“Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; Remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.” ~ Epicurus

It's mum not mom. Also, better said with a slight British accent...

She's all mine! 

On Thursday 29 December 2011 at 11:45 a.m. was the adoption of Brisa BellaMae Hoober - Formally known on the internet as MissyB. The adoption was easily prepared for us with the help of attorneys at Shook, Hardy & Bacon. The court proceedings were preformed before the Honorable Lawrence Sheppard in Olathe Kansas. 

Our new family with Judge Sheppard

After the adoption proceedings, we headed to Smokin' Joe's BBQ in Olathe Kansas with family and friends for a good old BBQ meat feast.

Brisa BellaMae with the Laughton girls

It's been a road of ups and downs. It's nice to say we are a family now. 2011 has been a year of major changes.

Grama with my mother, May 2009

Grama in hospital, November 2011 

Several nights ago I had a dream about my Grama. 

She came with my husband, our newly adopted daughter Brisa and our foster baby Peanut to some formal event. Somewhere not here in Kansas City, like we were staying in a bed and breakfast. I have vage flashes of suitcases and a curling iron... Scrambling through luggage, looking for makeup - Frantically trying to find my powder compact and lipliner.

My dream was so different. As if I was dreaming and talking to her like maybe she saw herself once upon a time, or how she wanted me to see her in my dream. I did her hair and makeup for this event we were attending. Helped her around, since she was still a bit fragile on her feet, but she looked amazing. She was so happy to be with us and our family. She held Peanut and commented what a beautiful daughter we ended up with and was very happy to be with us. 

I'm sad I moved so far away to start my family and I'm really sorry you all didn't get to meet our daughter in person. 

After rolling over in bed late that night, I kept wondering if Grama will visit me again in a dream. Maybe with my Poppa this time? I've lit several candles multiple times on the 29th. Especially on our adoption day for Brisa... The very same day my Poppa died in back in 2006. I guess I've been having a bit of a mini seance which may seem a bit crazy. So I've been lighting one candle for Poppa, one for my Grama and one for my mother. I do miss you all so much. Please visit me in my dreams anytime you like, in any form you choose - It's cool. Watch over my family and keep us safe. I love talking to you, wherever you all are. XXOO ~ali

"We are what we think. Everything we are arises from our thoughts. With our thinking we create the world. Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” - Buddha

"Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often when I loved, I did not say so."

I've waited all my life to be a real mom. I've wanted to be the comfortable safe person I remember my Poppa being... once-upon a time.

• I've got some questions for God: 
• Is it okay for babies to be born exposed to harmful drugs? 
• To people who never wanted or cared for them, even in the womb? 
• Did god say it was okay to molest children? 
• To beat them? 
• To deprive them of love and affection?
• To neglect them? 

When I walk through a store with my foster daughter and foster baby boy, everyone stops and assumes these are my kids. They even look a bit like me, as all of us have dark hair. Some people start asking questions about my pregnancy, when the baby was born and so on. When it gets to this point, I can't lie and pretend, because these children aren't mine. I mention I'm a foster mother as I'm cornered with the baby birth questions. Say I can't take credit for my babies great hair - and joke what an easy pregnancy I had. 

Then come the baby questions:

"Where is his mother?"

"Why is he in foster care?"

"What happened?"

I can't answer that, life happens, things happen.

"But… how did you get him? Will you keep him? Do you want to keep him?"

Yes, I'd love to keep him, but the situation is complicated. 

"That's not fair - You've had him for so long."

Yep... not fair. But, I'm a foster parent, this is my job.

"Why is he in foster care, what happened to his mother and father?"

Again, not a question I can answer.

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I'm getting ready to loose it. Hormonal I guess or verging on an emotional breakdown. I keep shouting to myself in my head - Get over it…. this is something you wanted to do. You knew what foster care was. You knew what you were getting yourself into. 

In the last few weeks baby peanut has learned to crawl all over the house. Each day he learns some new skill. He seeks me out whatever room I'm in, finding me without difficulty. When he does find me, he tugs at my dress/skirt/pants, whatever he can reach. He will pull off my sandals when I'm sitting down at a chair or at the sofa. He has started to babble a word that 99% resembles the word "mommy" or "mom". He even now responds to his name. 

But here we are tonight - I was laying on the floor with baby peanut who is now just over six months old. We were playing with his toys, changing his focus, trying to wear him out. He was tired but just wanted to keep going, playing, climbing on me like I was a jungle gym. I picked him up and danced with him around the room to some classical music. He puts his head on my shoulder while I take the lead, twirling him around the room, dipping him and spinning him. He laughs at me and grabs on harder, taking it all in. We do the two step, then we lead into a waltz. Later after playing, we lay on the sofa together. I was talking to him about what parts of his body were most ticklish. I poked him gently in different spots, trying to pin down magic locations, each time he lets out tremendous belly laughs that make me laugh too, which makes him laugh even harder.

All of a sudden an image pops into my mind - What life would be like without THIS baby as our son. 

Tears started streaming down my face. I had a flashback to me as a little girl, in my pajamas, climbing onto my Poppa's lap so he could read me a story.

I heard his voice in my mind. 

I could remember the smell of the air in my grandparents house. 

I remembered the texture of his chair and stroking the fabric. 

Where my Poppa picked up the book he was preparing to read to me. 

How he used the remote to turn off the T.V.

The precision of how he took off his glasses.

I remembered my grandmother across the room in her rocking chair, knitting.

I could hear the sound of their dishwasher in the kitchen working. 

I saw in my mind the painting of trilliums on the wall next to Poppa's chair and the framed poppy needlepoint next to the painting.

My heart jumped then ached. I suddenly was thinking with my grandfather gone, I may never get the chance to have a memory like that with baby peanut. A beautiful, pure memory of him talking, walking, bringing me a book to read him... Some unfulfilled future memory of knowing I was his mommy.

It's painful to think that the dancing will stop - the laughter will stop. He will no longer know who I am.

To be honest, it is really very easy after all to love someone else's children like they were your own. The hard part is, letting them go. Tonight most of all, I miss being a little girl and the feeling of being loved and safe in the arms of my Poppa. I know baby peanut feels my love for him and it breaks my heart that it's not permanent.

Goodbye 2010 - A year of change

As the holidays approached, I found myself quicker to tears on occasion. The last 11 months have been a challenge and a gift at the same time. We have a foster child, and with that comes tantrums, disobedience, anger and tears. We all know how to behave, but showing an emotional reaction isn't always the right solution. Especially when you are being tested on a daily basis. We've had an upswing in behaviour changes over these last few months with the holidays. It's emotional trauma time, and as clear as day, I can remember loads of it from way back when. If anyone thinks I go overboard with Christmas, well... maybe I do. I've certainly calmed down over the years. It is something I can almost control if I drink enough in a good way. I'm aiming for special, and with the friends we've made here over the years, I think we have done really well.

Our child is a "professional foster child" which means: She has been in foster care long enough to know how to work the system and how the system works. When we talk about a permanent home, or she tells us she wants us to adopt her, I don't let emotion slip in… I calmly say it is forever - there is no going back. You can't leave because you decide you don't like us anymore. However, my reaction to her announcement is seen as hurtful. Rose petals and unicorns should dance at this notion, and we should all break out into song like a musical. ♩♪♫♬♭ Errr... um... no. That's Disney - that's not real family.

Christmas time isn't my most favorite time of the year. I lost my grandfather Poppa several years ago, just days after Christmas. My husband's father passed last year. Our daughter has been separated from a sibling for the first time ever, and has a deep hole in her heart. I found myself one evening, driving home from a garden club Christmas party, suddenly crying.  A clear feeling emerged: I made pumpkin pie that night - It was his favorite. The very last thing I remember making for my Poppa before he died. 

✄ ✄ ✄ ----------------------------------------------- (flashback)

We came up for Canadian Thanksgiving with husband about 5ish years ago? I convinced the family I would make a traditional Thanksgiving meal at cousins house. We had the whole family around one table; About nine adults and four children. When it came down to the pie, Poppa did his usual back handed comment that it wasn't spiced the way he liked. Which was not really my fault, since I didn't bring my spices from home, so I ended up using some of the old ones my grandmother Grama had on hand. Oh… and I made him eat it with real whipped cream from a cow, not that petroleum based Cool Whip crap like he was accustomed to eating. 

The day we left for home, I came early to say goodbye at their apartment. It was 8:00 in the morning. My grandmother Grama was in the shower with her Nurse's aide. Poppa was sitting at the table, with entire pie plate in front of him, eating my "not spiced as he would have liked" pie for breakfast. This is one of my last memories of him. Now, each time I make a pumpkin pie (from scratch people, NO CANS) I always spice it for him, with extra ginger, fresh grated nutmeg and cinnamon. If he ate my pie today, he'd never complain. Now I make a point of travelling with my own favorite spices. Who knows when I might need some.

☁☀ ✈ -------------- ☁☀ ✈ ----------- ☁☀✈

As we were driving home with tears streaming down my face, I felt compelled to tell my daughter some truth about life. When someone dies, they are gone - we are left with memories of them, sometimes heirlooms or small treasures of their life. We can do good deeds in memory of them, spread stories about them or re-tell famous family anecdotes, the way they told them. Their spirit is not forgotten. When you are separated from someone you love who is still alive, like a sister or brother... time often heals by bringing people back together.

It is not easy or fair that you must accept that a person: 

Who is part of you + Who you love = Is out of reach

• Write them letters, poems, drawings. Make a box for them of your dreams
• Remember them and know that you will be reunited again 
• Live as you wish they would live = happy and healthy 
• Continue to be a big sister or brother as a role model, even when distance divides

I can't get on the phone anymore and talk to my Poppa. The closest I can get to him now is in my dreams… but we do manage to have some pretty good conversations.