When we came back from Colombia, it was REALLY hard to play with our neighbor kids. On our little extended cul-de-sac, there are 11 kids under 12. They all knew we were going to Colombia to adopt 4 children, and were quite intrigued by it. So when we came back and pulled into the driveway, we'd occasionally see their little heads tilting sideways trying to get a look at our children...that they didn't know weren't there. My sister had told them all that we were coming back, but had been unable to adopt the carinitos.
But as kids are, they still came over to knock on our door, showed up when the garage door was open, ran over when we'd get home from somewhere; they pretty much wouldn't let up on us. Sometimes it was brutal, sometimes it made me cry when I thought "there should have been 4 more little ones in my front yard." Sometimes we just had to send the kids home. Some days I was downright mad at God that these kids were around...all the time.
So the weeks went by, the months went by, and it got colder. Most of the kids play inside during the winter; except our next door neighbors. Niña comes over quite often. Sometimes we make cookies, sometimes we play Candyland. On Saturday, she wanted to make a snowman.
We were in our front hall putting on gloves and scarves and hats and mittens and boots and coats, and as I was tying her scarf she said, "It's sad that your daughter couldn't be here, cause she'd be really having lots of fun with us."
There's something about addressing the hurt head on, wrapped in tenderness, that does something for my heart. I struggle with knowing that I was a mother, not in the way I thought I'd be, but for a time. But since most people don't want to bring up the carinitos for fear of causing us pain, it actually does the opposite; I feel like they've been forgotten. Now I know that's not true, but every time Nina says something about the carinitos, I am grateful. Very sad, but grateful. Thankful that the Lord, in is Wisdom, had brought Niña into our lives.