Didn't think we'd read these words, yet, here they are

Just as a heads up, I sent your study in for 2 sisters ages 9 and 5. Apparently there are quite a few studies the county has already received so I am not optimistic that I’ll get a call. Thought I would like to get your photos to them ASAP though, so they can have that when they make their decision.

Nearly there (knock on wood)

In March I thought we were nearly there, but now I really think we are. Today we're mailing of the one pager of photos to include with our home study, which means by next week we're in the system and could be just days away from meeting our children.

As a project manager professionally sitting here so on the verge of the unknown is just killing me.

Earning the Title and More Waiting

Hoping Karma Won't Jinx Me for This..
We had to undergo 20 hours of training to adopt a child from the state of Minnesota. One of the things we had to learn and accept is that once we adopt a child, that child is ours. There is no going back.

We are also taught, from day 1, there are no children who are perfect children. All of them have gone through trauma either emotional or physical. Regardless, none will view you as their parent at first--because you aren't, you have to earn that title.

We also had to learn and accept that adopted children come with a world of baggage. Sometimes, they will hide that baggage in the beginning, sometimes they won't. Regardless of what behaviors they exhibit, that child is still your child.

Maybe foreign adoption doesn't come with that training. Maybe the little 7-year-old was really physically aggressive or became really aggressive, however, that's the risk adoptive parents take. It's their job to help him.

This story, about the family who sent a little boy back to Russia makes me angry.

If adoption teaches us anything it teaches us patience

After 6 weeks of time in which to write our home study. Well first, 4 weeks, then 2 more weeks because the social worker was having trouble with the state's new template. Now...well, read the email from our social worker for yourself (the home study is required to be matched with children):

"Mike and Amy,

Thank you for being so prompt in getting your documents together for the licensing piece – that is in process now. I have been working on your study and ask for your continued patience. Unfortunately I was mid-way and for some reason it got lost on the computer and I was not able to retrieve parts so have had to re-write it. Yes, I know it sounds like “the dog ate my homework” and I never thought I would say this, but – it is true. So, it is coming along and hopefully I can get you a draft soon. Just thought you would like to know - "

My email back was asking only how much more time she would need.

Expectant Mother Parking

We're still in a holding pattern.

Life has gotten even crazier. My grandma fell and broke her back. She's in a rehabilitation center. We were down visiting her Friday, and then we stopped to help my aunt with her tv. In between, we stopped at Rainbow Foods to get my aunt a treat. It was getting late, and it had been a long week at work. We turned down an aisle and realized we had two parking options. The first would be a good hike. The second would be the front row with a sign saying the spot wad dedicated to Expectant Mothters.

Usually, I don't mind a short walk. Usually, I try to obey the courteous parking spots for mothers or families. Yet on Friday, I wasn't feeling that patient. So I told Mike to park in the expectant mother's spot. After all, technically, I am expecting. I also figured out that in this day and age few people would accuse me of not being pregnant.

Sorry to any pregnant women out there who were inconvenienced by my tiredness.

"It's not a hill it's a mountain [of paperwork] as you start out the climb"

This post is long overdue. Our home study has come and gone.

The day and the days leading up to the home study made me crazier than even planning my wedding. I felt overwhelmed with not knowing what to expect. I questioned everything about our house: its drafty windows, its steep stairs, and all the pieces I thought had character but suddenly seemed like a potential hazard to children.

I eyed the 3/4-finished projects around the house critically, wondering what social worker would deem us good parents when we can't finish installing a complete set of shades.

I snapped at everyone those last few days of frantic deep cleaning. Poor Mike. Poor Mom. Poor me! (Sorry to everyone on whom I might have taken out my stress.)

I was reduced to tears several times. I try to not feel sorry for myself but as I stared at those unfinished shades, I couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment toward the birth parents who didn't go through a quarter of this scrutiny. Of course, it didn't help that while this was going on I was also closing out one big project at work, which has its own stressors.

Then the day came and all the preparation paid off. The house looked lovely and felt filled with love as our family and a few close friends joined us to meet our social worker. The aroma of pulled pork roasting in onions, garlic and root beer made me feel at home and oddly at ease. I tried to get photos throughout the day, but I'm not a photographer. I didn't get good photos of everyone, and a few guests were notoriously photo shy--including Mike.

The social worker's visit wasn't anything to be afraid of. She hardly looked at the house. She seemed impressed by all the support our family was giving us. She was 10 minutes late, but, we were expecting this. We definitely passed, and I told coworkers and friends that I feel we can finally say we are expecting in the adoption state of the word.

We couldn't be happier about it:

So what's next?
1) The social worker needs until April 1st or so to write our official case study.
2) We will approve the case study.
3) Then, we'll be placed in the matchmaking database.

It could take years to be matched--there is no guarantee that we will ever be. However, we have done everything to ensure success so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.