Monday, January 26, 2009

In My Son's Words

Do you believe there are times when we see the true meaning of something when we view them through our children’s eyes?

For me, I’ve found this many times through my years of motherhood. Being reminded of the beauty in a butterfly as it flickers by. Finding the simple excitement in a slide that twists just right.

When they are young, our children have a way of showing us the innocence of life through what they see and feel from day to day. They put us back in touch with the tiny pleasures we’ve forgotten about, leading us into areas we haven’t visited in a long time.

And as they grow older, and we can no longer protect them as we’d like, they begin to see and experience more of the dark realities that hover around us. Those touches of ugliness we’d give anything for them to never have a reason to know.

Then, we must see through their eyes in a different way. In a way that challenges our thoughts, our opinions. A way that reminds us that we often come to feelings and decisions based on our own experience and many times forget to look further and question other views.

For me, this past weekend has been a reminder of that.

Awhile back I wrote Babies For Sale. In my writing, I used examples from the disgusting infant price lists you can find over the internet under Available Adoption Situations. I’ve known they existed for awhile. Came across the disgusting sight of them from time to time.

But what I never thought of, what I never imagined, was my own anger as a first/natural mom paling into comparison to what my oldest son felt when he first looked at such a site through the eyes of an adoptee.

Through him and his words, I realized just how truly painful it can be to come across infants listed like merchandise for the eager buyer. To see, future adoptees, pranced out before birth for the benefit of the baby-hungry couple who wants to get one of their own. With a “supply” list to choose from depending on how much they are willing to spend.

My anger hit me through the eyes of a mother who had lost. It struck in disgust for the practices some will lower themselves to. And the realization of the industry that sucked me in and threw me out with the garbage when they were done.

But for my son, it was so much more. So much I never saw until I read his words, saw what was in his eyes, and understood just what such a knowledge can do to one who was once one of those same infants lost to the greedy need of the adoption world.

Of course, as I learned from his words, the owner of the blog in which the disgusting “for sale” list was posted, saw nothing more than a nuisance to delete. A pesky adoptee who didn’t matter in what she, and her God-loving mission, hoped to accomplish. And with a few strokes on her keyboard, she deleted his words, his feelings, his experience, sending them into the black hole of cyberspace . . . forgotten.

I knew it would happen. There was no doubt in my head she would disregard my son’s and the half dozen other responses. See them as nothing more than unnecessary chatter clattering her CHRISTIAN site for buying babies.

After all, what credit can really be put into an adoptees voice when it comes to adoption?

To me, the credit is huge and should be heard and NOBODY will silence my son. I will fight harder for him and his voice over all else. His words, his story, matter and I will fight for them, for him, and for every moment he faces the ugliness that comes when he stands up and speaks out and tries to make a change.

So the owner of the blog can delete all she wants. Here, on my blog, in my world, she has no power. And here, his words will remain forever without worry that anyone will toss away his side as unimportant.

Here is the link to the blog - Adoption: A Path Of The Heart. This wonderful, God-loving woman, an adoptive mother herself who just wants to bless others with the same miracle of a child, has post after post of babies to buy. Prices and styles of course vary. You can choose from a slightly dented style or a high-sought variety. And all in the name of God and his love.

And here is a copy of the post my son responded to (just in case, at some point she tries to also delete the proof of her disgusting practices of listing babies for sale.)

Friday, January 23, 2009

January 23, 2009 Adoption Situations

I hope this post finds everyone doing well! Thank you for all the comments and suggestions of more adoption books. We're headed to Borders this weekend to expand our library:)

The following are our most current situations available to our clients:

1.)*NEW* Caucasian/African-American Boy, 2/10/09, UT, $23K + potential medical expenses, *BM used marijuana during pregnancy and wants open adoption with poss visits

2.) *NEW* African-America/Hispanic Girl, 2/28/09, Maryland, $20K, Alcohol exp during pregnancy

3.) *NEW* Caucasian/Hispanic Unk Gender, $35K, May

4.) Caucasian Unk Gender, $37K, June

5.) Caucasian/African-American Boy, $30-35K, Apr

6.) Caucasian/African-American Boy, $30-35K, June

7.) African-American Boy, 2/23/09, $20K, GA

8.) African-American Girl, 3/10/09, $20K, AL

9.) African-American Boy, 3/13/09, $20K, GA

10.) African-American Boy, 3/25/09, $24, UT

11.) African-American Girl, 4/11/09, $24K, UT

Contact me at if you're interested or to find out more about CAC.

Have a great weekend, everyone! :)

Posted by Karalee at
10:54 AM 3 comments

Labels: adoption situations

And here are my son’s words. The very ones she thought she could rid herself of . . .

jctippinward said...

First, let me start off with saying this is one of the most disgusting things I have ever laid my eyes upon, and I’ve seen a lot in my 21 years of living, but this, putting a price on a child and listing him/her on a blog as if you were selling a car is just wrong. A white Caucasian male will run you about 35k while an African-American male child will run you about 23k. What is this, cars made by a certain company therefore will be better? Are you serious?

These are children people. The most innocent thing in the world has now become a Market for investments and profit. Look at the way you list them here as if they were a product, like they came out of a plastic box. Do you not have children of your own? Let me ask you this, would put a price tag on them and sell them on the open market? No? Then why do you find it to be right to sell another person(s) child over blogspot?

I’m sure, by now, some have stopped reading and wrote me off as an uneducated buffoon who has no idea what I’m talking about and to those of you closed minded, ignorant pricks, all I can say to you is piss off.

I am a product of the whole open adoption craze. It was like a new fashion craze amongst you. Everyone is doing it so it must be right. Well it’s not right and I will tell you why. When my Amom stopped sending my Mother(Cassi) news and pictures on how I was doing, my Mother went to the adoption agency and complained. They told her there is nothing she can do about it, that I was now under the control of my Amom(Terri). My adoption was an open one and just like that it became closed. I will only say this, the amount of pain that caused my mother still ripples through time today. What it did to me has changed who I am forever. I spent most of my youth jumping around from step dad to step dad, watching the first one physically and mentally abuse Terri and I. The second one never loved me. He told me that himself. There was no father figure besides Terri's Father. He passed away when I was 15, the only sort of guidance for me had passed on to a better place. I was lost. I didn't know who I was I knew that I wasn't blood with the people I lived with and deep down inside I knew I didn't belong where I was.

As a teen I was far from an angel. I did a lot of things I look back on now and hold in deep regret of my actions. When I was 16, Terri left me with her Mother who at the time was unable to walk. I had complete freedom and I took full advantage of it. I found myself stealing her car, credit cards, and cash and partying every night. By the time I was 17, I was kicked out of Terri's mother's house and left to move back in with Terri. This was the hardest time of my life.Terri was a drunk and a mean one at that. It caused many fights and many problems for us. I don’t want to cover much on this time.

I was doing nothing but living to die. I knew deep down I hated everything and everyone and the only thing that made that go away was an abusive drug habit that still scars my heart today. Both of my shoulders are destroyed from self inflected wounds. They will never look the same. These are the things that haunt me. Now I tell you that story to tell you this one.

The adoption agency told my mom she would not be able to be a good mother for me. Those lying bastards. I have 2 little brothers and one little sister. Both of my Parents are still together and married doing what they can to make sure we, their children, have everything we need to succeed in life. They told her this would not happen.

Now I’ve read all over books about feeling angry towards (and I hate using this term) the Natural parents and if you’re one of those right now reading this, I want to say this from me to you. Forgive and open your heart. Remember when you were young and scared about the world? Well they were too and they were tricked by a money thirsty industry. If they would have known the true cost it would never have happened and it would have been done there. So again forgive. Your heart will feel better as will theirs.

So don't sit there and tell me someone can’t raise a child because they've smoked a little pot. Or because they are young and still young adults themselves. 99% of parents out there love their children with all their heart to an extent that words cannot describe. I say 99% because there is that 1% who kill their children because they are legitimately insane and God told them to do it.

Love is a powerful thing and it will make you do crazy things, such as forget your old lifestyle and begin raising a child.

And so now here you sit reading over ads on the Internet for children. All of them have different packages and milage on them and you feel good about yourself? It should not matter the race or gender or age of the child. Why? Because they are children, all the same innocence wrapped up in a bundle of joy.

So I hope this made some of you think a little bit about the truth behind this industry. It’s not always everything they tell you it will be.

And that leaves me at a point where I can say no more and leave this with my son’s words as the final, and most important, thought.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Why? Why? Why?

It’s strange how creating new memories can sometimes cause a sadness and a yearning for the memories that never had a chance to exist.

Does that even make any sense?

Maybe it’s only in my mind, or more likely, my heart, where the meaning is clear.

In our house, six o’clock is dinner time, Sunday through Thursday. Unless my children are working or committed to something school related, they are to be home for dinner. This is our family time. A tradition my mom always followed and I continue with my own family and hope my children will carry on as well.

And, in what can still feel like a dream that isn’t quite real yet, I now have all four of my children around the dinner table.

My three boys, joking casually with one another, showing no signs they spent so much of their life separated. My little girl who has had to become louder and more stubborn to get a word in around their constant chatter while always knowing she is easy prey to be picked on by any one of them at any time.

And for the most part, I know and savor the fact that our times around the dinner table are moments I will treasure forever.

But there are moments within the talking and laughing and joking when a strange sadness slips through me. It comes when old memories are brought into the conversation. Funny moments, vacations and holidays, old friends.

Family memories. The kind we should ALL share as one. But we don’t and the knowledge leaves a yearning inside me and brings up the one word that has haunted me for years . . .


Why did I ever allow anyone to try and tell me it would be better for my oldest son to form memories with another family? Why did I ever believe them when they told me being a good mom meant never giving him a chance to be a part of what his siblings shared in the years after he was born?

That isn’t a good mom. That’s hell. A terrible hell that took away from my son what was rightfully his. What should have never been denied him.

So why did it happen?

Why, when I was in the hospital, holding my son to my heart, knowing I never wanted to give him up, did I let his adoptive parent’s feelings decide for me. Why didn’t I stand up and shout at the top of my lungs that I wanted my baby. That I didn’t want to lose him. That he belonged with me and my family, not someone else’s.

Logically, I know the answers. In some part of my mind, I understand and can see what happened all those years ago. I can see the games they played, the tricks they used to be sure my son fed the need of the couple willing to write the check.

I know this, on a sensible, unemotional level.

But it doesn’t stop the question. Doesn’t keep me from asking why.

Because now the answers I search are the ones inside me I have yet to understand.

And every time I miss the old memories in the midst of creating new ones, the question comes flying with a force that hasn’t yet weakened. A force full of confusion and anger and grief.

I want to know, more than anything, who the hell I was when I was sixteen and pregnant with my oldest child. I desperately want to understand how I ever allowed anyone to have such a control over me to the point where I became not the girl I had been up until my pregnancy, but instead, somebody I still to this day don’t even know and have never been able to figure out.

Why did I go from being secure and trusting in my family - immediate and extended - in their support and love, to doubting them? Why did I believe that I would shame them, be terribly unfair to them if I asked for their help?

They never gave me reason to believe they wouldn’t be there for me no matter what the situation. I was a daughter, a granddaughter, a niece, with so many people who cared about me. Who had never deserted me or left me alone in my own problems.

I had my family there for me. I HAD THEM!!!!

My son and I needed only them and would have had them if I had not listened to the outside forces telling me otherwise. If I had not lost the confidence I’d carried with me through my childhood. The security of so many around me who are still there today with the same love and support.

Why in the hell didn’t I yell at the stupid adoption counselor and tell her she was so very wrong when she told me I had shamed my family? Why didn’t I get up and tell her what she could do with her suggestions that it was unfair and wrong to ask them for their help?

And why, of all things, on that last day in the hospital, when I wanted to walk out with my son and take him home, did I not think of my family and instead put a stranger’s feelings in front of theirs, in front of mine, in front of my son’s.


I don’t know if I will ever find the answers buried inside me. Or if I will ever understand who I was during that time in my life.

I may have to forever live with the “why” tumbling through my head, my heart, reminding me there will always be family memories he will not be a part of. Memories that, no matter how happy, will carry the dark shadow of his absence and the reminder of just how wrong his adoption was.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Holiday Break

I look at the date of my last blog post and can’t believe it’s been almost three months since the last time I added anything. I have had so many thoughts running through my head that I have wanted to type up and add but just couldn’t bring myself to form them into an entry while the holidays were upon us.

For me, it wasn’t a sad time causing my holiday break. It was a happy time. A time when I wanted to savor and enjoy every moment of my first holiday season with ALL my children together, in our house, sharing every wonderful moment of the season.

And keeping that happiness meant fighting off the reminder of anything relating to adoption.

Was it yet another form of denial for me to travel into?


Would I have changed it for anything?


I had all of my children, ALL of them with me as we sat down for Thanksgiving dinner. Nobody was missing, no hole in my heart as Christmas Eve and Christmas day dawned in a way I could only dream of for two decades. A dream of seeing the smiling faces of my three boys and my daughter, joking and laughing, enjoying and loving what we have all longed for.

Everything I ever dreamed of but would never allow myself to truly believe would happen, came into existence for myself and my family this year. There was no empty hole in my heart knowing I was missing a son who should be there with us, celebrating everything that makes us a family through the holiday season.

The depression, always hitting on Christmas night as the realization my oldest son’s birthday sat just two days away, never found a place inside me, never launched me into the weeks of darkness I have faced for so many years.

And I selfishly wanted it all. I wanted to take every moment of this time in my life and savor it with every fiber of my being. I wanted a time myself and my family would never forget, would always carry deep in our hearts. The memory of our first holiday season together as a complete and whole family.

Of course, I could never completely forget how adoption has affected my life and taken so much from me, but I could, and did, keep it at a distance, for a short time, so that it’s dark shadow did not loom over us.

I haven’t given up on my fight. And I am back, with as much, if not more determination to speak out about adoption. But the few months I took. The few months of celebrating and savoring every moment of my COMPLETE family is something I know I will never forget and would never trade for a million blog posts within this vast internet world.