Over the last three years I have occasionally reflected on what I saw in Ivy’s intelectual development journey. Follow the #school tag. I am well attuned to her personality and needs. And I don’t overestimate nor do I underestimate her. I look the truth in the eyes. I don’t avert my gaze. I search in earnest and I pursue balance.
I take responsibility for my contribution, and my pursuit of her gaining independence from me, and I muster up the courage to act, even when it’s difficult or there are definitely easier ways of inaction, of letting the chips fall where they may.
In my youth I have been accused of “jumping the gun” and taking action before thinking through the side effects – mostly burdening my self not others. But three years is not haste. It’s a very slow decision making process. We compensated and we were grateful for the lessons learned in the difficult season of confusion and lack of structure at school.
I know I can be persuasive in an intelectual way. I never go at it the emotional route. Because I can’t backtrack from that. So I presented the facts, with clarity, as they pertained to us.
On the last day of vacation I got conformation that ivy’s transfer was approved. I prayed and mustered the invisible ounce of faith that this is possible. If I had no faith I wouldn’t have attempted the transfer, I guess. But I put myself in the administrator’s shoes. How would they justify our transfer approval, if the word around the school is that they don’t transfer kids left and right, unless for very good reasons.
I did not mention in my letter of request that Ivy ia adopted. But when I saw the director, at the end of our conversation I did mention that both my daughters attending the school are adopted. I wonder how his perception of me changed.
I am an advocate for my kids. Adoptive parents have a fierceness about them, not motivated by genetic allegiance or selfish self-importance, but there is a sense of objectivity in how we tackle life and how we embrace challenges.
The fact that Ivy is adopted has nothing to do with the chaos she experienced in her former class. The lack of structure exacerbated her lack of focus, yes, but Ivy is smart and driven and hardworking. She overame a lot, and her learned skills and trained strength are an asset.
We, as a society, still have a lot to understand, and not make assumptions about adoption. I can’t help but laugh at this double edge sword. It is possible that we got a pass, an excuse for the transfer, simply because Ivy is adopted, and they could justify our transfer approval to other parents if they asked. Even if we transferred her on a basis that most parents in that class could invoke.
After two weeks of observing Ivy in her new class, clear in understanding what she learned at school and doing her homework independently, finishing with a clear sense of accomplishment and showing it to me after, I know she is better off. She can recall what she learned, and tell me about science, and literature and math over lunch with clarity and ease. I can’t stress this enough: children need structure as much as nurture, especially at school: knowing what is expected from them, understanding new concepts, practicing them out loud in class, letting the mind relax to listen well and not being on high alert from the unpredictability of each day.
I gave my book to her new teacher as well. I have only a few copies left. She wrote me a note on this lovely Saturday morning, while I was hiking in the woods near my house.
My biggest take away is her capacity to see Ivy as an individual. And her very friendly note confirmed something I noticed when people read my book. They instantly acquire a sense of familiarity with me – like we are close friends because of my easy vulnerability.
I have just finished reading the book I received. I started reading it on the very first day, continued with a few pages over the following days, and decided that today would be the day I finished it. To manage this, I did something I hadn’t done in many years: although I woke up early, I stayed in bed until now, without going downstairs to handle the children’s breakfast or household chores. After a while, my husband brought me a coffee (around 10:00 AM), hinting that I was relaxing while he was busy preparing intensely for tomorrow’s sermon. The children, surprised by my “laziness,” went and prepared their own breakfast and got on with their day (seemingly happy to do whatever they pleased without me watching over them).
I read the book with great interest. I wanted to know the story behind it. I had heard that Evelyn was adopted before she joined my class. I was somewhat eager to see what the little girl was like. In a way, I was annoyed that I had learned she was adopted; I felt it would have been better for me not to know. I was struck to see that both she and her sister (whom I had noticed back in primary school because of her hairstyle) resemble you. Moreover, I was pleased to observe that in her attitude, knowledge, and speech, Evelyn is a completely normal little girl. I can honestly say I would never have realized she wasn’t your biological daughter. I am glad I had the opportunity to read the thoughts and feelings you have shared in writing. Reading this was good for me, and I appreciate the sincerity and honesty with which you wrote. The reality of exhausted—sometimes spent—parents and of total dependence on the Divine is not often shared by parents. We like to say only what sounds good or highlight our successes, and we find it harder to be vulnerable by expressing our fears, failures, and limitations. This aspect resonated with me the most. I am a limited and imperfect mother, and I often feel as though my children’s success depends on me. I have three teenage children who have completely turned our world upside down. We feel exhausted. We don’t realize where things got out of hand… but I have come to realize—especially while reading the book *Becoming a Mother*—that control does not belong to us. He, the Lord, is the One who controls and arranges everything with a purpose. All that remains for us is to place all our worries in His hands and remain faithful to Him in every season of life. I deeply appreciate parents who take on the responsibility of raising and caring for children in need of a family. I believe the greatest legacy you can give your daughters is the Holy Word and an environment where they can come to know God and begin a relationship with Him. May His blessings be poured out abundantly upon your home and family, and may the girls come to inspire others just as you have inspired—and continue to inspire—people.