I can barely express the respect I feel for my daughters. The way they have walked into this new life of theirs. Into room after room after room of new and pale and inquisitive people. The way they try new foods and go new places and embrace new adventures and learn new games and sing new songs and wrap their mouths and their minds around a plethora of new words.

Yes, there are times when they are unhappy. They've learned that their new family is human, after all. We can’t possibly measure up to the fantasy family that grew in their minds as they waited to come to us. How could there not be pangs of sadness as the dream-family fades away and before the real one becomes dear?

And then there are the friends, precious friends and loved ones -- both from their family of origin and the people they cobbled into a makeshift family as they waited for us. The memory of those relationships is precious. The longing to see dear ones grips their hearts and their throats very hard at times. No wonder that sometimes they sit on their beds and thumb through letters and look sad-eyed into space.

Besides all that they have been through, they are also normal kids. Kids who would like to be making their own choices but now find themselves under the eyes of new and watchful parents. Parents who ask them forgive their siblings and take a shower and empty the dishwasher and swallow chalky pills and shut the light out at 9:30.

From a child’s point of view, there are dozens of good reasons every day to flounce off in a huff and roll their eyes and not speak to anyone for an hour or two. And they do. Oh, yes, they do. These early weeks have been a roller coaster of emotions for them -- and for me, because as mom I am along for every lurch of the ride, delighting in every up-turn and feeling my stomach drop with every sad moment. And I do not yet know them well enough to have a feel for how deep each hurt cuts. Or for how fast they will bounce back.

And yet -- let me tell you why I admire these children so much -- there is a sturdiness about them. They may not be willing to talk with me every moment of every day. They may not always be pleasant or polite or compliant. But their optimism pulls them back up over and over again, and soon they dive headlong back into family life.

Pretty soon they’re holding my hand and speaking to me in their ever-growing list of English words, and writing me “I love you” notes and hugging their sisters and teasing their brothers, and running giggling to dad when he gets home from work. They teach us to cook, and they sing loudly in Amharic as we’re driving down the road, and verbally chastise the computer when it’s pokey, and beat their brothers at ‘Speed’, and flash their dimples, and surprise me with their humor and amazing resilience, and endear themselves to me more and more minute by minute and day by day.

I am awed by their courage. And I am so incredibly blessed to have them in my life, in happy times and sad. Because, after all, that is what family is for.

Related links
Adding two children at once: what it's like
A day of firsts