143

It's an odd number, a random number.
It can't be rounded out or smoothed over.
Some have downplayed it saying that 18 is more accurate, that there are mitigating factors that need to be taken into account for a more accurate assessment.

Either way, both of those numbers are far too high when you consider that they represent real children growing up all over the globe with no family to hold them tight, walk with them through life, celebrate the everyday victories, and grieve the losses that are already stacked far too high in young lives.

The most recent number I could find place the global estimation or current orphans at 143 million children. That's a heartbreaking number when you consider how many affected lives that actually signifies. Even more painful was the downplaying, the attempts to rationalize the numbers recognizing that the status of orphan in these surveys still includes those being raised by extended family and single, surviving parents. To read sites that seem to be aiming for reassurance that the issue isn't as big as originally feared as there are only approximately 18 million orphans should be devastating, it should drive us to action.

Instead, it feels like many either buy into the reassurances that the problem isn't as bad as feared (even at the conservative number of 18 million we're still looking at the population 18x the size of Saskatchewan, Canada) or freeze overwhelmed at the sheer scope of the task ahead.

This is why I love organizations such as Reece's Rainbow. Even though I'm well aware of the 30 000 wards of the crown in my own country and hope to , one day, be in a better place within our family to help address that number. I'm equally aware that for disabled orphans around the world, their lives could depend on whether or not a family steps up to take them home.

Whether it's a lack of funds, unavailable medical care, uncaring workers, overcrowded homes, aging out and falling victim to suicide (a reality for potentially 10% of aged out children), drugs use, gangs, or trafficking, or even a life sentence in an adult mental institution for children as young as those we'd normally see in kindergarten.
The is the sad reality for orphans around the world and it doesn't have to be!

Reece's Rainbow is what I call a starfish organization.
Following the story of the starfish washed upon the shore aided by one small boy, Reece's Rainbow recognizes that while 18 million is a staggering number, anyone can help another, single person.
As E. Hale says "I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do."

Reece's Rainbow helps advocate and raise awareness for these children, aiding families bring them home through grants and the support of parents who have gone before. Valuable assets given the cost -emotional and financial for bringing a child home.

However, even though RR represents a minuscule portion of the 18 million.Taking 10 minutes to scroll through their website and see the faces, read the ages, and realize the reality of these children can still feel daunting.

Here enters Angel Tree.

Angel Tree takes a small(ish) number of children from within RR and highlights them for the months of November and December. Instead of trying to raise as much as possible (although larger grants are always helpful) each child has a goal of 1000 dollars raised towards their grant within the 2 months with one specific person assigned  to help the child meet their goal or find a family through fundraising and advocacy. 

18 million is staggering and the total cost of adoption is no little goal. However, 1 child and a few dollars here or sharing them with a friend, looking into the needs of orphans around the world. These things are doable and should be.

18 million - I can't help everyone, but I can help one and I can't wait to introduce you to her. . . Next time!

Dear CDA

Dear CDA's

You are the most recent part of the alphabet we've met since travelling in our new reality and I feel like I owe you an apology.

I never like to be one who overstays my welcome (honest, my anxiety issues actually have me understay my welcome unless I really trust you) but last week I found myself staying for well over an hour at the drop-in while you played with my oldest.

I realize that the two families after us had cancelled. Instead of dealing with us you could have been chatting, catching up on backlogged work, or maybe even sneaking in some Facebook because, hey, we're all human.

But, you took the time.

You let this weary Mama sit for an hour and play with my baby. You let me prattle on aimlessly about my sons. You let me talk about things we've tried, things we've learned, and things we're stilling grasping to find solutions for. You let me watch while you "reinforced strategies."
The most important thing, though, you made my son the center of your world for an hour, you played with him so enthusiastically that he absolutely cackled with laughter for the first time in that office. You made him smile as he worked on skills well we got to relax as a family and not stress where the line is drawn between therapy and play. You let my little boy be a little boy while I was allowed the gift of watching, knowing you were just as familiar and comfortable with any behaviours as we could be.

For an hour you gave us the gift of a reprieve, a chance to be a family in the whirlwind, eating pizza and laughing about nothing and everything.

Thank you,

It's beginning to look a lot

It's beginning to look a lot like . . . paperwork.

Referral paperwork, official doctors letters and assessments, and more information to read through(conveniently added to an entire tote of paperwork I've yet to find a cup of tea large enough to motivate me to begin reading).

I'm not ashamed to admit I've dug out the Christmas carols to help. I'm one of those weird people who gets positively giddy to hear a carol around (Canadian) Thanksgiving and, as an added bonus, Christmas songs make my almost 4 month old break out into large, toothless grins. Who wouldn't want to see that while facing down the mountain.

I realize the importance of getting into things quickly but they honestly need to make a "filling out medical paperwork for your child" for dummies book. I think two of the forms they sent me from two different offices yesterday are identical and are supposed to be shipped to two different cities.

I applaud those who have come before, I think of my former babysitter, a beautiful spirit of a woman who has a daughter on the spectrum and battles her own health concerns, she's a warrior mama not only ensuring her daughter gets care but helping make things better for the future through fundraisers and awareness.

I think of another mama who's faced numerous battles while helping her little one receive the best quality of life he can while facing a condition I had never even heard of before. That mama works tirelessly (although I know some days she must feel bone numbingly tired) and the smile that her little man has shows that she's doing something right.

I'm grateful for the fact we live in a country where there are opportunities for my son to thrive, grow, and pursue whatever dreams his heart will grow over the next few years.
Through my time trying to raise awareness with Reece's Rainbow I'm painfully aware of how little it can take to send a child into a life without a future. This is why I support RR, to help give some of these kids the chance for a future, the same chance my own son has been afforded simply by where he was born.

Angel Tree starts in less than 3 weeks and through a wonderful set of circumstances, I now have a new angel to root for (I'll explain that in her intro post as soon as I can).

In the meantime, I'm going to load up the Christmas playlist and see if I can rustle up another cup of tea.

Venturing out

I've never been a "crowd" person

I wear my introvert badge with pride and still chuckle a bit too much when a certain Doctor Who episode references Hermits United.

I know at least part of that comes from my EDS. Crowds are not a great place to be when your joints are wibbly, your body hurts, and your anxiety keeps telling you that people are sucking out the oxygen. That said, I love one-on-one or meeting with a small group of people. Give me a shared topic of interest and I will talk your ear off. Everybody, even introverts, need a chance to be out in community, it's a fundamental part of who we are as human beings.

Now, however, going out has a new complication: a smiley little 4 month old and our firecracker who's 2 and just happens to have ASD.

Our son's ASD has left him fairly speech delayed as well as unaware of most boundaries add in the fact that he's tall for his age and we have a perfect recipe for frustration as most people simply see a disobedient free spirited boy who "should know better" or a lazy parent. UGH!

It honestly feel like a rock and a hard place quandary - don't explain and people make assumptions (let's face it people act on assumptions and interact differently as a result) or explain and chance people not making the effort to see the person behind the label.

Having to deal with this myself I usually go with the latter risk but it still feels like a lose-lose scenario. Which is why I'm grateful on those occasions when the unexpected occurs.

We recently started attending a new church who I had been associated with through their day camp many moons ago (I don't actually remember the year but anything pre-kids feels like it was many moons ago :P ).  We arrived early, let our little guy walk through the entire building while only the first volunteers were running through setup, and made sure to find his teacher before class started. I started into my usually explanation with speech delays, possible ASD, etc . . . only for the teacher to smile and tell me she understood perfectly her son had been there too.

There's power in a smile. There's power in a kind word, a nod of acceptance, or when acceptable a recognition of similar journeys. They're all connectors, reminders that we're not alone on this weird journey called life, an invitation back into community when you feel isolated and alienated.

I'm grateful that, although new to this journey, I've already found a few instances where community has reached out and invited me in when life and assumptions seemed to push me out.

Community takes risk but it's a risk worth taking for both parties, something I definitely need to remember.

A new normal

I've been told I worry too much about a lot of things since I began my journey with PPA (Post-partum anxiety) this week one of my concerns found some footing.

Our oldest son has officially been diagnosed with moderate autism.

It's funny how the things you expect can still hit you hard.

He's still our peanut and nothing's changed other than a few new words on his medical file but it's the changed hopes and dreams that create the pain and grief in this initial time of transition.

I always suspected autism could be part of our lives. In the middle of the autism debates that rage online, the genetic argument makes the most sense to me and autism already runs in our family. So when our active, creative fireball of a son fell further behind in speech, started shying away from textures, and started sensory behaviours day in and day out, this Mama started making calls.

It's funny how everyone has an opinion. I've been told that "boys just talk late," "boys are always active," "boys like to deconstruct things," "boys have tempers."  Here's the thing that may be true to degrees in some kids regardless of gender each kid is different but Mama's and Daddy's have instincts and mine screamed it's better to be screened early, patted on the head, and told you're overprotective then miss something that could be helped - and with autism early diagnosis and intervention is key.

So here we start on a new adventure and oddly enough the experts are right. Our son hasn't changed a bit (as evidenced by the fact he just jumped off the couch again and started running laps through our kitchen) but as parents we are changing. We're learning how to work with our son where he is, we're trying to learn to see the world through his eyes and help him navigate a world that can be very different for him, and we're learning what this new norm means for our crazy little family.

A diagnosis isn't the end of the world, and grieving isn't bad (I'd argue necessary but that's an entirely other post), in fact, sometimes a diagnosis frees you to leave the expectations of those around you and start embracing the uniqueness that's always been there.

Angel Tree is coming back (and it guess who's joining in)

Alright, I think it goes without saying that I support the work Reece's Rainbow and other similar organizations due. So, it just makes sense that I would be excited for their biggest fundraiser and awareness campaign of the year - Angel Tree.

Most morning when I need a smile I go and visit the "My Family Found Me" page which lists all the children who have tentative commitments or the "Already Home" page where families who have already connected with their children and brought them home are listed. There is an incredible joy to see these children loved, thriving, and in a family (it's also fun when families sneak in some time to update on their blogs and you see the impact of the adoption process).

That said, I wasn't going to join in with Angel Tree this year.

Yep, I was just going to hide in my own little cubbyhole online, watching and cheering on those brave enough to speak up on behalf of their angels.

The last few years have been tiring, exhausting even and my reserves are pretty low. I get excited about all the good and wonderful things I see going on (which is a lovely contrast to the news I've had to cut out of my life thanks to an anxiety disorder) but before I can step up and say "Here I am, I can help" a little voice in my head calls out how little I have to offer. So, I shrink back to my corner and allow that voice to win. You see, that little voice has had a lot of support these last few years, people confirming what it whispers throughout the day, reminding me of  my failures, my weakness, and where I can't measure up.
Hiding seems like a pretty solid option in those circumstances.

Here's the thing, there's something tantalizing about hope, unavoidably drawing about love and encouragement.

I was sitting frustrated as I felt the edges of yet another anxiety attack creeping up into the edges of awareness and popped into the Angel Tree Facebook group to see what was happening, holding my breathe that maybe distraction could hold off my anxiety. As a scanned through threads I was amazed at the support, the encouragement, the dedication of the members to cry out for these kids because all it takes is a person willing to cry out . . . and as they laid it out they drew me in.
As I was drawn in- we started talking.
As we talked - that inner voice found some conflict.

It doesn't take much to make a difference for people: a kind word, a thoughtful gesture, a helping hand. It can bring people out of isolation and into community.

With Angel Tree it doesn't take much to start a journey - a donation here, a share there, hope and love can be kindled in a family for a child around the world and with the help of their community, the RR community a family can be encouraged as they work through the long road of international adoption and a child can find a home.

I may only be one, with my doubts and insecurities, but I'm still one and that counts for something and you can bet I'm going to shout my heart out for a little girl half way around the world in the hopes that maybe her Mama and Daddy will hear.
Who knows, maybe with  all that shouting that little condemning voice won't be able to get in as many words.