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.

Birthdays.

I find myself getting emotional and weepy and sentimental around my kids' birthdays (which happen to be 10 days apart in the same month)  I sigh, I look at my children, I look at photos of my children from a year ago and sigh again.

 Perhaps all parents get this way...  do you?

Birthdays are BIG days for my kids-and most American kids, I dare say.  Ethiopians, on the other hand, don't really celebrate individual birthdays.  Most rural or poor Ethiopians are born at home, without any medical care at all.  Most Ethiopians don't remember their birth date.  That our children have specific birth dates reported by their Ethiopian family is special and rare for African adoptees.  My theory is that since they were both born around Easter, which is a big holiday in Ethiopia, their First parents remembered the dates.

Even so Daniel, who came home at age five, had never had a "birthday" until he turned 6 in America.  He had no idea about cupcakes and presents and candles and singing and being a special prince-for-a-day. And oh boy! did he LOVE IT.  So did Lily, once she got over the whole "cupcake/fire" confusion. :)

This year they are turning 3 and 7. They've been home just over 20 months.  When I think about how much they have learned and grown in the past year, it astonishes me. A year ago Lily was a diaper-wearing, not-sleeping-through-the-night, not-talking, chubby cheeked baby. Daniel was just learning English and how to read and count and make friends and ride a bike.  Now they are these two little independent people who sass and talk back and demand certain songs be played in the car. Who take dance classes and have baseball practice and wear underwear and demand "jeans mommy! with the pink shirt!"

What will they accomplish by next year!?

Birthdays are special days... and perhaps in a unique way in adoptive families. I didn't give birth to my children; I have no part in the story of their birth days.  My 'war story' and triumphant creation of a family have different anniversaries (referral day, adoption day, homecoming day) The woman whose story it was to tell is no longer in this world. On their birthdays, I think of her. I think of their births: unattended, un-medicated... yet, from all reports, peaceful and safe.  I think of how lucky they are that this was so. I think of how much they were loved from their births, even if for too short a time.

I think of how lucky I am, to be able to pick up where one mother left off.  How lucky I am, to be able to marvel at their lives.  How lucky I am, to celebrate their birthdays with them. 

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.

"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.

The Wait. Part 2.

Look at that wide eyed happy couple without any gray hair! Awww....

I have three champagne corks in Daniel and Lily's "Treasure Box."  They are nestled there along with Lily's 'baby' shoes and the t-shirts they came home in, and the little gifts that the Care Center gave us on our last day in Ethiopia.

One cork is from celebrating our official entry into the waiting family list.  We'd been filling out paper work and reading books and going to classes for months, and now we'd finally jumped through all the hoops,  fulfilled all the requirements of our adoption agencies. Yeah! Now we get to Wait, Officially!

The first wait was the trickiest for me, because I had to learn so much during it.  I'm naturally a pretty impulsive, quick to action person. I don't comparison shop.  I decided to marry Andrew after just a few weeks of dating.  I picked the very first wedding dress I tried on. And so on.  So having to sit, and wait, and wait, and not go crazy was very hard.  It required a lot of learning and a fair amount of growing up.

During this time I regularily got the following comments: "Aren't you, like, adopting? What happened?"  "I'm just sure you'll get pregnant now!". "Did you hear ___________ (every single person of child bearing age I know) is pregnant!?", and "Are you still adopting?".

I was tempted to get a t-shirt that said, "paper pregnant" with a big blow up belly, but that seemed immature.

So, I learned to wait. I learned that some days are easier than others, and some days are harder.  And that either way, I was going to be okay.  I learned that sometimes I needed to avoid baby showers.  I learned that whatever I was suffering, it was probably nothing compared to what our future child/children's family was suffering.  And that turned out to be the truth.  While I was sitting around trying not to twiddle my thumbs, our children's family was enduring illness and loss and hunger.  I've read that some adoptive mothers remember feeling extreme anxiety or pain on the days of loss for their future children.  (Those smart cookies that kept journals.)  I'm not sure if Daniel and Lily and I were connected in that way.  But I do know that I thought of them,  a lot.

I really don't like going to the dentist (who does, really?).  But I remember walking home from the dentist's office on a freezing cold December evening, thinking, "Hey, this is one of the easy days. I'm doing okay. Look at those beautiful stars."  When I got home, there was a voicemail from our social worker waiting for me.  And the First Wait was over, just like that.

And the new wait, the much harder one, was just beginning.

Daniel's First Movie

woohoo! 1000 page views! Who are you wonderful people who want to read my silly stories?! I love you!

Although we thought we were done with our Year of Firsts, we did experience a wonderful one this week... I took Daniel to see his first movie (in a movie theatre!)

The little town near our summer spot has a beautiful old movie theater. They show one movie a week, at 7PM, and have for decades.  Recently the old place was spruced up, but they made every effort to show off its great old fashioned qualities. The old popcorn machine, the stage, the giant red sashes, the tall windows hidden by thick curtains, the wide aisles and the big wooden seats. It is a special place to see a movie.

Lucky for our early to bed kids, this summer they added Sunday matinees. So while baby girl napped, I took our big boy to the big show! We saw the first Disney movie without an orphan as the main character! Hooray! I didn't even need the extra tissues I brought. (Don't ask me about my recent trauma watching Tarzan. I had to leave the room.)  Brave was a great story and Daniel had a great time.  We got popcorn and candy and took a silly photo.

What could be better?

Happy Un-Family Day to Us!

Those of you with adopted children will not be surprised to hear that our Anniversary Day did not include a lot of celebrations.

For Andrew and I, the day we came home with our children was the culmination of years of dreams and hard work. For Daniel and Lily, it was another hard step in their journey of loss and unwanted changes.

So it was no surprise to me that the day, while it had joyful moments, also had more than our usual share of tantrums, arguments and challenging behaviors. It probably doesn't help that we are on vacation in a home they've never been to before.

This morning it was a relief to wake up knowing that the first year is over. Everything won't always be new. Everything won't always be a "first".

I think the kids are feeling that way too. We ate our celebratory pie one day late, and maybe that is just right.