Blogging: It's Not Taxes

That's what I realized tonight--I get all stressed out when I don't blog for a while because I think I have to catch everything up.  But I don't owe any "back blogging," right?!  So I'm just going to start from here.  


(At least that's what I tell myself, to get at it again.  It's hard to live life all day, and then lie awake at night feeling guilty that you're not recording it well enough--not taking enough video, or writing a detailed enough record.  Whew!  If ONE MORE person says, "I hope you're taking a lot of video," or "writing this all down," or scrapbooking . . . would you like to volunteer??  I need two full-time me's to do this right, I guess.  One to live it, and one to record the Director's Commentary for the DVD.  Oh, and a third part-time me to keep up my social life, of course.  The girl at the Lab and I have struck up a nice friendship over stool samples since I've been there so many times discussing them.)

Willa has three parasites.  The nurse delivered the results to me over the phone with sympathy, but I was thrilled to hear the news. After living for two months with the most disgusting poop

smell I've ever experienced, and then having to work up the courage to harvest samples of said smelly poop and get it to the lab within an hour, I'm so glad to have a diagnosis!  You know, no biggy--she just has giardiasis, Entamoeba Coli, and Iodamoeba Butschlii. The doctor's ordered some stiff antibiotics to kill it all off. Yippee!

Saffron's actually the one who complains constantly about stomach aches, and I'm sure she probably has the same thing, but we can't get a diagnosis because she only poops on nights and weekends--I can't get a fresh sample in during business hours!  But I guess it's only fair, because she's the only one who's getting the hair treatment.  Both girls have always had something major on their scalps, and the cure has been elusive. In Ethiopia the women told me it was a fungus, and took me out to a pharmacy to buy a tiny, eight-dollar bottle of  what turned out to be dandruff shampoo.  We used it, but it did no good.  Schquetta, the African American hairstylist who did their braids said these were just really bad cases of dry scalp and if I conditioned their scalps and oiled them three times a week,

everything would clear up. I have, but it hasn't. In fact, Willa's symptoms have gotten worse. (Symptoms being, btw, white scaley covering all over S's scalp, and big, errupting pustules of yellow puss all over W's head.)

I took them to a dermatologist the first week they were here and he took samples, but said to wait three weeks to call for results. After that wait, it was a couple weeks of trading messages with the secretary before the doctor finally called me. He said Saffron has a particular fungus that can be cleared up after a week of twice-daily oral medication. He said W's head turned up nothing, though--disconcerting, since her pustules just keep getting worse, and now appear to be causing hairloss right around them!  I called three other dermatologists yesterday, but can't get in anywhere until mid-January. Ugh. 


It's amazing how long it can take to get something treated, even in a FIRST-world country. You might wonder why I haven't pushed steps through more quickly, but when each doctor's visit or bloodtest results in an hour of screaming from both girls, as if I've utterly betrayed them, I tend to wait a bit between visits.

The Family Bounce-Back Pass

When I knew our baby boy, Charles, was going to be born to die, there was one song I knew for sure must be sung at his funeral.  “Love Abides,” by Cori Connors, had comforted me through my pregnancy, and expressed how I felt: 

Mother Earth may quack, but cannot shake where love abides.  In spite of all the world, the spirit will survive.  Through it all, I know that love abides.

Tonight as I took a minute to wipe the counters, I popped in one of Cori’s CDs.  (It’s not the shower, but kitchen cleaning is a good second-best venue for thinking.  Especially if you’re careful not to do it too often—the cleaning, I mean.)  I thought it was her Christmas album, but then I heard “Love Abides” begin to play.  This song will always be a bit mournful for me to listen to, as will “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” from Charles’ funeral.  But mournful is not a bad thing. 

As I listened to the song, I found myself remembering a thought I had while driving through my neighborhood one day when I was pregnant with Charles.  I remember exactly where I was on the road.  It’s funny how you can remember one of your own thoughts, one never spoken aloud, and even remember where you thunk it.  I remember thinking about what I was going to name this unlucky baby, and whether I wanted to give him a ‘virtue’ middle name (as Ruby and I have, and Jasper sort of has).  My middle name, Faith, has been important to me and has given me courage throughout my life.  Ruby’s middle name, Thankful, illuminates how I felt when she was born, and has definitely been a point of strength for her.  Jasper’s middle name is Maxwell, but his nickname is “Reliance Wheeler,” after a favorite book character of mine who was a mother’s first born son, and upon whom she relied heavily.  Jasper has earned this name. 

That day I remember thinking, “If I were to assign this boy a virtue, it would have to be ‘Resilience.’”  This baby was beset with a rare developmental defect, Campomelic Dysplasia.  Virtually every part of his body had formed incorrectly.  Yet his heart was sound.  It beat strongly, and he swam around vigorously at every ultrasound.  (I say swam, because he was extra small and I had extra fluid.)  “He’s resilient,” I thought.  At the time we didn’t know if he would live or die, but we knew that if he lived his life would be extremely difficult.  I figured if he did live, he would need a whole lot more of that resilience to bounce back from each difficulty and keep on living. 

We didn’t end up naming him “Charles Resilient,” (you all breathe a sigh of relief) but I thought a lot during those months about what it meant to be resilient—to bounce back after life beats you down.  I decided that resilience was probably the single most important trait I wanted to try to instill in my living children.  I figured that if I could somehow teach them to bounce back from anything life threw their way, they would always be OK. 

I haven’t thought about this much for a long time, until tonight.  I was mulling over talents.  Because we have two new children in our family, from a whole new gene pool, we are discovering lots of new talents.  I know this is hard for Ruby.  She sometimes feels that her new sisters can do everything she can’t.  Saffron is a flexible, budding gymnast and dancer, and she learned to ride a bike in a day.  She can knit, and braid, and even little Willa can braid.  Ruby is brimming with her own talents, in my opinion, but she’s feeling inferior.  Jasper has gone through the same fears with friends over the past couple of years, as he starts different sports thinking he’s really good, and then discovers that other kids are better.  In the past few days I’ve started to worry:  what if we have some kids with all the visible talents, and others who are perpetual spectators?  That sounds like a minefield for a parent, especially when two of the kids were adopted.

This all reminded me of The Middle, a new TV show with Patricia Heaton that has Steve and me really chuckling.  The “Heck” family has three odd children, including a middle daughter named Sue.  Poor Sue is a perpetual tryer-outer.  Every episode she is trying out for something new, from the showy stuff like cheerleader to the low hanging fruit like stage crew.  This poor, awkward girl never makes anything.  As her mother says, she may be the only child ever born without a talent.  As her parents supportively cringe at her every attempt, I find myself thinking “Go, Sue!”  Persevere!  Between chuckles, I want to remind Sue’s parents that their daughter has the most important talent in the entire world—she is resilient!!

So then it hit me—Sure Ruby is feeling beaten down a bit, but she is also learning to bounce back.  She is learning to persevere.  She is learning resilience!  (These life lessons are how I justify all my TV watching.  I sometimes want to quote an episode in church, but I stop short of that.)  In fact, so is Jasper.  This whole experience has been an exercise in resilience.  So was Charles’ death.  You’d be surprised how much a sister and brother can be disappointed by the loss of a baby brother, and the re-adjustment it takes to decide to want kid-sized sisters instead.  The last six weeks have been all about getting beaten down and then deciding to bounce back for another blow—for all of us.  And Saffron and Willa?  Well, let’s just say that if their middle names weren’t “perseverant” and “resilient” they wouldn’t even be here.  (Figuratively speaking guys—no, those aren’t their real middle names.  Do I have to spell e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g out?)  They survived everything from birth in a shack to life without a mother and they’re not just still alive, they’re still smiling.

So, the counters are clean for one second, and I discovered all four of my kids have the SAME talent--resilience!  OK, so it’s due to the school of hard knocks and not to my award-winning parenting.  But at least I can try not to screw them all up—too badly.  

When Two Vowels Go Walking The First One Does The Talking

I've been feeling rather guilty that I didn't have the heart to post for the last two weeks. But, in retrospect, it's probably better that I didn't. I had some ugly feelings. There are things better left unsaid, and even more better left unblogged. Suffice it to say, especially for those of you going through a difficult change in your life, that time really does improve every situation, even when you think there’s no way you could see things differently. A week ago I was really discouraged and I feared my very best hope was to “get used to” a difficult new status quo. I was progressively feeling worse about things, rather than better. But something changed around Thanksgiving and, rather abruptly, I actually began to enjoy the new status quo.

Our visit with Rundassa definitely made a difference, but we continued to struggle for the next 10 days. I don't know that Saffron's behavior got any worse. Rather, the drop was in the rest of our ability to cope--especially mine and Ruby's.

I don't want to bore you with two weeks of chronological details (nor can I remember most of them), but here's what stuck with me:

--Ruby:  Ruby was getting more and more whiny about her sisters and was constantly singing the "it's not fair" tune. I was indulging it more than I would with anyone else, partly because I was worn down and needed the familiar cuddle as much as she did. I had to buck up and quit it because I was underestimating her, and wasn't doing either of us a favor. One good tip I received from a children’s counselor was to tell a child that fair is not about equal, but about whether each person is getting what they need. And they all need something different. Fast forward a week, and I am really proud of Ruby.  She is a sweetie and a trooper.  (Though she's crying as I write this.)  She’s enjoying her sisters—really playing with them, and learning to let things slide. The other day she was having anxiety about school, so I said I would come and take her to lunch. I got a babysitter for Willa and when I picked Ruby up, she asked where Willa was. “It would be OK for you to bring her next time,” she said. I couldn’t believe it. A week earlier she’d been telling me how she felt like a bee in a rainstorm. (Ruby is pretty skilled at expressing her feelings these days.) She said she was the bee, and everywhere she turned there were raindrops coming at her, and she couldn’t get away from them. The raindrops were her sisters, she said. Now, here she was actually missing one!

--Apologies:  I'm sure all you parents already know this, but I have learned quickly that with four kids it's twice as hard to tell who did what to whom, whose fault it was, and whether they did it on purpose. I've stuck to my policy of making everyone apologize for everything, just in case, and they're finally getting it. After many attempts, I figured out how to explain it so they get the idea: I tell them it's not about whether YOU think you owe an apology, but whether the OTHER PERSON thinks you do. If THEY do, YOU do. Period. Full Stop. I've finally learned that lesson as an adult, and it takes a lot less energy to apologize and let it go than to justify yourself to others. Whether I meant it at the moment or not, I can't think of a single apology I've regretted giving. (And especially in my marriage I always apologize and admit all my mistakes and never hold grudges, right Steve? I’m pretty much a piece of cake to be married to, as far as I can tell.)

--English:  Understanding is coming along fast, and it’s really fun and enlightening to hear the efforts at speaking English. For instance, I never realized how similar the words “hair,” “ear,” and “where” are (and “are,” for that matter). Saffron has a dickens of a time trying to pronounce them differently. She’s a smart girl, and she’s trying new words all the time. It’s also fun to listen to Willa experiment in the backseat. She doesn’t try as many English words, though she understands a lot. I think she doesn’t bother because she thinks I understand her in Amharic, and I do now understand most of the basics. But she likes to practice some in the backseat of the car. One day it was “Excoos Me! I’m sorry.” With that lovely rolled R, of course. Another day it was “How You? Ahm fine.” My favorite is “wa-ga-gyo-en?” (Where are we going?) Clearly, we’ve been on too many errands.

--Go!  They like to go, go, go! If I don’t have somewhere for us to go in the car every morning and every afternoon, to the store or some other errand, the disappointment from the girls is palpable. “Let’s go somewhere!” Seems to be their motto in America. The other love of their lives is the trampoline. Rain or shine, cold, snow and leaves on the tramp—no matter. They beg me to “jump, jump!” all the time.

--The Cold: Their reaction to this cracks me up a bit. Clearly they don’t see the beauty in big, puffy coats. But it’s only 17 degrees here today! Saffron and I have had many a battle over wearing a coat and gloves. She’s even tried to wear two jackets—a hoodie over a jean jacket—in an effort to appease me. It’s very clear that their Ethiopian exposure to style draws them to form-fitting things. I think their pink coats are adorable, but they don’t. Some days I do let it go, and then they come home literally crying because they’re so cold. The first snowfall, when they went outside in bathrobes and umbrellas, they came home bawling and holding their hands like they were on fire. It had never occurred to me that they may never have felt that my-hands-are-so-cold they’re burning feeling. They looked absolutely shocked.

--Clothes:  And speaking of style, about a week ago I decided to let the clothes thing go. Boy—what a relief. I’m holding firm about choosing what they wear to church and special events, but I’m letting them have the rest. I admit it was pride that made me want to control this issue—people are looking at us everywhere we go, and I figured we might as well look cute. After all, they were given lots of cute clothes at the shower! Also, when Ruby was wearing something matching and they were wearing odds and ends, I feared people would think I wasn’t treating them equally. But who cares what people think! I have enough other battles to fight. So, I took all the kids to the DI (Deseret Industries, a great second-hand store), and let them each pick out some new things. I figured this would solve the clothes-sharing problem. Well, after Saffron’s 1.5 hour tantrum in the boys’ dressing room, it did. (As I was carrying her out to the parking lot screaming, some kind woman stopped me to make sure I was Saffron’s mother. Ha! I’m sure she was worried she was witnessing either a kidnapping or abuse in action, but I assure you I was calm, cool, and collected. I didn’t REALLY throw her shows in the garbage can after she sat on the cold concrete outside the store and threw them. I only ALMOST did.) Anyway, what I hadn’t bargained for was what the girls would choose. Saffron was drawn to the flowy, polyester floral sheath dresses that were in in the late ‘90’s. Yesterday she wore one to school with a long-sleeved shirt and sweats under it. But I can understand—women in Ethiopia who can afford a dress often wear long, floral ones.

--Jasper Scores: Jasper has played his cards right. Most of the time he is calm, patient and helpful. He know s I notice and am grateful, and he fully expects me to be. The money spent on clothing was not lost on him. I could only get him to pick out one shirt (orange Hawaiian-style shirt with surfboards?! Really?), so he casually pointed out that I probably owed him about a $30 toy to make up for what I spent on the girls. If you know Jasper, you know he’s definitely going to take note of the advantages to his new situation.

--Saffron’s Personality: Now that Saffron is getting bored of pouting and has decided it’s a lot more fun to—well—have fun, she doesn’t seem shy at all. In fact, she seems almost giddy. She’s giggly and hyper much of the time. I doubt this is her completely real personality either, as she’s probably so thrilled to be relieved of her limit-testing duties that she’s bouncing high and really enjoying America for the first time.

--Photos:  Been thinking a blog about children should be packed with them?  You're right.  I spent several hours uploading two albums totaling 500 photos for this blog.  The upload failed at the very end.  I was so mad I deleted them all.  YOU DID NOT!  You're right--I didn't.  But I am holding a grudge and haven't tried again.  

--Food: Who knew this would be the bloodiest battle ground? We’ve continued to have some epic standoffs over food. The Sunday morning before last, I told Saffron she couldn’t go to church unless she ate breakfast (I chose this battle instead of objecting to the floral sheath dress with the long-sleeved pink and white t-shirt under it). The last Sunday had been miserable largely because she was hungry. She refused breakfast, and we again had to leave her home while we got everyone else to church. When Steve went back for her, she still refused to eat. He relented and brought her to church anyway, where she promptly began sulking. Mightily. By the third hour when we went to our last, big meeting in the chapel, she was weeping on the bench next to me. I realized she wanted me to take her out just like I did the week before, so I did the opposite. I sat there and let her cry, quietly but publicly. Though I tried to look non-plussed, I was secretly rather concerned about my strategy. Then, when she stopped weeping on cue for the prayer and started up again right after, I knew she really was just pouting. I put my arm around her but still didn’t leave, and pretty soon she stopped abruptly. She then stood up in the isle in protest to me. I tried to keep a hand on her dress, but it was hard, what with Willa crawling all over me. Much to my chagrin, another family invited Saffron to sit with them, and proceeded to dote on her. (I know they were just trying to help.) This sent Ruby into tears for the rest of the meeting, saying “You don’t allow us to sit with friends at church! Why are you letting her break the rule?! It’s not fair!” I had been looking for a re-charge at church that week, and instead it had been miserable. That Sunday is when I started my emotional downward spiral. It was probably mostly exhaustion, and I’m really grateful that level of discouragement only lasted a few days. Right around then I also talked to another family in our city who just adopted 12- and 10-year-old girls from Ethiopia. Much of the conversation was comforting, like hearing they were also really struggling with the food issue. But other parts of it really discouraged me because they appeared to be doing so well in ways that we were not. That probably added to my gloom-and-doom attitude.

Oops—this was supposed to be the ‘Food’ paragraph and I’ve digressed. We did have another major battle about food one morning when I decided not to let Saffron go to school if she refused to eat breakfast. She stormed around and bawled for an hour and a half. At one point she was repeating something in Amharic I couldn’t understand. I asked Willa what she was saying, and she very guiltily informed me it was “you’re not my mom.” Actually, that didn’t bother me a bit. I’m sure all this change and will-battling with me makes her miss her “Meki Mom,” as we call her (her mother in the town of Meki, where she’s from). I said, “I know, you’re right. I’m not your first mom. I’m sure you miss her.” Then I said something about Ethiopia, which she must have interpreted to be going back there. She suddenly stopped crying and said, “No Ethiopia! No Ethiopia! America!” I promised her we were never going to send her back. It’s sad to me that she even still fears that, but I know it’s not unusual. At this point she realized she was about to miss first recess, so promptly ate the offending oatmeal. I took her to school.

--Giving Myself A Big Timeout: On the day before Thanksgiving, Saffron was really upset. For the life of me, I can’t remember why. It had been a really hard day, and was at the end of my three most discouraging days. I took Ruby to the grocery store to have a break, but when I got back I still felt upset. I knew I was getting irrationally bothered. I tried to call Rundassa’s wife, but couldn’t reach her. I couldn’t calm myself down enough to be nice, and Saffron continued to scream. I realized what I really needed was a nap. But I couldn’t take one, because Saffron kept going out the front door. She didn’t go far, but I obviously couldn’t go to sleep and let her wander around outside. Jasper was fed up trying to keep her inside, and they were about to come to blows. So I called my dear friend Emily, and asked her the Biggest Favor Ever. “If I don’t get a nap I will do something I regret,” I said. “Would you mind if I bring you a screaming 8-year-old? All you have to do is keep her in your house while I try to sleep.” Emily agreed right away, and was immediately granted sainthood. I drove Saffron up to her house, and had to peel her screaming from the car. I kept telling her I would be back soon. She bawled at Emily’s house for almost an hour before Steve picked her up. We both had our worst day, and ever since then it’s been better. Saffron has been the gem we always knew she was inside. I’ve been the non-descript-element-of-some-sort we always knew I was.


Life hasn’t and won’t be totally smooth from here on out, but we are really getting the hang of it—all six of us. I think we’re starting to be a family. And a happy one.

If . . .

you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

Rundassa's Rules

Yes, it’s true.  I believe I can say a bridge has officially been crossed.  Well, at least a footbridge.  OK, so some crude stones have been hucked out in the stream and we’re clumsily hopping from one to the next.  But it’s progress and I’ll take it!  So there. 

Monday turned out to be quite a day.  (Do I say that about every day?)  The incident on the way home from school, with which I ended my last post, became a big deal.  It turned out that everyone was right, and everyone was wrong.  Saffron had run off and home from school alone and left Jasper carrying her coat and backpack.  But he had offended her by grabbing her by the neck of her coat after school in front of other children, when she wasn’t cooperating.  She had knocked Ruby into the wall on her way into the house, but not intentionally.  I think.  I don’t know which of my kids is telling the right story half the time, even when there isn’t a language barrier!

Saffron came in the door upset, and got moreso as she saw Jasper and Ruby telling me what happened and thought they were accusing her of things she hadn’t done.  She was sort of storming around the house, and Jasper and Ruby made it worse by trying to get involved instead of staying out of things.  (There is always some tension between them wanting Saffron to keep the house rules, and me asking them to let me be her mother.) 

As the afternoon progressed Saffron’s silent pouting turned into a full-blown tantrum.  It was the worst I’ve ever seen from her.  She was actually throwing things, and slamming doors, and yelling at people.  I couldn’t deal with it with the other kids being around and nosy, so I called a friend who had offered some babysitting for a date.  “Is your offer good for tonight?”  I asked.  Steve was working late and I had no date in mind, but knew I needed to do something serious.  I was afraid to drive the kids because Saffron was already sort of “fake” running away—walking down the block and back—so I had Jen come to my house and pick up the other three kids.  Watching them leave for a fun outing just made Saffron more upset, and things got worse.  I must say that she was still her conscientious self, being careful not to throw anything that would break—mostly just Barbies and paper—and being sure not to make too big of a mess for me.  I asked her over and over, in words she could understand, to tell me what was wrong.  I tried to get her to use the English/Amharic language book we rely on.  She wouldn’t communicate at all.  I knew I needed to do something serious.  I called my dad, who stopped by for some comfort and eventually loaded Saffron into the car for me.  I had called Simon, the translator, but been unable to reach him.  Feeling strongly that Saffron needed to talk to someone in her own language, I called the Ethiopian restaurant where Willa and I had gone to buy whadt for Steve’s work presentation, and explained my predicament.  They said to bring Saffron in any time.  So, once Dad got her in the car I headed downtown. 

In the restaurant were two parties eating dinner, one with two adopted children from Ethiopia, but the cook and host welcomed us right away.  I ordered injera and chicken whadt for Saffron, and we each had an orange crush—a pretty good substitute for Fanta or Mirinda.  Pretty soon we met Rundassa, the host, who is also the owner of the restaurant.  His sister was the one cooking.  Rundassa turned out to be an absolute gift.  I couldn’t have dreamed up a better medicine man for Saffron.  Rundassa is from Ethiopia, but came to the US via Russia for graduate school.  He is married to a white woman and has three biological kids and three kids adopted as older children from Ethiopia.  So he not only had language and culture expertise, but adoption expertise.  

As I noticed that adults did in Ethiopia, Rundassa got right down to business with Tinsae.  He talked to her about everything from school to race to how to be a better sister.  We sat there for about two hours and he came over to chat whenever he had a break from customers.  We learned that Saffron did not understand that Ethiopia was part of Africa, and thought people were demeaning her whenever they called her African.  He told her how many wonderful things it means to be African, how many Africans there are in the world, that President Obama is half African, etc.  I had him ask her if she would rather I tell people to refer to her as Ethiopian, but she said no—American.  In other words, she wants to fit in.  She doesn’t want to be called out in any way right now.  Rundassa talked to me about how he felt as the only African student in graduate school, and how sometimes you isolate yourself even if others don’t push you away. 

I told Rundassa all about the dynamics we’ve been experiencing between Ruby and Saffron.  This is very similar to what he experienced in his family, and he gave Saffron advice I wouldn’t even have thought of—or probably dared to give at this point.  He told her she is Ruby’s older sister, and must act like it.  She must be an example, and teach Ruby things, and let Ruby have her mom’s lap when she needs it because Ruby is only six and still needs her mom more.  He told her she must eat what she’s offered, and not make faces, and adamantly backed up my idea that I not give her Ethiopian food for a while, until she shows respect for the food I offer her.  He also asked how much her hair extensions had cost, and told her in Birr, Ethiopian money.  She was shocked.  I have not felt it right to make an issue of those types of things, but he pointed out that I tell my biological kids when something is too expensive to buy, and she needs to be aware of the value of things.  I had noticed that in Ethiopia when adults talked to Tinsae they usually gave her a very buck-up sort of speech, and this was similar in tone.  But it was tinged with the very American understanding we needed. 

Rundassa’s main message to Tinsae (that’s the name she always gives in Amharic, of course, though when I asked her if she’d rather just go by that and forget Saffron she said clearly that in America she wants everyone, even Mom, to call her Saffron) was “eyes-oshe” or the very common Amharic phrase for “be strong.” His main message to me was stop worrying.  When he heard the girls had only been in the country for 2 ½ weeks, he almost laughed.  He said all of this is normal and will work itself out before we know it.  I think I knew this, but it was great to hear it from another adoptive parent.  He was clear in saying that I should not be a softie, but should enforce the house rules and have high expectations from the beginning.  He even called his American wife to have her give me encouragement over the phone.  He gave us both his numbers, told Tinsae to call anytime, and invited her over to play with his kids.  He also said Tinsae was much more stubborn than the average Ethiopian child, probably due to a difficult life, and shy even in her own language.  This was comforting to me because if it’s personality too, and not just language and adoption adjustments, all of these battles of will seem even more understandable to me.

What more could I ask for?  Rundassa upheld and surpassed my impression of the Ethiopians I have met as some of the kindest and most open and loving people in the world.  I left with a whole new lease on life.  I think Saffron did, too.  On the way home I could tell she was making a great effort to show her gratitude for my effort to find someone for her to talk to—and for acting out of love instead of anger.  I sense it surprises her each time I do this.  She offered some new information in the car, like that she had made two friends at school.  This is also when she told me to call her Saffron.

Yesterday the difference was obvious.  Saffron avoided chances to fight with Ruby, instead of looking for them.  It was bad at first after school, which is when I locked myself in my room and told them they could continue bugging each other without my help (I had had a crappy night’s sleep Monday night, and Tuesday was probably my most discouraged day yet until I saw the change in Saffron that evening).  By the time I came out an hour later, the girls were playing happily together.  Saffron had taken Rundassa’s advice and decided to teach Ruby something:  how to climb down a wall backwards with your hands into a back bend.  Apparently, this is something they practiced at mealtime at the orphanage.  Ruby responded by being kinder and sharing her things without complaint, and they had a great night.  If anything, it was little Willa who felt left out (the poor baby sister).

And speaking of that baby sister, we’ve decided to give her a birthday in honor of my oldest sister, Kathryn, who died as a baby:  Willa Birhane’s birthday will be January 31.  Saffron knows she was an Easter baby, so we’ve given her an April birthday in honor of my aunt, Jane, who died with no children:  Saffron Tinsae’s birthday will be April 1.

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Tonight Saffron had another garage sobbing session again, but for the first time ever she came in and stopped crying on her own.  She also didn’t ask for other food when she missed my dinner.  She wouldn’t speak to me or smile or eat before school, but I’m pretty sure that was just shear fear of returning to school (I let her take one rest day on Tuesday) and only directed at me as a practitioner of this confounded language.  Ruby was chipper through Saffron’s crying session tonight, but then took her own turn after.  Jasper cried tonight, too, and Willa for about an hour, so only Steve and I are left to take our turns.  Steve couldn’t believe how calm I was through it all.  But it’s because I have seen the beginning of a mighty transformation.  I saw Rundassa’s magic, and I know it’s now just a matter of working out the kinks.

Tonight when Willa cried for an hour (over refusing to apologize to Ruby for biting her—you may think I’m forcing apologies too much but they seem to be a symbolic act of accepting my authority for these girls), Saffron was visibly upset.  I haven’t seen her that way for a while, probably because she’s been too focused on herself.  She was so distracted by Willa’s tears and her refusal to apologize that she didn’t even want to read.  Once she finally got up and got Willa to apologize, she then tucked her lovingly, gently, into bed, speaking to her in the voice I heard the women in Ethiopia use.  I still don’t know what the words mean.   It was something.  I was watching a little mother put her child to bed.  That moment tonight, more than any other since I met these girls, brought home to me the role this little girl has played in her sister’s life.  I’ve known about it, but this time I saw it first hand.  I saw an old soul.  She’s been a good mother.  Willa is happy and carefree partly by disposition, but partly because she has been raised with love—by her sister.  How can I fault that sister a few tantrums now?  She has an entire childhood to make up for. 

This post is brought to you by the letter S, for Saffron:  “Coming from the dried stigmas of the saffron crocus, it takes 75,000 blossoms or 225,000 hand-picked stigmas to make a single pound, which explains why it is the world’s most expensive spice.”  (the epicentre, “encyclopedia of spices”) 

P.S.  Happy Birthday, Lizzie, fellow student of the Sisters’ school.

P.P.S. Welcome to the world, my two new nephews: Guy Michael Bowman, 11/11/09, and Sawyer James Swensen, 11/16/09.  

To Blog or Not to Blog

(Written with intention to post on Monday 11/16.  Make sure you check out the pics below too.)

To Blog or Not to Blog
That is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to tackle the papers and dishes that invade the kitchen, or to take arms against a sea of troubles—and by blogging, rest them.

(I realize it’s cliché, but the “To Be or Not To Be” speech remains my all-time favorite piece of Shakespearean insight. It echoes in my mind at least a couple of times every month. For me it’s the ultimate expression of that question we all must ask ourselves many times each day—whether to face life’s struggles head on, or try to escape them.)

Yesterday was quite a day.

In the morning we had church at 9:00 AM, and I needed to be there early to play the piano. Ruby was supposed to be on time to give the scripture at the beginning of primary. Unfortunately, we did not get off to a good start.

Tinsae did not wake up happy. She refused breakfast, and convinced little B/W to do the same. They did get ready for church, but in an unlucky turn of events, Tinsae put on a favorite dress of Ruby's--her fancy Easter dress. This is understandable--it was hanging in Tinsae and Birhane's closet, where all the girls' dresses hang because that's the only place they fit, and I had indicated that all the dresses were for all the girls to share. Though Ruby knew about this, she apparently never foresaw the possibility of someone else actually choosing her favorite dress. (The "favorite" status of this dress was previously unknown to me.)

I was showering, so Steve handled it. He backed Tinsae up, reminding Ruby of the dress deal. Ruby cried and Tinsae pouted. Soon Tinsae took the Easter dress off and threw it on Ruby’s bed. She then changed into a shirt not long enough to be a dress. We offered her many other options, including said Easter dress, but she wouldn't speak or move. Ruby wouldn't get dressed at all, despite our warnings she would miss her chance to give the scripture. Ahh, mornings. I had to Go!

Steve took me and Willa and Jasper to church, leaving both girls crying and finally thinking maybe we were serious. When Steve got back home a few minutes later, Ruby was struggling into the forbidden dress and Tinsae was still in the shirt. He helped them both into acceptable clothing and dragged them to church. Saffron was screaming but Ruby went willingly, now very worried about her scripture.

Meantime, the opening scripture had come and gone and I had grabbed Willa to fill in for Ruby. She repeated into the mic what I whispered in her ear, having no idea what it meant but relishing the spotlight. Then, during the announcements, Ruby walked in, confidently went up front, and sat in the scripture chair. Her teacher tried to motion her back but she was oblivious. I shimmied out from behind the piano, up to the podium, and whispered a plea to the primary president (in the middle of her announcements) that we should do the scripture again.

She did not miss a beat but said, “and we’re now going to have our scripture again, because it was such a great scripture it’s worth hearing twice.” Ruby came up to the podium, read her scripture perfectly, and happily sat down. Crisis averted—for now.

I then went to get Saffron, who was out in the hall. I coaxed her in with the proposal that she sit by me on the piano bench, rather than with her primary class (the other kids her age). She indicated that she had a stomachache and headache, which is not surprising considering that she hadn’t eaten since the afternoon before. She was pouting and acting miserable (as she probably felt), so I tried sitting with her in the audience so she could watch the action up in front. She began to panic, shaking her legs and fidgeting. I figured she was about to breakdown. I was really losing my patience with the pouting, but didn’t want her to be further embarrassed so I took her to the nursing room off the bathroom, which is comfy and quiet, and shut the curtain. Once again, she sat on my lap and cried. I just stoked her back and let her get it out.

I think it’s important to interject here that I am no superwoman. It is still hard for me to be loving and comforting during these moments sometimes. As I said when I first met the girls, I really look forward to knowing them better and loving them completely, but I think it’s unrealistic and a disservice to adoptive families if we don’t admit that that level of connection takes time. Ruby and Jasper I’ve had for years—cared for for years. If caring for someone is what bonds us to them, then it stands to reason that with less time invested in these girls so far, I’m less bonded to them. I remember a teenage girl named Charity once admitting, “Some people know, some people only believe but want to know, and some people only want to believe. But at least they have begun the desire to believe. I can say that I want to believe.” I have never forgotten that. She may have been referring to religious beliefs, but I think her insight applies to many things. With a new child, even sometimes a biological baby, you pass from a desire to a belief to a knowledge of love. I began with an eager desire to know and love these girls, but with a certain fear and uncertainty. I have passed from desire to confident belief—I really want to feel like their mother and I believe I will eventually. But at the same time, I’m very grateful to the adoptive mother who confided in me that she felt like a babysitter to her adopted Ethiopian baby for the first six months. Now that baby is the light of her life. I have thought of that comment often—depended on it—and wish adoptive families would share these thoughts more often. I believe they help, rather than hurt, the cause of adoption. It is through the struggle that we achieve the fullest measure of happiness, right?

And I should add that I did break my “not-lose-my-temper” streak Saturday night with the grocery store episode. The reason Saffron was pouting in the garage is because I had left her there. She and Ruby were fighting, and Ruby had gotten hurt. I had just invited Saffron to come to the grocery store with me, but then she refused to apologize to Ruby. I said she couldn’t come unless she apologized. She sat there in the car in silence, so I hopped out, slammed my door, walked around the car, flung her door open, picked her up and stood her on the ground. I then jumped back in and pulled out of the garage. This was a bit like my lunchbox throwing episode of a couple days before, when she refused to hold the lunch I had packed for her. I didn’t yell either time, but I did lose my cool and show my exasperation physically.

And when I say I’ve had a goal not to lose my temper, it’s not because I’m Supermom. It’s because I’ve done it plenty in the past with Jasper and Ruby. Especially after our baby boy Charles died, in October of 2007, I found myself with a shorter fuse than I’d ever imagined, and yelling at Jasper and Ruby more than I’d ever believed I would. I’ve learned over the past two years how ineffective it is. Your kids may respond and do what you want in that moment, but it doesn’t change their behavior positively for the future. It’s also a real handicap when you turn around later and try to teach them not to yell at each other. This time around, with the girls, I have to teach them from scratch how we act in our family (or try to!), and without using a common language to explain. They are learning solely from our actions. So if I lose my temper and overreact, the consequences are even more dire than they were before. The fact that I have felt relatively calm over the past few weeks is not due to my own special resolve. It’s due to the fact that, one, I want this to work: part of me is treating it in a detached way, like a behavioral study for which I’ve prepared for a long time; my rational brain says that the more I stay calm, choose my actions and reactions, and teach the lessons I want taught, the sooner we will have the well-adjusted family we seek. Second, I have no doubt I have angels on my right side and on my left, to bear me up. There are many moments throughout each day when I think to myself, “I am definitely not alone. I have with me an extra comfort, an extra measure of the spirit all the time, to help me through this. Because I, alone, would not be handling it.” I’ve never thought of it until this moment as I write, but perhaps Charles is finding his own way to help—to act as peacemaker in our home.

Alright. Enough of the sappy stuff! Just trying to show the full picture. Anywho, I barged into the toddlers’ room at church and asked for some snacks for Saffron—I knew she was starving. I told her to come join me at the piano when she finished eating. I went back into primary to discover they’d already started singing time, and I’d failed them on my first day: they’d had to commandeer a pianist from the audience to play for me during my disappearance. I resumed my post, and was soon joined by Saffron. She cuddled up next to me at the piano. But then Ruby returned from her class for singing time . . . DUN, DUN, DUNNNN,
No sooner did she see Saffron up there with me than she marched up to the bench, crying and reminding me that I had said none of the kids could sit by me while I played the piano at church. Argh. Well, true, I said. So why don’t you sit on my other side. She did, and I put my arm around her and gave her a hug. Well. Not OK. As soon as Saffron saw this, she pulled away from me and turned her back. Then she got up and left the room. Keep in mind that I’m trying to accompany songs this whole time, and am up in front of the room where everyone can watch my parenting peril!

As soon as there was a break I went outside and retrieved Saffron from the snowy sidewalk (she had taken her shoes off). I sat her down authoritatively next to a girl she’s met before. Luckily, she didn’t move again.

After primary it was time to head to our last meeting, and Saffron refused to leave her seat. I handed all my books to the other kids, and picked her up, crying. She is the size of an eight-year-old, so this was awkward and her dress came up over her bum. This made her more upset, so I set her down to walk. She collapsed stubbornly to the floor again, so I picked her up again. We all marched into the meeting, which had already started, assuming Steve would have a seat for us. But at my behest, he had gone home to get food for Saffron! So we made quite an entrance before we quickly found a bench. When I sat Saffron down she began muffled cries again. After a few minutes it was clear this would embarrass her, so I took her out of the chapel. She cried and I cuddled some more, then she ran outside again. I grabbed her, saying, “It you want to pout let’s at least do it inside. It’s freezing out here.” Again, not a moment of great sympathy on my part. We eventually went back in, but she would only sit on the armrest of the bench, drawing more attention to us, of course. What good entertainment for everybody on a typical Sunday at church!

But this is where it gets good. This is what does your heart good. About half way through the meeting, Saffron cuddled up to me. She and Ruby were sad about who got to put their head on my lap, so we set ten-minute turns according to the clock. After a while, Saffron whispered to me, “Mom, sorry Ruby.” She wanted to apologize to Ruby! I didn’t realize she was still thinking of her battle with Ruby as the cause of any of this, but I was so impressed she wanted to apologize. Apologies have been a struggle for her. I was really proud of her for this step, after such a difficult day. They apologized to each other (well, OK, with me saying all the words), and made up.

From there, our Sunday went really well. I felt like laughing as we left church. I thought, “All’s well that ends well.” (I know, gospel of Shakespeare again.) I wasn’t embarrassed, having learned long ago that allowing yourself to get embarrassed in public parenting moments only triples your stress, and you usually take it out on your kids. Plus, I have to assume all of our friends at church are pulling for us. I know they are. The kids played great the rest of Sunday and it was a really nice day. Each potential problem was solved pretty easily because the kids were all willing to sort it out and try not to pout. It was really encouraging.


As I write, the kids just came in from school, with Ruby bawling that Saffron had pushed her into the wall. Jasper and Ruby say that she left them and ran home alone, a big no-no, and ended up at the neighbor’s house around the block. Jasper says her teacher told him she was difficult at school, being ornery and refusing to share, and running out as soon as the bell rang. I don’t know what to do this time. I have great sympathy for Saffron’s point of view and all she’s going through. None of her behavior seems so surprising to me, considering where she’s coming from. But I don’t know how to handle it when it happens outside of my house, and in more complex situations. I thought she’d come home from school happy today. These are the times the language barrier really gets in the way—we need to have a good talk and we can’t. Sunday we invited the translator I’ve found and his family over for dinner, for the express purpose of having a good long talk with her, through him, and giving her a chance to air her grievances. But they never showed up. I think that really would have been helpful. She won’t talk to me now, so how will I figure out what to do?

My Room

I have now officially locked myself in it.

Some Photos

Exhausted airport arrival--sorry so blurry.

Saffron Showing Us She Can Knit:  Has the new hair, but not the new teeth yet.

Saffron knitting again, and showing off her new teeth.

Willa's Braids Upon Arrival

Willa's new braids, right after the two-hour crying ordeal.

Poor Ruby's injuries after the bike crash.

Chapter 3: What Goes Around Comes Around

There are a couple of reasons I haven’t posted for almost a week, though I’ve wanted to every day. 

One is that I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally, and can’t seem to find one spare minute in the day when some person or basic chore isn’t clamoring for my attention, or it isn’t 1:00 AM.

The other is that I every time I think of writing I feel overwhelmed by my inability to convey the spirit of daily events properly, and the fear that, out of the 1,000 little interactions that make up every day, the ones I choose to mention will skew the tone of the story one way or the other.  Several times I have worried so much about properly describing the day that I’ve failed to describe it at all.

But I can’t let this life-changing story go unrecorded.  So, I think maybe the best solution is to set down how I feel right up front, and then get into details.  That way I don’t have to worry so much about the details being misunderstood.

It may surprise people to hear that I’m feeling pretty good these days.  It surprises me.  This is definitely one of the most difficult patches I have ever been through emotionally.  Each day, as I am in the thick of it, I am thinking to myself, “Wow, this is heavy.  This is enough to drive a person to the edge.  Why aren’t I losing it?”  I’m not saying I’m enjoying every moment—believe me, I’ve locked myself in my room more than once.  I’m just surprised that under my surface layer stress I feel an abiding peace and patience.  I feel the stress of the moments and days, but I don’t have anxiety about the future.  In Ethiopia I awakened and then again put to rest all the Big, capital-B fears about this major life change.  I feel confident it will all iron out if I can just be patient from day to day.

I learned  a lesson from a friend last year about Lot’s wife.  I had never liked the story of Lot’s wife from the Bible, thinking it rather unfair that one be turned to salt just for taking a last farewell glance back home.  But Carol explained to me that she saw Lot’s wife as a symbol of our own stubborn insistence on looking back and questioning ourselves over and over, even when we’ve made valid decisions and need to trust them and move forward.

Of course, it also helps to take your medication (check), vent to good friends and family (check), stash Halloween candy in your bathroom (check), tune out children and listen to books on your iPod while you do dishes (check), and get enough sleep (hope to check some day).

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I just pulled dramatically into the grocery store parking lot, having left bawling Ruby and Saffron at home. After refusing a nap with my mom this afternoon, Willa has just fallen asleep in the back seat. So, it appears I've finally found a moment to blog--on my phone.

This is really hard. I knew it would be, I expected it, but sometimes it still feels good to state the obvious. I know what some people reading this will wonder, so let me just answer you right up front:  No, struggling in the thick of it doesn't make me have second thoughts. When you struggled and cried with that colicky new baby did you have second thoughts about having him? I'm guessing not. Well I often wish people would realize adding to your family through adoption is very similar to adding through childbirth.

A wise person said it is important not to get caught up in the thick of thin things. Well, that's why I have no second thoughts, and have underneath an abiding confidence that all will eventually work itself out.   Because I am not caught in the thick of something thin.  Rather, if we continue the sauce metaphor I must say I am at that endless simmering and stirring phase where you're waiting for your white sauce to thicken and you think it never will. But it will. And when it does, it will be the very foundation of everything you “cook up” in life.  I am in the thick of something thick--or at least thickening--that will be worth every stroke of this endless stirring.

(You know I'm full of it right? Metaphors are the reason I never excelled in poetry.)

So what is the thick of it? It's R and S fighting over everything to find their places in the family. One is used to being Head Girl at home, and is still getting used to the idea of having a big sister. She wants to teach, and lead, and be best buddies. The other is used to being Head Girl in life, and wants to prove how competent she is, all she can do, how quickly she can fit in with new friends, and how she doesn't need to be taught.

Ruby must learn to be little sister to a big sister. This is quite different from being little sister to a big brother.  She must learn, as her mother had to, not to take everything so personally.  Saffron must learn to be a kind and encouraging big sister, rather than a competitive one.  She must learn to honor her sister's desire for friendship. She must learn you can't boss a sister close in age the way you can boss one much younger, like Willa.  (Willa was willing to be mothered by her sister when there was no other option. Now that there is a mother, she is less willing. She is transferring her loyalty to me. This must happen, though it is obviously a painful development for Saffron). Ruby doesn't want to be mothered by a sister—she wants to be sistered. They both do, but neither knows quite how.

Both of them must learn there is enough love to go around. Both must learn there will be plenty of precious moments alone with Mom for everyone, and we need not crowd in and ruin the other's moment. Both must come to believe confidently that their talents are known, their individual strengths are noted, and that Mom and Dad will see their good behavior as well as their bad. “Their days are known, and their years shall not be numbered less.”

How do I know all this? I graduated with honors from the Mabey Family Sisters College. I was forced to repeat more than once the course titled "Elizabeth and Emily:  How A Second and Third Daughter with Very Different Personalities Can Learn to Appreciate Each Other.” In the last two weeks I have poured over my (mental) notes from that course, and realized there may be reason for my having girls instead of the family of boys in which I always saw myself excelling as a mother.

Though Elizabeth and I were biological sisters and almost three years apart, for a while we seemed born to clash. Though she was older and wanted to teach and lead me, I was confident and independent and usually not willing to follow. 

I remember once driving alone in the car with my mom after a particularly nasty patch of “E and E” fighting.  I was feeling quite superior, thinking everyone knew Lizzie was the one who lashed out, and I the one who merely reacted. I thought I deserved sympathy for all I put up with.  Suddenly, my mom said, "You know, Emily, you have not been very nice to your sister this year."  She asked if I had thought how it might feel to be Lizzie and have an outgoing little sister who is as big as you are, and who is constantly jockeying for your territory.

I don't remember if she said it or not, but I felt her disappointment in me.  My stomach dropped. I was hurt, and horrified. For years I had seen myself as the straight man to Elizabeth's drama. I had not realized my own hurtful part. Lizzie looked up to Rachel as her older sister, and expected I would do the same to her.  But I refused to give her any respect.  Rachel soared above us all as the oldest.  Sara, the youngest, was along happily for the ride, much like little W.  Elizabeth and I  languished in the middle, fighting over Sara’s allegiance as if she had the power to crown one of us queen.  I wasn’t acting the way Lizzie thought a little sister should—the way she had.  Elizabeth worked at carving her niche, and I tended to come crashing through and ruin it.

The older I get the more I learn from my experience with Lizzie. I realize that what we both really wanted was the other's respect. Middle sisters need a place to call their own. I love and respect Elizabeth more than ever now. She is good at so many things I am not.  In fact, all my sisters are! Without them I fear I would be a selfish know-it-all.  I so wish I could go back and tell little Emily to let little Elizabeth '"big sister" her now and then.  Quit trying to prove so much!

What does all this matter now?  It means I understand a bit about the power struggle Saffron and Ruby are fighting right now. I think it's part of what gives me patience. I have no doubt that some day they will thank the Lord above that they have each other--especially when I've lost all my faculties and am driving them both nuts.

Take the decade-long battle Lizzie and I had, and add to that an international adoption later in childhood, a language barrier, and the enormous and impossible-to-fill expectations of one dreaming of a family in America, and the other dreaming of her very own little sister.  Then it’s clear why all of this behavior is no surprise, though unpleasant.  Just remind yourself of that every ten minutes, especially when they are having a who-can-cry-loudest competition. And smile for a moment, as I did last night, each time they forget to compete, and accidentally have a ball together.  Lizzie and I had those moments, too.

Before I get into the details, I should mention Jasper. He is not only out of the danger zone, but has sped through the challenge course and won immunity for the week.  I had a firm talk with him (at him) on Saturday about bucking up, accepting the new reality, and finding a way to make it work for him. I doubt it was the talk, but something in his whole attitude has changed. He has been an easygoing prince this week. He's even found ways to tease and bond with his new sisters. I don't expect him to sail smoothly forever, but I'm very grateful for this week. You da man, Buddy.

The week:  As my cousins said, we have packed the kind of stressful experiences you usually have once a week three to a day.

Saturday

On Saturday, Saffron got the much-hoped-for extensions.  I had initially said no to these because Ruby was begging for them too, but thought better of it when I realized how self-conscious Saffron felt about her short hair.  I offered Ruby the compromise of getting her ears pierced instead, since Saffron already has hers pierced and Ruby already has long hair.  I also told Ruby horror stories given me by Shequtta about how bad it hurts, which stories turned out to be true.  For 3 ½ hours Saffron Tinsae sat in the chair wincing and crying silent tears while she had her hair done.  But now she’s as proud as a peacock of her long crochet braids.  Ruby cried getting her ears pierced, too, so at least they had that in common.  I had to get them both through it, and help them both feel that they had done the bravest and coolest thing and were “kon-jo,” so that I wanted to cry myself by the time we got home.

Both Ruby and Jasper had a fun night alone with Dad at the Jazz game. And Saffron and Willa watched SYTYCD episodes with me.  Saffron LOVED it.  She is a true dancer.  It's in her blood. She was shocked at the skimpy outfits, and men with "shruba" (braids) but loved it. It was hilarious to hear her constant gasps.

Sunday

While Willa sat on my lap in church she decided to braid several neat little braids on each side of my head.  Teenage girls sitting nearby were amazed.  She’s only 3.

Monday

Saffron started second grade.  She was extremely excited to begin school, and so with the principal’s encouragement we stuck her right in her second week in America.  She was desperate to start and so was very willing to try a lot of English on Saturday and Sunday. Saffron and Ruby found each other at lunch, but couldn't seem to figure out Sister vs. Friend relationships at recess. Girls crowd around S at recess, getting excited if she says a word.  She seemed happy when I met her at lunch, and after school, but was exhausted by the evening.  This has been the case most of the week.  Her teacher says she’s doing very well in school, and I think she’s trying so hard—concentrating so hard on English—that when she comes home she needs to shut down out of exhaustion.  I understand.  But it has made for some difficult evenings.  Saffron is right now finding her place in our family, testing my authority, re-learning how to be mothered rather than mother.   And she can’t communicate.  That’s a lot to deal with.  She tries to do her homework as diligently at night as J and R, but obviously can't do it without help. Everyone fights over reading with Mom.

Monday night we went to dinner with Steve's family. Before we left I had had to put Saffron in time out for the first time. She had hit Ruby, and wouldn't apologize. I gave her three warnings, then sent her to her room. (Apologizing has been a big obstacle for her.) She was very upset the rest of the evening. At dinner she wouldn't look at or talk to anyone. She was starving but wouldn't eat.  I was quite frustrated.  After about 45 minutes at the table I took her hand and walked her out of the restaurant.  I said a prayer on the way out that I would handle the situation right though I was upset, and keep my streak of never losing my temper with the girls. I sat on a bench with Saffron and cuddled her and told her she was a good girl and I loved her.  She cried.  After a while of this, I asked if she wanted to go back in and get something to eat.  She nodded. We went back in and she proceeded to eat her spaghetti, half of mine, Steve’s chicken, and almost a loaf of bread. She was happy. She had fun. I'm not saying all was perfect--Ruby was then jealous of my cuddle with Saffron and started to cry—but it was a good moment.  Those moments make you happy and give you a glimpse of a great future once we've all adjusted.

Tuesday

I visited S and R at recess, and witnessed for myself the difficult dynamic of choosing to play with friends at recess and inadvertently making your little sister feel bad. It was a little heart-wrenching.

Willa and I bought injera and waedt at the Ethiopian restaurant for Steve’s lunch presentation about our trip to his coworkers. At the restaurant, they told Willa, "Don’t ever forget your Amharic." 

Then Willa got six cavities filled.  She was very good for one side of her mouth, but then they gave her another shot and started on the other side.  At this point, she started saying ‘bekkah’ over and over, talking with the dentist’s hands in her mouth.  After a minute, when it was clear the dentist wasn’t stopping, she must have figured it was because we couldn’t understand her in Amharic:  she started saying “finished, finished!” over and over around the dentist’s fingers.  It was very funny.

Wednesday

This was Steve’s birthday, and not a great one for him I admit. Jasper and Ruby made great homemade presents.  Saffron made disgusted faces at the cake.

Saffron had had to miss school that day, as she and Willa had a doctor's appt. They had to start their immunizations over and both screamed mightily for an hour, from before the shots began to well after they finished. I don't think it was the shots--it was shear anger at mom and frustration with life. I carried them screaming out of the room at the end. I could only laugh.  But later when Saffron and Ruby fought and Willa wouldn't nap, I almost cried. My friend Emily called at just the right moment and absolutely insisted I bring the girls to her and go to the store by myself. Thanks, Em. Another friend, Teresa, let Ruby stay and play all day. Thanks, Teresa. Teresa's daughter had had a Birthday party that day and invited all three girls. S was very excited to go to her first American birthday party, and happily picked out a gift. I made it clear the gift was from all three girls.  But when we got to the party and Ruby wanted to carry the present, Saffron got upset and refused to go. She sat on the sidewalk and sulked through the whole party, despite several invitations to come in.  She must have been freezing, and emotionally drained from all of it.

I made it to Jasper's Parent-Teacher Conference and actually bought a cake mix for Steve. I had it almost made by the time he got home from work at 7:30. By this time, miraculously, S and R were playing in my high heels and having a giggling blast together.  That’s why I have to live by the minute and not get stuck in a mood—because I never know when the storm clouds will clear and all will love each other again.

Thursday

Willa got her hair braided in Ogden. She screamed the entire two hours (literally) and I had to hold her head still. While we were there we got a call from Jasper that Ruby had taken a terrible spill on her bike. I felt awful not being there, but a kind neighbor and my mom saved the day. Ruby’s face was scraped up badly and she got a fat lip.  Poor thing didn't need this right now.

When I got home Saffron happened to discover my knitting bag. Much to our surprise, she got out needles and yarn and began knitting! This made Ruby jealous until we got out her latch hook project.  Then they happily crafted next to each other.  It’s amazing when we get these glimpses into Saffron Tinsae’s past, her true self, and her true capabilities.  It makes me realize what a barrier the language still is—that there’s so much we don’t know about her and that she must be frustrated that she can’t tell us.  These are the really cool moments that you can only have with the adoption of an older child.  I feel very lucky to have an older child, even if it happened accidentally.  She truly brings her culture and past with her, whereas a little one like Willa is more of a sponge, soaking up all things new.  Having an older child is sort of like having a wise old soul inhabit the body of one of your children.  That’s how I feel sometimes.  It’s as if we’re uncovering her, one layer at a time.  For example, tonight she was upset and was trying to ignore me as I labored over changing her sheets.  After a few minutes she was clearly uncomfortable watching me and couldn’t resist the temptation to jump in and help me. 

Friday

Saffron got her teeth fixed--eight went from brown to white, and one cavity was filled.  I knew she was self-conscious and wanted this, because she would always be sure to close her mouth when we took pictures of her. After the procedure she wouldn't look in the mirror or speak to me, but by the end of school she had forgotten to be mad and I could see she was thrilled.  Her smile is now even more beautiful.  Most importantly, she seems more confident in it.

By Friday evening I was so beat and sick of the drama that I called my mom and we took everybody to McDonalds as punishment. Ruby threw a tantrum on the floor there, I can't remember why, but all ended up having a blast together in the playplace. It was clearly something new and exciting.

All in All

The vacuum was also new and exciting this week, as was the carwash. We also discovered Saffron and Willa like Cafe Rio. We got our first "Yummy". Today they delighted in their first snowfall, going sledding and building a snowman with my dad. 

Saffron is trying valiantly to read, and it's a true pleasure to sit next to her and hear her read each letter. I'll be very sad when these accents disappear. Her English sounds much prettier than mine. Willa is crying less to get her way.

In the second half of the week Saffron learned to apologize and even did it voluntarily to Ruby. She and Jasper learned to tease each other and laugh together. Willa is learning to let Ruby be her big sister. 

Jasper is finding his place and thriving as the family leader.  He is no longer bemoaning his lack of a brother.  Rather, he seems to enjoy the freedom to stay above the fray.  I am really proud of him.  And I’m proud of Ruby’s determined affection—no matter what clashes they have, she is always looking for ways to have fun with her new sisters, for new ways they can bond.  Actually, I’m extremely proud of the efforts made by all.  For Saffron it probably takes extraordinary effort just to get up and try again each day.  Willa is trying excitedly to see tortillas as a viable alternative to injera.  And our family and friends are making great efforts to support us, love all our children, and back up our parenting.

English understanding grows all the time.  I think food is an even bigger issue than language right now. It is a battleground everyday, meaning Saffron often chooses to go hungry. That would make any one of us a bit out of sorts. I think once she eats regularly she will also find happiness quite regularly.

Today my parents tended so Steve and I could see the Michael Jackson movie as a belated Bday present. I loved it. I almost cried through much of it, which reminded me how emotional I am these days. But though it's stressful, I find that emotion is still more excitement than anything else. There are a hundred subtle sweet moments every day that make me very excited to see this new family develop. I can't believe it's really happened--I can't believe we really have two beautiful new daughters from Ethiopia. I can't believe we are so lucky to have this beautiful family. I can't wait to see it all come together.

 This post is brought to you by the number 1 and the upside down letter e.  I can't make that letter here, but you know the one I mean, the one in the dictionary used to signify the sound euh.  That's the way you pronounce "Saffron," folks.  Look it up.  It's not "saff-rahn."  It's "saff-reuhn."  Like "African."  Not "Afrikaan."  Oh, and the 1 is as in 1:38 AM.  Argh!  Must sleep.  Must sleeeeppp!!

Good Day

Today was a good day.  If you saw what we went through today, you might not think so.  But by my new standards, it was.  In fact, for some reason I can't put my finger on, it even feels like a milestone day.  Some invisible good line was crossed, or some tiny footprint of progress set itself in the fresh concrete.  Anyway something felt right.

I've been working on a much longer post about the past week, but it's not finished and I've run out of time and energy once again.  I just wanted to post a quick note in the meantime:  I feel good about today.

As my mom has always said--and her mother before her--you can have one day to feel sorry for yourself, but then you've got to pick yourself up and keep going. So I had a little cry, and got a little sleep, and had a better day. Here are a few thoughts that helped me get excited again. Just click on the link. Let us all have the courage to create--whether a family, a flan, or a new future! And women, the faith to follow our intuition . . .

Create

The women in our lives are creatures endowed with particular qualities—divine qualities which cause them to reach out in kindness and with love to those about them.  We can encourage that outreach if we will give them opportunity to give expression to the talents and impulses that lie within them. 
-Gordon B. Hinckley

Never let a problem to be solved become more 

important than a person to be loved.
-Thomas S. Monson

Nobody Likes Me, Everybody Hates Me, I Might As Well Just Go Eat Worms

Today was hard.  I feel like crying.  It's not hard in the way people seem to think it would be, like crazy with a doubled family size, or hyper kids, or insurmountable language issues.  It's hard because no child seems to think I'm being enough or doing enough for them.  Today the guilt was laid on thick, in non-English speaking looks and sulks, and in very clear words by the all-too-eloquent English speakers.  Lacking the strength to do otherwise, I took it all to heart.  It hurts to have your kids imply that you've deliberately messed up their happy lives.  And everybody seems to feel robbed by the loss of baby brother Charles all over again. 

I keep trying to write something more about how people view having a biological new baby versus adopting non-infants, but it keeps coming out wrong and I am well aware that my words are immortal in cyberspace.   Some things are just not meant to be blogged about.  Save it for the book, right?

Oh and, P.S., I guess there's actually no need for me to go eat worms because I already have a worm of sorts--found out today that the big spots on my cheek and arm are ringworm.  Yippee. 

Gees, I'm pathetic.  Put me to bed.

A Week in the Life of an American Child . . . Man, I’m Exhausted

Steve (‘St-EE-v’), Tinsae (‘TIN-sah-ee’), and Birhane (‘Br-AW-nee’) came down the escalator at the Salt Lake airport Friday night just before 10:00, looking like death warmed over. Steve wouldn’t make eye contact for fear of crying out of exhaustion, and T and B wouldn’t make eye contact for the same reason, and many others I’m sure.

My parents and one sister were there, as well as Steve’s dad and brother, and my uncle and his family. It was wonderful to have a few people share this moment with us. That was the only moment there will ever be to see these girls as wholly and purely Ethiopian. From now on—from that first moment they slept in their own purple room, in their own American beds, with their own American clothes in the closet, they began to transform right before our eyes into American girls. Just this moment as I write, Saffron/Tinsae is pushing herself in the driveway in Charles’ red Radio Flyer wagon. She is wearing Ruby’s long black witch wig—upside down. She has put it in a ponytail with a barrette. Now she is dragging the unhappy dog around in the wagon. This is a typical scene on a typical American street in the life of a typical American child. Within 72 hours of her arrival, Saffron taught herself to ride a bike. It was a struggle until she took off her shoes: bare feet seemed to do the trick. This is life experience at the supersonic speed of children. It’s been less than a week, and things like Target and trampolines are already familiar territory. And the look in her eyes has changed. That faraway, timid, sad and skeptical look in Tinsae’s eyes is now rare. In it’s place is the increasingly confident, trusting, and happy look in Saffron’s eyes. Of course, the fiercely independent look is part of both of them.

I’m not saying this adjustment is easy for these girls. Last night Tinsae was back again, making an Ethiopian traditional dish of injera with wadt for us. She was right at home in the kitchen, with the big chopping knife, the raw meet and the strange spices. She worked quickly, with confidence, telling Ruby what to do, and looking the happiest I’ve seen her since her arrival. Birhane squeeled loudly, continuously, and seemingly uncontrollably at the thought of eating her mother-sister’s Ethiopian cooking again. She gorged herself. Today I heated it up for them again for lunch.

If I have mixed feelings, I can only imagine what they feel. I am very eager for them to learn English, and explore this new world, and stop chattering to each other in that world that keeps me out. At the same time, I panic at the thought of them forgetting their language, forgetting the native songs they sing together, and growing apart a bit—even though that’s necessary to make room for me. Just now I put Willa/Birhane down for a nap without making Tinsae take one, for the first time. Birhane was scared. Unlike most three-year-olds, who would cry for Mom, she was crying for Tinsae. Today we went to Target to return something, and they wanted to know why they weren’t getting new shoes. A few days ago they were surprised to be offered shoes. This made me kind of sad—how quickly our influence has changed them!

And they notice their differences. Today they were very excited to show me a photo of a baby with dark skin; yesterday at Jasper and Ruby’s school Tinsae stared unabashedly at the only other girl of color in the room. I was very glad I had taken them to the K&K African market in Salt Lake yesterday. I’ve been there a few times in the past to introduce myself, talk about the girls, find a translator, and buy Ethiopian injera. The men at the market were so nice and welcoming to the girls. They are Sudanese, but have all spent time in Ethiopia as the two countries are neighbors and friends. We met Simon, who will translate for us at doctors’ appointments and the like. The girls didn’t say much, but I know they enjoyed their visit to the “Africa Suk” (“Africa Shop”) and will be comfortable there next time.

Ruby and Saffron are a striking pair: Ruby, jealous of Saffron’s ability with the big knife, and Saffron, jealous of Ruby’s skill on the trampoline. Ruby’s pendulum swings swiftly back and forth between sheer thrill at this constant sleepover, and dejected dismay at having to share her things. Jasper acts sort of separate and vaguely annoyed by all the giggling, as a big brother rightfully should. He has struggled a bit with feeling left out. We had a little talk about making yourself left in, after which he successfully joined in—and took over—the trampoline jumping. The girls saw his value: he can bounce them higher than anyone else can. Jasper has also surprised me by feeling a great need to boss and enforce the house rules, something he never cared much about before. He doesn’t want them going outside without practical shoes, or goofing off when Mom says it’s bedtime. I have tried to back up his authority with the girls. I know it’s important for him to find his place in all this. Willa is rather contentedly along for the ride with most things. It’s clear she’s been loved and spoiled by her sister, the orphanage, etc., and expects to get her way much more than her sister does. She is good at turning on the tears and keeping them on. She’s learning they’re not always effective. She loves to get in the car and, indeed, to get into everything.


Our week so far has been much different than I expected. It’s been crazy and constantly busy, and the girls have been always up for trying something new or going a new place. Having your first day in America be Halloween is enough to shock any immigrant’s system, and every other new experience probably seems like a piece of cake after that (except that they don’t like cake).

Here’s how our week has probably felt to them:

Saturday
-Morning trip to Pace’s, where we get sodas and meet people
-More people stopping by your new home to meet you
-Running around to different stores where sometimes we get stuff with Mom
-Being told to take a nap, and then very rudely awakened from same nap to get all dressed up in your Sunday best and go out in the dark to the neighbor’s house. Being stopped on the way by several scary and weird looking people who know your names and are happy to meet you.
-Getting to neighbor’s house to be offered gross food, and more people who want to meet you. -Wondering why you’re in your Ethiopian Sunday dress when everyone else is in a costume—you’re no dummy, and sulk around until you finally get a wig of your own.
-Walking from door to door, miserable but excited in freezing cold weather, begging for candy which is prettily wrapped but doesn’t taste good.

Sunday
-Getting in your Ethiopian Sunday best again to head to church in the morning, only to find you don’t get to sit by your new sister, or your old one. Luckily, finding they sing the same songs and follow the same program as when you went to church in Ethiopia. Only this time there’s no Amharic translator, and random white people are constantly hugging you in the hall.
-Doing the nap-then-rudely-awakened thing again, to then go up to Iyat bet (Grandma’s House) to have the first meal you really dig into: rice and chicken you can eat with your fingers.
-Going to a strange other house, Mama’s cousin, to meet more new people who smile at you and love to watch you braid hair. Being forced to try some weird desserts they seem to like, then finally playing wildly with all the kids and having a grand, universal kid time.


Monday
-Going to the dentist. Weird, but you cooperated and somehow you understand they are going to fix your teeth. Spending a long time choosing a “prize,” as Mama says.
-Going to Costco—what more can we say? Probably the best day of your life in America thus far. People handing out food for you to try, Mama letting you choose what you want, and the sight of gloriously familiar things like mangos and a whole chicken. Sitting at a table with Mom, delightedly eating the chicken with your fingers while everyone watches you with smiles, and then jumping back in surprise as some machine drops a bottle of water at you.
-Going to a “cinema bet” for the first time. Even when mom translated, you had no idea what this “movie house” was. Never heard of it. But it wasn’t so bad, sitting in a comfy chair and chowing on popcorn (a daily treat in your home country) while a huge TV shows people in monster costumes jabbering in English (Where the Wild Things Are).

Tuesday
-Ahh. Going to the “Africa Suk” and making your own comfort food. ‘Nuff said.
-Wondering, Why don’t I get to go to school with Jasper and Ruby? Why is Mom grumpy and throwing clothes around?

Wednesday
-What am I supposed to do around this big house while Mom is sick in bed? And why is she insisting on English more and more, and speaking less Amharic to me?
-Discovering Grandma’s slide and swings. Heaven! Learning the words “push” and “more.”
-Finally, after waiting and begging all day, going “swimming!” Ow! (yes!) I’m not sure what I’m in for and I can’t believe Mom gave me something so immodest that shows my legs to wear, but here we go . . .

Snickers Satisfies You

Phew!  It's a good thing I came home when I did.  Remember how I was complaining that there were no fruits and veggies to eat in Ethiopia?  Well since I've come back I've made a point of changing my diet.  I am now subsisting entirely on Halloween bite-size Snickers and Diet Coke.

P.S.  Tomorrow night at about 9:00 PM, Steve and the girls will be on Utah soil.

Bekkah!!

I woke up a couple times in the night to text Steve and see if there was news.  Finally, there was.  He was given an interview at 3:00 PM, 6:00 AM our time.  I had already prepped him, so I didn't plan to wake up--but then did, mysteriously, right at 6:00.

At 7:00 he just texted me to say "Bekkah!"  This is a very useful Amharic word that means finished and enough all in one.  So it's official!--we're finished.  The visas will be ready for pick up tomorrow morning, and we hope to get the group a flight out tomorrow.  I asked if the girls understood, and Steve said they seemed "giddy."

Thanks, everybody!

I'm A Little Teapot

All day long I've had percolating in my mind a great blog post, full of insightful details.  Trouble is, it's now barely 9:00 PM, the kids are just asleep, and I can hardly keep my eyes open.  I do have some news, though, so I can't go to bed and leave people hanging.

Shall I tell you the news right up front?  We found out today from our very helpful Senator's aide that both the fingerprints are in and the visas were sent to the embassy today.  This was after business hours in Addis, but we're hoping it means--finally--an interview tomorrow morning.  I was especially grateful for this news coming today because Steve had sounded very discouraged on the phone earlier.  It had been hard to sit around waiting for a call for yet another day and have business hours end with nothing.  It was a really pleasant surprise for him to get good news right before bed.

Jasper and Ruby and I arrived home last night at midnight.  It was an exhausting two days of travel and, though the kids had been extremely eager to get home, even they sad it was sad to have our adventure come to an end.  Still I would say the journey helped us come home on a high.  Throughout our time in Ethiopia I've been reading There Is No Me Without You, which I quoted in an earlier post.  During some of our hardest days in Ethiopia I also happened to read hard parts of the book, like the detailed discussion of AIDS and suffering orphans.  But as I sat on the long plane right from London to Minneapolis, I neared the end of the book and got to read the wonderful follow-ups stories of happy and well-adjusted orphans at home in the States with their adoptive families.

Most of these stories were of older adoptive children, and it made me feel excited all over again to have the honor of these children in my home.  It also gave me confidence that everyone will eventually adjust and everything will eventually work out.  I read of the how typical it is for families to have second thoughts in the first days, but how thrilled and grateful they are in the end.  I thought to myself, "Gee, if I hadn't already just adopted a sibling group from Ethiopia, I think the end of this book would make me want to go out and adopt a sibling group from Ethiopia."

Then we landed in Minneapolis.  Jasper was wearing his knitted hat from the Leprosy hospital.  It is knitted in the colors of the Ethiopian flag, and says "Ethiopia" on the front.  Walking through the Minneapolis airport with Jasper in that cap was like walking with a celebrity.  The airport seemed to be full of employees from Ethiopia.  First the men in the gift shop stopped us, then a guard, a cart driver, two food court employees, and more.  (On Sunday in London we had even had an Ethiopian man call to us on the street when he saw Jasper's cap.)  Across the board they were absolutely thrilled to talk to someone who had just come from Addis.  They wanted to know where we'd been, what we thought of the country, what words we knew, and about the girls we were adopting.  They wanted to tell us what part of the country they were from.  They were so friendly and excited--literally flagging us down as we walked by their various posts.  They all congratulated us on our two girls and said "God Bless You."  It made me feel like I am part of a very happy, large, and welcoming new family.  I was excited all over again.  I told Steve if he really wants a pick-me-up on his layover, he just has to have the girls wear something traditional and walk through the airport.

This and a Burger King stop put me and the kids in good moods, so we enjoyed spending the rest of our (three hour!) layover in Minneapolis riding the moving walkways.  Have you been to that airport?  There are a lot of them.  We made ourselves stand still for the whole length of each walkway.  I tried to convince Jasper he could be arrested for standing on the walking side, and tried to convince Ruby these rides were more fun than Disney World.  We had a good time.

Our last flight to Salt Lake was in a tiny plane with turbulence as bad as riding in Gecho's van through the potholes.  I was so exhausted I was sick but--as on every other flight--couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep because of the child/children sleeping on me.  I perked up to see my parents and Steve's at the airport, though, and then was completely re-invigorated when we pulled up to our house.  The neighbors had decorated it beautifully--outside and in--with our Halloween decorations!  There was a huge welcome sign on the garage signed by the neighborhood, and even Halloween candy to treat my neglected sweet tooth.  And the whole house was dusted and vacuumed.  I have the best neighbors in the world!  This was the best homecoming I've ever had and if I'm still on Montezuma's Revenge then last night was definitely full-speed ahead to the top of the track.

I'm hopeful that Steve will be able to leave Addis Ababa Thursday night and be home by Friday night.  Keep your fingers crossed for tomorrow.

No News is Not Good News

Monday has come and gone here in Ethiopia with no news at all. We sat
here at the guest home pretty much all day, waiting and hoping for a
phone call. None came. There are still day trips I would like to
take, but not at the risk of missing the all-important phone call.
Instead, I gave the girls baths, Tinsae re-braided Birhane’s hair, and
we watched random shows on Al-Jazeera and other Middle-Eastern TV
stations that we have here. Only a handful are in English, which
obviously holds my attention better, but we’ve spent our fair share of
time watching cartoons that have been translated into Arabic or some
other foreign dialect. There are two Ethiopian stations but they are
both government run and the programming seems rather random.

Feeling extremely stir-crazy and without the stomach for one more
dinner of injera and meat drowning in oil and spices (recall that last
night, I all but skipped dinner, opting instead to eat dry handfuls of
Apple Jacks that Emily bought as her anniversary present for me –
that’s the official 13-year anniversary item right? I can’t Google it
right now to double-check), we went out to dinner. It was just a
restaurant attached to a hotel, but the Lasagna I had wasn’t bad,
although it was still swimming in the red-oil they cook all meat in
here. The girls ate injera and meat and seemed happy as clams. Mom,
you’ll never believe this but I would just like a side serving of
vegetables with one of these meals. We had an orange one day with one
of our meals, and cooked carrots another, but the only other thing
that has been available is bananas. Now you understand why we were so
excited when we went to a place last week that actually served salads!

So, I remain on what we were initially calling the 2-week African
adoption stress diet, although it is still quite effective even after
2 weeks. It’s not without its downside however. But, were I to go
into those details, I would certainly be labeled as providing TMI—Too
Much Information and since this is a family friendly blog, I’ll let
the better part of discretion rule the day. However, if we ever try
to market this effective appetite limiting and weight-loss inducing
diet, we’ll certainly have to list all those side-effects, for which
you should call a physician, like you hear on TV.

Tinsae still protests many of the breakfast foods around here, even
though they are prepared with her tastes in mind. This morning, we
had their equivalent of pancakes, although it looked more like thick
crepes or Ethiopian flat bread. But just add syrup and it was good by
me. Nonetheless, she refuses to even taste these creations. Today,
Berhane decided to hold solidarity with her sister so I let them just
drink their juice. Even the kitchen staff was clearly scolding them
in Amharic for not eating. By about 10 am when they were looking
around the room for food, I told them they couldn’t have any since
they didn’t eat any breakfast. I figure if they won’t eat in their
own country a hybrid dish that even the cooks feel they should be
eating, I’m not going to stop the hunger pains.


The other half of the family seems to be doing well. They went to see
a movie and by text, Jasper said he laughed through the entire thing.
I believe it. He’s a hoot to take to movies because he is one that
really enjoys the funny parts and gives full-volume belly laughs
throughout. I talked with them by phone in the airport and Emily was
lamenting the next 17 hours of her life in the air, but hopefully the
time will fly. Sorry.


It’s confirmed that the horse we have been so sick about every time we
drove by has passed on. This, after we drove through Debre Zeit and
Aki made more inquiries about the horse hospital located there for
these crazy Americans who were willing to spend good money on someone
else’s abandoned horse. Nonetheless, what a horrible final couple of
weeks this poor animal had and what a sad way to die. We have
continued to be disturbed by the treatment we see of so many of these
beasts of burden here.

During the girl’s quiet time today, I though I would pass the time by
watching one of the DVDs that are here in the guest home. These are
not real DVDs, but rather someone’s copy on Imation DVD-Rs but I
figured it would still be better than lying restlessly while they
slept. However, whoever originally copied them apparently had to use
two DVDs and wouldn’t you know it, only the first disc is here. So I
have now seen the first half of Mission Impossible II and Mission
Impossible III. Argh! Even the entertainment leaves you unsatisfied.

Oh well. We’re hoping for better news tomorrow.

Of course, we continue to recognize there are far more serious
problems than ours in the world. One we’re aware of is my brother
Rick’s little boy who is in the hospital with H1N1 complications.
We’re praying for you Chase and hope you can go home soon.

Slow News Day

Updates

The London Half
Let's see. . . . Sitting in a nice London hotel room,
watching British comedy on TV, having put
my used toilet paper in the toilet (though Ruby forgot and put
hers in the waste bin), and had a good ol'
Subway sandwich for dinner. The best part
was seeing Sara and Dave and Hattie once more before
heading back to the States. Besides the flying all night with two kids asleep on me, thoroughly bothered to watch other passengers enjoy the extra room created by my three missing family members while we three present ones squished together for hours, I count this a pretty good day for this half of the family.

The Addis Half
Let's see. . . . Traditional Ethiopian injera for dinner--girls loved it, Steve
decided to go with handfuls of Ethiopian Apple
Jacks instead. But Tinsae's choice of
Mary Poppins for the evening movie? Sounds like everyone was happy with that. Otherwise, they went to church and spent a slow, quiet day at the guest home. It's not bad, but also getting old to pass yet another day just waiting to see if there will be fingerprints at the embassy in the morning.

The Horse
Yesterday when we returned from Meki, we thought we saw our friend the
poor, starving horse lying on a side street, dead. Oh, we hope so. It would be a gift for the horse, and a fitting end to our journey together to have him depart the same day as at least half the fam.

Steve was pooped and I'm blogging from
a phone, so it's a good thing it was a slow
news day today.

The Hardest Goodbye

Though we knew this was coming, tonight (Saturday night) was hard, very hard—for everyone.  Emily, Jasper, and Ruby are waiting at the airport now to catch their flight to London in about another hour and a half.  They’ve actually already been there for over an hour as we were told by the staff they needed to get there four hours before their flight.  Not!  We were a little late getting there according to that timeline, but it was still over three hours early.  At least they have Coke Light there (hopefully cold, although Emily neglected to mention that in her text) and luckily enough Ethiopian Burr to last until they leave. They'll finally arrive home Monday night at midnight, after spending a day in London so Sara, Dave and Haddie originally planned so could meet their newest family members.  Oh well, best laid plans...

But it was really hard to say goodbye.  Emily sat with Tinsae and Birhane in the van and cuddled them as T started to get really emotional.  She wasn’t crying yet, but was clearly very affected by having her new mother leave.  I think Ruby was actually the first to start crying as we travelled the half hour to the airport.  I held her close as the tears ran down her cheeks and nose.  I asked her why she was crying and she said she didn’t want to leave me.  Nothing tugs at a Dad’s heart more, or makes him feel as good.  It’s rare to have those kind of tender moments when your kids are really expressing their true feelings for you.  Savor them.  I did. 

We arrived at the airport and then the flood gates opened.  I think everyone started crying as we all embraced each other and Emily once again assured the girls that she would be waiting for them in America.  Just yesterday, once we knew that we would not be able to travel all together, we sat down with T and B and explained the situation to them.  We had previously told J and R but Tinsae clearly knew there was something going on.  Emily asked one of the receptionists to come in and translate as she explained that we couldn’t get all the problems fixed with our paperwork for the adoption in time.  We had tried so very hard so that we could all travel together, but now that wasn’t going to be possible.  Emily said that she would take Jasper and Ruby with her to America and Dad would stay with them here for a few days more until we could also travel.  Tinsae looked very concerned as the receptionist hadn’t yet translated anything.  She then talked to her for about 45 seconds and you could see the relief flood over T’s face.  It was clear she was expecting something much worse.

Just today, we learned that she had previously asked Gecho and Aki if she was going back to the orphanage a few days ago when she could sense problems.  They had said no, but she was clearly worried.  This was so touching to learn today.  We wonder how many other gems that would give us insight into her personality and thoughts so far have been lost amid the language barrier that keeps us from understanding all the quick interchanges she and Birhane have with the staff here.  Obviously, staying a few days with Dad here was much better news that what her little mind had been fearing.  But tonight, you’d never know that this was going to last just a few days.  Both T and B sobbed as they said goodbye at the van as we unloaded the luggage from the roof rack.  I told them that Dad would be staying with them and that I would be right back, but in the meantime, Gecho would stay with them in the van while I helped Emily, Jasper, and Ruby up to the terminal.

In the parking lot, there were two little girls selling gum it turned out, although at first I thought they were just asking for a handout.  This is very common everywhere we have gone.  Obviously, we are magnets for anyone selling something and Aki was vigorously shooing them away in Amharic.  I’ve been surprised at how sharp he seems to be talking to them sometimes, as I’m sure they all think we live where the streets are paved with gold.  Comparitively, they’re right. But we’re already giving so much to this country in the form of adoption fees that it has put my mind at rest most of the time to allow Aki to send them away from us.  However, we have still given quite frequently to anyone who has approached us for a handout.  When I realized they were selling gum, I went over to see if they had the banana gum that Jasper discovered at a little shop across the street from the guest house.  He and the rest of the kids love it.  I asked her how much and she said 10 Burr for one pack—we bought four for that price at the shop here.  We settled on 7 Burr for two packs and I caught up to our little group and gave them to Jasper.

Once we reached security at the bottom of a hill leading up to the terminal, Aki and I could go no further.  At this point, Jasper and Ruby were sobbing as bad as Tinsae and Berhane had been when we left them in the van.  I hugged them both so tight and told them how much I loved them and we would all be together again real soon.  I told them I would be home for Halloween (a major concern they have both shared on MANY occasions) and told Ruby I had bought the banana gum they love.  Their tears left me pretty misty as I hugged Emily goodbye.  She said, “If you die, I’ll kill you,” which is our standard departure farewell.  I so wished I could help them push the two luggage carts up this hill to the terminal, but security wouldn’t allow it.  Aki had greeted a friend at security there and he jumped up and helped push one of the luggage carts up the hill.  He wouldn’t even accept a tip when they reached the top, Emily said.  Now that’s a real friend.

As I turned around to head back to the van, it suddenly hit me that Emily didn’t have much Ethiopian money with her.  I hollered up to them, but they just looked at me with expressions like ‘what do you need?’  Aki’s friend came down the hill and Aki wadded the 100 Burr note (the equivalent of about $8) that I had gotten out of my wallet and threw it up the hill as far as the worn wad of money would travel.  As Aki explained quickly and as we both gestured, he ran it up to Emily.  As he came down the hill, I reached for a 10 Burr note to give him as a tip and he wouldn’t accept that either.  I put my hand over my heart and nodded my head to slowly and deliberately to him, a common gesture here that is as magnificent in meaning as it is simple.  It is ‘Thank You,’ ‘I’m Honored to Know You,’ and a host of other unsaid feelings that can suit so many different situations.  I held Tinsae and Birhane close the whole ride back to the guest home and felt grateful they come from such a country as this, with people as selfless, kind, and generous as those we have had the pleasure of interacting with.

Upon returning to the guest home, Tinsae went in quickly and while Birhane was all smiles and giggling like usual, by the time I saw T through the windows of the entrance doors, she was wiping her eyes with tissues and crying again.  Gecho said to me, “I’ll give her some advice” and proceeded to give her a ‘buck up’ kind of message judging by the tone.  I’ll have to ask him in the morning when he drives us to church what he actually said.  It was strange coming into the room where we have lived for two weeks with its queen size bed, cluttered with a few of the last minute items that are sorted out as being unessential to the trip at hand and Jasper and Ruby’s empty bunks.  Now what, I thought.  Tinsae took over and started talking to Birhane—the only word I understood was pajamas.  Ok, maybe this won’t be that hard for a few days.

While they had some wind-down time reading magazines (they love books and magazines, even catalogs as they seem fascinated just looking at all the pictures in them), I texted with Emily for about a half an hour.  She said Jasper and Ruby bawled for almost 40 minutes after we left.  When we talked by phone a little while later, Emily said everyone at the registration desk was concerned asking why they were crying.  By the time they stopped, their faces were puffy and eyes swollen.  When I talked to them on the phone, Ruby wasn’t her normal talkative self and Jasper started to cry again.  It’s really special to have your nine-year old son tell you he loves you so much and he will miss you so much.  Jasper even said he was going to save all his banana gum until I got home.  What generosity.  In the van when we were all going to the airport and Emily asked Aki to see if there was anything more Tinsae was concerned about because she was being so emotive and quiet, Jasper suggested, “Why doesn’t Tinsae just use my ticket to go to America and I’ll stay here, that would be okay with me.”  What a kid.  Jasper, you’re the greatest.

After talking with both kids and blubbering through my own “I love yous” to Jasper, Emily got on the phone and we talked for a few minutes.  Though the connection wasn’t that great, she asked me to read what I had written thus far.  She chided me, saying “The tone shouldn’t been sad—it’s exciting.  This is the home stretch.  For one thing, I don’t feel sad.  I feel great.  I’m excited more than sad because I get to go home, prepare the house, get the Jasper and Ruby back in their routine and you’ll be there in just a few days.”

She said that after they had gotten through all the check in procedures and security, she asked Jasper and Ruby why this was so hard.  They said they were sad to be apart from me and to leave me in a foreign country, something they’ve never done before.  They said they are really going to miss me and this is the hardest thing in their lives, ever.  Ah, shucks—that is high praise.  But really, tonight was two weeks of pent up emotion for them.  As Emily talked to them more, Ruby asked why fingerprints have to expire.  Jasper cursed our agency and said that the last two weeks have been so hard.  They both mentioned going to the embassy everyday, something that took more of a toll on them than we realized.

Emily explained they don’t need to worry about anything, those are grown up things that they shouldn’t even necessarily know, let alone worry about.  But she encouraged them to just cry and let the emotion out.  Yes, they’re missing their Dad, but this two-week experience has been emotionally exhausting for them too.  We are both so proud of them and admire them for being so eager to embrace this life changing adoption of two sisters.
Obviously, worse things happen to people than being apart for a few days for sure.  But the point is that while it’s no big deal, this is the climax of a couple of very difficult weeks for all of us.

Whew! 

With all that out of the way, let me tell you what we did today.  After being told that we couldn’t go to Meki, or anywhere outside of Addis for that matter, Gecho called Aki and said he had gotten all the approvals needed and we could go.  Wow.  It took him over two hours and five different government offices to get the approval stamps necessary for our trip.  (We asked him for the form later in the day, with its five different stamps of approval so we could keep it—a clear demonstration of his commitment to helping us better understand where these girls come from.)  So by mid-morning, we were off on our ~120 km journey south to Meki.  We had Jasper come with us, although we left Ruby with her sisters as we thought that would make the day go better.  Jasper really didn’t want to come, especially as we waited for two hours to leave, but in the end, I think he really enjoyed it. 

The scenery on the way to Meki is much more of what he expected Africa would be like.  It seemed considerably drier country that our earlier day trip to the Portugese Bridge and the Blue Nile Valley.  That road side of that earlier trip was dotted with little farms, a patchwork of fields, and even dairy farms crowded with cows.  It could have been Cache Valley if not for the traditional grass huts.  Today, however, the color palate was all the yellowish tone of dry grasses with acacia trees and fiber plants growing in haphazard fashion.  There was actually plenty of farming going on in this southern region as well, but it bore little similarity to the greenery of the farms in the north.  We saw men and women winnowing their crops, cutting the hay with sickles (is that spelled right since I can’t Google it?) and little boys herding cows that towered over them.  We even saw a large group of camels (should that be a different word too—like a gaggle of geese or a pride of lions?  Oh Google, where are you when we need you!).

Anyway, after a couple hours of driving, we reached Meki, the largest city we had seen on our journey.  This was actually a bit surprising for us, as we had envisioned more or a village.  We drove around and really got a great view of the city as it happened to be market day there.  The streets were crowded with people selling their wares.  Words cannot do justice to the complete randomness of what is available for sale.  There are women sitting on the ground behind their small but neatly stacked piles of potatoes, carrots, beans, cabbage and other vegetables I couldn’t name.  A vendor right next to them might have a blanket of random shoes for sale while another may have baskets of every size and shape, depending on whether you’re looking for a flat round one to hold injera (the staple flat bread that acts as one’s fork when eating firfir and other dishes) to large colorful baskets that could easily serve many different purposes in the countryside.  From sunglasses to t-shirts to religious parasols to bleeting sheep and goats, the market has it all.  It was a great day to be in Meki.

We knew from Tinsae’s description that they lived somewhere between the river that runs through town and the market we were rather conspicuously driving through.  Aki asked someone where Kabele 01 was, their exact block (as they don’t actually have specific addresses here, even in Addis) so we could drive through it.  I had the camera rolling out the window the entire time so if your stomach can stand the jolts from the pot-holes while you watch, it should make for some good viewing someday.  We don’t know how much T & B will want to remember about their past life, but we hope to have enough information to share with them when they have questions or want to see where they came from.  While so many things looked the same with what we see in and around Addis Ababa, we just wanted to make sure we had the images that may bring things to their remembrance at some future time.

Before leaving Meki, we stopped at the Frank Dubisa Hotel, or Hooteelaa Fraank Dubbissa according to the sign in Oromiya, the language spoken by the predominant tribe in that region.  Their language is actually derived from Latin if you can believe that, just a phonetic spelling for it.  This was the sign about the toilet: Qulqulleessittuu.  Cognicere anyone?   We avoided the Liver with Kidney on the menu although we did think the Shish Kibebe listed on the Lamp Dishes page had a certain familiarity to it, but the silent ‘P’ threw us off and we couldn’t place it.  Jasper absolutely loved the cheeseburger he ordered, proclaiming it was the best one he had EVER eaten.  It helps that he said he was starving when we left the guest home at 10:30 and the protein bars we’ve packed along with us have lost their allure at this point.  Gecho and Aki shared a chicken wrapped in injera which they also indicated was extremely tasty.  We topped off lunch with ice cream.  I was yet again the ‘designated eater’ for the strawberry cone Emily ordered.  It tasted like I was eating frozen perfume in ice cream form and a piece of cinnamon gum still couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth for miles after we left.  (As Emily mentioned in an earlier post, back in the archive of this blog somewhere you can read about some of my other ‘designated eater’ duties performed in remote villages in Uganda when hairy goats meat and other dubious dishes were served to us as the guests of honor when we visited 2004.)

When we arrived back in Addis, we drove by the Fistula Hospital, a wonderful place that we had just wanted to see from the outside ever since we arrived.  I won't go into detail here, but seeing the documentary, A Walk To Beautiful after we had already decided we would adopt from Ethiopia convinced us this was the right place.  We have two copies of the DVD at home and would be happy to loan them to anyone interested.  It is a very moving story. 

Overall, it was a great outing and a wonderful day.  We were so glad Jasper came along with us as this is surely a memory that will stay with him for a long time.  We’ve learned so much about the people, the culture, and the everyday sights we’ve seen by peppering Aki and Gecho with our questions.  At the same time, it has perhaps drawn us closer with them since we have shown such an interest in their country and everything around us.  We not only appreciate their time and patience they’ve shown us, but view them as true friends.  They seemed to indicate the same today as they eagerly shared their addresses, phone numbers, email and even Aki’s Facebook name with us.  They said very few families invite them to eat with them when they go out, instead making them wait in the van while the family eats inside. Aki said we are only the second family he has ever invited to his home, the first being an Australian couple he invited to his wedding celebration.  What an amazing experience and journey this has been. 

Expect the Unexpected

Let me just say right now, Don't get your hopes up!  I don't want you
to read the title and think we're all together on a plane to the US.
The plan is still the same, for me to leave tonight and for Steve and
the girls to leave sometime next week.  And I promise--we really feel
fine about it.  "Are you still feeling good?" I just asked Steve.
"About staying? Yep! Fine"  he answered. So there you go.  Proof.  I
think we feel really good because, as Steve put it this morning, all
the variables are present and accounted for, so there appears to be no
more bad news on the horizon.  Anything else, like travel issues,
delayed flights, etc., are old hat to us and couldn't get us down at
this point.  Plus, we have my dad's angel assistant, Carol, on
standby.  She's a travel/tight spot wizard, and has gotten our family
out of more than few scrapes.

I say "expect the unexpected," which seems to be the theme of our
lives, because we were just laughing about that upstairs.  I thought
I'd write a quick, rare morning post about it.  Africa's theme seems
to be to expect the unexpected, too.  We came down this morning ready
to leave for Meki, only to have Aki tell us Gecho is at the bus
station and can't get a travel pass.  "What does that mean?"  we
asked.  We have noticed we've stopped at little checkpoint things
along the way at times, and sometimes Gecho hands over a few Birr and
gets a slip of paper.  It seemed like the most casual
going-through-the-motions affair I've ever seen.  Well apparently,
because Gecho has a van he has to have one of these passes everytime
he leaves Addis.  Today, for some reason, they've decided not to give
any more out.  "Why?" I asked Aki, being the American who expects
justification for everything.  "I don't know," said Aki, looking at me
like 'why on earth should we know?'  Well, maybe we can go somewhere
else--not Meki (we're really eager to get this "date" in away from the
kids before I leave.  Maybe we'll have to just sneak out and find a
COLD Coca Cola Light, and a subtitled Cinema.).  No, says Aki, they
won't let Gecho leave the city to go anywhere.  We briefly considered
a public bus, but Aki pointed out that they are crowded and smell bad.
When an African says that, you know it's triple as bad as you can
imagine.  (Back in the archives of this blog somewhere you can read
about our nine-hour bus trip from Uganda to Rwanda in 2005.  We took
one of those public buses, and it was truly one of the worst
experiences of my life.  People are three to a seat, in the aisles,
and all smelly, which only aggravates my terrible motion sickness.)

So, we are currently investigating hiring a car for Gecho to drive.
Although, Gecho just called Aki and said the van and minibus drivers
are all up in arms, so there may be hope.  Perhaps a quick hostile
take-over of the bus station will produce travel passes?

So, here we sit on our first embassy-free day with time to go to Meki,
with an unexpectedly cancelled trip to Meki--the only place we were
determined to go.  But hey--we're just laughing.  It grants me my
first-ever, unexpected free morning to blog for a second without
waking Rowlina, the night receptionist, and being the cause of her
failing nursing school.

FYI, we have asked Aki to put out feelers about saving the horse down
the street.  It appears there is a horse hospital in a town about an
hour away.  If we pay a significant fee, they may be willing to drive
to Addis and pick up the horse.  It's true that they would probably
just euthanize him, but he is dying a slow and horrible death and I
think that would be better.  I'm sure they are surprised we'd consider
paying for such a thing.  To us, it's a chance to finish one thing,
help one thing happen right, while we are here.  My mom might say it's
my bleeding heart again, but I'd like to give the animal some dignity.
He's been with us on our entire two-week journey here.

Squatters' Rights

FRIDAY NIGHT:

Have you ever been to Knotts Berry Farm?  (This is the point where I
usually Google any proper name I use to make sure I’ve spelled it
right.  Since I’ve had no Google most of the time here, I’m sure I’ve
slaughtered many spellings, and I ask the Knotts’ forgiveness if I’ve
insulted their farm.)  Because I went there as a child and rode
Montezuma’s Revenge (again, can’t Google Montezuma), the ultimate
example of a scary, crazy amusement-park ride will for me forever be
that one.  Nevermind that in the past 25 years they’ve come up with
much crazier, scarier stuff.  For me as an 8 or 10 year old, the idea
of whipping forward through a loop and up a hill, and then plunging
backward down that hill and backwards through the loop was absolutely
miserable.  Upside down AND backwards? I road it at least once—just to
prove to my sisters I could—and hated it the whole time.  I’m sure I
screamed bloody murder, as I still do involuntarily on every ride
(much to Jasper’s delight).  I’m sure my lifelong motion sickness was
present and accounted for.

Well, the past couple of days Ol’ Montezuma and his revenge have been
on my mind a lot.  I’ve been thinking about how people often describe
an experience as an “emotional rollercoaster,” and how this reminds me
much more of an “emotional Montezuma’s Revenge.”  At times we have
barreled forward, full speed ahead, zooming easily through daunting
loops to amazing heights.  But at other times—usually within the same
day—we have felt ourselves falling down the same hill, speeding just
as quickly backward through equally daunting loops, only to be right
back where we started.

On the surface it would seem that our paperwork frustrations have been
the culprit—yanking us mercilessly back and forth.  But over the past
week I’ve asked myself many times why those relatively small issues
have burrowed so far under my skin.  And they are relatively small if
you think of them in terms of life or death, or adoption-ending, or
even the type of things many people have appeared at embassies for
throughout our history—like desperation to flee a war-torn country, or
determination to rescue a child who’s been kidnapped by a foreign
spouse.

We knew all along that our situation would work out.  It was only a
matter of extra time and effort, and taking extra guff.  What I’ve
finally realized over the past two days is that these superficial
obstacles only cut you deep when they strike your own areas of inner
fear and weakness.  My darkest moments over the past two weeks have
not been when we discovered yet another delay at the embassy.  Rather,
they have been when those glitches made me question this adoption
altogether.  I always say how much blog comments and emails keep me
going.  Well here’s an example:  two comments we read tonight really
helped.  Emily Southers reminded us that if you are truly inspired to
do something, there WILL be a way to get it done.  And Emily Rice
reminded us that we too often think if something is right it will be
easy to accomplish.  The opposite is usually true.  We must persevere
through the obstacles.  Thanks, Emilys.

(Another comment that made my week was from my friend, Sydney, who
said “Your blog is way better than TV.”  Coming from you, Syd, my
fellow couch potato, that is high praise!)

As Steve said we would, we woke up and headed straight to the embassy
this morning.  I must interject here that this was “straight to” in
Addis Ababa terms.  That means that on our way there we were
rear-ended twice on a hill by a taxi driving with no brakes.  Gecho
and the taxi stopped in the middle of the road, causing a huge traffic
jam and a gaggle of interested spectators who happily—Ethiopian
style—came out to the car to offer Gecho their opinion about the
damage.  We waited patiently in the rickety old van, giving the crowd
their fill of staring at white people, until the traffic cop arrived
(on foot) to draw chalk lines around the cars.  Then (Ethiopian style)
the guilty driver jumped into OUR car, and Gecho gave him a ride to
the traffic office.  That still amazes me about this culture!  They
can argue and still be nice to each other at the same time.

Anyway, we finally arrived at the embassy to find it deserted.
Fridays are half-day and very empty.  Linda came out to speak to
Steve.  She gave us the bad news that there were still no
fingerprints, but also very kindly gave Steve some more info about the
process, and her best guess that the fingerprints would be here on
Monday.  She assured him that everything else was completely in order
and ready to go.  She was very sympathetic and said that the ways our
agency had failed us were unforgiveable—that catching these paperwork
issues is the very reason you use an agency.

Though I thought this would most likely be the outcome today, I was
very dejected.  Steve had thought it would actually pull through and
our miracle would be complete.  But it probably didn’t hurt for Linda
to see that I was on the verge of tears.  We sat in the embassy for a
while talking things over, and Steve suggested we go back in and ask
them for another power of attorney, this time giving my authority to
Steve.  I had been opposed to the idea of him staying instead of me
because I somehow felt it was my duty.  But I had to admit he was in a
better state of mind to stay than I was.  Many of the things that are
stressing me out here—like staff interfering in parenting when I’m
trying to lay down my own parenting rules—just don’t bug him.  He’s
not the Mom.  Steve convinced me that he really didn’t mind the idea
of staying, and that three more days of missed work could be forgiven
in such a situation.  He filled out all the paperwork and dragged me
back upstairs, and had them chase down an official to please give us
one more power of attorney (they normally don’t do those on Fridays).
They helped us kindly, and once we had that resolved I think we both
felt much better.  It was almost a relief to know that there was no
more hope for us all going together on time.  You get sick of waiting
and hoping, and it was good to know finally what our new plan would
be.

It’s not Ethiopia that’s making me extremely eager to leave.  As I’ve
written, I have had a great experience with the Ethiopian people and
country.  In fact, I want to stress that in this whole process it was
our agency at fault, and the US government who slowed us down.  There
were no problems whatsoever with the Ethiopian paperwork.  One of my
greatest fears about this is that our experience will deter other
people from adopting from Ethiopia.  That would be tragic.  The
children are wonderful, the people are welcoming, and I still think
it’s one of the best countries for international adoption.  Just
choose a better agency and you’ll be fine!

Ironically, I was paranoid and over-researched our agency.  We ended
up with a large and very reputable agency, and waited six months with
them.  But then, about a year ago, I started to feel antsy and wonder
if I should look elsewhere.  I could tell that large agency, CHSFS,
was very popular and was having an increase in its wait times.  I felt
I should look around, and that’s when I found our current agency.  I
didn’t know this when I signed with them (I won’t say the name yet but
please email me if you are a prospective adoptive family and want to
know), but it is only ONE MAN in Oregon who works through ONE attorney
here in Addis who BUGS the embassy staff.  He has no other staff on
the ground here, and indeed no other staff in the US!  I’m not sure
you can even call that an agency.  He promised a very short wait, and
was working with an orphanage we really liked.  It felt right to
change, so we did.  It’s hard to say now whether I regret that
decision, because we could only have gotten these particular two girls
through this agency.  Still, I do regret all the trouble it’s caused
us and the many people who’ve helped us.  I feel like a grand fool.
Ah, well.  If I’m a fool at least I’m making it public.

All in all, I think we’re feeling pretty good tonight.  We’ll take one
last road trip tomorrow, to see the girls’ village (without them, of
course), and then J and R and I will leave for the airport, to arrive
in Salt Lake Monday night.  Steve and the girls will follow as soon as
possible, we hope no later than Wednesday.  Saffron/Tinsae seemed to
take the news well.  From the look on her face as she was waiting for
the translation of what I was saying, I think she was expecting
something much worse.  Three to four days extra here with Dad didn’t
sound bad in comparison.

Meki, where the girls come from, is about two hours from Addis.  We’re
especially excited to visit because last night Tinsae suddenly opened
up to “Grandpa Gecho” at dinner and started telling him about her life
there.  She told him exactly where she used to live, so that Gecho
said he would be able to show us the exact place.  I  wouldn’t want to take the girls back to Meki now,
but I hope we can get some photos and video that will be useful to them in the future if they want to see what their past looked like.  I’m really grateful for Gecho, for creating such an atmosphere of
trust that these little girls feel they can tell him anything, while
they still remember it in their own language.  As we bump along
through busy Addis, you hear a constant, high-pitched chorus of
“Gecho” this, and “Gecho” that from T and B.

And finally, a note about the kids.  T and B are finally attempting a
little English.  Last night all four kids, including Jasper, had a
great time playing together.  This was really encouraging, as I have
worried about Jasper seeming to be left out.  Ruby also seems happy,
and to be adjusting well to the age issue.

We had the amazing experience today of having lunch inside an
Ethiopian Muslim home.  Aki and his wife have been living with her
family for the past 40 days, as is the custom here when you have a new
baby.  As today was day 40, it was a day of feasting and celebrating
before the young family returns to their own home.  Aki invited us to
his in-laws for lunch after the festivities.  It was a remarkable
insight into Ethiopian life that most travelers probably never get.
We spent a great two hours sitting on the floor eating traditional
food while being watched by our hosts, watching a traditional coffee
ceremony, and participating (by force) in traditional Ethiopian dance.
I mention all this in reference to the kids because it was a reminder
of how T and B are right now still very much a product of the culture
into which there were born.  We sampled the traditional food, a sort
of hard mashed-potato taste made of powder with a pepper liquid in the
middle, but filled up mostly on the pasta that was also served.  T and
B ate some pasta, but filled up on the traditional dish that tasted
strange to us.  Then Tinsae proceeded to wow the crowd with her
excellent traditional dancing.  When Aki’s family asked where she had
learned to dance so well, she pronounced matter-of-factly in Amharic,
“TV.”

I was struck again with the sort of uncomfortable feeling that these
girls have had a whole life separate from us—a very different life.
That can make you feel apart from each other.  But at the same time, I
thought of how quickly that will all be taken away from them, and they
will become just like us.  That will help us feel more united and the
same.  That will be a nice feeling, but will also be at the expense of
most of the culture that is right now dear to them.  I’m not saying
that’s a bad thing:  that’s international adoption.  I’m just saying
it’s worth acknowledging both sides.

I was also struck by how comfortable Jasper and Ruby are now in this
foreign place, and how comfortable they were at this family’s house.
They joined right in the dancing, and even asked for more.  They sat
on the floor and tasted the food.  They don’t even balk now at
squatting over a hole in a concrete floor when using the bathroom.  I
can’t imagine doing that at their age.  (In our bathroom here, Birhane
still lifts up the toilet seat and sits directly on the bowl.  We’re
trying to break her of this habit, but it’s hard when we go out to
restaurants and they have removed the seats altogether so everyone can
sit right on or squat right over the bowl.)

And now, wish Steve the best for the next few days.  He’ll have to
hang in here while I get to enjoy toilets that take toilet paper and
drinks that have ice.  He’s a very good sport.


This post is brought to you by the letter C, for Charles, of course.
Happy Birthday today, Buddy.  We’re sorry we’ve had so much going on
that we’ve not been focused on you today.  We love you.  Jasper and
Ruby often say how great it would be to have you living right now.
Jasper, especially, misses having a brother.

Montezuma’s Revenge

 Tonight, Emily is speechless.  Astonishing, you say!  Well it’s true, so here I am, the quiet guy writing our entry for the day.  She had already brainstormed the whole intro to today’s blog (didn’t know we put so much thought into it, eh?), hence the title above.  I tried my hand at duplicating what we talked about last night, but I ain’t no writer.  Get me talking about the economy, the markets, or even specific stocks and I’ll talk your ear off.  (Now I’m not actually that one-sided, but you get my drift, I hope).  Actually, it’s not so much that she’s speechless, but rather, she’s had her ear glued to the phone all evening as everything was turned on its head about six hours ago.

This morning, I woke up weepy and frantically hopeful.  The thought of having to leave Emily behind to sort things out and have to face the embassy interview by herself has been horrible to accept.  I slept quite restlessly last night and every moment I awoke and turned over, I would say a quick prayer that we would somehow get a call from Abebe with the news that our fingerprints were here and we could go in for our interview today.  The morning passed with no call. 

I finally couldn’t stand it anymore so I called him.  Emily didn’t elaborate but last night in her post, but Abebe called us with a question from the embassy about whether we had done an addendum to our home study since we initially thought we would be getting younger children.  The addendum that Emily actually learned about on her own and had the presence of mind to ask our agency about modifies our initial approval to allow us to adopt an older child.  Luckily, we had it and had brought it with us as we understood.  We were thrilled to have finally done something right it seemed. 

Anyway, in my call to Abebe after lunch, I asked if he had called the embassy with the news that we had brought the addendum to our home study with us.  He said in his overly confident tone, that No, he hadn’t called the embassy but that they knew we had the form and the minute he hears from the embassy he’ll call us.  Now wait a second.  HOW does the embassy know we have the addendum here if you haven’t called them???  They called just last night enquiring whether we had the form, so the rational thing to do is call them back and give them the answer.  This is the system we feel trapped in, advocates who should be on our side, proactively calling on our behalf but ….  We’ve learned not to push Abebe because he can turn the rude on really fast, so I thanked him and went back to composing a talk in my mind about unanswered prayers.

As I watched the cell phone today, hoping it would ring at any second, it never did.  Just like that watched pot that never boils.  At about 4:45 pm, Abebe called and as I fumbled with the phone, it was all I could do to answer it.  We had a poor connection (yes, it happens even in the country, not just with all your overseas calls) but the gist of the conversation was that he had just received a call from the embassy asking about our home study addendum (see above paragraph!!) and when he told them we had brought it with us, they apparently said that was all wrong.  Forget the fingerprints, even if they come in, things are so fouled up since the addendum wasn’t processed correctly by our agency that there is no way to complete the adoption now.  WHAT?!?!

We went into high gear, gob smacked by this development.  We started calling the US and spent the next four hours racing to make some copies of this notarized document, then gave a copy to another adoptive mother Abebe put us in contact with who is returning to the States tonight to give to our agency.  We spent significant time on the phone while we were in the city center having dinner, a lucky thing since we get better cell coverage there.  Long story short, our Senator’s office pulled significant strings and Ralph and his assistant, Carol, have leapt the tallest building ever in a single bound.  As we were pulling away from dinner, Carol called us and asked if we could send her a scanned copy of the addendum and they would work that through the system.

Now take a step back here.  That seems like a simple request, but imagine where would you go to get a document scanned in an ‘un’- developing country like Ethiopia after 8 p.m.?  Carol said a fax might work but obviously who knows what clarity the phone lines around here would carry as anyone who has tried to call us will attest to.  Well, we go back to the phenomenal people here at the guest home where we have stayed.  Our driver, Gecho, drove us to an internet café where we found a scanner!  As they rebooted the computer twice to see if they could get it working, a lone cockroach ran around on the desk and no one seemed concerned about it but me.  As Emily navigated a bathroom stop with all the kids and no toilet paper (but this time, the toilet did have a seat), I eventually got the pages scanned and sent off.

The path they took from Carol’s hands from there is amazing.  Truly, nothing short of a miracle as they passed from our agency’s hands (where it apparently needs to originate) to the USCIS (Immigration Services) where the document received some stamp of approval and then on to the National Visa Center.  Without Carol and our Senator’s aide, this would have all been required to be in hard copy form and could have easily taken a few weeks.  Apparently, the National Visa Center has even agreed to send the form on to the Ethiopian embassy so they’ll have it there in the morning.

Now, have no guarantees that all these Herculean efforts by so many people on our behalf will lead to anything tomorrow.  There’s still that pesky issue of fingerprints floating around out there somewhere that apparently need to be approved, as if my fingerprints have changed from 15 months ago!  Then there’s the fact the embassy said it takes two days to issue a visa or next day turnaround for a Thursday application. But on Friday, when the embassy is only open half a day, I can’t imagine they would come in on Saturday for us.  Nonetheless, we are holding on to the glimmer of hope we feel at this point, as so many people, some of whom we don’t even know, have rekindled our tired lamps that the winds of daily discouragements had nearly blown out.

We have decided that the only possible way this might work is if we go to the embassy in the morning, hoping that things have made their way to them and they will grant us the exception of a same-day interview.  Further, if they can somehow issue a visa for our girls before our Saturday night flights, we can stay together as a family.  Otherwise, we face the difficult task of splitting up so as not to incur as many further costs from what has already been a very costly, especially emotionally, journey to get to this point. 

Signing off for now,

Steve

Lame

Written WEDNESDAY NIGHT but internet connectivity, like so many other
aspects of life right now, has been very frustrating…


Today was a pretty lousy day on all fronts.  The kids all fought and
whined.  We had to make another humiliating appearance at the embassy
to take care of power of attorney, in preparation for the depressing
prospect of Steve leaving and me staying here.  Still no fingerprints.
We went to the leprosy hospital which was a really cool place, but
all the people were at lunch, the guy from the branch who works there
was off for the day, and Ruby had a total breakdown.  Gecho got a
flat.

The highlight of my day was having the first green vegetables I've had
in recent memory.  The only fruit and veg I've had is cooked carrots
on two occasions, and bananas here and there.  If it weren't for all
the Coke I'm drinking, I'd be all plugged up.  I haven't had much
appetite the last couple days, unless you call a craving for Ibuprofen
an appetite.  But tonight at a really-almost-American-like restaurant,
called LimeTree, I had a Caesar salad.  I devoured it.  I also ate
half of Steve's Greek salad.

For the first time in over 10 days, we actually forgot to take our
phone to dinner.  When we returned we had a missed call from Abebe,
who had received a phone question from the embassy.  This is great
news--they are looking at our file.  We also received a really
encouraging email from a Senator's aide, indicating that she had
received a response from the embassy promising attention to our case.
This is wonderful news!  This was an even bigger highlight than my
salad.

I'm only cautiously optimistic, because tomorrow is the last possible
day we could have an interview and still get out of here Saturday.
That means they would have to get fingerprints tomorrow and schedule a
same-day interview.  That seems like a slim chance, but now that
they're making an extra effort I really hope it will happen somehow.
I guess the biggest obstacle is still having the fingerprints arrive,
though, because that's something without which they absolutely won't
proceed.

One thing I had not anticipated is that having the process be really
crappy and stressful makes you question the whole adoption.  I guess
it's like when you have a horrible moving experience, and wonder if
you really should've moved in the first place.  I'm trying to be aware
of this fact and stay logical, and not doubt everything that felt good
before, but it's difficult.  I also see the girls bonding to the staff
here, to whom they can speak Amharic.  That's one of the things that
worries me about staying longer--that it will really slow our bonding
with each other.  And I know the sooner we really bond, the sooner
we'll both feel better about things.  Though I now know quite a few
Amharic words, I started putting my foot down a bit today and
insisting on English.  I also refused to let anyone else comfort B in
Amharic during her tantrum today.  I made her stay in the room with
me, until I finally put her in the shower to distract her from her
bawling.  It's still quite a novelty, and by the time I got her
dressed again she had given up (about an hour).

You'll all be asleep during the crunch hours tomorrow, so please wish
us the best before you nod off.  An interview Thursday is our last
hope of going home all together.

This post is brought to you by the letter 'L', as in, the Lame horse
who is still in the median in the middle of our road, after 10 days.
He is starving to death.  You can now see every bone.  Though I see
and give to beggars on the street every day here, this is the sighte
that most breaks my heart.  I've never been a big animal advocate, but
there is something about this beast of burden abandoned in the middle
of a busy urban area.  People seem to believe in helping people here,
but not animals.  I'm no longer wishing I could somehow pay for a vet
to pick up this animal; now I'm wishing I were Jason Bourne, and I was
staying here speaking the language perfectly (as he always does), and
I had a gun with a silencer, and was a softie inside (as I know he
is), and could sneak out tonight and put this poor horse out of his
misery.

Embassy Shmembassy

I know people are wondering, so I wanted to let you know that our embassy visit today did not go well.  Our new fingerprints had not yet been processed, so they would not interview us.  For some reason--I'm really not sure why, as we were very calm and polite--the adoption staffer with whom we spoke was extremely aggitated and rude.  I understand that she could not interview us without fingerprints, but I don't understand why she was so upset with us, or why she wouldn't give us any information.  We asked for an estimate of how long it might take to get them back, or when we might possibly be able to get another interview.  She refused to answer anything, even just to give us an estimate.  She told us not to come back or call--they would contact our agency rep (Abebe) when our fingerprints were in.  She told us we never should have come--that we had been told not to travel without fingerprints and had violated that.  This is not true, as confirmed by our agency.

There is a very nice group of women staying here at Ethiopia Guest Home with us.  They are here on business for a nonprofit called Lifewater.  One of them worked in the state department for several years, at various foreign embassies, even with adoptions.  She tells us there actually is a lot they can do for American citizens abroad, to make exceptions and expedite things.  Both she and Abebe and Radu (agency) told us the best next step was to contact a congressperson or senator for help.  We are currently pursuing that with Ralph's help.

Thanks for all your prayers and concern.  We realize this is not life or death:  it would just be very scary financially to have to find a way to stay here another week, and to change all our plane tickets.  It would also be very stressful.  It is already difficult with four kids in our room, two who have been traveling for weeks and two who don't speak English.  They are a bit stir-crazy. 

We will already have been right in the capital city for two weeks, because this issue has forced us to cancel all our travel to other parts of Ethiopia.  Though we have really loved Ethiopia, everyone is asking us what we are possibly doing in the capital for two weeks.  There are some things to see here, and some day trips, but much of the great stuff is in other parts of the country.  Because of these issues, we have been forced to stay tethered to the capital and cancel all of our other travel.  We have certainly enjoyed seeing a lot of Addis and its surroundings, but we bounce around in an old van all day in heavy traffic in Addis, or on the road.  The kids are starting to hate the car rides and be hyper in the car.  It goes without saying that there are no seatbelts, and T and B have no sense that you must sit in a moving vehicle.  The kids are also getting less willing to eat the food--it's not wholly American and not wholly Ethiopian, so none are very happy.  We can't eat local fruits and vegetables unless they are carefully washed, and our guest home rarely serves them.  So, Steve and I are starting to feel plugged up.  With all this, the thought of adding on a third week is really a tough concept. 

Again, we love Ethiopia and would have loved to really see her sights.  We're just disappointed to have cancelled all the best stuff and stuck around here, only to have things STILL not work out.  I must say, though, that all the people here have been absolutely wonderful.  They are open, loving, friendly, and patient.  They have tended our kids, braided their hair, tried to accomodate their picky food tastes, and driven us everywhere, waiting for hours in the car for us.  The guard fetches us Coke and Fanta.  They all translate constantly for us.  (Today we had them explain Halloween, and that you must apologize to your siblings when Mom tells you to.)  One employee we don't even know went out of his way today to find us and express his sympathy that our embassy visit had not gone well today.  Being turned away from the embassy on the verge of tears today, I really don't know what I would have done if we hadn't had such great people waiting for us back here.  I will never forget the kindness shown us here.  I never would have guessed that we'd feel more comfortable here than at the embassy.

We did try to distract ourselves today by going to the national museum.  We try to go somewhere everyday.  We saw the famous "Lucy" and other of the worlds oldest skeletons, oldest ancestors of man found here that make Ethiopia a good candidate for Cradle of Humanity.  The museum is a confusing contradiction--like everything else in this city.  Some great treasures inside, but outside rundown, weeds overgrowing the statue of Haile Salassie, and the museum's sign resting against an old tree.  The museum guide told us he believes it was the Derg--the socialist government that took over after Salassie in the 70's--who ruined Ethiopia and set her back so far in development.

A few positive notes:

-The receptionist today told me my Amharic has improved a lot since I arrived.  That's good--and I still have another week.  I'll be fluent by then!  Except maybe I'm speaking too much, because the girls aren't attempting much English.

-I still have another week to benefit from this African diet (although today I had them take me to an upscale store and I bought expensive cheer-us-up treats like peanut M&M's.  I bought Steve an Apple-Jacks-Look-Alike cereal for an anniversary gift.  Thirteen years today.).

-Today at the museum there was a group of several French adoptive families there, all with their little babies and toddlers.  Unlike the first day at the orphanage, where I looked a bit longingly at the babies, I had no desire for them today.  Rather, I felt like we were the lucky ones, with our two older African Beauties, and those families must all be jealous that we had these wonderful older children.  That was a good realization to have. Sometimes I look at Tinsae, whose hair is now braided up off her neck, and think she really could be an Afican Queen.  Her bone structure is beautiful, graceful, and elegant--something she never could have gotten from my genes.  And Birhane's dimples and bubbly chatter turn heads.  We are the lucky ones. 

-Blog comments, phone calls and emails of support:  these are definitely a highlight, and have really kept me feeling positive throughout this trip.  I think back on specific things said online or on the phone frequently throughout the day.  All your support--and I mean EVERYONE--has meant the world to us.  We feel already love our girls, and love us, too.

Love to all,
Emily

FYI:  In the photos on the last post, the man in the yellow shirt is our translator and friend, Aki.  He goes everywhere with us.  He came to church with us on Sunday and loved it.  I think he made some good new friends there.