Not an itchy birthday

Seven years ago today, I married.  It was the day before my 26th birthday. 

They say that in the 7th year of marriage, people get "itchy."  They get restless.  They start looking for a way out.  They get divorced.

The U.S. census in 2011 cites the average length of marriage is 8 years.  Couples seem to file for divorce around the 7 year mark, and then complete their divorce in the 8th year. 

Why?

Statistics say that around 7 years is when people are burnt out on caring for young children, there are burgeoning financial pressures, and there is an accumulation of negative experiences or incidences that come to a boiling point. 

People who are unhappy in their marriages generally know that within the first few years, and then take a few more years to get to the state of divorcing. 

I am the product of divorce.  I know how painful it is.  Divorce is an epidemic in my family.  Each of my grandmothers was married three times. 

My parents survived the 7 year itch, only to get divorced at the 10 year mark.  But, they each re-married and have been remarried for over 20 years.  I have great stepparents as a result.

Tygh's parents have been married for over 35 years. 

I have no shame in saying that Tygh and I do not have a perfect marriage.  But, we have a very good marriage.  We are teammates.  We genuinely enjoy one another.  We "get" each other. 

So, on this milestone anniversary, and the day before my 33rd birthday, Tygh, I salute you:

      "You are my rock.  You are my touchstone.  You keep me grounded.  You support me.  You love me, and all my idiosyncricies.  It's been quite a journey to get where we are now, and I'm genuinely very excited for what lies ahead.  We have been so blessed.  We have two amazing, beautiful children.  We have a roof over our head, food on the table, and careers we enjoy.  We have family that love us, and friends that stand beside us.  

       I love you." 

This is what she said.

Saturday, November 17 was National Adoption Day.

I had forgotten.

Brae's birthmom had not.  This is the text message she sent me that morning:

"Happy National Adoption Day.  I thank God daily that in one of the darkest seasons I've had yet in my life, He loved me enough to bless me by sending you guys.  You two have been a light in my life since I first saw your picture on the Bethany website.  I have been unselfishly loved and supported by you both and your families.  I'll never be able to explain the gratitude I have for the both of you.  Thank you so much.  I love you."

Wow.

Is it any wonder that National Adoption Day is less than a week away from Thanksgiving?

I think not.

Thank you, God, for adoption and blessing me with my two kiddos through the miracle of adoption.

Infertility: I just punched you in the face. 

And in that spirit, here are some token photos from Tygh's family's pre-Thanksgiving at Black Butte Ranch this weekend.

P.S., there are now 4 grandkids in the Colton family.  And not one is genetically related.  How many families get to say that? Very cool.  Proof that blood does not make a family. 

Watch Sienna's face through this progression...

There's my baby cousin! Yay. Now, I'm happy.

Making a volcano

Colton grandparents with their 4 grandkids and their hand-made Thanksgiving shirts.  Yes, Tygh's mom is Martha Stewart.

Carving the turkey.

Making Oreo, Candy Corn turkeys.  Yummy.

My hairdresser...

... is gorgeous.  Kind of a cross between Natalie Portman and Amanda Seyfried.  You get it.  Gorgeous.

But that is beside the point.  At least of this post.

At my last visit to her, somewhere between the blowout and the trimming of the bangs, my hairdresser mentioned that she is adopted.  She doesn't know her birthmom.  She doesn't even know if she's still alive.  She thinks her birthmom was a teenager when she got pregnant with her, and connected with her parents through mutual friends at church.

She thinks, through a series of third-hand information, that she has a couple of siblings.  She is very interested in finding her siblings.

I told her that there are websites out there that can help adoptees locate their birthfamilies.  I also said that, in my experience, she should know that not a day has gone by that her birthmom hasn't thought of her.  And, that her birthmom loves her. 

In the mirror, I saw tears well up in her eyes as she brushed my hair.  She nodded. 

If, she said, she did meet her birthmom, she has some things she would like to say to her.  She has no hard feelings toward her.  She loves her parents.  She had a great childhood.  She may have a couple lingering questions of "why?," but mostly, according to my stunning hairdresser, who also happens to be adopted, this is what she wants to tell her birthmom:

"Thank you.  Thank you for choosing life for me.  Thank you for giving me a great life. Thank you."

Adoption is a beautifully painful thing. 

It's beautifully painful because even though a child leaves your arms, they never leave your heart.

It's beautifully painful because a child doesn't need to come from you, to belong to you.

Sometimes I tell, and Sometimes I don't

Daughter, 

How you came to be our daughter is a complete miracle.  Your origins are unique and sacred.  I will do everything I possibly can to honor them, treasure them, and not exploit them.  

I want you to know everything you would ever want to know about how you came to be ours.  Please, ask any and every question your little heart desires.  I will withhold nothing.  

You are nothing to be ashamed of.  

You are everything to be esteemed.  

But, dearest daughter, I want you to know something.  Because of everything I just mentioned, you may notice that I don't always freely tell others about your precious journey to us.  Certainly, those who matter know.  But, when some sweet old lady at the grocery store comments on how you must have inherited your Mommy's blond hair (hello! I was simply born to be a blond), or where did you get your sky blue eyes, or don't you and your brother look so much alike, sometimes I just smile and nod. 

Sometimes, daughter, I don't share.  

And I want you to know that it is not because of any  other reason than that I simply want to employ my mother bear instincts and protect you from puzzled looks, awkward facial reactions, or uncomfortable pauses. 

The sweet old ladies of the world can continue to believe you to be mine, genetically, and I will leave it to the embryo adoption ambassadors of the world to preach your message to the masses. 

Love, 

Mommy