So thankful

Post-Thanksgiving grey is the weather we expect here in Ohio, but that doesn't dull this waiting mom's gratitude. While guests are shopping or dozing off that second piece of pie, let me jot down some old news and some new news.

I've been intending to blog about all the things from my wonderful Vietnam orphanage visit that were nothing less than miraculous: no pain from my chronically troublesome lower back, no food- or water-related illness, no debilitating emotions, no perceived danger from old US enemies. Fantastic travel buddies that God planned all along for me to share this experience with. Generous orphanage, and hotel, and taxi-driving staff people.

Super-fun 2-year-olds coming out our ears every day.

And let me not fail to mention hours of cuddling, dozing, laughing, and learning with my son Little T.

Four weeks ago today I was on some airplane returning from this amazing journey, and today I have encouraging news to share. One of the moms who visited the orphanage in August has learned her son's paperwork is through the sticking point at the province -- and she might be able to travel to bring him home mid-December.

Wow! Everyone is so SO happy for her little guy and for the whole family. And so excited for the rest of us. This is only the second child allowed to leave that place to be adopted internationally, and the first needed open heart surgery immediately. If the process can now happen when there is not fear of impending death to the child, then it can happen for others.

It can happen for Little T.

Our much-anticipated call could come today, or it may be months off, or it may be never. Never seems like less of a threat right now.

But until we know the outcome of this process we will finish up the bedroom preparations, and press through on various projects we won't care about once he's home. We will hold fast to the hope that love never fails.

Until that day, hold us close Sweet Jesus.

Back to the waiting game

I've been absent from the blog, but present back here in Ohio.

My return trip was tedious and long, but uneventful. Nothing was delayed. No sick people sat next to me. The entire 48 hour ordeal from provincial departure to reunion with Big T was . . . well, it just was. A little souvenir shopping, another bottle of water, catnaps atop my backpack as a pillow . . . a few wistful stares out the window of the airport at another plane about to take me still farther from my Little T.

The climate-controlled environment was a welcome change from constant sweating.

Feeling pretty well physically back home. I slept well and enjoyed a visit from friends who moved to Atlanta six weeks ago. Last night wasn't as restful, having woken up wondering about the first two cases going through the local process. When will we hear? Who could it be? Little T was one of the first 10 cases that should have gone through in 2008, but who are the other nine? Can I find the copy of that letter? Now that I know the kids, I want to see who else is (in American logic) among the most likely to make it out first.

So, I was up at 1:30 a.m., digging out the letter and squinting through the redactions. We're not supposed to know about other peoples' cases unless the parents themselves tell us. Several of us share information openly, especially those who've now met our children. We are a band of mothers -- supporting, strategizing, wondering in print to each other.

So any day, any of us could get a call from the agency that says, "I'm so happy to report that your Giving and Receiving ceremony is being scheduled for the first week of December. Please apply for your visas, get your home study updated, and check on flights." Or Big T and I may easily face yet another Christmas with no good idea about when or if Little T will come home to us.

Sweet Jesus, whatever my next day brings, give me the courage needed to keep believing.

What if I "accidentally" missed the plane?

Waiting for my outbound flight all day in a Ho Chi Minh City hotel was anti-climactic at best. Leaving the province where we stayed for my 15-day visit with Little T and the other children was somehow not as difficult as actually leaving the country.


As I write this, I'm still in Asia and could fairly easily just forget to get on the plane back to the States. I could get wrapped up in blogging, shopping, reading the paper, or buying coffee. Checking flight schedules returning to Vietnam would take some time too.



While in country I was awfully cautious about what I ate and drank so that I wouldn't get sick.



Until the last two days.



Then I accepted iced coffee from the nannies, knowing full well the ice was probably not made from bottled water. Passively aggressively I was wishing to get sick so I could use my travel insurance and stay longer. No such luck.



I've heard now from our in-country staff that all the children are watching at the door for us every morning, especially whenever they hear a car or truck come into the compound. We were normally there before their naptime, so they don't want to go down for their naps in case we might come while they are asleep. They miss their cookies and milk, and I assume all of our attentions and affections.



But Big T is missing me and I him. Paperwork and catching up at work await me. Dear friends from out of town are visiting. The holidays approach. The house needs work. I need a Ginger snuggle. There are reasons to return to Ohio. Maybe if I keep repeating these trade-offs, I will begin to believe that going home without Little T is the right thing to do.



We do understand that paperwork in Vietnam is beginning to move, albeit slowly. After seeing the industriousness of the VN people and how they are up before dawn, working long shifts, rarely a day off -- it makes me wonder how this paperwork could have languished in one place for a year and a half.



May each new day bring some progress on somebody's paperwork, Sweet Jesus.

See you later, alligator

This tiny woman does not look tinier because of perspective. She is tiny.

Today was not as rough emotionally as anticipated. T blessed me with his biggest grin and running hug when he saw me this morning. That was a healing moment. We arrived as they were going down for their naps, so I messed up his schedule right off. He didn't want me to sit down, didn't want me to lean on the wall, just walk and hold him.

I understand that when I was collicky as a baby, this was my routine -- all night, every night for months. I'm sure Mom or somebody prayed that there would be a day of justice.

He didn't cling to me all day, but instead was happy to let me pick up another child for a song and a hug; happy to get down and color with markers all over the floor and wall, happy to play with his favorite nanny Ahn Thuyet and Play-Doh, happy to climb in the toy bin and use it like a miniature bathtub. He'd score the big ball sometimes and come to me with it. I'd roll it to him and he'd kick it back to me over and over -- his arms full of other toys he's in process with. He loves to watch me throw it in the air and catch it, though we haven't yet had success with him catching and throwing the ball back and forth, or rolling it. One problem is too much competition and too little space.

I also watched him putting some of the building units into a tiny plastic toy fridge and trying to shut the door. He would manipulate the pieces until they fit just right to close it completely, working on this for at least 10 or 15 minutes at a time.

As we were wrapping up lunch, his eyes started to droop and he started to get more whiney. I took him on the quiet porch and he literally fell asleep before I even closed the door, his mouth still full of rice.

He slept on my chest for at least 45 minutes, though I'm not wearing a watch at the Centre and really don't know the time unless I'm in the room able to see the almost accurate clock. I was tired, and the porch was breezy and comfortable. So, I was defintely losing consciousness too.

Finally came time to say good-bye. Little T still in tow, I got the agency staffer in Hanoi on the phone to translate. I asked her to thank the nannies for putting up with our messes and crazy ideas for activities. I thanked them for taking such good care of the children and they said we didn't need to worry about them -- that they consider them as their own children and raise them that way. Anyone can see the mutual love this "family" has for each other.

Earlier in the week I'd had photos printed and laminated for him, and asked them to share the photos regularly, reminding him that I love him and will come back for him some day soon -- not just to visit, but to bring him into our family forever.

Though I didn't sob non-stop, we were all a little teary-eyed. When I did make some crying noises, Little T would back up from my chest far enough to look me in the face, gaze from eye to eye and study what was going on. I didn't want to upset him, so I'd take a deep breath and dry my tears. Fortunately (I guess) he's seen water pouring down my face everyday for the last two weeks, coming from a different organ -- my skin -- so wetness is not new.

Everyday from now on, I will remember his tiny arms wrapped around me, his giggle and his curling top lip when he's about to whine, his breathy cry, and his totally relaxed snuggle -- more of a long-term flop, really. I'll remember how he likes to hear me sing, how he loves me to spin him around, and really prefers not to share me.

Everyday til we bring him home, I will wish I was at breakfast at the Best CM in Ca Mau, anticipating the day with all the kids, and especially Little T.

Everyday, I will ask you, Sweet Jesus, to move mountains in men's hearts here in Vietnam and bring our Little T home soon.

Eleventh Hour

There's got to be a way out of here, somehow!

I tried not to focus on the fact that after today, there's only one more day with Little T for awhile. We're enjoying each other so much and we're so hopeful that we'll have our happy ending soon!

Arriving at the Centre at 6 a.m. was no minor feat, but it paid off because we got to see the kids outside playing. That's the only hour of the day cool enough to play on concrete without shade, and it's the hour we see Vietnamese people out biking, walking, doing calesthentics, playing tennis, volleyball, and badminton.

We had our bubble machine, and so no more worries about our germs pouring out over the kids. So fun to watch.

And watch we did. Now that T is so attached to me, sometimes he does not want to get down and play. Just hug me. He was getting better about going out, then coming back to me. Then the nannies started telling him my visit would be over in three more days, in two more days, in one more day. And telling him to spend time with me while he can. I wish they wouldn't do that, but I don't know nearly enough VN to ask them to stop. And they know him and know that he likes to study things and prepare himself for immersion, rather than diving right in like the other kids. Perhaps they think it best for him to have the warning about my departure rather than just look for me on the first day I'm not there and realize the dream has ended.

Parting has become more tearful for him. I'm still in shock I think, just like the first day we met. I didn't know what to think and the emotion of it was somehow blocked by adrenaline or God's grace. I feel somewhat the same now. We shall see about tomorrow.

He seems happiest when I take him out on the porch, just me and him in the quiet. There is some construction going on at the end of the building, so the quiet was a relative term. I also saw a lot of men not normally around the complex coming out of the director's office. Let us pray these men are helping move all our cases forward in some way.

So for today, thanks for this grace, Jesus. Please provide a double portion tomorrow!

VN Lesson, but no new photos of T

On the way to the Centre, I was actually able to compose two sentences in Vietnamese, write them down with accent marks as needed -- and then pass that paper to Phung. The craziest thing is that she understood my question and responded!

Here are my sentences, translated:

"All the children speak Vietnamese. Will you write the Vietnamese words?"

The result was over 20 words most of the kids in T's room can say. Once I have them looked up in my big dictionary, I will share. The ones I recognize mean baby, mom, dog, eat, drink, water, go, and up.

Today Little T clung to me some, whining now not just to stand up from the maddening crowd, but to just stand, not lean against the cribs. He helped distribute drinks again, and it's so incredible to watch his tiny but dexterous hands successfully pull the little milk bottles out of their wrapping and set them all up on the bar for me. If I knock one over, he sets it upright again. He then grabs the little straws and starts to open their plastic too, but gives up when I ask him to give them to me.

He seems a little torn about me loving on the other kids in the room. One hour he'll be pushing everybody off so he can have me to himself. Next, he's decided the toys are more interesting than ole Mom. Then he runs to me for affection and encouragement. And finally, he sees the other kids swarming around, so he defers his position to one of them so I can swing them around or some such.

Parting is never easy, though I've learned the word for tomorrow thoroughly. When there is no more tomorrow to remind him about, then the caregivers are going to have a time. They're already holding up fingers for how many days til the big good-bye and shaking their hands and heads about what they will do with him.

Hopefully they won't have to nurse him back to normalcy for long.

Our agency called a phone conference last night our time. Two cases are now moving through the system after more than a year of nothing. Nobody knows which two, but we could find out any day. Theoretically the remaining 18 will also be processed soon thereafter.

And what a day that will be, especially if Litle T is one of them!

Photos for The Right Family