kids

Do My Birthparents Love Me?

~ Kim Severn ~ 2 Comments

Since we decided to adopt I’ve kept a mental list of questions our child might ask about adoption. Whenever our daughter, now seven, wants to talk about adoption, I do my best to stop whatever I’m doing and focus on her.

We can go months without a mention of adoption. And then there are times when questions come in rapid succession.

Last night, as she was snuggled on my lap before bedtime, she asked “Mom, did my birth mom love me?” There was a hint of sadness in her voice.

“Oh, YES!” I said before kissing her on the cheek and hugging her tight. “She loves you very much.”

We adopted our daughter through open adoption. We know why our daughter’s birthparents chose adoption. We met them before she was born and heard about how excited they were to meet her. We were at the hospital with them as they held her close and covered her with kisses. We saw firsthand their love for her.

I hope our daughter will come to know in her heart that her birthparents both loved her very much when they chose adoption. And their love, like ours, is everlasting.

A Month of Anniversaries

~ Kim Severn ~ Leave a comment

I love anniversaries. The happy ones, the sad ones, the ones I wouldn’t remember if it weren’t for Facebook’s “On This Day” feature. Anniversaries provide an opportunity to stop, reflect and celebrate. I try to appreciate what I have, where I’ve been, and spend a few minutes dreaming about what’s to come.

Every year as our daughter’s birthday approaches I take time to remember the events that unfolded in the month before she was born. We had waited over a year for our family to be chosen by a birthmother, and by the time our daughter’s birthparents were introduced to us, we only had a few weeks to prepare.

I think about the morning I decided to click through my junk folder instead of automatically deleting everything. If I’d followed my normal routine I never would have seen the adoption agency email about a couple expecting a baby girl. I think about how we sat at a table in a 24-hour restaurant a week later trying to get to know the people who would make us parents. And I think about the Saturday I let our four year old help me paint the nursery. (It turned out he and I made quite an efficient painting crew.)

And I remember struggling to put her crib together, on what turned out to be the night before her birthmother went in to labor. I wanted our daughter’s nursery to be ready and waiting for her when we brought her home.

So now every year as the days lengthen and the weather warms I celebrate the anniversary of those four short weeks before we finally met our daughter. And every year these events are a reminder of the thousands of decisions that had to align for the baby girl with big blue eyes to become our daughter.

Just a Little Love

~ Kim Severn ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been thinking about love a lot lately. When I was little love was a tight hug, a kiss on the cheek, a feeling of safety and protection.

Then love changed to an intoxication I become lost in, overwhelming my thoughts. The amount of love measured by the depth of the feeling.

And now love is … action. It’s found in all the little things we do every day to treat each other with respect, to give compassion, to put away the technology and share a moment with someone special.

Love is now a source of strength, giving me the courage to make hard choices and fight for what matters most.

Let’s remember to share a little love, not just today … but every day.

Open Adoption -Relationship Status: It’s Complicated

~ Kim Severn ~ 8 Comments

Eight years ago, faced with secondary infertility, we decided to adopt a child. After hours of research, we chose open adoption.

We learned a lot through the over year-long rollercoaster ride of adoption. And holding our newborn daughter in my arms I felt the euphoria of a dream realized and knew there was another woman beginning to deal with a tremendous loss.

As I read Amy Seek’s piece Open Adoption: Not So Simple Math in the New York Times this week I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks.

In rapid succession I relived eight years of experiences in the ten minutes it took to read the article. I lingered over some sentences, letting their meaning sink in and thinking about how those key lines related to our experience of open adoption.

Seek’s description of herself, a near Xerox copy of the birthmother I had dreamed up while we waited to be chosen, is very different from the woman who gave birth to our daughter.

Seek writes about the ‘exceptional commitment’ it takes the adoptive family to keep the adoption open. I don’t know if it was her intent, the bias I bring based on our experience or a little bit of both, but I cringed as I read and reread that sentence.

In my experience, it takes ‘exceptional commitment’ from the adoptive family as well as the birthparents to make an open adoption work. And in our case, no matter how hard any of us tried, parts of the relationship between our daughter and her birthparents had to be closed.

We still talk to our daughter about her birthparents. We openly and honestly answer her questions. We send pictures a few times a year to her birthparents so they can see how she’s growing and glimpse the person she’s becoming.

When we decided on open adoption, we thought we would have the opportunity to build a relationship with our child’s birthmother very similar to the one Seek describes. After reading the article, I find myself once again grieving for the experiences we will never have. And I grieve for my daughter, that she can’t go for walks in the woods with her birthmother and enjoy time alone with her.

I often wonder about our daughter’s experience of life and family. I wish I could crawl inside her head to see and feel the world as she does. I want to understand. I want to anticipate her questions so I can be ready with answers. And I want to know when the time is right to re-open what we had to close, so she has the opportunity to build a relationship with her birthmother.

Seek is right, there is no simple math in open adoption. There are simply too many variables. There is no way of knowing what the relationships between the birth and adoptive family members will be like. But there’s one thing for certain, there are many people who love the child at the center of the relationships that open adoption creates.

 Number of Parents

~ Kim Severn ~ 1 Comment

A couple days before Christmas, with a few days off, I had time to cross some personal to dos off my list. As my husband and I coordinated our family’s schedule for the next day, our daughter overheard my plans and asked to come along.

Being a working mom I try to spend my days off with the kids, but sometimes I really just want me time. And the first item on my list for the next day was my annual mammogram. I wasn’t sure how bringing her along would go. She’s so inquisitive and was sure to have a lot of questions. How do you explain a mammogram to a 6 year old?

But when she looked up at me with her big blue eyes, how could I say no? “Please Mommy, I don’t want to hang out with stinky boys!” she pleaded.

“Sure sweetheart, you can come along,” I said leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

The next morning as we sat in the waiting room at the radiology clinic, I did my best to explain what a mammogram was and why I was having it done. “Ew, gross! Taking pictures of your breasts?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “And you have to take off your bras?” (Yep, bras plural. According to her two breasts can only fit in a bras.)

The technician led us to a small exam room and began asking me questions to make sure I was the patient whose records were on her screen. Name, date of birth, reason for my appointment. My daughter sat on my lap and I answer the technician’s questions without much thought.

“Number of children?” I could tell she was trying to sound kind and interested, but was bored of the routine.

“Two,” I said giving my daughter a quick squeeze.

“I only have one here,” her tone laced with a drop of annoyance, “2004.”

“Yes, that’s my son,” I said as realization dawned. “Is your question number of pregnancies?” I raised my eyebrows as I held her eye contact, hoping she’d catch the full meaning behind my question. There’s an important difference between number of children and number of pregnancies. I do believe the information you’re trying to confirm is number of pregnancies, I thought.

“Yes.”

“That’s a different question,” I said trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice as adrenaline rushed through me. “I’ve had one pregnancy, your information is correct.” She looked at me with a quizzical look, “She’s adopted.” I said feeling frustration rise.

“Oh,” she replied brightly, “You have two sets of parents,” she said to my daughter.

Heat rose to my cheeks as I tried to quickly figure out how to respond. What was my daughter thinking? What would I say to the technician? What questions would my daughter ask me as we walked back to the car?

Before I could say anything my daughter responded, “I have three kinds of parents. Parents, birth parents, and Godparents.” How does she do that? How does she bring out the simplicity of her experience.

“She’s lucky to have so many people who love her,” I said giving her a peck on the cheek. “Are we ready to take the images now?” I asked the technician, anxious for the appointment to end.

The experience reminded me once again that adoption expands your family tree in new and unexpected ways. It also expands your heart’s capacity for love and changes your definition of family.

Love continues to grow. Last night her Godfather came for dinner with his fiancé. They’re getting married in September and my daughter is excited to attend her first wedding. She’s been so excited she even designed the dress she wants to wear on their big day. Her Godfather and his fiancé are family, uncles to be silly with and share her life.

To show her excitement she made them a bouquet of flowers, with a vase to hold them in. Sharing her artistic talent with two of her favorite guys.

Her capacity to love is one of the many unexpected lessons she has taught me.

A quick look back before looking ahead …

~ Kim Severn ~ 1 Comment
And more hikes.

As 2015 comes to an end, I took a few minutes to appreciate this year’s highlights and get excited about 2016.

This year we had some fun family adventures. What really stuck with me  was just how fast our kids are growing up.

I made time to nurture our daughter’s interest in art.

Painting her Lauren Original Halloween sign.
Practicing scratching a design in the glaze.

In July, on my trip to New York City, I crossed two things off my bucket list – Visiting the Today Show & going to the top of the Empire State Building.

Made it to the Today Show!
Hello NYC from the 86th Floor of the Empire State Building.

And just yesterday, I finished the edits on my book The Making of a Mom. An important step in achieving a goal I’ve had for over 30 years.

In 2016 I’m looking forward to more adventures with my crazy little family, publishing my first book, and going on a personal adventure or two.

Wishing you a new year filled with joy, peace, and love.

Raising an Artist

~ Kim Severn ~ Leave a comment

There’s no denying we’re raising an artist. Our dining room table is often an explosion of Play Doh, paints, crayons, markers, and paper.

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Our six year old daughter is known to wake up before six in the morning, wander downstairs to the dining room and begin a new project. A couple of weeks ago she was forming Play Doh into ‘beans’ to use with a math game her teacher sent home. On another occasion when she couldn’t find any paper, she took coffee filters out of the pantry and made ‘tie dye’ using watercolors. It was beautiful.

Art is teaching her to experiment, problem-solve, and try new things. It’s her way to burn off excess energy and relax. Her joy and enthusiasm when she’s in her creative zone is contagious.

We’ve spent the last two Sunday afternoons learning about ceramics under the tutelage of a local clay artist. Our instructor helped her explore and learn about clay, working with her to create a one of a kind piece born of her imagination.

Painting her Lauren Original Halloween sign.
Painting her creation – a Halloween sign.

Hopefully we’ll continue to find ways to keep her imagination alive and her creativity flowing. Because creative outlets are as important to raising an artist as food and water.

Excuse Me Young Man, What Have You Done with My Little Boy?

~ Kim Severn ~ 2 Comments

“Hey Mom, what’s up,” he asked casually as he sauntered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and began scanning the shelves.

“Hey bud, whatcha looking’ for?” I could swear he just ate 15 minutes before.

“A snack,” he said followed quickly by the unmistakable sound of a string cheese wrapper being pulled apart.

“Didn’t you just eat?” I laughed and glanced over my shoulder, momentarily shocked that the person standing there had little resemblance to the little boy I swear he was just months before.

“I love ya mama!” he said before wrapping his arms around me and lifting me off the ground.

“Whoa bud!” I warned as my feet landed back on the ground. “Please don’t pick me up.”

“Why not?” A look of true bewilderment filled his still boyish face.

“Boundaries dude,” I wrapped my arms around his broadening shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “Kids aren’t supposed to pick up their parents.”

“Whatever,” he said with a quick laugh as he walked toward the living room. “Love you!”

“I love you more!” I called back standing momentarily stunned at the kitchen island soaking in the incontrovertible fact that we’d entered a new phase of our mother/son relationship.

The days are long but the years are short. – I don’t know who first said it, but I’ve been reading it a lot lately.

I don’t remember ever seeing the saying before I became a mom. And now it seems to be popping up everywhere – Facebook, Twitter, overlaid on Instagram photos.

Maybe it’s just suddenly hitting a little too close to home. In what feels like the blink of an eye my seven pound newborn is now a five foot tall 11 year old.

Gone are the days of carrying his sleeping body to bed when he falls asleep in the car. Gone too is my ability to scoop him up and away from danger. And all too soon, gone will be the opportunity to lean down and kiss the top of his head as he stands next to me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying the benefits that come with having an older kid – he doesn’t need constant supervision, only occasionally has to be reminded to wash his hands, and he can get himself a snack.

And we haven’t hit the teen years yet. Luckily he’s still willing to hang out with me in public (even when we accidentally dress like twins), and even pulls himself away from the Xbox from time to time to sit down next to me for a snuggle. Most importantly, he still indulges me allowing me to tuck him in at night and cover his soft cheeks with kisses.

But there’s a part of me – a bigger part lately than usual – that feels the years of being a mom to a little boy went by too fast.

Um Mom … It Wasn’t All Bad

~ Kim Severn ~ 1 Comment

It’s been a long week. Kids were busy, work was busy, and I was short on sleep. The short on sleep part was my own fault as the husband and I stayed up late every night binge watching Hawaii 5-0 on Netflix. As our six year old would say “Not the best choice, right?” while tilting her head to the side as her eyes widen and her mouth curls into a crooked little smile. She shakes her head until I agree with her.

And to make it just a little more challenging to get through the last workday of the week, I was awoken by the shuffle of feet in the wee hours of the morning.

I opened my eyes and waited for them to adjust to the darkness as I searched for our early morning visitor. I could tell by the sound of the footsteps it was our daughter.

“What’s up baby-cakes?” I asked as I pulled myself up onto my elbows. I tapped the mattress next to me as she rounded the corner of the bed, her blanket swung over one shoulder.

“I had a bad dream,” she whispered hoarsely as her voice threatened to crack.

“Oh man, that stinks,” I said as I cuddled her in next to me and instantly felt her tense shoulders begin to relax. “Wanna tell me about it?”

“We were making pancakes for breakfast, and we ate them. And then a dinosaur came, and the pancake griddle caught on fire, and our house burnt down.” She nuzzled her warm cheek into the crook of my neck.

I tried not to laugh at the random nature of the dream, while at the same time feeling oddly proud that my six year old could come up with the word griddle in the middle of the night.

“Whoa, that sounds awful,” I said hoping that acknowledging her fear would help it quickly dissipate and we could get back to sleep.

“Well mom, it wasn’t all bad,” she said as if I was the one that only moments before had been near tears. “The pancakes tasted great!” I heard the smile in her voice.

“Well, I stand corrected,” I said letting out the laugh I’d held back moments before. “I’m glad it wasn’t all bad.” I kissed her head and pulled the comforter up around her shoulders. “Should we try to go to sleep?”

Almost before I finished the question I heard her breathing slow and within a minute she was asleep.

Ever since bringing our kids home from the hospital we’ve tried hard not to let them sleep with us. We didn’t want to start a habit we’d have to break and frankly, I never slept well with my kids in the room. Even now, I can never fully relax, always on alert for a change in their breathing that might signal a problem.

I knew I wouldn’t sleep well if she stayed in the bed next to me, but my eyes had adjusted to the dark and I could see her sweet sleeping face on the pillow next to me. I had the rare opportunity to snuggle her close for a couple of hours without her wriggling away.

So while I knew I would wake up extra tired, and likely a little sore, it wasn’t all bad. I had the opportunity to watch my daughter sleep and to hold her close.

Our kids are growing up so fast, I don’t know how many more chances like that I’ll get.

Oh s#@t! – A Six Year Old’s Attempt at Verbal Shock and Awe

~ Kim Severn ~ 1 Comment

“Oh crap!” our daughter declared as she walked through the front door after school and dropped her backpack next to the dining room table. “I forgot my lunchbox at school. Harrumph!”

“Well hello to you kiddo,” I said looking up and trying not to laugh. It was so hard to keep a straight face; her tone of voice, facial expressions, and body language were just the perfect balance of drama and genuine feeling.

“Oh kah-rapppppp,” she said as her eyes widened before she slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I guess I’m just gonna need to bring my lunch in a paper bag tomorrow. Dammit.”

The dammit came out in a barely audible whisper as she tried to steal a look in my direction. I saw the gears turning in her head as she hoped for a reaction.

“Whoa there sister,” I said raising my voice slightly as our eyes met. “You know better than to talk like that.” I paused to take a breath, barely able to hold back my laughter that suddenly stemmed more from shock than humor. “How about, darn I forgot my lunchbox? or Oh man, I forgot my lunch box.”

Just as I finished providing the alternative language, my husband entered the house.

“You are so lucky young lady that your mother didn’t hear what you just said. If she heard you she would be very upset. That language is NOT appropriate.” He stood directly in front of her, brows knitted together, his hands on his hips.

I looked at my husband in shock and confusion. His reaction seemed like an eight on the 10 point parenting scale. She only said crap and dammit … and I almost laughed … and how in the heck did you hear her, I thought.

“What’s up?” I asked totally bewildered and feeling guilty for finding such humor in the last 30 seconds. “What’d I miss?”

“I dunno,” our daughter said as she shrugged and walked out of the room the model of six year old innocence.

“I was grabbing something from the back of the car as she walked in the house. Didn’t you hear what she said?”

“Um, no,” I said raising my eyebrows at him curious as to what I missed.

“Her hand slipped on the doorknob and when it swung toward her she said “friggin’ door!”

“Ooooh, I seeee….” I let my voice trail off. That was something all together different. Although still a tiny bit funny. I tried hard not to smile, even a little bit.

In truth, if anyone else heard the crap, jerk, dammit, and friggin’ that we’d heard lately I would be embarrassed at the evidence of my obvious mothering failures. Although, admittedly the feelings of failure would be tempered by the knowledge that this was just another example of our daughter testing the boundaries and trying to get a reaction. How do you know the limits if you never bump up against them, right?

We’d been through a similar shock and awe campaign five years ago with our son. He too tested the limits of language, mostly in front of us, but from time to time when friends or family were around. We all survived and at almost 11 he isn’t foul mouthed, well, not that often anyway.

So bring it on Sister. Show me what you got. Test my self control. I’ll correct you, give you alternatives, and wait to laugh until you leave the room.