17 times

16 times our hearts ripped wide open.

With I love you’s and I’ll see you soon’s all spoken.

But never again will we be so broken.

For 16 was enough.

And now all we have is love.

16 times I left you both so broken.

Promises I’d return to you were spoken.

You didn’t close yourselves off.

You’re open.

Receiving all my love.

16 times our fears were strengthened.

Every time I left the ground was shaken.

The winds that carried me home were whipping.

Scars on my heart kept the deep hurt aching.

I wanted you in my arms.

But 16 times our hopes were dampened.

16 times our bonds were not broken.

16 times left us waiting for one day.

But we did not know when.

How many days we longed for it?

How many nights did we hope for it?

How many tears did we shed for it?

For the day we would be done.

But 17 times we have laughed together.

17 times we have grown by measure.

And 17 times we’ve prepared for forever.

For all the good and the bad.

All of the sorrows, sadness and heartbreak,

How much more will our tattered souls ache?

My tortured mind just simply now cannot take,

Another bomb or loss.

But after waiting so long,

Our bonds they remain so strong.

And all of this waiting is now done.

For our day has finally come.

Now come, let’s enter our life.

You can step from pain and from strife.

You can keep your past safe in your pocket.

You can keep it with you in a locket.

You can leave it behind if you wish.

Your life is your very own gift.

You can have now all that you need.

Lets take this step and you’ll see.

There is so much that you will now be.

The choice is your own.

Let’s leave and we’ll blow it a kiss.

There is so much that you will miss.

But I love you,

I promise you this.

And together we will be.

Bravely now come take my hand.

I’ll take you to a new land.

We have journeys ahead to wander.

There are times that we will ponder.

But together we will conquer,

All that life has for us.

16 times we’ve hoped we’d make it.

16 times we’ve had to take it.

And 16 times we’ve wiped our tears.

But thank you 17, you wipe all our fears.

Down to the day it has been four years.

But we are now done.

For you are mine and I am yours.

Today we will see a brand new shore.

And our faith will now fully restore.

For our day has finally come.

And your new life we have won.

Seeking Approval - AGAIN

Never in my life have I been so desperate to seek approval.

We have been sitting pretty in IBESR for exactly ten months as of today. By comparison, the boys had entered, gained approval, sat for presidential dispensation, received dispensation, received the director’s signature, and exited IBESR in eight months. So to say that I’m antsy and ready for some news on V would be a colossal understatement.

I’m itching for movement on her and have been for over a year. We started the process to adopt her in July of 2012 and yet here we are so very far long after that trying to find the patience to continue to wage through this process to be granted the opportunity to adopt her.

While I’m basking in the blissful success of finding out yesterday that our boys have received USCIS approval for their visas, I’m feeling the added stress of knowing that I’ll be leaving Haiti soon – and possibly with no more information on V’s adoption than when I arrived here in July of 2013. Yes, that’s right – a full year after starting the process to adopt her. At least until November 2013 I was allowed to see her, but that ceased when the new adoption law here in Haiti was printed in the legal magazine/paper, Le Moniteur just prior to Thanksgiving. I haven’t seen her since that day. While the passing of this new law should have been a good thing, it has marked a time frame that reflects a gaping wide loop-hole in the implementation of expected positive change that families like ours are drowning in.

My recent facebook post is a small indication that after four years of adopting from Haiti, I’m really losing my cool:

“i get lots of messages about v. and i have not had much that i can share. the past 8 weeks have been horrible. i miss her dearly. for that matter all of 2013 completely sucked and i've cried more this year than any year of my life. and being 18 months out from starting her adoption and being nowhere closer to bringing her home hurts very deeply.

i've come to find out that members of for his glory (fhg), the group that sponsors our orphanage, maison des enfants de dieu, recently traveled to our orphanage. accompanying an adoptive mom who is the president of the board of fhg, was another adoptive mom. though i fully support visits to our orphanage as i feel that all parents should be able to see their children as often as possible; it hurts to know that a family who is in ibesr (like we are), who is under the new law (like we are), who is not currently referred their child (like we are), was allowed at the orphanage to see their child (we are not). we were told 8 weeks ago by the director, pierre alexis, that under the new adoption law passed here in haiti, that it is ILLEGAL for me to be at the orphanage. it is ILLEGAL for me to see my daughter. until the office of ibesr re-matches our files, we are not allowed to see v.

so why is this family allowed to see their daughter? because of friendship and privilege. friendship that i no longer have with those who sponsor the orphanage because i spoke the truth about what has happened to us. and privilege that i don't have because i'm not a radio personality. i'm not a deep pocket donor. i'm just a MOM.

so my update on v is that i have no idea when i will see her again. and apparently there is no real reason why. we can't get any word on her process. all i know is that she is still sleeping in the baby room, which means that she is still kept in a cage-like crib with a side that is tied closed when she is not being supervised. she is not learning how to play or talk with children her age as she should be. and she is NO CLOSER TO COMING HOME.

i am two miles away from where she is tonight, and the only thing i can do with the information that i've come to find out that is killing me from the inside out is to share the truth. i have contacted my agency. i have requested that they reply with a date for when i can see my daughter. this is unacceptable.

i can not and will not hide what is happening to our family. we have been continually lied to, ignored, used, and mistreated in this process. my boys have been in this country far longer than they should be. i never should have had to move to haiti to process my own adoptions. and my daughter should be coming home not sitting tied into a cage. i want my daughter.

pierre alexis should be ashamed of himself. screen shot this. re-read it. shake your head. say what you will if you want to talk about me behind my back. i will blog about it too. call the for his glory lawyer. i'll refer him to our lawyer. they already know each other.  tell who ever you would like. this is not right. anyone who thinks that it is should be ashamed of themselves. anyone who thinks that my speaking out is damaging, is living in the same fear that kept me quiet for so long. no more. i will no longer allow fear to guide my actions. my daughter deserves better than this.

i shouldn't have to blow kisses at a gate while others are allowed passage through to see and love their children.

veronika, i love you more than words can say, and i will fight for you with every nano-ounce of my being. i won't give up on us.”

The last real update we received on V was that her file was re-submitted to IBER on November 29^th. Apparently her file, when submitted on October 21^st, was rejected, thus, the need for a re-format.  Additionally, though we have been told by several people who are aware of the new process IBESR is following under the new law that we should be receiving a file number for our daughter’s submitted file, we have been repeatedly told by our orphanage director, Pierre, that he did not receive a file number. After ten months of our parent file sitting in IBESR awaiting approval, we also have no word from our orphanage or either of the lawyers appointed to our case by our agency or our orphanage. It has been a long ten months.

To put our case into perspective, children who were processed efficiently by our orphanage, as our daughter should have been, now have passports and are very close to coming home to their families and we are still awaiting approval for the permission and the re-match of her file to ours so that we can begin the process to adopt her. And another week has rolled into another month has rolled into another calendar year since we fell in love with her and we still know nothing. And she continues to sit in her cage.

I came across an example online of a family who posted that they were matched with their child in September 2012, exited IBESR in June 2013 and brought their child home – HOME January 21, 2014. This is how it should have been for all of the children caught in the gaping loop-hole. They shouldn’t be sitting in cages waiting for someone to make a decision. They shouldn’t have to spend their lives while someone uses them as a paycheck.

I am asked periodically what I think of the two agencies and the orphanage that we work with, and I am always very honest.

“i will give props to CCAI if anyone is looking to use them. our adoption counselor with ccai is my sanity. we use two agencies and are adopting three children from the same orphanage. we started the process four years ago with children of all nations. our boys are with can. i have been living in haiti for the past six months and have had no help finishing the process to adopt my two boys who i've had in my custody since i got here. i have had to correct documents and have learned that i had falsified documents. my boys are the longest current outstanding referral at our orphanage. and due to a lack of proper facilitation, my daughter's adoption (through ccai) has been stalled for the past 18 months. as of right now, i'm not even allowed to see my daughter because i'm a pre-matched family being processed under the new law. i feel that there is a huge problem with transparency, honesty, and a total lack of professionalism at our orphanage. the kids need better resources, and the parents are not utilized as resources, but merely as mules to bring donations. the standard time frame at our orphanage is also absurdly long. and i am one of many very unhappy parents. there are several happy parents, some of whom are in this forum who are on the board of a group that supports our orphanage. so they have a happier story than i do. but they never would have been given falsified docs.”

Apparently my being vocal has struck some nerves and I’ve been warned several times that I may not be safe living in Haiti. I will not be silenced. My daughter sits in a cage. If I could place a cone of shame on the necks of the lawyers and the orphanage director, I would. Enough is enough.

While half of me is parading and dancing in the delight that my boys can FINALLY COME HOME, the other half of me is still in a festering pit of despair that I have no more information on how or even if I will be able to take my daughter home.  But the gloves are off and bombs are away, and I’m going to do everything I can with sails full of hurricane force winds and tides raging and pushing my little ship toward the adoption success shore. I will fight this good fight. She deserves us and we deserve her and I will not stop until she is running around my kitchen with footed pajamas and afro puffs; with that beautiful smile and those huge eyes looking at me contented – and HOME.

The boys and I will leave Haiti on February 13, 2014. It will be seven months and one day since I arrived in Haiti to bring them home. It will be the 17^th flight home to Pittsburgh since starting this process. And it will be the final one without them. We have been in this process for four years.  Officially as of Valentine’s Day 2014 when we will mark the day we submitted our home study to USCIS for permission to adopt from Haiti a mere month after the earthquake of 2010 and they will be home with us. But we will be far from done.

The fat lady will sing while V rings her little bell all the way home – one day.

Happy Dance!!!

Happy DANCE!!!

The boys received visa approval on Friday, January 31^st!!!! I woke up at exactly 7:26 am and laid in bed trying to plan the conversation I would have when I called the embassy. I was terrified. We hadn’t received a rejection notice of any sort, but there was still room for error. And when I got up a few minutes later, filled with a bit more nerve, and driven by conviction, I heard the familiar “ding!” that I’ve been addicted to for the past four years. DING! Hmmm…..I thought perhaps I should check my email (really I was just using this as an acceptable stall tactic to delay the phone call a few more minutes and let my nauseated stomach settle a little more), and yet when I opened my email there it was.

USCIS APPROVAL

The words I scrolled through became increasingly blurry and the tears that flooded down my cheeks hit my chest and my hand and the phone. We received approval! The boys were coming home!!!

I felt my knees start to give. And yet I didn’t want to sit on the stairs. I’ve spent too much time crying on those stairs. I’ve also had a cockroach run up my skirt while sitting on those stairs. And yet I couldn’t go downstairs and sit because I would lose the wifi signal. So I leaned on the dirty plaster covered concrete wall and tried to gain some semblance of composure. And then I called J. I kept trying to say that we were approved, but I was crying so hard I could barely get the words out of my mouth, “APPROVED!” I tried to yell but not so loudly that I would wake the boys up. I knew they would be happy, but I also wanted them to have their rest. We were all up pretty late the night prior unpacking and discovering the few new gems I brought back with them from my week at home in the states for my remicade infusion. “APPROVED?!!!!!” He said, “Just send me an email! I can’t understand you!” And so I sent it. And then I cried some more. We are going home. The boys are FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY GOING HOME!!!!

I noticed the time stamp on the email when I sent it to J. It read 7:26. ;-)

I spent the day filling out documentation and fielding emails from the embassy. We initially received a visa date of Feb. 18^th, but they very generously received my request and honored an earlier appointment. The boys are now scheduled for a visa appointment for Friday, February 7^th! We are in “go time” speed now. Everything is like a time warp. I have scheduled for rides for doctor’s appointments, and I have been feverishly planning, packing, and purging. It is time to go home!!!

This next week will be a furious bur of activity; but we are so very ready to go home! I cannot wait for the day we leave. We are expected to come home on February 13^th. We will likely be arriving at 11 pm in Pittsburgh. I have landed in Pittsburgh 16 times without the boys; and now I will finally leave on a plane with them and watch as they experience a whole new world and a whole new beginning to their whole new lives. So many times I’ve left Haiti and thought about how the outside world will hit them. How they will take it all in. How they will feel. What they will smell. What they will hear. What they will see. And it is finally going to happen.

WE ARE GOING HOME!!!!

Camping Indoors

With the questionable water, the tricky outlets (if they work at all), constantly needing to use extension chords, and the perpetual infiltration of some sort of insect, the regular loss of electricity and wifi, and every transportation need essentially requiring the mad negotiation and coordination skills of running a small country; it is no wonder that I’m a little over my experience here in Haiti.

This country has so much beauty to offer. And yet, we are on an extended camping trip indoors just a short jog away from the capital…the heart of all things broken here.

Daily life is a balance.  We have our basic necessities covered. We are sheltered, we are fed, and we are safe. But I long for the real comforts of my real home. I don’t have to shower with my shoes on at home. I can open my mouth in the hot hot hot shower. Oh how I miss hot water. All of our showers are cold. Not cool. Cold. And I’m terrified of the shower curtain (I actually have one), as well as the rug on the floor. No one could pay me to touch that rug. And the towels…the towels are an abrasive former towel-like object that more resemble and feel like a cloth version of sandpaper. At least I’m getting my exfoliation done.

I don’t have to worry that a variety of unidentifiable insect will consume my food or explore my toothpaste at home.  I keep our home away from home tidy, but the difference between this home and the one I long to return to, is that despite the size of our tiny dwelling, the maintenance of our little place in Haiti is much more laborious and frustrating. Everything is constantly dusty and gross here. Random things become sticky…even when there’s no explanation for how or why they became so. Sometimes I’m glad I don’t know how or why something happens here. Naïveté is bliss. There is so much debris from burned trash in the air all the time that it settles and even indoors we find a thick layer of dust on everything daily. 

I feel like we eat Haiti MRE’s. Our food is regimented. I have absolutely eaten my life’s allotment of rice, spaghetti, mac n cheese, pizza, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Eating here is like being on a ferris wheel of carbo hydrates. The carb rotation, as I know it to be, can be so frustrating at times. I love food. I love variety. And I’m ready for a nice platter of change. I miss things like salad, and veggies. Just basic veggies. If I could pour salad dressing on a farm right now and chow down I would be in a new form of Heaven!! It would be bliss. I miss bruschetta so much that I have actually dreamed that I was able to order it on Amazon and have it shipped. Clearly my dreamscapes have my priorities squarely in check!

And cheese. Glorious cheese. Someone I know who lives here in Haiti has always requested cheese. And I never quite understood why. And then a friend arrived and brought me a hunk of Wisconsin cheddar cheese and my love affair with cheese was instantly rekindled. Omg I’ve never loved cheese so much!!! I became an inflammation balloon ready to scream out in agony because I practically ate half a block of cheese on two pieces of amazing toast with salted butter four days in a row; but it was totally worth it. I am not prepared to blame the spasms on the cheese, but will rather happily blame the disease I have likely caused by the Mexican antibiotics that cured everything that ailed me as a kid, and will gladly devour cheese again if it is given to me. That cheese unexpectedly temporarily soothed my emotional ailments. I felt happiness as deeply as my soul and I ate enough cheese to fill me from “tet” (head) hair follicles to toes. THANK YOU for the cheese.

Obtaining food is a process. For instance, a ride to the grocery store will cost me at least $30. I have a selection of stores, though. I can go to Delmas 2000, which has been designed to be a “one stop” shop location and contains a “TJ Maxx” like store, a store I’ve come to referring to as “China Town”, another we call “Sears”, and the grocery store. Delmas 2000 is also conveniently located across the street from a restaurant that we really like called Kokoye. Nanda, the owner, and her husband have done a really good job with Kokoye. The food is great and the prices are decent, which is really hard to come by here. Being inside Kokoye is like entering a portal to another city. There is air conditioning. It’s clean. And it helps push the reset button that we need pressed periodically.  We can get groceries, lunch and dinner to go all in one errand. Typically, I do this about once a week or so, as we try to minimize our outings for safety reasons. There are a couple of other stores we shop at as well, Star 2000 and Delimart both have a decent selection of items. So it really depends on what I need, but I can typically find anything I’m looking for (within reason).  Except veggies that I am craving, and the ingredients to make the bruschetta my soul needs.

There is a fast food chain here that has been compared to McDonald’s. While I’m not hip on McD’s with the exception of their french fries, I have to say that Epi’Dor doesn’t hit that spot for me. The kids LOVE it. And what I’ve come to find comfort in, is that their favorite meal at Epi’Dor is this incredible chicken that knocks their socks off. They talked about it for well over a year before we had the opportunity to go there, and when we finally did I was hoping that I could recognize flavoring or seasonings used so that I could make at least a measly attempt at recreating their favorite dish. To my delight, their delicacy is none other than rotisserie chicken. That’s right. Good old, plain and simple, rod and twist rotisserie chicken. AWESOME. There is another fast food place Muncheez, I’ve heard a lot about around here, but I’ve never been. We have been invited to lunch with another ex-pat family and I can’t help but laugh when I think that a restaurant here may have been named by some high college student. You just can’t make this stuff up.

When we are not eating out (which is 95% of the time), I make a lot of one pot meals. We only have one working outlet in our kitchen, and our refrigerator is plugged into one of the sockets. So that only leaves one socket available for us to cook. I have an electric griddle/casserole dish that I can make just about anything in. I can bake, fry, boil, and grill in it. So I have to get creative sometimes and try to do as little prep as possible to create a whole meal in one pot. Like I said, indoor camping. Without the ash cakes. Periodically, a large lizard will perch itself on the lid of my griddle. I have told the boys that he/she wants to help cook and that we should fashion a chef hat for it and call it Ratatoulle. Mainly because I haven’t come up with a clever lizardesque chef name. I’m all ears if anyone has a name for my cooking compadre!

With all this carb eating, I was initially very happy to maintain the size 6 I arrived in Haiti at. Hot sweaty yoga without the yoga was working so well!  I called it the croissant diet. And I’ve enjoyed the salted butter and bread diet so much that I’m no longer feeling like a size 6. Crap. I don’t sweat as much now that I’ve acclimated to the heat, and I fear that I’m getting fat again. This sucks. I’ve definitely lost muscle definition and feel like I’m getting jiggly again. I’m dreading the scale at home. But I know that I did the hard work and ate the right foods to get back into shape. And I’ll do it again. I just really want to do it again NOW.

There are things that I will miss when we go home. I have learned that I love kenips (little round fruit that grows on trees in bushels here), and Haitian almonds. I also love Haitian Coke because it’s made with sugar cane syrup, and it’s fantastic. The upside down label also makes me chuckle. Haitian potato chips are also seriously fantastic. They’re basically a kettle chip. Although the boys continually argue that they are not made of potato. Neither are Pringles. Because potatoes are gross. Ok what ever, boys. We eat a lot of Bongu cheese too. Bongu is like Laughing Cow, only it is made in Egypt of sugar cane milk and shipped to Haiti for packaging. It has the same consistency and is used the same way laughing cow would be; but apparently Laughing Cow will not be an acceptable replacement for Bongu. So shoot me now.  We eat American apples. And they are about $1 a piece. But it’s worth it. There are a lot of food and beverage options that are shipped into the country. I sprang for a carrot juice for the boys at Epi’Dor one day, and to our dismay, when Parker opened his juice, a tiny cockroach was taking a swim. PITCHED that one! I won’t miss cockroaches.  I won’t miss tarantulas. I won’t miss ants. I won’t miss gunshots. I won’t miss the mosquitos. There’s so much I won’t miss.  Enough of this indoor camping without the hiking trail. I’m ready for some cold weather (I can not believe that I really am), a fruit and veggie diet, and my elliptical machine. It’s time to blow this salted butter and Haitian Coke POP STAND and go home!!!

It's obvious that I miss food. And it really is such a huge part of daily living here. Trying to figure out what to eat. Water is another huge issue. We can't consume what flows from the tap. And we use about 5 gal of water daily. I can either pay for water, or we can haul it from a Culligan container at the reception desk of the hotel every day. So that's what we do. I have a reinforced bag and we use recycled milk bottles fulfill our daily water needs. We wash dishes and cook all of our food with bottled water. I have a container in the refrigerator that we keep filtered water in to drink and for making juice. I can't even explain how nice it will be to return home to brush our teeth, wash our hands, wash our dishes, cook our food, and shower in clean water without the risk of illness. In addition to "Haitian Happiness", which is a well known and greatly dreaded GI response to filthy water consumption here, I am also highly prone to staph infections here. And in an awesome way, I typically get them on my face. I currently have one and am using a topical antibiotic to treat it. I think I've had four in the past six months. But this one is by far the worst, and I will likely have to get on an oral antibiotic for it as it has spread really badly in the last three days. Unfortunately, I don't have very many choices here. And I have to bathe. So I run the risk of it continuing to spread. SELAVI as they say. DEGAJE. All meaning, "It is what it is."

In addition to the culinary cutie I have visit my kitchen fairly regularly, I've also recently been seeing more tarantulas. This is not what I signed up for. And it seriously makes me want to set the whole apartment on fire and run home screaming. But I have to "big girl it up" a bit and seek the pests and find them. If I can't remove them without the risk of being bitten, then they must die. Unfortunately, today I found one in my closet, and it got away from me. So now every hair on my body is on end. And I'm not sure that I'll be able to muster up a mind over matter trick for myself to sleep well tonight. It's already bad enough that every time I feel like a small piece of hair is touching my forehead, I realize that it is an ant. I'm so over the ants. They infiltrate my whole apartment. They're truly awful. I have at least four kinds of ants, too. Red ones. And they bite! Flying ones. And they bite too! And huge black ones that lead the way for the smaller black ones. Several times we have left our apartment and come back to find hundreds of them in a group on our floor. It's as if they know we've returned, so they all retreat to the walls. It's crazy. We also have termites. They leave a visible tunnel of sawdust on the wall. So we always know where they are. They are white with a brown stained pincher on the tip of their heads. And they bite too! I've had to keep everything in bags because they will eat through cardboard. Then there are several kinds of kitchen bug that have invaded my sealed pastas and rices. I had to pitch my whole container of powdered butter because what ever Haitian "weebles" are, they LOVE powdered butter. 

We lose power several times a day. It's the norm. We wait a few minutes, and without fail the generators kick on and we again have our needs met. The only time this is truly awful is when you're in the shower. So you hope that you've got soap in your hand or something useful as you'll be standing in the pitch dark in a cold shower, unable to see a single thing. So you might as well give something a little extra scrub for a few minutes and hope that something isn't hiding behind the dreaded shower curtain waiting to attack you in the dark. I've spent a few nights standing in the shower stall praying that my own personal arachnophobia hell doesn't come true. Then I'd definitely wind up touching the shower curtain because I'd have to jump out of the shower, possibly Kung Fu style. And then I'd definitely step on the rug. I'd probably blow out my flip flop. I'd open my mouth to scream, which means the horrible Haitian water would definitely get in my mouth. And then as I'm lying in bed with a horrid case of Haitian Happiness, I'd be terrified that the vengeance of the brothers and sisters, and mothers, and fathers, and cousins, and children, and God-Father's of the tarantula that I killed in my kitchen will be exacted on me in my weakest moment. And there's no clicking your heels three times, and saying, "There's no place like home!" to get me out of that one. Yeah...that's a true fear of mine. It could happen. Just like that. But then the lights usually come back on, and I take a survey of everything and find that it's still just me standing in the cold shower doing a little rub a dub dub, and my evening continues normally.

Normally. DAMN. None of this should be normal. It's time to go home. I think I’ve had enough indoor camping to last a lifetime. Yep! DEFINITELY TIME TO GO HOME!

words for my children

we are under the same moon

and under the same bright stars

when you wake in the morn

and when you lay down at night

know this in your little hearts

that one day all will be right

we didn’t start life together

but our paths have crossed for good

my arms will give you shelter

And my heart will give you food

you have grown a bit for now

but you’ll grow in love still more

i’ll cross oceans to come see you

and together we’ll stand on the shore

there are days and tears and promises

that will be kept to make you whole

please offer me your forgiveness

together we’ll be forever more

no our road it is not easy

there are hills and mountains high

but the breeze will blow so sweetly

as together we will climb

always know that i love you

i will never leave you behind

and when i tell you goodbye

know i’m coming back in time

your face is burned in my mind

even when i try to sleep

i toss in my evenings

for i wonder when you weep

there’s an aching in my soul

without you in my arms

how i long for our days

when i can start to fix the harms

you are my sweet little boys

and my darling little girls

our time is just beginning

but the beauty will unfurl

THIS IS HOW IT SHOULD BE

2014. Morning one of the new year. I had just kissed the boys goodnight after welcoming them to the year they would finally go home, and we were waking already. As tired as I was, after a few blinks and a radical adjustment to the light of Haiti pouring into the windows, I woke up to the sound of children laughing. Playing. Singing. This is the sound of Hope House.

I recently saw an idea that I’m implementing for this year. I am planning to write one thing each day that I am thankful for. And today I am thankful that I started the year in the company of beautiful people who have given themselves to Haiti and her people. And because of this family, I woke to the beautiful sound of happy children. They are happy. They are loved. They are living. Not just existing. They are living and thriving because they are being cared for properly and responsibly.  They live in a home. They play with toys. They receive love and continual interaction. They play house, and they play kitchen, and they count, and they run, and they swing. They even stage their own big wheel Indy 500 around the play yard. THIS IS HOW IT SHOULD BE.

Every orphanage is a temporary solution for a horrific injustice a child is caught in the middle of. It’s not their choice. Their reality is the that of cause and effect. Their time spent in this limbo should be designed to not only meet their needs, but to keep them happy and allow them to thrive spiritually, mentally, healthily, socially and lovingly.

I’ve only begun to scratch the surface here in Haiti. But from what I’ve seen thus far, I have been horrified by the living conditions of most of the children I’ve met. I wouldn’t keep an animal in the room my boys lived in. I might store a rake or a shovel. A lawn mower and a can of gasoline would be fine too. But never children. From what I’ve seen, due to the vast need for care, orphanages take in many more children than they can support responsibly. And the burden on the system drives the demand for more donations, and more funding that is simply not always available. The demand also weakens the already struggling infrastructure and rapidly diminishes the delivery of accurate and responsibly timed adoption processing.

Due to the inherent struggles of catering to the needs of over one hundred children, our kids experienced little more than their basic needs being met. In the many days that I’ve spent at our orphanage, I rarely saw games being played, artwork being done, songs being sung by the children, outdoor play including toys or equipment other than a sparsely used playground apparatus. I rarely saw toys at all. Even soft and plush toys, or sensory toys for the children who aren’t mobile.  It was explained to me that the 180 dolls I made and brought to Haiti on our first trip were “loved to death” within a month to two of bringing them. It was later further explained to me that the children ripped them apart, threw them on the roof, and well…destroyed them. Why? They were so pleased with the gifts; and I felt so fulfilled knowing that they could all choose from the large bags when we offered them two a piece.  As I made my way around the orphanage I was startled by the conditions my sweet little boy called home. And in those moments I was so happy that I was bringing joy. I was giving them a possession. They had no personal items, other than possibly their toothbrushes. But these dolls were theirs. They got to choose them and keep them. That was the plan anyway. They had something of their own. To play with. To love. To hold. To hug. To cry into. To laugh with. Theirs. Why did they destroy them? Because the nannies were outnumbered at least 6 to 1. There was no one to stop the madness of their fighting and jealousies over who had which doll. There was nowhere to keep the treasures that I had given them. And like much of the other donations brought to our orphanage, they were eventually destroyed, thrown away, hidden, or possibly given to other people.

In addition to dolls I brought, I’ve delivered ride on toys, Little Tikes building sets, Barbies, Legos, foam blocks, musical instruments, sensory toys, laptops and learning programs, shoes and clothing, food, baby baths, portable cribs, bouncy seats, Bumbo seats, blankets, school supplies, art supplies, medical supplies, toiletries, formula, diapers, wipes, medications, storage containers, utensils and cups, and gifts for children from their parents. And though I’ve seen some of the items that I’ve brought used, the vast majority disappeared. I have found that our financial donations seem to evaporate as well. To be fair – the laptops are being used by the director of the orphanages family. Just to clear up where those disappeared to. Instead of being used by the kids in the school as planned…well, they’re being used by kids. His kids. His daughters wear my daughter’s hand me down’s. The clothing that doesn’t require zipping, buttoning, clasping, or tying. The perfect orphanage clothing that will require little mending to be comfortable. But I guess those donations were considered too nice to be worn by the children who run and play among the cement and dirt and rocks. Those clothes were saved for the children who live in a home.  With their loving parents. Kids who go to school. Who play with toys. Who must have needed this clothing much more than the children at our orphanage who wear clothing that is torn and falls off of them. Surely there is an explanation for everything, right?

I am tired of the waste. Our children’s lives. Our time. Our money. Our efforts. Our donations. Our patience. I’m tired of wasting it all. I have seen so much waste. The time wasted alone is catastrophic and overwhelming to think about. I have seen wasted efforts. I have seen the clothing and shoes I brought for my son on the staff. I have been asked to buy new shoes for my children knowing that the last pairs of new shoes I brought were never used for my children. I've been told that the $300 we pay per month for our children is not enough. I've been told that what we have brought is not enough. I have been told that the items I have donated that I’ve witnessed elsewhere were bound to be destroyed by the children at our orphanage so they were taken elsewhere to be used by others. But that I needed to bring more.

I can’t count how many times I’ve heard people quote the bible and refer to orphans in Haiti as “the least of these”.  My children and their friends are the least of nothing. They are humans. They deserve love and compassion. They deserve a proper and ethical and responsible and legal process. They have a family. And they deserve to come home. And while they’re STUCK, they deserve to be treated like humans. How do we expect children to behave like appropriate and honorable and trusting and loving humans when they are treated like animals or worse? They deserve better. They shouldn’t be corralled and treated like a meal ticket with a number. They shouldn't be caged by being tied into a crib to limit their play time because there aren't enough people to watch over them. They shouldn't be tied down when they're sick because the staff is so limited that they can't keep an eye on a child hooked up to an I.V. I hope that my daughter doesn't remember being tied down, because sadly, she is so use to it that I have gotten photos of her smiling while all four of her limbs are tied to the sides of a crib. Smiling. Because this is normal and she is coping.

What I know now is that my instincts were dead on from day one. IT SHOULD NOT BE DONE THIS WAY. IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS. IT SHOULD NEVER BE LIKE THIS. OUR CHILDREN DESERVE BETTER.

I’ve seen HOW IT SHOULD BE DONE. It’s obtainable, reasonable, and possible to properly, ethically, responsibly, and lovingly run an orphanage where children live happily, without abuse, with comfort, with toys, with education, with love, with faith, with promise, and with hope.

It’s called HOPE HOUSE. Hope House is the orphanage for The Haiti Foundation Against Poverty. That may be a recognizable name, because they’ve earned their reputation for doing an amazing job with several different programs here in Haiti. They have a school as well as a clinic, to name a few of their projects. And their orphanage is considered a pillar and example of how things should be done here in Haiti. It is small and very new, but in the year since they opened their doors to adoptions, they have sent 1/3 of the children they love – HOME. Of the children who entered IBESR (Haitian social services) last year when V should have been submitted, every single one of them went home in November 2012. Children submitted in that time frame from our orphanage are still in Haiti waiting for documents that should have been obtained months ago. The Hope House children are with their loving families. They have been delivered from their home here in Haiti to their forever families in the states. Even with this being their first crack at adoptions; still getting their feet wet in the process, and still establishing their street cred here in Haiti, they have accomplished getting more children home in their first year than our orphanage sent home in the span of January 2010 and November of 2012. That’s quite an accomplishment. How? How have they been able to do this? Because they do not seek their bread and butter from running their orphanage. They run their orphanage compassionately and responsibly with the sole goal of uniting the children with their forever families. They seek no delays. They properly deal with all complications. They are honest. They are punctual. And they are committed to ensuring that the children have true advocacy. There is no time buffered in their process. They work diligently for the children and their families. But while they are housing the children, and beyond, these children are their family. Considering that for the first two three years that my youngest son lived in our orphanage the director didn’t know his name, I would guess that five years from now our director may know little about my boys other than the fact that he found their mom to be a colossal pain in his ass. But the loving family at Hope House will not only be acutely aware of the uniqueness of every single child they housed, but they will know and love every single one of their families and continue to remain an active part of their lives.

THIS IS HOW IT SHOULD BE.

Hope House is not the only place in Haiti doing adoptions responsibly, professionally, legally, ethically, and lovingly; but they have my respect and I am loving them for doing it the right way! Please read about the amazing ways they spread love and give Haiti hope!

http://haitipoverty.org

http://haitipoverty.org/Projects.aspx

If you have bought a “Hearts for Haiti” painting from me then you now know where your money has been sent. The campaign will continue once I return home and can get back to painting. Thank you for your participation. If you’re interested in purchasing a custom Heart painting to benefit the children of Hope House and The Haiti Foundation Against Poverty, please feel free to send me a message and I’ll be in touch.

Heart paintings (better photos) can be seen on FB:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/wildrootcreations/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Wild-Root-Creations/120354501379572

Or you can view really outdated (and poor) photos of heart paintings on my website, which is in dire need of a serious facelift here:

http://www.wildrootcreations.com/index2.php#/gallery1/5/

Thank you to Hope House for providing me a refreshing view of the amazing work you do here in Haiti. Thank you for loving Haiti and her people. Thank you for setting the example of HOW IT SHOULD BE.

Proof that there is a Santa Clause: A Boy and His Sword

Leading up to Christmas, Parker and Djedly watched a few holiday movies. And each time there was an opportunity for Djedly to talk about Santa, Parker would squint his eyes, and lift his top lip and push his nose up and scowl and say, “there is no Santa. He not real.” And in my head I would smack him. But in reality, I would reply and tell him that it saddened me that he had lost his magic. Well…he never had it, likely. Here in Haiti, magic is very different concept than most of us are use to. Magic can be evil. It is not a miraculous, twinkly, incredible concept. So this took some explaining. And when I had a quick moment alone with Parker I explained to him that we believe in keeping the magic alive for the children in our home. I told him that he could choose not to believe in the magic of Christmas, but if he did want to participate that he might just be surprised that Santa listens and watches and knows what the perfect gifts to give special kids who believe in the magic and let the soft, warm jolly glow of the season fill their hearts. Yes, he knows that Santa is a figment. I’m not trying to pull a fast one on a 13 year old. But I wanted him to have a sense of wonderment and participate in the Christmas spirit as well as the secret. So he agreed not to tell Djedly and Leo what we had discussed. And from that day forward, he was not so negative and critical about Christmas.

In fact, by the time J and the kids arrived, Parker was delighted to see the pieces of our Christmas tree come together. And he was inquisitive and excited to see all the ornaments ($1 store – HOLLA) spread out across our table. He helped Djedly and Leo put hooks on each one of them. And then J and I sat back and watched four of our five children decorate our tree. They were together. Making the magic happen. The soft glow of Christmas filled the room, and the warmth of our hearts came along with it. That feeling had been achieved. Yes, we were forced by circumstance to recreate our advent on a tropical island. Yes it is far from the snow globe of a white Christmas we all hoped to have. There was no amazing Christmas Eve dinner. No last minute screaming at kids to keep their nice clothes clean before piling into the car to slide around in the slush on the way to J’s church where we would snore through the service. Sorry J but I think we would all have more fun if we attend the black church. Plus you would look fantastic in a shiny purple suit with a matching hat with a peacock feather. Just sayin’. Love you. Mean it. But yeah…

What we did have was almost everybody. Almost. We didn’t have a toddler running like a daredevil toward the tree in tackle mode. But we had time. And we had grace. And we had fun. We played Christmas carols and watched the kids put several ornaments in a clump on one side of the tree. We reminisced that we had fulfilled J’s lifelong desire to have the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree, because we definitely had a very good version of it. We watched and we smiled. And we were happy. We had the closest thing to what we really wanted and needed that we could possibly have. We finally had the boys with us for Christmas. We have hoped and wished and cried and screamed and prayed and longed for the year that we would finally see them tumble down the stairs and stare in wonderment at packages delivered secretly while they slumbered. And while there were no footed jammies and crème brulee French toast baking while the packages were vigorously torn apart, we had a small and happy present exchange. We got to watch as they cautiously ripped open their packages and examined the contents with fresh eyes. They had never had a Christmas like this. And we were able to give them their first. There are so few firsts that we will have with them. That’s the breaks with adopting older children who you may never see a baby photo of. You have no idea when they started to walk. You will never have a hand stamp from kindergarten. Or when they lost their first tooth. You will never know what their first word was. But this was their first Christmas. A real Christmas. With a tree. And reindeer. And lights. And packages. And ornaments.  And us.

My favorite moment of the morning came when Parker started to open his Santa gifts. He slowly opened the package. I could see Britt and Leo sitting on either side of him looking like they were about to rupture; urging him to fiercely rip it open and reveal the surprise inside. Instead, he thoughtfully opened it, expecting to be disappointed by the contents. I could see the look of glaze plastered across his face. Until he opened the box. And his eyes immediately shot up to me. He looked back down and as his smile emerged, which he was clearly trying to force back, he had a knowing look on his face. A look that said, “holy shiz I got EXACTLY what I wanted.” And then J handed him another package. A long and slender wrapped gift. And the smile could no longer be contained. It was the perfect finishing touch to the super pack of Ninja accoutrements he had already received. A sword. He now had all possible Ninja issuance. Stars, weird Asian shoes, belts, daggers, a hood, a kimono and pants, and a sword with a sheath and strap.

There is no way to tell whether he will ever again have a Christmas moment as surprisingly fulfilling as this; but I will always cherish knowing that we were able to give him his first. He felt everything that Christmas is about.  And now he is in full- blown Ninja glory Heaven.

Thank you Santa.