The Year That Almost Didn't Happen

So I haven't done a whole lot of blogging this year. I write when the words come to me, and this year they've been elusive but for a few exceptions. This, however, came to me as soon as the chill of impending winter set in.

Usually, if I sit down to write a ‘year in review’ post, I (a) wait until the ENTIRE year is over, and (b) take for granted all the silly and superficial ups and downs of daily life. Usually, my heart aches for the pieces that were torn away three and a half years ago. This year, my heart is full. This year I’ve been blessed beyond my wildest dreams and yet, it almost didn’t happen. 2015 nearly ended for my family before it even began.

The day we came home to the carbon monoxide detector going off, none of us had ever experienced that sort of situation before, and everything seemed fine, so it would have been all too easy to just brush off the warning – take the batteries out of the detector to stop the annoying alerts and go about life as normal. We almost went to sleep that Sunday night no different from any other... except, if we had done that, we’d have never woken up. We’d all have died from an invisible intruder we should have known was lying in wait.

Instead, that night, we carted three people and five cats to a local hotel, literally minutes from our home, but that night it was a safe haven. I remember sitting in the living room waiting for a friend to bring cat carriers, wondering how much gas I was breathing in just sitting there. I remember reaching into the depths of my bank account to pay for the hotel room that was saving our lives. And most of all, I remember the seriousness and the fear on my family’s faces the following day when they  solemnly told me that none of us would have survived if I hadn’t insisted on going to the hotel that night.

Unfortunately this set off a whole cascade of unfortunate events and I couldn’t possibly count the tears I cried in those first couple days. Then – a miracle. Though every call I made to inquire about heating assistance was fruitless, help came to us in our time of need. Through the unimaginable kindness of what most people would consider near-strangers, people with whom I just happened to share a common interest, the malfunctioning appliance was quickly replaced. Because of another stranger who helped fill my car with firewood, we were kept warm through the week we waited to have the repairs done. People I'd never met before cared for my family as though it were their own, and I will never forget that kindness.

In fact, that’s why 2015 happened.

That’s why the first hug I got from A in three years happened.

It’s why AJ, my sweet (borrowed) little 6 year old with autism, crawled up into my lap and told me I was his best friend.

It’s why I fostered and found homes for four more litters of kittens (Prose and Haiku are HOME for the holidays – adopted together last week!)

It’s why I got to celebrate a Sweet Sixteen with M - who was THREE when I met her!

It’s why I got to help make Christmas magic for a friend who was also struggling.

It’s why I got to go on my first date (yes, at 25 years old, and no, he wasn’t the one, but I enjoyed the rite of passage!)

It’s why I got to take my best friend to Washington DC for her 30^th birthday, fulfilling a lifelong wish for both of us.

It’s why I got to bake Christmas cookies with my friend’s little girl last week.

It’s why every minute of these 365 days happened.

The kindness of near-strangers; that's why those things happened.

And it's why the next 365 days will happen.

Why I will train at the Dojo once again, recapturing the self-confidence karate gave me years ago.

Why we will be there to celebrate a 17^th, 13^th, and 7^th birthday.

Why we will foster several more litters of kittens on their way to forever homes.

Why we will all be here to continue paying it forward.

The ugly, evil parts of the world are all-too-visible and can easily trick us into thinking that the entire world, and everyone in it, are cruel and unforgiving. I, however, have proof that this is not the case. An outpouring of human kindness is the reason I'm here, and this time of year, I can recall all too clearly how things could have been different, so once again, I owe my thanks to people who were there for us last winter. Yes - there are still good ones out there - and to them, I say: Thank you... for 2015.

Pretty Picture

Dear Princess,

I haven't written to you in a long time, besides last night.  I'm sorry.  Sometimes it's just too hard, and I know I have to stay strong so I can be here for you when you come home.  But lately, for some reason, I've just been up late every night thinking of you, and wanting to tell you so many things.

Today I spent all day across the street at Shannon's house with her, Mike, the kids, and our friend Hayley and her family.  We had a brief conversation that made me think of you and choked me up, and when I came home, I was still thinking of you, and thinking of how even in the short couple of months you knew them, Shannon, Mike and the kids became your family just like they are mine.

When crisis struck for you and me, I relied on Shannon a lot.  She came over as soon as I got home on that last day... she sat with me in the front yard while I cried and talked to a police officer and talked to your grandma.  Friday night after her kids were in bed, she brought me over pizza and pop and an offer to talk, cry, or whatever I needed.  We talked a lot that night, and she made me feel better.  She understood the situation we were in better than anyone, and she told me she knew that you knew that I wanted you, that I was fighting for you... and that you wouldn't forget it.  I needed to hear that so badly.  She spent the next couple days with me... because I just desperately needed to not be alone.

The next time I saw your friends J and N, they were eating lunch at the kitchen table, and J asked to say a prayer.  She said "Bless Mommy and Daddy and Mike and Katie and N and M and grandmas and grandpas and uncles and aunts and everyone we love, and especially pray for A, so she can be safe and come home to Katie's house and play with us some more.... and that's all."  When Shannon looked over I had tears in my eyes.  Your friends loved you so much, that even though they were just kids themselves, they remembered to pray for you.

It was only a couple months ago that I was standing in their kitchen and noticed something.  Your picture, your 2nd grade school picture, was hanging on their refridgerator.  I'd given it to them a while back, so the girls would have it to remember their friend.  I commented "Aww.  It's my baby!" and Shannon told me the picture had been hanging there since I'd given it to her, so that they'd think of you every day.

I was so touched.  Sweetie, as much rotten luck as we've had, we've had good luck too.  We've had amazing people put in our lives.  Shannon and Mike and J and N love you and think about you and pray for you to this very day.  They support me and listen to me when I need a shoulder to cry on because I just miss you so much.  They know the situation we're in better than anybody else, they know how hard it is, and they care.  And just because you're not here right now doesn't mean they've stopped caring.  Not one bit.  They haven't forgotten you any more than I have... and trust me, forgetting you is something I will NEVER do.

So even when you feel alone... like I do sometimes when I miss you so much that I think nobody could possibly understand... I want you to know that you're not alone.  You have people, just like I do, who are thinking of you and praying for you, even if you don't know it... and they'll be right here with me to hug you and welcome you whenever you come home!

Don't forget... I love you like the moon at night... big, and round, and warm, and bright.
I love you, goodnight.
<3 - "Kai"

Ouv Foo!

Dear Princess,

Forgive me, I'm feeling sappy and warm hearted right now, even though I'm really not feeling well... and I was just looking at your Ellfant and remembering how I was mad when you painted his 'nails', but now I'm glad you did... because it reminds me of you.  And then it reminded my of another time, when you were only about three... and what I would've ordained as a miracle happened, were it in my power.

You were always my quiet one, unless you were having a fit.  Three years old and the only words you said were 'Mama' and 'Boo' (Blue), neither one of them usually at the appropriate time, object or person.

So imagine my surprise, when one day after I picked you up when I was done with school, we were taking a nap together in my bed like we always did (it was the only time I got cuddles!) and you woke up a little bit after I did.  I was fiddling with my cell phone like I usually did while I waited for you to wake, because you always slept on my left arm.  I saw you wake up and said "Good morning, Livvy!  I love you!"

You looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then said "Foo?"  And I replied "I love you," again, enunciating each word so you could hear exactly what I was saying.  And then out of nowhere, you opened your mouth again.

"Ouv Foo!"

Someone who didn't know you as well as I did might've mistaken it for toddler jabber, but I knew.  You said your first "I love you"... to me.  I smiled and praised, "Yes, Livvy, I love you, that's right!  I love you, I love you, I love you!"  Then I pulled up the voice recorder on my phone in case you said it again, and you didn't disappoint.  You echoed me.

"Ouv Foo, Ouv Foo, Ouv Foo!"

I still have that cell phone, the one with your first "I love you" on it.. and the charge cord... I'm not letting go of that.  Over and over you said it, once you realized how happy it made me.  I don't know if you knew what it meant, but you knew it was good and happy, and that we meant it toward each other - and that was enough for me.  Sometimes, I'd pull out that phone and show someone, "Look, here's my baby saying I love you!"  Nobody was ever as impressed as I was, but I was proud of you.  The first phrase I ever heard you say, and it wasn't "I want" or "That's mine"... it was "I love you".  Because that's just the sweet gentle little girl you always were.  Well - until you started trapping cats in corners and having meltdowns over popsicles, but hey, my sweet girl was still in there.

Days like today, it really makes me smile to remember those first little phrases.
Ouv Foo too, baby girl.
Katie

The Story of Us, Part 3

It's been a while since I've written.  After the first two posts two days in a row, I kind of felt I needed a break - especially since I dreamed about A every night after that, for a long time, and then woke up wanting to cry.  I want to share our story, but I have to make sure I don't become consumed by the past, or by what ifs, or by could've, should've, would've.  So I took a little break.  Not from thinking about our story, but from writing it - because in truth, I'm always thinking about my A.

Last time, I posted about some of the fun things A and I used to do together, all the things I had experienced as a child that I wanted to share with her.  I actually remember shortly after the day we went sledding, telling her grandma about it, and her grandma said "Oh, wow, Katie, you're doing all these firsts with her!"  I started to apologize, thinking perhaps I'd stepped on toes, but she interrupted me and said "No, we just can't always do those things with her, we're glad she has you to do new things with her."  I was glad too.  Last time, I talked about introducing her to my friends, family, classmates, teachers... and their amusing misconceptions... and how even over time she was still a mystery to me.  A tough little egg that couldn't be cracked.  I wrote about both the good times and the tough times, because that's what life is - a mix of some of each.

Today I want to talk a little about the improvements I saw in A over the first several months.  If you recall, I said that the first day I watched her at her grandparents' house, she was completely nonverbal.  Two months later, she proudly announced "Uno, Dos, Tres!" to my Spanish teacher - only she smushed it all together (more like "Unodostres"), because Dora ALWAYS says those three words together!  I think she thought it was one word.  For a long time when I'd talk to her in the car about what we were seeing, etc, she'd just be sitting back there in her car seat replying "Uno dos tres!  Uno dos tres!"  Funny, funny girl... always a mystery... lived her whole life in Ohio with family members who spoke only English, and her first words were in Spanish.  I suppose we can thank Dora for that.

When her vocabulary started to grow (by leaps and bounds!) I started to wonder why she'd ever been so quiet to begin with.  It was just another piece of the mystery.  By Christmas she was saying all kinds of words, albeit in a rudimentary way.  One of her favorites was "Kee-kee" (Kitty).  She mastered "Tee-Whoas" (Cheerios), "Baaw" (Ball), "Pay" (Play), "Skoo" (School), and many more.  I remember talking to my mom about why she'd been so quiet for so long, but was suddenly learning at a rapid pace.  I'd researched and I knew that there had been cases of kids who seemingly chose not to speak for years and then started spouting full sentences... but that wasn't A.  I knew there were cases where children had developmental disabilities, hearing or sensory input problems, and simply couldn't verbalize their thoughts, but I didn't think A was one of those kids either, because of how quickly she seemed to pick up new language after a while, and how well her perceptive hearing functioned.  She could hear me and follow directions and understand what was going on, she just couldn't talk about it herself.  So why... why no words until she was nearly three, and why on earth were her first words in Spanish?

My mom told me that what I had been doing with A was good for her - narrating what we were doing, naming items as we saw them, talking to her as much as possible.  She said that when I was a baby, they encouraged parents to talk to their babies all the time even if they knew they didn't understand, because that was how they would learn to talk.  She said that our first words are often the words we hear most often.  (I believe mine was 'hot'.  I had an affinity for playing in the kitchen, I guess).  This made me think back to the conversation I'd had with A's grandmother about the 'situation' that led to A and her mother moving in with them... and to all A's other mysterious behaviors - and suddenly it clicked.  A didn't speak because A hadn't been spoken to.

When she did finally start to speak, she mimicked the words she heard often from people who did speak to her... or, as the case may be, cartoon characters like Dora the Explorer.  Well, I supposed, that closed the case of why A's speech was so delayed, and also gave me a prescription for exactly what to do about it (the same thing I'd already been doing - talk to her, narrate everything, name everything).  It also made me sad, imagining times when there hadn't been someone to speak to her.  Because I knew little about A's life before I met her, the only thing I could be sure of was that her grandparents had done their best when she was with them - but clearly, somewhere along the line, this aspect of her development had been neglected.  A family member even acknowledged this to me at a later time.  A had never been nonverbal because of a developmental disability or a choice not to talk as I first thought.  All she needed was someone - no, a few someones, who took the time to talk to her.

After Christmas, A's vocabulary took off even more.  She could finally convey to me what she wanted with little help from pointing and grunting.  We spent a lot of time around other kids, in the nursery at church especially... at the playground... other children started to talk to her more too, as she became more aware of and interacted with her surroundings.

That January was also when I started watching M.  M was six, going on seven, and I'd known her for years - she was the little girl that A reminded me of, that caused me to feel so drawn to A, that first day in the nursery.  Her family called me, in dire need of a sitter, and I said yes.  I took M on in addition to A on an ongoing basis.  It became easier for me to watch both the girls at my home, so that's what I did.  I restructured my bedroom so that it was childproof, there was a place for A to nap, if not with me, a toy box, children's DVDs... I bought a booster chair for the dinner table, a few other things, and after a slightly doubtful reception from several people (can you really handle this?  Shouldn't you focus on school?  What about your own life, your own future?), my friends and family grew to love the girls like I did.  M and A were like sisters - people always asked me if they were.  No, I'd tell them, but don't they look like it?

Over the next year, A pretty much knocked my socks off with her ability to learn.  Some things, she still wasn't grasping.  When I tried to introduce the concept of colors to her (in the spring, while we were planting flowers), I would point them all out, tell her the colors, day after day, tell her what color everything was, until finally I said one day on a walk around the neighborhood "A, look at the tree!  What color is the tree?"

A's response?  "BOO."  ie. "blue".  It was the only color she said consistantly.  Yup.  Trees were blue.  They stayed blue for a long time, too.  Even after she learned 'pik' and 'geen'.  Until she went to head start.  I'll have to do a whole seperate post on how far she came in head start!

It was also sometime shortly after she turned three that she started picking up more and more language - putting together simple, two word requests.  But she shocked me completely one day, by saying a word she'd never said before (at least in my presence).


The first time she said it, we were in the car, taking her mom (who I had started seeing more often) to work. I don't remember exactly what context she said it in, but she said "Mommy!"... and it was clear that she was talking to me.  I tried to brush it off for her mom's sake - kids often do that - all adult females are Mommy - but I can imagine it's still hard when you really are Mommy.  So I said something like "No, silly girl, Mommy's not driving, Katie's driving!  Mommy's over there."  And her mom relaxed.  Then we dropped her off, drove away, and she said it again.  "Mommy, Moo-sik!"  Ah.  She wanted 'her songs' (Silly Songs from Veggie Tales) on.  So she asked me to turn it on.

I started off patiently redirecting her - because, like I said, lots of kids do the 'all adult females are Mommy' thing.  "No, sweetie, I'm not Mommy, I'm Katie!  Mommy's back there, at work!"  And she'd get mad.  "MOMMY," she'd insist.  I didn't argue with her after that - you didn't win a battle with this kid.  I figured the behavior would fade like all other childhood behaviors do.

But as time went on, something became apparent.  All adult females were not Mommy.  Not my mom, not my friends, not other kids' moms, she even knew that her grandmother, another primary caregiver, was "MaMAW".  Only me and her actual mother ever consistently got that designation.  I still don't understand what exactly led her to associate the word with me... sure, I took care of her, but so did lots of other people.  Her grandma, her grandpa, my mom, nursery workers at church... but no matter how hard I tried to convince her "No, silly, I'm Katie!"... it stuck.

Which left me in a couple of embarrassing situations.  At school, at the grocery store, at the park, everywhere we went, I was a seventeen year old toting around a three year old who called me Mommy.  I'm sure you can imagine the dirty looks that earned me.  I didn't care though, I just laughed, because those people didn't know us or our lives, and I didn't feel I owed them an explanation.

Unfortunately, A didn't have much of a filter, and she used that word for me many more times in her mother's presence, until I started to feel like my explanations weren't really holding water for her anymore.  I felt bad.  It wasn't until she was four, after over a year of answering "No, I'm *Katie*!" that she amended her verbage to "Mommy Kai."  Oh well.  It was a step.

Since she was making so much progress, and she was already three, when I got out of school for the Summer I discussed potty training with her grandmother, and we agreed that we'd start working on it.

Haha.  Hahahaha.  Hahahahahahahahaha.

Easier said than done.

My mom always used to say "Just wait until they're three.  It'll make potty training much easier and less stressful."  I thought I was doing that.  But A was delayed in all other areas - why didn't I expect her to be delayed in this too?  It took me nearly the whole summer of sitting in the bathroom, in front of cartoons, reading books, doing whatever it took to get her to sit on the potty, until she actually peed on it.  And then, of course, she didn't do it again for weeks.  I read everything on potty training, asked everyone for advice... I got her books and videos from the library... one of which featured a song called "She is a Super Duper Pooper" which I will never, ever be able to un-hear... anyways, needless to say, it was not the 'summer project' I'd intended... more like a year and a half long commitment, and then some.  Things just didn't come easily to A.

But through it all, that whole year... we played.  Just played, had fun... tried to learn at the same time, but mostly we just played.  As my senior year of high school approached, I was excited to take Spanish IV, until the school district threatened to remove it from the curriculum.  A friend and I went to the school board to ask them to reconsider.  I was quoted in the paper.

Then the news came out, that yes, there would be a Spanish IV, because of us.  But it came on the heels of the news that students who had met graduation requirements only needed to take five classes, and could be dismissed as early as noon, so long as they didn't have a class 6th, 7th, or 8th period.  You could get out earlier if you were looking into post-secondary options, which I was.  The way my schedule had come together, I'd be dismissed at 11:40 each day.  I was so excited to be able to spend those extra hours with A.

Then we found out that the only period Spanish IV would be offered was 8th period.  I'd have to take three study halls in a row to take that class, get out at 3:20, and not have near as much time with A.

Most people would've told me that I still needed to put myself first - I was young, after all, and she wasn't my daughter... and that might've been what I did, if not for one experience I'd just had that broke my heart for A all over again.

I'd gone to her third birthday party... arms full of presents, smile on my face... excited to see her enjoy herself with all her favorite people.  It was close to her mom's birthday so her friends were there too, even the ones without kids, which was fine... except that there was no one else with kids.  It was a birthday party for a three year old, and there were no other children there.  A cried more than once, after being scolded for touching the cake, opening presents too fast, not saying thank you, and then was scolded for crying.  Family members argued.  Myself and a couple other family members tried to distract A, intervene before she could get upset, but I left in tears.  I could see, and I know a few others could see, that it hadn't gone the way it should.  Some people in A's life, with whom I hadn't seen her interact much, didn't seem to know how to just let her be a kid... and it made me sad for her... so as I drove home crying, I vowed to do everything I could to just let A enjoy being a kid.

COSI Columbus!

Mowing my lawn

I love this one - like she's sure she can climb it if she tries hard enough.

And I didn't sign up for Spanish IV.  I decided I'd look into other options, because four hours of time with her every day just wasn't something I was willing to sacrifice.

I never regretted that decision.  I still don't.

So Fall came...

Halloween came...

That Halloween sweatshirt used to be mine!

Winter came...

And Christmas came...

And we just kept on having fun - from the moment her mom would drop her off to me, outside my last class at the art complex at 11:40, until we were all exhausted...

And it was the best year of my life.

Little Yellow Flower

It was a Friday in May when I picked a newly nine-year-old Alivia up from school, walking from my car into the lobby to get her because the sheer number of car seats in my car makes it difficult to go through the pick up line.  As every day, the chatter and laughter of children bubbled around me.  I waited while the children were called to busses, then the rest of the children released.  Liv was usually one of the first ones down the hallway, but this day, the hallway emptied out almost completely before she appeared.  As I watched her emerge from her classroom, the reason for the delay became apparent.  She was struggling to work her backpack over one shoulder while balancing her jacket and lunch bag, as well as a piece of white paper folded in half and a little clear cup, no bigger than the kids' tumblers they often give you at restraurants, that was full of something dark brown.  From her homework recently, I guessed it was probably dirt - her second grade class had been studying seeds and plants.

When she reached me, I greeted her the same way I always did:  "Hi Princess, how was school?"  Then came the customary reply.

"Good," she said.

I reached to help her with her things and indicated the cup, which I could now see had a little green sprout less than an inch tall emerging from the dirt.  "What's this?"

"It's a plant," she replied.

I laughed.  "What kind of plant?"

"A flower," she elaborated, handing it to me along with the folded piece of paper.  "It's for you.  I maked this for you for mother's day.  I just do love you SO much Katie."

I almost started crying right there in the school parking lot, kids, teachers and parents still milling around.  You see, when I met this child eight years ago, she resisted all affection vehemently, and didn't speak one single word for two more years.  The first time she told me she loved me, I had been in her life for three years.  It came out slurred together in her immature speech:  "Ovvfoo!"  But I spoke her language and I heard her.  I still have a cell phone that had been on my lap that day, because the second time she said it I wanted to catch it on audio.  Sorry, electronics junkers, you're not getting that one.

Besides the obvious factor of how far she had come, you probably noticed that she called me by my first name.  This is because I am not her mother.  I have played an enormous part in raising her, there have been many times when her home has been with me, but I am not her mother and she had known this at least since she stopped calling me Mommy when she was four years old.  Don't ask me why she started - when she started to speak at three, that's just what she called me.  Then I was "Kai" for two or three years.  The first time she said my name correctly, I DID cry.

But I digress.  Here she was, handing me this flower that she "maked" for me, and a card covered in hearts that read "Happy Mother's Day!!!!!!!!!" on the front... knowing full well that I was not her mother... and the only conclusion I could draw was that this was her way of telling me that she loved me, and that she did notice that I cared for her as I would my own child, and appreciated it.

I bit back tears and told her "Thank you, sweetie, I love it!"  I buckled her into her booster seat and pulled out one of the cup holders, where she securely nestled the little cup holding my flower.  Then I got in the driver's seat and opened the card and read:

I have those words memorized now.  Right down to her sweet little mispellings.  The card itself is safely stored in a page protector in a book of Alivia's cards and drawings... along with these...

...among others, which won't upload properly.

We drove home, and I carefully placed the cup containing the little sprout on the windowsill in the kitchen where the sun would shine on it every morning.  We talked about remembering to give it water every day.

It grew to be a big sprout.  Honestly, at first, I didn't expect it to make it.  I brought home plenty of those little projects that fell victim to a 'brown thumb' that seems to run in our family.  Then it wasn't a sprout at all anymore - it was as big as the marigolds outside in our garden, but no blooms yet.  As we left for Florida in June, the roots were starting to press up against the sides of the translucent cup.  I told Alivia we'd move it to a bigger pot when we got home.

She never got to come home.

But I did move her flower to a bigger pot - one I painted myself when I was around her age.  She would have liked it.  I moved it as carefully as if I were performing brain surgery.  It wasn't just a plant, it would never be just a plant again... it was a symbol that my little girl loved me and I loved her.

And as we embarked on a road marred with legal and ethical obstacles, the flower continued to grow.  Everyone in our family made sure it had enough water every day.  That flower would bloom.  If, just maybe, she came home, we wanted her to see how much it had grown.

It bloomed as summer faded into fall... three beautiful, yellow blossoms.  I've never taken so many pictures of a single plant in my life.

When an early freeze came, we brought it inside at night and took it back out to get some sun every day.  I think it may have set the record for longest living marigold.  The day we went to court in November, it was still blooming.  It was the last thing I saw as I walked out the door.

My girl never got to come home.  Eventually the pretty yellow flower succumbed to the winter.  But we still have our memories.  Seven years of happy times with my princess.  More photos than I could fit in six scrapbooks.  The pictures and memories of the (not so little) yellow flower grown with a healthy dose of sunlight, soil, and water... but mostly love.  The card, the sweet words that told me that she knew, she saw, how much I loved her then and how much I will always love her.

My little yellow flower... was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be...

Looking Back on 2012

I did this last year, and this year has been another... eventful... life-changing... year... so I'm doing it again.  And praying that this time next year, when I look back on 2013, happy memories, not sad ones, are what come to mind first.

January
2012 actually started on the best note possible.  I hadn't seen my two youngest DBKs, A and AJ, in over four months.  I missed them terribly and I hadn't been feeling in the holiday spirit at all.  On January 1, 2012, I saw them again.  Watched them open their Christmas presents.  Held them in my arms, hugged them tight, told them I loved them.  It was a perfect day.

AJ, 2 years old

A, 8.5 years old

After that we had to slowly get back to reality.  It was tough.  I had my heart broken for orphans around the world with special needs.  I wasn't sleeping well at night, staying up late to pray for children according to events in their time zones.  I was having no success finding a job to aid in paying the bills, and anxiously awaiting tax refunds.  Even though it started so perfectly, January was a rough month... a month of wait and see.

February
In February things got a little better.  Taxes came through to pay the bills.  I started working on getting licensed to do childcare for my friend's kids.  It seemed like there was a light at the end of the tunnel.  I was also gearing up for two exciting trips - a statewide conference on Child Passenger Safety which would be held in April, and a national conference in Orlando, Florida on national highway safety priorities which would be held in June.  I had been granted a scholarship to attend both by our local Safe Kids Coalition.  I felt like things were going to be looking up soon - and they did, for a while.  Good news started coming down about the orphans I was advocating for.  More were making their way home.  Changes were being made in their home countries.  Families were committing to children.  I found myself more engrossed in the Reece's Rainbow community by the minute.

March
In March, the first thing that jumps to mind is something that happened one day when I was literally as far as could be from expecting it.  There was snow and ice on the roads, a rare occurrence here last winter.  It was late - 11 pm or so.  I was in my warm bed, under my electric blanket, writing about orphans, when my phone started to buzz.  Bill collectors, I was sure, but when I looked at the caller ID... it was the mom of my DBKs, whom I hadn't heard from since January 1.  I answered to find her distraught and needing me to come take the kids.  All I can say is that it was a miracle I made it the short distance to where they were living without incident on the icy roads, because I wasn't exactly taking it slow.  I was going to see my babies.  I picked them up.  They were excited to see me.  My heart was full to finally bring them home again, put them to sleep in their cozy, warm beds where they knew they were safe.

I had them for two days that time, and I never knew exactly why, except that it's likely tied up in what turned into a very large amount of police reports.  In any case, I was thankful to have them in my arms once more, even if I didn't know when the next time I would see them would be.

In March, I also began to share with my oldest DBK, M, who is not related to the other two, about the orphan crisis.  Poor sweet soul, it broke her heart to see all those children in such terrible conditions.  I found that we both needed to *do* something, and we also needed a respite from the pain we were discovering.  While my mind worked on what M and I could do together to make a difference for these kids, I planned a girls' night for us - we painted our nails, played games, stayed up late, and then went to a late showing of The Hunger Games, which was amazing and really played right into my determination to do something to make a difference.  M loved it and we began reading the books together, a couple of chapters at a time aloud, every night.  I'd already read them all - in three days, no less, because I'm one of those people who has to read books before seeing movies, but M, not much of a reader, wanted to read them and I thought it would be a nice way for us to bond.  And she only laughed at me a little when I couldn't pronounce 'muttations' correctly throughout all three books.  How do you pronounce it anyways?

As the month ended, I was feeling more at peace than ever... even if the future was unknown.

April
April is my birth month, and M's, and my mom's, so it was a big month around our house.  My birthday is April 6.  It was a Friday, and two days before Easter.  I'd been home all day, cleaning up so my friend's kids could come over while she went to work later.  It was when I noticed my 17 year old brother cleaning that I knew something was up.  I didn't dare to guess what.  I went on with my day.  My friend brought her girls over.  We all took a nap.  When I woke up, I went upstairs, where my mom was just getting home from work..... and had my babies with her!  My birthday presents were two big hugs from A and AJ - the thing I'd wanted most but hadn't even dared to hope for.  And we had another perfect day.  We played together, we braided hair, we ate cake and ice cream, and I was happy.  At the end of the day though, it became apparent that crisis had struck in their lives once again.  They had nowhere to go and would be staying with us, at least overnight, we'd discuss it more the following day.  Little did I know that when my mom asked for a couple hours with the kids for my birthday - she'd ended up getting me a couple months with them!  April found the kids moving back in most of the time, and many more happy memories being made.

M had her birthday party at Skate America - her mom went all out to make sure it was perfect.  I attended with A while my mom watched AJ, and both my girls had a blast, and I had a blast watching them.

At the end of the month I went to my statewide child passenger safety conference, which was great, but I definitely missed those goofy kids even if I was only gone for two days!

May
May was, most importantly, A's birthday.  Nine years old this year!  She didn't have a party with us this year (I don't know that I'm up to anything like her 7th birthday party... ever again) because she was getting something WAY better.  I was going to Orlando the following month for my national highway safety conference, and with my costs paid for, it cost me only a little more to bring her with me - and how could I not, with Disney World right down the road?  Pretty much everyone I know brought their families.  But since A's birthday was in May, it was a surprise super awesome present.  I wrapped up this big box full of balloons, travel supplies, and this sign:

She went to gymnastics that night so excited to tell all her friends and teachers that she got to meet the princesses.

The other thing in May that stands out in my mind is Mother's Day.  I honestly don't even remember what I got my mom, but I will never forget my very first Mother's Day gift.

Sweet A, when I picked her up from school that day, handed me this little sprout in a plastic dixie cup, and a carefully crafted card.  She handed them to me and said "Happy Mother's Day.  I just do love you SO MUCH, Katie!"

I nearly cried.  Later, after she was in bed, I did cry.  Because I'm not her mother, but I did a whole lot of raising her.  This was her way of telling me that she knew that, that she loved me like a mother just like I love her like a daughter.  The picture of the flower above was taken in the fall - it grew so far beyond that little dixie cup, we cared for it so well because that little flower meant so much to us.

June
Oh boy... talk about hot and cold.  June started out amazing.  Home with my babies.  Getting ready to go to Florida.  So much excitement.  On June 13 (a day which was formerly dark to me with history), I boarded the plane with my girl to go on our dream vacation.

We had a blast.  We met the princesses.  We played on the beach, swam in the ocean, saw family, went shopping, ate ice cream like there was no tomorrow, and took a million pictures.

Cinderella's Castle!

Beach for the first time!

Fort at St. Augustine

Then, on our last full day there, the world stopped spinning.  Crisis began.  As we were sitting there packing up our bags, A told me a secret... a deep, dark one that she probably never told anyone else.  I fully believe that it is only because of how far from home we were, how relaxed our days had been, that she felt comfortable sharing it with me.

It wasn't a secret I could keep.

I didn't want to make the call.  I didn't want to set the cascade of events I knew would follow into motion... but I thought I had to.  Honestly if I could go back in time, I would change that decision.

A tropical storm, hurricane, something, was brewing off the coast.  The sky had darkened significantly.  The waves were huge.  Red flags were raised on the beach.  The last time we played on the beach, it was almost deserted.

A storm was also brewing within me.  I fought to hold back the torrent of emotions I was dealing with that day and give my princess the final vacation day she deserved.  I tried to enjoy every single little moment, push the dark thoughts out of my mind and just enjoy her... but my stomach was in knots.

I will tell this story in greater detail later, although I won't share everything because it isn't all mine to share, but to make a long story short, we flew home the next day... I kept the smile on my face... it'll all be okay....

and then it wasn't.

That was the day I didn't even get to say goodbye to A before she was taken from me.  The day I didn't know I'd never see her baby brother AJ again.  I only saw A one time after that... and I hope she heard me when I told her I'd always love her.

After June 21, I spent the rest of the month in misery.  I felt sick all the time.  Nothing could make it better.  I can truly say the week that followed our return was the worst one in my entire life.  June ended darkly.

July
July was the month I tried to put myself back together... put one foot in front of the other... keep breathing... try just to survive each moment when each day was too much.  We hired an attorney to try to help A after social services let us down.  It was a road I never thought I'd be traveling.  The 4th of July came and went.  It's my favorite holiday.  I went to four fireworks shows, went swimming, spent time with my friends, family and M.  I enjoyed those things, I always do, but this year they felt empty.  Something was missing.  Something really important.  Where was A?  Did she get to see the fireworks?  Was she happy?  Was she even safe?

I was starting to mend.  Just a little bit.  There was still a big piece of my heart missing, but I was learning my new normal.  Then the week from hell struck.  It only started in July, but the worst of it fell there.  On Monday, July 30, I woke up to find my 17 month old kitten, Boo, dead on the floor of my apartment.  I almost didn't make it through the day.  I held him until we buried him.  I couldn't cry a single tear for a long time, and then one day they just all broke free.  I'm crying again writing this.  Another of the worst days of my life.  He was just a baby.  My baby.  I couldn't even sleep alone for days.  And July ended as darkly as June.

The day before he died

August
The week that ended July and began August was horrible.  It was supposed to be a good week.  Olympics, the State Fair, friends, but starting with the cloud of my pet's death hanging over us, it was just bad.  I can't recall the details, but I missed my best friend Angie (who had passed just over a year prior) dearly, something had gone amiss with A's case, I got into a fight with a friend, I was discharged from my doctor's office over a $20 bill, and probably some other stuff I don't even remember... I just remember that it was a very bad, bad week.  I buried myself in mindless television shows, sleep, and orphan blogs.

After some time had passed, I adopted another cat - mostly black, just a tiny bit of white on his chest.  I called him 'Soft Kitty' or 'S.K' for a week, until I named him Marbles because when he purrs (which he does almost constantly), it sounds like someone's shaking a bag of marbles.  I love him!  He's six months old now. I spent some time in the hospital with a kidney infection (two ER visits in one week is never any fun) and had a bad medication reaction, so I was feeling a little worse for the wear even by the end of August, not to mention having to find a new doctor because I have any number of medical needs that have to be attended to regularly.  All I could do was hope it would get better when the school year started and routine set in more firmly.

Marbles, AKA 'Soft Kitty'

September
Finally, a month that started out well.  At the very beginning of September, my friend Faith got home from Eastern Europe with her two newly adopted children, both of whom have down syndrome.  Another friend and I went to see them that weekend and bring some clothes for the baby (she was around 18 months when she came home, but the size of a 3-6 month old).  We talked a while, played with the kids, and I got to hold her sweet and precious baby girl, who thankfully will never remember having been an orphan.

I look dumb in this picture.  But she's cute enough for both of us

I don't remember much about the rest of the month.  It must've been relatively unremarkable.  I did go to the Buddy Walk with Shannon and Faith's family, which was a blast, it was my first year and it definitely won't be my last.

October
October was a month I didn't look forward to... at all.  Halloween, pumpkins, hay rides, costumes... did you know I took A trick or treating every year between 2-7?  It wasn't a holiday I was used to 'celebrating' without her.  I remember being rather depressed.  I also faced a good bit of financial difficulty that I was working to resolve, and we had finally been given a court date, which was looming frighteningly on the horizon.  It felt like limbo - there's not really any other way I can put it.  Like I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I was probably irritable and short with people I know and love, and for that I'm sorry.  I was under a lot of stress and I apparently didn't cope well.  As the month ended, my mind was occupied by nothing but what November would bring.

November
Not long passed before the tone for the month of November was set.  Our court date was early in the month.  We were in court for over two hours - which was nearly if not completely unprecedented for a case like ours.  And it was a rough two hours.  I will admit that I cried on the stand - to the point where my 'smudge-proof' (apparently not waterproof) mascara was running down my face in a raccoon-like fashion.  It was rough, and the other team didn't play fair, but I regretted nothing.  After social services let us down, it was the only thing we could do, the thing we had to do.

After court that day, I slept for two hours, spent some time with some good friends, and then slept for sixteen hours, straight and solid.  I woke up at 7:00, and thought it was morning (it was not.  It was the following night.)  But then I felt a sense of relief.  Not complete relief - we were still waiting on a decision, which could have said anything - but court was over and that in itself was a relief.

The decision, which, from my perspective was not favorable (although I will admit there are unknowns involved that could change my opinion) came just before Thanksgiving.  So much for being thankful.  I had my wisdom teeth out the day before Thanksgiving (we had our turkey early) and after 7 abdominal surgeries I thought it would be a cinch - I didn't even have to be in a hospital - but I'm definitely counting that as one of my worst surgeries.  I have serious dental fear and I do NOT like anyone messing around with my mouth.  It's actually still healing.

At the end of the month I picked up some extra work with a friend (I had already worked for one friend for the better part of the year) and things seemed to be looking up, teeth (or lack thereof) aside.

December
Through December I continued to work for friends and fundraise heavily for Reece's Rainbow's Project Angel Tree.  It was a tough month, mostly because of financial difficulties, but we made it work.  At the end of the month, I came upon the opportunity to work for a friend who I met through Reece's Rainbow close to a year ago and has three adopted children with down syndrome.  Her family was in need of a home health aide, I was in need of a job, and a wonderful organization locally agreed to employ me to work for her.  I've been doing that job just about a week now (officially - this is one of the friends I was working for unofficially previously) and I just absolutely love it!

I missed A and AJ a lot this month.  It was truly my first Christmas without them since A came into my life all those years ago.  I walked through stores, by the sections of little girls' clothes, touched the ruffled skirts and commented to whomever I was with how I would most certainly be buying this if I still had A.  Girly girl if there ever was one.  But I appreciated the time I had with M, we celebrated Christmas in the usual manner, just unfortunately less two kids.

I look weird because of the lack of eyebrows.

On the very last day of December, the little boy whose Christmas Warrior I was through Reece's Rainbow met his goal - meaning I had to make good on a promise I made at the beginning of Angel Tree - that if both Brett #19 and Elden 14G met their goals, I would shave my head - and that is how I would start out 2013... and I smiled on the last day of 2012 - not only because I was glad to see it go, like last year (and I was, considering some of the year's happenings) but because I was thankful, too, to see another year and have hopes for more good and even better things.

Because that's the kind of perspective spending a year advocating with Reece's Rainbow gives you.

Christmas Magic and The Year That Santa Came

In the past few weeks, a few different people have shared their Christmas traditions with me and others via social media.  Why they do Santa, why they don't do Santa, what variations they may have on traditional themes, what special activities they do together as a family, on and on.  More than once, it has brought me to tears - for many of these stories reflect the true nature of giving that is so vital to the Christmas spirit.

All this made me reflect on the Christmas traditions I grew up with... and the new meanings that came to them in recent years.

My childhood Christmas traditions were pretty typical.  We went to the mall to see Santa.  We baked cookies - chocolate crinkles and chocolate chip and peanut butter and sugar cookies shaped like stars, trees, bells, snowmen, wreaths, etc.  My parents taught me the true meaning of Christmas - why we celebrate - the birth of Christ, we went to church on Christmas eve, we read the story of the first Christmas, but our holiday always included both religious and secularized elements.  I was a stickler for the Jesus aspect of Christmas growing up - I remember one year as a child, we were making Christmas cookies and I realized there was no baby Jesus, which was just wrong in my eyes, so I set to work with construction paper (blue), drew and cut out a Jesus-in-a-manger shape to use as a cookie cutter.  And my mom, bless her heart, didn't tell me that logistically, you couldn't make a cookie cutter out of paper, or suggest we look for a cutter to buy instead... no, she took my paper craft and carefully traced around it with a knife to cut out several hunks of cookie dough that, by my estimation, looked exactly like baby Jesus.  I was so proud of those cookies.

But I digress.  What I mean to say here is that my Christmases were full of magic - both in the childish sense (that I was determined never to outgrow - my mom had to tell me the news about Santa when I was eleven) and the true sense of the season of Christ.  I never wanted for anything.  I'd go through catalogs before Christmas and circle everything I wanted (might as well have just circled the whole catalogs), I ran to my mom after every commercial and cried "Mom!  I want that!  I want that!"  Big tree- always real - decked out in colored lights and tinsel and garland and ornaments that had been in our family for years... And on Christmas morning, I woke up to piles of gifts that spread out far past 'under' the tree.

We had celebrations with both sides of my family, celebrations with my best friend, cards from far away family members (and sometimes special gifts), and boy, I was probably the most spoiled kid who ever lived. But I was thankful.  I used to write in my letter to Santa "Here are some cookies and a carrot for your reindeer.  I have been good and thank you for the presents I haven't recieved yet" (that was not a typo - I couldn't spell received until eighth grade).  One year, 'Santa' wrote back that one of his reindeer (I forget which one) liked his carrot dipped in peanut butter - so I left peanut butter out every year too.  And my mom didn't neglect to let me know that Santa really preferred Dr. Pepper to milk.  ;)

I was really a lucky kid.  Even as I got older and our Christmases became a little more modest and more about giving than receiving, I still never had any idea what it was to go without, especially on Christmas.

My dear borrowed kids came to me in high school - at least the girls - my Junior year.  AJ wasn't born until I was in college.  What became clear right away is that the kind of Christmas I'd grown up with, was something they had yet to experience.  When they were 3 and 7 years old, we had our first gift exchange - and oh yes, you'd better bet we went overboard, especially after hearing that A's big gift the previous year had been a new coat.  I have the cutest pictures from Christmas that year, my two girls dressed up in the outfits we carefully picked out... and of course balanced with an equal number of toys, because what kid wants clothes for a gift?  (Well, it turns out, these ones do.  Neither one of them has ever had that 'eh, clothes' reaction.  They were thankful for each and every article.)

A couple, just for cuteness' sake.

M, age 7

A, age 3 (love how this one captured her silliness!)

Girls by the tree

Every year after that we had our own little 'Christmas' with the girls.  Some years one or both of them didn't get much else, because times were troubled at home.

But as A got older, she started to ask a whole lot of questions - wanted to know if Santa was really coming, how would he know whose house she was at, would he really bring her what she asked for, would he come to my house, Mamaw's house, mommy's house?

A had so little real 'magic' in her early life, I wanted her to have 'Santa'.  I wanted her to believe in magic, to have that childlike wonder and joy and just get to be innocent for a time, and so when she asked me, I assured her that Santa was coming if she made good choices (we do not say "good girl/bad girl in this house).  I knew it couldn't last forever, only as long as I could keep the promise to her myself, but I wanted her to have it for however long she could.  M actually believed for a while too, even told off her classmates a couple times over it!

We'd always done our Christmas in the evening one day, because that's when I usually had M, although in later years we took to having sleepovers for Christmas because the girls always wanted to play with their new toys together (and no, they are not sisters).  A was usually here over night for one reason or another anyways.  The year A was six, I had almost thought we weren't going to be able to spend Christmas together.  Prior to our celebration, which occurred the weekend before Christmas, I hadn't seen her in seven weeks.  That was the year the second Ellfant was born.

It was one of the happiest Christmases I could remember, because my little girl was home.  I remember we got her 'Elefun' that year, and after we made gingerbread (okay, graham cracker) houses and opened presents, we all tried to catch those crazy little butterflies until the three of us collapsed in a giggling heap on the floor and my heart was so full I had to hold back tears.  Then we went out to look at Christmas lights in the car and eat candy canes, and these sweet little voices were singing Christmas carols from the back seat the whole way, eyes lighting up in wonder at the most elaborately decorated houses.

Just... happy.

The fun of that year, and how neither of them wanted it to end, and all the questions A started asking about Santa, made me think a little harder about the following year.  It would be AJ's first year of celebrating Christmas with us, since he'd only been less than two months old the previous year.  M was through her Santa days, but had experienced plenty of magic thanks to her wonderful mom, who did everything she could to make Christmas special for M every year.  A, though... that year she was six, when I asked her what she did on Christmas day (I saw her the next day), if Santa came to mommy's house too... "No, we just didn't do nothin'.  Santa didn't have a tree to put presents under so he just brought them all to your house."

It was then that I realized the one bit of the magic she was missing.  The sleepless night on Christmas eve, startling at every noise, thinking you heard reindeer paws on your roof, checking the clock every hour, looking out the window for the first hint of dawn that meant it was okay to wake up the adults, coming downstairs and seeing the house instantly transformed to a place of magic over night because Santa had been there.  So the next year, I resolved to give her the whole experience.  It turned out to be easier than I thought because she wound up living with me on and off that year anyways.

I sat down with M and explained that even though I knew she didn't 'believe' anymore, I wanted this to be special for A and I needed her help.  I told her what my mom told me about Santa - it's not that he's not real, because he is.  He's not a fat guy in a red suit who comes down your chimney, but 'Santa' is the spirit of giving, the little bit of magic in us all, the effort we put forth every year to give our kids that magic - and now that she was big enough, she was part of 'Santa' too, and I couldn't do it without her help.  Sweet M took the words to heart and helped me make the year magic.

We did everything 'by the book'.  The girls wrote letters to 'Santa' and left out cookies, a carrot, and some peanut butter.  I showed them the letters that Santa wrote back to me as a child, especially the one about the peanut butter.  They drew pictures for Santa too.  We all hung our stockings by the fireplace.  We sat by the Christmas tree before bed and read 'The Night Before Christmas', and of course the story of the first Christmas.  Then I put little one year old AJ to bed and the two little girls (one of whom I'm pretty sure was actually bouncing off the walls) in their BRAND NEW Christmas present room that we'd painted and decorated just for them (the following picture is the looks on their faces the moment they saw it).

I'll translate those expressions for you:  "This is for ME?!"

Now, the thing of it was, I had quit my job just a few months before that Christmas.  I was a full time student, caring for two little girls and a baby whose formula cost TWENTY SIX DOLLARS A CAN.  O, alimentum, how I loathe thee.  I was commuting a half an hour each way to and from school every day, with detours thrown in to pick up and drop off kids at school or childcare arrangements.  Things were tight.  The reason we decorated their room for a gift was because we already had most of what we needed and the rest we bought with gift cards that had been sitting around forever.  It was most costly in labor, which we did ourselves.  Other than that, I only had a couple presents for each of them - but I was doing stockings for the first time, and fruit is cheap and fits well, so that helped.  Still, though, I felt like we'd set the bar too high on the gift front in previous years, and while I knew they'd be happy, when all the presents were bought and then A chose to ask Santa for things she hadn't even told me she'd wanted - I didn't know what to do!  Santa couldn't let her down, not this year!

I remember crying to my friends one night online - friends I knew from a message board, mostly, only a few of whom had met me or the girls.  A wanted a pillow pet.  Those stupid things were twenty dollars.  I'd had the 'Cinderella dress to match my shoes' since Halloween - but the kid sprung the pillow pet on me at the last minute.  I racked my brain for how to get her one.  Then M showed up wearing her mom's (far too big) coat one day, saying she didn't have one.  Another thing I hadn't planned on buying.  I looked for that one in a swap section of our board.  It had to be bought, she needed it.

Eventually I swallowed my pride, planned to wrap everything separately and fill in with homemade gifts.

Then Santa came.

First, he came in the form of a friend, who sent me a message to tell me she was going to be in my area soon, and her son was just a little older than AJ, would I want some of the toys he had never really played with for AJ's Christmas?

Cue tears.  She presented me with two BIG BAGS of gifts, including a coat that HE desperately needed.

Then came the friend who wrote to tell me after Thanksgiving that she'd been at her pastor's sermon on random acts of kindness, and as she sat thinking of whom she could be kind to, A's face popped into her head.  She had some credit at gymboree, and she loved buying girl clothes but she didn't have a daughter, would I please let her send something for A?

Let her?  I cried again.  Told her she didn't have to, but that we were struggling and if she wanted to buy girl clothes, A certainly needed them.  Yeah, I made sure she had sufficient clothing, but, you know, my girly girl... she always wanted more pretty things.

Then came the friend who sent me a picture of a coat, and did I think it would fit M?  I told her yes, I thought it would, and asked her how much she wanted for it.

She put it in the mail and told me not to worry about it.  She didn't need it anyways, she said.

Tears again.

The straw that broke the camel's back though... was maybe a week before Christmas... just after I'd had the breakdown over the pillow pet situation... and lo and behold, one day, a package came addressed to me from Amazon... but I hadn't ordered anything.  I opened it... and I thought the tears would never stop.  Not only the coveted pillow pet, but the perfect one for A, and not just that, but a gift card, so that I could get something 'for me or for the kids'... from another friend.

Here I'd resigned myself to having to explain the absence of the pillow pet... and it shows up unexpected at my door.

Tell me that's not 'Santa' in the truest form.

When it came time to wrap the gifts, some of them were from me, and I wrote that on the tags.  But some of them weren't from me.  They were from the collective kindness of a world who wanted to help me make the kids' Christmas special.  I couldn't take credit for that.

Those tags read 'Santa'.

After the kids were in bed that night, I stayed up late arranging the presents just perfectly, stuffing stockings, eating cookies, and of course writing a note back from Santa about their good choices.

When A saw this, she shouted "HE ATE THE COOKIES!"

Michael's, one dollar, and glitter glue.  Awesome.

Didn't turn out too shabby at all.

When M questioned me about it in private later about the Santa gifts, after the discussion we'd already had about keeping up the pretense for the little kids, I looked at her straight faced and said, "No, those really did come from Santa.  Remember what I told you?  I didn't buy those things.  They came from people who just wanted to give - and that's what Santa is."

I took picture after picture of that year's magic.

The one everyone commented on though, was one I didn't even realize I was in until later.

Why?  Surprisingly, not for the cute little girl in the foreground... but for goofy old me in the previous day's clothes in the background...

They all said I looked so genuinely happy and that they could just see how much I loved those kids.

And they were right.  Because the biggest present Santa brought that year was for me... the perfect Christmas with my babies.

Oh, and this.  Best gift ever.

So, when people ask me if we 'do' Santa, I tell them yes - because he's real.  And most adults look at me warily, like I might start speaking in tongues or something, but if they'd been there, the year that Santa came, they'd believe too.