Growing Family

The Mom-Mobile

A couple months ago I was at a meeting with some other adoptive-mommy friends. We made every effort to talk till the last possible second, as we buckled our kids into their six five-point harness seats. Amie into her sporty Subaru outback, me in my beloved Audi wagon, and Jamie in her mini-van. Before leaving, Jamie backed up and put down her window to hang out and say "now girls, I know what you're thinking - you wish you were rocking a mini-van like me!" before she wheeled off.

We cracked up, and I held my keys lovingly, the keys with the first keyless entry feature I had ever owned. I drove home with my sunroof open, blasting (well, to kid-appropriate volume) my Bose stereo, feeling my car glide down I-40 towards home.

I've been anti-mini-van from the get go. In thinking about having a large family, I have worried about how to get them all around without owning a van. I have friends who have custom vans that fit, like, 15 people because their families are THAT BIG. Whoa.

Yesterday, the strangest thing happened. I was sitting on my porch, watching cars go by while the kids played with sticks. I was keeping my eyes peeled for a car that could seat seven. (I've seen one big SUV since being here, one in the Escalade/Yukon/Suburban size range) Then I spotted it! A small Honda wagon, like an Odyssey, but more compact. "That's it!" I thought. A mini-van! What a splendid idea!

Somewhere in the last five months, I seem to have lost the hate for the mini-van! Maybe it's the complete removal from American excess. Maybe it's the challenges we're facing in growing our family, and my increasing clarity over how much I want more children and how I want to raise them. I don't know, but suddenly, a mini-van just doesn't look that bad.

I think I'm growing up.

Parenting Peanut-Butter Head

There was supposed to be a picture illustrating the title of my post, but upon closer inspection of the camera, there was no memory card in it when I took the picture. So, use your imagination to see my daughter in her booster seat at lunch time, with full on peanut butter rubbed generously in her hair. I think she must have opened her sandwich and given herself a scalp massage while I went to get her sippy cup.

That feeling of why I oughta coupled with the even incantations in my head "stay cool girl, play it cool" pretty much sums up the parenting experience I've been having for the last week or two.

Historically, my children have gracefully taken turns going through challenging seasons, so as to not overwhelm me with massive developmental phase shifts, responding to life changes, shifting sleep schedules TIMES 2 type madness. Lately, they have not been so kind.

Yesterday I was trying to wrangle both kids into their coats and shoes to go to the post office. It took us two hours of morning preamble to get to the front door. That's where the melt-down began. It all started with a jacket. An innocent jacket. In the hands of a three year old, a jacket is not innocent at all, it is an evil, conniving beast intent on thwarting his every attempt to get.his.arm.in.the.hole! After significant flailing (we have enough flailing happening here that I have developed a carefully calibrated scale) which resulted in me being hit in the face with said jacket, then the Sprout receiving the same fate, and my several attempts to help him BREATHE.STOP.CALM.DOWN, which resulted in MORE flailing, yelling, and screaming, I ordered him "TO YOUR ROOM!", exasperated. It was during this time that the phone started ringing, and it was both my parents on speaker to talk to the kids. Small Sun was screaming in defiance from his room. Sprout was crying from the jacket to the face, and then for some other reason.

My days have been filled from morning to eve with "no!" and "Nee!" (Sprout prefers to defy me in Dutch), sarcasm, escapes, vandalism to home property, constant whining, tantrums, well you get the picture.

Makes me want to bang my head on the desk just writing about it.

Anyway, I haven't had much to say lately and I think that might be because my every last drop of energy it being greedily slurped up by these pushy preschoolers. I spend all my down time either passed out in a nearly comatose state, or desperately trying to think up a PLAN to rid our house of this behavior.

I'm pretty sure I know why we're seeing this behavior (hubby working extra, change of schedule due to school holidays, too much time indoors due to cold weather and loss of a car, time spent with cheeky peers, and really, just boundary shoving for the fun of it). And, I am being consistent in my responses. My love is filled with logic and they are smacking up against it over and over and over again. You think it would get old. I figure they have another couple days to keep this up, but they can't continue indefinitely. Having your privileges removed, yourself removed from the fun, spending massive amounts of time on the thinking chair, etc, only entertains for a while before they realize "all this whining and fighting isn't worth it, mom's gonna win." And that's actually a relief for everyone involved.

So, if you think of me, send a prayer my way. I'm gonna pull through this, and my kids will thank me for the tough love, but right now I'm pretty worn down. Okay, I'm off for a nap. I've got to conserve my strength as I'm on full-day duty today, since the Captain has a thing after work. I just hope that big chunk of chocolate I gulped down to calm my nerves won't interfere with my nap plans. ;)

He is SO Three

Today Small Sun voiced two noteworthy observations/questions.

This morning, in our bed, with the four of us snuggling, Small Sun said "I'm brown! And Pappa, you're white. And mommy's white. And Sprouty's white!"

Who told him that people with my skin tone are "white"? I didn't.

And this evening, during the bedtime wind-down, Small Sun asks The Captain, "are you Jesus? Are you Pappa Jesus?"

This boy has got a lot on his mind.

So do I.

Culture and Family Size

It's hard to imagine all of the ways living in a new culture will affect your daily life. You can do your best to think ahead and prepare for culture shock, but you can't prepare for everything. Once in a new society, a process begins in which you become aware of your values and how they line up, or don't, in the culture around you.

One very obvious way I am experiencing this dissonance between my dreams and ideals and those of the culture immediately surrounding me, is in determining the number of children that will "complete" our family.

My father's family is Irish Catholic and he is the oldest of six children. He and his siblings all had 1-3 children. My mother is from a Mennonite background (although her family left the Mennonite church when she was young), and she is also the oldest of six. In contrast to my father's family, my mother's siblings all have large families ranging from 2-10 children. My aunt and uncle with their ten children have the warmest, liveliest, most welcoming home I have ever been in. Every time I am there, a crowd is gathered because it is the favorite house in the neighborhood. There is never a time when there is not someone, or a small army, sleeping over or hanging out.

The church we were part of in Nashville was extremely family-focused and families with 5+ children were absolutely normal. Families weren't really considered "large" until they had crossed the 6 or 7 mark.

I love large families that are happy and healthy. I love the dynamics they develop: sharing, camaraderie, kindness, and empathy seem to be nurtured essentials when living in harmony with a small crowd. I especially love large families that live simple lifestyles, like my ten cousins in their city four bedroom split-level outside of Philly. I like when large families live right in the middle of a setting that might not share the value system of the parents and family.

So, with these influences being close to my affections, it's not surprising that my aspirations are for a large family.

(I) enter Sydney.

We are living in a neighborhood populated by working professionals. There are a lot of families here, as well. These families seem mostly to consist of women who pursued a career until their late 30s, early 40s before transitioning to pursue family goals. At the playgroup I attend, I am one of the youngest women there. The mothers of many of my children's peers are at least a decade older than I. 

The families in our neighborhood seem to embrace a lifestyle that includes private schools, luxurious holiday travel, often overseas, and nice houses and cars.

The largest family we have met since arriving in Sydney, has four children. The mother told me that their family is considered large and that they are living a counter-cultural life to have that many children. They are sacrificing lifestyle comforts to have a large family and that puts their children in a very different place than their peers.

My friend expecting her third child told me that she gets a lot of comments and looks for having three young children. While she would like to have another, she says she is concerned about the criticism from others, as well as the ability to be able to provide financially, for a family of four children.

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I think one of the reasons the whole adoption vs. childbirth situation is weighing on me so heavily is that before moving here, there was the cultural support to have and raise as many children as we felt personally able to embrace. We had many strong, large families around us to provide encouragement and guidance. Sure, it would be a huge undertaking and financially taxing, but the emotional and practical support was there to help us.

Here, when people hear that we would like to have a large family, they are nearly incredulous. Most people "know someone" from a large family, but don't know any large families themselves.

Given the cultural dynamics of our neighborhood, small families make sense. If you're having your second child at 42, a third is probably not a realistic option. If you are invested in a life of luxury, better to spread the resources amongst fewer people, rather than more.

Recently, I've been spending a lot of mental energy processing this. I am holding my ideals up to the light, in order to discover how much they are influenced by the culture we've moved from, and how much they should be influenced by the culture here. The fact that we have moved here to stay, rather than to visit, means that it is important that I consider how my children will manage growing up with these peers and their families.

Back home it would be easy to say "another baby, the more the merrier!". Here, just one more baby tips us to the "large family" end of the scale. Who knows what another 2 or 4 babies would do! Bringing a child into a family is always a serious consideration, and currently there are extra dynamics influencing my thought process.

I find myself thinking fondly of my city cousins spilling out of every door and window of their home, and the way they simultaneously shock and inspire their friends and classmates. Everyone wants to be part of their family. I wonder if a large, strong, joyful family can win admirers, even in a culture that is not embracing large families in general (as evidenced by the number of large families present)? I certainly hope so as I think this will be just another cultural box that our family won't ever be able to fit in.

PS- I certainly hold no judgment against families with smaller numbers of children, nor in regards to how families choose to allocate their financial resources. I am trying to explain how our personal family values are showing up in contrast to those of the neighborhood around us. Neither is better than the other, as they are so personal to each family.

Edited to Add:

The Captain and I were talking and he encouraged me to frame this thought process in a context that I could relate to: raising a large family in New York City or San Francisco. The cultural influences might be more BIG CITY than country specific. Here, like in other big cities, your dollar just doesn't go very far past housing, so the bigger house you need, the less you have left to cover other expenses. A larger family necessitates a (somewhat) larger space, be it luxurious or bare-bones.

This reminded me of a contestant on Project Runway. When the camera crew followed her home, they found her New York City apartment to be home to herself, her husband, five (I think) boys, and a turtle. I loved seeing those boys rough and tumble in an untraditional home space, right in the middle of the city! Granted, she and her husband both had successful careers to live in such a space.

I had to laugh when The Captain said "I grew up not fitting in, in any place, in any capacity, my whole life. If it hasn't worked any time in my life up until now, I don't see us starting to make life decisions for our children and future, based on fitting into a specific space." So true. We are a unique pairing and our family will be more of the same.

Number 3, Where are You?

I am still heavy on the search for answers about adopting as an Expat. My understanding went from "NO", to "maybe" and now it is leaning back towards "no" again. I still have a few outstanding emails that I hope will make all the difference. I get waves of hope and send out flurries of emails.

Right now I think I'm coming to the end of the line. The big guns. The Hague Convention seems to be intent on squeezing me out of the pool of prospective adoptive parents. So now I'm waiting on an answer from the top dogs. "Do we fall within the acceptable guidelines?" Whose idea was it to want to start the adoption process, as an expat, a mere matter of weeks after the U.S. implemented the Convention Guideline's, anyway?

So, right now the path is forked in front of me. Once again there are two choices: adopt, and give birth. I know that the fact that I have giving birth as a presumable choice is part of my privilege of health. Also, that I am already hugely blessed with two! I don't want to take that lightly. There are, however, a couple issues on my mind.

First of all, I am ready to start to draw a third child into our warm circle. It happens in twinges, and warm moments here and there. It happens in me tucking adorable baby things into the bottom of the drawer under my children's clothes. It happens in me thinking about my double stroller in the container, and how three children can actually fit on it nicely.

This desire hasn't bloomed into full-blown readiness yet, but I am ready to start the process one way or the other. However, I can feel the over-ripe longing not far around the bend.

I don't think The Captain is feeling as ready as I am.

Also, I had always imagined that the next child would come via adoption. I was late last month (you know), and I found myself torn between sadness and disappointment over a potential missed adoption, and excitement at the possibility of being pregnant. There isn't an absence of discussion, in the adoption world, about overcoming the issues that surround adoption being a second choice, when it comes to building a family. I haven't heard many people talk about the sadness of birthing being a second choice, after letting an adoption dream go, be it temporarily or permanently. With Small Sun, I wanted to adopt first. I was thrilled to be pregnant second. I'm trying to sort out my feelings on our next child scenario.

Lastly, the thing that my friends promised has come true: my memories of The Sprout's time in my womb, and her exit from it, have begun to glow and shimmer. Sure, sometimes I can still physically feel in my body, the 23 weeks of daily vomiting, and the dramatic birth that left me in bed for weeks, and took a year to heal from. But instead of those being THE memories of my pregnancy and birth, they are becoming SOME of my memories. I am having fuzzy feelings as well. I don't remember much of her first year, what with having two under two and all, but now that the edge of exhaustion has worn off, I'm starting to daydream again.

So, there's a lot on my mind. Unfortunately, the U.S. business day is starting right when I'm trying to fall asleep around 11 pm. After staying too long on the Internet, and watching too much t.v., I get emails from adoption agencies, closing more doors. Then I try to go to sleep, but instead, lie there trying to find a way through the Hague Convention maze that stands before me.

It would be much "easier" to get pregnant instead. (So insensitive to those who can't, I know!) But first I'd have to let go of the adoption dream, for now, and fully move on to embrace a pregnancy. And even then, I don't know if we'd get pregnant. So far, our Maker has seemed to lay a clear indication of when we're supposed to get pregnant, and when we're not.* Oh, and then I'd have to talk the Captain into it. :)

*We tried to get pregnant for a year, using ovulation charts, temperature taking, etc, before adopting Small Sun. I  had a pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. After a year we started the adoption process. Five months later, Small Sun was home. Then, when we decided to try for a sibling, I got pregnant the first go. So, I really don't know what to think regarding my fertility, except that I am so thankful we have Small Sun in our lives. Two weeks one way or another, in our lives or his mother's life, and we would have missed each other entirely.

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.

And The Award Goes To...

You would think that being hyper aware of the adoption losses of Small Sun and the way different experiences might induce anxiety for him, I would be more aware of how both my children may struggle through transition. Quite the opposite, actually. I get the award of the year for Oblivious Mom.

The Sprout had her 15 month shots about two weeks ago and the ped. observed that she had an ear infection as well. We agreed to watch it before doing antibiotics (which basically means that I say "okay, we'll watch it for a bit" fully aware that I WILL NOT call in for a prescription unless the world is coming to an end). So I've been focusing on her getting lots of sleep and good nutrition and vitamin C and fluids. On top of the effects of the shots and her ear, she's been cutting her incisors for what feels like FOREVER.

I feel as if I've been holding her non-stop for a week. She's always been a snugler but lately, the moment I set her down is the moment she starts crying. The Captain dubbed her "The Saddest Girl In The World" because when she cries it is SO dramatic, and SO heartfelt. Even if it's over something I can't see as significant, she applies her full energy to her grieving.

The last couple days she has been playing on her own some, but as soon as I turn to something I actually need to do, she plasters herself to my legs, crying with all her might, sprouting cartoonish tears, and falling down on my feet. It is A.N.N.O.Y.I.N.G. I've spent so much time holding and soothing and consoling her and I'm about worn out with it.

Then tonight, I was on the phone with my mom, and she was commenting on how it sounded like I was in a big empty space, and indeed I was: our house is about half full at this point. My mom made the comment that the Sprout must be having a really hard time, with not feeling well to begin with, and then witnessing her whole world and environment change without having the verbal ability to process it.

Dumb mom moment of the year. (I hope.) Here I've been talking Small Sun through every step. Prepping him for each change before it comes, saying goodbye to furniture before it leaves, rehearsing over and over what will happen in the next couple of months. I completely overlooked the little bewildered girl hanging onto my legs. How do I explain to her what's happening?

I think my attention to Small Sun's losses sometimes clouds my focus on the Sprout's need for guidance. I feel so bad that I haven't done more to help her through this. I've even been steeling myself for a rash of regressive behaviors in Small Sun, when we move to my parent's this week. I've got to take some time to figure out how to soften this transition for my baby girl too.

Going for Gold

Sometimes, as a mom, I hit a low. You know those days where you are so busy doing everything for everyone? By the time you get to eat your food, it's cold. You're trying to use the bathroom and kids are climbing on your lap. After making a great dinner, and feeding everybody there's still cleanup and bedtime to get through. Those days where it feels like a week from wake-up till bedtime.

One day like that this week I just took a little time out (hubby was home) to go cry in my pillow. I'm learning to acknowledge that my own needs for care are real and important (I'm actually pretty good at taking care of myself but I also try to be unselfish and take good care of my family). Also I'm learning that sometimes it's appropriate for another person to help me meet those needs and sometimes I can ask God to meet my needs. (I know, here I go turning off my readers who aren't into God!)

So as I was crying in my pillow I started to tell God about how tired I was and how I wanted someone to mother me for a change.

God speaks to me with pictures. First I became aware that I could sit on God's lap like a child and He was taking care of me. Literally, I felt warm and comforted, and like my hair was being stroked. I instantly began to relax and find peace.

The next thing I saw was a kind of movie of me taking care of my kids. I saw myself doing the mundane tasks of motherhood (feeding Sprout in her chair, changing diapers, picking up toys), except liquid gold was pouring out of my hands and coating everything I was touching. The most basic actions were immensely valuable.

Sometimes I need that reminder - that these often boring and mundane activities are actually life-giving, and that I am creating an environment that teaches my children that they are valuable.

I'm glad that I am learning to let the God-head meet some of my needs because they can meet them so completely, and I can be filled and move on, instead of pulling and pulling on a person to fill a deep need. There are many, many needs that are met interpersonally, but sometimes you just can't beat Father God's hugs.

How many of you have I scared off?

Fending off Fawning

For the most part, our multi-hued family goes through daily life without major incident. People do always comment on how handsome Small Sun is, and how much they love his hair, but it is usually within the realms of propriety.

When we experience a serious response, it is always "positive" attention. Today we experienced probably the most flamboyant display yet, and Small Sun's response is what took me a bit by surprise.

I've decided to take my queues from him when someone is goo-gooing in his direction, and to draw boundaries appropriately. Today a sales woman started gushing at him the minute we walked through the door. She hugged him several times and kept tousling his hair.

!Alert!Alert!Alert!

I know what you other moms are thinking. "You let her TOUCH him!!!"

Well yea, I did. He was grinning at her and hamming it up and not acting scared or shy or overwhelmed. And while she was way too much, she didn't set off my radar as an icky person.

Her actions and words turned me WAY OFF, what with the "I want to take you home" and "can I have you, please?" and coming around from the sales counter multiple times to get close to him. She instantly jumped into letting him smell soaps (it was a cosmetics/skincare store) and stuff.

I guess I kind of felt for her because she was obviously one of those people who really wants kids and is just all about kids. She said she wanted to adopt and I said she probably could. She confided that she is just finishing a divorce, and that they had been matched with a child when it all fell apart. As soon as she gets on her feet she wants to adopt. So...it genuinely felt like she was just really into children and transracial adoption, not like she was a predatory baby snatcher adopter.

ANYWAY. She also gave the obligatory "oh, and you're certainly cute too" to the Sprout, before lunging back for another squeeze of my son. You've all heard before how I feel about that, Heh.

ANYWAY-Take-II. After we left the store I asked Small Sun "did you like that lady or not like that lady?" I wasn't really sure if that question was too vague and open-ended for a two year old and was wondering how to phrase it better when he shot his answer back without pausing "don't like that lady".

Well, he had me, and her fooled.

The lesson I learned and am mulling over - regardless of how Small Sun is responding, I need to put up some boundaries in those situations. I usually do because he is obviously uncomfortable with people's obnoxious attention, but now I see that he may act pleasant even if he's feeling uncomfortable. I don't know why and he hasn't done it before, but now that I know...

Lastly, I was talking about his hair with another mom at playgroup today (she has super curly hair) and I saw him get quiet and start listening. (Just FYI, I never talk about "good" and "bad" hair and most of the time I don't discuss it in front of him at all.) Later I asked him if he liked or didn't like me talking about his hair and he said "like it".

I'm thankful he's getting verbal enough to tell me how these situations are affecting him.