4 Years

Four years ago today we arrived home in America with our children. It was a very, very hot day. It had been chilly in Ethiopia (July is rainy season), so we were all dressed in long sleeves and pants. At the airport, my sister asked me, "Don't you want to change?" "No", I said. We didn't have any clean clothes left. And anyway, the last particles of Ethiopia still clung to our clothes. I wasn't ready to get rid of them, not yet.

 Daniel had learned a handful of English words: hungry, mine?, mom, dad, plane, America. He pushed all the buttons on the little TV screen on the back of the chair in front of him hundreds of times. He fell asleep across two seats wrapped up in a green blanket with dinosaurs on it.

This week the dinosaur blanket is with him at sleep away camp. It's probably crumbled up in a mess on the floor of the cabin he is sharing with 9 other boys. He's probably spending the day swimming and boating and playing games. He will not remember that today is our "Family Day." And that is just fine, because we've been working very hard for the past 4 years to make every day, Family Day.

When we arrived at the airport 4 years ago, we had so much in our arms. Bags and blankets and bottles and a squirming, teething just-learned-to-walk toddler.  We lost the little cup that Lily was used to drinking out of somewhere in the German airport. We ate our first non-Ethiopian meal at McDonald's. With his meal Daniel got a little spinning toy from a children's movie we still haven't seen.  A couple of years later, that too was lost.

By the time we landed, Lily was wearing her last clean onesie, and probably the last clean diaper. She'd drunk every ounce of formula, downing bottle after bottle. The exasperated flight attendant filled with warm water every 1/2 clean bottle I handed him, hour after hour. The women flight attendants let me stand up, Lily strapped to my chest in a carrier, until the very last second before we landed. 14 hours of flying and she was not a very happy 15 month old.

In line (in a very, very long line) for Immigration (our special adoption immigration visas sealed carefully in two large manila envelopes, clutched to us amongst the bottles and toys and blankets and children) - another mother offered our children lollipops. It was like a sacrament, one I am still grateful for.

Our paperwork was stamped. We walked through the doors. We were met by our wonderful, patient family. The children played. We were all delirious. We got into our car (and the wonderfully helpful man at the car park helped us fix Lily's car seat strap, which was too small). We drove home. Lily played a game of spitting and making noises with her lips. They both laughed hysterically. We arrived home. We carried us up the stairs and showed the children their room. We bathed. We ate the mac and cheese my mother and sister had left in the fridge for us. Another bottle was made. The midnight bottle was prepared. (Oh how I forget how little Lily was, she still woke for night feedings those first few weeks.)  We slipped them into new pajamas and settled them into their beds. Lily slept in the pack and play in the living room because her mattress was too high. They slept. Andrew and I opened beers and sat quietly in our little office and grinned at each other.

We did it. 4 years, 1/2 a foot of paperwork, two international trips, hours and hours and hours and hours of waiting and work...We were a family. We were exhausted and proud and terrified and deliriously happy.

I think everyone feels this way, that first night. And then the rest of your life begins.... It's only sometimes that you remember to stop and marvel at the miracle that is your ordinary life.

4 years later Daniel has now been in our American family as long as he was with his Ethiopian one. He's spending the day playing with friends and doing whatever 9 year old boys do at camp. Lily, who is now the same age that Daniel was 4 years ago, is upstairs in her Princess Ana dress playing with her dolls and waiting for me to make her pancakes.  This week we got an email reporting that although their first harvest was poor, our Ethiopian family is all well. The children are all in school. The new baby is healthy. They are enjoying a good rainy season.

A very ordinary, miraculous life.

Happy Birthday, little family.

on National Adoption Month

So it's November, which means, amongst other things, that it is National Adoption Month.

There has been some talk around the interwebs/blogsphere/twitterverse/Face-dominion about the merits of "celebrating" adoption, the harm that positive-only language can do to adoptees who maybe don't feel 100% positive about their adoption, and how it might perpetuate some of the terrible adoption myths now received as wisdom here in America (and probably elsewhere).

My thoughts on National Adoption Month aren't completely formed but they are growing, as usual, in the gray areas.

One the one hand, it's always lovely to have "National Month of" that honors your particular family.  On the other hand, we don't "celebrate" adoption around here. Adoption is how our family came to be, but it's not something we bake cakes about. And, just as February's "Black History Month" isn't the only time of year we teach our children about their African heritage, adoption is a topic all year round.

Baby Lily, not so certain about this whole adoption thing.

Here are my wishes for November's Adoption Month:

1. That it teaches at least 2 or 3 more people that families formed through adoption are Families. Yes, I love my kids just as much as you love yours. Not more ("The trouble! The expense! All those shots you had to get to travel to Ethiopia!") Not less (I could never love a child who wasn't mine biologically"). Just the same.  Adopted kids are just kids.  We have to love them like crazy, don't we, or we would never tolerate them. They are terrible house guests. Imagine having someone to live with you who regularly, and sometimes purposefully, pees anywhere but in the toilet?! And then calls for you to help them clean themselves up! In the middle of the night! No, you wouldn't stand for it. So, obviously, we love our children like crazy.

2. It helps a few more families who are struggling to help their children heal from childhood trauma, attachment struggles or other challenges common to children who have been adopted.  The most damaging myth in adoption is that the simple act of signing the paperwork and bringing the child home will "fix" them. Everything is rainbows and unicorns afterwards. It's not, and most families will need support, therapy, special parenting techniques, extra help from schools and a life long commitment to growing and healing together.
      Sometimes the adoption itself is the most traumatic thing that happened to a child. It's long past time we as a culture stopped expecting adoptees to be grateful for being "saved" by a "loving family." My own children would certainly laugh at this preposterous idea. This family! They hardly ever let us eat candy and play video games!

3. It leads to at least one more child in foster care being adopted.  The original intent of National Adoption month was to shine more light on the terrible dark secret in our country that we don't properly take care of our children.  We have an orphan problem. More than one person has told me how wonderful it was that we adopted our children from 'impoverished' Ethiopia.  Little do they know how ashamed I am that we didn't have the guts to adopted from impoverished America. In 2012,  23,396 children "aged out" of the foster care system here in America. 23,396 people who will never have a family. No home to visit on Thanksgiving, no one to call "Grandpa," no one to call for advice about car repairs or that first home purchase. This is a tragedy on par with the thousands of Russian orphans confined to their cribs, or the millions of African families who are broken apart by war, poverty or disease. America has an orphan problem, and if "celebrating" adoption one month a year brings some awareness to it, then break out the balloons and cake pans!



Kristen Howerton at Rage Against the Minivan does a beautiful series highlighting children who are in need of families here in America. She often writes about foster care and adoption.

Scoopy at Scooping it Up wrote passionately about how she is against celebrating National Adoption Month.

Our own adoption agency, Spence-Chapin, now works exclusively to find homes for older children here and abroad.

More national and global adoption statistics here.

Where are they from? And other adoption conversations with strangers...

Last week I took Lily to a local botanic garden. While she was clamboring all over the Children's Garden, an older woman caught my eye and said,

"I hope I'm not assuming... but is your daughter adopted?"

"Yes, she was born in Ethiopia." I replied with a smile.

"I have a daughter, who is black, and adopted. She's now, oh, 45 years old." She smiled wide, and I smiled back. Then I said, leaning in a bit,

"Did you always have people asking about her hair?"

The woman laughed and said, "Yup. My daughter was just saying to me, 'Mama, that's the one thing you did wrong. You didn't keep my hair tidy enough!' You always have to keep her hair nice and neat."

We chatted for another moment, and then moved on.

thumbs up for our neighbors swing

Later, an older man approached us as Lily as exploring the Fairy House Forest, and asked "Where is she from? Haiti?"
No, I said, she was born in Ethiopia.

We chatted for a minute, and before walking on he made a point to get Lily's attention and say, soberly, "God Bless You." Lily shrugged at him and skipped away.


The man driving the shuttle bus to the parking lot admired Lily, and said, you look just like my granddaughter!

The attendant at the ticket booth said, "What a beautiful family you have."

A woman in the cafe laughed and said, "What about her hair!? I bet you can't do a thing with it!"


My mother, after being asked "Where is she from?" while escorting Lily to the beach snack shop said to me, "Do you get asked these kinds of questions all the time?!"

Yes, I said.  Being an obviously adoptive family means fielding lots of questions and stares, pretty much all the time. I find it doesn't bother me, most of the time.  Most of the time I take questions from strangers as an opportunity to educate folks. I didn't know they don't speak English in Ethiopia, either, until about 4 years ago. I didn't know how to braid curly hair either. Sometimes meeting someone in a park or garden or beach is a lovely opportunity to make a connection.  It's fun to talk with some one who is also "in the club." Occasionally someone has said something rude, but usually out of ignorance, not malice. ("Where is their 'real' mother?", or "Is their mom dead?" or "I couldn't adopt, I don't know how you do that.")

I'm happy to have some kind older gentleman say "God Bless You" ponderously.  I'll take all the blessings I can get.

Being an obvious adoptive family means that I am very conscious of what we look like and how we act when we are out in public.  People are going to be looking at us; the least I can do is have the kids in clean clothes.  I die a thousand tiny deaths when the kids act up in public. Because now I'm "that white mother with those adopted kids."  And sometimes I'm that "tired white mom with those out of control black kids."

Which is why, when at the end of our month at the beach, at the end of our two day car ride home, at the end of our patience and our clean clothes and our ability to sit in the car,  it was tough to walk into the diner.  Lily's hair, braided so beautifully by her teacher before we left, and kept mostly sand and damage free for a month by my inexpert hands, was free. She was sporting a gloriously wild and beautiful Afro, slightly smooshed in the back from sitting in the car.  I didn't even think about it until we walked (sweaty and cranky and in need of home) into the diner and I saw the African-American hostess and her neatly coiled hair and I realized... oh *#$%, Lily's got "white momma" hair.

When we adopted our kids I made a vow, perhaps a silly one, to never let my daughter have "white momma" hair. (Meaning, under-moisterized, tangled, un-braided, I-don't-know-what-to-do-with-my black-daughter's-hair, hair.) Thank God for the internet and Lily's patient kind teachers, Lily's hair is well maintained and usually braided or styled carefully. I take a lot of pride in it, and hair time takes up a good portion of our weekly schedule.

A few weeks ago an African-American woman stopped me at a carnival and asked me how I did Lily's twists. That was huge for me. HUGE.

So here we are in the diner, in all our end of vacation, didn't-have-time-to-braid-hair-at-the-motel glory, and all I want to do it shout. "I know how to do hair! We ran out of conditioner and patience and as soon as we get home I'm going to do a hot oil treatment!"

Thankfully, that proved unnessary.  No dirty looks were cast in our direction.

And as soon as we got home, I did a hot oil treatment and braided her hair into a mini-mohawk, as per Lily's request.

So the next time you see an obviously adoptive trans-racial family, go ahead and say "What a beautiful family you have." and add, "nice hair."

in all her natural glory

broken rubber band

Most toddlers, when you take them to a wide open area like a park or a beach, will run and run for a few yards, and then turn back to look at you. Then they will laugh and run very quickly back to you.  It's like they have an invisible rubber band attached to them that runs between them and you (mommy/daddy).  If they run too far, the rubber band pulls them back, fast.

Lily came home with us at 15 months. She had just learned to walk, and for the first couple of weeks she still had that step-step-stumble-fall walk of a young toddler. As soon as she got steady on her feet though, she took off.

We took her to wide open places and she ran and ran and ran. It was clear, her rubber band was broken. 12 months in a care center without a mommy or daddy to run back to will do that.

Sometimes I let her run away from me, just to test and see how far she would go. Would she ever turn around?

She never did. She just kept going. My own heart, my own aching rubber band, would snap, and I would chase after her and catch her up.  But it was clear, she would have kept on going.

Lily, you may have noticed, is something of a dare devil. If there is a sharp object within reach, she is picking it up (and when she was younger, putting it in her mouth. Let's see if this steak knife from the dishwasher mommy is unloading is really clean.) If there is a body of water to jump in, she jumps. If there is a tall tree or hill or large rock, she is climbing it. If there is a cliff or porch railing or window ledge, she is leaning over it. If there is a set of wheels to ride, she is on it. Running into traffic? That's so fun! Disappearing into crowds? Loves it! I have been paged over the YMCA loudspeaker to come get a (pantsless) child from the bouncy house she refuses to leave. I have grabbed her from the jaws of death (oncoming cars and trucks) three times.

This child has taken years off my life. YEARS.

And yet, she is still alive. Steak knife in the mouth at 16 months? Not a scratch.

Diving into a busy street? Fine.

Tumbling off of a high rock? Not a bruise.

She really does have a guardian angel.

A couple of days ago we took the kids to a huge beach near us. Waves! Sand! They were thrilled, and the waves were so much fun they didn't notice the water was like ice.

At this beach there is a large rocky island that you can walk out to at low tide. We all started towards it, but Daniel got distracted by the waves and we stopped to let him jump for awhile. Lily, though, wanted to get to the top of that island. She took off. I stood at the bottom of the slope, watching her, conducting the test again. Just how far and how high will she climb before she turns around? Has her rubber band, after 3 years with us, been stitched together at all?

She climbed and climbed and climbed without a glance back. Soon, she was out of sight. I had a vision of the waves crashing on the rocky ledge I knew was on the other side of the island. I started climbing after her.

Lily, as an adult, will be able to climb so high. She is so fearless, so ready to take on the world. Perhaps by then, we will have stitched together enough of the rubber band that she will not leave us behind.

A Break from Ordinary

what is he thinking?

Most of the time, my children do not want to talk about being adopted. They'd like to go about their normal lives and just pretend that we are just an ordinary family who are all the same color thank you very much. And most of the time, I am relieved, because talking about their adoption and about how we are different colors is exhausting and often makes me cry. So for the past several months, we've gone about our lives- school and snow storms and renovations and arguments about screen time and on and on...

But this week, for reasons unknown to us, our son has said a few things that prompted me to think that we need to talk more about being adopted.  First of all, we had last weekend's eye opening conversation. Read it here. Then, Daniel says something to Andrew about being replaceable. As in, if he was lost, would we "just adopt" another boy? And just yesterday, Daniel asked me which orphanage I lived in when I was a little girl. He was disappointed when I reminded him that I lived and grew up with Grandma and Grandpa.

I'm glad to have these reminders that we are not just another ordinary family.  We had gotten too comfortable pretending.

So tonight I sat Daniel on my lap and read him his life story. He pretended not to want to hear it. He pretended to climb off the chair and run away. But he also sat back into my chest and nodded when I asked him if I should keep going. His story, as he said once, is a sad story.  Reading it I tried not to cry, and failed. Daniel said, "Stop crying! I'm going to be embarrassed."  I said, "I'll try."

In telling Daniel his story I try to get him to understand that he is not replaceable. I try to get him to recognize that it was a terrible tragedy that led him to lose his first family, and not because he wasn't wanted or loved.  I want him to hear me when I say how much he is loved and wanted and treasured.  I try to help him understand just how special his story is.  But I know that he will probably not truly internalize those truths until he is an adult.  My loving words fall into a deep, deep space inside him.

I'm telling you, the whole wide web, this intimate family story because I want more people to understand just how hard adoption is for children. Just how tragic and terrifying it is. Yes, life saving and life changing and trans formative, but also, a sad story.

Occasionally someone will say to me about my children, "how lucky they are." Nothing could be farther from the truth.  The only luck they had was in getting adopted at all, and not having to grow up in an orphanage.

I am the lucky one.

Ethiopia is slowly closing their international adoption program. I have very mixed feelings about it. On the one hand,  it is certain that many, too too many children were wrongfully taken from their families and "sold" into adoption. On the other hand, too too many children will now suffer, die or grow up to live limited lives in care centers. There is nothing worse for a child than to grow up without a family.  I can only hope that more families will stay intact, or that more children will be adopted within the country.  I'm hoping that when we visit Ethiopia this Spring, we will go to find Daniel and Lily's old care center empty and shuttered.  Those hopes are fairly thin.


Ah! You might be saying... What can I do?! I hate crying over all these sad stories! What can I do to help?! 

Well, you might donate money to one of the many, many organizations all over the world that are helping children stay with their families or work to prevent the causes of orphaning in the first place. Heifer International, The Fistula Foundation, Heartline Ministries Haiti and Ethiopia Reads are four that we donate to regularly. Or, you might sponsor a child at risk of being orphaned through one of the many organizations that helps children attend school, get good health care and clean drinking water. We sponsor four Ethiopian children through Food for the Hungry.

Or, you can find out ways to support families at risk closer to home. Tragedies and orphans don't just happen far away in Africa...

But even if you do nothing more, even if all you did was read this, thank you. I am the lucky one.

eye opening

Sometimes my kid says something that completely changes my perspective on our shared life together...

D with Daddy in Ethiopia. Ohmygoodness he was so tiny!

Yesterday we had this conversation over a snack:

Daniel: "When I first came home, I thought you and Daddy were like monsters. That maybe you had lots of kids and you killed them and ate them or something. Ha!"

Me: "Really? Wow. And when did you stop believing that?"

Daniel: "Oh, maybe like after 100 days."

Me: "Hmm. And what helped you change your mind?"

Daniel: "That you bought me toys."

Yup. That's right. When our newly adopted son first came home, at age 5, he thought maybe we'd adopted lots of kids, and murdered them, and possibly ate them.

This puts a whole new spin on my memories of our first 100 days as a family, and also makes me rethink the value my son places on new toys.

First of all, you should know that the conversation above was not a whispered, emotional confession. It was a relaxed, normal conversation over apple slices at our dinner table.  As in: "Ha ha ha... remember how I used to think you and Daddy were murderers and cannibals! Ha! That was something!?"

Secondly, our son loves to get new toys, and gets super worked up around birthdays and holiday about which toys and how many and will they be fun and cool enough... Which I used to find really annoying and stressful. Who was this materialistic person I was raising!? And now I see that he's somehow equated these people buy me nice toys = they must not be about to murder me and my baby sister.  So, I guess I will keep those new toys coming for a bit longer just so he is clear that we are not out to get him.

Thirdly, and most importantly: What! holy @#$%! Is THAT what you were thinking during those crucial first weeks when we could barely communicate and you were having daily tantrums and grieving and we were all just trying to survive? I can't believe that Daniel was terrified for his life all the time. I think part of the time he was happy and excited to be in his new home. Part of the time he was confused, and a lot of the time overwhelmed.  But maybe I'm projecting my own emotional memories of that time onto him. Usually when we ask he claims to not remember those first few weeks.  After all, those memories were coded in a language he no longer speaks or understands.

I'm going to have to ponder this some more. And I'll ask him about it again. It maybe that he was pulling my leg. Or he might have other revelations for me...

Life with kids: always full of surprises.

D contemplating his new life in America

and, we're done...

photo courtesy of Jared Slater, jandjphotography.net

Not too many people ask us, when are children are with us, if we are planning on having/adopting more children. It's pretty obvious we have our hands full. Both our kids are active, curious, talkative and  independent. And sometimes naughty.  But I'm sure as they get older we'll get that question... so I thought I'd clarify my thoughts on our family size, to be prepared...

It feels good, first of all, to Be Done. Andrew and I spent the better part of our 6 year marriage trying to have kids. One year "trying".  One year medically enhanced "trying". Two years of adoption process.  Building our family was exhausting, physically and emotionally.  It was totally worth it, and we never want to do it again. We were ready to be done with the family-building phase and are happy to be in the living as a family phase.

And, we have our hands' full.  Literally.  I often need to hold the hands of both my children.  (See: tantrums and grab and run.)  It feels good to be able to have them both next to me, both safe and near.  I don't have hands for any more children.

We feel enormously blessed to have the two children we do. Given the sorry state of adoption, and specifically of Ethiopian adoption (read Scooping it Up, or any article re: Russian adoption), we are extraordinarily lucky to have adopted Daniel and Lily together.  During our process we were kind of 50:50 about adopting two at once. Our referral request was for whichever came first, one child under 4 or two children under 8.  When we got a referral for a 4 year old boy and his infant sister we pinched ourselves (over and over again).  Looking back on it, I cannot believe our luck.  We had always wanted two children, and in our heart of hearts we wanted a boy and a girl. Well, our hearts' desire was granted. So it seems risky, almost sinful, to desire more.

Every family, I believe, has it's number: the best number of children to have. It could be 15; it could be none. So many families don't get to have the number of children they want: they have too few, or sometimes too many.  (I'll never forget my terror of what might happen to me and to my marriage if one of our fertility treatments led us to have a multiple pregnancy.  I compulsively watched "Jon and Kate Plus 8" in horror.)  Family planning is, in many ways, the most unfair of lotteries sometimes.

Our home is small. Our plan for our life as a family includes multiple trips to visit Ethiopia, and hopefully some other traveling too. As much as I would love to have a bigger kitchen and a backyard, we live in New York, and the real estate prices are heading in only one direction: over our heads. So we have a small 2 (and a 1/2) bedroom, and we save to pay for international airfare. If we had another child, we'd have to move. And "we will not move to the suburbs" was in Andrew and my wedding vows. :)

When we announced that Daniel and Lily would be joining our family, I wrote: "Two + Two = Family".

Two, what a perfect number.  For us.

This is how children grieve...

Tonight as I was putting on my boots for a quick trip to the store for some after-dinner ice cream, this conversation happened:

Daniel: "Mom, A-------- (his late Ethiopian mother) didn't write back!"

Me: "A-----? Don't you mean G------" (his living Ethiopian father)?

Daniel: "No, A----------! She didn't write back!"

Me: Extremely puzzled look. Then: "She can't write back. She's dead, sweetie."

Daniel: Extremely puzzled look.  "I know that!"

****

And this is how it happens... the sudden shift from the ordinary to the sublime, from prose to poetry. One minute you are putting your boots on and the next you are explaining to your child about heaven and memory and the finality of death.

Children don't mourn the way that adults do. They don't grieve, for example, at church on Sunday morning, or during other times that we adults schedule for our spiritual and emotional connection to the unknown.  They mourn in unpredictable, erratic, cyclical ways.  Little spurts of memory or understanding can propel them to grief at odd times.

Daniel and I have talked about his Ethiopian mother while walking to school, in the car heading to the dentist, while avoiding doing homework, in the middle of hectic dinner preparations, etc.  He's shared the story of her death with his grandmother over ice cream cones, and with his dad during breaks from Superhero play. We purposefully bring her name and her memory up often, but we have learned that we cannot predict nor direct Daniel's grief.  Talking about her over dinner will not trigger tears. But a homework assignment to think of problems to solve will lead him to talk about not everyone having shoes. Which will lead to talking about how his Ethiopian family does not have shoes. Which will remind him that if his mother had had a pair of shoes, she might not have contracted the illness which killed her.

Our son knows, of course, what happened to his first mother.  He was there, watching everything unfold with 4 year old eyes.

Our daughter was a tiny infant when their mother died. Lily's understanding of her story is limited, right now, to "Ethiopia" and "crying all the time".  Recently she cried while seeing some photos of herself from the care center. Today she cried over them a little bit more, saying "I miss my baby toys."

She is very much invested in me as her Mommy. I cannot leave the room for a moment without her following me. When I give her a kiss she says, "Why you kissing me mama?"
I say, "because I love you."
"You love me?" she replies. "All the time?"
"Yes, baby, all the time."

Recently Lily and I started having conversations about our skin color. How she is brown like Daniel and Daddy and I are pink. I can see her 2 1/2 year old brain struggling to put the pieces together:

Brown skin + pink mommy + Ethiopia + missing baby toys = ????

It used to stun me, these abrupt departures into the shaky, murky land of childhood grief. I would struggle to hold back my own tears as I gave space for my son to talk the way that he wanted.  I've grown more accustomed now... but he can still surprise me.

It turns out that tonight for some reason, Daniel remembered how last Mother's Day we wrote a letter to A------ together and then burned it on the roof to send our letter up to heaven.

She didn't write back.  

You might think that this revelation brought our six year old to be stricken with grief again, to cry and to scream. But that is an adult idea of grief.  For Daniel, it is just one more piece to fit into the puzzle of his life.  Dead people don't write back.  Check.

We talked for a minute about A------, and then I finished putting my boots on and went for the ice cream. Vanilla, which my son ate 3 large scoops of.  Then he went to bed and I went to the computer to write.

a little light reading/screaming...

one year old... and one of those nannies sure knows how to make her smile.

The most interesting thing happened this evening. It was Daniel's turn to pick out a book, and he headed over to our photo album shelf and grabbed the binder full of photos from their time in the Ethiopian care center. We hadn't looked at those for a long, long time. We looked through Daniel's photos ("Do you remember those friends Daniel?" "No, no, nope.") Then we turned to Lily's section and oh boy! She started hysterically crying.  Pointed to the baby toys that are surrounding her in the picture and crying that she wants to have them. She misses her baby toys. Within seconds she went from sleepy happy Lily to screaming, snot and tears running down her face crying, tired Lily.

Amazing.

Life with two adopted kids can sure be unpredictable. It's hard to know what will trigger them... especially Lily, who was just 15 months when she came home, really a baby.  But, she did live most of her life in that care center. She sat up there, crawled there, learned to walk there. Maybe she does remember those favorite toys, none of which came home with us.  Maybe she does remember those first playmates and caregivers.

But then again, tonight she was also just an overtired toddler. Once we put the book away and I took her into her room and sat in the rocking chair she calmed down. I reassured her that we could play with her cousin's baby toys, and that was good enough for her.

For now. I am very grateful to my 18 months ago self for writing the kids' nannies and playmates names on the side of the photos. I'm so glad I held onto the clothes they came home in and all the little momentos of our trip. (Well, not Lily's little feeding cup, which we lost in the Frankfurt airport, but that is another story.)

Those baby toys are being shaken and rattled, no doubt, by other children. The nannies are cuddling and praying for a new batch of babies whose lives have taken a very unfortunate turn. Someday Lily will understand why we had to leave the baby toys behind. Then we'll probably cry together again.

I'm going to take out that book again, in daylight when she is not overtired and see what happens...

On the Sleep front:

We seem to have lessoned the night terrors by dressing her in summer pajamas. Now that she isn't overheating she seems to have them much less often and they are less severe. We also make sure she's had her allergy medicine so that sleep apnea isn't a factor, and tried to reduce the TV and stimulation of our evenings. So far it's better, but not good. She's waking frequently and taking a while to settle down. But she is staying in her bed. We'll count that as a victory, for now.

Here is a link to a wonderful reflection for Martin Luther King Jr. Day: click here

Here is a link to see photos of some beautiful babies waiting for forever families in China: click here

baby books for adopted kids

I've been sick this past week, and with no energy to do anything but sit on the couch and watch Lord of the Rings (Extended Edition) for the upteenth time, I decided to finally finish Lily and Daniel's "baby books".  Yes, they do make them for adoptees!

I bought this beautiful one a couple of years ago, and when we were matched with two kids, I promptly went out and bought another one.  Although it is written with infant adoption in mind, it's flexible enough (just) for older children. A few asterisks and insertions are all that are needed to adapt it. For example, in the section for first words I simple wrote in "English" for Daniel.  First steps... well, we know Lily took hers just days before we came to pick them up. (Damn!)  For Daniel we wrote details about his first bicycle and first scooter.  There were plenty of "firsts" in our first year as a family to fill up both books!

My favorite page is a simple one that prompts, "Our hopes and dreams for you."  It helped to clarify and simplify all the many hopes we have for our children: to be happy, to be proud of their dual heritage, to be independent, to seek out and to give love.

Much care was taken by the authors to respectfully include birthfamilies.  Several pages ask for details about the children's birth history, what is known about their birthdays, how we were matched and the day we first met. On the last page, there are two family trees to complete.

In future I hope that our children treasure these books, and the words we wrote for them. (Provided they can read my chicken scratch handwriting.) I remember pouring over my own baby book throughout childhood.  This morning I showed the kids their finished books.  Lily in particular loves to look at photos of "baby Nini".  Daniel looked through his without much comment. I know he'll ask to look at it again, and ask me to read every word.  His life, I think, sometimes seems very surreal to him, even now.  It helps to have to written down in black and white.

Big girl Lily is still struggling to nap in her toddler bed (although night time is getting much easier, thank goodness!)  I'm doing lots and lots of laundry now that she is wearing underwear all day. These are firsts I happily excluded from her baby book.  May all the tearful, screaming evenings and all the soiled clothing be lost to the dust of history please.

This memory we'll hold on to.

Adoption 101

Showing off one of his cool new dance moves.

I blew an adorable little girl's mind today... Twice! While waiting for Daniel's dance class to start, we three had the following conversation:

Girl: Is that your aunt?

Daniel: Noooo! That's my mom!

Girl: But she's white, and you're black! What! ?

Me: Daniel, explain to her why we don't look alike.

Daniel: Um... Cause I'm Ethiopian!

Girl: huh?!!

Me: He was born in Ethiopia, and we adopted him, and his sister.

Girl: What!? You adopted a brown kid! They didn't have any white children!? What?!! Where's his real mom!?

Me (laughing) That's not how it works. Daniel looks like his Ethiopian family.  I am his real mom.

Girl: But what happened!!!?

Me: Well, his Ethiopian family couldn't take care of him, so we adopted him.

Girl: But where's his mom and dad!? What do they do?

Me: Daniel, tell her about your father.

Daniel: He's a farmer!

Girl: Oh, that explains it. And his mom?

Me: His first mother is dead.

Girl: She's dead!? Your mom is DEAD!?

Daniel: (shrug), yeah

By this time every adult in the room has turned to listen and has glistening eyes. I make a joke with the girl about how I've blown her mind with all this new information, and compliment her questions.

Class begins.

I can't stop smiling. Adoption 101. Everyone gets an A. ;))

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

One of our adoption books sternly told us that it is not healthy for a recently adopted child to simply go to sleep, sleep through the night, and wake up in the morning. (Something about attachment and trust and blah, blah, blah...)  The first night we were home, both kids collapsed from exhaustion  fell sweetly asleep and slept through the night (mostly). Andrew and I cracked open some beer and said "Cheers! Thank You! Sleep! Amen!"

Here's the thing about "sleep training" I didn't realize before becoming a parent. You don't do it once. You do it over and over and over and over...

We are in phase 357 of our "sleep training" Lily. I think "sleep adjustment" is a more accurate term. Lily has been growing and adjusting, and we have been adjusting, continuously, since one year ago.

The other thing about sleep it that it is unique to each child. That's why all those sleep books sell so well. As soon as a new one is published it flies off the shelf. "Maybe this one will cure our sleep problems!"  The truth is that any one person's advice can only be partially helpful.  The best advice I've ever gotten is: Do what works and trust your instincts.  Here's the path we've been on with our sleeping/less child.

Phase 1: I'm a baby and I'll cry if I want milk.

When Lily first came home, at 15 months, she was still very much a baby. She had just learned to walk, she knew only a couple of words ("da da!"), and she drank formula by the gallon (it seemed).  She had been so tiny for so long and was still making up weight. At the care center in Ethiopia she'd been woken up to be fed during the night. When she came home she woke up once, sometimes twice a night for a bottle (well, a cup feeding... that's another post).   She ate quickly and fell right back to sleep. It was beautiful, if dangerous to try and heat formula while sleep walking.  Then we went to see Dr. Aronson ("The Orphan Doctor") who told us to stop feeding her formula, and certainly stop feeding her at night. @#$%!

Phase 2: I'm still a baby and I'll cry if I want milk!!!!!

So we started weaning her off her night feedings, and off formula all together. Sigh. This was no fun for anyone. I remember one night standing in her room holding her. She was screaming bloody murder, but I was so exhausted that I wasn't really awake.  In the dream I was having, she wasn't crying (or something- really this phase is all a big blur.) Andrew finally came in and woke me up, because clearly standing there in the dark with my eyes closed, holding a screaming child, was not working.

Somehow we managed the weaning to milk (slowing adding less and less formula and more whole milk to her cup.) Somehow we managed to get her to sleep through the night.  It took a long time.

Here's the thing about "sleep adjusting": You don't make your most rational decisions at 2AM.  And you certainly can't have a reasonable difference of opinion with your spouse at 2AM while your child screams.  There were a lot of hurt feelings and recriminations during this phase. Lots of "morning after" de-briefs and whispered "consultations." Fights. There was a lot of tearful fighting.

Phase 3: What do you mean, morning doesn't begin at 4:30AM!?

Once we'd convinced Lily that she didn't need milk during the night, she got really, really attached to her morning cup.  So she started moving her mornings earlier and earlier.  Til they weren't so much mornings as nights.  Once again we had negotiations about what time was okay for her to wake up, and who was going to get up with her. Sigh. Then there was a few weeks of one of us sleeping with her on the couch after her "morning bottle".  This was not fun for anyone. Then, miraculously, she did it. She fell asleep in our arms after some time in the rocking chair, slept through the night, and woke up in the morning (the real morning). Then:

Phase 4: Daylight @#$%ing Savings Time.

The less said about this, the better. All that hard work "sleep training", all those lovely long nights of peaceful slumber went out the window. Night wakings, hours long scream fests, 4:30 AM mornings. It sucked.

Phase 5: Mommy and Daddy aren't playing anymore.

By now Andrew and I had figured out our game plan. We no longer fought about sleep parenting in the middle of the night.  We had strategy sessions; we had a plan. We were a team. Lily had figured out that if she didn't fall asleep right away, she could get mommy's attention for hours.... So she started keeping herself awake, and it took us longer and longer to rock her to sleep.  You could see her fighting it- literally holding her eyes open. We realized it was time to get her to fall asleep on her own, in her crib. Sigh. This was not fun for anyone.

Phase 6: Whatever works.

Sometimes Lily fell asleep quietly in her crib without crying. Sometimes she screamed for an hour. Sometimes we took her out of the crib so Daniel could fall asleep, then tried again.  Sometimes she took  a long nap and couldn't get sleepy at night. Sometimes she wouldn't nap, and barely made it through dinner. But, we tried to stay consistent, and we tried to keep our cool.

Last weekend she moved into a toddler bed.  So we are in the next phase. Bedtime now takes a lot longer some nights. She often needs one of us to stay in the room with her to remind her to stay in the bed and deal with the innumerable distractions she now has... all those toys now within reach, all those hair ribbons to play with! She, like her brother,  can now get out of bed and gain our attention with the flimsiest of excuses.  We have reached the stage the book said was healthy. Our children are not so exhausted by their very existence in our family that they collapse into a deep sleep at night. Our children trust that we will be there to give them another glass of water, or kiss a (pretend) boo-boo, or relieve an anxiety that looms in the dark.

Sometimes I miss rocking my baby to sleep.  But I certainly don't miss the formula, or the night feedings, or the unholy 2AM screaming.  There are some benefits to all that hard work of growing up.

To all those parents and would-be parents out there, I wish you-  A Good Night's Sleep!

On Matching.

Here's Lily and I in our matching blue and white

This morning I heard Daniel shout to his dad, "I wanna wear our matching outfits today!"  (I didn't hear Andrew groan, but I'm sure he did.)

Daniel is going through a phase right now. He wants to "match us" and, of course, is frustrated that he can't. He'll never have the straight hair of his dad, or our pale skin.  Part of this, I'm sure, is that he has already absorbed the "black/brown is worse, pale/white is better" that's in the air we breathe here in America. A bigger part is that, just like all young children, he wants to look like mommy and daddy. Lily is in this stage too- but as a 2 year old. She likes to clomp around in my shoes and put on my necklaces.

We've had many conversations about matching, Daniel and I. We've talked about how he looks like his beautiful family in Ethiopia, and how even though our skin and hair are different, we are alike in other ways. We all like pizza, we like to do things together, we speak the same language (now).  One of the ways that he's latched on to is that we can dress alike.  Yup, my 6 year old wants us all to wear matching outfits. In public. Sigh.

Which is why I found myself in the GAP the other night, purchasing matching sweatshirts for all 4 of us. I also got some similar plaid shirts for the guys.  Lily already has so many clothes that I'm sure I can put together coordinating outfits easily, as I did accidentally before we took the photo above.

So if you see my family walking about in matching outfits, please try not to point and laugh. We're working on attachment and family identity!

Thanks.

"You're Not My Mom!"

and other hilarious things my son says...

When I was little, I used to threaten to run away. One afternoon, I did. Well, sort of.  I hid in the hallway of our building.  But my poor parents thought I'd really run away, because I'd opened one of the doors and left it ajar, making it seem as if I'd headed down the city streets.  I sat on the steps outside our doorway, listening to the increasingly frantic, angry calls of my parents.  (Sorry Mom and Dad!)  Eventually, I relented and came inside, still clutching my hastily packed blankie and doll.  I have no memory of why I "ran away".  Probably I was forced to eat broccoli or some other horrible thing.

"I'm going to run away! You'll never see me again, and then you'll be sorry!" was what I screamed in my family's face when I was really, really fed up with their parenting.

My son yells, "You're not my parents!" or "I want to go to Ethiopia!"

You are probably thinking, wow, that must make you feel so hurt and rejected!  Actually, the first time he said it, Andrew and I were proud. Aw, we thought, he's reached an adoption milestone! It was just a few weeks after we'd been home.  And to us, it signaled that Daniel was secure enough in his new family that he could challenge us.  Just as I didn't really want to run away, Daniel doesn't really think we are not his parents.  He does want to go to Ethiopia, but just to visit. (So we do we, but that's another post.)

All children try to manipulate their parents. Adopted kids just have a slightly different store of verbal weapons to work with.   "You're not my real mom," is a classic one.  Aim straight for the heart; right into the guilty, self-conscious anxiety hiding inside us adoptive mommies.  But we were fore-armed! We'd read all the literature, the blogs, the memoirs.  We expected that volly, and we countered with "We've got a whole file of papers that say we are. Now finish that brocolli."

Sometimes, we say "Are you missing Ethiopia right now?"

Sometimes, we say "Are you angry about something?"

Sometimes, we say "Do you need a hug?"

But usually, we say "Yes I am. Now let's finish that homework."

I don't remember if I was punished for "running away." I'm certain that just hearing the frantic calls of my parents and seeing their relieved faces when I emerged from my hiding spot was enough to make me re-think my strategy. Whatever grievance or complaint I had went away once I'd realized that they'd missed me, that they loved me beyond measure.  When Daniel yells, "I want to go back to Ethiopia!" he is testing us.  Do we love him beyond measure? Will we flinch at all? Do we have the same doubts that creep into his mind?

No flinching.  No doubting.  And yes, we love you beyond measure.

Post Placement Reports: An Honor or a Headache?

"Let's keep in touch, ok?"

One of the quirky things about being an adoptive parent in the Ethiopian program are the Yearly Post Placement Reports. (Capitalized because that is how many of us think of them... as a Big Thing We Need to Do Every Year.)  The Ethiopian government requests and files these, and makes them available for birth families (or so we are told by our agency). They are essentially a progress report on the children; and they should be done every year until the child is 18.

I just finished our first one. One down. 16 more to go. Sigh.  It was supposed to be mailed out in July, on our year anniversary.  I started it in July, well, I started thinking about in July, but it took me the whole summer to complete.  One down, 16 more to go.

There must be an easier way.

Since I'm sure the Ethiopian embassy has more important things to do, it is unlikely that a government representative will be knocking on our door next summer or any summer after that, demanding to know why our post placement report isn't done. The onus is completely on us. And if there is even the slimmest of chances that their Ethiopian father or their older siblings will read the reports and see the photos attached, we'll keep sending them.  But I've got to make it less of a summer long project, or we'll never make it through 16 more.

Here's a couple of ideas I thought of to make next year's Post Placement Report less onerous. If you have any suggestions, please comment and share!

1. I made a template of the report outline on our computer. That way, I don't have to go digging around for our agency's file every year.  I can also review what I wrote in previous reports. The report outline is pretty simple: height, weight, health issues, attachment, relationships, development, and cultural connection. The cultural connection is the tough one. I can't write "We eat injera once a week!" for the next 16 years. So this will push me to find ever more creative ways to teach them about their Ethiopian heritage.

2. Photo Organization! (This is project for my life in general- we have 10,000 photos on our computer right now, pretty loosely organized. I am overwhelmed.) We need to send 4 photos of each child with the reports.  The photos need to be good ones, of course and also: kids have to be fully dressed, no costumes, no silly faces, no animals or weird props, and no identifying markers (like a school t-shirt or a street sign in the background).  I set up a folder in our i-photo library for each child, and when we take a photo that fulfills the requirements, I'll just drop it in.  Hopefully by the end of the year, we've got at least 4 good ones ready to be printed.

3. Timing. Summer is a good time for me to have an extra project to complete, since I'm not working full time. But, April is when they have their annual birthday check-ups, so I'll have their latest measurements.  Next year I may complete their post placement reports around their birthdays.  Then I can get the photos developed (including some nice ones of them in their birthday finest) and there is a chance that the whole thing will actually be in the mail by July.

We'll see what next year brings.

Looking towards the future...

Debates. Death. Diversity.

Over at Rage Against the Minivan, Kristen Howerton wrote a strong essay called "Parents Please Teach Your Children About Adoption So My Kids Don't Have To", which was picked up by the Huffington Post and caused a tiny little firestorm there.  Some non-adoptive parents wrote angrily about how teaching their children about adoption was not their responsibility.  We adoptive families "choose that lifestyle." Others complained that children asking personal questions of adopted peers was just par for the course.  A few adoptees and adoptive families chimed in about how inappropriate they thought it was that Howerton shared personal details about her sons' stories online.

Many adoptive parents, myself included, reacted in angry disgust at the ignorance, the blame and the lack of empathy that was so freely expressed by some commentors.  I don't know why I was surprised at this. Humans have been voicing un-informed, un-sympathetic opinions since we first learned to speak, or type.

But this mini- controversy has gotten me thinking. Why do some non-adoptive parents shy away from talking with their children about family diversity, specifically gay, divorced or adoptive families?

Several commentor wrote something along the lines of, "there are so many different kinds of families these days, I couldn't possibly teach my child about all of them!".  To which I respond, you teach your children all the different colors, right? You don't leave out turquoise or navy blue because they are too difficult to explain and we don't see those colors too much anyway? I mean, that would be ridiculous, right?!

So the reason can't just be laziness.  Any parent who has potty trained or taught a kid to tie a shoe cannot be accused of laziness. There must be something bigger holding their tongues.

I think it's fear of death.  No, really. I think we, all of us, hate the idea of letting kids in on the secret that the world is, in fact, a big scary place. That good people, people we love and cherish, die. That bad things happen, that people make poor choices or have bad luck.  We want to keep our children in their innocent childhood bubble for as long as we can. (Sometimes we like to keep ourselves there too.)

I'm guilty of this too.  I haven't let my son in on the secret that sometimes adoption doesn't work. Sometimes adoptive placements are disrupted, and children have to be transitioned to a new family again (and again).  I also haven't talked to him about how some of his friends at the orphanage may never be adopted.  They may grow up without a family.  Those are terrible, terrible truths that I loathe to share with him. But I will when and if he asks, and certainly by the time he is a teen and has read my blog and all his adoption paperwork and our library of adoption books, he will know them.

However, my 6 year old is unlikely to ask me about adoption disruption at the playground.  He is more likely to get asked, as he has many times, "Is that your mom?", "Where's your real mom?", or "How come your mom is white?!" Which are all very good questions.

As an adoptive parent I've had to become very comfortable talking about death.  My son's first mother died, and he remembers it.  We live with her presence daily, and we wouldn't want it any other way.  It was hard to get used to being asked about death unexpectedly. Children don't choose their moments well.  Rushing out the door to get to school/work on time is hardly the moment I want to have a philosophical discussion with my Kindergartener about death.  But I do.

The truth is that my son knows that the world is a big scary place. He knows that people we love die or get hurt or hurt us.  And he is having a happy childhood anyway.  

When we answer curious questions at the playground, we don't tell other children about death, or about relinquishment, or about poverty and third world diseases and the great injustices in our world. We just say, "Yes, we're a family. I'm his real mom. We live together and we love each other. " When I talk to my son about families with 2 dads or 2 moms, I don't give him details about gay sex. When I talk to him about blended families and divorce I don't share details about infidelity or extra-marital affairs.  I just say, "Yes, they are a family. They live together and they love each other, just like we do."

The only thing non-adoptive families need to teach their children about families like mine is this: "Sometimes children are born into a family that can't take care of them. Then they are adopted into a new family.  They are a real family, just like ours. "

Here is everything young children need to know about ALL families:

• Families love each other and take care of each other. 
• Sometimes they live together. Sometimes they live far apart.
• Some families are big, some families are small. 
• Some families are a mom and dad with kids, some are 2 moms, or 2 dads, some are 1 dad or 1 mom, with kids. Some are grandparents with kids. Some are just 2 people, no kids.  Some are just one person and a dog or cat. 
• Families change. They grow bigger, they get smaller. People get married, people get divorced. People have babies, people adopt kids. Kids grow up. People die. 
• Families love each other.

Why do we adults think that children are too delicate to learn these truths? Why don't we trust their resilience and their strength? They see the world the way it is.  Perhaps, better than we do.

these two.

How come your mom is white? A handy guide for parents

Yesterday while I was picking up Daniel from camp I overheard one of his friends (also African- American) ask him, "How come you are brown and your mom is white?" Daniel didn't answer, and his face got very stiff and angry.  So on the way home I counseled him on how to answer his friends questions about our family.  We've had this conversation several times before, but he's just not comfortable enough with his adoption story to confidently share it with other kids. (I'll be speaking to his counselor this morning about helping him during their "share time".)*

Most young children don't have the language to educate their friends about different kinds of families. I feel strongly that is OUR job as parents to help our children understand that there are lots of different kinds of families, and lots of different kinds of people, in our beautiful world. Seems simple right? Sometimes not. So here is a handy guide for the next time you are in the playground with a family that looks like ours (and different from yours).

 First of all, we should encourage our children's questions about diversity.  When we bring our children to another part of the city and they ask, "Why are the buildings so tall!?" we don't say, "Shh.... it's not polite to ask questions!" or whisper ,"I'll explain when we get home."  So if your child asks you to explain the presence of a family/person who looks different to them, answer them!

Just a few weeks ago Daniel asked some questions about a family made up of two dads and a little boy (adopted).  We used it as a great opportunity to educate him on the variety of families that are possible. At first he was incredulous, but then he got it.  Kids usually do. They know better than adults do that Love and Trust are what make a family.

Of course, we can teach our children to ask questions politely.  There is a big difference between "What's wrong with him!?!" and "Why is that man sitting in a wheelchair?"

Here are some common questions we get in the playground, and the answers I give.
 You may notice that I answer without telling strangers my children's personal stories.

How come you don't look alike?

Daniel and Lily were adopted. They were born in Ethiopia so they look like their Ethiopian family.

What does 'adopted' mean?

Adopted is how some children become part of a family.  Most kids are born into their families. But sometimes the mom and dad who have a baby can't take care of him or her, so the baby/child is adopted by another family.

Are they going to go back?

No, adoption is forever. Once a family adopts a child/baby, they are a family forever. (No need to start talking about adoption disruption or people putting their kids on one-way international flights.)

Is that your real mom?/dad?

Yes, we are a real family.  There are no fake mommies around here!

Are they adopted?!

Yes. :)

Some Lingo

"She was adopted," not "she is adopted."  Same as: "she was born" not "she is born."

First mother/father or birthmother/father, not "natural" or "real" mother/father.

"His first family made an adoption plan." not "He was put up or given up for adoption."

And also... there's no need to whisper.  Adopted is not a "dirty" word. :)

And Thank You!

* Update: not only was the counselor very helpful, it turns out there is a girl in his group who was also adopted from Ethiopia! Small, wonderful world!

dare devils!

Although we thought we were done with The Year of Firsts, we took the kids to their First Amusement Park this weekend!  If you haven't been, I highly recommend Quassy Amusement Park in Middlebury, Connecticut for families with little ones (or a mix of littles and bigs).

Daniel spotted the roller coaster from the parking lot, and immediately this became his favorite place ever.  He went on every ride (we'd let him on), and some twice.  Then we went to the water slide area, and he was in 6 year old boy heaven.  Standing under a giant bucket that randomly pours a ton of water on your head, the force of which knocks you to the ground? GREATEST THING EVER!!!! He would have stayed there for the rest of his life.

It turns out that we have two little daredevils on our hands.  Two-year-old girl looooovves the kiddie roller coaster and the "frog jumper" and the train going through the dark tunnel and the helicopter that flies up, up, up... she was squealing and clapping her hands all day.  More! Faster! Higher! More! More!  Daniel went on the roller coaster with the only adult who could stomach it (thank you Uncle Lee!), and I've never seen him grin wider.

There is a funny internal debate that most adoptive parents do constantly. It is kind of like the nurture/nature debate, and similar to the "She's more like you! no! She's more like YOU!" thing that all parents do.  We adoptive moms and dads are always asking ourselves, is this behavior or personality trait just them, or is it inherited from their first family, or is it because they were adopted?

Is Lily an outgoing, curious, sensory seeking child because of her early deprivation and adoption as a toddler? Or not? Is Daniel a brooding, curious, non-stop question-asking kid because of his early trauma and then adoption as a young boy? Or not? Are the like their first parents in these ways? Would they be daredevils if they still lived on a farm in Africa? Or is that kind of risk taking behavior normal there? After all, they have to learn to be independent much earlier than most American kids.

Once during our weekly dinner at Ghenet an older Ethiopian man who was eating with the family of the owner started to play and talk with Lily.  When I came by and started swinging her up to the ceiling (to her squeals of delight), he shook his head and said, "oh no, no, no, we don't play with girls like that."

So would Lily be brought up to be a quieter, more inhibited version of herself if she was still with her Ethiopian family? (Would her first mother be aghast at her antics here!?)

Silly, un-answerable questions. Even Daniel can provide little insight. Although he did once tell me that in Ethiopia, no one was "the boss of him."  The grass is always greener, kid. The grass is always greener.

Daniel using the phrases "My First Family would never make me do this!" or  "I want to go back to Ethiopia!" to try and distract from a consequence or chore is a whole other blog post! 

"You are the best Dad ever!" " I feel a little sick, son"

We're already looking forward to next year's trip to Quassy (aka, Paradise).  Next weekend, we'll be hitting Coney Island.  I'd better buy some Dramamine.

a year in review

remember when you took photos and then waited a few days (weeks?) to find out what they looked like? And most of them came out like crap? Yes, me too...

I've been working on making a photo album of the past year, and I've been finding it a very overwhelming task. Maybe because someone in our family (Andrew) takes sooooo many photos. Maybe because it was a Year of Firsts. Maybe because I get sidetracked by admiring just! how! cute! my babies were when they were "babies".

Anyone else make photo albums/scrapbooks online? Any tips or tricks to share?  I need help!

Here is my attempt at a "Year in Review"...

July

August

September

October

November

December

January

February

March

April

May

June

July