Home for the holidays

As the holidays approach, I get sort of sentimental about Christmases gone by. I remember the days when I automatically expected my grown children home for Christmas. Sure, when they married, we alternated years with in-laws and frequently we went to Santa Fe, but still they sometimes had Thanksgiving and/or Christmas in my house. Those days are gone—my family has grown too large to fit comfortably in my house; their houses are larger, and I admit dinner for sixteen is an effort for me. It’s all part of changing family dynamics that have been on my mind lately.

I raised four children, as a single parent from the time they ranged in age from six to twelve—those years I call the “casserole years” when I was in the car chauffeuring more than I was out, years when I was still at the core of their world and I knew almost everything they did (okay, there were some stories I heard years later that singed my hair).

I remember what a great shock it was to me when I realized that my children, now scattered across Texas, were communicating with each other without going through me. One would tell me the other was traveling, and I would bristle: why hadn’t they told me? Or some such similar thing. I thought I was Telephone Central, just as I thought I was Holiday Central. But I’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, that they have their own families and their own loyalties—they love me, but I am not at the center of the universe.

Today I have seven grandchildren. Each in his or her own way shows me affection, but I know it’s not the same as when my children were those ages and I was the center of their world. I remember babysitting Jacob one night when he was maybe eight months old. He woke with a bad dream, so I rocked him and he clung to my chest tightly and eventually went to sleep there. I hadn’t had a baby sleep on my chest and so look to me for comfort in years and it brought tears of joy. But if his mommy had been there, he would have gone to her—no question about it. And I know as much time as I spend with Jacob and as much as he loves me, his parents are the center of his world. He’ll ask, “When are my mommy and daddy coming?” I can never nor would I ever intrude on that relationship. I’ve had my day and it was wonderful. Now I’m grateful that I am still so much a part of the family and still so loved by my children and grandchildren.

IF you ask me my priorities in life, I’ll tell you always I’m a mom and a grandmom first, then I’m an author, and my third role (in order of significance) used to be that I was a publisher. Today I’m grateful I have an independent life that doesn’t depend totally on my family—I rather imagine they’re grateful for that too.

The wonderful world of adoption

A young couple I'm fairly close to (that translates to we're related by marriage and see each other at a lot of family gatherings and I like them a lot) has been fostering two little pre-school sisters of mixed race for 20 months. Today, the court finalized their adoption papers, and they are a family for sure. My daughter sent me a wonderful picture of all of them--including grandparents and the judge--taken after the ceremony. It made my day, and I've been going around with a  happy smile. As long as the children were under the jurisdiction of the Child Protective Service,  no one could take their picture, so it was moving to see them all together in a picture. Those are lucky parents--for over a year and a half they could have lost the children--and those are lucky little girls. They came from a background of abuse and neglect--the night, late, that they arrived at their new home they were dirty and hungry. Now they're happy, secure, well-fed and, yeah, a bit spoiled but only enough to be endearing. They are learning the limits of good behavior, something they never would have learned in their original environment.
I have been to court four times to finalize adoptions, and each time it was a thrilling moment. The same judge presided at three of the four proceedings--the legendary Honorable Scott Moore, who was known as the best child advocate in the county. But I had never had to contend with biological parents who wanted their children back, CPS, or any of the difficulties this young couple has faced. Still I identify with them.
I remember once at my house the mother said fiercely, "These are my kids now." I know just how she felt, and I'm not sure people outside the adoption experience understand the feeling. Mine are not my adopted children--they are my children, born of and in my heart if not of my flesh and blood. Oh, yes, sometimes the subject of adoption comes up in conversation, but they treat it casually and so do I. We are one of the closest families I know, and I love it. I don't quite know how to put it in words, but over the years I have heard remarks from others that you don't really have a child until you give birth or nurse or whatever. It's not true. For some reason, as a single parent, I have been lucky beyond belief--I have four kids who have grown to be substantial citizens and loving parents, while remaining loving children. A lot of biological families can't say that. I've heard people say they wouldn't adopt because you never know what you'd get--true of biological children too, though I've kept my tongue in my head. And others say no, they wouldn't feel the same about a child that didn't have their blood. I keep quiet then too and pity the speaker.
Do I want my children to find their biological parents? Honest answer, no. They are my children, they carry my values and training and shaping, if not my genes. I can't say it enough. They are mine! And none of them, now in their 30s and 40s, show any interest anyway.
When you adopt and are open about it, you find it's a small world--people say, "Oh, I'm adopted," or "My children are adopted" or whatever. There's a whole world of happy adoptive families out there, and I'm glad to welcome this couple into that circle. And so glad their uncertainty has come to an end. I don't feel at liberty to publish the picture of the new family, but here's a picture of my happy family. The young man next to me is my oldest son; the pretty blonde on the other side is the next in line; then there's Jamie, with the dark hair, at the far right of the picture; and my youngest daughter is kneeling in the front with her husband and son. Good-looking, aren't they?