The Crab Chronicles

Sandwich and Stereotypes

It's been a weird, discombobulated sort of weekend. I had a number of plans that just didn't come to pass. I did get to spend some time with Lesleigh yesterday, and she stayed for dinner last night, which was fun.

I cooked hamburgers on the grill, and made homemade White Acre peas, squash, and a peach cobbler that turned out pretty well.

My friend Paul came over today to work on Mother's computer, and we had some time to chat.

I find as I grow older and Mike gets older and more independent, I need time to hang out with my friends. It keeps me sane.

I am the middle of the "sandwich generation" - caring for my child and my mom.I love them both and it's my privilege to care for them, but I need a break now and again.

Michael and I took Colton yesterday, and we saw Men in Black III, which is a really fun romp of a movie. I recommend it totally, as long as you're not expecting high art. It's just fun. There are some unexpectedly touching moments, too.

My old friend from high school, Jeff Joslin is also in it, which makes it fun for me.

I was sort of disgusted to see a preview for something called Hatfields and McCoys, which is going to be on History Channel tonight. All I could think was well whoop-de-doo, that's how you combine EVERY southern stereotype imaginable and set it to a redneck-on-crack sountrack, and let's see how many people will be watching that hogwash?! Did the feud actually happen? Yep. Does that make it a great subject for a miniseries? Not necessarily. I adore watching Kevin Costner and Bill Paxton, but this whole concept is just disgusting.

Can't I EVER see the south portrayed honestly onscreen, without playing up all the negative stereotypes?! Dang. If you've never been to the south you'd think we are either Gone With the Wind racist nitwits or Dukes of Hazzard rednecks. Hollyweird keeps recycling the same old stuff.

To add insult to injury, they filmed this in ROMANIA, according to the review in the New York Times.

We're about the same as everyone in other parts of the country, except we generally have better manners and we talk slower.

Period.

Grrr.......

I will say this, all these guys [who are in the movie] are awfully attractive, to an old lady like me, so I might tune in just to see them...

From left, Tom Berenger, Powers Boothe, Kevin Costner, and Bill Paxton

Look At My Beautiful Family

When I was a kid and walking down the street in either Augusta or Knoxville with my dad, it was always tedious. We couldn't go anywhere quickly. People Dad knew would stop him and want to chat. He was so well known, from the bank where he worked, or Kiwanis or the board of this or that organization, that he knew most of the other businesspeople in town.

I quickly learned that if he called a man "Chief" or a woman "Honey or Darling" that meant he couldn't remember their name.

My friend Cindy LaJoy lives in rural Colorado, and has three adopted Asian boys and two caucasian girls. I only say it that way because they get stared at a lot, out there, and it's gotten really uncomfortable for her at times. She posted about it on Facebook. I wished I could comfort her in some way, but of course I can't change public curiosity or opinions.

But at least I know what it's like to be stared at.

I also know how I felt sometimes with my dad. My father was a tall, handsome man. He was always well dressed. Next to him, I felt like the fat, ugly little girl, many times.  Sometimes people would look at dad, then me, clearly puzzled that such a handsome man produced a lumpish kid like me, but they could see the curly brown hair and high foreheads and know right away we were biologically connected.

So I know a little tiny bit of how Cindy feels, with her kids. A tiny bit.

To me, after reading her blog for so many years, and emailing, and Skyping, I feel like Cindy and her kids are family. One of my daydreams is to take a trip out west, one day, with Michael, to see the LaJoys, and see that part of America.

I wonder if people in Colorado will stare at me and Michael?! He is clearly part Kazakh. I am clearly not. He is missing his right hand. I am not.

I have a friend who adopted a limb difference child from China a few years ago. My friend, Jim, lost one of his lower legs as a result of an accident, so he wears a prosthetic leg. One day at an outdoor cafe in China, a group of Asian ladies stared at Jim and his little 5 year old son so long, Jim finally got mad and went over to them, whipped off his prosthetic and put it on the table right next to them. "Yeah, I am missing my leg, and son is missing his arm. SO WHAT?! Don't you know it's RUDE to stare?" He berated them for a minute, grabbed his leg, put it back on, and walked away. They likely didn't speak English but his body language and tone spoke volumes.

In Asian culture, sad to say, kids with congenital limb differences almost always get put up for adoption. There are many little boy babies and toddlers with limb differences that are available. Some are so minor, maybe just a missing finger or a club foot. Those kids are all considered "special needs" which is so bizarre to me. (So... if you want to adopt a baby or toddler from China and don't feel like waiting around 3-5 years, look into special needs adoption. Much quicker process.)

I feel blessed that we live in a very diverse area. Michael's school isn't all white, by any means. In fact, you see just as many Hispanic and black kids, and some Asian kids, at his school.

Walking down the street in Atlanta, you are likely to encounter all races, and all types of families. There are 2 mommy and 2 daddy families. There are big families with many kids, and little ones, like mine.

In the law firm where I work, all three lawyers are married to a lady of a different ethnic background, and they all have children.

I wish Cindy could march up to the people who stare and say "Thank you for taking the time to contemplate my family. Aren't my children BEAUTIFUL?! They all came to me through the miracle of adoption, and I am so blessed to be their REAL mom. I hope you will spread the word that families come in all different sizes and races nowadays. Thanks and God Bless."

Then again, wouldn't it be nice if she never felt like she had to explain her family to anyone??

The two kids in the middle are Angela [Cindy's child now] and Michael, at their orphanage in about 2006.

Mama Day

Over at my mother's blog she has her favorite saying, and it's one I share totally: If you don't laugh, you'll cry - Laughing's better. I am blessed to have a mother that shares her ideas and opinions freely, laughs with me a LOT, and who has discovered the joy of writing [blogging] in the last few years.

You see, my mother probably thought she was past mothering [heavy duty mothering] years ago, when Bruce and I left the nest, but now she is almost the co-parent with me in the raising of Michael. She also helped me a lot with Alesia.

Most grandmothers get to relax and just have fun times with the grandchildren. Not Elva. She is in there with me, in the trenches. I am a single mom, but not really a single mom. Elva has my back, and that has made a huge difference in my life and the lives of my children.

Michael and I saw a delightful play last night, The Waffle Palace. Very funny. Lots of physical comedy, songs, etc. in an intimate space. Loved the play. Will write my review later today.

Coming home in the car, though, Michael asked me why it is that he makes other people laugh but none of his friends make him laugh. I pointed out that I make him laugh, sometimes. I wasn't sure where he was going with this but we kept talking. Teen angst is a constant presence in our house, now. 

When we got home, I spent a lot of time in Mother's room, talking to her about Mike's feelings and how to handle him. That's a typical example of how she helps me. Most single moms don't have that ability to confide in someone.

I was lucky to have a mother, growing up, who was able to often just listen calmly and without passing judgment. When I was a teen, especially, that was important.

I am not that skilled. I fly off the handle a lot. I am trying to moderate that.

Being a mother is the hardest job in the world, and it's also the best job in the world. There's nothing like it. I wish I had more kids. Then again, I think the Lord knows what he's doing, and we all get the right kids for us.

Just thought I'd share a few sentiments and photos on this mother's day.

Happy Mother's Day to my mom, Elva Hasty Thompson! You're the best and I love you a great big bunch!!

The Man in My Life

I just realized tonight, that I am now living with a MAN. I was pretty startled to come upstairs tonight and find Michael shaving his face. "Getting tired of the chin hair," he explained casually, wielding the razor like an old pro.

"Did Uncle Bruce let you watch him shave?" I asked.

"Yep," was the reply."I don't even cut myself," he said proudly.

In two months my little boy will be 16 years old! This is hard for me to wrap my brain around. You see, I look at Michael and see this little guy:

My little 10 year old "baby" is gone now, though. He has a deep voice, and he's learning to drive, and getting ready to go to high school. Wow. The last 5 years passed in the blink of an eye. Last Sunday, May 7th, was the 5 year anniversary of the day Michael actually landed in America and joined our family.

I told him tonight while he was shaving and I was taking vitamins, "You know, you have to get in the habit of doing some things a man does. When you leave the house you need to get in the habit of taking wallet, keys, and phone."

Those are man habits. He needs to develop them.

I got to thinking, what qualities should Michael have, as a man? What qualities make for a successful man? I don't measure success in terms of money, I measure it in terms of character. Also, some basic life skills.

For instance, a man should know how to turn on a grill [or light a fire] and cook a decent steak.

A man should always be kind to small children and senior citizens.Actually, he should be kind to everyone, but particularly the very old and very young.

So I started thinking, why not go ahead and start a list of characteristics of the man I want to see  Michael become?

I was thinking of the list of traits that Andie McDowell spouts off in the movie Groundhog Day, as how she sees her Perfect Man: he's humble, intelligent, supportive, funny, romantic, courageous, has a good body "but doesn't have to look in the mirror every two minutes," ALSO - kind, sensitive, gentle, likes animals, children, and 'will change poopy diapers." "Oh, and he plays an instrument, and he loves his mother."

Bill Murray replies, "I am REALLY close on this one!" - which is a blatant lie, of course, which is what makes it funny.

I agree with everything on the list except that I don't care if Michael learns to play an instrument.

He has almost all of these characteristics already. He adores his mama and granny, and little Coco. He's courageous, humble, etc.

She left out funny - and Michael is funny. He was cracking jokes in English within a few months of coming here. In fact, I still laugh at how he described the Atlantic ocean the first time he saw it - "Cute" - a word his sister had taught him, with great delight, when he'd been here just a few weeks.

One thing I want to see in him is Confidence. Not arrogance, confidence. Huge difference. I want Michael to not let his missing hand make him shy. I want him to know and accept that he is very, very smart, and be confident with anyone he meets.

I also want him to have a strong faith in God.

A good work ethic.

The ability to admit when he's wrong, and the desire to then make things right.

The ability to truly relax.

And one really important characteristic - the ability to get along with difficult people. He has a teacher he is at odds with, and I've warned him several times, in life you will always encounter people you don't care for, people who may be rude or thoughtless, or snobby or just plain mean. Those people are everywhere. To be successful, you can't let those folks freak you out.We're working on it.

I also want him to have certain life skills, and he's got most of these:

the ability to cook a decent meal for himself [we're working on this one]

the ability to do his own laundry [he can do this]

the ability to manage his money [he has the right instincts in this already]

a concern for the environment [he already has this]

the ability to dress decently and appropriately [working on it]

Pride. I know, it's one of those seven deadly sins, but a certain amount of pride is a good thing. I want him to be proud to be a Kazakh-American. I want him to be proud of his family, his school, his talents in school and on the tennis court. The more proud he is, the more confidence he will develop.

Since I am raising my son without a man in the house, I've thought [and will continue to think] What sort of MAN do I want Michael to be?

I welcome comments about this, especially from guys. What do you think are the most important characteristics/life skills/accomplishments for a successful man?? Please leave me a comment.

"Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me. Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful, that's what matters to me."
Steve Jobs

Thinking About Adoption and Teens

I was so delighted to hear that adoptions have opened up again for Kazakhstan and Krgystan. The sad thing is that Kazakhstan is not allowing single moms to adopt right now. Really ticks me off.

In that country, as in so many others, single motherhood is viewed with great suspicion. In case you don't know anything about adoption, in Michael's adoption I had to prove that I was financially stable, get tested for TB and AIDS and every other STD [several times, because they had to be recent tests and there were delays], produce documents proving I was mentally sound, and swear I wasn't gay. I can't recall exactly the requirements when I adopted Alesia because it was 8 years ago, but they were pretty similar to Kazakhstan. Now, requirements for adoptive parents are actually more stringent.

I read somewhere that there are more than 700,000 orphans in Russia. Many of those children are not adoptable, for various reasons. I met several kids when I was adopting Michael that I inquired about advocating for, and I was told they had siblings and would have to be adopted with the older siblings, according to the laws of Kazakhstan. So they never get adopted.

Most people who are interested in adoption want a baby. They won't even consider a child older than a toddler. They certainly don't want an older child with older siblings. It's heartbreaking.

I understand the reluctance to adopt older kids, though. I truly do understand.

My hope is that people who read this blog won't take away a negative view of older child adoption because of what has happened with my daughter. Yes, she dropped out of school and is living with an older man in an unhealthy relationship. I am not happy about it. I cry and pray, and cry some more, all the time. I try not to dwell on the mistakes I made. I try to remember that many kids raised from birth in loving homes rebel and go wild once they turn 18 and can get away from Mom and Dad. It's not uncommon. It is SO hard, though, as a parent.

I don't know how to react to people who say to me "Well, you didn't get her until she was 13. All the damage was done." That implies that my adopting her made no difference in her life, which I know isn't true. It also unnerves me to think those people view me as some sort of naive nitwit.

If you had asked me two years ago, I would've told you I had a beautiful, sweet daughter. We had normal teenage issues, but she was a good girl.

I still think she's a good girl, with a good heart. The difference is that now she has let herself be coerced into doing a lot of unhealthy things, by people I never would've approved of. She also lies to me all the time. She texted me yesterday and said she was "fine."

To me, "fine" means in school and/or working, being healthy, not using illegal substances, not hanging out with unsavory people. To her, it probably means she has a place to sleep and food, and she doesn't have to work. How she is living, I don't know, and I don't really want to know. She won't tell me the truth anyway, so why bother asking?

I couldn't wrap her up and refuse to let her go out in the world once she turned 18, though. I had to let her go. I had no choice.

Most teens at 15 or 16 go through a phase where they are trying out their own identities. Being patient during this time is hard on a parent. It's particularly hard if you don't have the strong bond and shared history you establish by raising a child from birth. I was always terrified that my daughter would turn to drugs and prostitution like so many of the girls from her orphanage.

After she left here and lived apart in the fall of 2010, she came home saying she wanted me to trust her, because she felt like I didn't. She had done several things over the years that made it difficult for me to trust her. When she was living here between November 2010 and June 2011, I made it a point to act like I trusted her. I didn't go in her room unless invited. I told her she could go out at night with friends I didn't know. I paid her for jobs done around the house. I let her use my car. I tried to give her some space, hoping it would engender good choices and good feelings. It didn't work.

I realized later that she had played me. Basically, for her, my house was a place to get some food and shower, and then she was going out to be with friends. She went to school for a while, and tried, but she had a whole other life, a secret life, that I didn't discover until after she had stopped living with me. I knew from her erratic behavior she was probably smoking pot. I knew she was smoking cigarettes. I just had no idea that those things were the tip of the iceberg. 

However, I want to reiterate: there are plenty of kids who are not adopted, who didn't suffer early childhood trauma, who behave the same way.

I actually had people in my general age group contact me privately and say "Dee, I went through a period of teenaged rebellion, too. I dropped out of school. I did a lot of stupid things. Eventually, I turned things around and I am fine now. Just wait. Be patient."

Ah, patience. Not my strong suit.

As any parent will tell you, though, patience is something that is thrust upon you, whether you want to learn it or not. If you are so hard-hearted as to not develop it, you shouldn't even be a parent.

With kids from relatively normal, stable homes, you usually see teens or young folks who learn their lessons. Eventually they realize their parents aren't total idiots.

I rebelled a little bit, but as a 14-16 year old, mostly. I stayed in school, then held down a job successfully, and was never arrested or anything like that. When I was 21 I was preoccupied with establishing a good credit rating, and having a decent career and falling in love.

My daughter has spent years dumping memories of abuse, and thinking of next week as the distant future. She lives in the moment, literally. She thinks she doesn't need to conform to the world. She can do exactly as she pleases. She hasn't learned otherwise, yet.

However, if I were to say her adoption was a mistake I would be lying. God told me quite clearly that she was my daughter. He helped me overcome many obstacles to bring her home. He never promised me that raising her would be easy, though.

I don't actually know anyone who has raised a teenager, biological or adopted, and said it was easy. But is it worth it? Yep.

My daughter is in God's hands, and that's how I sleep at night. Keep praying for her, though. Prayer is the best investment in the world.

Chained to the Oar

One of my top 10 fave movies is Ben Hur, starring Charlton Heston, and I think of it often these days. There's a famous line from the movie that occurs during the part when Judah is a slave rowing a huge Roman ship, chained to an oar.

"We keep you alive to row this ship. Row well and LIVE!" the overseer snarls.

Yeah baby, that's the way I feel some days.

[Above, that's Chuck, looking all dirty and tired, and still the hottest thing around in 1959, if you ask me...]

It's been a hard day. There are many reasons why. I can't blog about them. As my fave singer Mary Chapin Carpenter sings, "Some days you're the windshield / Some days you're the bug."

I can say this - this is the middle of my life. I don't daydream any more about getting married and living in the suburbs. I live in the suburbs. I don't need or want a husband.Or even a boyfriend.

[Some man willing to come over and do handyman chores once in a while would be nice. Oh wait, I've got my brother for that. Never mind.]

I dream about sitting on a porch, in a rocking chair, with a big old mutt dog close by, and a good book, and maybe a glass of iced tea.

That's it.

That's my vision of heaven, right now. Rocking on the porch.

My mom asked me the other day what I want for Mother's Day. Here's what I want.

I don't want to have to do anything for anybody, all day. I want to just do whatever I feel like doing. Everybody else in the house can take care of themselves. Just let me be. I've rowed well, dadgummit. Just let me live.

Let me be the windshield.

That's it. Just a chill day for old mama.

Maybe then I'll get that Ben Hur quote out of my head.

Soon A Driver

OK, I now have even more proof that prayers ARE answered. I have had a time mentally dealing with thinking I had lost an important paper and I've been praying so hard for a happy resolution to that situation. Now I have an answer.

Michael was issued an original Certificate of Citizenship by US Immigration when I brought him here in 2007, and I knew he would need that in order to take the test to get his learner's permit. I looked and looked for it. It was not in any of the folders where I keep such things.

Finally, this morning, it occurred to be to look in a big bag of stuff I was going to take out to the curb for recycling. There, in a random folder, was the Certificate!!

I have been praying about this for several weeks, y'all. Praying HARD. To get a replacement would cost several hundred dollars which I can't afford right now.

When I found the certificate I started whooping and hollering, as we say here in the south. I nearly wet my pants with excitement.

Michael came upstairs and took one of the online tests on the Department of Transportation website - he hasn't looked at the book in several weeks - and only missed one. I was fixing to take him to take the test and I realized he has to have a form signed by the school. So we will need to get that next week. Then he can take the test and start learning to really drive.

I hope they won't give me a hard time about him having one hand. We don't have stick shift cars, so I can't see it would be an issue.

I am just tickled to death we found this important paper and he can now take his learner's permit test. YES!

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My friend Cindy Bodie has adopted more than thity-five children from foster care, and she published a VERY powerful post on her blog today. I want to share it because this 16 year old son of hers writes so thoughtfully about his experiences of being traumatized as a young child, then bounced around in foster care, before being adopted by Cindy. You can read this post here. I hope he will keep writing.

Tiny Burritos and Grief

We had the best dinner last night that I've fixed in a long time. I had never tried Mexican chorizo sausage until yesterday when Mike and I went to the farmer's market, and a lady was making and giving away these tiny burrito things with chorizo and queso.

I am not a huge Mexican food fan. I can eat a burrito now and then, or a taco without lettuce, but otherwise, I'd just as soon have a burger or something.

I took one bite of that tiny burrito and fell in love. Then I had to run around and find all the ingredients so I could make them at home.

I had a really busy day yesterday between yard work, cleaning out the linen closet, and helping Mother with some things in her room. By the end of the day I was beat. I contemplated a "fallout" night, which around my house means you eat leftovers, or whatever "falls out" of the fridge or pantry. Problem was, I had cleaned out the leftovers Saturday in anticipation of buying more food.

So I browned up the chorizo sausage - the aroma was spicy and wonderful - and Mike made guacamole. We found two ripe avocados and the market. We have a system. I chop the tomatoes and onions and squeeze out the avocados into a bowl. Mike adds the fresh lime and seasonings, and mixes and tastes. It was the perfect accompaniment to the tiny burritos.

The queso was a bit hard to melt in the microwave. Eventually we got it there. I've always thought Mexican cheese was too bland, but the chorizo was so spicy, the cheese needed to be a bit bland.

I almost overcooked the little tortillas. I cooked them in the skillet like I saw the demonstration lady doing, but my first three got a bit crunchy. Usually I just nuke big tortillas when I make burritos.

If I was a good blogger I would've taken photos last night, but I didn't.

Mother and Mike loved the tiny burritos. They love Mexican food anyway. The only thing I will do differently next time is take some of the grease off the chorizo. That was kind of messy to eat.

Before I forget, Mother has recently published some great food blogs. Check them out.

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Mike was in a better humor yesterday, as the day wore on. He was very sweet about helping me with things.

We had to clean out the linen closet in his bathroom. The plumber came last week and fixed the tub. The people who lived here before us did extensive renovations, and both upstairs bathrooms were spiffed up and updated nicely. However, the idiot that put in the new shower in Mike's bathroom didn't caulk the tub or set in the fixtures properly, and water was leaking into the dining room ceiling and making a huge mess. So our plumber had to cut a hole in the wall of the linen closet to fix the fixtures properly. So all the stuff had to be unloaded last week. Yesterday Mike and I put it all back.

I had all the linens in Alesia's room. When we were done putting them back in the closet, I looked at the room and realized, I really need to clean it up more, and spiff it up for guests. She isn't coming home to live again, I am sure, not anytime soon anyway. It made me sad. She is off living her own craziness and there's nothing I can do about it.

Grief takes many forms.I've been grieving for my daughter for months, but I realized yesterday I need to re-commit to moving my life forward, and accept that my daughter is gone. I want to laugh more. I want to not cry so much. I need to get more healthy.

Life goes on.

Forgiveness

Mike didn't get home at 8 last night as one of the buses broke down in Alabama. He got home at 10:30. So Mother and I had a chance to eat a quiet dinner together, which is uncommon.Usually we just chat about what's going on with us, or perhaps the news. Last night was different though.

We talked about forgiveness.

Mother said she feels like you should forgive for God's sake, not for the person who needs forgiving, and not for your own sake. I'm not sure I agree with that.

I feel like forgiveness has to come about in order for any healing to happen anywhere. The lack of forgiveness seems like a brick wall that blocks all good things.

I find it pretty easy to forgive other people, but I find it very difficult to forgive myself.

I am not a perfect daughter, or mother, or sister, or friend, or employee. I am so far from perfect, it's laughable. I hate that about myself. I feel like I don't have a husband [huge time commitment there] or any small children [another huge time commitment] so I should be able to do a good job of taking care of my mom, Michael, Coco, and the house, if nothing else. I feel like I fall very far short, though, most of the time.

When I am driving, I have gotten in the habit of mulling over what I did wrong with Alesia, trying to figure out where I screwed up so thoroughly that it led to her using drugs, and now wanting now to live in an entirely different place. She texted me the other day and said "I have a new family now."

Those words pierced my heart like a knife.

Rational friends have said to me "Dee, what happened to Alesia before you adopted her is what is controlling her now." I know they are probably right. I know that 13 years of trauma and abuse do bad things to a child. Try as I might, I couldn't love all that away, nor could the therapist do more than scratch the surface.

I also know Alesia is over 18 years old, so I can't make her conform to my morals or values. It just breaks my heart that she chooses to live apart from us, and only contacts me when she wants something.

Did I do my best? This is a question that haunts me.

In our family I was always taught to do my best, to give everything big and small a 100% effort, every time. That way, you don't look back and kick yourself. That way, you live life with honor. It's a good philosophy. I just wonder if I can live up to it.

Mother reminds me all the time that I've done all I can with Alesia, and now it's up to God to take care of her, just like he took care of my brother in Iraq. She's right, of course. It's so hard to do that, though, emotionally.

I also have to forgive myself for being very grumpy lately, and not being too pleasant to be around. Worries about my daughter, about money, about trying to eat right - these worries manifest as scowls and grumbling, and bile. It's not right. Sometimes I just feel overwhelmed, though.

I do better if I just say to myself every day, "OK God, use me to do YOUR will." If I think of myself as a vessel itself, not as the captain of the ship, it works out better. Yesterday, I did a bit better because I tried to consciously banish worried or negative thoughts from my head, and to just hear songs in my head when I had idle moments. I also came home and did some gardening, which is therapeutic.

Maybe those are the baby steps I have to take to get to the Forgiveness place. I hope so. I hope God keeps giving me ideas of how to soldier on and not be a witch.

I can't find the Mother Teresa quote about forgiveness that Mom and I were talking about last night, but I've read thru a lot of quotes of hers.

A lot of quotes attributed to Mother Teresa are inaccurate, I know. However, this is one I think is correct, and it's her most powerful one, to me at least, so I leave you with these powerful words to ponder:

If you judge people, you have no time to love them.
Mother Teresa

A Little Boy

Every once in a while I advocate for a child who needs a loving home. Of course, I have a heart for children in Russia or of Russian descent, like my kids. I “met” a lady on my Yahoo group for single moms who have adopted from Russia, and her story has spurred me to action.

Debi Roberts is a kindergarten teacher and a single mom to two little girls, in Texas. She is on a mission to add to her family a precious little 5 year old boy named Max, who was in the orphanage with her daughter Delaney. Max has medical issues, but he is a great kid.

Here is the story, in Debi’s own words:

“A year ago I traveled to Russia to adopt my daughter Delaney, age 4 then. I learned upon arriving home that she was very fragile. She had such horrendously enlarged tonsils and adenoids blocking her airways and was too sore to eat, couldn’t breathe, and was oxygen deprived. Death would have come way too early for this butterfly of mine. In the photos you can see how little and sick she was - dark eyes, so skinny (and in these pix she had gained 3 lbs!).  Her internal organs were beginning to shut down.

 

I brought her home, and a year later she is INCREDIBLY healthy and finally walking and talking in 3 languages!!!

 

While I was playing and visiting with my daughter at her baby house, I kept noticing a quiet little boy watching us with a small smile on his face. He was fascinated, and his innocence touched my heart. One day I passed him as he was clenching on to a railing. Without thinking, I brushed the knuckles of his sweet tiny hand….and his reaction to this physical touch??? It literally took his breath away, and he exhaled with an angelic smile on his face.

 

His soul knows he is “missing something” and his longing for love quietly hovers in his smiles. I held my eye contact, and being a teacher of early childhood for over 20 years, I could intuit his thoughts during those quick moments. He wants a family.

[Below, Max and Delaney in the orphanage]

A few days later, I asked the Director/Pediatrician if there were any children who were adoptable so I could advocate for them. I know that not all children living there are adoptable, and may be simply temporarily housed there. But guess who they brought in? Little Max, with his sweet smile and shy but curious look! I couldn’t believe it. The teachers began to help him show off his skills, and he lit up with the attention. I promised I would advocate for him and the other little boy (also very precious, energetic, and educated).

 

I’ve been home a year, and haven’t found a family to commit to fully seeing this adoption through, and I can’t seem to shake the dreams of his sweet smile and soft laugh. His disabilities dont rattle me, and I have proved I can easily parent a child like Max because I adopted his orphan-mate in 2010, and she is surpassing everything with such vigor and life that she amazes her doctors and specialists. Once, she and I got a standing ovation from the pediatric nurses after their mouths fell open upon seeing her progress in 6 mos. home!

Above, Debi and Delaney in the orphanage. Below, Delaney now.

 

Little Max needs HIS ovation now! Please STAND UP for him and commit to a pledge to bring him home to HIS family. He is honestly in danger of being removed, lost in the system, and placed in a cold environment of isolation. We HAVE to have him home before December ends. This is a serious plea for help as TIME IS OF ESSENCE in Max’s case. We have to urgently hurry to bring him home before it is too late.

Little Max is just getting older and older...and each month that passes he is in danger of being lost in the system. My agency, KIDS TO ADOPT, is begging me to get there on trip one to sign the papers.  I have taken on a second job, part time...and have been approached to do some more part time work.  I will do ANYTHING to hurry this. I am so scared I will lose him. 

I am working two jobs but I cannot do fundraisers that involve me spending money to make money. I will apply for grants. The problem here is so many grants only give to couples. I think this is HIGHLY prejudicial. (My boyfriend died of a heart attack several years ago.)

My agency set up a paypal account today on a "chip in" page for Max. All contributions are tax deductible, and I don’t ever touch the money.  They pay my adoption expense for me. You can read about him on the website.

Little Max has a page where you can contribute. Please pass this along to anyone you know who could help.