Reflecting on our Second Year

A couple of nights ago I was looking back through my journal entries of the past couple of years. It hit me that, unlike what I would have expected, the second year of our adoption was much harder than the first. In fact, I think that's probably why I blogged so much less. The first was plenty hard, as you all know. But it was a different hard, and somehow one that was easier talk about and in many ways easier to bear. It was a hard full of giardia, poop samples, medical frustrations, language frustrations, legendary tantrums, and constant adjustment. But I felt like a superhuman mom-archaeologist on the dig of a lifetime, who just had to keep pushing through to discover something wonderful.

This second year, it was like I was still on the same dig, swollen with bug bites, tired, slogging through mud, mud and more mud, and still not reaching the buried treasure. And I was no longer high on the excitement of my big dig. I needed results to keep my going--and I wasn't getting them. Last year the hard wasn't about intestinal bugs. The hard was feeling frustrated all the time--losing patience, losing hope some days, and losing my cool a lot. It was about feeling like a bad mom--feeling guilty all the time--and wondering why the good feelings weren't coming along to balance out the bad as fast as they needed to.

This is something hard to talk about, or blog about. It's something, frankly, that most people don't want to hear about. They don't want to believe it.

But now that we've begun year three, I'm optimistic. I feel like we're close to discovering the good stuff. It's just hard to hang in there for so long. But we are hanging in, and we will keep hanging in.

The Hug Place

Saffron went many years without a hug.

Tonight she had a rough evening. When she gets in trouble of any kind, she struggles to forgive herself and move on. After we talked through it we had a hug.

As we hugged she said, "When I'm in your hug I feel like I'm in a special place. When I don't get a goodnight hug I can't fall asleep for a very long time."

I think of how quickly Cyrus stops crying if I pick him up and hug him tight to my chest.

And I think of what my friend Brittney said through her tears. She recently volunteered at a third-world orphanage. Volunteers in the baby wing were forbidden to pick up the babies and hug them. They were only allowed to stroke them in their cribs. Brittney said she'd never experienced anything so excruciating as looking into the eyes of a crying baby whose eyes begged you to hold her, and not being able to do it. The agony of this memory was so clear on Brittney's face that I cried just watching her retell it.

The Hug Place must be wired into us physiologically and spiritually. I guess it makes sense that in Saffron's mind it's a place--something to be inside of, and somewhere to feel safe.

Little King Rex

Happy four-month birthday, Cyrus. At 11.5 lbs and 23.5 inches, you're barely even on the size charts, but you downed bananas and even started to hold your bottle a bit today. When it comes to tongue and finger dexterity, you are a pro--clearly finding a way to carve out your own talents in the family despite being the youngest and smallest. What a blessing! Thank you for joining our family. Thank you, Birthmom.

P.S. To all of you who commented on my last post--thank you thank you. Honestly, I had no idea that many people were still aware, or that your encouragement would mean so much to me. Someday I'll say more about what we've been through. But for now, know that things are getting better.

xox
Em

I'm sitting at a local lunch counter with Willa. Minutes ago she was her normal giddy self, when one comment suddenly caused her eyes to fill with tears and that well-known cloud to descend over her face. She said something about when she used to speak Spanish. I chuckled and reminded her that it was Amharic. This was the wrong way to react, and there was no consoling her. "I should have never watched Dora!" she cried.

She can't remember a word of Amharic, and can only remember a fraction of what Saffron can remember about life in Ethiopia. Both girls feel somewhat helpless and scared about this inevitable loss of memory, but Willa rarely feels it so acutely. Pretty soon she was on my lap in tears. She said she doesn't wish she had never come to America--she just wishes she could have both Ethiopia and America in her mind. No matter what we've tried, the one seems to push out the other. We'll make some more video of them telling memories tomorrow, and watch some home videos of Ethiopia, but all we can do only slightly slows the flow. And I understand--if Jasper and Ruby had been adopted into an Ethiopian family I would want them to remember their old life here, too.

I'm so grateful we picked up the girls and saw their homeland with our own eyes. I can't imagine helping them through this without that perspective. I want to take them back to visit as soon as we can afford it, and get them an Amharic tutor as soon as they want it. Otherwise, they will have to deal with the loss of Ethiopia the way we all deal with all kinds of loss, and will be stronger for it.

Happy Willa is back now. But it was probably a good reminder for me to see the depth of feeling, of grieving, that a five-year-old can have. Ask anyone who's seen it--when she gets that look in her eyes, she could be a million years old.

A Sleep and A Forgetting

I can't say it better than Mr. Wordsworth:

"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!"

Saffron's birth as an American girl is like "a sleep and a forgetting." As she told me tonight, she finds silent tears on her cheeks in bed because she is forgetting her language, and her songs, and how to cook her native food. The soul that rises with this new girl "hath had elsewehere its setting, and cometh from afar." And just like Mr. Wordsworth says, she comes trailing clouds of glory from her previous home, and not--nor ever will or should be-- in entire forgetfulness of that home.

I told her she can make Wat on Saturday. I reminded her we have one of her songs on film, the only one she was ever willing to sing for the camera, and that I have put an Amharic course on her iPod. But I know none of this will be enough. She will forget, anyway. And that won't help with the people she's lost, whom I know she misses. Sometimes I'm torn between anger that her father gave her up and set her on a path to leave her homeland, and gratitude that it brought her to us.

Nevertheless, it is comforting to know that Heaven did lie about her, and her sister, in their infancy. They had a mother who loved them. Today is Steve's birthday, and so we went to see Secretariat as a family. Saffron told me that in the movie she had a memory of her mother. When she lay dying, she said to Saffron, "I wish I could give you something to remember me by." But she had nothing to give. "It's OK," I said. "You didn't need anything. You're remembering her anyway."

Here is a video of Saffron singing an Amharic song at her baptism in June. This one is about Jesus taking her hand to help her.

Saffron and Willa in Their Ethiopian Dresses

Oops--just found this photo post that never got posted. Saffron's beautiful dress was ordered online from a charming woman at Ethiopia Design in California. She rushed it for us because it was for Saffron's baptism (last June), and even included some Amharic words to remind Saffron how to say them. Willa's dress is one of the ones we bought for the girls at the Leprosy Hospital in Addis Ababa. Interestingly, the girls hated and wouldn't wear their Ethiopian dresses the first few months in America. But now they actually choose them for church many Sundays, even over their foofy American dresses.

Standing, Squatting, and Giggling with your Siblings

Jasper and Ruby and Saffron are having a giggle-fest in the kitchen. Saffron has learned to love our teasing ways, and laughs her head off when teased (nice teasing, of course). She's fun to tease, because she's still not sure when it's teasing and when it's truth, or quite how to tease successfully herself.

Just now we were talking about diapers for some reason, and whether we had any. I said, "Well, there are those ones left over from when you first came. I thought you and Willa were babies, so the first couple of weeks I put you in diapers and rocked you in the cradle. But then we noticed you were a little big for a baby. You weren't fitting very well in the baby clothes, and you seemed to be trying to talk to us."

"You also seemed a little too smart for a baby," Jasper added.

Saffron looked at me quizzically at first, searching her memory and asking me if we really did this when she first came. When I grinned she burst into giggles and said. "No you did not! I don't remember that!"

Then amid her giggles, clearly with diapers on the brain, she started telling us a story about her first experience with a western-style toilet. I was about to try to write it the way she said it, but then I thought why not just film it? So here goes:

You Are My I Love You

It's after midnight and I was in bed, but found myself thinking about my children, and people in general. I had to write it down.

It occurs to me that if you don't allow your children the opportunity to rise to an occasion, then they surely won't. They will fail every time. But if you do allow them, occasions to which they may rise I mean, then they will only fail sometimes. Other times they will rise, and still other times they will exceed the occasion, and your expectations, and even pass you up altogether.

All five of my children have risen to occasions which I doubted they could meet. Thank God above I did not manage to prevent them, underestimate them, or sell them short every time--though sometimes I tried. And I really mean its thanks to Him--He knows these marvelous children much better than I do.

Jasper and Ruby, this is especially a love letter to you. We went through the motions of giving you a choice and a voice in our adoption, but really you had none. Kids don't make their parents' life decisions for them, and shouldn't be asked to. And though this has been extremely difficult for Saffron and Willa in other ways, they have had from the beginning one advantage you did not--the desperate fear of the dark and lonely past they left behind. Because of that past, they have said they never doubted for a day that they would be happier in their new life, and better loved.

You two, on the other hand, had a very happy life with a family you loved. You faced the fear, and expressed it often, that your life would never again be as happy as it had been in the past--that you would have less love than you had in the past, not more. Each of you went through periods of great fear that your life would never feel right or happy again, and that you were completely powerless to change the situation. I agonized over your feelings. I cried in bed at night, trying to remember and rely on the sure feelings that had caused us to pursue this course, and the belief that in time we would all have greater happiness because of it.

At some point along the way, the thought came to me (the Spirit prompted me) that I was underestimating both of you, and your ability to keep trying, overcome change, try to find the joy in your new sisters, trust that your parents still loved you as much, and even nurture a tiny faith that down to road you may one day be happier than ever with your new family.

And you have risen gloriously to the occasion. You have risen above it. You have gotten up and tried again every day to forget feeling displaced and instead make a new place in a home that felt foreign, with a mother who herself probably seemed foreign and unsteady sometimes. You have included. You have encouraged and complimented. You have apologized. You have forgiven (your sisters and your parents). And, you have shared your mom. You have moved over to let someone else sit by mom--to let someone else have a goodnight cuddle. What a very hard thing for a frightened child to do! And for all of those things, for what I have seen in the two of you, I now love you more than ever before--more than feels possible. I love you not only as my children, but as wise old souls who have weathered a difficult storm and kept me safe in the process. Just like your sisters, you are now loved even better than you were in your past life. And that, my gems, is one of the many blessings I am beginning to see unfold: the new happinesses of our new family. I see you both feeling comfortable again--feeling right in your family. And happy.

I hope you two also see the change in yourselves. I hope you feel a greater sense of self worth and courage for life ahead because you have already faced a great fear, a mighty change, and risen to the occasion. After taking in stride the death of a baby brother and the "birth" of two child-sized new sisters within two short years of your young lives, I can't imagine either of you facing the giants of life without coming off conqueror.

I have a feeling that when the four of you are grown, you, Jasper and Ruby, will look with awe at what Saffron and Willa went through to join our family. I have no doubt that they will look back at you in awe of what you went through to let them in.

If I doubted you, I stand corrected. For the rest of your lives let me stand aside and let you rise: marvelous risers to magnificent occasions.

I love you,
Mom

Saffron Cooking Wat: 1

This is the second half of some video I took in March when S was making injera wat. S and R were also making a movie. S wants to be a moviestar.

Six Month And Counting

It's getting harder and harder to blog these days, with two ball games and two lessons many afternoons. During school time, between spring field trips and planning Jasper and Saffron's birthdays, parties, etc., I barely seem to be getting the dishes done--let alone laundry or blogging. I think I may have to move to blogging just once a week. That may make more sense anyway, because we've passed a milestone: April 30 was our six month anniversary of bringing the girls home. We are passing from a major-adoption-transition phase to a learning-to-go-on-and-function-as-an-ordinary-family phase.  Life is beginning to feel different. Maybe it's appropriate that I spend less time noting a major life change, and more time focusing on a sense of normalcy for the family. Just thinking.

I have thought a lot in the past two weeks sbout (ok I really love my iPhone, but why does it NEVER correct 'sbout' to 'about'?? Isn't that pretty obvious??) what a different place we're in now than we were six months ago. I've asked the girls to reflect too, but it's hard to get much detail from them. I say, "what did you think about America when you first got here?" And they say, "good."

Willa did tell me she thought America was warm when she first came. Utah in the winter?? I  asked. But she explained that she meant the fire in the floor in the house (heat vents).

One of the most marked differences I see in Willa now verses six months ago is that she talks non-stop. We tease her that she can't stop talking for ten seconds at a time, and she agrees that it's true. She was silent when we first met her! Of course, that changed pretty quickly.

For the first several weeks Saffron was here, holding her hand was like holding a dead fish. She wouldn't respond at all. Now? My goodness--she wants to cling and squeeze and hug whenever she gets the chance. This is symbolic of Saffron's six-month evolution overall. She has gone from fearful, timid and withdrawn to very eager to bond, please and interact--and only sometimes withdrawn. She could still be described as very moody but, as her psychologist said, that's very understandable considering what she's been through. In fact, she's adjusting very quickly and showing very healthy emotional growth.  He cautioned us to avoid labeling any parts of her personality or behavior with adult labels because she is still transitioning and changing so much (In fact, he cautioned us about doing that with any child).

As far as Jasper and Ruby are concerned, I take heart in the typical sibling tiffs they have with each other and their sisters, because it all signals normal family life.  I remember the first few weeks Jasper and Ruby would come bounding home from school, only to be crestfallen when they saw their sisters waiting at home and remembered their existence.  Ruby would say, "I feel happy until I realize life is not the same as it used to be."  That may be hard for people to hear, but it's true.  That's how kids feel, and how many of us feel when we have to adjust to a major change in life--even if we believe the change will be good for us in the long run.  And believe something like that is too much for little kids.  They just have to wait until they experience it.  Now, Jasper and Ruby seem to have gotten over to the shock to their systems:  they no longer wake up in the morning in a bit of shock to remember their new family.  Their bodies no longer tense up when their space is invaded by their new sisters. 

That's not to say we aren't all experiencing growing pains.  Jasper still overreacts to things Saffron does that might only be mildly annoying to him if Ruby did them.  Saffron and Willa still get outrageously jealous at many small things they see as injustices around the house.  But they all control their reactions better.  Willa's biggest problem these days is probably her constant jealously of Ruby.  She lashes out at Ruby, or tells others not to speak to Ruby, and catalogues everything Ruby has (including particular colors of shirts) that she doesn't have.  But at the same time she LOVES Ruby desperately and wants to be just like her and with her always.  This is pretty typical little-sister behavior, except just blown up into an obsession in Willa's case.  That's not unusual for the transition she's in.  

No matter how much I show her and Saffron that I love them, it seems it will take them a while to believe they are full-fledged members of the family.  They still measure my every word:  did I say "I love you so much" to Ruby, and only "I love you" to them?  They are always on the look-out for such discrepancies.  I used to be paranoid, and now just try to be natural and let them see that I will not enable their neediness, but will always love and support them exactly the way I love and support everyone else.  For example, I may spend an hour one night listening to them in their room after bedtime, because they suddenly want to tell me stories about Ethiopia.  Then, if the next night I read a book with Ruby at bedtime and didn't read one with each of them individually, they will be upset.  If I bring up the point that I spent an hour with them just the night before, and we all get our own special time at different times, it won't erase their jealousy.  So I usually just go on, hoping that as they test me over and over they will see that though I constantly fail their tests I am still there, the next day, loving them like a mother.  That sometimes they get in trouble, and other times Ruby or Jasper does.  That it all comes out in the wash.

I think Saffron, especially, feels like she gets in trouble more than anybody else.  This is probably because she does.  I talked to the psychologist about this.  Saffron still exhibits a strong air of self-centeredness in her actions, and a real struggle to admit when she's made a mistake, rather than making an excuse.  On the other hand, at times she is extremely selfless, wanting to serve others all the time, almost to an annoying degree.  I have been losing patience with this.  Ruby and Jasper, on the other hand, have both been in very even and helpful phases, and therefore have not been getting in trouble much.  I can see why Saffron feels put upon.  Her psychologist (who has now given her an extensive battery of tests) explained to me that it's not too unusual for a child of Saffron's background to exhibit such bipolar behaviors.  On the one hand, she was treated like a second-class citizen in her home, so she is just discovering how to be an individual whose needs are valued.  Therefore, she begins by over-valuing her own needs, and struggling to see the point of view of others, or to see how her behavior affects them.  We have to let her go through that, he says, before we can focus on teaching her how to look outside herself. At the same time, one of the only ways she felt valued in her previous life was by doing service for others.  So, this is one way she seeks to show her value now as she's seeking her individual identity.  She'll bounce back and forth as she figures it out.  Yes, you often want to say, "I'd rather have you be nice than do chores for me!"  And she'll get that--eventually.

For example, Saffron came to Jasper's birthday dinner very sulky.  She was upset to have been late to the dinner, even though I had given her the choice of being late if she wanted to stay for all of dance (she hates leaving dance early). We had discussed it before she left for school, and again before dance, and she chose to stay for dance.  Still, by the time I dropped her off for dance she wasn't speaking to me.  The day after the dinner, I brought it up and explained to her how if you choose to act really sulky in a situation you are drawing attention to yourself, whether you think you are trying to or not.  You do because people are concerned about you.  You thereby also succeed in drawing attention away from the birthday person.  It's not very kind when it's someone else's special day.  "But I was late!"  she kept saying.  She couldn't admit that she'd had any other option but to act the way she did.  

On the other hand, she went out of her way to help me prepare for Jasper's birthday party--to the point that she wasn't happy if I wasn't putting her to work.  As I write this I realize most people probably think, "Oh, that just sounds like a typical child."  But it's different.  I can't explain how well enough, but if you saw it you would understand.  As her psychologist said, if Saffron were exhibiting many of these signs and had had a perfectly healthy childhood without a recent shock to her system, he would worry she was depressed.  But in view of what she has been through, she is adjusting remarkably, and at lightning speed.  It was very helpful to hear from him that I can quit worrying about the seemingly self-centered behaviors.  It is not yet any indicator of her future approach to life, he said.  We just have to let her figure out how to be her own person before we worry so much about what kind she will be.  She's great!   he said.  She has no learning disabilities or long-term emotional issues that he can see at all.  She's smart and aware and, as he says, a real success story.  Much of that is due to the loving relationship she had with her mother in the first four or five years of her life, before her mother died.

I realize I talk more about Saffron than Willa.  With Willa it's even harder to tell what behaviors are adjustment to shock and change, which ones are age-appropriate, and which ones are her personality.  We just treat her as a four-year-old, and discipline her accordingly, and let her feel like life is not fair most of the time.  Probably a lot of youngests feel that way.  Honestly, I try not to get annoyed by the whininess.  She is very accusatory of me, especially accusing me of lying and not fulfilling promises a lot.  This is very hard to take sometimes--I'm still not at my best either.  I knows she's adorable and cute and sweet and I must let her off the hook for a lot of the other, because she's just learning how to behave in a real family--let alone an American family, and my family.  Last night she screamed bloodly murder the whole time we braided her hair.  Is that typical, or just Willa?  Who knows.  The one thing we agree on is that we'll keep it short until she's ready to have it braided more often.  She's OK with that.  Right now she's complaining to me that she does nothing ever at home, and then has to go to boring preschool.  She wants a lot more cuddling and affection and attention than most four-year-olds I know, but I have to remind myself there's nothing wrong with giving in to that sometimes.  She missed out on it for much of her life thus far.  I wish I could feel more eager to indulge that.  I'm adjusting, too, and am selfish too.  

Otherwise, I notice that recently they want a lot more attention from Steve.  They are now measuring his affections, too.  That seems to be an indicator of good progress somehow.  He is their dad now--not Ayalew.  They are curious about how to relate to this American kind of dad.

I would never want to go back six months.  But I would also never want to go back and undo our adoption.  I am so grateful to be able to say that.  I love our new family.  Even Jasper, who's been slow to get on board, has changed his tune.  You remember that he used to say he wished his sisters could go back to Ethiopia.  We were sad, but knew he had to come along at his own pace.  Yesterday I thought he was going to say the same thing, and my heart sank.  But he didn't.  Instead he said, "I wish Saffron and Willa could go back to being one-year-olds for a year.  Then they could learn how to behave, and come back to us knowing how to act their ages and everything would be easier."  

"Well," I said.  "I think that's sort of what we're doing this year."  We're all growing up together.

PS. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!

Focus on the Good

Truthfully, I've had a hard time with both Saffron and Willa the past few days. I believe the problem lies mainly with me, and could be due to any number of groundless reasons--including hormonal ones.

So, rather than "get online and whine about my adopted kids," as my social worker says she hates to see adoptive mothers do all the time (except she didn't say "whine"), I'm going to get over myself and acknowledge some of the good progress the girls have made lately.

A couple of days ago, Saffron said,

"What is Alexia's dad making?"

Wow. This sentence stopped me short in my tracks. She didn't say,

"What make Alexia dad?"

or

"What Alexia dad do?"

She had the "is" and the "'s" and the "ing," and everything all in the right order. This was a perfect English sentence, and I told her so. We're just shy of her six-month anniversary in America, so I was quite impressed with this accomplishment. Without sitting through a grammar class, she has developed her own understanding of sentence structure, and tense, and possessives, and has corrected her own small mistakes until, one day, a complex sentence comes out without a single mistake. She's tempted to give up sometimes because she gets corrected so frequently by so many people (Jasper and Ruby), but she soldiers on. She tries really hard, and it's paying off.

Since starting her new school, Saffron's studies have rocketed forward. I'm relieved and proud to see that. She had some behavioral issues when she first started at the school, but those have really improved, too. For other adoptive parents, let me just say I've found and my social worker has stressed that adoptees often react exactly the opposite of how people would think they would. After having had nothing, no choices or opportunities in life, the swing the other way--to a feeling of entitlement. This can be really hard for adoptive parents to take. For example, at school Saffron thought she could just inform her teacher she was staying in from recess to play a computer game. She didn't understand that no student, INCLUDING her, had a choice about recess. Many little interactions like this add up to a frustrated parent feeling their are dealing with a child who is suddenly spoiled rotten. But the truth is--I must remind myself--they came here knowing even less about choice than they knew about English. They are learning its boundaries, and must be taught when they are outside them. A million choices in school projects, and foods, and clothes, and friends, seem the opposite to them of the idea that respecting your parents and teachers means you really have no choices unless they authorize them. This has got to be one of the hardest lessons for them to understand, and one of the hardest for adoptive parents to weather patiently.

But Saffron's behavior in school has improved tremendously. Another area she has struggled with is wanting me to hide her past from everybody, and taking offense if others asked about it innocently. We've been working hard at changing this. In fact, on Saffron's birthday her teacher asked me to tell the class a little about her at each stage of her life. I had to tell about her history in Ethiopia, because that's all we know. She really didn't want me to, but I reminded her of our feeling that her Ethiopian past is something to shout from the rooftops-something that makes her special. And the more often we ignore it the more we'll start wanting to hide it. So, I told eight things (for eight years) about her life growing up, including baking her own mud dolls to play with, cooking and cleaning and carrying Willa wrapped on her back, tending cows, and even her mom's death. The children were riveted, one teacher cried, and Saffron absolutely beamed. She let herself feel the vibe of the class, and seemed to catch the vision of how good it can feel to be unique. I was really impressed with how well her teachers and classmates responded. It was a real breakthrough for Saffron, and she talked about it for days. Of course, many of the students in this small school have situations that make them feel atypical. They get it. This has really been a good move. (Now I just hope we can find a way to pay for it for a while longer.)



Willa, also at Saffron's new school now, in preschool a few days a week, is finally learning her letters. Clearly, they're doing something right that neither I nor her old preschool were. Honestly, this begins to dispel some concerns I had about her learning abilities. It just goes to show you can never underestimate the effects of a new country, family, and language, and even with the best intentions we often mistake those effects for terminal issues. With Willa I'm no longer thinking they are terminal. I think her struggle to retain learned facts has all been part of her general adaptation to a new life and whole new idea of what learning is.

Willa is jealous of Ruby and tattles on her and whines about her all the time. This really grates on me. But I have to remind myself that Willa is really good at many things--she always wants to go to school, gets ready fast, and bounds in without a word of complaint. And she still goes to sleep like my telling her to is fairy dust. Oh, and she'll eat absolutely anything. Everyone who eats with her is amazed.

So with all the things to love, why don't I always feel IN love with the girls? Well, because it's only been six months--for both of us. We're still newlyweds. We're still getting to know each other. AND, they're still learning the language. Their English has gotten so good I'm shocked at least a couple of times a week to realize how thoroughly they can still misunderstand me. And how little words, like corner, and feel, and behind can still confuse them. I think one of the biggest struggles for parents of foreign adoptees has got to be to realize how little they really understand, even when their English is deceptively good--especially their accents. I often find myself punishing them for something I realize after the fact they truly didn't understand. For example, I say "go to time out and don't come out until I come get you, when your time is up." Well, they always come walking promptly right out of time out. With sentences full of mostly simple words, it's really tempting (especially when I'm at my wit's end!) to see this as outright defiance. And I often have. But, in my calmer moments, I explain better, and find they are confused as to whether they're supposed to stay in, or come out and apologize.

Recently I've adopted the tactic of trying to see them as Etalem (their Ethiopian mom) would see them. I'm sure she'd like to smack me for not seeing their greatness all the time. That's how I'd feel, if I died and someone adopted Jasper and Ruby. In fact, even if I'm frustrated myself, it really upsets me if someone else doesn't realize how amazing the girls are. As my sister points out, that's a good sign that I do feel like their mom. I'm as defensive as a mother bear for them. Be patient, Etalem. I'm working on it. I know I'll get there.

So, how have I done? Is all this talk sufficient to turn me over, flip me up, make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside again? Maybe. Maybe I just need a Coke.

How to Feed and Water an Adoption

Tonight, after almost six months, I got one of those little rewards that remind me it's all been worth it. We just got home from Saffron's birthday dinner at the Ethiopian restaurant (today was her birthday). Everyone is tired, and I'm grumpy, and I thought Saffron looked like she was starting to get a little grumpy.

But, to the contrary, she just came up to me and gave me two hugs and said, "I never before had like you good mom. I love you."

When I know that I have yelled, and lost my temper, and been impatient, and made more mistakes than I can count, it amazes me that a child who's borne the worst of it could still judge me a "good mom." I couldn't ask for a higher compliment.

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Here is the post I wrote a couple of days ago, as a bit of an update. I've not posted it because it's really rough and I was waiting to have time to revise it. But I just can't see how I'm going to get any in the next couple days, and I've already gone too long without posting. . . .


Today was Saffron’s first birthday party—she turns 8 on Monday. We kept it simple, just taking friends to the park, and playing and having cake and presents. She seemed to think it was very fun. It’s always interesting to stumble upon something that’s still new. I offered Saffron the chance to cut the first piece of her cake, which was a round Frog Princess cake. For the life of her, she could not understand how I was telling her to cut it. She had never cut something round, I guess, or thought about how pizza pieces come out of a round pizza.

Even more fun was our visit in the road with a friend who was driving by the other day. This friend is pregnant with twin girls. We joked about the girls and possible names. After our friend drove away, Saffron asked in skeptical astonishment,

“How she know there two babies? How she know they girls?”

“Well, they use a special camera to look inside your belly and see what’s inside.”

Saffron did not like the idea of a camera in her belly one bit. In fact, I’m not sure if she really believes it’s possible to know what kind of baby you’re going to have. That’s OK, though, because Willa’s not going to have any babies at all. She likes to whine about how every little thing hurts, from her hair to her finger, and I try various different approaches for getting her over it. One day, after trying to ignore it for a while, I decided to explain to Willa how pain is just part of life so we have to get used to it. In fact, to have a baby come out of your tummy you have to go through a lot of pain. I thought this would really get her, because she loves babies, and loves to talk about them coming out of bellies. I was wrong—it completely backfired on me. Willa simply answered, “Me having no babies.” And she has stuck to it.


Spring is always a busy time with kids because it’s the time when all lessons converge—spring sports are going strong and dance has its recitals. I noticed this even with two kids, but with four it’s almost more than I can handle. These days we have an average of at least three events per evening. A couple days ago Ruby had tumbling and a T-ball game, Jasper had baseball practice, Saffron had a reading lesson, and I had a bridal shower. It would have been a miracle if we’d made them all on time in a perfect world, and we didn’t have that. Between looking for a lost Ruby after school (she’d gone to a friend’s) and getting caught in construction traffic, we missed tumbling all together. Add the doctors/psychologists/field trips we have during the day, and most nights I finally fall in bed exhausted, with a crick in my neck from all the rushing and driving.

We definitely still have extras beyond a regular family’s schedule. I’ve been taking Saffron once a week to a psychologist a half hour away who tests her for two hours--so a three hour committment. He is doing very thorough developmental age and emotional capacity testing. I’m thrilled to have him and his results will really help us argue her birthday in court and proceed in life in general with peace of mind—but it’s a BIG time commitment. Another thing: because her teeth were so dirty, I have to take her to the dentist for cleanings and rebuilding work every three or four weeks. Besides being moved to a separate school from her siblings, which makes for crazy mornings, Saffron is tutored in reading and English twice a week.

My point is just that I know it won’t always be this way, that eventually we’ll have these extra variables worked out, and that someday summer will come. Then the kids may be driving themselves and me crazy at home all day, but at least I won’t be driving all day. Though it’s a little overwhelming to adjust to this new life-—a year ago I felt like a little-kid mom and now I feel very much like a big-kid mom—-I have to say there’s a lot to like about it. I love seeing each of the kids try new lessons or sports, eager to discover their own talents. I like to see them all getting out of the house and having fun.

In fact, I’ve made Saffron put her money where her mouth is, and she’s still having fun. She told me a while ago she really wanted to run track (of course, she didn’t use those words, but described running to me). After she mentioned it several times, I finally called around. It took quite a while to find a kids track club in the area, but I finally did. I’m going to have to drive her a half hour to do it, and she’s quite disappointed that it doesn’t start for another month. Fine, I said, then let’s start now. This week I took her out in our street and had her run timed splits of about 400 meters, and then sprints. And guess what? She still loved it. So now I’m feeling pretty willing to drive her to track.

Otherwise, things are pretty good. We moved Ruby back into her own room, with her and Jasper moving to rooms downstairs. This extra space seems to have helped them both a lot. Jasper still doesn’t see how his sisters make his life better, but then, what 10-year-old boy does? Ruby seems to have accepted completely that Saffron is older than her. They are constant playmates, very well-matched, and nag each other like sisters. Willa pretty much whines about being the youngest and littlest and not getting the same privileges as the bigger kids. She also talks NONSTOP. So, she’s a pretty typical almost-five-year-old youngest.

Though we haven’t gotten all the results yet, the psychological testing has already been a real blessing. The questions alone in the behavioral studies Steve and I have had to answer have given me great insight into how a child develops, and into the ways Saffron and Willa will be behind for a while. This doesn’t mean they have any cognitive delays: on the contrary, they are both sharp and perceptive. Rather, their lack of exposure to the kind of life experiences a well-parented and fulfilled child would have-—especially an American child-—means they have many simple lessons yet to learn.

For example, they still tend to be very unaware of messes they make and things they leave all over the house. That’s because they did not grow up from a tiny age being aware of their own things or the places they were kept, as most American children do. That’s not to say they can’t clean: Saffron can clean a bedroom better than anyone if you tell her to. But after six months of being told daily, she still won’t close her dresser drawers unless I tell her to. Another example is Willa’s physical familiarity with strangers. She may come and climb uninvited in your lap when she barely knows you, even though she won’t speak to you. This is a behavior American children would learn as toddlers to avoid-—it causes both the mother and the stranger to send uncomfortable vibes. But Willa has missed this.

If I could pass one piece of advice on to other adoptive parents (if anyone actually wanted my advice), it would be to be very firm from the very beginning. This is the greatest advice I received, and I believe it has blessed our whole experience. It is tempting to indulge-—it’s easier, especially with children who need the lines of your entire world, your every expectation, drawn anew for them. But it is the quickest and surest way to happiness for all. When Charles died my grief counselor told me I had to grieve sometime in my life, so I could either go straight through it immediately, or try to push it away and encounter a much messier version of it later. I often wonder if some adoptive parents who struggle and want to give up may have had a different experience if they had been educated and encouraged about staying firm from the very beginning. I know it’s hard: either the people around you want to indulge your new children, and it’s takes great courage to be firm with a child in the presence of others who see you as harsh and don’t understand, or you become exhausted by the fights, the screaming the tantrums, and don’t have support, and just give in. I think the only reason I persevered in the beginning is because I had angels on my right hand and my left, to bear me up.

Being able to pick out more developmental cause and effect has helped me have more sympathy and patience with the girls. I think this really helps the bonding process. Bonding is still something that ebbs and flows. It’s simply a case of trying to make your behavior as consistent as possible as far as the child can tell, even though your own feelings are not consistent. It’s going through the motions-—faking it until you make it. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Still, I fail at that consistency a lot. Get over yourself, Emily, I have to say. Be the grownup here. And each time I learn again that the more love I show the child, the more love I feel for the child.

But you have to have complete faith that the feelings WILL come. To me, it feels very much like marriage. Barring abuse or extreme examples in both situations, of course, both require a complete refusal to consider an out. It’s the old idea that if you allow yourself to think, “Well, if this doesn’t work out I’ll just get divorced,” then the chances are much much higher that you will get divorced. If you’re committed to the reality of staying with your spouse, then you’ll find a way to keep loving them. You'll fake it till you make it.

Likewise, the past six months have taught me that if you allow yourself to think you may never bond with or love your adopted child as much as your biological one, then you’ll head right down that scary road. On the other hand, if you assume you absolutely will love them just as much, and it’s just a matter of time, then you’ll be patient with yourself, and with the child, and let yourself see and feel the good. You won’t put so much pressure on the relationship.

As I said, I’m excluding extreme examples, as of children who have Reactive Attachment Disorder or other severe problems. And this is just my opinion-—but I’m no dummy. I’ve been through financial hardship, three job losses, several big moves, and the loss of a baby in my marriage. Sometimes, in the darkest times, Steve and I both have had to settle for going through the motions. But we never considered not going through them. And yes, I’m only six months into this adoption, and I am dealing with no RAD or other major mental or emotional illness. But we did get a traumatic surprise in the woefully misrepresented age of our daughter, and we have been through some dark times. Still I’m convinced it’s all about believing it’s right, believing it will work, and believing it’s your own responsibility-—NOT the child’s-—to dig your bond through shallow to deep.

Pardon my soapbox. Recent current events compel one to speak out. It’s not Torrie Hansen’s story that makes me want to speak-—clearly that’s one of the extreme examples I mentioned, where neither side was fully honest or prepared for their situation. What has frustrated me is all the misinformed and judgmental discussion it has prompted about international adoption in general. One of my favorite comments was from a radio caller who pointed out that adoptive parents are just parents. Should we end biological parenthood because some mothers fail to bond with their babies? he asked. No, we grow more supportive of post-partum depression and lack of early attachment all the time. Why not allow adoptive parents the same and even a greater courtesy?

In the end, all parents will parent as they will parent, love as they will love, and raise their children as they will raise them. This doesn’t change because their children are biological or adopted. As a mother, I expect the same of myself either way.

Who's the Boss?

Today my mom and Willa picked me up from the airport after my much-needed break with Steve: a week in Ireland with friends and NO KIDS. Willa greeted me and then said,

"Mom, I told you not to go. . . . And then you still go!"

She was rather indignant--as if I had been disobedient.

I then learned that Saffron had tried to boss my dad around, and Jasper had tried to boss my mom.

So what gives? You'd think these were the children of a parent who shrugs and takes flack--WHICH I DON'T!! On the contrary, I feel like I spend much of my life re-iterating to my children that I am the boss, and they shall treat me as such, and speak to me with respect, and no it won't be fair.

Jasper's smack I've dealt with for almost decade, but I must admit I'm surprised how quickly Saffron and Willa became comfortable with confronting their elders. Maybe it's a good sign that they have adjusted quickly and no longer fear adults? That I've done such a fab job I didn't even realize the progress?

Or, maybe it means I've lost it and talked too much smack to myself, setting a bad example. Maybe they're learning too much from their brother.

Nah, I'm going to stick with the fab job. That's my decision--and I'm the boss.

Musical Chairs

Seriously. I mean it. This time my title is not a joke--I'm really talking about musical chairs. On St. Patrick's Day, Saffron was very excited when I picked her up from school. She was carefully guarding one green cupcake which she said she was saving to be the prize in a wonderful new game she'd learned. She wanted her siblings to compete for the prize in this special mystery game. She wouldn't let them see the cupcake.

When we finally got time to play right before bedtime, the great mystery game she loved so much turned out to be musical chairs. I couldn't smother my giggle. Jasper raised an eyebrow and said he was "too tired to play," so Ruby and Willa played a total of one round around one bar stool. Ruby won (of course, since Willa didn't know what she was doing), and they split the cupcake. Saffron was as delighted as a game show host.

I guess you never know where there are still new discoveries to be made--or which ones will be the most exciting.

Saffron and School

In all the busyness of the past couple of weeks, I neglected to write about a two big events in Saffron's life.

First
Saffron had a somewhat disturbing experience at school.

She had walked down to the first grade hall one morning to deliver a letter to Ruby. On her way back, she noticed some candy on the floor below the backpacks outside another first grade class. That class was having an Eat-a-Read-a-thon, and lots of kids had treats in their backpacks. Used to cleaning up, Saffron bent over, picked up the candy on the floor, and stood up to head to the nearest garbage can down the hall. Just then the teacher came out of her class and accused Saffron of stealing. Saffron tried to explain in her broken English that it was on the floor, so she was cleaning it up. All the teacher heard was floor, and she responded that she didn't care if it was on the floor--it was still not Saffron's, and she was still stealing.

She then walked Saffron up to her own class, told her teacher what happened, said they better tell Saffron's mom, and that they should inform me Saffron needed to be taught not to steal--all in front of Saffron.

A while later I had a feeling I should go over to the school and get Saffron for a minute. I found her on the playground, terrified that she was in "trouble." It's the first time I've ever heard her use that word. She was afraid I would be mad, and begged me not to tell Steve or anyone else. She was afraid she would be kicked out of school. I walked into the faculty room where Saffron's teacher was eating lunch, and asked her what happened. (Saffron loves her teacher.) She told me the story, defending the other teacher and telling me she (the teacher) had said it very nicely. I must admit, I was surprised she hadn't defended Saffron.

I wanted to say "I don't care if she said it nicely!! She was out of line and couldn't have been more insensitive!" What I did say very frankly was, "Well, this is a girl who was beaten at just the accusation of stealing in Ethiopia, more than once, so I can promise you she would NEVER steal." I couldn't find the other teacher, but wrote her a note telling her the same thing, that Saffron would never steal and had been beaten for even the accusation of it before, but that she was used to cleaning and did this automatically, and that Saffron was very upset and sorry about the encounter.

Saffron was afraid to go to school the next day. I let her stay home one day, but sent her back the second day. What was really upsetting to me about the whole thing was the shear insensitively and bias of it. This was the first experience we have ever had of the girls being treated "differently." I'm quite sure the teacher would not have handled the situation the same way if it had been another second grader. I felt she had jumped to a mental conclusion that Saffron would be more likely to eat off the floor than clean off the floor. Besides that, I'm surprised a teacher didn't take into account her knowledge of Saffron's recent adoption and poor English in making accusations. All of the teachers know Saffron's situation. It doesn't take much forethought to imagine how upsetting this might be to a child in a new school, and how gently it could have been handled by watching to make sure Saffron walked to the garbage, or taking the candy from her kindly to throw it away yourself. To assume she has no understanding of theft seems to me the least logical response. That's why it seems like a tainted response.

Second
We got over the above experience just fine and it is not the reason for this second experience. But it did alert me to the fact that Saffron could benefit from more personal understanding at school.

Fast forward a week, and Willa's "energy" was driving me a bit crazy. I started to think I'd like to put her in more days of preschool. I toured one small Montessori private school that has pre-school to sixth grade. I was impressed with the small numbers, and the sort of non-grade-level approach that allowed each student to go at her own pace.

That night at homework I was trying to teach Saffron how to borrow a one in subtraction. Through our struggle I realized she didn't truly even understand the basic concept of subtraction. She can do it in life--give you three of her toys--but on paper she couldn't tell me whether or not you could take 9 away from 5. Between that and trying to teach her to read, and Jasper and Ruby feeling frustrated because they needed homework help, I was flooded with that familiar feeling of being overwhelmed. Suddenly, I thought of the new preschool. Rather than feeling like she wasted six hours at school to then come home and be taught by me, she could get one-on-one help and learn all day! I knew she loved her teacher and class, but could never get the kind of one-on-one time she needed in a public school. Our first goals had only been socialization and English. But now that those were well on their way, it seemed she was no longer benefitting from school.

This was a Wednesday. I talked to Steve that night, and we started Saffron in her new school the following Monday. She was scared, but so desperate to learn faster that she was willing to try it. So far the change seems to have been a great success. She is in a class of ten with only two teachers--she just walked in and I asked her how she's liking it. "It's good! I'm learning very a lot English, and reading, and minus, and take away," she says. She is one of the three oldest students in her (six- to nine-year-old) class, so she no longer has to feel behind all the time.

Because Steve just received a bonus we were going to use to pay off adoption debt, this is the only time we could have afforded this school (around $500/month:{). We were able to hold back some of the debt payment to set aside for school payments. (Needless to say, we are NOT enrollig Willa in the preschool right now.) I didn't realize how much stress I felt about Saffron's learning situation until we changed it. Hooray! I now have one extra place to drive every day, but one less major concern to carry. I'm SO SO grateful this all worked out.

Lest I Let My Emotional Guard Down . . .

Today was a doozy. I haven't had a day this hard--this emotionally taxing--in weeks. Actually, I can't even say it was a day: it was only in the evening that things began to unravel. Just when I had begun to feel the routine fall into place, to watch everyone begin to feel at home with their new life, and my own anxieties subside, I was yanked back into the reality that four months is only the beginning of this journey. All four kids reminded me of that tonight.

At dinner, Jasper, out of the blue, popped the comment that maybe Saffron should go back to Ethiopia--in front of her. When I scolded him, he began to cry, which led us to send all the kids out of the room and have a half-hour talk with Jasper about his feelings, about why he still feels so negative about the situation. We made good headway, but it was important--and sobering--to be reminded that even if he doesn't act out anymore, he still needs a lot of time to feel good about his new life.


After Jasper, I started to comb Willa's hair before bed. Willa had, again today, begged all day to have her hair cut. Then tonight, even though it's shorter and was just washed yesterday and her scalp is getting much healthier (thanks to Dr. Ross's medicine), she still began sobbing immediately and continued to cry through every gentle tug, despite my frequent pauses for her respite. I reminded her, again, that if this crying at every combing, washing, braiding, etc., (we are supposed to comb it at least once a day) continued, we would need to cut her hair and wait until she's a little older and it's a little healthier to wear it long. She insisted she wanted to go ahead and do it, and I thought to myself, "I've discussed this with her every day for four months. She's only four, and doesn't have to have long hair if she just can't deal with it. Frankly, I can't handle this stress in our life anymore. Seems like a small thing for how much stress it creates for both of us in an already difficult situation." So, I cut it all off. I was then able to get to her scalp and clear the dead scabs. It's now about as short as Saffron's looks in the photo at the top of the blog. Actually, we all agree she looks adorable. But as soon as she saw the first big clumps, Willa began to sob uncontrollably, until she almost passed out. There was no consoling her. You may think any child would cry about a haircut, but I guarantee you you haven't seen the likes of this. It is clear, through endless comments about it made by the girls, that in Ethiopia they were taught to believe short hair is worthy of shame. That's why I didn't cut Willa's hair sooner. But we've got to recover her scalp's health, and my sanity. We've spent months trying to rebuild from the ground up the girls' understanding of beauty, and I think Willa will feel better about it in the morning.

After we got Willa cleaned up and in fresh pajamas, I could see that Saffron was not in a good place. I hugged her and asked how she felt about the haircut, or to tell me what was wrong. She then began to cry, and proceeded to tell me that she has confusing dreams where I am with her Ethiopia Mom in Ethiopia, and that she is afraid of me and Steve. She knows it isn't rational (not her exact word), that we love her, that we would never hurt her, etc., but she has fear in her tummy and in her hands every time something goes wrong and she thinks she'll get in trouble. She knows better, she says, but she just can't seem to get rid of the feeling. It's like she can't get Negat (the Wicked Stepmother), out of her mind, and it affects her reactions. This is all understandable to adoptive parents, of course, but it's still extremely discouraging to hear. So, I then had a half-hour conversation with her about memories, change, trauma, and the major difference between women in American culture vs. women in Ethiopian culture. Phew.

When I finally walked Willa and Saffron into their room at 10:00 PM to put them to bed, I discovered a very sad and dejected Ruby in her bed. She was hurt that I had called Saffron in to help with Willa's hair, not her. She was feeling good for and good at nothing, all over again. I did my best to kiss and comfort and reassure, but my heart sank to hear this final news, this issue that I naively thought was subsiding recur again. I can't put into words my love for little Ruby, and my heartbreak to think that she is again doubting her worth. Fortunately, she was too tired for a half-hour talk, and so accepted my kisses and settled in for sleep.

Ay Yi Yi. I feel that yucky, scared, overwhelmed feeling I haven't felt for many weeks. Why can't I seem to make each child feel loved enough? This is hard. At least, this time around, I know the feeling does go away, and things do get better. At least I've seen a glimpse of how good, how right this new family can feel.

Miss Saffron Apron

Oh, Saffron, Saffron. What is thy life these days?

For starters, when you grow up I am confident you will be forever grateful to Grandma Swensen for giving you the perfect word to teach people how to pronounce your name. (My “Africans” v. “Afrikaans” was a bit obtuse, I admit.) Grandma’s simple, “Well, it’s just like apron” will get you much further in life.

This has been a much bigger issue than I ever dreamed it would. In fact, though I’m a devoted word person who would never have considered spelling Ruby’s name “Rubie,” I have recently considered changing the spelling of your name to “Saffren.” It felt like heresy, but I had to consider whether that spelling would bother me less throughout my life than the mispronunciation of your name would. The problem at school has become so bad that now you can no longer figure out how to pronounce your own name the way your family does—you keep saying “Saff-rawn” and don’t yet have enough command of English to understand the difference. Poor thing. I didn’t mean to saddle you will something so difficult. Perhaps we should have gone with our second choice—Pat. That’s why we’re so grateful to Grandma S. So, let’s remind everyone once again: It’s Saffron, like Apron. If you typically say Aprawn, then I must remind you that you are talking about seafood rather than women’s culinary wear, and there is no hope for you. You’ll just have to call her “S.”

And, so you’ll always know why we chose such a beautiful if troublesome name, let me remind you that Saffron is one of the most beautiful and exotic spices and colors in the world, and IS the most valuable spice in the world. Not to shabby, eh? Certainly stands up to ‘Ruby,’ a most valuable woman, and ‘Willa,’ one of America’s greatest female writers. (Eudora Welty, I also love your writing, but wasn’t so keen on ‘Eudora,’ or ‘Welty.’ Sorry.)
Remember,
saf⋅fron  [saf-ruhn] –noun
“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.com

Yes, we could have given you a more typically American name. But saffron is a spice and a color that is valued the world over. The spice is ancient—transcends time. And the color is the choice for the robes of peace-loving Tibetan monks. It is as beautiful and transcendent and ancient as is your Ethiopia. We knew you would never be like Willa—you would always carry your memories, your culture, your Ethiopia with you. We wanted to honor that. Don’t let anyone underestimate your value, or you name. Ever.


And so, Saffron, what else can I tell you? You love watching TV. You want to all the time. You have no regard for content. You just want to watch. Always. Why? Is it an escape? And why do I often refuse? Why does it irritate me? I think it’s too early in your American life for me to worry about you becoming a couch potato.

I have figured out why you don’t play with friends or talk on the playground, and why you struggle to entertain anyone but Ruby at home. There are two reasons:

One, you are much more self-conscious about your English than I realized. You have finally told me you are afraid to speak without me or Ruby there. And now that I’ve learned to ask you about specific words and sentences, I realize you are understanding less than I thought (though still an amazing amount for 2 ½ months). It’s OK. People aren’t looking for you to fail! You must try.

Two, in Ethiopia you didn’t play. Now that Willa can express more and has become obsessed with repeating to me facts about life in Ethiopia, I know that 'Sam' and Willa played everyday, but Saffron never did. Saffron only ever watched. I can easily imagine you squatting, as you do, next to your shambles of a hut, and watching the other kids play. Willa often says “Saffron no play” when she talks about life there.

Somewhere in the last few weeks I lost my patience with you and began responding to your negative attitude, rather than transcending it. If I take the high road, you usually come along pretty quickly. But if I join you on the low road to nowhere, we both languish there. It’s good for me to be reminded what you came from only a few short months ago, and how far you’ve progressed. It’s my job to turn again with kindness, over and over and over. That is what is required for older child adoption. They tell you over and over how different it is from young child or infant adoption, and they’re right. Parenting you and Willa is night and day. Older child adoption is definitely more difficult, but the rewards are worth it. There is something amazing about a child old enough to recognize the mighty change in their life.


Finally, your hair. I have neglected to mention that we removed your extensions over Christmas break. They were coming out, and getting yucky. We knew they would only last about two months, but this was still very traumatic for you. You bawled for hours. You hated me for a bit, I think, and sulked for a few days. Now that I realize how much that hair meant to you, I think I may have made a mistake in letting you get them so early.

When you came, I was very eager to help you feel confident when you started school. I knew you wanted extensions in Ethiopia, so I hurried to get them for you here. We quickly got your teeth fixed so the brown spots didn’t show. I told you how beautiful you looked. So why should I be surprised now to realize you have wrapped your self worth in America up in that hair? Perhaps a better approach would have been for me to teach you about inner beauty, and let you feel good about yourself for a bit before I rushed to help you cover your short hair.

Well, now we have had that talk about inner beauty--about a kind heart, and a ready smile. You cried, and it occurred to me that you had probably never had anyone tell you that before. You wore a scarf over your head for a week, but we have since found some cute hairstyles for your short hair, and pointed out many beautiful women with short hair. To their credit, Ruby and Jasper have made a big deal about your lovely short hair. I keep telling you—honestly—that I prefer it. Your delicate neck and jaw, the graceful features which first made me see you as a Queen of Africa, are now visible, not hidden by fake braids.

You and Ruby are both suffering in the self-esteem department right now. But we’ll fix that. We’ll borrow some from Willa, who’s self-contentedness is ever effulgent, and before you know it you’ll be two supremely confident sistas.

Cook the Pianist and Leave the Sweet Potatoes Alone

Though we don’t have the major drama we did before, I’m guessing we still provide entertainment for our fellow churchgoers. Recall that I play the piano for the children as they sing in Primary, the children’s meeting. This lasts two hours, with some breaks, but I tend to be sitting at the piano the entire time. I can play, but I’m not the really talented type who can carry on a conversation while I play without missing a note. Someone should tell this to my children. Some Sundays I have a constant stream of children coming up asking profound questions like, “Why were you smiling at her and not at me?”
Then, “What was she saying to you up here?”
And, “Why did her teacher give her a treat when I didn’t get a treat? Her teacher ALWAYS gives treats and mine NEVER does.”
Followed by, “Mom, Look!” with great concern, as Saffron shows me a slight crack in her lip.
And finally, “___” This is Willa, with no words, just trying to climb into my lap while I play.

I admit that I add to the distraction myself, as when I spot Jasper indulging in some nose picking and motion him up to the piano so I can tell him to go get a Kleenex.

Thankfully, they all have great teachers who try to keep them away from me. I know the Powers That Be were trying to help me out by putting me at the piano, so I could be near my kids in our newly changed family. I appreciate their concern, but I really don’t need any more time near my kids in our newly changed family. What I do need is some time with ADULTS, AWAY from said kids of newly changed family. Unfortunately, the babysitting offers have stopped coming. That’s OK, though. My bedroom door still locks. And the TV still works. Not that I ever lock my door, or use the television as a babysitter. Ever.

No. Right now I have instead shut myself delicately in my room without locking the door (I promise), and have given them another babysitter: boiling water and a hot stove in the kitchen. Yes, I told the girls to have at it—Make dinner themselves. I didn’t even add the usual “Don’t burn the house down.” Even as we speak Saffron is boiling sweet potatoes. She is holding the lid on the pot with all her might, and is very upset that every time I walk through I turn down the heat and vent the lid for a second. “No!” she says. What she wants to do is wrap the whole pot in tinfoil so not one breath of steam can escape. I nixed that idea. I assured her the potatoes will boil just fine, but I think she’s underestimating the temperature of that cute little round circle on that smooth surface of the stove top. Ruby, meanwhile, is in her usual competitive form. On the other side of the kitchen, she is busy with flour and yeast trying to make pizza dough. I don’t know if I’VE ever even made my own pizza dough. But she refused all cheats I offered, such as frozen bread dough. Nope. She’s doing it from scratch. Nevermind that she’s only 6. If her sister cooks from scratch (boiled sweet potatoes) so will she. I have a feeling it’s a matter of minutes before my blogging time is over.

Emily Post, Meet Monster Mama

The past couple of days I've been pretty mean.  I'm not sure why I've lost patience, and I realize it's pretty juvenile.  Perhaps Christmas break did me in.  Though I think we're in a very good place for just two months on, we are far from a completely comfortable family.

Because a parent must reason why, and not just do or die, here's my best shot at one possible reason for my recent venom:

Sometimes I don't want to blog about difficult aspects of this adoption, because I can't shake the feeling that there are those--albeit a small minority--who are somehow looking for us to struggle.  I think this is on a very subtle level and I hate to even say it out loud:  one of my dad's virtues has always been to see the best in people, assume the best of intentions despite flawed behavior, and take their apologies at face value.  Especially as an adult, I have tried really hard to do the same.


So, then, why might a few people be looking for the difficulties in our situation?  Rather, why might I feel that they are?  I don't believe any person actually wishes us ill.  Instead I've decided that, for some, our choice to adopt, and to adopt older children, and to adopt interracially, is absolutely unfathomable.  They can't imagine ever wanting to do it themselves, and therefore can't understand our wanting to do it.  Because it's not something they would ever naturally want or enjoy, they can't get their minds around how we could be enjoying life, or even coping, in such a situation.  They look for the difficulty in it, because that's the only angle from which they can approach it.

As I said, I think this is rare, and not even conscious, and certainly doesn't pertain to any of our family or close friends.  In fact, they have all wildly exceeded our expectations of support.  I think the only reason I am bothered by these interactions is because they are so rare.  The vast majority of people I meet, though they might not choose this themselves, are thrilled for us.  If I get too down, they are talking ME back up about it.

But once in a while I find myself in a conversation going all wrong.  Each time I pause, my counterpart fills in the blank with something much more negative than I was thinking.  My words, and my concerns, are clearly being read all wrong.  I find myself inadvertently assenting to false assertions.  I try to clarify, and things get worse.  I feel that, rather than defend my family, I have slipped in the mud and thrown them under the bus.  It makes me doubt myself.  It makes me feel utterly miserable.

This feeling of an awkward conversation gone wrong is not new to me.  When I was pregnant with Charles, and after he died, people said all sorts of odd things to me.  Again, the vast majority of people have the best of intentions despite their awkwardness, and you feel that from them.  You hear what they mean, and don't care at all what they actually say.  But every so often something really stings.  What's hardest is not the comment itself, but others' defense of it.  If you can't get over the hurt by yourself, and so mention that stinging comment to anyone, they always have the same response.  "Oh, but you know they meant well.  People just don't know what to say in these situations."  And there it is--you're shut down.  You're the devastated one, but you're told you are also the one who has to take the high road and let it go.  And of course people are right; you should.  Eventually.  And you will.

What people don't realize is those comments that sting sting for a reason.  They hit on some point of vulnerability that undoes a lot of hard work on your part.  It's some aspect of the story you've already struggled with, a hole which you've already dug till your fingernails bled just to get out of.  And their comment makes you doubt yourself again, doubt your emotional progress, and you feel yourself sliding back into that hole.  I wish people would realize that they really don't need to jump to the commenter's defense.  You're not really mad at that person, anyway.  You're afraid of the hole.  You just need someone to let you get it out:  let you say why that comment, in particular, hurt your ears.  You need someone to listen, and nod, and then remind you how you already felt your way out of that hole.  You need someone to throw you a rope.  You don't need them to point out that the person probably meant well.  If you're the one receiving sympathetic words all day, chances are pretty darn good you've had practice, and are already well aware of that fact.

I hardly ever express this to people, because their inevitable response is, "that's why I usually just don't say anything at all.  I don't want to risk saying the wrong thing."  Please, risk it.  I beg you.  I ask every person I can who has been through something publicly difficult, and I've never met one who said they would rather people say nothing than say the wrong thing.  Say something.  Ask something.

. . . . Well.  Alright.  Pardon Me.  Apparently I have confused my journal with my blog.  I guess that's been waiting in the margins for a couple of years.  But how does Emily Post's Guide to Comforting the Stricken pertain to adoption?  It's a stretch.  It was a few of those awkward interactions that got me down recently, made me doubt myself, and contributed to my becoming Monster Mama.  We always take it out on the wrong people.