The Day I Met the Love of My Life

I've shared various parts of my adoption story at Wednesday's Walk; how I came to choose adoption, our finalization day and choosing the date, and the steps along the way. I haven't written a post like this in a while, so today, I'd like to share the most precious story of our journey.

The day we met.

November, 2007

I was waiting for the phone call, the one that said my baby was ready for me.

At birth, my son had been placed with a wonderful foster mother who had taken great care of him for the first nine weeks of his life. I had already had the presentation, received photos, and waited on pins and needles while a judge decided my child's fate.

I received the call from my Social Worker on November 19, saying that we were clear, and I could finally meet my baby. The plan was for me to go and visit with him the next day, on a Tuesday evening, and come back to pick him up and take him home the following day.

Monday night was filled with much preparation and anticipation. I washed bedding, set up the nursery, and bought an infant car seat and a few outfits, including a "Baby's First Thanksgiving" outfit, since the holiday was just three days away. My purchases were still in my car when I went to visit the foster mom's house the next day.

I barely slept that night, and just plowed through work the next day, as it was really NOT where I wanted to be. I even agonized over what to wear, because, you know, first impressions and all.

The thirty minute car ride to the foster mother's house, I just kept telling myself to breathe. I was about to meet my child for the first time.

When I pulled up, I realized my Social Worker wasn't there yet, and I was 20 minutes early. My heart was racing as I walked up the pathway to the front door and rang the bell.

A child answered, and went to get her mother, who came down the hall with an infant wrapped in a soft blue and white striped blanket. Tears filled my eyes as she placed the baby in my arms. 

"Here's your baby," she said, smiling; and to my son, "Meet your Mama."

I just held him and looked at him for the next 30 minutes until the Social Workers arrived. Like I mentioned, the plan was that this would be just a visit and I would come back and pick him up the next evening. The foster mom questioned the Social worker, "Why can't she just take him home tonight."

I don't think I took a breath for the next minute while the Social Workers pondered her suggestion.

"I guess that would be ok." That's when my mind started racing. Could I really do this alone? "Do you have a car seat?"

I told the Social Worker I had purchased the car seat, but hadn't even taken it out of the box yet. That had been on tonight's agenda! They set it all up for me while I just got to hold my baby.

I signed the paperwork, gathered up his belongings, said goodbye to the Social Workers and hugged the foster mom. We were off to start our lives together.

I remember praying in my heart as I secured him in the car, asking God for guidance, and above all thanking him for the most precious gift of my life.

Immigrants

Proud to be American. That was my grandparents.

In the summer of 1955, my grandfather, grandmother, my mother and uncle, left behind their family in Germany in search of a better life in America. My mother was barely three years old. The family was sponsored by a Southern California Lutheran Church, that helped them get an apartment, some furniture, and employment.

They immersed themselves in American culture, not speaking much German, as my grandparents believed that they were now in America, and they should learn English. That they did. Until the day she died, my grandmother would get frustrated when immigrants here in Orange County, where the culture is very diverse, didn't speak English. She would say, "I had to learn English, so should they!"

I recently came across an old suitcase in my attic. It is one of the few items we have left that made the nearly 6000 mile journey from Europe to America. I thought it was a fair representation for what America stands for, the place where everyone has the right to come and pursue their dreams. For my family, those dreams became a reality in 1955.

What does America mean to you?

Signed. Sealed. Finalized!

There are many important dates in an adoption:

"Gotcha" Day (as some refer to the day you bring your child home)

The .26 Hearing (the day parental rights of the natural parents are terminated)

The Signing (the day legal papers are signed before the adoption can be finalized)

The Finalization (The final court hearing when the child is legally yours) 

These are the most memorable for me, although every adoptive parent has their own. I've shared before about the importance of the date I chose for our finalization, but today I'm going to talk a little bit about the day itself.

I don't remember what time we got to the courthouse, or how long it took to get inside. I don't remember much of what the judge or the attorney said. It was an overwhelming day; I was overwhelmed with the feelings and emotions of exactly what that day meant.

I had heard stories about adoptive parents getting emotional during their finalization hearing, and I was determined to keep myself together. The judge asked if I agreed to “bestow upon him all the rights of a natural-born child?” With a lump in my throat, I nodded, yes. Then he told me we were bound together forever as parent and child, and the tears came. Nearly seven years of agony were over. I was a mother in every sense of the word.

This is the only picture I have of us with the judge. Sorry, the lighting was terrible...

There is something inherently different about adoption - with childbirth, no one asks you if you promise to love and keep your child, but with adoption, you make a verbal and legally binding commitment to the child whom you have chosen to parent.  You stand before a judge, and numerous other county employees, and make a conscious decision to take on the responsibility of the life another human being.

It was the greatest, most selfless thing I have ever done.

Disney World Vacation

Last year, my mom won a trip to Walt Disney World. Yup, you read that right. She WON a trip. To Disney World. All expenses paid. She’s entered every contest with the word “Disney” in it that she’s ever seen, and her time finally came!

I had been twice before, once at eight years old and again at 24. Both times were amazing in different ways, but this was the boy’s first time. I dreaded the five hour flight, but he did amazingly well. In fact, the whole week he did great.

We live five minutes from Disneyland, we have passes, and Cooper's been more time than I can count since he was two months old. But Disney World, is a WORLD of its own. We had an amazing time and it was so great watching the wonder and amazement on my little boy's face at everything he saw.

I thought for this week’s Wednesday’s Walk, I would share some of our trip with you, by sharing some of my favorite pictures.

In the car on the way to the airport. It's way too early to be sing "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt."

On the plane, all he needed was Gram's ipod and some headphones.

Oh, Country Bear Jamboree, how I miss you...

This one is big, because it was the first time he wasn't scared to death of the characters. He loved every single one we saw, and we got so many great pictures. This one got me teary...

His first pair of Mickey ears!

Just bein' silly...

In front of the Living Seas...my favorite part of Epcot...

It's Bruce!

More character meet-ups. Just look at that smile!

We stayed at the Animal Kingdom Lodge. This was the view of the "Savannah" from our hotel balcony. Every morning, as soon as Cooper woke up, he would say "Animals sleeping?" and he would rush to the window.

Gram, Coop, Mommy, and Aunt Patte in front of the Tree of Life at Animal Kingdom.

Hmmm, we've seen that before...

We did as much as we could in a short amount of time, visiting each of the parks at least twice. We saw shows, ate great food, and bought way too many souveniers. The trip was over way too soon, and we can't wait to go back!

The Cup That Brought Us Together

I was inspired by Jenilee's memory walk last week about how she met her husband, so I decided to sit down and write my "How We Met" memory. I love our story, and thought I would share it with you here today.

I spent a lot of my teenage and adult life with the wrong men. Now, don’t read into that too much, I had maybe five boyfriends from the time I was 16 to 30. And they were ALL WRONG. I mean, way wrong. Like, oh you’ve been in jail? You’re perfect! kind of wrong. They were losers in every sense of the word, and treated me in typical loser fashion.

Three years ago, I finally got it right.

The Anaheim Ducks had just won the Stanley Cup (GO DUCKS!), and I was going to the celebration rally with my friend and her husband. They had to drop their baby off at her sister’s house and asked me to meet them there. When I got into the backseat of their truck, my friend got in the back with me, and a man got in the front seat. My friend says, “Oh, that’s my sister’s ex-husband.” I thought nothing of it as we drove to the rally.

Once there, my friend spent an hour applying paint to her husband’s face, which left Rick and I with nothing to do but talk to each other. The first question I asked him? “So, you used to be married to her sister?” He politely answered, but I later found out he was shocked that I would ask him that question. We chatted for the next hour or so; typical “getting to know you” stuff.

I later asked my friend, “So, he’s single, right?” She looked at me kind of funny, and said, “yes, but you don’t want to go there...” and continued to tell me all the things "wrong" with him. I let it go, and just enjoyed the rest of the day. Rick and I talked randomly throughout the evening; he had a new camera and I was really into photography, so we talked about that, and he even let me hold the camera to look at the pictures he had taken (now that’s trust!).

One of the things I remember most about him that day, is that he watched out for me. He made sure I had a spot to watch the caravan of players, and when we were headed out to the parking lot in a sea of people, and I wanted to stop and take a picture, he waited for me. My friends kept walking, but Rick realized I had stopped, and he stopped too. I remember thinking how sweet that was. When we got back to the house, he headed out to eat with his son, and I went home. I said goodbye, figuring I would probably never see him again.

Then about a week or so later, I got a text from my friend saying “Rick wants your number. Can I give it to him?” At first I had no idea who she was talking about, and when she reminded me, I said, “Really? He wants MY number?” She told me he had been bugging her for a few days. Seriously?

Rick called two days later, on a Wednesday morning, and asked if I would like to meet him for coffee or lunch that weekend. We agreed to meet for lunch at a favorite restaurant of his. We sat that afternoon and talked for over three hours. He had printed a bunch of pictures that he had taken at the rally, including one of me (surprise! of course now I can't find it anywhere). We could’ve kept talking, but I had a babysitter who needed to leave.

We started seeing each other regularly over the next several months, and I was smitten. We didn’t even kiss until I think it was our fourth or fifth date. He was a gentleman, through and through, so unlike the vultures I was used to dating. On our second date, we ate at MY favorite restaurant, and went to Seal Beach to take some photos, which is what a lot of our first months of dating consisted of. (We now have our own little photography business).

One of our favorite photos taken on our second date...

there's still debate over "who" took the photo. :)

We have been a couple for nearly three years. We have had some struggles; his job and our respective children are very demanding of our time, which can be hard on us, and most probably would have given up, but I believe with all my heart that God blessed my life by bringing this man into it. He has seen me at my worst - my jealous, insecure, demanding self - and he’s still here. He’s suffered through my issues with trust, and has healed my broken heart. He has wiped my tears of self doubt, held me through the heartache of letting go, and rejoiced with me in the most joyous of moments. He is kind, brutally honest, hard working, funny, independent, secretly compassionate, and the smartest man I know. His love for and commitment to his children is something I strive for as a parent. He accepts me, all of me, for who I am, and I love him for it. He has supported me and cared for me and I am so, so deeply, and endlessly grateful to have him in my life.

I'm sharing my story at Wednesday's Walk. Click on over and see what others are remembering...

The House That Built Me

The other day, while sorting through the mail, Rick handed me a letter from the DMV. It was my renewed Driver's License. Now, I know for most, this is pretty insignificant, but this time, it was special. I slowly took it out of the envelope, and stared at it.

Rick wanted to see the picture (apparently in three years he's never looked at my driver's license). I told him the picture was taken about six years ago, long before we met. My hair was longer then, to which he commented "You look a lot better now then you did back then." (um, thanks hon - he's one of those rare men who can't stand long hair).

Anyway, this was a big deal for me - it had my address on it! You see, since I first got my driver's license at 16, I alway put down my parent's address. Even as an adult, I moved around a lot and it's such a hassle to change it, so I didn't.

Two years ago, shortly after my grandmother died, I moved into her house. 

One of the few pictures I have of my Oma and Cooper, two months before she died.

A year later, I had the opportunity to purchase her home, and I did. The driver's license I held in my hand, had the address of my home, my permenant home, for the first time.

Purchasing my own home has really changed me, built me, you could say. Listing this as my permenant residence made me feel like I'm finally an adult; at 33 years of age I've become a grown-up.

I have so many memories of this house. As a child, I swam in the pool (that is now covered with grass), I made mudpies in the backyard, I ran through the sprinklers every summer, played cards with my grandparents on the patio, helped my grandmother bake cookies, and make her German Spatzle. When I was 19, my Oma let me move in with her, and the room I occupied for two years, is now my son's room. My mom also grew up in this house, and slept in the same bedroom.

It's neat to know the stories of this house, how it has evolved, like why and how the brick was added to the front, when the cement that widened the driveway was poured, and what was there before those bushes in front of the garage.

I have preserved some memories, but have also tried to make it my own. For example, here's a look at my grandma's kitchen:

I can recall many nights sitting at this table, eating meals, playing cards, and watching the tiny little TV that used to sit in the corner. I spend a lot of time in the kitchen, so I decided to make some changes and hired a friend to do the work. Emotionally, it was a difficult thing to do, but I knew that I needed to make this home "mine."

Here's the "new" space:

The first thing to be removed was the table and bench seat, and when I came home that day and saw them sitting in the driveway, I cried. But I must admit, I love the new look.

Of course, some things will never change.

Oma's Kuche = Oma's Kitchen

You can't see it in the picture, but this sign, brought home from one of her many visits to her native Germany, hangs above the window, and as long as I'm living here, it always will.

This house that helped to shape me, is going to be the house that shapes my son as well. Some of his favorite things? Playing in the water in the backyard, digging in the dirt where I used to make mudpies, building Lego towers on the patio, and helping me bake cookies in Oma's kitchen.

Country singer, Miranda Lambert, who just happens to be one of my very favorite artists, has a song on the radio right now called "The House That Built Me." I can relate to this song at every age. If you haven't heard it before, turn your volume up. It should be playing right about now.

When Mom's Not Looking...

Instead of my usual sweet, sappy posts about my son, and being a mom, I've decided to share with you what happens "When Mom's Not Looking..." (dun dun dun)

Last night, while I was in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner, the boy was in the playroom (which is just outside my kitchen windows). He was playing rather nicely and quietly, which I was grateful for, since I had much to do, and really didn't have time to be scolding him for his yelling and trouble-making. I should have known something was amiss, but I was happily living in a world where my little monster had turned into a quiet angel, even for just a few moments.

I finished up the dishes, and walked out to the playroom, and saw this:

"I change the truck's diaper, Mama!"

Cute, right? Now that's ingenuity!

Then he turned around to face me.

In case you're wondering, that's Desitin on his face. We had been in a hurry that morning, and I had absentmindedly left the diaper changing supplies in the playroom (Oops!). Apparently, he thought his face was a little rashy.

It was one of those Mommy moments, where I really should be disciplining, but all this Mommy wanted to do was laugh! So I told him to stay put. Then I went to get my camera. I couldn't help it! Sometimes, you just have to laugh.

Wednesday's Walk: The .26 Hearing

Today’s walk will take us back about two years, to June of 2008. In my adoption journey, this was one of those “big days.” The .26 hearing. The day when the rights of the birthparents are terminated. For me, it was the day that I could finally exhale; for the first time in seven months, I could breathe again.

I remember getting the phone call from my social worker. Every time my phone would ring during those seven months, and even for weeks after, I would hold my breath, and my hands would tremble just a bit. She told me that the hearing had been uneventful, and rights had been terminated. My son was legally “available” for adoption. Tears filled my eyes, as I thanked her, and we went on to discuss the next steps, the signing of papers, the finalization, etc.

This is the kind of day adoptive parents celebrate quietly, at least I did. The success of making it to this day is bittersweet, as it is a beginning, and in a sense, an ending. It meant that my son was able to be mine forever, that we would be able to be a family, but also that someone had lost him, and that he had lost a little piece of himself.

That evening we went to the park, and I put him in a swing for the first time. He laughed, big belly laughs, the kind where your whole body shakes with giddiness, and he loved every single minute of it.

I had asked my boyfriend to come with us, and he brought his camera and snapped a few photos. I love these photos, because they look to anyone, like just a day at the park, but for me, they mark the beginning of the end of our adoption journey.

Wednesday's Walk - October 2

My Cooper came home in November of 2007. Thanksgiving that year was amazing, full of family, love and joy at this new arrival. My dad, who had been very sick for several years, had a great day, and was so excited to meet his grandson, who was just ten weeks old. My dad died just five weeks later.

Cooper with Grandpa & Gram on Day 1

Fast forward to September of 2008. I was preparing to sign adoption papers, to finalize Cooper's adoption. The attorney called me to set up a time for the court finalization. The day it would all be official. No more court dates. No more Social Worker visits. No more sitting on pins and needles waiting, hoping, praying. She told me I could request a date that would work for us, or that was significant to me. Her exact words were, "If you wanted, say, October 2, we could ask for that." My heart skipped a beat, and I felt my face get hot, as tears filled my eyes.

October 2 was my dad's birthday.

My dad and me on his birthday10 years ago.

I slowly asked her why she mentioned that date. She told me it was her son's birthday. I said, "That's the day I want. That was my dad's birthday and he died shortly after meeting Cooper."

The Attorney was quiet for a moment, then said, "I'll do everything I can to request that date."

Grandpa & Cooper watching Ducks Hockey

A few weeks later, I received a letter in the mail, stating that our court date was indeed scheduled for October 2. I couldn't stop the tears from flowing. This would be the first birthday since he died, and what could have been a day to mourn, became a day to dance. I couldn't think of a more perfect way to honor my dad.

On October 2, I cried again, as the judge said that he was mine. Forever mine. I cried happy tears for us, and for my dad, who I know was with us that day. We'll celebrate that day every year, and it will not only be about how we became a family, but about sharing with Cooper about his Grandpa, and how much he loved him.

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die...a time to mourn and a time to dance..." Ecclesiastes 3:1-2

I hope you enjoyed my emotional little Walk down Memory Lane. Be sure to visit The Goodwin Family blog and see what others are sharing for Wednesday's Walk.

My First Mother's Day

I found a new blog today - The Goodwin Family. Jenilee hosts a blog carnival every Wednesday called Wednesday's Walk, where bloggers can share their memories through photos with a Walk Down Memory Lane. I love to share stories, and I love to share my photos, so this is perfect for me!

If you have read My Adoption Story, you know my struggle to become a mother. For many years, Mother's Day was one of the most difficult days of the year. But then, my beautiful boy came into my life. After that, Mother's Day took on a whole new meaning. The slate was wiped clean, the sadness melted, and it became a day for me to celebrate!

My boyfriend is a photographer, and was just getting started a few years ago, when I asked him to take some photos of Cooper & me for my first Mother's Day. I thought I would share some of my favorites.