Right now, as I type this, it is about 7:40 PM Eastern Time in the US on January 7th. But, in Vietnam, it's about 7:40 AM on January 8th.


Which is roughly the time that, one year ago, we left our hotel to travel to Lana's orphanage for the last time.


Lana left the orphanage with us, and two other families, in a taxi a few hours later. She had never been in a car before. At times it is hard for me to wrap my head around the enormous changes this little girl has been through in the last 365 days. She had never been in a car before.


She had never been outside the province of DaNang before. She had never seen snow. The list is endless...


If you've been reading our story for a while, you know this. If you haven't been reading...well, I blogged the whole thing here:

We Have Lan

and here


Giving and Receiving Ceremony

As I type this, Lana is sitting in the big bathtub in my bathroom, tormenting her brother with a fish-shaped water pistol.

A year ago, as I concentrated on getting through each second without flying apart into a gazillion pieces of emotional wreckage, I don't think I allowed myself to believe that such normalcy was attainable.

I'm not going to lie and say that every day of our lives is an exercise in normalcy. (And I'm not sure that I would want to be living that kind of life.)

I strive for honesty here in this bloggy place.

The truth is, this has not been an easy year.

The truth is, this year has been more difficult than I imagined it would be on the day that Lana became our daughter.

The truth is that Lana crawled into my lap two days ago, played with the buttons on my shirt, and matter of factly said, "I used to have a different mommy. You used to be not my mommy. I had another mommy. Now I have you. I love you, mommy. I love two mommies." (I am NOT paraphrasing. That is, word for word, what she said to me.)

The truth is that is I was so stunned by her statement that instead of forming a response, I blinked and I just said, "I love you, too, Lana."

The truth is that while watching her adoption video with me on New Year's Day, she pointed to the footage of the orphanage and said, "I was scared. I was scared in that place, Mommy. Scared." And my heart broke for her.

The truth is that she was up half the night after watching that video, screaming in her sleep, "I don't want to go, I don't want to go, I don't want to go."

I don't think you have to be Freud to draw some pretty hefty conclusions about that.

At the end of the day, at the end of a year, the truth is that I love this child. I didn't fall in love with her right away. I fell in love with her in bits and pieces. When I think about what our journey to this child means to me, and the family of four that we have become with her in it, there are two verses of a song that run through my head. And begging the pardon of the person or persons who wrote it, because I don't pretend to know what they were writing about, (and it is most certainly about a woman, because, come on, isn't that what all the best songs are about?) - the song is Pat Green's Wave On Wave- and to me the words sum up the way Lana brought us to find her, and then made us love her - wave on wave, piece by piece, over and over. The words go like this:

So caught up now in pretending
That what we're seeking is the truth
I'm just looking for a happy ending
All I'm looking for is you.

You came upon me, wave on wave.
You're the reason I'm still here.
Am I the one you were sent to save?
You came upon me, wave on wave.