Why our kids will never believe in Santa

    I'm guessing you're already judging me. Hear me out. The reason probably isn't what you think it is. Yes, I do want Jesus to be at the center of our Christmas. Yes, I want to eliminate the focus on consumption and stuff. These are important to me, but even more important is making sure that my kids feel loved. ALL of my kids. Including those who come from other homes.
    You see, the plan is that Potato will be our only bio baby. God willing, the rest will be fostered/adopted through the state foster care system. We cannot WAIT to bring these littles into our home, but the likelihood of the rest of our children coming to us as infants is slim. And if we get a phone call one November to foster a sweet little 5 year old, how in the world do you think I would explain Santa? I can just hear the conversation now...
Potato: Santa comes every year and brings me lots of toys because I'm good!
Kiddo: I was always good. Why didn't Santa come and bring me any toys? I guess I should have done better....
     Yeah, that won't work. I don't want to lie to my kids, I want to empower them. I want them to know that Jesus' birth is a celebration. I want them to know that HE is the gift, and that His gift is there for them all the time- even if they spill their milk sometimes, or they made their sibling cry that one time (or two or three :). I can not imagine breaking a child's heart with the knowledge that this mythical being passed him/her by, even when the child did everything he/she could to be great. It breaks my heart to think of children living in abuse this Christmas. Can you imagine? Someone is beating them, telling them it's their fault, they shouldn't have done x or said y. Then, Santa doesn't come, and just reinforces the whole message. It honestly makes me sick to my stomach.
     So no, I don't hate Santa. And I definitely won't judge you if your kids believe. I grew up believing, and except for the few weeks after I found out he wasn't real, I wasn't any worse for the wear. But the families that I work with often don't have the means to celebrate Christmas in the consumer-driven, over-the-top manner that modern America does. I never want to play a part in perpetuating feelings of inadequacy in their little hearts. Potato and all of the future littles that will walk through these decked halls will know that the real gift of Christmas is always available to them, and that no matter how "good" they are, they will never be whole without Christ in their hearts.

I Hope She Looks Like Your Mother-in-law: The Picture of Adoption

"I really hope the baby looks like your mother-in-law." My mom looked very concerned. I felt very confused.
     What, Mom? You don't want my baby girl to look like me? She continued, "I just hate my nose. And I've been really worried that the baby will have my nose, and your MIL has such a pretty face."
     I almost died, I was laughing so hard. Yes, laughing. Uncontrollably. It wasn't my mother's vanity that cracked me up (although it was quite laughable!). You see, I was adopted as an infant. What my mom was forgetting was that Potato wouldn't look like her, whether she wanted her to or not!
     Until recently, I didn't realize just how perfect my adoption story is. It is truly a picture of what adoption should look like. My mom (not my second mom, my adoptive mom, or any other title...she raised me, she's my mom) has loved me so much for so long that she completely forgot that I was related by love, not by blood.
     I have always known that I was adopted, and I believe with all of my heart and mind that this is the route any adoptive family should go. Before I was able to understand, my parents read Why Was I Adopted to me. It breaks down adoption to show children the love that covers them by so many. Get it. Read it to your kids (bio or not!). Help them understand.
     My siblings are both biological to my parents. I'm the oldest, and if you are around adoptive families enough, you can probably guess what happened next... My mom found out that she was pregnant a few months after they picked me up from the adoption agency, as happens so often, and again a few years later. But matching DNA (or lack thereof) never mattered. We were all treated with the same love, support, and adoration that a parent shows his/her child. Although I don't look like my family- or any of the WHITE people we grew up around- it didn't matter (I look mixed, if you don't know me!). Everyone knew. No one cared.
     After hearing about my mom's comment, my sister laughed, then looked pensive. "While I was driving the other day, I got excited for you. This will be the first time you will know someone who looks like you." She got it. And was excited. When I'm this wrapped in love, who cares about blood?