Growing Burches

“The man is taking a long time,” S says halfway out the door.  It’s 7:59 am.  We must leave our house by 8:01 am to make it to school before the bell rings (as long as the parking G-d is with us).  The morning is NOT the time for riddles, I think.  We have to go, go, go!!!

“The man?” I ask, trying to keep my voice free from the time pressure, grumpiness, and frustration that morning always brings.  E is slowly dragging her backpack across the ground and I notice fur stuck to the side.  It must be from one of our gazillion animals – the same animals that have kindly tolerated being picked up, “pet,” and called to “come” every twenty minutes by my children.  The animals are great with the kids, but they need to learn to shed OUTSIDE, I think.  I mentally reprimand myself for not sweeping last night (then remind myself that even if I had swept last night, the fur would probably still be there), and try to gently dust the backpack clean with my foot. 

“Hey!!” shouts E. “Don’t kick my backpack!”  She stomps outside.  Well, at least she’s made it out the door.  It’s 8:00 am.  We have one minute left before we’re late.

 “There was some dust there from you dragging your backpack around.  I was trying to get it off.”  Defensive, exhausted, and frustrated, I offer my excuse as if it will somehow bring her calm, when what really irks her is that it’s morning and it’s a school day.  Sadly, I can’t fix those problems.

S looks outside at her pouting sister, then continues her thought while very slowly putting one foot in front of the other.  “Yeah, the man.  The one who will change our last names.  I wish he’d hurry up.”  Her words melt my heart.  She means the adoption judge, of course.  We’re many months away from this moment, but the girls talk about it a lot. 

There’s a lot that has to happen before they share our last name.  First, there must be a Termination of Parental Rights hearing – TPR for short.  This is a big, sad moment.  This is the moment that mom and dad lose their legal rights to the kids.  California waits until the last possible second to grant TPRs because our state doesn’t want to create legal orphans that California is then legally and financially responsible for.  I worry about how we’ll explain the TPR hearing to the kids – they already know that we want to be their forever home, and they know that they won’t live with their parents again.  What will TPR change for them, really?  Other than another chance to mourn, another chance to cry and scream, another chance for me to be there with them in their grief, and say I love you. 

For many adoptive families, TPR hearings are uncertain and hard.  We’re lucky that it’s very unlikely that the court would continue parental rights, but that’s also what makes our kids’ situation so devastating.  The parents’ lawyer will oppose TPR, but all believe the rights will be terminated. 

After TPR, the next legal process is the actual adoption.  A child must be in your care for six months before you can apply for adoption, which makes June the earliest we could submit our application.  Then we must wait for the court to schedule the hearing, and then wait to get before a judge.  Because the girls have a competent social worker, we’re hopeful that they will be our children, legally, by the end of the year, much quicker than we were expecting.

Our kids are already our kids, though.  The quickness of our bonding reminds me of dating Kate.  Within a few weeks of going out, Kate and I were talking about marriage.  When you know, you know.  There’s more to learn about each other, sure, but we know we’re a family. 

Our kids are amazing and perfect for us.  They are everything we wanted.  They’re smart, silly, artistic, kind, gregarious, sweet, and have huge hearts.  They love us lots.  They try their best. 

They’re also kids.  They fight and scream.  They cry – a lot.  They’re selfish and inoculated from reason.  They can’t dress themselves on school day mornings without supervision, unless we want to be twenty minutes late.  They need our input on every single thing, and teaching them self-reliance and independence is slow-going and produces lots of screaming.  They have terrible understanding of what personal space is.

Letting the good overcome the bad makes parenting fun.  My kids want me to be their mother, want to be part of my family.  What difference does it make that she refused to get dressed this morning?  She’s now dressed, out the door, and ready to be part of our family – forever.

“The judge won’t give us an answer for many more months,” I remind S.  “But in my head, you have the same last name as us because you’re our kids.  We don’t need a judge to tell us that.”  S nods, skips down the steps, and starts drawing hearts out of the condensation on the car windows.  E draws a heart monster. 

We arrive to school with one minute to spare.  E, still grumpy, runs ahead.  My legs are longer than hers, and I catch up easily.  She lines up with her class – looking away from me – and I become the beloved character "unresponsive frog," hopping from kid to kid with a frown on my face.  E’s face lights up with giggles as we play.  The bell rings and E gives me a hug and kiss goodbye.  “I love you,” I whisper, afraid she’d be embarrassed if her classmates hear.  “I love you too,” she says proudly, as I hop away.