I remember the prayers I used to say, staring out the window at the heat waves rising from the pavement.  The summer dirt opened up, parched and begging for rain.  I peered down deep and …

Here in Central Indiana, school’s out for the summer. In other places, the countdown is on until the last day of school.
Some children will have summer school, others will have weeks of scheduled camps. Many …

This post is about the exchange student we have living with us, the one that is driving me crazy and refuses to become a member of our family no matter what is said or done …

When people ask me how many children I have, I fumble the question almost every time. I have six. I know I have six. But only five of my children live with me. And in …

Sunday I opened the newspaper to another heart breaking story. Another story of another child killed either intentionally or accidentally at a home where the Department of Child Services has already been asked to become …

There is no difference in the love you feel for a biological child or an adoptive child. I remember the warmth and love I felt for my son in the delivery room and thinking I could not love anything more than what I feel for this child. I was wrong, the first time my oldest daughter greeted me in the hallway when I came home from work dropped me to my knees as if I had just been sucker-punched.

As I turned into the parking lot, my palms were sweating and my stomach in knots. We were meeting them; the expectant couple who’d picked our profile from the many others on file with our …

Well, my daughter, whom my husband and I adopted from China, doesn’t look just like my Korean-born cousin, but – to quote my five-year-old Tongginator – they DO have “the same shiny, black, Mulan hair.” Sometimes it takes my breath away to think of how our pasts can so radically shape our futures.

Twice this week I had the opportunity to be in the room when an adoptive family met their new child for the first time. It’s a beautiful moment from the perspective of the new mom and dad. But if you watch through the eyes of the foster mother, it’s heart-wrenching.

Some mentioned that it was just like the picture they had taken with the other grandma (Aaron’s dad’s mom). At that point my wheels started spinning and I wondered what other “family” things my children had been left out of