Growing Family

The School Search Begins

Today I visited an infants school (Kindy through Grade 2) that people RAVE about. Today was an open day for family of students and I went with a new friend and her son, who is six months older than Small Sun.

When we got there the Grade 2 class was putting on a dance display in the courtyard. As I began to look around and take in the surroundings, I began to notice the song the children were dancing to: Jump Jim Crow. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jump_Jim_Crow (sorry, my hyperlink insert isn't working) Wikipedia says "Jump Jim Crow is a song and dance from 1828 that was done in blackface by white comedian Thomas Dartmouth (T.D.) "Daddy" Rice." Great... Just what I wanted to welcome us to the school!

I also noticed, rather quickly, that the percentage of children of color in the class was quite low and that no children seemed to share Small Sun's ethnicity.

We continued on our school tour, and the woman guiding us was extremely kind and helpful. At the conclusion of our tour I asked her if she knew the percentage that ethnic minority children represented in the school. She became visibly ruffled and explained that she wouldn't know that figure, as it would not be important to the school. She asked whether it would be important to me?

I explained that yes, it was important to me that my child was not one of a very few childed of color in his class. She explained, still flustered, that in Australia, all children are educated equally and that race is not something that they consider relevant in education. She assured me that they learn about different culture and religions and have a multi-cultural curriculum as part of government regulations.

I noted that in a class with a high percentage of children from varying backgrounds, children are less likely to be teased for being different. Finding her footing, she told me with gusto that I needn't worry about that! In their school they are extremely strict and no teasing of any kind is tolerated.

I walked home dissapointed. I have had strangers tell me, glowingly, how they loved this school, including a mother in a interracial relationship with biracial children. I had gotten my hopes up.

There are two things that I'm walking away thinking about: one is how we use this term "multiculturalism" like a big blanket. We throw it over anything we want to bring into our lives to "enrich" us without going to the trouble to understand the history or context. Like the Jump Jim Crow song. I can just imagine it being listed on a children's cd here as "African American Folk Tune" or something, and how teachers here might consider it a multicultural contribution to their curriculum, completely unaware that it is a racist stereotype from inception. I'm sure the teachers haven't done research on each song they played so judge whether or not it was appropriate. Nor have I done so with the "World Playground" cd my children love to listen to. We dance around to songs in other languages, enjoying their rythm and style without ever looking deeper to know what we are treating lightly.

Secondly, I am so tired of the polically correct position of "colorblindness". In efforts to avoid being racist or innapropriate we say "I don't see you as Indian, I just see you as a person", or "when I look at you I don't see brown skin, I just see a human being." We would never say to a colleague "oh, are you female? I hadn't even noticed! I'm so into gender-equality, I didn't realize you were a woman!" We wouldn't say "oh, you're wearing this clothing as part of your religious beliefs? I thought it was just a new fashion!" We don't ignore, or pretend not to see, gender, religious dress, age, etc, but we are trained that it is impolite to notice ethnicity.

Noticing difference is not descrimination. A child's ethnicity is one part of the many parts that make them unique. We recognize differences in learning styles in regards to gender. We are sensitive to teaching students from different religous backgrounds. Yet we deny that ethnicity should be seen in education.

On one hand, I think it is more true here when people say "where you come from doesn't matter, being Australian is what matters." There seems to be less of a divide between "us" and "them" (unless you are Aborigine: the media coverage of Aborigine issues seems very negative to me). There's just so much to sort out here.

Too Close to Home

You know, I've been thinking about the conversations I mentioned and I've been trying to work out what our strategy should be here. How we can preserve our "family culture" that values our children's privacy, as Amy said.

I think that the difficult thing in regards to sharing information about ethnicity, when your child is transracially adopted, is that information about ethnicity is completely linked to first family reality. It is difficult to respond to people's inquiries about your child's ethnicity without introducing the fact that your child is adopted. Then, inevitably, people want to ask lots of questions about adoption in general or your child's adoption circumstances in particular. We do not share the particulars of Small Sun's adoption story with strangers and are conservative with how we share his story, even with family and close friends. It is his story to learn first.

The line of questioning seems to follow this pattern, phrased in a number of different ways:

What is your son's ethnicity?
What is your partner's race?
Why is your son a different color than your daughter?
Where did he come from?
How old was he when you got him?
Who was black, his mother or his father?
And on into his mother's situation that led her to place him.

Of course, the conversation never goes that far...but that is the direction people try to go in.

Sometimes I am dishonest by omission. If a person asks me if my children have two different fathers, depending on the person, I might say "yes" and leave it at that, or I might say yes and introduce adoption into the conversation.  Technically it is true so I just leave it be.

I find myself wanting to explain our family, epecially to churchy people, so that people don't think I have two children by two fathers in two years.

Anyway, I don't respond with as much aggravation as I used to when people want to know Small Sun's ethnicity. I don't think it is an inherently rude question. I do, however, think it is rude for people to continue that line of inquiry into his birth history. So that is what I need to flesh out - how to answer one question while closing the door to further questions.

I need to find a way to say "that is personal information" without putting people off. After all, we are trying to settle in and make friends here and I don't want to sequester us simply because people are ignorant on adoption.

In Nashville, I never sought out connecting with other adoptive families. I developed some natural relationships but my focus was more on trying to find a way to connect with the African American community. I think here I might need to do some work to connect with other adoptive families. I don't want Small Sun to be alone in experiencing adoption. I didn't really think that through before we moved.

Culture shock comes in many shapes and forms!

Conversations of the Week

Conversation #1

Last week, we were walking down the street when a man was looking for the entrance to a construction site near our house. I pointed him to the entrance.

Man: "are these both your children?"

Me: "yes, my son and my daughter."

Man: "but they are...but he is...are there two different..."

Me: "we adopted my son"

Man (puzzled): "what"

Me: "we adopted my son"

Conversation #2

Visiting a home-group for a church we're considering, the members asked lots of questions about our family and were interested in Small Sun. We had already told them that we adopted him into our family.

People: "what is he?"

Us: "he is black American"

People: "is he all black? because his skin is..."

Us: "yes, he is biracial"

People: "the other half, what is it?"

Conversation #3

Today at the park, my kids were playing with a little boy who was there with his grandmother (I think she was his grandmother but she might have been his nanny.). 

Grandmother: "these are your children?"

Me: "yes, my son and my daughter."

Grandmother: "he is brown and she is white"

I nod.

Grandmother: "is he from mixed

I say "yes" while hearing her continue "mixed marriage?"

I don't correct her.

Grandmother: "children from mixed marriage are the most beautiful children. Such beautiful, beautiful children."

It might bear mentioning that the man in conversation #1 had accented English and appeared to be from the Middle East, perhaps? In conversation #2 the participants were Malaysian immigrants and Australians with Vietnamese heritage. In conversation #3 the grandmother was speaking accented English and another language with the little boy. I believe I recognized Italian, given that our neighborhood is historically Italian. Also, the more I look into it, the more my initial impressions are confirmed. Adoption is not common here. No one has assumed that possibility. At the playgroup I've attended for the last month, I'll mention that we adopted and people will say "I wondered why they looked so different" or someone asked me "does your husband have hair like your son?" with my daughter there as an obvious contrast.

I am facing two obstacles: back in the U.S., I would have quickly put people in their place for asking such forward questions. Here, I don't know what the cultural rules are, especially given the great mix of cultures, both first and second generation. Then there's the matter of Small Sun being at the age where he is listening and internalizing my answers. I feel like I'd know what to do, back in our old stomping grounds. But then again, back in our old stomping grounds I don't think I'd be fielding these type of questions. Or at least not three in one week! Suggestions?

Bits and Pieces

Mind if I unload floating thoughts from my brain?

Last week Small Sun told me "my cheeks are brown, my hair is brown, I'm BROWN!" with great glee. I couldn't believe that right after writing the post about his lack of color awareness he made that discovery. He also has started yelling "I'm black, I'm proud" at places like the zoo and the playground. I smile at the other parents. I don't think he has any idea what it means. I hope he feels good about yelling that phrase for a long, long time, even if it makes me uncomfortable when he does it at high decibels amongst strangers.

A big part of me wants to go to the neighborhood church, even though I don't agree with their theology, just because the people are nice and it would be so easy!

I went to a big kid's consignment sale today that I had been looking forward to for weeks. It was very underwhelming. Back in Nashville we had great kid's consignment sales that were HUGE with everything under the sun, and because they only accepted nice stuff, everything was nice. I miss the good second hand kids stores we had as well. I only know of one here and it is across town.

I am ashamed to admit it, in case Sster is still reading, but I miss American Capitalist Consumerism. I miss Target (the Target here is much smaller and more expensive, though everything is still made in China), Old Navy, TJMaxx, Diapers.com, and everything for cheap all the time.

Today at the sale, I bought a locally made gift for my niece. The vendor had beautiful clothes as well as some tshirts with old fashioned advertisements printed on them. One was of a black servant vacuuming, in that vintage style that is sometimes okay, and sometimes caricature and demeaning. I told the vendor that he might be interested to know, that from an American point of view, those shirts were offensive and racist and he might want to take that into consideration (especially since his shop is in a neighborhood with a high African population). He said "I understand, now that you mention it, it would be offensive here as well." Then why do you have it on a shirt? They were actually phasing those pieces out and they were in a toss bin for 2$ each. My friend Amy and I have talked about those pictures that you can easily find these days in the old-as-new recreations. Any thoughts?

I've been neglecting to do a meme that Cloudscome tagged me for. It's a book meme and I'm on my third book since being tagged. I want to pick a really great book to do the meme on, so you will all think I am so cool to be reading such cool stuff.

Starting over in a new place is weird. I'm realizing that in new situations, I make my personality like a blank canvas, like vanilla ice cream, waiting to see what the new people are up for. I don't want to make a fool out of myself or be something that they don't like. I just coast in neutral until I know what parts of myself I can be around them. I don't want to be the loud, obnoxious American with no taste and no culture, so I go heavy on my international experience and my broad interests. After I've somehow endeared myself to them as interesting, then I'll let out a few of my strong opinions. Wait, is that true?

I've found myself talking to total strangers, all the time, about my frustration with voluntary segregation, and my search for a diverse neighborhood. I think that's because in Nashville I feel like painted myself into a corner where my relationships were so dear to me, I didn't want to make people too crazy  with all my angst, so I came to the blogosphere for understanding instead. I don't want to do that again. So here, I'm saying things like "Hi, I'm Kohana. We've just moved here and we've been to some churches/neighborhoods/shopping centers that we liked, but honestly, they were too mono-cultural for us. We are looking for a diverse setting to affirm our diverse family."

The Captain and I got into a fight today. We never fight. Ever. We have conflict, but we don't get angry and say mean things about things that don't really matter. It's not very nice and I'm bummed that it happened.

Being the new girl everywhere, all the time, is hard.

Living without our stuff is really hard.

I'm a little bit stressed about money here. I haven't worried about money in at least five or more years. Moving here cost a lot of money, our income got reduced by almost half, and our expenses skyrocketed. We have a six month lease on our house and really, rent costs are the biggest part of our budget. I think a lot about if we should try to find somewhere else to live, and where that should be. Everywhere is expensive. I thought we'd buy a house here after about a year but that's not looking so feasible now.

Example: A house in our neighborhood recently sold. It rents for about 550$ a week. The payment on the INTEREST for a mortgage for that house would be about 2,000$ a week! Read it again. Crazy, huh?

I hope to buy a sewing machine in June. I am itching to sew.

I'm pretty used to it being fall here. It's been cold this week and the leaves are off the trees. It's still really green though. I just get sad when I look at ads from the States and everything is all tan and summer and beach vacation. It'll come here.

I think about my parents coming in August, several times a week. I can't wait.

Our car has issues.

I really miss Mexican food and black beans.

Okay, I think that is all of the fuzz sticking in my brain that I needed to shake out. Thanks.

And I know I don't say it enough, but for those of you who leave comments, I don't get to respond to comments as often as I'd like, but having your responses does so much to help me feel surrounded by community. I REALLY appreciate each and every one and feel so much comfort in your friendship, both live and web-based. Thanks.

How Can I Explain It?

We are looking for a church here. We visited one last week that seemed like a good candidate, though it wasn't a perfect 10. I've made friends from a neighborhood church we visited several times and I'm attending a playgroup there. Now that it is becoming evident that we're not going to be attending the church, people are asking us what we're looking for in a church, and how our home church in Nashville is different from theirs.

Where should I begin?

I'm having trouble coming up with a soundbite answer, but I've been thinking about it a lot. This is the best analogy I've come up with:

Most churches I've been to talk about God like He's a Superhero. Kids sing the song "My God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there's nothing my God cannot do!" From the pulpit, people talk about God's omnipotence and His power.

So if we're ageeing that God is a superhero, it seems like a lot of people and churches keep God the superhero as a collector's item. He's there in the box, unmarred by play, enshrined in His power. Exalted to a place of prominence.  He's awesome, yet distant, separate, untouchable. His superhero powers are listed on the box, but you don't see Him in action.

Then there's the people and churches who reach up on the shelf, yank superhero God out of the box, and start messing with Him so see, as The Captain puts it, "what turns Him on", and what He can actually do.

It may not be a theologically sound analogy, but that's what we're looking for in a church: people who aren't content to leave the bigness of God to Bible stories, but believe it when Jesus said that believers would do even greater works that He did.

Today, a leader from the local church was pressing me for what we believe differently than what we see in their service. I told him that we believe in the written word of God, but also the spoken, fresh word of God that comes through prophesy and the Holy Spirit who the Bible says is our teacher. That is, the source of current instruction in life. I said that we believe in healing, and the power of God to be at work in our everyday lives. His response was "thank you for telling me what you believe, but I actually think you'll be more interested to hear what I believe." That kind of surprised me.

I don't really understand it when you tell people that you know, first hand, of people who have been healed of AIDS, people who were suicidal who are living life with vigor, people whose marrriages were down the toilet and are now loving each other, kids who were deaf who can hear, kids who needed glasses and now don't, people in any bad situation that was turned for Good, and their response is "let me talk you out of that, that's not really real."  I mean, if someone told me that ice cream is actually fat free and the most important ingredient for health, I would be grabbing a spoon, not trying to talk them out of it.

Most of the time when I try to explain what we believe, people just stare at me. Then they say something like, "you might feel more comfortable in a Pentacostal church, if that's what you're looking for." Isn't that what we're all looking for? For faith to mean something? For God to actually be big enough to come down off the throne and do something? For Him to care enough about us to bring good into our lives?

A U2 lyric says "please, please, get up off your knees." I think it's when we get desperate that we start messing with God, asking Him to be bigger than Sunday School teaches us. Or rather, for Him to be as strong and mighty as they say He is. We build our beliefs about God based on what we don't see Him doing in our lives and in the world. He says "you have not, because you ask not." He's big people, and he can do some crazy stuff. But beyond that, the key thing for me, is that He really does love me and He wants my life to be good. The Bible says "every good and perfect gift comes from God". God doesn't make us sick to teach us a lesson, God doesn't kill our families to get our attention, God doesn't cause calamity because we're evil. God is good and things that are not good, are not God.

That is what I believe about God. I can totally understand other people not being where I am at, and if they are not interested in knowing God that way, I'm not torn up to try to convince them. I just don't understand it when they want to convince me otherwise. With God, it's not "too good to be true".

Drie Jaar Geleden (Three Years Ago)

It seems like it was a Thursday when I got the call at work that Small Sun was being born. I ran around, doing my best to close up cases, knowing I wouldn't come back after my pseudo maternity-leave finished. What an adrenaline rush, knowing that the child that might be your baby is in the process of being born.

It was false labor. However, after announcing to all my colleagues that the child I was adopting was being born, I didn't feel like going back for another day or two of work. I stayed home and waited. There was another false alarm.

Small Sun waited until the Captain was in Memphis, sitting for his test to qualify him for U.S. citizenship. Then I got the call. Labor time, get in the car and go! The plan was for us to be there during labor and delivery. With the Captain in our good car in Memphis, I called up my mom, who has helped us through every major transition yet, she rushed to my house, we threw the bags that I had packed, and repacked, and packed again, into our tired little Honda and off we raced.

Racing is hard to maintain on a ten hour car ride. It was when we were winding through the Smoky Mountains, right after seeing a tractor trailer with a load of sheet metal, tipped all over the highway, that I got the news: "you are a mother". Really, the social worker had no right to say that to me and I was a bit miffed at her for declaring my motherhood while it was not yet rightfully mine. We did our best to keep up our pace and our spirits as we drove through the winding mountain roads that eventually emptied out into the highway that carried us to the sea.

Charleston. City of magic and sweet breezes.

I met Small Sun when he was five hours old. Walking into the hospital after ten hours of driving, tired, excited, apprehensive, eager, I was first turned away by the nurses until a few phone calls clarified that I was "supposed" to be there.

He was tiny. Born by emergency c-section because of complications, his skin was scratched in a couples places, presumably during surgery. His mother extended him to me and I held him, quiet, focused, wanting to know him, but more wanting to support her in her opportunity to know him. His fingers were long and when I lifted his tiny hospital cap, at his mother's instruction, my breath caught at the sight of his hair, like black corn silk, thick on his head.

I took pictures with my cell phone and late that night, trying to fall asleep in the hotel room with my mother, I tried to text the photos to the Captain as he drove through a storm to meet his son. His cellphone died. I couldn't sleep. He arrived at about five in the morning and we lay, whispering in the dark, staring at the cellphone pictures, shivering with the enormity of it all.

That was three years ago today. I still sneak into his room every night to watch him sleep. Not many days pass without me marveling at the wonder of parenting this boy. He really is my Small Sun.

Pinch Me

The Captain and I have had been fortunate to travel a lot. Knowing that we didn't want to stay in Nashville, for the last five years or so, everywhere we've been we've asked each other "could you see us living here?" Even in places we really enjoyed, the answer typically came back "no", with a very few exceptions.

I am not sure if it was brilliance or insanity that inspired us to pick a city completely across the globe, a city that we had never been to, to live the next phase of our lives. We talked about visiting first. Part of me thought that if we visited, we would not like it enough to follow through on our wild plan. On this side of the commitment, I wonder what my impressions would have been?

Again and again I find that my breath is taken away here. My inner response to living here is that I feel like I've happened upon the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It is a constant gasp of "what luck!" I don't really relate to "luck" in general, but that is the best descriptor for how I feel. I feel lucky to live here. Time and again I exclaim to myself, to the kids, and to The Captain, "I can't believe we live here." I am giddy with pride and love when I say, "this is our city."

I don't know if it is the perfect coming together of right place, right time, right climate, right everything, or what. Everything just feels kind of...sparkly. Maybe that's waking up and looking out my bedroom window at the cove every morning and seeing the face of the sky mirrored in the texture of the water created by the wind. Every day is different and new, and even on the days when I am tired and lonely, it feels amazing.

So, here are a couple photos I took today of my city, on our visit to Taronga Zoo for Small Sun's birthday.

Look in the far upper right for a tiny, tiny Opera House.

The zoo is in Mosman, across the water from the Opera House and Circular Quay, on the north shore.

To get to the zoo, we took a bus to Circular Quay, which is the major hub for water travel in Sydney. From there ferries, jetcats, and water taxis head off in every direction. In Sydney, sometimes the fastest way to get somewhere is on the water. So, bus, to ferry, to cable car was how we got to the zoo. Getting there was almost as fun as the zoo itself.

Say It Loud

A lot of transracial parenting is just simple parenting. Then there are these moments that are just kind of...odd.

Today we were having a dance party in the living room (ahem), lounge, like we often do. Even Sprouty is starting to wiggle and twist these days. So Small Sun and I are dancing hard to James Brown and we're singing "Say it loud, I'm black, I'm proud!"

Now we love James Brown at our house. But what am I supposed to say? "Say it loud, he's black, I'm proud!"? And what about the little Sprout when she gets old enough to sing along?

I've made a new acquaintance here. She is also an American expatriate, married to a European, raising a biracial child. She is black.  I don't know if I should attribute it to us both being outside of American culture, or the common bond of raising biracial boys, but we have talked a lot about race and what surrounds it in the couple hours we've spent together.

The other day she asked me what I tell Small Sun when he asks me "what he is." She said that even though there are other children of color and other mixed-race children at her son's preschool, his peers ask her son what he is and so he comes home and asks her.  He's 3 1/2.

I told her I haven't told Small Sun anything. He hasn't asked me anything.

We read affirming books about being black. Like  Shades of Black, that shows lots of children with African heritage, all with different skin tones, hair textures and eye colors. But honestly, I haven't spoken to Small Sun about his ethnicity hardly at all. I tell him I love his curly hair or his beautiful brown skin, but that's about it.

The reason I haven't is that I don't want to draw his attention to the difference between us prematurely. I am ready to discuss it when he notices or when he says something about it, but it doesn't make sense to me to say "did you ever notice that you're brown and mommy is tan?" In my mind, I can't really figure out where that conversation would go. We talk about adoption, and we talk about his mother, and he sees her picture frequently, but talking about her wouldn't really lead to any explanation for his ethnicity.

About two months ago Small Sun was looking at his foot and he said "hey mom! My foot, it's brown!" and I said something like "yes, good job!" because he still can't tell his colors with any consistency.

So to wander around this topic, I guess I'm saying that I'm trying to affirm the idea of being black, in hopes that when Small Sun starts to realize he is black, he'll know it's a good thing. At this point, I think I'll continue to wait until he's asking before I start explaining why we don't "match". I guess I'll just have to start singing "Say it loud, he's black, I'm proud" next time we're grooving with James Brown.

Being a Mother

It's funny how I am so enamored with what I've got, I can't imagine anything better.

We adopted Small Sun first, and then decided to try for a pregnancy. I tried to imagine what a little "us" would look like? My template for perfect was a little mocha baby with the shiniest, dark, curly hair. I was concerned that I might find our pale biological child to be wan or splotchy. I was worried that our white baby wouldn't be as pretty as our brown baby. It's laughable now, but it was my secret concern during my pregnancy. Not a huge one, but something I thought about.

In this whole process, trying to find a way to adopt again, the alternative is having another biological child next and waiting for an opportunity to adopt. We did plan on having a "blended" family that way and we haven't discounted having more children that I carry.

I found myself thinking "but if we have another child with our genes, it will be exactly like The Sprout. We want to have different children with different personalities and not little carbon copies." Hm. Someone shout some logic at me. It didn't dawn on me how silly my thinking was until I was looking at a blog where the author has a picture of her four biological children as the header.  It struck me that Tamara's children don't all look exactly the same. I don't know them personally, but it sounds like they each have their own personalities. Oh yea, and what about my girlfriend's twins who are so different from each other?

That's something crazy about loving what you've got. On one hand it's so great that I want more. On the other, I can't really imagine what "more" looks like. If the next child is adopted, I don't know where they'll come from or how old they'll be when they get here. If I birth the child, I really don't know what they would look like either.

Then there's always the fear that I think many mothers experience. Things are so great now, what if the next child would have poor health or a disability? What if adding to the family means changing the great dynamic?

That's the thing with kids. Each one is a risk. I think, for me, each one is worth the risk. In the case of special challenges, there are blessings to be found there as well.

I'm just laughing at myself that I didn't learn the lesson the first time around: each child is beautiful and unique and brings joy in the way that only he or she can.  And even though my two specific children nearly made me cry with stress when they decided to be ornery in a very serious, very long, very crowded, very un-friendly to children church service this morning, they will be the suns that I rise with in the morning tomorrow.

My Current Favorite

I can't believe that I don't have a dance category! I trained in classical ballet from junior high through college. Unfortunately, I haven't been dancing much since the kids entered my life, but I am still an avid enthusiast.  This piece is the most  aMAZing thing I've seen for awhile and I thought I'd share it with you.

Thanks to Carrie who turned me on to Singing in the Rain, which I'd never seen before she gave it to me a couple years ago! Lil, tell me what you think about this!

PS- The choreographer is Supple and the piece is from the Top 8 show on Australia's So You Think You Can Dance. Sorry, the video quality isn't great.