I hate pink ribbons!!

{And before you go off on me about that loud statement, let me tell you why.}

I look at pink ribbons stickers on cars.  On license plates.

I see pink ribbon quilts that took hours days for someone to lovingly make.

There are pink ribbon events popping up all over in our area.

I see pink ribbon tattoo ideas on Pinterest.

All these things to memorialize a survivor who fought the fight with cancer.  Someone who lost their fight, a warrior.

We are quickly approaching the month of October, which, I painstakingly am aware, is Breast Cancer Awareness month.

October has always been my favorite month of the year.  The colors of the leaves, bonfires, football and sweaters.

I didn't used to be so keenly aware that it was the month in which we remember.

But I am now aware.

And I am quickly reminded of a time in my life that my body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn't turn off.
A time when I worried that I was robbing my family of a "normal" life.
A time of chemicals dripping into a port in my chest, a time of adjusting to a new body.
A time of allergic reactions.
A time of staph infections.
A time that I could truly not look into a mirror, because what I saw there horrified me.
{And I am not talking about what us women see everyday,  not your mild insecurities...Im talking about not recognizing myself without hair, eyebrows, or eyelashes but with blood shot eyes, extra weight and fresh scars. }

Back then, I felt alone. But didn't vocalize it, because wasn't I burden enough on my family and friends?

I had two toddlers and had just started my life.

It wasn't fair.

And I gave God the silent treatment because of it.  I know He didn't give me cancer, but I didn't understand why he allowed it.  And I guess I was mad about it, while still trying to remain in His graces, so He would grant me more time with my family.  Maybe I was afraid that what I had to say, would upset Him.

Cancer is not fair.  For anyone.  But breast cancer is humiliating for women.

Seriously.

How can it be worse, that while you are fighting for your life, and feeling like hell, you are also losing those physical attributes that make you feel like a woman, that make you feel pretty or desirable??

I want cancer gone.  I want to wipe out the need for those damn pink ribbons we are going to see all over the newspaper, the tv, t-shirts and fundraisers very soon.  I never want to see them again.

I never want my kids sitting in a tattoo parlor together getting matching pink ribbon tattoos...if you know what I mean.

I want breast cancer cured.

I love PEOPLE.  I love mothers and daughters.  Sisters and friends.

And because of that, I hate those pink ribbons, and the pain they truly represent.

There.  I said it.

For adoptive parents: Respecting {and not labeling} our children

My beautiful daughters, G and A

As a new adoptive mama, there's something that has been bothering me for a few months.

{And though, I do not like to post negativity on my blog, and I hope this is not seen as negativity, I feel like this simple thing needs to be addressed...And it serves as a reminder for me.}

Recently, I had a friend call me and pointed out a newspaper article with picture of a mother and her daughter.  It read, "So and So with her adopted daughter, Whats her name."

Do you see what I saw (and the reason why this picture was pointed out to me in the first place)??

Her adopted daughter?  Isn't that strange?  If a mother was in the paper with her biological child, would it be labeled, "Susie Q and her biological son, John Doe"???

Absolutely not.

I have no idea if this mother reacted to this portrayal in the area paper.

I would have.  I most definitely would.  I would NEVER want my child to have that LABEL in the media. I choose to try not to label my children as anything other than gorgeous, amazing and wonderful. :)

But then we pose the question, why would the newspaper reporter feel the need to label that picture that way?  Has that mother in her own way already labeled her child as "adopted?"
When talking to a news reporter, or any other person for that matter, I don't introduce my kids as biological or adopted.  I say, "HERE ARE MY KIDS!  This is my circus!"

Some of my kids may LOOK a little more like me. And some may not.  And sometimes, honestly, I feel the need to explain my family.  I know people are curious about us.  We aren't exactly like other families.  And sometimes I do decipher between the biological and adopted, because our recent adoptions have been at the forefront of the Aguilera Family News.

But I don't really owe ANYONE that explanation.  And I need to remember that.

More importantly, my children don't owe anyone that.  And they certainly don't need to be known as my "biological" or my "adopted" children.  They are just my kids. {Lucky them!}

Let's, as a society, get away from the biological vs adopted titles.  And as fascinating as adoption is (And it really is!), the best thing for the child is to see the "ordinary" in it.   Children want need to feel like they are a part of a family, and not an outsider within it.   They need to feel like they belong to the family and not be reminded that they came to it in an unusual way.

God adopted me in His family.  I don't walk around calling myself an "adopted" child of God.

I am just His daughter.  I am just His child.

And thats truly how our children should feel every day of their lives.

As an ending note, I do not think that being called an "adopted" child is a negative name.  Having not been adopted as a child, I do not know what weight this carries.  I believe with every bit of my heart that adoption is wonderful, a blessing and an absolute picture of God's grace.

I simply feel that we do not need to label our society's children by the mode in which they entered into a family.

They will acquire many titles throughout their lives by their own accord.

Lets respect the childrens' right to make their identities  in which they want to be viewed, and not cast any upon them without their consent.

Words that help me remember who I am

When I was just a foster mother with the hopes of adopting, I was searching etsy.com for wall art that was appropriate for a beautiful little girl's nursery.  Then I came upon this sign, and I loved it.  It wasn't right for G's bedroom's color theme.  But it was perfect for our bright colorful dining room.  As I kept going back to this, I thought "This isn't just for an adopted child. It's for EVERYONE. It's for me. "

I am CHOSEN. To live this very life.  I was chosen to overcome these (sometimes seemingly MANY) obstacles. I was also chosen to receive many gifts.  I 

have a story to tell.  And I was chosen to tell it. 

 I was chosen to be Dan's wife. Chosen to birth two beautiful, spontaneous children.  Chosen to adopt a wonderful little girl and a happy baby boy.  Chosen to be an advocate.  Chosen to love others deeply.  Chosen to endure pain, loss, illness.  Chosen to be a warrior.  

My name even means "strong."  I assume that was a glimpse of what I was chosen to be. 

I am BLESSED. Truly. By a God who loves me.  Who gives to me freely.  Who sent his Son to die for me.  Blessed by big and small acts of kindness. Blessed to be alive.

I am ADOPTED into a mighty family.  I will inherit the Kingdom of God along with my sisters and brothers.  I am an adopted daughter of the Almighty King and the sister to a prince.   (Thats pretty amazing.  Isn't it?)

I am FORGIVEN.  Oh, isn't this sweet?  I have too many things to list for which I have needed forgiveness.   I fall short a little each and every day, even on my best days.  Because of my brother, the Prince who died for me, my sins and shortcomings are forgiven.  And forgotten.  

I am REDEEMED and made free. I was paid for with the blood of my Savior.  I don't need to feel guilt.  I no longer carry the bondage of my sin.  I was ransomed so that I could live eternally with my Heavenly family.

I am ACCEPTED.  Who I am, and how I got here.  I was accepted before I even existed.  When I struggle with accepting who I am, how I look or aspects of my personality, there's a God in Heaven, who looks down on me with acceptance.  And even more than that, He looks down on me with LOVE.

{And guess what?  YOU are ALL those things too!}