When one door closes, another door or two opens somewhere.  That door for me is the launch of my own blog, Melanie Elliott, Mom To The Littlest E.  If I hadn’t written for LIFEclectic, I would never have taken this step.  I will continue to write about my experiences as a mom and parent, about my experiences as a transracial, adoptive mom, and about things that happen in the moment.  I’d love to create an open and honest dialogue with you about these topics in the hopes of making the world a smaller place and allowing us to feel more connected as we travel this parenting path.  All of my previous LIFEclectic blogs will be transferred and archived on the new website.

To all of the readers, to those who subscribed to the magazine, and to the folks who followed LIFEclectic on Facebook, THANK YOU!!

On April 1, 2012, please join me at my new home, http://melanieelliott.wordpress.com. You can also follow me on Twitter: @Mom2TLE.  Looking forward to this new chapter!

Image: insidious_plots (christopher cornelius)

Please Don’t Be Offended If I Don’t Want You To Hold My Son: We had been home less than two months and I was at Peet’s Coffee one day with The Littlest E.  To aid in attachment, only my husband and I and grandparents were allowed to hold him for those first few months.  As we were waiting in line, a kindly, elderly woman was ogling over him.  I have to admit that our son has a smile that lights up a room (a mother’s pride aside).  She commented on how cute he was and wanted to hold him.  I said no with a brief explanation as to why.  She still seemed offended.  Honestly, I didn’t have to explain myself to her at all.  I was being polite and attempted to educate her in a gentle way, but she didn’t get it.  Whether it was because he was cute, or adopted, or a baby, or any or all of the above, it doesn’t matter.  I don’t like strangers holding my son.  I’m sure she meant no harm.  This has happened several times and I’m still not comfortable with it, but would anyone be?

Adopting Isn’t Fun: I met a woman at the park one day who told me that adoption sounded like fun.  Thank God I’ve got a pretty good poker face and kept my internal “Are you kidding me?” to myself.  The things people say.  Yes, it’s fun if you like being paper pregnant for almost a year, having to obtain 18 different documents from medical reports to references, having those documents notarized then the notarizations notarized, then getting your referral and waiting for the day you get to meet your son, then flying ½ way around the world, and you basically give birth to a 19 pound, 12-½ month old baby.  Oh, and because of all your miscarriages, you’re kind of on pins and needles the entire time because you’re afraid the other shoe will drop.  If that’s your idea of fun, then yes, it’s fun.  Obviously, I gave her a much shorter, more eloquent and tactful answer, but she understood.  Fun is not the way I’d describe adoption, the end of the journey is amazing, wonderful and life changing and so very worth all of the ups and downs.

I May Refrain From Telling You The Intricate Details Of Our Adoption: When I’ve been asked by strangers about our adoption, I usually give a brief answer – Our son is originally from Ethiopia, the process can be long and complicated, the rewards are well worth the wait, and being a mom is everything I ever hoped it would be.  Sometimes the questions have veered toward intrusive, especially concerning our son’s story.  I don’t mind telling people my story of infertility, a China adoption that ended up not happening, and details about our Ethiopia adoption.  I’m pretty much an open book because you never know whom you might help by being open.  But, when people I don’t know well ask intrusive questions about my son’s story, I politely tell them that it’s not my story to tell, it’s his.  Most people are respectful of that answer; however, some people have continued to pry.  Seriously?  I don’t ask people invasive questions about their birth process – How many times did your wife push?  Did you require an episiotomy?  Was there a lot of blood?  We all have stories to tell, but some of the details need to stay private.

My Husband And I Are The Lucky Ones: I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard the line, “He’s so lucky to have you,” or “He’s so lucky you adopted him.”  The people making these comments were well intentioned, but please refrain from saying that.  We didn’t adopt our son to make a grand gesture or adopt because we are these great humanitarians; we wanted to start a family pure and simple and this was the only way that was right for us.  If anyone is lucky, it’s my husband and I.  Without adoption, we would never have had the greatest gift we could ever have been given, that of being a parent.  Our son is our son, is our son, however he came to us.  It’s not about luck.

We Didn’t Adopt To Be Trendy: As I mentioned directly above, my husband and I adopted internationally because it was our path to parenthood.  We didn’t do it to be like Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt.  We just wanted to start a family and international adoption was the way for us to do that.

A Great Approach: We were taking a family hike up Fryman Canyon and our son was in his Ergo Baby on my husband’s back.  We stopped for a water break and a woman tentatively approached us and gently asked if our son was adopted.  She didn’t ask, “Is he yours?” or “Where did you get him?”  Yes, people have asked these questions (not to me but to friends who’ve adopted).  Her question was simple.  We told her he was and, without prompting and because it seemed appropriate, we told her a bit of our story and revealed that our son was born in Ethiopia.  Turns out, the woman was thinking about adopting from Ethiopia and this led us to an even further conversation with an exchange of telephone numbers.  She was so nice and respectful when she approached us.  It was an amazing little snippet of time.

Everyone who has adopted whether domestically or internationally has been on some kind of a journey and we all have our own way of responding to questions about adoption.  I hope this is helpful.  If anyone has questions or would like to further talk about any of the above experiences, please let me know.

Image: endbradley (Dereck Bradley)

We spent time preparing our son, our house, and ourselves for the Big Weekend.  I purchased excessive amounts of big boy underpants, extra waterproof mattress covers and sheets, M&Ms (for rewarding The Littlest E (and maybe Mommy, too)), lots of juice and other beverages, and enough food to last the weekend since we knew we weren’t leaving the house.  We got our son excited enough by showing him his big boy underpants in his favorite Thomas The Tank Engine and Cars motifs, and the M&Ms, plus, I created a potty chart where he could affix stickers every time he made a successful trip to the toilet.  My husband and I knew it was going to be a long weekend, especially since we were supposed to sleep in his room to monitor him during the night (we don’t have a video monitor) to watch for signs he needed to go potty.  It was my shift that first night.

Day of, when The Littlest E awoke, we took him out of his crib, put big boy underpants on him and a shirt, and made a big deal of saying goodbye to his diapers (though we kept pull-ups against the suggestion of the book).  At least for that day, my husband and I vowed to give the 3-day method a fair shake.  As per the book, he was to tell us when he had to go potty rather than us asking him.  That way, he felt like he was the one in control.

Without going into all of the details, lets just say it was a LONG day.  Before nap, there were lots of stickers on the chart and lots of accidents, all part of the training.  I must have said, “Tell us when you have to go potty” well over 50 times.  Even though it was tense for everyone, every time there was an accident, we gave our son love and encouragement and kept saying gently to tell us when he needed to go potty.  The day required endless love, affection and, most of all, patience.  A highlight – our son glowed with pride every time he was successful and he LOVED eating all those M&Ms!

As loving as we were, The Littlest E was still stressed out.  Wouldn’t you be too?  I mean imagine being a toddler, and never having to worry about going potty or listening to your body, you just take care of business in your diaper and Mommy and Daddy clean you up when they change you.  Then all of a sudden Mommy and Daddy are asking you to tell them when you have to go.  I’m sure that’s not quite what The Littlest E was thinking, but perhaps something similar in his toddler way.

Nap and bedtime were the most difficult that first day.  Changes of sheets and many trips to the bathroom at The Littlest E’s request all led to little sleep for him and for me, since I was the one monitoring him that night.  My husband faired a bit better, but by morning we were all exhausted.  The second day making it to the potty seemed to go a lot more smoothly, though mentally my husband and I felt like we were in lockdown in an insane asylum.  It was hard on all of us, especially The Littlest E, who was such a trouper!  He was doing such a great job, but by the late afternoon, it became clear to us that our son needed a different path.

The last thing either of us wanted to do was to cause our son to be afraid of going potty.  He seemed ready when we started, but it was clear we needed to change course.  We decided to give him pull-ups for bedtime and naps.  Oh, what a difference a little change makes!  Now there may be some of you who stuck to the 3-day method and it worked. Awesome!  I’m not here to say it does or doesn’t work; I just know our son and we needed to switch gears.  Making that little change completely shifted how the rest of the weekend went, more sleep for everyone, no accidents while sleeping and, most importantly, a much happier son, and isn’t that what truly matters.

My husband and I are pleased with how the weekend turned out.  Life is in a new normal and it’s great to be here.  The Littlest E communicates with us his potty needs and we are attuned to his body language in a new way, like I mentioned, it’s our new normal.  It’s been over a week and there have been no accidents at preschool, with only a few minor accidents at home.  All in all he’s adjusting nicely to his new routine though we did have to make four potty stops on our way to preschool the first day after the “official” training was over.  As The Littlest E gets older, we’ll modify things to fit his development.  At some point, pull-ups will be obsolete.

If you’re a parent about to embark on this rite of passage, you may want to find the method you think your child will respond to and make adjustments if necessary.  The bottom line is your child will be potty trained eventually.  I wish you all the best!

Image: Just Taken Pics (Ste Elmore)

Joaquin’s spiritual presence was even more shocking than his physical attributes. Behind the unfocused eyes breathed a soul, which manifested in his already-apparent personality but was more encompassing than his quirks and desires. Frightened beyond words at the concept of being being responsible for his physical well-being, I found myself terrified by the challenge of nurturing his deepest self.

Tending to our own soul needs is the starting point for the soul care of others. If we aren’t capable of answering our soul’s call, we’ll find it nearly impossible to respond to someone else’s. That means making sure we nourish our innermost desires for intimate relationships, self-expression, and beauty (as well as aggression, anxiety, and envy). The wonderful thing about caring for our own being is that doing so naturally expands. The attention paid to arranging flowers in our favorite vase, for example, spills over to our children and partners.

There are ways, of course, to intentionally tend to our children’s souls. The best way I’ve found is to be continuously curious about the facets of their existence beyond day-to-day practicalities. For instance, I try to nurture Joaquin’s love of trains not just through gifts, for but also by taking him to railroad crossings and train stations. A calm stillness descends upon him as he watches freight cars pass and listens to the chime of the crossing bell.

I don’t really know why he loves it so, but that doesn’t matter. My duty as a parent is to honor the depth of him that does.

Image: Lome Aseron

My dad’s heart surgeon assured us that it was a very common surgery, one he’d done many, many times.  My family, friends, my dad’s girlfriend and I were all quite relieved when my dad came through the surgery okay.   It took him some time to heal, and change his lifestyle, including eating habits.  It was a good thing we had the Durable Power of Attorney just in case, though we didn’t need it.

Unfortunately, a “just in case” situation happened a few months after that surgery when my dad went into cardiac arrest at a Cal football game in Berkeley, California.  He basically died for several minutes, but his heart started beating after CPR.  At the hospital, he was put into a medically induced coma to stabilize his body.  However, during the night, they discovered he was bleeding internally and the doctors needed to bring him out of the coma to see if he had any brain activity, and for possible surgery.

My sister was local and was at the hospital with other family members and close friends.  I flew in from Los Angeles, and my brother was on his way in from Dallas, where he was visiting his in-laws.  When I arrived at the hospital, my dad was still coming out of the coma, he was still bleeding internally, he was unresponsive, and the doctors didn’t see any brain activity.  It was a tense situation.  His nurse urged us to give it a bit of time, that my dad’s body was warming up.  I spoke with his surgeon who told my sister and me that he only had a 10% chance of surviving the surgery.  They thought he had an aortic aneurysm and anticipated he’d bleed out on the operating table.

Again, it was a very tense situation.  What should my sister and I do?  If my dad had no brain activity, why do the surgery?  Yet, there was a glimmer of hope with the 10%.    We knew from his Durable Power of Attorney for Health Care Decisions that my dad didn’t want any heroic measures.  Was surgery heroic?  Do we let him die?  How do you make a life or death decision like that?  For a brief moment, we contemplated not doing the surgery.   But, my sister and I wanted to wait for my brother because he was the primary on my dad’s Durable Power of Attorney for Health Care Decisions and this was a decision that needed to be made by the three of us.

As luck or fate or whatever would have it, my dad eventually responded, so we knew he wasn’t brain dead!  There was something going on inside him, even though he was still unconscious.  The nurse had been right in asking us to wait.  This miraculous response occurred just as my brother arrived at the hospital.  The three of us made a decision.  We honored my dad’s Durable Power of Attorney and decided that a 10% chance was not a heroic measure; it was a chance at life.  Thank God we took that chance because my dad is alive and healthy today.  He made it through the surgery (lacerated liver) and was in the hospital for nearly a month, but he made it!

In a time of crisis, extreme duress and stress, my brother, sister and I, using our dad’s Durable Power of Attorney for Health Care Decisions as a guide, were able to act as one in deciding our dad’s fate.  It was an exceedingly emotional and tough decision to make, whether you are one person or three.  It’s not something I’d wish for anyone to have to go through, yet incidents like this happen everyday.

Durable powers of attorney for health care decisions and advance healthcare directives are important documents because they express the wishes of the patient.  Having that piece of paper in place helped us.  There were no fights or disagreements on how to proceed.  We acted as a unit, as a family at a most important time.

This past November, my husband and I worked with my old law firm and drew up our wills, signed powers of attorney and advance healthcare directives, and created a living trust.  End of life planning.  Just writing that makes me squirm a bit.  I know I’m going to die someday, but executing those documents really brought it home.  It’s important to tackle this subject while we are still youngish, have our wits about us, and are not in crisis.

All of these documents are there to assist our family, mainly our son, should it become necessary.  Whenever and however we die, everything will be in place for an easy transition of our estate.  Should our Advance Healthcare Directives ever need to be used, I know my husband’s wishes and he knows mine.  As a parent, I feel like I owe it to my son to have these documents ready.  When we do finally die, that’ll be hard enough on him.  We’ll share this information with him when he’s at an age where he can handle the conversation (he’s only 2½ now).

I can’t help but wonder, if we didn’t have my dad’s Durable Power of Attorney for Health Care Decisions to act as our guide post, would the decision making process have run as smoothly as it did with my siblings?  Probably.  I’m grateful we didn’t have to find out.

Image: bossco (Raymong Shobe)