to choke down her throat and kick start her immune system.  I just want to hold her and make her laugh, but this is where we are right now.

And today the sweetest African American woman came up to me at Sam’s, asked about Evie’s bumps, and then gently told me that her hair was too dry.  She suggested a couple of products, and she was so encouraging.  I’m so grateful for new relationships with African American women who are so gifted at advising this new mama without judgment!

So, there I was, like most days, pushing a shopping cart through the store while Evie screamed and writhed, her hair too dry and mine too greasy.  I find myself most days suspended between humbled and humiliated, grateful for my daughter and eager to learn, but also struggling to give her consistent love, consistent schedule, consistent boundaries.  Every week I see so much progress in her development, our relationship, and my education, but every day I feel defeated.  I try to focus on the weeks and not the individual days.  And blaring The Mamas and The Papas and laughing for no reason helps a lot.  I’m hoping that as I stay humble and teachable and absorb knowledge and advice, mixed with lots of PRAYER, that I’ll rise like a phoenix out of the ashes of what I thought about motherhood into a woman who balances humility with confidence in her abilities.  I think I’m in the burning to ashes phase right now.  It’s painful.

I screw up daily, and I’ve never felt more alone in my life.  Utterly and completely and excruciatingly alone.  Even when I’m in the middle of a conversation, I feel alone.  And yet.  I’m discovering a new category of woman.  I’ve known many of these women for years, but through my ashes, I’m Knowing them.  They are Fellow Adoptive Mothers.  And I couldn’t fully know them until I arrived here, in the ashes.  These women are an elite cadre of mother, and they look at me through knowing eyes and they love me where I am and they KNOW.  They’ve been here.  They are phoenixes now.  They’ve earned their wings.  And now they serve me food and spoon-feed this baby adoptive mom encouragement and they give me the strength to believe that this. will. get. better.  They remind me that God gave me my daughter and He’ll give me what I need to actually parent her.

And in the midst of my burning down to ashes, I’m already dreaming of the day when I will get to usher a new adoptive mom into her new role.  When I’ll get to bless someone as much as I’m receiving right now.  When I’ll be able to make someone else feel that they are not alone.  When I’ll be able to drop off chickens and hugs…and the stability of my home and the health of my kids will bring some other woman hope.

I’m clinging to that hope right now.

I see so many glittering beams of light streaming into our lives!  Today Evie told me, “I of ooh,” with a smile from her high chair as she smeared peanut butter in her hair.  I’m still wiping myself off of the floor.  Yesterday, my kids were fighting on the front lawn.  Yes, I count that as a positive.  Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear the sound of my kids -plural- fighting?!?!  Eventually I intervened.  But how beautiful to watch them figure out how to share.

My family at Elliott’s soccer game.  We cheered from the sidelines together.  My family at the Chinese restaurant.  The rice was a-flyin’.  My family on the golf cart, squealing as Daddy gunned it up to 20 miles per hour.  Ooooohhh.  My family at church, trailing cookie crumbs and Cheerios through the halls.

People keep asking me how it’s going, and I keep telling them, “It’s really hard.  But really good, and getting better every day.”  It IS really hard.  Hard adjusting to two kids.  Hard learning from Evie what she needs and who she is.  Hard teaching her who we are and how to be in our family.  Hard going to doctor appointments again and again and keeping all the ointments and medicines and instructions straight.  Hard stretching myself to keep everyone’s love tank filled to the brim and still remember how to spell my own name on all the readoption paperwork.  It’s hard.

But the dried oatmeal on the floor and the baskets teeming with dirty laundry and the indignant shouts of “She’s on my side!” warm my heart like a pumpkin spiced latte for the soul.  The joy found in my family.  The gift of hard-fought, hard-won motherhood.

When the Bible talks about God as shepherd and us as sheep, it says, “He gently leads those that have young.”  He is gently leading me now.  What a blessing to have young.

As I try to navigate this brave new world with Evie, my heart still beats for the kids who have not yet come home.  Because as hard as it is in my house right now, I wouldn’t trade one second, even a really tough second.  We’re so glad to have her home.  With us.  In our messy, crazy house.

When we visited her care center, we wished that we could scoop up the other kids in her room and bring them home to their waiting parents.  Especially this one boy, “M.”  We got to meet his parents back in March and we all played with each others’ kids and laughed and cried together.  I LOVE his parents.  And M is a force of nature.  This kid will light up a room.  Huge smile, loves games.  When we saw him a couple of weeks ago, he immediately struck up a game of hide and seek with Alex.  We love this little boy and ache for him to be with his family.  I picture the games of hide and seek that will ensue once he’s home with his siblings.  I picture him running around a whole house and a whole yard and taking up space, filling the house and yard with his smile and laugh and swinging arms and running legs and hugs that pump the life into a person.  He needs to get home.  His parents need him to get home.

So, for everyone who ever prayed for MY daughter to get home, could you please pray for M?  There are a whole lot of earthly issues holding him in that tiny room, but our heavenly Father has the power to bust him out.  Would you please join me in calling upon our God to flex His muscles and bring M home NOW?  We had our first play date with Evie with M and his parents in that little room.  We really want to have a play date here at home.