Oh, people. They sure do ask interesting questions when it comes to adoption. That’s the theme behind the latest Open Adoption Roundtable prompt:

How do you handle such questions when they are asked of you? How would you want the other parties in your open adoption to handle those questions when they are about you?

– __ — __ –

People rarely ask me how Dee and the Squatch feel about adoption. Maybe it’s assumed that all adoptive parents feel freaking fantastic about it and therefore there’s nothing to ask. I don’t know why I’m not asked how they feel. That, in itself, is an interesting question. People do ask me why Dee adopted the Munchkin, as in what is wrong with her insides. I usually default to, “She wanted to be a parent.” Isn’t that why we all turn to whatever path we take to achieve that goal?

I do need to share a story though, where another birth mother recently passed judgment on Dee and the Squatch and I managed not to punch her in the face. I was pretty proud of myself.

For those who aren’t in my very small circle of adoption news trust, my daughter’s mom and her husband are in the process of adopting. That’s all I’ll tell you about that as you don’t need to know the details. It’s not your business. However, I was recently trying to share a story about something entirely unrelated and their process to adopt got inserted into the conversation. Someone who doesn’t know me, who doesn’t know my story, who doesn’t know how Dee and I both feel about ethics in adoption, who doesn’t know a lick about the hard work that Dee and I have done to create an amazing relationship, acted like it was horrifying that Dee was adopting a(nother) child. I couldn’t tell if she was calling her greedy for wanting a third child (hello! I’d like a third child!) or if I cut her off before she finished her statement about the children being from, in essence, three different families. But I did cut her off. And here’s why:

People have made horrifying comments about me, my decision to relinquish the Munchkin and what that must mean about my character. They have then crossed over the line and made comments about how it’s “odd” that “they” let me have other children, whoever “they” is anyway. Let’s get something straight: Commenting on another woman’s reproductive and associated family-building decisions is completely out of line. I don’t care what your excuses are, what your reasoning is: you are in the wrong. That time that you made the comment about the girl who had four babies by a very young age? Wrong. That time you commented on a mother of an advanced age having a baby and/or adopting? Wrong. That time you told someone that they had too many kids? Wrong. That time you poked fun at your friend with only one child? Wrong. That time you told a friend that she was abnormal for not wanting children? Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It’s simply not your business.

– __ — __ –

As far as how Dee handles the question “why did Munchkin’s birth mom give her up,” I hope she handles it in whatever way feels comfortable with her at any given time. If she feels comfortable enough to launch into information about my kidney disorder and the subsequent path I chose, so be it. If she just wants to give a pat answer of, “It was what she felt was best at the time,” that’s fine too. If she wants to say, “I don’t know, why don’t you call her!” Well, I’d love to talk to someone who was being too nosy and making Dee uncomfortable. If she wants to give some sarcastic, off-the-cuff answer, I’d give her a high five later. If she wants to say, “I don’t know,” I wouldn’t be mad that she “lied.” I’ve given answers in the past to get out of an uncomfortable situation and I wouldn’t fault her for doing whatever she needed to in order to “get out” of a conversation.

Point: I trust Dee with sharing that part of our shared story, because I know that she loves the Munchkin and wouldn’t do wrong by her with her words. She also loves me and respects me as her daughter’s birth mother, as a friend, as a woman, as a mother and as a human being. If she wants to explain, she’s free to do so. If she isn’t up to it on any given day, the one asking the question needs to back off and give her room.

She could, of course, cut them off and tell them, “Asking this question is inappropriate. It’s wrong.” Because it is. Maybe she could send them to Burgh Baby’s post. Or here. I don’t care. You don’t need to know my reasons unless you know me and you want to understand my journey better. (Or, uh, she could point them to my blog, sharing the knowledge with them that I don’t and won’t share everything.) I feel that asking an adoptive parent why the birth parent “gave up” the child in question is even more inappropriate than asking me why they adopted — mainly because I hear that the adopted child will be in ear shot when the question is asked. (I’ve seen it happen, people. What is wrong with you?)

– __ — __ –

I do want to know, however, what’s the worst/most inappropriate comment/question you’ve received about the opposite party in your adoption relationship? I have this feeling that adoptive parents may have the worst stories. Sadly, I don’t want to be proven wrong.

Open Adoption Roundtable 34: Answering Questions 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 cannot leave my cell phone unattended during the day when my oldest son is at school. I panic that if I go to the bathroom or dare to attend a workout class without the thing glued to me that the school will call, that my son will have been in some sort of accident or is horribly sick and needs me — and I’m unavailable while I’m sweating to the oldies.

In fact, one day after a meeting, I forgot to turn my ringer back on and, wouldn’t you know it, BigBrother had been pushed on the playground, had a scrape and bump on his head and I missed the damn phone call. They eventually called my husband who tracked me down, and I rushed to the school full of guilt and worry. He was fine and went back to class.

But the worry is always there: Will something happen when I’m unable to be right there? Will I make it there in time? Will I be caught unaware? Will it be a day I’m having a temper tantrum about work or motherhood or snow or the house in which we live or my waistline, causing me to leave the house and take a long walk to clear my head without my phone? Will I ever be enough?

– __ — __ —

Yesterday, in the midst of a stressful work day and working out what we were going to offer on a house, I received a text message. So very few people text me because I so rarely respond. iMessaging on the new iOS 4 has caused me to text a little bit more, but still really only with the people whom I would have texted in the first place. But now it’s free. I digress. The text message was from Dee.

She wished us the best of luck with our house offer… and then told me that Munchkin was in the Emergency Room.

There’s really nothing worse than hearing your child is in the Emergency Room. Whether you’re actively parenting that child or not, it’s a horrible, gut-wrenching, almost paralyzing kind of pain that slices from your head and turns the knife right into the deepest part of your gut. It physically hurts.

I won’t go into details about what is wrong, other than she’s seeing a pediatric cardiologist tomorrow.

But I will tell you that feeling helpless… sucks.

The truth is that Dee also feels helpless. When you don’t know what is wrong with your child, there’s this aspect of helplessness and anger and even a bit of motherly guilt and failure mixed in for good measure. Add in the element of being so far away, of not being able to be there if something went wrong, of not … being enough, and it’s just difficult to handle, to understand, to process.

And, even more so, it’s amazingly difficult to swallow the fact that something is wrong with your daughter and you don’t know what and you can’t do anything — at all — to help and go about your every day life as if nothing is wrong at all.

I am thankful for coworkers who understand when I send a message that I may disappear. I am thankful for friends who respond on twitter fast as lightning. But it’s a weird realization that if she was here, if this was happening in real time in my home, I wouldn’t have put in an offer on a house yesterday. I wouldn’t have worked at all, without warning. I wouldn’t have gone on a play date this morning and pretended like everything was hunky dory in my world. I wouldn’t have been expected to make dinner and smile and do laundry and live the everyday of life. I would be with her. And I’m not.

I feel as if I’m floating outside of myself right now, watching as all of this is happening. Maybe I’ve purposefully disconnected from myself, afraid to feel or move or breathe or blink, because I don’t even know how to process some of this.

I can’t do anything.

Nothing.

I don’t deal well with that. … obviously.

I am thankful, beyond measure, that Dee communicates with me. That she can text me and ask me medical history questions. That she can keep me updated and we can lament together in the helplessness, in the worry, in the anxiety, in the hope. I am thankful for knowing so much, so instantaneously.

But it strikes deep into that helpless feeling I felt eight-and-a-half years ago.

– __ — __ —

I went to pick up BigBrother from school today in the cold beginnings of snowfall. A mom with a worried look on her face escorted out her son who was crying, holding an ice pack to a bump on his head. My heart softened and I said a prayer for his poor little noggin. And then I felt jealous that she was able to be there, to take him to the car, to care for his bump.

I smiled at her and she gave me that look that moms give when they are overwhelmed. I nodded. At that moment, BigBrother slammed into my legs, engulfing me in his after school hug. I wrapped my arms around his head and closed my eyes for just a second.

Safe for another day.

Helpless 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.

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 don’t watch Harry’s Law. I have enough lawyer/law/police TV on my already full TV watching schedule and a DVR that’s too full to catch up on everything anyway. But sometimes the TV gets left on, and twice now I have seen this episode, entitled “American Girl.” I missed the judge’s speech the first time around and it made my breath catch in my throat tonight.

The premise of this particular story is that a Chinese biological family traced their daughter to Ohio. They did not place her for adoption; she was stolen and adopted by an American couple four years prior. The American family thought that they had done everything properly, and all legal documents show that they had. They had no knowledge that their child had been abducted and placed for adoption in an illegal manner. They all landed in court in front of the judge. And she had some questions.

“Have you all gotten together with the child.”

“The attorneys have met briefly with the child.”

“But my question is have you all sat down and tried to work this out.”

“No, your Honor.”

“You just lawyered up and charged into court. Alright. Let me tell you how this is gonna go down. I’ll hear from your side, then yours. But you all need to get this. Right now. Those are the biological parents. You cannot change that. And you need to get this. This little girl has been raised, by them, since the age of two. They’re a part of her life. A big part. Like it or not, you’re all in this pot. One side does not get to erase the other. Do you understand me? The five of you will likely be in each other’s lives forever.”

There are some things here that are generally awesome, especially for television.

First and foremost, that we’re even discussing that illegal, abduction-based adoptions even exist is a good thing. There are things that need to be considered and understood when starting down the path of international adoption. The scenes where the biological parents are freaking out that she no longer remembers them and the little girl speaks up in Chinese and says that she does, in fact, know who they are and that she remembers them… well, count me as one of the sobbing. I’m not a member of the international adoption niche, but I can tell you that the more discussions we have about ethical adoptions the better. Even if we’re not talking about my little niche of adoption, I want ethical reform. For all adoptions. For all members of the triad. End of discussion.

Of course, the episode got into some undertones of adoption when we see that the judge, herself, was adopted and, thus, struggled with her own emotions. It’s really another point that not even judges come into adoption law without their own personal opinions as to who a child really belongs with. Again, it’s an important discussion: It’s hard to change society’s views because everyone thinks that their experience is the right one.

Getting beyond that part, let’s get to the meat and potatoes of what the judge said.

“Like it or not, you’re all in this pot. One side does not get to erase the other. Do you understand me? The five of you will likely be in each other’s lives forever.”

I want to send people that statement every time they start whining about the other side of the triad. When a birth parent does something “unsavory” or, gasp, cusses. When an adoptive parent pushes too hard — or not enough. When the two adult sides can’t manage to act like adults, be civil and work together. I don’t care if she’s snobby. I don’t care if he’s rude. I don’t care if you’d never otherwise hang out with that person under any other circumstance.

The truth is this: That child brought you together whether you really wanted to be brought together or not. Get over yourselves. Get your head in the game. Get back to the heart of the matter. Whether you shut the door or not, you’re still in each others’ lives. Why not act like a compassionate, real human being?

All that said, don’t watch the end of the episode unless you want your heart ripped out. And stepped on. Twice over.

A Bit of Adoption Wisdom from Harry’s Law 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.

The newest Open Adoption Roundtable prompts us:

What did you learn about open adoption in 2011?

Oh, 2011.

I learned a few things about open adoption in 2011, and almost none of what I learned came from my daughter, her parents or my own immediate family.

It came from people outside of our family, from people who don’t (and won’t) have a say in how we act, react, educate our children or function as a family unit.

And not to be cynical on the first day of a new year, but most of what I learned wasn’t good. However, when you look at the lessons I’ve learned this year as a whole, it can be boiled down to one simple statement:

You do not get to dictate how we live our open adoption.

The parties involved in this relationship are the only ones who get to decide what it is right — or wrong. Only we can decide what is “too much,” whether that’s contact or space or sharing or thought or grief or happiness or love. Only we can decide who we tell, how much we tell and when we get around to telling. Only we can decide what feels right at any given time — and we reserve the right to change our minds. More over, we only know what works for us. We don’t know what will work — or won’t — for your family.

I’d like to think that the lessons I learned about open adoption — and the unsolicited opinions (and nastiness) of others — in 2011 will let me live 2012 a little more freely. I’m human, of course, and so the words and actions of others will still affect me in one way or another.

But it comes down to this: I won’t apologize for my family. I won’t change how we do things just to make you feel better. I won’t quit doing what I’m doing just so you feel better about the path your life journey has taken.

In 2011, I learned that people don’t want us to be who we are when it comes to open adoption. I also learned that we are who we are, not to quote Ke$ha. And I’m done trying not to be. Screw it, let’s quote her: You know we’re superstars. We are who we are.

And we won’t be anything but ourselves in 2012. I don’t see any reason to be anything but ourselves. Because we’re awesome — every last one of us.

Happy New Year! I hope you and yours are allowed the freedom to be yourselves as well.

Open Adoption Roundtable 33: What I Learned in 2011 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.

Looking back on 2011

1. The Adoption Reading Challenge — I’m pleased that this was the top post on the blog this year. Many people visited, joined, read and reviewed books about adoption. I consider last year a success and look forward to the Adoption Reading Challenge 2012. Join us!

2. Let’s Just Cool It With the Casey Anthony Adoption Talk, Okay? — I’m actually not pleased that this post is in the Top 10, let alone in second place. Lots of people landed on that post by searching for variations on Casey’s name and various adoption terms. However, lots of people landed on that post by searching various death threat type strings as well. It disgusted me on a regular basis.

3. Lifetime Adoption Conference Call: Bet They Didn’t Expect Me to Be There — This one actually was most popular when it ran in March because you guys shared the snot out of it. Thanks, readers! I’m actually on the front page of Google results for “Lifetime Adoption” because of that post, which I think is a win-and-a-half.

4. Request for Ethical Adoption Agencies in Pennsylvania — This is a funny post in that it wasn’t popular until last month when one of the employees/relatives got disgruntled about a comment Suz left, started whining and then sent cronies to the post to leave comments. I approved most, neglecting to approve those that called me or my readers inappropriate names. Of course, joke is on them as I got paid for each of those page views. So thanks for the money! It’s greatly appreciated.

5. What Kind of Mother Gives Up Her Kids — Oh man, that post caused the drama. But it’s awesome anyway.

6. I Am Not a Unicorn — My favorite post of the year, which was also a nominee for BlogHer’s Voices of the Year. It had a resurgence of hits later in the year when Glee ran it’s episode entitled “I Am a Unicorn.” Accidental keyword win on my part!

7. Why I Won’t Write for Your Adoption Agency Blog — I wrote this post as a response to the constant requests from adoption agencies to take something I wrote and put it on their agency’s blog. Without offer to pay. Without reading more into my blog to realize, hey, I hate most agencies. It was hot the month it was written and has remained steady as I included it in my FAQ. Because, no, I won’t write for your adoption agency. Good gravy.

8. The New Season of Parenthood and That Pesky Adoption Storyline — I don’t know how the season will play out, what will become of Zoe’s baby and the upcoming biological father drama that is about to play out. I do know that Parenthood writers chose the easy path when it comes to working adoption into a drama storyline. I’m not a fan of it. At all.

9. Things I Won’t Say — Someone contacted me privately and told me I was overreacting and to get over it after this post was written. Well, that’s one way to look at it. Or, I don’t know, people could think about what they’re saying and how it makes others feel. Just sayin’.

10. Why Dr. Drew Can Take a Long Walk Off a Short Pier — My favorite part of that post? “Hold up, Bucko.” Oh man! I have to be honest and admit that my husband and I watched a few episodes of Teen Mom 2 this year on one of those marathon days. It’s still sad. (A reminder: If you are a pregnant teen considering adoption, please read my warning about the show 16 & Pregnant and the facilitator that does their casting. Please avoid them at all costs.)

Coming up behind the Top 10 of the year were all of my posts about Glee and Parenthood, book reviews, and a few other posts of personal nature that make me happy to see up high on the stats list. I don’t pay much attention to stats (except when agencies send in the clowns, and then I mark IP addresses and watch the money start to roll in), so this is always a fun retrospective… to see what others found most popular and/or beneficial on the site.

Tomorrow (2012?!?!?!), I’ll be joining the newest Open Adoption Roundtable which asks what we learned about open adoption in 2011. Should be… interesting.

Top Posts of 2011 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.

Last year’s Adoption Reading Challenge was a success. I don’t care if you didn’t read all of your books and feel that you failed; it was still a success. People who aren’t touched by adoption read books they never would have read. People who are touched by adoption read books they never would have read. We expanded our knowledge, ranted a little bit and had a lot of fun. With books. That? Is a success, my friends.

As such, I’m hosting the Adoption Reading Challenge again in 2012. The landing page to share your links is already live. I kept the reading levels and number of challenge books the same this year. I actually fell short of the 20 myself (by 3!), but I don’t think 20 books is too outrageous. Here’s the challenge levels:

Level 1: Read 3 books about adoption, non-fiction or fiction.
Level 2: Read 6 books about adoption, 3 non-fiction/3 fiction.
Level 3: Read 12 books about adoption, 6 non-fiction/6 fiction.
Level 4: Read 20 books about adoption, 10 non-fiction/10 fiction.

That’s a lot of reading if you choose Level 4, but it was really interesting for me. I had to go out and beyond what my experience is (open, domestic adoption) and into other realms I hadn’t before (international adoption, adoptee rights, and so on). The rules, on the official page, are also the same as last year, with this addition that explains why people not touched by adoption might want to join this challenge.

Adoption is a huge theme in books (and movies/TV). Reading it with that in mind, to look at how it is treated in both fiction and non-fiction is a great way to become mindful of something that might be outside of your immediate experience.

Edited to Add: The rules also show that we have a Goodreads group for the challenge. Participation is not mandatory. Why should you use it? It would be great if you’re not a blogger (easy, quick interaction and reviews) or if you don’t like to review every book on your blog. It would also be great to help others find books.

The truth is that adoption is mentioned in all sorts of popular books (think Twilight to Jodi Picoult to even the books our children read). Recognizing it when you read it, talking about it and understanding why some depictions of adoption are detrimental to social change is not a bad idea whether you’re touched by adoption or not.

That said, I hope you will participate again in the Adoption Reading Challenge. You can sign up below and leave your links for reviews on the main landing page. Doing so helps others figure out what to read as they go. (Or, you know, what not to read if it’s a truly horrid book.)

I hope you'll join us again this year. I have no clue what I'll be reading adoption-wise this year (though I do know that even when I wasn't planning on reading an adoption-specific book, I sometimes got to check off another book read as it ended up being about adoption!). Let's get reading and sharing ideas, okay? Okay!

Announcement: Adoption Reading Challenge 2012 Is Happening! 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.

Her birthday comes and goes and, for a moment, I am allowed a quick breath.

And then the holidays slam into me — full force with no mercy.

Today she won’t bake cookies with us. Tomorrow, she won’t wrap presents with the boys while my husband is at work. On Saturday, she won’t listen to bad words as A Christmas Story plays all day in the background. She won’t sit down to our table as we attempt our first family turkey. She won’t go to church with us. She won’t sing “Silent Night” beside me. She won’t unwrap jammies, put out cookies and milk, or listen to The Firefighter’s Night Before Christmas by the light of the tree. On Christmas morning, only two little children will crawl into our bed, open the last envelope and read the story of Jesus before rushing off to open their presents.

She’ll be with her family, doing her family things — all of which are so very similar. She will, in essence, be doing the same things at the same times. But it is, obviously, not the same. For any of us. Though — though — we have never known any different. It is the same at is always has been, ever will be.

It will still be Christmas. As always. There will still be joy and love and happiness and cheer — and annoyance with extended relatives and the other “junk” the comes along with a family holiday. It is still Christmas, both here and there. We celebrate. Separately. With those we love. Apart from those we love. It is what happens at Christmas tables the world around, touched by adoption or not. It is, as they say, what it is.

I find myself accepting that — that I am not alone in the happy nor in the missing. These are not new or different emotions. There is a sameness that runs through most every family, for differing or same reasons. Missing someone at Christmas is not a singular experience. Though, knowing how it tugs sometimes, I don’t really like knowing that others feel that same sense of loss or sadness. I want to fix it for them. For me. For all of us.

I hope — I pray — that maybe this year, my friends and family and readers and beyond might find a bit more joy than sadness. A bit more light than darkness. It’s really not a bad thing to hope for, I believe.

The Difference Is The Same at Christmas 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.

The newest Open Adoption Roundtable poses a challenge:

This topic is becoming something of an annual December tradition for the Open Adoption Bloggers! Last year we wrote about how open adoption intersects with our holiday traditions. Two years ago we wrote in general about open adoption and the holiday season.

This time we are going to focus in on one specific memory and record another small moment in the ongoing stories of adoption in our lives. Share a holiday memory that involves open adoption.

Holy holidays, Batman. This isn’t an easy subject for me. Christmas falls 12 days after the Munchkin’s birthday. I was going to avoid this particular roundtable because I’m always in such a post-birthday, holiday-craze funk, and I don’t even know if I particularly have memories of anything revolving around the holidays and open adoption.

And then I remembered that I’ve been blogging for ten-and-a-half years. I pulled up my archives, clicked around Christmas 2003, and found this…

December 26, 2003

I broke down last night in a sobbing fit (on FireDad’s chest). I had called x and Dee to wish them a Merry Christmas and see how Munchkin was doing. Well, they weren’t home. So, I left a message. And they never called back. So I panicked that she was in the hospital or that they were never going to tell me how she was and other delusional craziness. FireDad calmed me down.

They called his cell phone today. (But he’s at work.) And I had two emails from them tonight. (I’m at FireDad’s mom’s doing laundry.) And they made a website so that I can keep up on her pictures and growth.

I couldn’t have picked two better people for the Munchie.

There are lots of things going on in that little journal entry. That was really the beginning of our open adoption relationship. We hadn’t really had contact in the immediate postpartum. I didn’t want to “bother” them. And I was dealing with postpartum fluctuations, a move to a new state and those lovely swollen, non-nursing, hard-as-rocks boobs.

I remember trying to ignore the fact that I had called to no response, but the panic built that entire Christmas day. Perhaps it was even more pronounced as Munchkin’s original due date had been Christmas Eve. Or really, perhaps the panic was entirely normal, seeing as how we had no guidance as to how our relationship was supposed to look or act. One cannot discount my anxiety or those postpartum hormones.

I also see some blind hope in that post; the same blind hope I see in every post written by every new birth parent trying to walk in the dark of a new relationship. I needed to believe that what I had done was right, was good. I continue to realize how lucky I am that Dee was twelve kinds of awesome, that she worked so hard on that website and the scrapbook she gave to me and that, together, we cultivated not only a birth-mother-adoptive-mother-relationship but a friendship.

I also see really bad writing, but that’s neither here nor there.

Christmases have gotten easier in some ways. Maybe it’s because I’m so busy with the boys. Maybe it’s because of cookies and traditions and travel and snow and carols and pajamas and so on. Maybe it’s because I have to put myself on auto-pilot. Maybe it’s because I know I can’t change anything, that it is what it is. And maybe it’s because I have to keep the faith that what we have will only continue to be just that: what we have.

Maybe someday the roundtable will ask about summer memories! I have lots of happier ones of those (even though summer is hot and makes me cranky, ha!).

For reference, I participated in the 2009 holiday open adoption roundtable. It delves deeper into why it’s hard for me to separate the holidays from her birthday. 2010 was a hard year as it was (three family deaths), so I’m not surprised I didn’t share anything.

Open Adoption Roundtable 32: Holiday Memory 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 mundane.

I bought a new mattress. I went on a playdate and made cookies. I cleaned our bedroom to make room for the new mattress. I helped put the frame together, helped put the mattress in the room and helped make the bed. I decided I was too tired to make dinner; we went out to eat. I read books. I parented. I played games. I did everything I normally do.

But it wasn’t a normal day.

Yesterday my daughter turned eight. 396 miles from me.

My husband looked at me at one point, trying to cheer me up and said, “But it’s a happy day. She’s such an amazing girl.” He speaks the truth. There’s a duality on her birthday for me.

I celebrate the fact that she’s awesome in more ways than words can ever truly express. I eat a cupcake — cream filled this year. I sit back and think about the joy we experienced over the past 365 days; the visits we had, the phone calls, the new experiences. I marvel in everything she is. I smile and hold so dear the fact that we are where we are, that we have what we have; I am blessed.

The breeze blows and I’m reminded that despite all of the joy, it’s all tinged with a bit of sadness as well. I am here. She is there. We have what we have, but it isn’t what little girls think of when they’re young and dream of having a mother-daughter relationship. The loss stabs sometimes. And twists.

I looked back at my husband, my voice cracking with the weight. “I’m happy. But I’m sad too.”

He looked back to the road, nodding; his face lit by the stoplight shining through the rain speckled windshield. “I know. Me too.”

That is my truth. A little bit of both; happy and sad — sometimes one more than the other.

“I’m Happy. But I’m Sad Too.” 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.