The Girl in a Box; Preface and Chapter 1

I'm excited to share the working draft and opening to my current book, The Girl in the Box.

The Girl in the Box

By Will Corcoran

Preface

The time had come.  We had waited years for this day.  We tried to imagine how it would unfold over and over, thinking of how long it would take to get there, who would accompany us, what the place would look and smell like, how quickly we would be processed and, most frighteningly, whether the government officials would change their minds.  But, it was nothing like we had imagined.

They loaded us in the long industrial-sized van, which was white in color but extremely dirty.  As we piled in, the translator and the driver spoke to each other; though by that time we had heard a lot of Mandarin, we could not understand what they were saying.  But the nature of their discussion was all business, and seemed hurried.  The driver, a small-framed middle-aged man, had a small mustache and deep, dark bags under his eyes.  He stood at the van door, herding us in quickly, with his head down and away from the translator to whom he spoke.

The translator, a petite woman in her mid 20s, stood next to the driver and spoke to him in a staccato-like fashion.  Her head bobbed up and down and side to side as she spoke; before the driver would finish what seemed to be answering a rhetorical question, the translator would interrupt.  Their conversation lacked any social pleasantries, and continued from the time the van arrived, through our loading, and even still as we drove with the driver and translator now side-by-side in the front seats.  By then, I had given up listening to their words and instead focused on

their interactions with each other, which in the end were not very illuminating either. 

Whatever the topic, it was clear that both were upset and not just with one another.  They were deeply nervous and scattered – and almost seemed fearful of what was to come at the end of our drive but were compelled to get there without delay.  I sat there hoping that the duo’s angst and worry had nothing to do with our situation – knowing that it probably did.

We all did.  All nine of us sat silently.  With our own worries and full of anticipation.  Though a larger van, it was not made to transport so many of us.  We were packed in, our arms and legs with no space between each person.  I kept my hand on the $3,000 U.S. dollars strapped to my chest – as a way to create more space – but also to give me some comfort in knowing that the money hadn’t been stolen.  The mugginess in the van was intensified by the body heat.  And the odor was something that I had never smelled before; it was a musty and old stench that reeked of heavy carbon dioxide and what seemed to be rotting animal carcasses. Whatever its make up, the thick fumes were actually visible.

The grey fog and noxious odor proved to be a useful distraction as we maneuvered through the City of Nanjing in China’s Jiangsu Province.  Though I had little to compare it to, Nanjing appeared to be a larger city – but with a heavy rural influence.  Nanjing, like most of China, was densely populated and had larger shopping centers, two-lane roads, and taller buildings (though no real sky scrapers to be sure).  At the same time, as we looked closer, the urban appearance could not overshadow the street vendors selling vegetables, horse-drawn buggies transporting farm equipment, or the trash and raw sewage in the streets.  As we drove by a market on one side of the street, I saw a street vendor on the other side relieving himself into a shallow and narrow stream of brown water.  No one else on the busy street seemed to pay him any mind; it appeared to be an acceptable practice.  The stark differences from one side of the street to the other seemed to define Nanjing – and much of China.

Everyone in the van noticed the street vendor too.  Everyone, that is, except our Chinese transporters.  We didn’t dare discuss our observations.  Rather, the briefly exchanged glances with one another spoke volumes that each of us – all being U.S. citizens – was keenly aware how foreign we were.  How different we were.  It was odd to feel so noticeably different, to be the clear minority and feel so alone.  We longed for home.  I didn’t know it then, but weeks later, I would remember this feeling – from a very different perspective.

But, we were not to leave China.  Not yet.

After driving for what seemed like an eternity, I started to look and wonder, with each turn, whether this was it.  Was this the neighborhood?  Was that the government building?  Is that an embassy or other official-looking building?  Would I even know what it would look like here?  We were very close.  Yet the closer we got, the longer it felt like it took.  That had been thematic of this near two-year journey.

The road grew more and more bumpy.  The driver knew the path well, however, as he slowed deliberately before taking the larger, rocky inclines.  He braced for the rugged terrain before we encountered it, gently guiding us through the ups and downs of the last leg of our trip.

We turned into a driveway that dead ended.  This was it.  I would have never guessed this building, I thought to myself.  The small, one-story building was worn, its masonry giving way and becoming debris in some parts around the building’s edges.  The signage for the building, which I couldn’t read, was discrete and understated.  You couldn’t even see the sign from the road and it was no more obvious than dozens of others that we had passed along the way.  This wasn’t a destination for the Chinese people.  Signage was not necessary.  Such “advertisement,” in fact, might have been counterproductive for the government.

“We are late,” our translator reported with a deeply disturbed look on her face.  It was the same look that she had when talking with the driver.  “We move quickly now,” she told us, as they both got out of the van and escorted us out one-by-one.  As we had done many times before, we got out and stood behind the duo awaiting further instruction.  We had been well trained.  It was critical that we were.

What did being late mean for us? What were the consequences?  I wondered, anxiously awaiting the final few in our group to get out.

Outside of the building were two smaller, off-white vans – parked right outside of the entrance.  The vans were empty.  Did our tardiness foreclose the opportunity?

Questions swirled in my head, as I looked at our translator’s state of frustration.  I looked at my wife, Kristen, but neither of us spoke.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.  This wasn’t part of the plan. 

Things had not gone according to plan for the children in that building either.  The van loads of Chinese orphans had arrived ahead of schedule that morning.  These little girls, mostly, and a few boys had been abandoned at birth.  Hidden under cover of darkness, or some other surreptitious method so their birth parents could avoid prosecution for violating the country’s One Child Rule.  This lot was among the lucky to have been found and taken to the orphanages – that were as plentiful in China as churches in the Bible Belt in the U.S.

Though the orphanages were many in number, they were extremely overcrowded – reflective of the tragically far higher number of children abandoned and brought there.  Within each orphanage, the sheer number of children clamoring for attention would mean, out of necessity, that each child would receive much less than any would need in their first days, weeks, and years.  Less food.  Less changings.  Less baths.  Less time – held, rocked, sung to, kissed, hugged.  Less – everything.  Everything we have learned that any baby needs to survive – let alone flourish.

So, it was remarkable, I had thought before and repeatedly since that day – that these kids had made it.  Undoubtedly, they were a strong and courageous group – kids destined to survive against so many hurdles early in life.  And not only literally survive, but they would live life. 

I had no idea at the time, but these kids all had something in common.  A determined and fighting spirit.  A spirit that helped them overcome abandonment, oppressive government regulations, and led them through the hardships.  A spirit that would not be broken by the “list of less” that they received.  It was a spirit that I have rarely seen, or felt, so vividly before or since.  It was a force that you could literally feel – from the deepest part of your body, radiating warmth and peace.  I remain convinced that God guided these children’s spirits to safety.

None of that was in my head as we stood outside the Ministry of Children’s Affairs Office in Nanjing that morning.  My wife and I were there to meet our daughter.  To take her home and to be her parents. 

The general notion of parenting I felt relatively comfortable with, my wife and I having had another child at the time.  Feeding, changing, rocking, and holding – I felt well equipped to love our little girl and was excited to begin doing exactly what we had done, and loved doing, with our biological son.  We were as confident as anyone can become with the ever-changing skill set of parenting.  But this parenting, I would soon learn, was much, much more than I ever anticipated. 

Never did I dream that it would entail learning about the other girls.  Those that, like our daughter, were abandoned – but did not make it out of the orphanage.  Or learning about those that did not even make it to an orphanage.  The dramatic difference that appeared from the outside to exist for no particular reason in many cases. 

Nor did I think this journey would involve learning about the plight of our daughter’s biological parents, her caretakers in the orphanage, or the deep emotional impact this would have on those, and others, around our daughter in her early days. 

This book is about our journey of love.  The challenges and triumphs (which, by far, there are more of) faced before, during, and after we met our daughter.  And those that we continue to encounter today.  It is also about those that have crossed paths with, and had an impact, on our daughter’s life.  And about those that still remain in China.

Big Questions From a Little Girl

Much of this reflection has been sparked by our daughter’s questions.  Some basic.  What did I do when we were in China? What did people say to you when we walked around?  Tell me about when you picked me.  Answers to questions that she could hear us tell her over and over without growing tired of it nor us in re-telling – because it is an important piece of who she is. 

Some much deeper.  Where did I come from?  Do you understand why my birth mommy didn’t keep me?  Why?  A lot of why questions.  What about the other babies still there? Why does China’s government have that rule?

The questions never stop.  For Gracie, so many questions remain unanswered.  Some always will.  And that is true of most every child that has been adopted from China.  But asking and exploring the answers is crucial to her identity and self worth.

That exploration is what we take on in this book.  Before our trip – many years ago – and since, we have seen and read many useful books about the before and during the adoption process.  We have yet to see a book answer our Chinese daughters’ and sons’ pivotal questions after finding their forever family.  That is this book.  The epilogue, if you will.  Each chapter addresses questions that Gracie has raised, and the story that follows.

Though each relationship is unique, over the years we have learned that our experiences on this journey are not so different from others.  These kids serve as an inspiration to us all.  We hope that Gracie’s questions and our story will serve as a useful guide to anyone that has ever considered international adoption or is about to embark on that path.  And that it is a pleasant read to anyone that enjoys discovering remarkable and courageous children.

Chapter One:  The Picture Worth A Thousand Words

“Why Did You Pick Me?”

My concerns that first night were eased when I thought about our long, deliberate journey to Gracie.  That beautiful and magnificent story also turned out to be the perfect answer to Gracie’s favorite question years later. 

“Daddy, will you tell me again why you decided to adopt from China?  And why you and Mommy picked me?” Gracie would ask countless times.  Each time she did, she lit up.  Her entire face smiled – her eyes beamed – as she waited to hear me retell the story she had heard many times before. 

Gracie would often ask the question just before bedtime, or when she was tired.  Sometimes when we talked about unique experiences that we had with her brothers, our biological children – she wanted to hear about the unique experience we had with her.  Each time we answered, it was easy to see that it soothed her, and made her feel like the special little girl that she was.  At some level, her hearing that we chose her, that we to took extraordinary steps to make her our daughter reaffirmed her place in our family.  Seemed to relieve her self doubt, which we were grateful for. 

It was a question that we never grew tired of hearing.  And we answered it, and all of the ancillary questions that were necessarily a part of it, with what we knew, learned, and most importantly felt in our hearts.

The Baby in a Box

The rainy season had just ended weeks earlier, but it still felt damp.  The air was sticky and humid, but there was a cool breeze early that September morning in 2004 at the Lianyungang train station.  By 6:30 that morning, early commuters were well on their way.  Lianyungang was a port city, but many who traveled through it were from the small rural towns and villages that were close by.  Many brought their produce, meats, fish, and hand-made goods from those villages to Lianyungang to sell or trade.  Still others came from the rural parts to work in the big city or to travel from its port where work might take them.  All said, Lianyungang was a big city – but for a great many, it was a destination as the closest resource to their rural homes on the outskirts of it.  So, it was a working city and very busy. 

With the bustle of activity, people, vehicles, and boats, the air in Lianyungang was thick and smog-filled, with the greyish brown cloud constantly hovering over it.  The potent smell of oil, trash, and smoke were overpowering.  The contrast between that man-made cloud and the natural beauty of the ocean abutting the city could not have been more stark.  To an outside observer, it seemed so unnatural to have a thing of such pristine beauty overshadowed by a dark and ominous cloud.  But the people of Lianyungang didn’t seem to appreciate the irony, or they had gotten used to the environment and accepted it for what it was.

Neither did they seem to take notice of the woman with the cardboard box at the train station early that morning.  She desperately wanted to go unnoticed.  If she were caught, she would surely end up in prison.  As she put the box down, she quickly turned around and went back in the direction she came from – hoping to vanish as fast as she came, and to remain unknown. 

But also hoping with all of her might that someone would notice the box.  That is precisely why she, like many other women before and after her that day, left the box in that train station – such a congested place and during such a busy time.  The risk of being caught was worth taking, but only if someone looked inside the box. 

The woman got her wish.  Much like the enormous brown cloud, the passersby didn’t notice her.  Whether they knew it at the time or not, they had seen this unfold many times before.  This woman did not stand out.  For them, she was yet another woman with a cardboard box.

But, as the woman had hoped, someone heard the sounds from within the box.  There was tapping that made a clicking sound against the cardboard.  It was irregular, but distinctive.  A background beat, almost, for the unmistakable cry of the newborn baby inside it.  An older woman made her way to the box, opened the flaps, and looked down to see the baby – wrapped snuggly in what appeared to be a hand-woven blanket – crying with all of her might. 

She quickly picked up the little girl from the box, and held her, as someone else contacted the police.  In the backdrop, the dark brown cloud seemed to appear heavier.  And much like the natural purity the ocean provided in comparison, the little girl in the box – now out of her four-cornered cardboard container – had emerged as the beacon of light that shined brightly through the heavy cloud. 

In dealing with the abandonment, we have found embracing Gracie’s story to help tremendously.  We have talked with a great number of adoptive parents that tend to shy away from the answer, or when pressed, give a cursory explanation that will satisfactorily answer the question.  But, though counter-intuitive at the beginning, we found (after much personal faltering on our own) embracing the story of her abandonment, explaining the details of the care placed and risk taken, and making Gracie the center piece has helped address her self-confidence issues, which come with being abandoned.  It also serves as a great springboard in underscoring how important she was to us – when we chose her.

 

From One Box to Another

From her cardboard box at the train station, the police took Gracie to a nearby hospital, and then to Lianyungang Orphanage.  The orphanage had a large room for the younger children – essentially any baby that would stay in a crib.  Because their general lack of caregiver attention resulted in gross motor delay, most babies were not mobile for a long time.  The room was filled with tiny cribs with steel bars and frames.  They looked like miniature jail cells without ceilings, silver boxes that housed these babies during a great majority of their time at the orphanage. 

The orphanage was always busy, but not chaotic.  An overwhelming sense of rigorous structure permeated the building – from the strong clean smells to the brisk manner in which people moved and curtly interacted.  The uncannily clean white walls, in the midst of hundreds of babies, spoke volumes about the strict organizational structure in place there.  It was likely out of necessity. 

Just like prisons, the orphanage was overcrowded.  I venture to guess that the worst of prison overcrowding in the U.S. couldn’t hold a candle to this orphanage’s population.  There were rows and rows of the little steel boxes – as deep as you could see.  Often, there were two babies in a crib.  Each crib abutted others on at least two sides, and sometimes all four, such that the children could see their crib-mates quite easily.  They couldn’t avoid them actually.  Most of their waking, and all of their sleeping, moments were with this same group of children.  For the first formative months, and often years, of their lives.  Though we will never know for sure, we have to assume that these children formed a unique bond that most of us will not understand.  We certainly discovered far-reaching impacts on Gracie that we did not expect, and could not explain, before seeing the second box she occupied – for almost two years.   

The Light From Within

We knew right when we saw her picture.

“I love him.  He’s so happy,” I remarked to Ann, as we both looked at the screen.

“Will, he’s a girl.  They just shave all of their heads,” Ann said whimsically, implicitly agreeing with my observation without needing to express it.

“I don’t care,” I said as we both laughed, “That’s our baby.”

And so she was.

We had never planned to go down this particular path.  In fact, after we submitted our dossier to the adoption agency, we had agreed that we would not look at the “waiting children” online.  These children were those that had been forgotten; they were either older, having not been selected for adoption like their crib-mates, or had special needs.  Either way, all of these children were in the orphanage and presented some challenge in finding a home through the normal channels.  I soon learned that “waiting” was nothing more than a politically correct term that meant “last chance.”  If these children were not adopted during a specified period, they would be ineligible for adoption and were placed in a permanent orphanage - where they stayed.  Until they died, which was at an alarming rate.  Or became old enough to venture out on their own, having no safety net whatsoever.

But that’s certainly not what we planned.  It was a matter of what we had on our plates, and what we thought we were able to take on.  Our son, Sammy, was 18 months old and we wanted to add another baby to the family.  We had calculated the perfect age spacing, yes we were those types, and it all fit into our plans.  That is precisely why we had agreed not to look at the profiles of the “waiting children.”  It served no purpose.

Plans changed.  When Ann opened the laptop, we looked.  The first few children were older – 4 or 5 year olds.  Like the rest, their hair was buzzed short.  And I remember thinking that they looked so sad.  Their eyes stared ahead into, or sometimes past, the camera, but it seemed as though the kids weren’t really there.  There was an emptiness - a hole that ran so deep that it seemed incomprehensible.  Those pictures said it all – they were alone.  So very alone, and always had been.  They had lost hope. 

My heart was heavy, and I remember thinking that our first instinct was right; we should not have looked at these profiles. 

“Let’s stop,” I said, just as Ann advanced to the next picture.

It was Gracie.  I smiled so hard that I was almost laughing.  Like me then, she was grinning from ear to ear in the picture on the computer screen.  Her nose was a bit crinkled, as she smiled, and her eyes beamed.  There was no other word to describe it.  They literally beamed with happiness, spirit and hope.  And playfulness.  Just like a kid is supposed to smile.  

Despite where she was, and where she had been, Gracie was happy.  She had not lost hope.  From our first glance at her photo, it was clear that Gracie had a special light within her that had guided her through the dark corners and turns that her life had already taken in those first 18 months.

We considered, but only briefly, that Gracie was just four weeks younger than our son – so we would have virtual twins and she might have some attachment issues; and that Gracie had a cleft palate that needed repaired.  Her exuberant spirit, which was most important to us, shined from another continent and on a computer screen thousands of miles away.

That evening, we began the process.  Two days later, we were overjoyed, albeit surprised, to hear “Congratulations, your daughter is beautiful!”

Being wanted, and in the case of international adoption, being chosen are such powerful stories for these children.  Gracie has asked to hear it so many times that she can almost recite portions verbatim.  We have also found it useful to tell her this story, even when she doesn’t ask, if she is having any issues with self-confidence, worthiness, or abandonment.  The story, and its impact, is timeless.  Each family has a unique story in response to this question, but never underestimate the power of the answer.  Share it often.

The Bizarre Blessing

by Troy Foster

We were talking on the phone – both headed home from work (which seems to be good, quiet, quality time together) – when we realized it.  Our words were horrifying.  Things that you shouldn’t hear parents say about their child.  And we were saying those things, and not bothered – in fact, encouraged by our talk.  We were reminded that we are living in a bizarro world of sorts with perspectives that have changed forever.  Nothing that we wanted, but a blessing that we appreciate.

“Henry told the nurse that he couldn’t walk.  He was too tired,” Kristen reported.

“Well, good news – the insurance company called about the wheelchair and it’s been ordered – so, Henry will be happy,” I replied.

“Perfect!  I’m glad that he will tell us when he needs something, and he is excited about the wheelchair,” Kristen continued.

I agreed.  And then realized how odd the conversation would appear to an outsider.  Parents pleased that their 5 year-old would talk to them about his weakness, that his energy deteriorated to the point of needing a wheelchair, and celebrating its arrival. 

But, that’s where we are.  And it’s okay.  Mainly because Henry is okay with it.  In our world, as bizarre as it might seem, Henry helps us focus on the fun he’ll have on the ride there and at the destination (especially when it’s the playground or soccer field).  We have learned that worrying about how he gets there – by foot or by chair – is a waste of precious time.  Time that Henry has taught us to laugh with, smile at, and experience each other.

We may be on a bizarre journey, but know that we are blessed each step of the way (or turn of the wheel).

For more inspirational stories about Henry, read Three Candles (www.threecandlesbook.com) – a book that captures the gift of his perspective.  Proceeds of book sales go to Henry's Hope (www.henryshope.org).

Childhood Cancer, Special Needs, and the Shining Star – Hope

By Troy Foster

Life is crazy.  And the world is quite small.  Since moving back home – across the country – we have discovered that Lily is in the same class with a little girl that is the daughter of Kristen’s high school friend.  One of the kindergarten teachers, familiar with Henry’s Hope (and his little face), also happens to be a high school classmate of mine.  Those tidbits came as a comfort; our kids were among friends and people that cared about them and us.

That comfort remains, but has been jolted by a couple of layers.  The little girl, Emma, has a brain tumor.  That, for me, seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.  It was maddening.  I was furious, enraged, deeply saddened, overwhelmed, and exhausted.  For me, showing the anger is not easy; before, I would bury it completely, dive deep into work or other things that I could “control” – and we all know that it comes out in some way eventually.  Now, having worked for years on this, I can cope with the feelings and deal with them head on.  Much healthier, but unpleasant nonetheless.

You see, we had heard this news – a child with a brain tumor – before.  A friend that I used to work with years ago, had a son – who is famously referred to as Rock Star Ronan.  That beautiful boy lost his battle with cancer at 4.  In following his mom’s blog, that family’s experiences were horrific, almost unbearable, unfair, and overwhelming.  They had gone down a path that we followed them on; we had experienced many similar ordeals and have no idea what they went through in losing Ronan.  But, we will. 

That fact is overwhelming.  So to try to better cope, I took great advice from my therapist and stopped following the blogs that seemed foretelling.  I stopped working directly with Henry’s Hope families, as their stories were too raw for me; our organization would help, but it wasn’t something that I could personally do.  These new coping mechanisms worked well.  And then, another little girl.  Another family who is courageous, but even on the outside you can see their fear, desperation, exhaustion.

So, I took another piece of therapeutic advice.  Distanced myself from those circumstances.  Before, I would not let myself do that – thinking I was being selfish, too self-centered, etc.  But in truth, diving in to help never resulted in a positive outcome for anyone.  And, I was useless to all. 

So, distancing seemed to work.  I was coping.  I was healthy – sleeping, no anxiety attacks, no deep depression, no burying myself in work.  All healthier means of coping.

And then . . . .

My kids challenged me even further!

Lily, being Lily, has befriended Emma and talks fondly about her.  She doesn’t say anything about Emma being sick; she knows all about it, but she talks about her favorite color, what she likes to play, what she thinks is funny.  Far more important things than the things that I’d be angry about or try to help with.  You see, the help that I would always try to provide was in an effort to “fix” things, cure the disease, make the illness more tolerable, search for alternative treatments – all things that I am not equipped to do and that were failures before I even started.

Lily, and the wise children that I see (most are more wise than I), wants to help by just being there.  In being Emma’s friend.  Laughing.  Playing.  Treating her like the kid that she is.  And she’s successful every time.

Lily and Henry recently joined a club that meets after school.  The club partners with Phoenix Children’s Hospital and does things for kids that are sick in the hospital.  Fun things.  Things that recognize that they are kids; not see them as sick.  I’m so proud of Lily and Henry for seeing what’s important.

And Luke Took it Even Further

A couple of weeks ago, I realized that the coping tools that I’ve learned (and continue to) have been put in place just in time.  Because, as a parent (though newly learned), I’m going to have to teach some of these skills to our kids.

Luke and I were having some fun time, and he told me that he loved his school.  When I asked why, he started to cry and told me “Because they have a whole room for the special kids.”  He was referring to the special needs kids.  Then, he said something too familiar for comfort.  Wiping away the tears, he said “Daddy, I want to figure out how to make them fine.  How to cure them.”  I saw myself in him.  The raw emotion that he had was difficult; so, he shut it off – put it away and hatched a plan to make it all better.  He was going to make it so that the overwhelming sadness would go away – because he was going to “cure” all of the special needs kids.  Just like I thought that I could cure him and his little brother.  Because if I thought that was true (even remotely), I wouldn’t have to deal with the reality.

“Luke, they don’t need cured,” I said.  “And we can’t do it even if we wanted to.”  He looked up at me – surprised.  Unbeknownst to me, I had already taught him that we should take affirmative steps to overcome bad things to avoid feeling them at all.  “We can’t,” I repeated.  His shock turned back into sadness, and tears rolled down his face.  I hugged him, and joined him in crying.

“It’s ok to be sad and to cry,” I told him.  Something that I had just discovered in the last few years.  And then, I took a play out of Lily’s playbook!  “We can play with those kids though, help them have fun,” I said.  As he wiped away his tears and took a deep breath, he said “Making them smile is good, right?”

Yes Luke, it is the best.  The very best medicine anyone could want.  I learned it relatively late in life.  But on the hard days – when Henry has a hard time walking, when Luke wonders aloud whether he could die from mitochondrial disease – I treasure each and every smile given to me.

For more inspiring stories, please check out Three Candles – a book about Henry and Henry’s Hope.  (www.henryshope.org or www.threecandlesbook.com).

Holy Mother! I Mean Happy Mother’s Day

By Troy Foster

Mother’s Day hits this year at the perfect time.  I know it’s the same Sunday in May – but this year – the timing has been key.  You see, my wife – mother of our four – has been gone for the whole week and returns tomorrow.  And though nothing out of the ordinary happened in the Foster Family this week, it gave me (and the kids) a renewed appreciation for Kristen on this Mother’s Day!

Missed Buses, Lost Kids, Naked Nocturnal Baby (With Waterworks), Car Accidents, Naked Barbies, Lollipop Dinners, and Seatbelts/Clothes/Baths/Names Optional

Three things.  First, I said nothing out of the ordinary happened.  That doesn’t mean that this wasn’t a highly entertaining week – especially for those on the outside looking in.  Second, you must realize that I could not write this until now – the day before Kristen returns home – for fear that she might cut her trip short.  Third, despite the heading and the words that follow, I think I did a pretty good job. 

Starting on that last point, please understand that there are few things that I’m confident about.  One, however, is that I’m a decent father.  Kids are safe (mostly), loved, and love life.  So, as we started the week, I thought this was going to be a piece of cake; I’ve done it before.  Not the first time Kristen has gone out of town.  This week was different.

The Transition

Whenever Kristen leaves (whether it is to the grocery store or out of state), all of the kids want to know “when is Mommy coming home?”  They don’t listen to the answer.  Their question isn’t a question – but more of a demand.  So, that never gets old. 

Henry is the most persistent.  “But I need to cuddle with Mommy before I go to sleep.”  He starts diplomatically, “I want you both, Daddy, but need Mommy.”  And as he grows more and more tired, his raw feelings are revealed “I don’t want you; I want Mommy.”  This, I knew from the very beginning.  But as soon as his sweet explanations turn terse, I know that he will soon fall asleep.  Before he does, like clockwork, he turns to me, puts his hand on the side of my face, rubs it softly, kisses me and says “I love you.  But I still want Mommy.”

Get Out the Vote:  Day 2

I love election days.  Always have.  So, I thought I’d share my enthusiasm with the kids.  They were not interested.  In the voting booth, Luke criticized my choices – pretty loudly.  “You think he is the best person for President?  Really?  Is he the one that left his dog on the roof or that wants to build houses on the moon?  Or is he the one that doesn’t believe in evolution?  Will you still pick him over President Obama?  Are you picking him so that President Obama will win?  I thought this didn’t even matter?”  And then, “I’m hungry.”

As I hurried to get the too-young-for-civic-duty-excitement kids to the car, my way-too-big shorts fell all the way to the ground in one fell swoop.  And as I took another step, I fell down – almost landing on Henry.  Right in front of the poll workers – you know where every candidate has someone there to represent them.  Most were nice and pretend not to see, turned and smiled.  The kids, however, were less gracious.  I got their chortling butts to the car pronto, one hand tightly gripping the side of the shorts.

Who Are These Kids?:  Day 3

Literally – not just their behavior – their names.  Who are they?  It happens to all parents, but my fatigue led to me to not only forget which one was which, but had me calling our kids by their friends’ and our dogs’ names.  At one point, I gave up “Chinese daughter, please go get your sick brother’s shoes and tell me if your African brother is still awake.”  Close enough, right?   (I didn’t really say it, but was very, very close.)

Another difference is that the kids have treated me differently than they do their mom.  After I’ve said “no” five times, they usually don’t ask again.  Something changed this week.  They were relentless.  I don’t remember doing it, but I must have given in at some point – the proverbial blood in the water the kids needed to spot their victim and attack!

Head Count:  Day 4

A big day, and failure.  Actually, a success in that the kids are all still alive.

The older two had swim lessons right after school.  So, I had arranged to pick them up – along with Henry – at the school and go from there.  Easy, right?  No.

The school forgot and put Henry on the bus.  Because he was sobbing, the bus aide called me and I was able to get him off the bus; he was still sobbing when I got there.  And then I saw Luke in the hallway.  Seemed like it was getting way too easy.  So, I grabbed him.  Two out of three. 

I was feeling so good that I didn’t want to be rude and go get Lily from heading to get picked up and cut in front of the long line of parents; so, Luke, Henry, and I went to the van and got in the line.  Only to see Lily marched out front with the Principal and her teacher.  As they looked around, I got out of line – nearly hitting a suburban that didn’t see me coming.  As I pulled up, Lily had vanished.  We got out of the car to find out that they put her on the bus home.  But, seeing me, they called the bus and it had pulled over and was waiting on me.

Things were going to pot fast.  We got in the car, and the kids were loving it.  A little too much.  Then, as I was backing up, I realized that they were giggling because – not only had I forgotten to buckle Henry in (that happens) – but I had forgotten to shut his door.  So, I opened my door, jumped out, and quickly realized – too late – that the car was still in reverse.  I chased it back, jumped in the car, and slammed on the breaks – stopping the van (with kids in tow) just inches from the parked cars in the school parking lot.  In front of – everyone.  The kids cheered me on, and Luke told me that he was glad that I was exercising because I had to move fast.

We got Lily, got them changed to swimsuits and went in.  It wasn’t until we sat down that I looked up and saw that Henry had brought in a naked Barbie.  He played with her – for a little while – and then I was relegated to holding naked Barbie.

More Nakedness and Car Trouble:  Day 5

After easily going to bed, I woke up in the middle of the night to Eli’s naked butt bouncing up and down on my head.  As I became more alert, I saw our happy and chipper 2-year old boy swinging his diaper over his head as he bounced up and down.  And then I felt the wet.  He had peed all over the bed.  Nice.  Very nice.

After a not-so-restful night, I got up and was ready for round two!  I was ahead of schedule and ready to put some stuff into our van.  But it was locked, and the keys were locked inside.  Luke then told me the whole horrific sequence of events.  He took the keys, unlocked the car, our dogs went inside and pushed the lock button on the keys, and they all got out and shut the door.  Right!  Anyway, Kristen has the spare set of keys in Arizona. 

And no time to waste.  She for the last couple of days, we have been driving around in our Jeep – Wrangler.  The four kids and I fit snuggly.  It was really interesting when we had one of Luke’s friends over for the evening.  Six of us pushed it.  We’re excited to go pick Kristen up at the airport and show her how well we fit inside.  (Yes, I thought of getting another key made.  But the registration, insurance card, and other things that they want are in the van. Of course.  So, it just seemed easier to wait.  If we didn’t, there’d be a whole new entry about our adventures at the dealership – I guarantee it.)

Home Stretch

The week started somewhat regimented.  I had the kids get their clothes out the night before, homework gathered, papers signed, etc.  As I write this, I have no idea whether the boys have underwear on – and socks – please, we are all wearing sandals so it had better stay nice.  I still make them brush their teeth, but if Kristen wasn’t coming home tomorrow, I’m not sure how long that would last.

And I think that I was appreciative before, but this week has made me appreciate so much more how Kristen and I are a parenting team.  We can hardly wait to celebrate a “mother” of a week with Mother’s Day this Sunday.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you moms and moms-to-be!  Cherish your time with your kids, your parenting teammate, and with yourself!

For more inspiring stories about Henry, buy Three Candles today.  Available online via Amazon or at www.threecandlesbook.com.  Proceeds to benefit Henry’s Hope at www.henryshope.org.