As open book as I am, there are topics I don’t write about here for any number of reasons. Often, I am busy protecting the stories of the others, respecting their boundaries and allowing them their own space to live their own story. Like how I don’t write about the fact that, yes, I do have personal experience with reunion in my family. Like any number of any other things that get too far into the nitty gritty of who we are and why we’re here and what we’re doing. I won’t write some things because I don’t want to.

But sometimes…

Sometimes I can’t write some things because… because I can’t.

I’m rarely wordless. I have lots to say. About lots of things.

But there are topics. There are things. There are emotions and experiences and bouts of depression and feelings and fears and thoughts that I just can’t put out into the great wide open. As much as I’d like to credit myself that I’m just “taking care of me” and “respecting my own boundaries,” it’s not that. Or, it is sometimes. But, with some things, the words simply won’t form.

Sometimes it’s because I’ve blocked something out and have no ability to even go there to form the words, to even find the memories. Sometimes it’s because I know what I want to say… and I don’t want to say it out loud. I don’t want it to be real. I don’t want me to know I feel a certain way, let alone you. And so I’m silent. I don’t go there.

People say things, even with good intentions, not knowing. Or maybe not understanding even if they know. And I blink, force myself to smile and nod. I stumble over some answer I’ve formed over the years. I look away. I disappear inside of myself, somewhere between a memory and a prayer that this conversation will end. Soon.

But it won’t. It doesn’t. It will continue. And I’ll just keep smiling and nodding and stumbling and disappearing.

When I Disappear is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

I just got comment spam on a non-adoption post over at Stop, Drop & Blog “asking” me to participate in an Adoption Awareness Month “event” that an agency — who uses coercive and unethical language on their site — is doing on tumblr. They tried to appeal to me by calling me an adoption advocate.

Uh, no.

Yes, I am an adoption advocate. An ethical adoption advocate. Ahem.

There are many things wrong with how I was approached.

1. I may mention adoption stuff at will on the family blog, but it is not my adoption blog. Reading it at all would tell you that. Pitch me in the appropriate blog.

2. Pitch me in an appropriate manner. Both blogs include not only a contact form but my actual email address in case you think the contact form didn’t work properly. Pitching in the comments is spam, plain and simple. Unless the post was “I’m looking for a great way to improperly promote my own agenda for Adoption Awareness Month instead of focusing on the children in our country who are currently waiting in foster care! Can anyone point me in the right direction?” That would be the only time that a comment of such nature wouldn’t be considered spam.

3. Adoption Awareness Month is not about promoting the wonders of open adoption in hopes of convincing expectant mothers to relinquish. Adoption Awareness Month is about raising awareness that TOO MANY of our children are waiting in our — broken and badly in need of reform — foster care system. This month should not be used for agencies to “get the word out” about how “awesome” open adoption is in hopes of making the proverbial buck. This should be a time when agencies stop trying to attain the almighty dollar and instead point to the foster care system and how our children need homes. This should be a time where we stop and think about those children and how the system is doing them wrong in many ways. This should be a time where we stand up and say that the reforms that are so desperately needed NEED to be addressed. Not next year. Now. The only “open adoption” promotion that should be going on this month is this kind: Showing that you can adopt from foster care and have a successful open adoption with birth family members. That’s it. No domestic open adoption monkey making hoopla. Children finding families. Children keeping roots. Children. Who need homes. Not homes who need children.

I absolutely loathe that domestic newborn adoption agencies attempt to use this month as a way to make money off of adoptive parents and “waiting” babies who aren’t really waiting. I hate that they refuse to acknowledge what this month is all about, who this month should really benefit. I’m tired of being asked to participate in things that don’t even begin to skim the surface of what this month could and should be about. It sickens me that certain agencies are just concerned about their own wallets and not real children needing real homes.

So, no, I won’t participate in your “open adoption tumblr.” I won’t promote your cause, because your cause is not my cause. Even if your cause was my cause, learn how to pitch bloggers. Spam is spam is spam.

/end rant

Why I Won’t Particpate In Your Adoption Awareness (Insert Event Here) is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

I kind of love this new Open Adoption Roundtable, mostly because I’ve finally been hit with the New School Year Ick and this one kind of lets me scrimp on creating new content.

I thought it could be fun to do an open mic style roundtable. Our group is growing and a lot of us haven’t “met” each other yet. So point us to a favorite post on your blog. It doesn’t even need to be about adoption. And tell us a little bit about why you picked the one you did.

My favorite post on Chronicles is The Woman Upstairs. I wrote it in 2009, and though I’ve written some great stuff since then, it is still that one I return to time and time again.

A snippet:

She lived in the apartment above mine. She walked heavy and had an even heavier case of insomnia. Pregnant and on bed rest, unable to sleep at night myself, I’d hear her feet hit the floor at one o’clock in the morning. She’d stomp into the bathroom and run herself a hot bath. For awhile, the sounds would cease as she likely attempted to relax herself back to sleep. She’d stomp back to bed, waking me yet again. I’d roll to my other side, hand gently touching my belly as the Munchkin kicked me. My precious daughter was a night owl as well.

There are many reasons why that post is my favorite, so I can’t narrow it down to just one. It remains my best piece of writing about the memories of my pregnancy, as I shut them down and push them aside so often. I let myself “go there” for this particular post and the result was something that I was intensely proud of, though completely drained after writing it.

I’m going to go blog-hopping and read the amazing posts other people chose… as soon as this New School Year Ick lets me sit upright for more than an hour at a time. Oh, germs.

Open Adoption Roundtable #20: Open Mic is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

Yesterday was a unique day for me.

As I mentioned previously, I attended PodCamp Pittsburgh 6 (and spoke with Burgh Baby). As I stood on the stage with a microphone in hand, I said the word adoption a few different times. Over lunch, I talked about the Munchkin without fear or flinching. During another session I was attending, I explained that I was blogging about adoption from the point of view of a birth mother.

Yeah, I don’t know what got into me either.

Except that I do.

It’s funny — and not the ha-ha kind — that of all my years of blogging adoption, none of the trolling and hatred have come from the Pittsburgh blogging community. It’s come from within my transplanted state of Ohio. It’s come from various other states and big communities and “big name” bloggers with whom I am supposed to be impressed. But the Pittsburgh blogging community has never shunned me because of my status as a birth mother. Or — or — if they have some judgment for me, they at least have enough manners to keep it to themselves.

I love my Pittsburgh blogging community — who are also, quite simply, my friends.

I have come a long way over the years, finding this place. I am not stupid enough to believe that people are always going to accept me at face value. But I am grateful to my Pittsburgh friends for accepting me for who I am.

Thanks, Pittsburgh! is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

I thought I should let you all know about the Adoption Film Festival happening at the University of Pittsburgh this weekend. I received an email from Laura reminding me about it which jogged the memory that Kate was also attending.

I’ll share the list of movies and “respondents” on panel. Please note the 3:00 one.

Adoption on Film: Families Lost and Found
September 16 -17, 2011 Frick Fine Arts Auditorium
University of Pittsburgh

Friday, September 16 7:30 pm
Wo Ai Ni (I Love You) Mommy (Stephanie Wang-Breal, 2010)

Director Stephanie Wang-Breal will present and discuss.

Saturday, September 17 1:00 pm
Adopted: For the Life of Me (Jean Strauss, 2010)
Respondent: Amanda Woolston, founder of AdopteeRights PA

3:00 pm
To Each His Own (Mitchell Leisen, 1946)
Respondents: Kate Livingston, Ph. D. candidate in Women’s Studies, OSU,
and Molly Brown, Lecturer in Film Studies, Pitt

7:30 pm
Secrets and Lies (Mike Leigh, 1996)
Respondents: Alison Patterson, Visiting Lecturer, Film Studies, Pitt
Marianne Novy, Professor, English, Pitt

Presented by Pittsburgh Consortium for Adoption Studies, University of
Pittsburgh School of Arts and Sciences Department of English, Film
Studies Program, Women’s Studies Program, Three Rivers Families with
Children from China

For more information contact mnovy@pitt.edu or alp30@pitt.edu

I really wish I was going, not because I think sitting and watching adoption movies for 24 hours would do my psyche good. But just because I think it would be fun to see Kate up front and make faces at her. Especially since I can’t attend the Ohio Birthparent Group this month which happens to be the very next day. I can’t attend OBG because my husband works his 24 hour shift on Sunday and BigBrother has a soccer game. That simply doesn’t work. Such is life. Sometimes I can make a choice to go and sometimes I have to make the choice to stay home.

Anyway, I can’t go to the Film Festival because I’ll be presenting at PodCamp with BurghBaby. We’ll be presenting Blogging 201: Keeping Your Blog Going. I could be all self-snarky and say something like, “One way to keep your blog going is to do something that will give your life-long grief and loss. Then you’ll never run out of things to say!” In fact, I might say something of that nature, but not quite in the same way.

If you’re attending the Film Festival, please blog about it so I can feel like I was there. If you’re attending PodCamp (it’s free!), attend our session. Or go to the Film Festival. Either way, enjoy Pittsburgh this weekend. I will be!

Adoption Film Festival in Pittsburgh This Weekend is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

BigBrother is thriving in Kindergarten. Thriving.

We had a few tearful days for which the blame can be placed solely on the craziness that is the elementary school lunch room. But after a phone call to the Principal and a few more weeks of practice, the kid seems to have it down. He’s exhausted, but he’s happy. And doing well! He’s already tested at the level he needs to be in reading in order to move to first grade. He can all of a sudden cut on the line. He comes home every day with a smile on his face. And his teacher thinks he is just a great kid.

Which is why I can’t bring myself to talk to his teacher about our family.

I don’t want to change her opinion of him, of his “home life” and what a relinquishment must entail about my parenting skills. I want her to continue to think that we are upstanding individuals, fantastic parents who care about our son’s education. I want her to believe that we are involved at home in his learning and that we will give what time we have to the classroom experience. I want her to know that he is safe in our home, that he is being fed and well cared for in the hours that he is not sitting and smiling in her classroom. I want her to know he is loved and wanted.

I don’t want her to treat him differently because of his mother.

Part of me thinks I’m overreacting. I was encouraged by your advice that families look different nowadays; adopted children, divorce, step-siblings, the whole nine yards. I wanted to believe that the newer normals are accepted by our school districts. I know, of course, my anxiety plays into all of this and that I should talk myself off of this ledge I seem to have cornered myself onto; precariously looking over my toes at the what ifs below.

But part of me knows I’m not overreacting. I don’t know anything specific about my son’s teacher — other than she likes my son and treats him well. But I do know about the city in which we live. I don’t know if she had a mother in her class who couldn’t be bothered to bathe or dress her child properly last year. I don’t know if she dealt with a family who lost their child to Children’s Services — repeatedly. I don’t know if she’s tired of the string of drug using, self-absorbed parents around our area — in our district. I don’t know if telling her that BigBrother has a sister somewhere else will be the straw that breaks her back, that makes her give up hope on a child that has so much potential, just because she’s tired of dealing with the same crappy parents, year in and year out.

And I don’t want to chance it.

The only people who “give up” their babies around our area are the people who lose their children to the system. No one “chooses” adoption in our area. The thought is that if your child isn’t with you, you have done something so bad that even our messed up, overworked state system saw that you weren’t good enough to be a parent. Everyone keeps their babies, end of discussion. I am the oddity, the anomaly. I do know of a few others like me, but who live in the era of closed adoptions and thus don’t have to deal with this weird “do I/don’t I tell” issue. They don’t have to weigh the pros and cons of discussing it with a teacher.

I am tired of fighting to be normal.

Which I am not.

And which I don’t really want to be either.

I am not like everyone else, whether from this city or my hometown or from somewhere else entirely. I am a unique woman. I am strong. I deserve to be treated with compassion when I tell my story. But it’s not always the case. I keep thinking if I’m the best mother ever on the face of the planet, someday people won’t bat an eyelash when I tell my story. But I can’t be. And they still will.

And I feel an deep mama bear urge to protect not only BigBrother but the amazingness that is the Munchkin.

And myself.

I Haven’t Talked to His Teacher is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

I think I’m going to have to ban myself from the radio. Again. I have to now and again as music so deeply touches me; makes me think and feel even when I’m actively trying to avoid such things.

Linkin Park did it again. I’ve been off of my rock and alternative kick this summer, as summers are for country music. I tuned back into the Alternative channel on SiriusXM and caught “Iridescent” at the beginning and thus proceeded to weep on my steering wheel.

I think it is important to note that the “let is go” in these lyrics is not about letting go of my daughter. Or “getting over” this grief and loss. It is about letting go of that overwhelming feeling prior to placement — the one that I still hold against myself.

I wish I could properly verbalize what I felt at that time. Stuck on Level III bed rest in a musty basement apartment with little to no support. Communication lines between my mother and I were faulty at best; mostly broken and unresponsive from either side. I would sit in the quiet and re-read the few books I had brought with me, none of which were the typical pregnancy and parenting preparation type books. I owned none… not one. I was alone most of the time. I was scared all of the time. And alone and scared are never a great combination.

I have sat and pondered that time in my life. My anxiety was still undiagnosed at that point in my life. I wasn’t able to step outside of the situation at hand and say, “Hey, you’re snowballing things that don’t really need snowballed. This is manageable. Take a breath and move forward.” I was stuck in my situation. Stuck. Cold. Lost in desperation. Too used to my own perceived failures (see also: undiagnosed anxiety) to even dare to hope. Sadness. Frustration. No way out. I couldn’t see my now husband for what he was. I couldn’t see my mom’s anger or my dad’s silence as their own coping mechanisms. I listened to others who had agendas. I listened to others who had per-conceived notions about my state as an unwed mother. I couldn’t hear myself through my fear.

And I still harbor so much hate and resentment for myself for not being able to see past the immediacy of the situation. Hot, burning, deep hatred. That’s what I want to let go. I want to look upon myself with the same compassion and grace that I afford others. I want to hug the young, scared girl that I was and tell her, no matter what, she’ll be okay. I just want to tell her that she is loved — because I didn’t believe I was at that time. By anyone. I want to forgive myself — to let go. And I know that I need to. For me. For the Munchkin. For my boys. My husband.

For all of us.

Let It Go is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

When I heard that Steve Jobs stepped down for Apple — and it sunk in as to what that really meant — I found myself sniffling back tears.

When I read an article from TechCrunch that Laurie shared and learned that Steve is an adoptee, I wept openly. There was no way I was getting through that article without tears when I read how his birth mother made his adoptive parents promise to send him to college.

Every mother — biological, birth, adoptive, step, you name it — wants their children, however they are theirs, to have all the best in life. So often young, expectant mothers are told that if we just do this one thing — relinquish our children — that we are guaranteeing them a better life. Sometimes that’s not true. Sometimes it is. The path that Jobs’ birth mother took changed the world as we know it, thus proving again that adoption does not only affect the child, the adoptive parents and the biological parents. It changes the course of a life. And sometimes that life changes our lives, however far separated we are from that one decision, that one name on a line.

I was tender after learning about Jobs’ and his history with adoption. I pondered, briefly, where his birth father is, if he was still alive and what he thought about everything. I got my answer from a rather sensationalized piece in the New York Post. It’s not even really a horrible piece with finger-pointing and blame-games; I just find it completely inappropriate time wise. Jobs and his family are dealing with so much right now. The guilt trip tone of the article seems rather crass, placing blame on Jobs instead of taking blame for being the one not to reach out to his son.

I do have compassion — to a point — for Abdulfattah John Jandali. Mostly in the same way that I have compassion for other birth fathers who were simply left out of the adoption decision. As he said in the piece, he thinks that failing his two living children (he and Jobs’ birth mom, Joanne, had another daughter together after they married but they later separated and divorced) caused him to never have children. I’d take that back one step farther and argue that the relinquishment decision that he was not involved shaped how he parented or, in his case, became an absentee father. It’s hard to tell, of course, and we’ll never know the answer. But as someone parenting two children post-relinquishment, I maintain that the adoption shapes and contorts and affects my parenting, my decision making and my abilities.

Where my compassion runs out, however, is his inability to reach out to his biological son before time runs out. I believe that Jandali is not after Jobs’ money, as he so worries will be thought if he reaches out. But this is it, Jandali. This is it. It’s honestly now or never. And if you can’t get over “what people might think” to let your son know that he is loved? Well, you’ll live with that. I wonder if that’s why Kristin Chenoweth’s birth mother won’t reach out. Or why other celebrity adoptees refuse to meet their birth parents. I wonder if those birth parents are feel satisfied in knowing that something they took a chance on — relinquishment — ended up in a good way. I don’t know.

I do know this: If I didn’t have contact with the Munchkin when she was a famous, world-changing adult and she was dying, I wouldn’t be worried if society, her parents or even she thought that my contact meant that I wanted her money. I would suck up pride and fear and whatever else was holding me back and I would just do it. Nothing in this world would be able to keep me from telling my daughter that I loved her, that I was proud of her and that I would miss her terribly.

My thoughts go out to all those who are a part of Steve Jobs’ life at this time.

Say Goodbye is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

First Kindergarten project of the school year: All About Me Bag!

Ugh.

I asked BigBrother who he wanted to share pictures of, without asking leading questions. He just wants to share photos of us — the people under this roof. Not YiaYia and Papau. Not Nina. Not Indiana the Dog. Not any friends. Just us.

I told him that was fine and that we would pick out some good photos to share later. He started chattering on about his day and I asked appropriate questions and we had a nice snack.

And then I cried a little bit after he went off to play with his brother.

Recognizing that this is part of his story and that he has the authority to tell it how he wants — when he wants — is logically not a problem for me. I am able to accept that on all kinds of levels: logically, intellectually, psychologically. All of that, I get. But emotionally, it sticks a little dagger in my heart.

But I’ll respect it, because it’s his story to tell. Of course, this doesn’t make my questions about how to share about our family any easier. But for now, he’s taking the reins on this one. Suddenly, I find myself along for the ride instead of driving the carriage. It gives me a new respect for how my past choices have adversely affected my children and how they have been forced to deal with what has been given them without question.

Allowing Him to Tell in His Own Time is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.

Tonight is BigBrother’s open house. We’ll take in his school supplies, check out his classroom and meet his teacher. I’ll dress like a respectable member of society, attempt to wrangle LittleBrother with a badly injured back and pray that this will be a good experience for him.

And while the teacher is busy with the other kids and is, let’s be honest, sizing up families and getting a feel for what her year might be like, I’ll be sizing her up. Not about how she’ll teach my son to read (check) or whether she’ll be able to handle his chatter (rumor is that, yes, she will) or even whether I think she looks nice in whatever respctable outfit she chose.

I’ll be trying to figure out whether or not I should tell her about our family makeup, the Munchkin and what that means for how we function. I’ve been ignoring the issue since I’ve been busy with so much else as of late, but it’s there, on the back-burner. I was asked whether I was going to tell her in a comment the other day and it has been a non-stop thought since then.

I don’t know.

There’s no advice on the Internet for me, for birth parents in open adoption sending their kids into the public school system. For birth siblings who willingly talk about their relinquished sisters at will because they don’t know it’s something attached to judgment and shame. He’s proud. He should be proud of his sister… and of his mom, dad and her parents for working hard to keep the connection.

I’ve looked for advice on the web. And guess what I find? A lot of information for how adoptive parents should tell their kids’ teachers about their adoptions. That, my friends, does me no good. Adoptive Families has a whole resource page for adoptive parents. Their letter to the teacher is not about me and mine. Childwelfare.gov’s adoption and school resource page also has absolutely nothing to help me; the government doesn’t even recognize my plight. Page after page of “school and the adopted child” resources and information. When I add “birth mother” into the search, I get information about how I can get scholarships! Sigh.

I don’t know what I’m doing here, and that’s not really good for me. I am a planner. When I have a plan, my anxiety is in check. When I don’t have a plan, my anxiety sky-rockets. And here I am, somewhere in outer space, unsure of how to proceed.

The arguments for talking to the teacher about our family are many. I really, really don’t want him to have his first negative adoption experience in Kindergarten. I want him to love Kindergarten, to love his teacher. If he talks about his sister and is told that he doesn’t have one, he would be heartbroken. (He is, shall we say, sensitive. Like his Mommy.) I’d like for the teacher to understand what is going on if some other child isn’t as kind as the little girl at camp. I want him to believe that our family is okay — even if we’re different.

The arguments for not talking to the teacher are simple: It’s easier for me. On the surface, of course. I don’t have to have the awkward exchange. I don’t have to brace myself for potential judgment or live through it if it’s actually delivered. I don’t have to answer probing questions about my personal life. But I get to live with the anxiety for the entire school year that the shoe will drop when BigBrother talks about the Munchkin or adds her into a school family assignment or any variation thereof.

If the area in which we live wasn’t so fraught with misunderstandings of what a birth mother is, I might feel less anxious. (Probably not, but maybe.) But it is usually understood here that if your child is not with you, you did something to cause their removal.

And here I sit. Flopping back and forth between what I should do and what I don’t want to do and what might be right and what might be wrong and every horrific reaction in between. And, of course, putting on my brave face and ignoring it when BigBrother starts going on about how excited he is about Kindergarten. I’m doing everything to make his transition into school easy, everything a mom should do. Which, when you think about it, is also why I’m thinking about all of these issues. It’s my job to help him make sense of these issues. And I feel so helpless when I just don’t know what to do or say.

Adoption and School from the Birth Family’s Side of the Story is a post from The Chronicles of Munchkin Land. Want more Chronicles? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, please contact me or @ me on twitter.