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A little over a year ago I wrote about our decision to put Dimples’ hair in locs, and it seems we’re due for an update. Locs have literally been a gift to us.  Hours of tears and tantrums disappeared on the day that we loc’ed her hair, and were replaced with once a month touch ups.  Now, I want to be clear, I did not resent the hours spent taking care of either of my black daughters’ hair.  I knew when I adopted African daughters, hair care would become a regular part of my life.  Having been a low-maintenance hair mom from the beginning, I also knew it would be a big change.

It’s a wild and crazy Good Friday at my house.  The girls are out of school and Happy is here to play, so I have a house overflowing with energy.  Last year I wrote about my childhood memories of Good Friday and thought I would share some of that post again.

I remember Good Friday afternoons when I was in elementary school. My parents sent my sister Laura and me to school in the morning, but we came home early to observe the holy day. My Mom wanted us to spend the afternoon quietly thinking of Jesus. I don’t remember too much, except perhaps that I brushed my doll’s hair while Laura drew a picture of three crosses. Later we ate fish for dinner and went to Mass. Most likely I counted the shoes as they went down the aisle to receive communion.

This is how Eby greeted me on Monday after he had played outside. Not only was he covered with mud, he somehow managed to put splatters and smears of mud all over the front porch. I gave him a bucket of warm water and some cleaning rags and put him to work. When he was finally done, he came inside wearing completely soaked clothes. He told me that to keep warm, he stood in the bucket of warm water while he worked. I couldn’t help laughing.

Last Friday Samuel brought the mail up to the house and in the stack we found a few postcards.  Interestingly, they were all addressed to Isaiah.  As I looked more closely, I saw that each one had an encouraging message about his hard work with The Water Fight.  Some also mentioned his World Water Day video.

The mysterious thing is that each one was signed with only a first name and “Postcard Underground.”

Last week’s Tuesday Topic on privileges for teens was great and I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts today.  This week’s question is,

I have a child who suffered profound neglect in her early childhood.  Now she is a preteen and her hygiene skills are abysmal.

Dimples asks questions – lots and lots of questions.  I can see dozens of you right now nodding your heads and saying, “Yep, I know just what that is like.”  From the time she gets in the car after school, until we sit down for dinner 2 1/2 hours later, the questions are constant and range from the necessary to the ridiculous.  I find myself answering, answering, and answering again; eventually I find myself saying, “Dimples, you know that is nonsense and I’m not going to answer it.”  Hmmm…that’s not a particularly smart strategy.

I love this article. Rescued is written by a woman who was a child from “hard places” and eventually adopted as an older child.  Her story begins like this,

When I was just a little girl, like a wee little thing, I had a different mom and dad. And they were kind to me, but they had hurts and they had addictions and they didn’t know how to take care of themselves, much less a wee girl and her little brother.

There is sorrow, and then there is hope.  God places the lonely in families; sometimes we have the privilege of being part of that story.

I hope you’ll read it.  Thank you, Emily, for sharing it with me.

Lisa

Just when I least expected it, we got an email from Little Man’s first mother.  As I was writing about my own sadness yesterday, and thinking of my friends who share this sorrow, and I was also thinking of Little Man’s first mother.  We hadn’t heard from her in a long time and I was worried.  Was she even alive?  I prayed that we would hear from her, but I’ll be perfectly honest and admit that I didn’t think it would happen any day soon.

Yesterday the sadness crept up on me and I had a heaviness in my chest.  It’s a familiar sorrow, one that I prefer to keep buried beneath the surface, but some days that just isn’t possible. I read an article, Adopted or Abducted,  about the coercion of mothers during the 1940′s through 1980′s, to place their children for adoption.  It brought back memories, ones I try not to recall very often; it also brought back my friends’ stories.

One, in particular, keeps interrupting my thoughts.

I’m enjoying getting back into the routine of Tuesday Topics; I hope you are too.  This week’s question comes from Jen who asked,