Dear Nanny

Dear Nanny,

As soon as we walked away from our wildly brief time with you, I began to realize what I’d missed, what I’d failed to do.

I didn’t say thank you as I wanted to. I saw you, spoke to you, took photos with you, but I know I didn’t truly look into your eyes and see you. I was so fully surrendered to my moment that I failed to notice yours. I didn’t pause to look for glimpses of your heart, for small signs that my moment was your moment too.

You were a means to my end, the deliverer of my long awaited dream come true. I missed it though, because I missed the gift of more time, of even just a few more words, with you.

Maybe I diminished you to a person doing a job, and assigned all the love, feelings and memory-making to myself. Maybe my mind clumped you together with all nannies, the nannies of books and social media stories, and made you less of an individual. Maybe I assumed that since there were lots of nannies, that you would be detached. I failed to admit that there might have been a love story between you and our precious Lan Cheng.

I must confess that I don’t even know your name now. How can that be? Is the pronunciation of a Mandarin name impossible to recall? I missed you in such a big way.

Did I hug you at least? I think I did. Surely I did?

Beforehand, I planned to make you feel our appreciation. I planned to engage with you, the one who had been there and stood witness to the precious days I had missed. You who had held and fed, comforted and tended to, our baby boy.

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Back at home, when the torrent of life changes and feelings settled, I thought of you. I recalled that, during our moment with you, my husband and I had been suspended in our own swirl of emotions. We had a list of questions to ask you, but we missed the mark. We asked about feeding, sleeping and medical needs, and you gave answers, but most of that care-taking changed immediately anyway. I wish we’d just learned more about you.

I wish we’d have asked for stories from your time together, some memories to give record to the love story between ayi and boy. 
  
In so many ways, it was a love story that I missed. At best, one that I have to make assumptions about. Using orphanage photos as a backdrop; my imagination creates its own story of your time together. So much life and love happened in those months and years between mothers. Was it perfect? I am assuming not, because my time with him isn’t either. Sometimes you just had to get the job done. Sometimes I do too.

You made memories, spent time, and did life together though.

Feeding.
 Comforting. 
Medical care-taking. 
Diaper changing. 
Bathing. 
Dressing. 
Playing.

The days were filled with smiles, words and eye contact exchanged again and again, with the ordinary and extraordinary. The type of crib you placed him in might have been different, the food and the care-taking methods too. But the days filled up with life and some love, didn’t they?

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“Gotcha Day” photos give us a glimpse. I see your smile. I see the way you look at the boy that was new to us, but so familiar to you. I see that after you walked him down the long, familiar hallway, and around the corner to us, that you crouched low beside him. You held his hand and looked kindly into his eyes during his traumatic moment. Did you squeeze his hand one last time? We’ll never know. But you were not detached. I see it now. I see you. I see you and him and a glimpse of the love story.

We got him and you gave him.

For his new life, you sent him with a little blue character backpack filled with photos, a jacket, and snacks. Memories and hopes must have flooded you as you packed. When we first held him, the scent of his spiky, dark hair was clean and sweet. You’d just given him one last bath.
How must it feel to care for a child so intimately, and then to hand them to adoptive American parents? To immediately step back and out of the story? Is it gut-wrenching? Is it relief? Some combination of both?

Is being a nanny a job or a calling? I don’t know, and I won’t presume to. I can’t presume to know the emotions, much less the sheer weight of the work. I am a mom of four and sometimes it feels like my back will break. I can’t fathom what your eyes have seen, what your hands have had to do, or what your mind must process. Children arriving abandoned, coming, waiting and going, living and dying. Some never leaving and some going quickly.
 

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You are an individual with your own story, similar to, but unique from, all other nannies. I refuse to let social media define you. I’ve read stories of nannies, but I haven’t read your story.

I entered this exchange with the cultural lens of a white, adoptive mom from the Atlanta suburbs. Our worlds don’t look the same, and I could never presume to understand your work. I think that got in the way. I didn’t know how to cross that bridge in the emotional state that I was in.
Will you forgive me for all the ways that I dismissed you? Please know that we’re grateful. Please know that your care for our son mattered. Know that he has your photo, and we talk about you.
 

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We’ll never know most of the details, but yours is a love story, and our family is forever grateful.

Thank you for the important work you do and the love you bring to it.

Sincerely,
Two Grateful Parents

Originally shared on No Hands But Ours.




Beyond Ourselves: My Gotcha Day Reality

It’s the pinnacle of the adoption journey. We build a beautiful image of what gotcha day will be, and hold hard to that as we wait. Much preparation goes into readiness for caring for the child we’ve seen only in pictures. We study bonding techniques and possible reactions, and pack and repack little backpacks. But as moms can do, we often fail to prepare our own hearts.

On our first gotcha day, I was unprepared for my reaction. Looking back on that sacred moment, I see a brave mask. I smiled, went through the motions and loved on our new little one. Only my husband and I knew about the unexpected bubbled up emotions that spilled over into the day I assumed would be magical.

We’d waited for five years to feel the weight of Claire in our arms, and prayed through a hundred obstacles to bring her home. When adoption day arrived, I was giddy. Until we found ourselves on the steps of the orphanage. Suddenly, I was flooded with a perfect storm of emotions, a smash up of every “feel” that could be felt. My reaction didn’t build gradually. It slammed me with a surprising abruptness.

When ushered into a conference room for our long awaited moment, the decision to adopt suddenly felt ridiculous. I couldn’t fathom why I was stepping out of my going-just-fine life and onto ground beyond my comfort zone borders. The sound of voices was muted by the pounding of my heart. I avoided looking at the camera, as I was busy mapping out an escape route. Giddiness faded to fear.

Finally, with weak knees and trembling hands, I held her tiny self for the first time. And a war began in my head, heart and prayers that would last a few days. I knew she was a gift. I knew I loved her, but inadequacy was shouting, “I CAN’T DO THIS!”

Brave? Beautiful and honorable feelings? Not so much. 

Though we were strangers, Claire and I held onto each other for dear life. Though shaken, we knew it was deeply good. She coped with sleep, and I led my heart, simply doing the next thing before me. We both were fragile, just getting by moment to moment. My guilt was as consuming as my trepidation, as I didn’t think there was space for a mom to be terrified of her child.

But in God’s sovereignty over details, my husband was peaceful, full of faith, and instinctively protective of his girls. While Claire melted safely into her daddy’s arms, I begged my own Father to comfort me. There are moments in this life when a Father’s arms are needed, aren’t there?
Intense panic over the first few days gradually gave way to waves of peace and joy, and eventually my heart righted itself.

Later, I pretended it had been the magical moment I’d planned. Privately, I was embarrassed that my feelings had failed me. My weak and fearful human side flared up and cried panic.

The truth is we fail. We are inadequate. Thankfully, God simply asks us to say yes. In His glorious way, He can work with you and me. Even when we doubt. Even when we want to run away from His grand adventure called adoption and back toward our comfort zones.

Three years later, we were back in China for two more children.

First came Eli, and his “gotcha” was full of joy. This time, I carried the wisdom of experience. The giant step into adoption had already been taken and God had met us out on the water. Eli’s precious little self walked into our lives without any hesitation on his part or mine. Some gotcha moments are magical.

Next, on that same trip, came fragile, feverish, screaming, swatting and terrified Evelyn. And my emotion smash-up returned. The step into complex medical needs sent panic tumbling in again.
Though fainthearted, I went through the motions of traveling from her healing home to her home province, in care of her nanny. My head wanted out, but my heart tentatively knew better. Been there and done that. The night before her nanny released her, I sobbed for her needs and my weakness. Though my faith told a different message, my flesh was holding up a stop sign.

Continue reading over at No Hands But Ours.

Happy 5, Eli!

 

Happy 5, Eli! You've got it, ya know. That little something, something extra. You light up the room with that joy, that generosity, that curiosity. We're smitten, little buddy.

Your daddy made your cake dreams come true, and it was so very fun to watch you love it!

 

 

It was so fun to celebrate you with some special friends who love you like crazy too.

You are quite the comedian little man!  Happy 5 to you!

 

So grateful for the gift of you.

365 Days "Upon the Waters" (No Hands But Ours)

One year ago, we were somewhere over the ocean between East and West, with our two newly
adopted, Mandarin speaking children. We were a muddled mix of joy, weariness, readiness to be home, heaviness from leaving our children’s birth country, and profound gratitude for our intensely beautiful time in China. Feeling the joy of long awaited little people in our arms, but surrounded by ocean and fear, my husband and I were deeply aware that we’d surrendered our former lives and were hurdling at high speed toward all things new. 

Our son and I were wet and stinky from a double diaper blowout, and my husband dispensed antibiotics covered in Mandarin script to a feverish daughter while simultaneously attempting to catheterize her in the airplane lavatory at 10,000 feet.   Much like the next 365 days would turn out to be, that flight was an exhausting, yet sacred adventure. Our goals were to care for medical needs and to minimize mid-flight chaos by dispensing Chinese rice crackers and walking the aisles. Survival. We trusted the pilot was guiding us to where we needed to be.

Feeling like we’d been “called upon the waters”, Hillsong’s “Oceans” had been our adoption anthem.  Our former, safer life with two daughters had ended, as we adopted two children at once, one with complex medical needs. We’d adopted before, but this was deeper water to step into.
We touched down on Thanksgiving day, but it felt like we’d landed on water. In a jetlag stupor, we spent the next days searching for solid ground. With a hundred needs coming at us like waves, we began our year of triage sorting them by urgency.

Septic child? Top of the list. Hospital admission, MRIs, antibiotics, and ultrasounds. Clearly it was to be a bumpy ride.

Next on the list were pediatrician appointments, blood tests, stool samples, and shots. Then a mix of sleep issues, feeding issues, anxious attachment, indiscriminate attachment, coping skills, and language learning. Specialist referrals from neurology to nephrology and plastic surgery to audiology, then clinic visits, evaluations, and assessments. Our safety belts stayed buckled. 

Have you been there, adoption friends? Each story is unique, but year one is a strenuous and sweet triage for most.

Medical needs? Our full attention.

Sleep issues? High on the list.

Sensory needs? One day at a time.

Potty training? Can wait.

Orphanage behaviors? Consistent training.

Emotional needs? Hugs and prayers.

Speech therapy? Not yet.

Dental work? No time.

Attachment (theirs and mine)? Takes time.

Academic needs? Sigh.

Oh yes, and we have other kids with needs and emotions, each treading water themselves.

And then there is this marriage rocked by the waves.

And me. Tired, feet failing, weight gaining, and limits stretched.

Seeing over the waves becomes challenging. There are more needs than we can meet. More hurts than we can heal. More trauma than we can fathom. More burden than we can carry. The triage list is overwhelming. And when we reach the end of ourselves? We cry weakly out to the Lord, the surrendered prayer of an adoptive parent. We call for Him as we hold our sleepless little boy in the middle of the night, when a sibling regresses emotionally, in doctors’ offices as we hear test results, when a son sits unafraid in a stranger’s lap, when a daughter only eats soft food, and in hospital waiting rooms as we wait for surgeons to emerge.


Triage burned through our family with a refining fire. How money was spent, what we said yes to, and what we spent time thinking about all changed. The first year brought lots of treading water, but it had its sweetnesses too. It cultivated faith and polished attitudes, purified hearts and clarified focus. When our days involved therapies and hospital stays, family nights became more special. When we sat beside a two year old on a hospital bed bravely raising her arm for vitals checks and IVs, our perspective changed. Gratitude enlarged.   Former worries seemed less like worries.

It turns out deep water is cleansing. Our feet didn’t fail and our family didn’t sink. God is bigger than I thought He was.

Our mourned former life now seems less alluring, and the new life has a fullness to it. Our bedrooms are full and so are our arms. Our new children experienced their sweet year of firsts, developed trust and took tentative steps into family life. They blossomed before our eyes, and we watched with awe and wonder, celebrating the ordinary extraordinary. Hearts expanded in siblings too as they grew to love new family members and sacrificed their toys, space, and mommy and daddy time. We discovered the courage to walk into hospitals and specialist appointments, and the strength to handle emotional needs. Faith, family and life-giving friendships were all we had time for. We missed meetings, skipped parties, and rethought commitments. There is more to celebrate now and less that distracts us. Walking through turbulence has its beauty.

Little Driller

I'm still not sure how this little Chinese boy landed in our family. 

All I know is that he is a gift of the best boy kind. 

 

He's tender hearted, helpful, hi-lar-i-ous, and destructive. 

Part Curious George, part Handy Mandy, he's teaching us how to be boy parents.   

And there's a certain special, memory making Papaw who is a wee bit happy to have a little man in the family as well.  After decades in a girl heavy family, he's intentionally examining his new grandfather of a boy role.  I'm thinking he's doing a fine job of figuring it out. 

 

This little man is drilling holes into all our hearts, 

and is patiently sharing all his cool boy fun with his trio of sisters.   

Hitting the Field

A new teammate hit the soccer field this past season.   



 He had no clue what was happening, but he smiled the whole time!

 

 His coaches were the best with our little silent one, always giving him a chance to get it on the action.

 So fun to hit the field with this little guy.  He loved every minute!

Happy 4, Eli!

Happy Birthday, little buddy. 

 Today we celebrate the gift of you to our family. 

We have no idea if you celebrated April 6th before us.  What we do know is that you are something special.  This date will never ever, ever pass again without cake, ice cream, candles and some singing.   

 Your grandparents, aunts and uncles love you much too, and like to make a big ole fuss over ya. 

 Today we cousined up for some celebrating and Skyped in your biggest big from KY.

 Daddy made you cake,

and you held up FOUR fingers all day long. 

Buddy, you've messed with our lives, smiling your way deep into our hearts. 

 Yep, the "Eli Effect" has resulted in the loss of some valuables, the destruction of property, and lots of "oops".  No matter, your curious self is loved like crazy.   This is a team of explorers, and you fit right in. 

 You've brought a 1,000 extra smiles to the team. 

 Happy birthday, joy machine. 

 

 Love you big time.  4 is going to be awesome. 

Big Bro



This boy.   His technique is a little off, but his big bro skills are off the charts. 

Audiology & Ice Cream

 Oh my word, this boy. 

Today he made yet another CHOA visit feel like a fun afternoon outing. 

 

I got to spend the afternoon with just him, holding his little hand and carrying him down hallways.  He stole some hearts big time with that smile of his. 

 

His hearing was tested and though it isn't perfect, it's good!  No tubes!  Ice cream was totally in order.

 

So, little man, it's time to find that voice of yours.   

Schooling Our Newly Home Little Man

So what does homeschool preschool look like with our little man? Hands on, hands on, and more hands on activities.  Puzzles, learning toys, matching, reading, art, gluing anything, tons of playing and some tracing.  Eli Lan Chang is three years old, turning four very soon.  He has been home for three and half months and is not yet talking.  His attention span is extra short, but he's PreK age in the fall with lots of ground to make up. 

 

One thing we've realized is that he is super smart and LOVES "school" time.  When the girls start doing  their work, he points at his little chest with one finger to ask if he gets some too.

 Melt my heart. 

 

To help the newly adoptive mommas that I've been chatting with, here's a glimpse of his preschool.

Sorting is an important skill for his little brain, and it is super easy.  I pull together a bowl of items and he sorts like it is his job.  We've done beans, noodles, cars, crayons, and pom poms.  Here he is using rubber counters handed down to us, which are great for sorting by color as well. 

 



We learned about Hot Dots, Jr. from my buddy Sharon at Growing Whole Hearts.  Thanks to strategic Christmas listing, both he and Claire have learning games using this handheld little pup who barks learning feedback.  Thank you, grandparents! 

 

These Leapfrog letter magnets adorn the side of our fridge.  This whole alphabet activity was a bit hard at first for him, so we started with his name and will also do the names of the whole family with a picture.  Extra bonus?  If he is making me bonkers during meal prep, I send him over to match. 

Thank you to cousin Madeline for the hand-me-down that keeps on giving!

Our Melissa and Doug Shape Sorter was a gift received long ago that I thankfully held on to.  It keeps him busy, for at least three minutes.  :)



more daily sorting

This foam letter puzzle was a thrift store find years ago, and it has been used 3,678 times.  It really helps my tiny people develop an understanding of letter shapes, and is great, much needed fine motor practice. 

 



As I shared about here, Eli traces his name daily.  When we first started, it was evident that he had never held a pencil or crayon.  Now, he's a tracing star!  Here we were using a sheet protector and dry erase marker.

 



Shape tracing using dry erase are fun as well.  Once all over the place, he now stays on the lines. 



 

Another strategic Christmas list item from long ago, was this Melissa and Doug Tangram Puzzle.  This is crazy good fine motor practice, as the shapes don't lock in.  It would have driven him bonkers when first home, but he now will sit and do every single tile.  

 

Since he had no control of his crayon when first home, I had him stick stickers on paper and then circle them.  It gave him a specific task, and this little man with a plan loved that.  

Play doh.  Lots of play doh.  Sticking penne noodles into it is a cheap and fun little add in. 

One of the fave of all our learning/creative toys are the stacker pegs and peg board.  Between he and Evie, this gets played with at least once a day.  It's a great one for little people to work on during schooling or meal prep.  

 

Just home, scissors became his obsession, so I made thin strips with lines (sometimes stickers) on them for him to cut.  He's way over it now, but used to do it with intense concentration.  

Pom poms, cheap trays and tongs are good fine motor practice. 

They get transferred back and forth over and over.

Santa brings learning games as well, and this old one is Eli's favorite. 

We have the Melissa and Doug Button Puzzle and the Animal Pattern Blocks.  

Found somewhere online, little mounds of play doh, spaghetti noodles and Cheerios is another fine motor activity. 

When Sophia was a baby, I found this beautiful matching set at a TJ Maxx and it has been well loved ever since.  The matching is fun and provides language expansion in an non-flash card way.  

 

 Another favored Melissa and Doug toy are these Water Wow sets.  Thanks again to the grandparents and Aunt Janie, these are perfect for entertaining little ones at our steady flow of doctors appointments.  They are way cool, way easy and have held up well. 

Since our little student wants to be like his sibs, he gets a sheet every day too.  He traces and then is learning to color by filling in the shapes. 

 

Teaching and working with his little brain is a hard joy.  With three siblings, I just don't have the one on one time with him that I'd love to have, but thankfully, he learns quickly and is growing in independence. I'm learning to release my expectations, and am standing back in awe at how much his siblings teach him, without me even being in the room.  In just a short time, his skills and mind have advanced so much.  These combined with heart, trust and attachment growth are a beautiful blossoming.  So grateful for the front row seat.  

A few more learning/creative toys we have:

 Melissa and Doug Sequence Sorting Set

Lacing Beads

puzzles

weekly library books

block set

Mr. Potato Head (fine motor and parts of face)

counting bears with cups (sorting & colors)



I've posted here about homeschooling our Pre-K age daughter.