Sunday, October 11, 2009

FINALLY here!

Hi All,

I’m not able to log in to my blog, or do much at all online.  So, I’m writing this update email to Sara and asking her to post it for me.  I also can’t get into my mac mail, so please email me at emilymabey@gmail.com.  We’d love to hear from anyone, and should be able to check our email almost every night.  Steve is also not getting work email right now, so this is probably the best way to contact him until further notice.

For phone contact, we have a temporary cell phone with the number: 251-910-103-882.  (251 is the country code)  You can purchase an inexpensive phone card by following the link on our guest home’s website, Ethiopiaguesthome.com.  Their phone number is:  251-114-198-367.  Steve’s phone seems to work fine, though it is very expensive.  Feel free to call his cell number for a very quick message, or for emergencies.  Well.  Now all of that’s out of the way.  The time here is 9 hours ahead of Utah.

It’s always very frustrating to me that I have many emotions and impressions I’d like to record, running through my mind all the time like a continual blog or journal entry.  By the time I get a chance to record them, however, the time is short and most of the thoughts have faded, and something less than short hand is what comes out.  Oh well.

It was hard to leave England.  Steve had a teary moment Saturday night while we were packing, and I cried as we drove away from Sara’s cottage in the middle of the night.  After a blissful two weeks in England, we were hit by the many big things this small departure meant.


The first layer of emotion is that it’s hard to leave Sara and Dave.  We love our time with them, and feel such a closeness with them in England because of the year our two families spent there together.  They saw us at our very worst, and spent too much time with us for us to keep up our usual façade of non-chalance.  This was very much like old times, except with the addition of charming Harriet, and the much older children who have stepped in to replace the little Jasper and Ruby who lived with us in London.  Still, though, if you think about it there are few times in life when you can visit someone five years later and not have new children with you—because we’ve had this six-year gap after Ruby, things felt eerily the same.

Therefore, part of our feeling was that, besides leaving Sara and Dave and England, we were leaving our life of many years—Emily and Steve with two kids—to become a completely new family.  On top of that, we were leaving a place where you get to put your toilet tissue in the toilet (albeit that whoosing British toilet) for one where you have to put it in the waste basket.  Oh well.

One of my chief complaints in life is that there is never enough time to grieve.  In that way (only) real life is so unlike the movies.  I never get to do the Angelina Jolie ‘cry, lean against the wall, then slide down slowly, sobbing.’  Instead, I started to cry as we pulled away, and after about 30 seconds the kids were fighting over who got to put their head down on the console in the back seat.  After 60 seconds, Steve needed help navigating from Besselsleigh to Heathrow Airport.  The Noive!  I remember this feeling with Charles, too—just when I would start to feel something really powerfully, I would have to gather myself to meet a doctor, or answer the door, or mediate a sibling dispute, or to smile for someone who REALLY wanted me to feel happy.  Then, later, when I had time and wanted to let loose those feelings, they just wouldn’t come in quite the same way.  I realize those moments of being forced to go on are what get us through life.  In fact, I guess they are MOST of what makes up life.  Still, though, I don’t think it’s good to have to keep turning off the spigot.  It’s like those polite but annoying people who stifle their sneezes over and over again.  Just let it out, already!!  Oh well.



OH—WAIT—I’m sorry.  Did some of you want to hear about ETHIOPIA?  Yes, then let’s.  So we packed Saturday night, October 9, until 1 AM.  We then lay down for an hour in which Steve stole a few winks and I none (Yeah, right—one hour, with a big day to follow, for someone with insomnia?  Not a recipe for sleep.)  Of course the kids had been asleep for hours.  We pulled away from Sara’s at 2:45 AM.  We’d left plenty of time but ended up barely having enough because when we got to the car rental return busses to the airport weren’t even running yet.  Our plane departed for Amsterdam at 6:45 AM.  In Amsterdam we made a quick transfer to our next flight.  Unfortunately, our largest suitcase didn’t (make it).  From Amsterdam we flew to Khartoum (Sudan), and then on to Addis Ababa.  The sunset in Khartoum as we took of was beautiful—like nothing I’ve ever seen.  It was layers of red and orange, looking more like a glorious sandstorm than a sunset.


We arrived in Addis about 8:30 PM.  We waited in a long line to get visas on arrival, and then a long line for customs.  Understandably, the kids were very grumpy.  One of the best things I’ve done this trip is bring a huge amount of yummy protein bars.  These have already come in very handy, and worked wonders at the airport last night, and today when meal time wasn’t a great success.  Those were money well spent.

After reporting our missing bag, we met Ahki, and very kind and patient man from the guesthouse who had been waiting for us for hours.  Ah-kee is a translator for Ethiopia Guest Home, and picked us up with Gaetcho, our driver.  On our way to the car, I chatted with a very nice woman from our flight.  She is Dutch, and was adopted from Ethiopia when she was five years old.  Some of you may know the famous chef, Marcus Something, who was also adopted from Ethiopia by a Dutch family.  I think there clearly must have been a Dutch program about 20 years ago.  Anyway, this woman was wonderful and very encouraging.  She said she was adopted by a family who already had three children, and it has been a wonderful experience for her.  She was here to visit her Dutch sister, who is working for a time.   She said the hardest thing is that when she comes, people expect her to speak Amharic and she has no clue!  She has learned to say, “English Only.”  I thought it was really nice that when I asked her where she was from she said both the Netherlands and Ethiopia.

We were in bed close to midnight, and thankfully got a great night of sleep.  We were quite miserable with exhaustion last night, so this was much needed.  I think coming from England is great, because we don’t have jet lag like many families do.  Another great travel tip:  I placked flat sheets from home to put above and below us inside the regular bed sheets, and our own pillowcases.  This guest home is very clean and has no bed bugs, but I think I slept better just for the peace of mind, and for having something familiar.  Like my mom, I have an extremely sensitive nose.   Foreign countries, including England, always have a myriad of unfamiliar smells that can make it hard to nestle in for sleep.  That’s part of the reason the smell of your own sheets can help.

As I said, we are staying at Ethiopia Guest Home.  This was not our original plan, but was a place we discovered the night before we left.  It is only one year old, and is run by a previous adoptive father who thought there was a need for specific services for adoptive families.  Therefore, as part of your stay at the guesthouse, you get a driver and translator who will take you anywhere (extra trips have a reasonable $10/hour fee), and translate for you and your new children, and nannies who can watch your children if you want to go out.  They will really do anything for you—they’ve agreed to teach me to do braids.  You also get breakfast and lunch included.  There are several other services, like inexpensive laundry so you can take home all clean laundry, and a free massage for every adoptive parent.  Other adoptive families will probably want to know that we’re paying $127/night for the family suite.  As I said, that includes many services and two meals, so turns out to be a great deal.  The greatest thing about the guest home is that you don’t tip any individuals—you leave one big tip for the staff at the end, if you want.  In a place where everyone is constantly trying to do some service for you to get a big tip, this is a huge relief.  The airport employee tried to get me to give him $10 for pushing my luggage cart a few feet.  When I didn’t have a ten, he wanted $20!  I said No, I would never even pay that in the States.  I am very grateful we found this place and can already see how we’re benefitting.  Today we talked to Ahki and Gaetcho about our the orphanage attorney, who worries us.  They said they are very familiar with his ways, and can help us deal with him.

We weren’t able to make it to church today, but should be able to find it by next week.  There is a fly crawling across the computer screen.  We had a very nice day, though.  We went out on our balcony about 11 AM, and saw two kids next door to the guest home waving at us.  They were playing in the yard next to a sheet metal home.  Jasper yelled, “Yenae sim Jasper no.”  And the girl yelled back in English, “My name is Radit.”  Before we knew it Ruby had asked them if they wanted to play football.  We have very friendly kids.  Radit is twelve and her brother, Robin, is ten.  We went over to their yard and the kids had a great time playing soccer.  These kids were good!  They played with rocks as goals, on a tiny plot on a steep hill.  The laundry was out hanging, and I at least had the wash bucket moved so we wouldn’t spoil their mother’s washing.  When it started to rain, she invited us in to the house.  Her name is Dinkesh.  She doesn’t speak any English, though her kids understand a good deal.  They begin teaching it in school here in first grade.  It was lovely to visit with them.  The house was tiny and dark, two rooms, with an old sofa and chairs, and a mattress on the floor.  They had a tv on.  It was a wonderful way to start our trip, and Ruby wants to play with them every day.  The kids at the market across the street were also yelling hello and blowing us kisses, so we went over and said hi.  They were very smiley and said, “I love you!”  We are determined to learn a few more phrases so we can speak to the children.  This guest home may not be on Bole Road, the center of town and action, but I think it’s better to be out where you can meet the neighbors.


Abebe Guta, the lawyer, came to meet us this morning, which very pleasantly surprised us.  He says we’ll go to the embassy tomorrow to be fingerprinted.  It was unclear whether he’s ever talked to them or they’re planning on us, so we’ll cross our fingers.  We won’t actually have our official adoption interview until next Monday, the 19th.  Tomorrow is just fingerprints.

After the embassy (and picking up our bag from the airport), Mr. Guta says we can go to the orphanage and see the girls.  I thought there must be some official time for first meeting so they can prepare for you, but it sounds like there isn’t.  I guess this is actually a good sign—that they are not afraid to have you drop in on them unannounced.  Ahki says Toukoul is a very nice, very large orphanage.  Here they all think of it as a French orphanage, as it is run by a French couple.

I really hope we will be able to see the girls, since we’ve been promised. Our kids will be very disappointed if we don’t.  I just worry they’re not expecting us, because we’re here a week before our embassy date.  We originally came early because we were going to travel around Ethiopia for a week.  We’ve had to cancel that tour, however, because we’ve become so cash crunched.  We’ll still travel around plenty and maybe even fly to the north, but it will be much cheaper to do less, and to do it on our own.  Freeing up that money has made us much less stressed about the day to day expenses.  However, it makes us very unsure about this week—how will it be to meet the girls two weeks before we can take them home?  Will it make it really hard on them, or on us, to have it be so long?  Will we feel we need to visit every day?  Will we want to?  But we never do things typically, do we.  Oh, well. I’m sure it will work out.

So, we’re preparing for tomorrow.  We’re thinking of dressing up a bit, and we have some necklaces for the girls with their Amharic initials.  No, we haven’t decided on our second name for sure yet.  I know!  I know!  We’re trying.  Sara helped a lot.  No one will like the names we choose, anyway, so just don’t worry about it. J  We’ll take all our camera equipment, and hope to get it on film.  I’m really glad our own translator will be with us.

As far as photos go, I really want to post some—and post some of the girls tomorrow.  But this computer (I’m using the guest home’s) won’t read my SD card.  I’ll try an Internet café, maybe tomorrow night.  I’ll really try to get some.  Otherwise, if my phone ever gets service I can take photos with that and email them.

I’m really sorry it’s been so choppy for those who have called our cell phone.  We love you and SOO appreciate your calls.  Try again tomorrow.  If you catch us in town, it might be better.

We love you all.  We can’t believe we’re finally here.  Love.

This post is brought to you by the number 16, as in about 16 hours until we meet our daughters.  Just like one of my long labors!

(NEXT DAY:  we have been able to post some photos with this entry now, so enjoy!)








Yes, those are cows in the middle of the highway!




Sunday, October 04, 2009

Forget "the dog ate my homework"--"the bird ate your dog" could be worse.

Our poor little dog, Mabey, has never managed to grow beyond 4.5 lbs.  She's getting the royal treatment while we're gone, staying at three different homes where she is, of course, being coddled.  Still--she remains tiny.  Apparently, her size could get her in trouble.  We really chuckled as we read the following email from our good neighbors who tended her for the first 10 days.


"We thought we let you know of a kind of 'funny/oh my goodness' experience we had with your pooch this afternoon. 

We were enjoying the nice afternoon, sitting in the backyard, not doing much.  When all of a sudden, a Gray Hawk(or so we think it was after looking up bird pictures on the internet) swooped in and perched about 20 feet over our heads into the middle Ash tree in front of us.  'How Cool!' we thought and then it flew over a few branches over and perched again.  As it landed on the other branch, Teresa could see out of the corner of her eye, 'Mabey', right below where the bird landed.  She excitedly exclaimed, "Mabey!!!".  Immediately, it was a race to scoop her up just in case the bird had the same idea.

Mabey is safe and sound in the house now and doing wonderfully, skillfully avoiding Abbie's loving arms.

We thought you might get a kick out of this as we've never seen a hawk in the backyard before.  Kind of strange and probably not coincidental that we saw it back there.  I doubt it would have actually tried, probably just sizing her up.

Take Care and enjoy your trip.

We'll keep our eyes to the sky when Mabey is out.


P.S.  We now think it was a Peregrine Falcon."


Contact has been made!

The following email is from a kind parent from our adoption agency who returned from picking up her baby in Ethiopia a couple weeks ago.  She offered to take something for us, so we sent a photo album of our home and family, and two stuffed animals.  It sounds from her email like the girls have definitely been told about us.  It's very exciting to hear of some actual contact.  They start to feel real!

"Emily,

I hope you are doing well!   I am just now getting back to e-mail after our return.  We had such a wonderful trip to Ethiopia.  I actually cried when we left.  We just fell in love with it!

I want to let you know that there was some confusion regarding the gifts we brought for your children.  We were told to leave them in the office.  I checked the next day to be sure that Tinsae and Birhane received them.  But the stuffed animals were brought to the general donations despite having referral numbers on them.  I am so sorry.  I don't know exactly where the miscommunication happened.  But I did make sure that they received the photo album.  As we worked through the language barrier they reassured me the children did, in fact, receive the photo album.  Because of the lost stuffed animals, we went out and bought new ones for your children.  They should have received them the second time around.  Again, I am so sorry for the miscommunication.  We asked to see your children but we were told they were at Immigration that day.  But we did get some wonderful footage at the orphanage of the girls dancing in the tradition of the Ethiopian New Year.  I thought your daughter might be in it.  It is precious!  When we get more organized, I will send it your way!"

Friday, October 02, 2009

Mythes and Legends

There is a book called The Lost Villages of England, but I doubt Mythe, Dorset is in it.  Mythe is likely too lost, and was never enough a village, to attract anyone's notice.  Mythe is nothing more than the ruins of a couple of cottage walls hidden amidst the nettles on the edge of the woods, down the gentle green hill dotted with pheasants, past the shepherd's cottage, and along the old footpath from the village of Mapperton.  Mapperton itself is a tiny village, comprised only of a few cottages, a school house, a church, and Mapperton House: the modest country home of Lord Sandwich. 

For me and an Englishwoman named Sally Beadle, however, Mythe was the motherload.  Mythe (pronounced with a long "i" sound) is the tiny spot from whence both our families sprang.  William and Sarah Mabey lived and raised their 12 children at Mythe.  Two of their middle children, Thomas and Eliza, are mine and Sally's ancestors, respectively.  Thomas and his family eventually joined the LDS Church and emigrated to America, while Eliza married Isaiah Thomas and stayed in Dorset. 

At the time of the 1841 census, there were about eight families living at Mythe.  As we stood amongst the rubble of this old hamlet, Sally pointed out that it's probably one of the few places on earth quieter now than it was 150 years ago.

Sally found me online several months ago.  My dad had asked me to find some new Mabey names for him, and I found it easiest to bypass software and build my tree right on Ancestry.com.  A couple of months into my search I got an email from the Online Parish Clerk (pronounced "Clark") of Dorset England.  She asked if I was willing to be contacted by an individual interested in my family tree, and the rest is history.  This relationship has definitely been to my benefit more than Sally's,  as she has added much more to the family tree than I have.  In my defense, Sally lives right in the shadow of the original family villages.  Her branch of the family never left Dorset.  Her findings and friendship have been a great boon to me. 

It just so happened that when we met I was just a few months away from this planned trip to England.  So this week my sister Sara and I, our husbands, and our children, met Sally and her family in Dorset to tour the old villages.  Sally and her husband Alan and mother Bettie were delightful and energetic hosts.  They cooked mountains of delicious food for us (what you've heard about English food does not apply to home-cooking) including high tea.  They took us on a dizzying tour of winding lanes and tiny villages, and on that priceless walk to Mythe.  Sally's knowledge of the area is truly a gift.  She knows more about these small hidden hamlets than most locals because she rode the lanes on horseback for years.  Many of us may have the same pieces of family information, but I believe Sally is the only one who can connect all the dots.  We can't lose her.

I've never previously been one of those who people who wanted to search far and wide for gravestones.  But finding these villages really meant something to me.  I've spent three years working on Our Father's House, my great-grandfather's book about this family, and I feel very connected to them.  I feel I know them as intimately as I can for not knowing them, and even have felt their support in my life or research at times.  Still, at Mythe I felt the vast chasm between my life and theirs--I couldn't fathom the kind of life they would have lived there, and I'm sure they couldn't imagine mine now.  Yet it really is just raising kids, supporting your family, and trying to find joy along the way, isn't it.  I  felt something powerful at Mythe.  I'll never forget it.  Sally, I'm forever grateful to you for connecting me to the physical past of my family, and for keeping their stories alive.

Mythe









Much Obliged, Mr. Coram

Thomas Coram was a Londoner who couldn't just stand by.  A modern, enlightened Westerner would be grossly shocked by one aspect in particular of the eighteenth-century version of the city:  abandoned children found at an alarming rate around town.  In England at that time babies were abandoned because prostitutes couldn't care for them, and because women of repute couldn't have their scandulous pregnancies found out by trying to give the baby to someone who might care for them.  Older children were left to fend for themselves when their parents died.

Thomas Coram's repulsion at the sight of hopeless children in Europe's greatest city eventually became his quest to open a foundling home for them.  His home for foundling children cared for hundreds of children into the twentieth century.  It was sponsored by the likes of George Frederick Handel.  Coram's home had large, beautiful grounds for the children to play on.  In the years since the closure of Coram's home, those grounds have become one of the greatest children's parks in London.  Coram's Fields was only a five-minute walk from our flat and was, in fact, the very reason we searched for a flat in that neighborhood.  I discovered it one early day while Steve was in class, and knew it would be the key to a successful year with a rambunctious boy in a crowded city. 

When we finally made it to Coram's Fields this trip on our last evening in London , I felt like I had come home.  I believe it was as much home to me as my flat.  The kids immediately ran to the zipline, and I walked around the old sycamore trees, and remembered how many times this place had saved me from insanity.  I had always been enamored of the story of Coram--of the goodness of Mr. Coram, and the many lives he rescued in his foundling home.  As my children played there five years ago, I often found myself thinking of the orphans who would have played on those very grounds two hundred years ago.  This time, I was struck by the irony of me being back there, with my children, on my way to make a home for some orphans of my own.  I realize I'm becoming quite sentimental, but I felt a great gratititude and respect for Mr. Coram.  His was one more story that inspired me to foster my thoughts of adoption, and his fields were a saving grace--a haven for me and my children.

So I felt I should declare it publically.  Much obliged, Mr. Coram.





Thursday, October 01, 2009

Happy Birthday to You, Your Husband Loves You, You Asked for a Banjo, and He Gave You One, Too

We are staying with my sister and her husband, Sara and Dave, in their quaint little cottage in Besselsleigh, England.  (Check out their blog in our highlights on the right.)  Friday was Sara's 30th birthday. 


One of my favorite things about Sara is that she's the type to ask for a banjo for her birthday, with no previous stringed instrument experience.


One of my favorite things about her husband Dave is that he's the type to get it for her.




Happy Birthday, Sara!

London Snaps



One of my favorite London jokes came from the mouth of Jimmy Kimmel, or maybe Craig Ferguson. He said something like, "I just returned from my vacation in London. At the airport on my way out, I stopped at the desk and said, 'Can I have my vacation snaps now?'" All of England--every inch--is monitored by the government's CCTV (closed-circuit television). So in theory you could get snaps of your whole vacation--every inch--from them. Still, not trusting their aesthetic approach, we decided to take our own snaps, too. Here are a few:


Arrrggghhhh!  Jasper and Ruby (the little fuzzy white heads) boarding the pirate ship at "the pirate ship park."  And you thought Hyde Park was the most famous park in London?!  You haven't been there with your kids.  This one is actually called the Princess Diana Memorial Playground and is in Kensington Gardens.  It's a huge park all based on Peter Pan themes--very cool.  If you ever go to London with kids of any age, don't miss it.  It's free, but closes at 6:30 and is completely addicting for children.  Whereever else we were, Ruby was begging to go to the Pirate Ship Park.





Ruby loved the torture implements at the Clink Prison Museum.  We didn't have the heart to tell her how this chastity belt was really supposed to be worn.






Jasper has definitely got the onry look down driving this doubledecker bus.






At the Clink Museum again (the 'Clink' Street Prison is the one which gave all other prisons its name--getting thrown in the 'Clinker'), Ruby and I demonstrated the potential consequences for children who whine while walking around London.






If Steve and I were younger, and he weren't holding a half-eaten child's ice cream, we might look like honeymooners out for a walk in front of Tower Bridge.





Jasper and Ruby were permanently perched on the front, top row in every bus we took.  That odd golden thing streaming through the window is a recent London import--sunshine.  I honestly could not remember ever struggling with sun in my eyes on a London bus before.









Tuesday, September 29, 2009

London, Inside and Outside

Many moments in London I felt overwhelmed with a mix of feelings both old and new:

-Walking, walking, walking, walking:

In London I was as fit as I've ever been. I had no gym pass, didn't kill myself at Neil's gym like I do now, but I walked everywhere. All the time, rain or shine. We all did, and I think we walked more than most locals. When we arrived in London I learned school was about to start, and there were no guaranteed neighborhood schools. You had to find your place. I went to the Internet cafe, looked up children's schools, and mapped them out. The next day, Steve and I put the kids in the stroller and walked to every school on the map. St. Michael's Church of England School was farthest away on the map, and our last hope. We were exhausted by the time we got there. I clearly remember buzzing the door, and introducing ourselves to a woman who said she was into geneology and knew about Utah. She had just had a student leave the country for visa issues, and thought she could find a place for us.

Anyhow, the point of my story is that we walked a mile and a half each way to Jasper's school each day, there and back. Even in the city, that's a long way to walk--we crossed three different London neighborhoods! There was a bus that got you near there, and we took it when we were freezing. But the walk was definitely the most convenient and quickest and most direct way to go. None of the parents at Jasper's school could believe we came so far. They especially couldn't believe we came so far for an inner city school. But St. Michael's didn't disappoint in any way. Jasper's teacher, Miss Leah from Australia, was wonderful. And no uppity school could beat the education Jasper gained from having students of 200 countries at his school. His friend Abdo was Muslim and his mother picked him up in a nearly-full Birka. Asha was a second-generation Barbados Brit whose mother worked at the Charles Dickens House Museum. Sophie's dad was a "copper" on the streets of London.

Five years ago when we walked Ruby was in the stroller. We had a very nice double. Jasper could make it a good two miles at age 4, but when he was tired or slow we plopped him in the stroller, too. Visiting London this time, I was very concerned about walking with older kids whom I couldn't plop in the stroller. Sure enough, they whined and whined, and we walked and walked. But they got used to it. I was really proud of them. When they were really dead, we let them walk with their ipods. It felt really good to walk till your feet hurt every day, and hit the bed dog tired. That's how I felt most of the year we lived in London.


-The Bus:

I used to have a love/hate relationship with the bus. I loved when it would finally come and rescue me and my kids from the biting cold. I loved to rest my burning feet. But I hated to fight my way on with the stroller, sometimes just to be met with glares. This time, I hopped on with my children and we rode upstairs in the top deck on the front seat every single time--Ruby insisted. It was her favorite part of the whole trip. So we loved those old double-deckers again this trip.

The Complicated British-American relationship:

I think most Americans would agree that living as an American in the UK you feel both a part of and apart from the people around you. At least I did. On the one hand there are no two countries more unified than the US and the UK. There is virtually no where else abroad an American could feel more comfortable. When my grandparents were missionaries in Africa and were offered a two-week hiatus to recuperate, they chose to go to London.

On the other hand, both Americans and Brits, when in the presence of each other, seem to define themselves by taking pride in their differences. I guess this is normal. But sometimes it gets in the way. Steve and I must have looked like locals again this time, because we were asked for directions several times again, just like we were five years ago. We fit right in, and felt annoyed with the noisy Americans on the tube (there are a lot of hotels in our old neighborhood), and laughed at how you could pick them out. But then we weren't British. There were times, like in November of 2004 when Bush was re-elected, when I was afraid to open my mouth for fear of people hearing my accent. And again, I had that experience where someone is smiling at you, being friendly, and then their expression drops and their demeanor changes as soon as they hear me talk. Either that, or I call attention to myself and mark myself as American by saying excuse me too often--being too openly friendly.

All of these feelings were brought back to me in the London Transport Museum on Sunday. This wondeful museum is largely geared toward children, so I was pleasantly surprised to see a very distinguished-looking elderly gentleman viewing the exhibits. Later on as we finished the museum, I caught up with Steve and the kids in a room with a fake train light flashing overhead. Two little British girls were running back and forth, trying to stay in the light, and Ruby joined in. I was confused to hear a loud voice yelling, in a perfect Oxford English accent. I suddenly realized this disembodied voice was yelling at us, at the children. Then this same distinguished gentleman appeared at my back, yelling even more, "ignorant, ignorant! If they do that now how do you what do you think they're going to grow up to be??" Not wanting to offend the man, but not being able to get a word in edgewise to apologize, I opened my mouth and said, "Come on, guys. Let's go." I forgot I would be so recognizable with so few words. The old man began berating us with renewed vigor, this time about Ignorant Americans, and how of course we think it's OK for our children to run around and behave like that here, in their country. Sure, as long as it's on somebody else's turf.

As we walked out of the museum I was crestfallen--almost on the verge of tears. I knew it was silly to let this one encounter get to me. I guess it just brought me back to reality. There were a lot of hard times in London. It was often cold and grey. I often felt like an outsider. No matter how comfortable I became, I was still an American living in England. I knew this all along. I didn't ruin my experience, and it doesn't ruin my memories. It's just every chapter of our lives: good and bad, black and white, sunny and grey, happy and sad, inside and outside.

London, Old and New

Five good days, and I was off the wagon. That's not even enough to get to your first weigh-in--if you're starting a diet, like I have so many times. But I had a good excuse for not posting for the rest of our time in London. AT%T went out of its way to let me know that I was paying a fortune in data fees for using the Internet on my phone. I knew phone and texting rates were different, but I didn't expect my data plan to be so drastically affected by being overseas. So, no more blogging from the iPhone. There is a great little Internet cafe in our old neighborhood, but we kept ourselves so busy I never had a chance to get there. Maybe I'll just give a few snapshot updates.

.................................

Much to my relief, our visit to London was lovely. I was very worried it would be a huge disappointment, because I've waited so long and gotten carried away with my memories of it. Perhaps I worried just enough to temper my expectations.

Our days were a natural mix of visiting our old haunts, and exploring some new ones.

Highlights of the Old:
-Walking to our old flat
-Visiting Jasper's old school
-Shopping at our crowded old market
-Playing at Coram's Fields and the Pirate Ship Park

Highlights of the New:
-Visiting the old Clink Prison Museum
-Visiting the Transport Museum
-Eating at a bustling, hip Brunswick Centre, which used to be the blight of our neighborhood

Friday, September 25, 2009

No Comment

As an Internet user, I am a taker, not a giver. I always feel a bit guilty about this, but--obviously--not guilty enough to change.

I depend on online help forums to help me solve problems and answer questions about everything from computer issues to adoption issues. But I never go back and answer any questions, or post a thank you. Similarly, I have never been one to post comments on blogs. I enjoy reading them, but something stops me from posting a comment online for everyone to see.

I'm learning my lesson. I'm very grateful to all of you who take the time to leave a word of encouragement, or just to let me know you get what I'm saying (or don't). Especially now. Thanks.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

We're Back!

This is Steve:
After a very long journey (20 hours door to door) we're back in our beloved neighborhood of Russell Square.  It's wonderful to be back and see how things have changed while staying the same. But first, here's a bit about our journey. 

Our neighbor Belinda took us to the airport and we made it in great time for our 3:00 pm departure.  Emily sat by Ruby and I sat by Jasper. After lots of nerves about this trip, the kids seemed to relax once we were inside the airport.  Both kids were thrilled to be travelling by plane and Ruby was particularly enthralled with the view from the sky. She seemed to be talking incessantly from where I sat in the row in front of her. Thanks to first grade, she knew all about the Great Salt Lake and they both loved being able to look out on the billowy blanket of clouds below us. 

The flight from Atlanta to London was another story though. It was crowded and the ability to sleep was nearly impossible. Ruby slept the best as she was leaning on Emily. The worst thing was that they kept the lights on in the cabin until about 2:00 am which did not help. It must be said that Jasper was a real trooper. He was across the isle in his own seat. He was in the isle seat with a man next him, and he's just not a little kid anymore. His only option was to try to sleep uncomfortably sitting up like the rest of us. It was sad to watch him struggle with it all night. We were really impressed he didn't complain once.  After a pretty miserable night and deplaning, we were greeted with the longest customs line even regular travelers here said they had ever seen. We Probably waited for over an hour to finally get through and Jasper was getting grumpier by the minute. But after getting a sprite and sitting down to wait for a shuttle to our hotel, he cheered up a bit. 

Driving through London for the first time in four years was just wonderful. We'll need to get driving on the left side back into our brains since we're renting a car next week. We again feel that draw that if we could figure out a way to live here we would. I even ran into a fellow Wells Fargo employee in that customs line who was travelling here to talk with one of our London money managers.  Life is long so who knows what the future will bring. 

Checking in to the Hotel Russell was like meeting up with an old friend. This was the place that "took us in" when we were here without a place to stay. During our first few days here in 2004, we gave up the flat Steve had pre-arranged. We knew we just couldn't stand it for a whole year, and we've moved enough to learn to trust those feelings unless you want to ruin your experience. We wandered around with all of our luggage, spending one miserable night in an LSE dorm room, while looking for another flat. We had passed the  beautiful Russell several times because we were looking for a flat in this neighborhood. Miserable after the dorm night, we decided to come into the Russell. They were under construction, and so offered us a small room for the reasonably good price of 100 GBP. We took it. Then, because that room had problems, they moved us to a nicer, bigger room. We were so grateful and miserable we nearly cried. We stayed here for two or three nights before we found our flat (then our flat wasn't ready, so we had to take an impromptu  vacation for a few more days).  Tbe point is, we are emotionally attached to this hotel. It's a beautiful, grand old piece of architecture we walked past almost everyday during the year we lived here. It feels like home. 

The kids were starving by the time we checked in at 4:00 pm, although Emily and I could hardly even see straight after staying up until 6 am after the night before our
flight.  Nonetheless we went to high tea in the hotel bar and had some delightful sandwiches and scones with some of the best hot chocolate the kids said they had ever tasted.  I tend to agree.  That hit the spot and since we were so bleary-eyed and Emily completely falling asleep in her chair, we convinced the kids to let us take a short nap. Thankfully, they let us sleep for almost two hours while they played with their Nintendo DSs and iPods that we got for this trip. 

That made a huge difference.   We were able to go out walking and it was just like old times, except that Ruby can walk now instead of needing to be in a stroller. We walked to our old building, Brunswick Mansions, and peered through the mail slot to see the carpeted entry  where we used to pause before heading up the three flights of stairs to our flat.  The most shocking thing was to see the transformation of TheBrunswick Centre across the street from our flat. While we were here before, it was a run down cement mixed-use housing complex that was only interesting to architectural students who would cme to study this building that was ahead of it's time. Now, however, it has gone through the most amazing transformation and was filled with people all sitting out at tables eating at upscale restaurants amid high end shops. The difference from when we were here was astounding. 

We stopped in at Tesco Express and picked up some fruit and ready-made pasta dishes for a late-night snack (because "every little helps"). We had forgotten how delicious the flavored rice pudding yogurts are here!  After eating our fill, we convinced the kids it was time to turn in at about 10:30 even though their bodies thought it was only 3:30 in the afternoon. They eventually dozed off  as we listened to the BBC news and their great world coverage. Again, this is very reminiscent of our last time here as we watched the Olympic coverage of the 2004 Greece games every night on the BBC after our absolutely exhausting days of searching for a suitable flat and while I juggled my classes at LSE. Those were such wonderful days although I wouldn't have said that at the time I'm sure.

It's very late here now at 12:30 and more adventures await for tomorrow, so on behalf Emily and the rest of the family, I'm going to sign off for now. This post is brought to you by the letter Z, which I'm hoping to get plenty of right now. 

Cheers, and Goodnight. 
  

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Wheels Up

Just about to take off for London from Atlanta. Things to feel good about:

Radu says he's going to get us an early appt at the embassy for fingerprints.

All the help offered and given by neighbors.

Watching Ruby's delight at take-off.

This post is
brought to you by the letters x and o. As in, xoxoxoxoxoxoxo.

I Forgot to Say That This Post Was Brought to You By the Number 0. As in, what's left of our finances after this trip.




This is the pits. It's 4:47 AM the night before we leave, and I'm still up. I feel like a failure. My whole goal this trip was to start early, plan ahead, and NOT be up packing all night the night before.

I have worked pretty much round the clock for a month now getting ready for this. I know it sounds impossible to spend that much time, but consider this: there's getting the house ready for two new kids and a stressful year ahead--buying new beds, bedding, switching kids' stuff from one room to another, cleaning the house, and trying to finish house projects that can't just be left undone for the next few weeks, not to mention finding an Amharic translator. Then there's the 5-week, 2-country trip to prepare for: that's researching and booking several different flight itineraries, multiple hotels (many who can only respond to your emails in cryptic English in 2-day turnaround), car rentals (all on a tight budget), getting us all travel shots, taking everybody to the dentist (you hate to have a tooth break in a third-world country, and I would have had that very nightmare if I hadn't gone in), getting extended meds arranged, packing for 6 people (4 here, and 2 there) in limited luggage, packing orphanage donations, finding and packing all your camera and electronic gear, filling ipods full of audiobooks to keep your kids entertained for at least 5 of the 50 hours of flying ahead, letting your husband work late so he can leave his job in some semblance of order, going to Target over and over for all the things you forgot (like enough protein bars to stave off the whining if your kids hate all the foreign food they taste), and--for the past 7 hours--filling out 2 of every government immigration form and assembling copies of all the supporting documents (why didn't we buy that printer that could send through more than one page at a time?!)

Yes, Dad, I KNOW that is one enormous run-on sentence made worse by too many parenthetical references and my ever-present over-use of dashes. I wrote it that way because that's how my last few weeks have felt! Like a race from one thing to the next, with constant interruptions and tangents to follow.

Then, to my great delight, at about 1:00 AM I discovered in some fine print that . . . OUR FINGERPRINTS EXPIRE OCTOBER 9TH!! That's 10 days before our embassy date, mind you. I knew you had to adopt within 18 months of your USCIS approval. They tell you that all the time. But I have never heard ANYONE mention this fine print--that you only have 15 MONTHS before your fingerprints expire and your adoption can be denied. Sounds like an absurd contradiction, right? Yes! I know. At this point Steve was at the airport mailing our final 7 shipping business boxes before we leave, so I was left alone to fume at our adoption agency--they are supposed to alert you and keep track of these things! ARGH. I started searching online for my local Homeland Security office to head in first thing in the morning, only to find that since I was last there they have instituted an appointment only policy, and their first appointment is not until September 28. They don't even list a phone number because that might actually encourage someone to CALL THEM FOR HELP.

So, when Steve got home at 1:30 we conferred and decided that since it was the middle of the night here, our best option was to spend the next 1/2 hour on the phone with the US Consulate in London (thanks, Elliot), and the US Consulate in Addis Ababa (you, too, Debbie). Boy, they really do sound like they want to HELP Americans--help US. What a pleasant surprise! (Of course, now I'm imagining them all to be like the WWII embassy characters in The Winds of War, or Julia Child's wonderful embassy husband in Julie and Julia.) No resolution to that situation yet, but we've decided to put all our eggs in the Consular basket and fly away tomorrow with faith they will fingerprint us.

We still have a short list of things to do tomorrow, but I think they're manageable enough for us to go to bed now. Ruby woke up crying a bit ago, needing some comfort from her mom. I had a twinge of guilt about bringing another girl into her life, so close to her age. This was worsened by the fact that I had to find our original home study tonight, and re-read where it specifically says we want a boy and a girl. Of course the feeling is much worse because I'm exhausted. I know I've had more than one confirmation about taking these girls, and these girls in particular. But for a moment tonight I remembered how I purposely had my kids far apart so I would have plenty of time for a strong one-on-one relationship with each of them. I didn't want it to be just Mom and the Kids. I feel like I'm undoing that. And what about the fact that I always wanted and thought I'd have a family of boys? I'm definitely undoing that. I feel sad. But I guess that's normal, because I really haven't felt much fear or anxiety up to this point and I was due. It's this kind of thinking that reminds you it's time to go to bed.

I'll sign off with some pics (above) and video of the whole preparatory affair. Wish us luck! (Especially with the fingerprints.) In the lovely photo gallery you'll see, 1) my living room packing station 2) my pile of government documents 3) all the protein bars in Steve's suitcase.

And here's a little video of our lovely Sunday afternoon protein bar taste test. Those things are expensive and my kids are picky. Steps had to be taken to avoid disaster.






And now it's 5:44 Am. What idiot blogs for an hour after a day like this? I guess I'm just trying to get myself committed. Not to an institution. Just to blogging.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Share and Share Alike

Last night I was up until after 3:00 AM prepping for our trip. This morning I was up early to get the kids off to school, and dive right back into the packing. After hours again at that, I was getting really sick of it all. It seemed there weren't enough hours in the day, and I just want to be done, already! And gone, already! But then I had the unexpected pleasure of whiling away an hour or so with a dear old friend. Boy, was that hour worth it--it was the most "productive" hour of my day.

Betwixt the talk of gray hairs, and sagging boobs--and the never-ending naming story in which I never-endingly search for the one, perfect name for our younger new daughter (we've already named the older one)--Kellie reminded me that people really care about what we're doing. They want to be supportive, and involved, and have ownership in our adoption. I needed to hear that. One of the reasons I have trouble blogging is that I tend toward the opposite of narcissistic: rather than loving to talk about the things in my life, I am hobbled by a fear of being self-absorbed, thrusting my life onto others. Growing up I prided myself on being the one who could take care of herself. It's hard to shake that personal expectation. This is not always a good characteristic--you miss out on a lot of good moments with people when you underestimate their interest in you. (Right now a few people in my life, like my sister Sara, are probably begging to differ about my reservedness with details. I mean in GENERAL, guys.)

I want to share more details about our adoption on this blog, and I want people to feel involved. It's just hard for me to do it. Also, I worry about exploiting the girls. But I'm going to try (to share, of course--not to exploit them!).

So here it goes, Kel! Not that we're counting anything in particular, but let's just say this blog post is brought to you by the number 2. As in, comes after 1 on the way to a hundred. And as in, A.M. Ugh. Goodnight, already!

Sunday, September 20, 2009

E! E!

So I feel like I should update my blog but I'm exhausted. So here it goes-- "UPDATE!" Hmm. Didn't work. Let's try again:

We're now T-3 and counting. Yes, Wednesday we embark on our grand E-E Adventure. Though it may surprise you (who is 'you' when you're writing a blog?), I'm actually equally excited for both E's. Yes, our two weeks in Ethiopia will be life-changing and we're very excited to meet our girls. But right now the preps have us plumb wored out. Frankly, two-and-a-half week's in the first E--England/the "Tight Little Isle"/the Mother Country--sound absitively posolutely superbbbbb.

To understand our attachment to the British Base, you must understand that our year in London (2004-2005) was one of the greatest years of our lives. Yes it was hard, but it was wonderful--it was healing. It brought us from a dark year into the light. We tightened our bond and spread our wings as a family all at the same time. For me, individually, it was a time of hunkering down and feeding the soul--I read, I walked, I saw, I studied, I talked endlessly with my children on our endless travels. I cherished my sister. Even at the time I knew it was a unique and precious time in my life, one that must nurture and steel me for the hectic and difficult years to come. Boy, was I right!

Yes, I remember the long, dark, cold and dreary winter. I remember the tiny flat, the mice, the foot fatigue, the being alone. But more than that I remember a feeling so strong that a longing for it brings tears to my eyes almost every time I think of our year there. That was my life before--my life before my little kids got big, my life got hectic, and my baby died. It was my life after the dark time of upheaval in Colorado. It was Sara and Dave. Their names say it all. I have always felt I abandoned my little sister in England (though I know she never needed me). I vowed I would return within a year. Here I am--5 years later--finally returning to visit. To bask in the noise and smell and grey of London, and then retire to Sara and Dave's little old cottage: Home Farm Cottage, in Besselsleigh. Once again, I'm off to the "tight little isle," to nurture and steel myself for the adventure ahead. The first E paves the way for the second E.

This post is brought to you by the letter E. E for England, Ethiopia, Evermore.

----------------


This video of Jasper is a good snapshot of our year in London. It is very late at night, and Jasper has just returned from the West End (London's Broadway), where he saw "The Lion King" with Uncle Dave. He refers to it as a "on play with real people," who apparently employed extensive use of "stilt sticks." The fact that he considers his Slush Puppy straw the highlight, fell asleep halfway through, and then had to wake up and walk all the way home perfectly sums up what it's like to try to enjoy the offerings of a world-class city with little kids in tow. (You also get a glimpse of our cramped flat--this reception room served as family room, dining room, guest room, and everything else.)

Monday, August 10, 2009

Lullaby Litany


Ah Ha! I'm beginning to see the pattern. I seem to post on-the-eleventh-of-every-month. So there IS such thing as Blog Mind Control. And here I am again today, suddenly checking my anti-blogger's blog on the eve of the 11th. I better post. I better poooooooooooooooossssssssssssssttttttttttttttt.

Lately I've been thinking about lullabies. I am a serious lullaby singer. I mean it. I remember being at a friend's house once when we were both putting our kids, under age 2, to bed. She religiously brushed her child's teeth, while I hadn't bothered to bring the kid a toothbrush. But then she just put her to bed--no songs. "What?" I thought. Where have I gone so seriously wrong that I'm hardly brushing my 1-year-old's teeth, but always singing to him, and she's doing the opposite. No worries. I would graciously help her child avoid a scarred childhood by singing to her along with my son. But she just stared at me! She didn't know how to listen to a lullaby. So here's Lullaby Point #1: Who cares if the kid listens, or likes it. Just sing.

I pride myself on being a bit of a human jukebox, ready to take requests (of course, just like a jukebox, I insist you choose from a previously approved list of songs in my (mental) inventory). I even sing lullabies when I tend other peoples' children. I'm not saying it helps them fall asleep--in fact, usually they just stare at me sort of skeptically transfixed. I don't take offense. And that's the what's so great about lullaby-ing, and what brings me to Lullaby Point #2: Your audience has no experience upon which to base judgment of your talent. It doesn't matter if you can't sing!

So, now that we've got the "can't sing" excuse out of the way, let's move on to the other excuse I hear all the time--you don't know the words to any thing. Come on. Didn't you memorize any love songs in high school? Anything? (I still remember the first radio lyrics I memorized in elementary school ("People are people so why should it be you and I should get along so awfully"). But that's beside the point.) This brings me to Lullaby Point #3: ANY song can make a great lullaby. At this point let me just say for the benefit of all my religious affiliates, I don't do primary songs unless pushed. I figure the kids will get them anyway, and there are only so many hours in the day for me to introduce them to other great pieces of music.

And so, for the benefit of all un-lullabied children out there, I'm going to list the lyrics to a few of my favorite lullabies in the hopes that it's not too late for your parents to redeem themselves. You can find the melodies online, or make up your own.

In all seriousness--clearly I'm insecure and drenched in all sorts of "issues" because I have so much trouble being serious on a blog--these lullabies have meant a lot to me and my kids. They have calmed fears, smoothed over anger, and created cherished moments where my big kids become my little ones again. If you don't like these, sing anything. I'm a word person, so I tend toward lullabies with lyrics that speak to me. My husband tends toward 80's classics in his lullabies--or his old standby, "You Light Up My Life."

I have always had one particular special one for each child, including my baby that died. I also have a strong show tunes bent, as those are the songs I grew up on and memorized as a child. I also always feel free to change the lyrics as I wish. I'm eager to learn an Ethiopian lullaby for my new girls.

Baby Mine (Dumbo)

Baby mine, don't you cry
Baby mine, dry your eyes
Rest your head close to my heart
Never to part, baby of mine
Little one when you play
Pay no heed what you say
Let those eyes sparkle and shine
Never a tear, baby of mine
If they knew all about little you
They'd end up loving you too
All those same people who scold you
What they'd give just for
The right to hold you
From your head to your toes
You're not much, goodness knows
But you're so precious to me
Sweet as can be, baby of mine

Tender Shepherd (Peter Pan)

Tender shepherd
Tender shepherd
Let me help you hold your sheep
One in the meadow
Two in the garden
Three in the nursery
Fast asleep...

Little Jasper (children)
Little Ruby
Let me help you fall asleep
One, close your eyes and
Two, say your prayers and
Three, safe and happily
Fall Asleep
Fall Asleep

Sweet Baby James (James Taylor)
I bet most of you know this one, and just didn't realize what a great lullaby it makes. In fact, I bet a lot of the stuff you've got in iTunes would! Even my mom thought this made a pretty lullaby when she heard me singing it. This has always been the personal property of my first born, Jasper. I think I first sang it because it was long, and he cried a lot, and I was out of other tunes, and it was about falling asleep, and about Boston (where I lived), and cowboys (which I was missing).

There is a young cowboy
here is a young cowboy he lives on the range
His horse and his cattle are his only companions
He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons
Waiting for summer, his pastures to change

And as the moon rises he sits by his fire
Thinking about horses and loved ones dear*
And closing his eyes as the doggies retire
He sings out a song which is soft but its clear
As if maybe someone could hear

(chorus)
Goodnight you moonlight ladies
Rockabye sweet baby james
Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose
Wont you let me go down in my dreams
And rockabye sweet baby james

Now the first of December was covered with snow
And so was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston
Lord, the berkshires seemed dream-like on account of that frosting
With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go

Theres a song that they sing when they take to the highway
A song that they sing when they take to the sea
A song that they sing of their home in the sky
Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep
But singing works just fine for me

- chorus -
*my little lyric change, so as not to encourage beer for my baby

Ruby's Eyes (Cori Connors)
This song is actually Cori Connors' beautiful "David's Eyes," modified to become the special lullaby of my little Ruby. I thought it fit her perfectly, because of the rootbeer brown eyes. I love singing love songs to my kids--it makes the lyrics take on a whole new meaning.

Ruby's eyes are rootbeer brown
and if you look in them you'll see
They're just a mirror of all the things she loves
and every time she turns to me
I can only see my reflection
and I wonder to myself
Why she'd give me all her affection
When she could have anyone else.

They say love is blind,
well, that may be
'Cause she sees in me something I can't see
You know a heart will embrace what the world denies
When it sees
Through Ruby's eyes.

When I'm tired, and when I'm sad
And a shadow hides the day
Her eyes will sparkle bright
Catch the dimmest light
And send it shining back my way

Like a crystal caught in a prism
Like the diamond on my hand
It multiples somewhere within her
and comes out in a rainbow again

They say love is blind,
well, that may be
'Cause she sees in me something I can't see
You know a heart will embrace what the world denies
When it sees
Through Ruby's eyes.
When it sees through Ruby's eyes.


Jenny Rebecca (Barbra Streisand)
I substitute my own baby's name. If you have a brand new one and are thinking about all that lays ahead for them in this new life, you can hardly make it through this one without crying. It's a goodie.

Jenny Rebecca, four days old
How do you like the world so far?
Jenny Rebecca, four days old
What a lucky, lucky, lucky
Lucky girl you are
For you have swings to be swung on
Trees to be climbed up
Days to be young on
Toys you can wind up
Grass to be lying on
Sun up above
Pillows for crying on
When you're in love
Ponies for riding
Wind in your hair
Slides to be sliding on
Leaves in the air
Dogs to be caring for
Love to be giving
Dreams to be daring for
Long as you're living
Yes, you have
Dreams to be daring for
Long as you're living
Jenny Rebecca, four days old
What a lucky, lucky, lucky
Lucky girl you are...

Somewhere Over the Rainbow (The Wizard of Oz)
This was one of my kids' favorite lullabies at the time I was pregnant with Charles, so they sang it at his funeral. It's been his ever since. After he died I set it as the ringtone on my phone for many months. When I was ready, I changed it. Cheesy, I know, but it helped me ease through the loss. With this one it's always important in our house to sing the whole thing, even though most people usually don't include the beginning.

When all the world is a hopeless jumble
And the raindrops tumble all around
Heaven opens a magic lane

When all the clouds darken up the skyway
There's a rainbow highway to be found
Leading from your window pane
To a place behind the sun
Just a step beyond the rain

Somewhere, over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby

Somewhere, over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

Someday i'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far
Behind me.
Where troubles melts like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly.
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why, then oh why can't I?

If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?

Someone's Waiting For You (The Rescuers)
I've always loved this song, but it never quite fit my kids because they had never had to wait for a family, as the girl in the movie does. I can't believe that I will now have an adoption story of my own, and now know the girls I've been singing this for. Of course, it also works great when your kids are feeling sad and alone any time in life.

Be brave little one
Make a wish for each sad little tear
Hold your head up though no one is near
Someone's waiting for you

Don't cry little one
There'll be a smile where a frown used to be
You'll be part of a love that you see
Someone's waiting for you

Refrain:
Always keep a little pray'r in your pocket
And you're sure to see the light
Soon, there'll be joy and happiness
And your little world will be bright
Have faith little one
'Til your hopes and your wishes come true
You must try to be brave little one
Someone's waiting to love you

Always keep a little pray'r in your pocket
And you're sure to see the light
Soon, there'll be joy and happiness
And your little world will be bright
Have faith little one
'Til your hopes and your wishes come true
You must try to be brave little one
Someone's waiting to love you

Hush, Little Baby (traditional)
I always make this about the mom, not the dad, because I'm the one singing, right?? The words have lots of variations, but these are the ones I remember enough to sing regularly.

Hush little baby
don’t say a word,
Mama’s gonna buy you
a mockin' bird,

If that mockin' bird don’t sing,
Mama’s gonna buy you
a diamond ring,

If that diamond ring turns brass,
Mama’s gonna buy you
a lookin' glass

If that lookin' glass gets broke
Mama's gonna buy you a billy goat

If that billy goat don’t pull,
Mama’s gonna buy you
a cart ‘n bull,

If that cart ‘n bull turn over,
Mama’s gonna buy you
a dog named Rover,

If that dog named Rover
runs 'round
You'll still be the sweetest little
babe in town.

There are many other great traditional ones, like "You Are My Sunshine," that I love to sing, too. I'm not going to give you the lyrics because I'm sure you already know them! Somewhere deep inside.

POSTSCRIPT: How could I have forgotten "Edelweiss" and "Candle on the Water?" These I sing in honor of my dad.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

We Received Our Referral!!

Just when we had gotten used to the idea of waiting several more months, and RIGHT after I booked a ticket to go visit Sara in England instead, we got our adoption referral! Because I wasn’t expecting it and I always thought it would be a phone call, I was completely shocked yesterday afternoon when an email titled casually “referral” popped into my inbox.

I immediately forwarded it to Steve and called him. We opened it to see two adorable children, looking quite a bit like girls. As we tried to sort our way through the attached information we realized that they were—girls! We called Radu and he confirmed that yes, though we had requested a boy and a girl, we had been given two girls, ages 3 ½ and 5 ½. He said we were at the top of the list and had been waiting a very long time, and this was the first new sibling set that came available. They felt they should give it to us anyway. On top of that, we had to decide THAT DAY. Usually you’re given at least a week to decide about a referral, but because these two girls already had a court date in July, there was no time to lose. Before we hung up I did think to ask Radu whether it would be possible for us to accept these girls AND request a baby boy. After recovering from his surprise, he said it probably would, though he didn’t know how much it would slow things down.

The vast majority of people accept their referrals, unless there is a serious medical concern beyond what they agreed to take. We had assumed we would do the same—but getting two girls was just such a shock after expecting a boy and a girl. We knew we’d really need to think about it. (Adoption is so weird that way—you’re presented with all these choices you’d never have with a pregnancy, but since you have them you suddenly feel you SHOULD have them.)

We had only three real concerns: 1) How would Jasper feel about not getting a brother? 2) How would Ruby feel about having a girl so close to her age—and one even taller than her? 3)MOST IMPORTANT—Were these the right children for our family?

First we put Steve on speakerphone and consulted Jasper and Ruby. Much to our surprise, they were thrilled. Jasper said that, as the oldest, he certainly had enough boy power and muscle to balance out three girls, and to keep them under control. Ruby said she had never cared whether she was the biggest girl. We took the kids through several scenarios, trying to warn them about how their feelings might change. Try as we might, we couldn’t change their opinions—even hours later.

So, our next move was to call our families and ask them to pray for us. (Including my dad, who was on a conference call. “Interrupt him—it’s an emergency!” I told Carol.) We figured if we had to make this decision quickly, we needed all the inspiration we could get. As I said, our biggest concern was whether they were the right children for our family. Yes, you can look at the details in their files, but it’s really a joke to try to base your decision on that—in the end every child, adopted or biological, is a completely unknown package. Mind you, I did not begin this process necessarily believing there were specific children intended for our family. I had not wanted to go there—too much pressure on the system. I decided that if Heavenly Father loved all His children equally, He would surely be happy to see any two who did not have a family gain a family. After all, none of God’s children fall through the cracks. I think it’s really helpful for an adoptive family to become comfortable with this idea, because there are so many different cogs in the wheel of international adoption that it’s nearly impossible to believe each step with be inspired and perfectly executed on your behalf.

Over the past year of waiting, however, we have had some spiritual experiences that made us feel very distinctly that God did, indeed, have very specific children in mind for our family. I had a couple of blessings in which the Lord assured me that there were children born in Ethiopia but meant for our family, and that our taking them would bless multiple families. (I felt this referred to families in Ethiopia who would also be praying for the well-being of these children.) This is why we felt it was so important to have an answer to prayer yesterday about whether these children were right for us, even though we had previously thought a boy and girl were right for us.

We received the email at about 1:30. By 5:00 pm, all still felt muddy. No clear answer had emerged for either of us. I had consulted our adoption social worker and another Bountiful mother who had just accepted a referral for Ethiopian siblings. The mother told me she did not get a sure feeling until after she went ahead and accepted the referral. So, I had tried to make a decision and proceed—no dice. Finally, I got in the shower. Ha—you laugh!! But this is where I do my best thinking. All our big life decisions seem to be made there. In the shower I thought to myself, “Maybe the answer is not exactly either way. Maybe we should accept the girls, but also request a boy.” I met Steve at Pace’s (our other great life-decision haven), and told him my idea. He had thought about that, too. In fact, over the past year we had asked ourselves how we would react if we were asked to take three instead of two.

We went home to call Radu and ask him again about requesting a boy. While we were there, Susan, my great therapist who helped me through my pregnancy with Charles, returned my earlier call. While I was on the phone with Susan something happened. Through a combination of some things she said and, I think, just the final ripening of our day-long decision-making process, I suddenly felt overcome with feeling for these girls. My concerns melted away. Susan was right—there were so many positives about this referral. More importantly, as I told Susan details about the children, that they had come into the orphanage in December, I suddenly had a memory. I can’t believe I hadn’t remembered this all day.

Back in December of last year, in the early weeks, I began to have a strong feeling that something was progressing in our adoption. Maybe a child had been born, or a mother had passed away, or a child had been delivered to an orphanage—I didn’t know. I couldn’t really describe the feeling, except to say that I felt our adoption had somehow been consecrated, begun spiritually, by Heavenly Father—the wheels had been set in motion. A few weeks later, as I decorated for Christmas, I had the feeling that someone was missing and it wasn’t Charles. I felt someone was alone for Christmas and they should be with our family. I remember thinking at the time that someday when we got our children I would have to ask the orphanage what had happened to them in December of 2008. And now I knew: they had been delivered to their local intake orphanage on December 16th. As I had this thought I just started to cry. I had been thinking, sort of sub-consciously, negative thoughts of their father for giving them up. All of a sudden I thought that maybe during those first two weeks of December he was making the agonizing decision to give them up out of love—to give them a better life. Their mother had been dead for two years, and he must have tried monumentally to care for them for two years. Maybe the feeling I felt in early December was when their father had finally received his own answer to prayer to give up the girls, and their stewardship was beginning to be transferred to me. As soon as I stopped judging this father and instead saw his love and anguish, I was flooded with absolute certainty. I could imagine their mother, perhaps on the other side petitioning the Lord for them, that they might be loved and appreciated and given a family. I felt like she would say to me, “I know you only wanted one girl, but love my two. LOVE MY TWO. Take them both.” I thought of Susan’s suggestion that maybe this wasn’t a girl instead of a boy, but rather a bonus girl.

Well, Steve sat across from me and watched me sob and listened to me talk through the tears, and seemed convinced that we had our answer, too. We also both felt strongly that we should ask for a boy, too. And yes, we know that’s three! We happily accepted our girls late last night, and are still waiting to hear back about the possibility of adding a boy.

Here are the details:

Older Sister is 5 ½ (approximately)
Younger Sister is 3 ½

I removed the photo and further details for fear of getting in trouble--I thought it was ok to post after accepting the referral, but I guess I'm supposed to wait for a confirmed court date. Sorry!

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Aimless Articles

This is why I love having a nine-year-old son.

Mom: "Jasper, will you please pause the TV?"

Jasper: "Why?"

Mom: "Because! I am making a phone call. Why do you have toe nails??"

Jasper: "You're crazy."


Once again, here I am laughing so hard I can hardly type. Why is that funny, you ask? (I know, that's what my husband is asking, too.) I have always gotten a kick out of saying nonsensical things to my kids and seeing them look at me like, "What is that supposed to mean?? Moms are supposed to make sense!" What's fun is that Jasper is now so wise to me. He just thinks his mom is crazy, and is silly back. OH, it warms a mother's heart. Some parents hope their children grow strong bones--I just hope my children grow strong funny bones!

P.S. Remember when we used to TURN DOWN the TV? Now we just pause it.


------------

I don't blog regularly and probably never will, because it would make me an emotional wreck. I mean, who does that? OK I know, a lot of people do. But they clearly aren't as fraught with issues as I am. I think it's a writer thing. First of all, who is my target audience? What is their motivation for reading my blog? How much of a NARCISSIST does it make me to think people would actually care about what I have to say EVERY SINGLE DAY? (Look small, Facebook and Twitter)

On top of that, what would I SAY every day?

The reason I'm writing this is because today I had a moment where I thought, "if I were a blogger, that's what I would write about today." I was walking into Paradise Cafe when this really cool-lookin' tough guy walked out with a very interested and attentive look on his face. Right behind him was his wife. She was saying very earnestly, "I mean, she washes her towels every day!" I always get suck a kick out of this! I call it the Marriage Minutia Phenomenon. You would never try to impress a really cool tough guy on a date by talking about your friends laundry (OK maybe you would, but only because you were so nervous you were uttering mind-numbing ramblings). This really cool tough guy would never feign interest in how often your friend washes her towels.
But then, once we're married, we feign interest in all sorts of things! We ramble on about mindless details all the time, and we're not even nervous.

(After marriage you have children, who ramble endlessly in your ear about their scabs so you can't concentrate while you're trying to blog. And that's why you don't blog.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Ode to the Freelance Project

My office a mess
My kitchen a disaster
My children found wandering the streets
Because of this crazy freelance project!

My feet swollen
My bedtime 6:00 am
My TeVo homework piling up
Because of this crazy freelance project!

P.S. I was going to write this in the form of a haiku,
but didn't have time--
Because of this crazy freelance project!

Saturday, May 02, 2009

Three Coins in the Fountain

May 2nd is my lucky day. Three of the luckiest coins in my fountain were born on this day--my sister Rachel, my cousin Jenny, and my son Jasper.

It's hard to quantify or even identify the many influences Rachel has had on me. As my oldest living sister, she directed the family like a second mother. You know those beliefs you hold to in childhood that seem written in stone? The ones that, in retrospect, may be inconsequential but that seemed to be pillars of life at the time? (ie., Thou shalt be a straight-A student, dress up big for every holiday, run for every school office, stop talking back to your mother, and dry yourself off BEFORE you get out of the shower . . .) Well as I look back now, it's hard for me to distinguish which ones came from my mom, and which ones came from Rachel.

I remember crying when Rachel graduated from sixth grade. I couldn't fathom how I could successfully walk home from school without following dutifully behind her. I remember crawling obediently out of the house on my hands and knees, as she safely escorted all her sisters from danger. I believe we were making french fries, and thought we had created a grease fire in the pan? I remember being afraid to call her when I got engaged because I knew she would question my judgment. And I remember being genuinely surprised to learn that she was excited for me to move to Boston. She was living in New York, and was excited to have a family member nearby. At the time I still thought of her as The Big Sister, and I naively thought she'd have mixed feelings about her little sister's company. But she drove up from New York just to help me move in. Then I began to know and love her as a friend--not just a sister. Rachel has inspired me enormously in her perseverance of her dreams. She has pushed through every reversal, every rejection, and never given up. She is no friend of self pity. I hope she still achieves them all someday. I love you, Rachel.

Jenny is four years older than me. She influenced me in other ways. She got all upset on my behalf when my first not-even-a-real-boyfriend sort of broke up with me. She took me to lunch in Salt Lake as soon as she got her driver's license. She introduced me to bands from Oingo Boingo to They Might Be Giants (and interpreted their 'profound' lyrics for me). She let me tag along on dates with her fiance. And she knew I would marry my husband before I even knew it. Jenny and I don't talk as often anymore, but I never doubt that she's feeling for me. If I have sad news, I can be sure it will make its way to Jenny, and she'll be sad on my behalf. I love you, Jenny.

And Jasper--oh, Jasper. How can you put into words the influence your first-born child has on your life? I always wanted a wild boy first, and I got more than I bargained for in that department. What I didn't expect was that I was also getting a true companion. Because Jasper had a big vocabulary early, and because we lived in some lonely places, and had some rocky times in the first six years of his life, I have many memories of Jasper as my friend. In between butting heads, we've had many sweet moments alone together.

In Colorado we had many heart-to-hearts at Target (it was air-conditioned, unlike our house). He told me it was his life's dream to be a professional bull rider. Then when we had to do the move by ourselves, just me and him and baby Ruby, and I had to fire the movers for cheating me, it was Jasper who made me stop crying and get up and get working again. ("Mom! Grown-ups aren't supposed to cry!") When we moved to London we had so much luggage the only way to get around was to put Jasper in charge of pushing his baby sister in the stroller, following along behind Mom and Dad. He was only five. In London, we had hundreds of hours together on those long walks to and from school every day. Ruby couldn't talk, so it was just me and Jasper. I remember one particularly cold and rainy London walk when Jasper and I day-dreamed together about a place called California where the sun always shines. Jasper couldn't believe it really existed. Jasper and I still butt heads plenty--but he also makes my heart burst with pride. When someone is left out, all I have to do is point it out to Jasper and he will make sure they're included. When his sister is scared or sad (and they're not fighting), he protects her, speaks sweetly to her, and shares with her (often at his own expense).

In The Field, by Conrad Richter, one of my favorite books of all time, there is an amazingly strong female character named Sayward Wheeler. When Sayward has her first child, she runs the baby boy to the church to have him christened "Reliance," before her husband has time to object. She knows that her life on the frontier will be extremely hard, and that to succeed she will have to rely tremendously on this first-born son. Though all of Sayward's kids don't turn out the way she hopes, Reliance does. He is the strength and leadership of the family. Jasper, you are my Reliance Wheeler. I love you!

Rachel, Jenny and Jasper, you are three lucky coins in my fountain! xoxo