Growing Family

Rough Day

Today just didn't go very well. It was like a model airplane trying to get off the ground that keeps falling and getting damaged until it is a pile of parts that has to be scooped up and carried home to be rebuilt and tried again another day.

The thing is, today felt awful, but I know it was full of really important moments for my kids, even if it left me battered. 

Things started to go poorly when Small Sun threw a tantrum over the Wii before leaving for school.

Then, we spent the whole 20 minutes to school talking about slavery, both historical and modern-day. I introduced the history of African slavery in America for the first time (I know, he's six. It's another post.) We covered indentured servant hood, restavecs, the reasons people get trapped in slavery, etc. 

On the way back to the car, after walking Small Sun into school, Finch planted himself on the hill and would not move an inch towards the car. I don't know what he wanted, and could not budge him with persuasion or choices. When I tried to guide him down by holding his hand, he fell down on the grass and lay there, in the rain, resolute. I just stood next to him with the baby wrapped in a raincoat, waiting for something to change. Another school mom offered to carry the baby so I carried Finch down to the car where he calmly let me buckle him in.

In the car on the way back home, Sprout became furious with her doll for a seemingly harmless wardrobe malfunction. She hurled the doll to the floor and proceeded to hurl insults at it all the way home. "I hate you! I never want a doll like you, ever! You're the worst doll because your hat slips off and I never, ever want you!" (Rinse and repeat for 15 minutes.)

Upon arriving home, she threw another fit when I put her doll away for the day as a consequence for her abusive behavior in the car. 

Feeling exhausted already, I was so pleased to see my sister on Facebook and we agreed to Skype.

Not having spoken for some time, we had lots to talk about. Sprout had a tea party set up and got very upset that I was still talking on Skype instead of playing with her. On came another fit of ridiculousness. From behind the closed french doors of her bedroom she verbally attacked me and made her angriest faces.

A couple hours later it was time to get Small Sun from school. Finch refused to come to the car. I gave him some time to work it out, but again, he wouldn't budge. Finally I picked him up and carried him to the car. On the way he began beating me as hard as he could, on the head, with his toy car. It hurt. Really hurt. I stopped as we were walking by the trash can, opened the lid, and flung the car in. Then I cried nearly the whole way to school. Thank God for the curbside pick-up, I was a red-eyed mess by the time we got there. 

Later that afternoon Sprout was playing dolls in the kitchen while I was cooking. Her dolls became increasingly rude to each other and one refused to play with the other based on their differing nationalities (is it coincidence that the "mean doll" shared a nationality with a friend from preschool who doesn't always play nicely?). I attempted to redirect her doll's play to be more kind, but a couple minutes later it was getting nasty again. I set aside my dinner preparations and sat down on the floor with her to talk about racism. We had a very serious talk. We talked about how ridiculous it would be if someone said she couldn't be friends with so-and-so because they are not from the same country or have different color skin. We talked about how ridiculous it would be if someone said she and Small Sun couldn't be brother and sister because they have different color skin. We talked about how people who think those things are ridiculous! And then we played dolls together and our dolls were in India eating cake and planting dahlia gardens.

There were some more bumps along the way to bedtime and at supper I remembered that I agreed to come to talk to Small Sun's classroom tomorrow about adoption, which always makes me nervous. 

Some of the behavior that we're getting from Small Sun and Sprout right now is downright ridiculous! (Yes, we like that word!) Backtalk, tantrums, stomping, saying horribly mean things, and slamming doors have all entered the picture at this point. Oh, and don't forget little lovelies like "you're not even a good mommy!" and "I don't want to be your son/daughter anymore!"

My sister asked me on Skype if I let them get away with that sort of behavior. My answer is yes and no. I don't think people can control people. I am sure if I shouted loud enough, spanked hard enough, grounded them from everything, I could control them into good behavior. But that's not what I want. I want them to learn how to handle the freedom of making choices for themselves. 

I'm trying to teach them "be angry, but do not sin." I am trying to teach them that words can be life-giving or toxic. I am trying to teach them that they always have a choice to make, even when they're feeling big emotions. And I am trying to teach them that all decisions have consequences. Even if you say sorry, there will still also be a consequence attached to a bad choice. 

As much as I would like to have children that are always well-behaved, are obedient, and don't embarrass me in public, I would like to have children that are strong and confident to work through their own mistakes more. So on a day like today, when all I want to do is check out, put them in front of the tv while I eat chocolate in the pantry, instead I dig in my heels and stand my ground. 

This is the safest place in the world that my kids can learn that unkindness will not win you friends, and that if you are nasty no one wants to be around you until you're nice. It's a safe place to learn that if you throw a tantrum over playing Wii, you won't get the opportunity to play it again for some time. Or that we treat everything with respect, even toys, and we don't trash our things physically or verbally. It's a place to learn that if you hit with a toy, you will not own that toy anymore because we do not believe in violence. It is a safe place to learn about the injustices in the world, and how the roots of massive wrongs lie in our own hearts and it is up to us to dig them out every day. 

It was a rough day, and I'm apprehensive about tomorrow. There are moments when you are in the storm of parenting and just praying that it all comes out right in the end. It is another day to be comforted by Isaiah 40:11

He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.

That covers me and the kids with grace, which we very often need!

 

Park Convo

We are slowly going mad enjoying our school holidays. Earlier this week I had one crazy day where Small Sun's kindy class, and Sprout's preschool class both arranged school holiday park play dates...at the same time...at two different parks. I did them both, with a newborn baby, and fresh baked cookies to share. (You may each award me a gold star now, thank you.)

Perhaps because of this extended jaunt into crazy over-extension, the baby became ill and we have been quarantined at home the entire rest of the week. I rue the day I decided to be supermom!

Anyway.

At park playdate #1 I had an interaction with a fellow preschool mom that left me a bit speachless.

I walked up, pushing the baby in the stroller, with Sprout and Finch walking with me. I had dropped Small Sun off with a friend from school, to go to the other park ahead of me. Immediately this mother (who I have had very little contact with, but know to be an expat from the U.K.), said "oh, you're the one with the foster baby!" I introduced myself and gave her my name. When she started asking about the baby, I asked her if she was interested in foster care. (This is one of my current strategies for re-directing personal questions about the baby's situation.)

"Oh no, I could never do that." She replied. "What I would really like to do is adopt."

"Oh?" I asked.

At this point she leaned in and said "I'll say this quietly because we're in a mixed cultural area (she looked around for emphasis): what I really want is to adopt a little Chinese baby."

I think I just blinked, but didn't really respond. We had only been at the park all of about 48 seconds.

"If they find out it is a girl, they just abort them! There are just tons of little Chinese babies that they don't even want. I used to live in Russia..."

"Oh did you?" I interjected, hoping to get to another topic we could relate on. "I lived in St. Petersburg, where did you live?"

"Moscow", she replied. "The Americans used to come to adopt the babies there, but they all have fetal alcohol syndrome, you know. "

My mind kind of boggled, processing so many different possible responses, and I just didn't respond. I got her talking about Russia, then preschool, and then we were safely away from the topic. 

This interaction made me realize several things. 

First, this sort of conversation used to happen in Nashville ALL THE TIME. I run into someone I don't know and have no relationship with and they tell me their opinion on foster care or adoption. Often they just haven't "done their homework" as my dad says. They don't really know much about the factors and dynamics at play, but that doesn't stop them from sharing their perspective with me. 

I suddenly became aware that I haven't had that kind of experience in a long time. I am out of practice with my reaction there as well, because I just haven't needed it. Most often here, people ask me questions about foster care and adoption and really listen to my answers. They don't seem to have a pre-set opinion. They're curious and interested. I like that. 

Second, I still just don't always know when it is appropriate to stop and attempt to broaden a person's perspective, and when to just let it go. I will jump neck-deep into that cold creek for a friend, because I can't maintain a friendship without honesty. For a random aquaintance...not so much.

I wonder if she would have felt differently about sharing, had she seen me with my brown son? With Small Sun at school, I "pass" as a mom of all white kids much of the time. I think people filter their comments somewhat differently when they see me in the adoptive-mother-of-a-brown-child role. There are so many ways for people to (mis)perceive me these days, with the Baby Ant looking passably like my child as well. 

Ah well, food for thought. I might need to brush up on my responses. Yet again, I feel blessed to be in Sydney where my day-to-day interactions are ones of respect and open-mindedness. 

Cornrows

Today I took Small Sun to have his hair braided. I finally found someone here who was happy to do it. She is a student at Hillsong College, and hails from Barbados. 

He did a great job sitting still, watching shows on the iPad. 

The farther into it she got, the more he pulled and cried. He can tend to have a tender head and certain spots really bothered him. We just made it to the end. Much longer and I think he would have taken off!

I loved watching the process. I was amazed that she did everything the same as when I've tried, but her fingers were just somehow much more dextrous. Where I get tangled and let the hair go and it ends up all lumpy and bumpy, she just flew through the stitches. The Captain asked if after watching I will be able to do it...heh, I think not. I'm trying to do just what she did, it just hasn't resulted in a wonderfully smooth braid like she turned out over and over.

He started off shy, but by the end he felt like a million bucks, and it showed. When we arrived home, Sprout was all adoring and exclaimed "You look JUST like 'kuwati' kid!" She thought he was AMAZING, and chased him around asking to touch his braids.

A couple hours on is another story. He is crying and scratching, saying the braids make him itchy. 

I haven't found a do-rag in Sydney, so I sent him to bed with the old pantyhose trick. I should not have been surprised when The Sprout insisted on having one too. Those two are thicker than thieves and she couldn't bear to be left out. Of course on her glossy hair the cap kept popping right off! She went to bed dedicated to having it on.

The girl who braided it said she hopes he gets two weeks of wear out of them. I'll be surprised if we make it to Christmas, at the rate he is wiggling, and scratching and whining. If he likes them and learns to leave them be, and his hair holds them, then we may go for a more extravagant style next time. I just loved watching "S" braid, and I loved when his hair was half braided, and still brushed out on top. I just imagined all the wild and crazy styles we could do if I could get my braiding down. I'm one of those moms that would say a fast yes to a mohawk, blue stripes, you name it. It's just all so much fun! 

A Stone's Throw

It is amazing how little I actually know. Sometimes I am just shocked when I think I have things all figured out, and then the situation spins and I get a peak from another angle and realize, I had that so wrong. 

In the last three days I have discovered that there are three transracial adoptive families living on our street and a street in our neighborhood. Two are across the street from my house. Literally, I could hit them with a stone's throw. How did I miss that?

How often are the things we need in life right under our nose?

So there's this family that sometimes comes to stay across the street from us. I'd noticed them before because it's not every day you see a black woman with dreads, and a white man with long hair, and a beautiful, brown curly headed child walking down our street. You other transracial families will know what I mean when I say they showed up on my radar! Anyway, they come and go, and eventually I learned that they are the children and grandchild of the retired couple who lives across the way. Recently we bumped into them when my children were hanging out in the eucalyptus tree in front of our house. Their daughter came over to play "monkeys" for awhile and we promised we'd hang out again soon.

That was several months ago but this week they came back to stay for a bit. In the last three days we've probably spent a cumulative six or seven hours together. We've been on long adventures in the reserves around our neighborhood, and had relaxed cups of tea on the verandah. My new friend has worked her way into my baby's heart even though he is reluctant of strangers. 

Yesterday we were at the park and Small Sun was talking to The Mom about a movie character and saying, "you know, he's brown, like us..." How often will my son get to have a brown "us" to identify with? It thrilled me, and brought me pain at the same time. As I pushed the stroller with my two light children, and her daughter and my brown son ran ahead, I felt the pang as people smiled at them charging by. Any casual observer would probably think they were both her children.

To be honest, I have had very, very few moments where I felt like I missed out on something by not being Small Sun's biological mom. I've heard lots of other mothers through adoption talk about little stings and pains they experienced, and I really haven't related. In that moment though, when I assumed that other people thought that The Mom was Small Sun's mom because they were both brown, it hurt me. For once I felt that there was something I missed in not being genetically linked...for once I found myself wanting to "match".

Imagine my surprise when today The Mom told me that her daughter also joined their family through adoption. I just assumed that they "matched". It never crossed my mind that The Mom and I might have so much more in common than I thought. It really just astounded me how inaccurate my perceptions were.

In my whole experience as a mother through adoption (a sage five years, next month), I've read and read and thought about what my son "needs" to be a healthy, well rounded individual despite being transracially adopted. In my head there's this formula: x number of same-ethnicity mentors, y percent saturation of people of color in main environments, + parents who are completely educated on every important piece of African American history and literature, EVER = happy, well adjusted adult. I'm being silly...but I'm not. 

Recently I had the thought "what if instead of coming up with what I think Small Sun needs, and asking God to provide that, I ask God to meet Small Sun's needs without dictating what those needs are?" 

At our church's weekly gathering to encourage and connect women, the speaker taught about directing our own "self-talk" to be empowering us rather than tearing ourselves down. She said "when you have attempted something and given it your absolute best effort, it is WRONG to then berate yourself for not having done it better or achieved more." Of course we are always trying to improve and grow, but hating on ourselves for the distance between the mark we're hitting, and our ultimate goal, cuts our feet out from under us. I was so convicted when she said that.

There really is a big challenge for me there, to have my goals in mind, but to also pray with God for His goals for my son (all of my children, but I'm talking about adoption here). And while I'm praying, to not direct my focus on where I'm not, but rather on where I am going. 

My perspective is so narrow, and limited. And sometimes, like this week, I get shaken and spun, and it all ends up looking so different than I thought it did. 

School, Revisited

We are really needing to make a decision about where to send Small Sun for school next year. The school year begins in February and we are already way behind in applying for private schools. We are just coming to the conclusion that this is actually what we want to do, and I'm feeling a bit panicked that we've left it too long.

Choosing a school here is a bit tricky for me. Maybe some of you remember what happened when we first got here and I toured a local school. The more I talk to Australians (both anglo/caucasian or non-anglo), the more I am starting to believe that my child is much less likely to have negative experiences in school directly related to his African American heritage. That is, it seems that even if he was in a majority-anglo school, he would probably have a very different experience than if he was in a majority-caucasian school in the States. (Is anyone else stumbling over all of this descriptors? I can hardly keep everyone's politically correct language straight these days!)

However, even if my son is not as likely to experience racism or prejudice, I still don't think that being in a homogeneous environment where he is the odd one out, is what I want for him.

I have a lovely, amazing friend who is a wonderful teacher. Seriously, this chick is devoted. On a recent trip together, a group of us were chatting and she relayed a story from her classroom. In her class she has one child whose skin is much darker than the child's peers. In the class picture, against the dark background, this child didn't show up. She felt so horrified to have made this mistake, and in the future will always make sure to have the students in front of a contrasting background. She never meant to make the child feel awkward. And while the classmates didn't tease this child, they did have a laugh at the teeth and eyes floating in the darkness of the photo. Not maliciously, but because they are kids and they thought it was funny. But she was mortified, and felt so badly for that mistake. 

I have actually read several accounts by adults, describing their experiences as darker-skinned children in lighter-skinned families/school environments where similar situations occurred and they felt embarrassed, humiliated, alienated, etc. See, my passion to have my kids in a diverse school environment isn't just about racism. I know kids self-segregate and that being in a diverse school doesn't mean they are going to be singing "We Are The World" at graduation. I just think that a school where there are lots of kids of different shades, different nationalities, and balancing home culture and language with Australian pride, just makes more sense for our family. We are, after all, Dutch-American-Australian with two languages and two colors represented in our family*. It can be a lot for a small child to carry around in their backpack.

So right now we're looking at two schools.

Option A is public, local (walkable), highest rated academics in the area, good sport fields, majority anglo middle-upper class socio-economic demographic.

Option B is private (yet affordable), Christian, 15 minute commute, Spalding method literacy program, no sport fields (use local parks, which is normal here for many schools), very diverse both culturally and socio-economically.

And while our proximity to School A is really great, we're in a rental property, and were we to buy, we would most likely be buying in the neighborhood of School B, given local housing prices.

True to form, I am having trouble making this decision from where I am standing now. My mind spins off to ask "Where can we afford to buy? Shouldn't we register for school there? Can we afford to live in Sydney long term? What about moving to California? Should we home-school so we can travel? I don't want to home-school. How long will we be in Australia? Maybe we should move up the coast where we could afford a house and live by the beach? What is going to happen with The Captain's work? Can we afford private school for three children? Three children? Wait, we're meant to have more! How are we going to get the other children into our family if we're in Australia?" And at that point my head is spinning and steam is pouring out my ears and I am holding the school enrollment forms and applications, completely overwhelmed.

Please tell me that this decision is only this hard the first time you make it and that after it is done, each year just follows along like a duck in a row. I'm giving myself about two more weeks to get the forms in, knowing that each day I wait, we'll be farther down the list of applicants for private school. Sometimes you just do what you can and pray for the best outcome.

*To be fair, I am really starting to see now that even when I pan an environment and is looks very "light" to me, there is still a lot of diversity represented. Biracial children, immigrants, etc. So even our local school is likely to have children balancing multiple identity factors, even if it looks homogeneous at face value. That's something that I love more and more about Sydney.

Notes from the Hair Chair

Today I ventured out into the complete unknown and got a perm. Yep. Artificial curls are lifting from my head like happily crazed rockets blasting off. When my Stateside friends begged for pictures I told them "I have to figure out how to wear this hair because right now it is wearing me."

Beyond personal experimentation with my appearance (I have nerves of steel when it comes to trying new hair styles), today's salon visit gave me opportunity to step outside my box in another way.

To get my hair done I went to a Korean salon in a mostly Korean neighborhood. My sister-in-law (who is Korean-American) has always talked about how gentle the perm products are at her Korean salon so I decided if I ever was going to try a perm, that's the way I'd go. So, Sunday I asked a Korean-Australian friend for a recommendation and she offered to go with me, as she needed a trim herself.

I anticipated the staff at the salon speaking mostly Korean. As soon as we walked through the door, my friend explained that I was there for a perm (in Korean). Over the course of the next FOUR hours (does it really have to take THAT long?), I think three sentences were spoken to me in English. All the rest got delivered to me, via my friend's translation.

Being in an environment where everyone is speaking around you and you don't understand what they are saying is interesting. I can tend to zone out a little bit, knowing that no one is speaking to me or expecting me to respond. On the other hand, I can get a little bit paranoid.

It was like it happens in the movies. Two stylists and my friend are standing over my head, looking it over, touching it, and talking, and talking, and talking, and talking in Korean before my friend gives me one sentence of explanation. I imagine the rest of what they said that didn't make it into translation:

"Look at this tired hair. It hasn't been trimmed in, what, years? And this color, natural brown is so 1991! Don't look now, but did you see her skin? Breakout! I don't even know if we can work with this. And oh, did you get a look at those thighs? Thunder! Someone let Godzilla in the salon!"

Sometimes I IMAGINE people are talking about me in another language...and sometimes they really are. So I had to make myself comfortable with that.

Over the course of those four hours, only three other Anglo (white) people passed through the salon. Their presence was noticeable because suddenly some English broke the steady flow of Korean coming from the hairdressers, the clients, young and old, and the Korean pop videos on loop on the flat screen tvs. Two non-Korean speaking Asians entered as well and I watched them navigate the language barrier.

I would not say I was uncomfortable, but it was a bit awkward to be there. I was there for four hours.

My son is in our family 24/7 for forever. Every day when he looks around him, he does not match his surroundings. Yes we speak the same language and we share American culture, but when he is looking at appearances (and he really, really does), he does not see himself reflected in his family environment.

That's got to get old. I know it gets old. He's four and a half years old and we talk about it a lot.

"Mom, there aren't very many people with brown skin in Sydney, are there?"

I think it is hard for white adoptive parents to ever get into situations where they might get to feel a tad of the alienation that a child of color can feel in a white family. If we're living in mostly white environments (I mean countries that are majority white, not neighborhoods), we have to go out of our way, on purpose, to get into a setting where we are the "only". I think we are often out of touch with a dynamic that our children feel every day.

It was good for me to spend those four hours today not matching, feeling clueless, navigating the unknown. Not that our children always feel like that in our families, but the displacements involved in adoption can result in those feelings both at home, and in the birth culture. It's just that I am so surrounded by a pillow of white privilege, I don't really get to see it from my son's perspective most of the time. It was good to be reminded.

Braids, Take 2

This morning I dug in and gave cornrows another go. I've started and stopped a couple times. This is the first time I actually got a successful row. And by *successful* I mean it has a start, a finish, and some definition. I realized today that I am not going to be able to produce show-worthy rows in my first couple tries. If I get a couple rows down and they are loose and uneven and work their way out during nap time, well, at least I got to practice.

Here's what I got (sorry the images are not all upright - I can't figure out why typepad doesn't have a rotate option):

First I tried a couple rows on Sprout (my birth daughter) to get a feel for the braid without adding in the curl and short length factors. As you can see, they're lumpy and bunchy and frizzing out after only a few hours in.

 

 

I decided to try a horizontal pattern instead of front to back to see if it would be any easier, and it was. Don't laugh at my pattern. I was totally inspired by Ra'mon-Lawrence Coleman's swoon-worthy style and thought I'd at least try the overlapping horizontal row idea...I don't need anyone to tell me that his hair and what I accomplished aren't even related!

I also did really wide rows because I really struggle to pick up the hair when it's narrow. So, I'll need more practice before I can do small rows. Before I've wet and moisturized the hair in effort to make the rows tight and smooth but I really had trouble holding the hair. Today I did it dry, with a little bit of stiff cream at the parts. It was much easier to hold, but there were many more frizzies.

This post is a "hi, I'm Kohana and I'm flunking "doing my black child's hair". I've always felt that white parents raising black boys *should* be able to manage it long. They may choose to cut it short, but they should at least be somewhat proficient with longer styles. I have been really bumming that I'm not more successful at this. If I can't figure this out soon, I'll just have to cut his hair because I can't have him looking less than great just because I've got a thing to prove (to myself and others).

At this length I am only happy when I have moisturized, combed out, and single twisted his hair. That will look good for one, maybe two days before it loses all definition. It doesn't take THAT long, but when it comes to getting three kids out the door for preschool days, it doesn't always get done. If we're home I don't mind letting it go a couple days, but when we're out I want it to look nice.

The Captain and I have "different levels of sensitivity" when it comes to Small Sun's hair. He doesn't really mind if Small Sun's hair doesn't look "done". I do. So I do it, and he doesn't. I'd be interested to hear how hair works out in other families raising black children (adopted or otherwise). Or really, children in general. How many men in two-parent households are doing their children's hair? I would imagine that hair care largely falls into the realm of "women's business" and we are the ones caring for all heads of hair. 

We only got five rows in. Five rows of squirming and crying "I DON'T WANT BRAIDS!" while we did playdoh and lunch. I think movies work better but we'd already had enough screen time before I started. After five rows I took a deep breath and realized that the rows I'd done wouldn't last, so if he was totally over it, I might as well call it a day and let him go play. We'll see how far we get next time.

Do you all cover your boy's hair at night? I don't know where to buy a do-rag here. Maybe someone wants to mail me one?

Okay, enough about the whole thing. At least I got five rows in...it will go better next time.

First Braids

When Small Sun was a baby his hair was really soft and his curls were big. Like many families, we waited to cut his hair until after his first birthday. For the last year or two we've kept his hair long enough to show off his curls, but short enough to be really easy to keep groomed and styled.

The Captain has really wanted to let Small Sun's hair grow. He loves his curls! Of course I love his curls too, but I'm the one who does his hair so longer hair means more time! So now that I am over the (very) new baby stage, and Small Sun's hair is about three inches long, I'm trying to learn how to braid. I tried to do cornrows last week and had to give up on it. For one thing, I don't know how to french braid to begin with, and the curls around Small Sun's crown are really tight, so I just didn't manage to get the braids started.

Today I tried something I knew I could execute. I think these are called box braids? It took an hour and a half and my bands kept breaking. Cheap. Anyway, we'll see how it is looking tomorrow. Small Sun's hair is a lot more coarse than it was when he was a baby, but it's not really kinky enough to hold things like twists. We'll see how we go.

 

What I don't know, is if this style is appropriate on boys. You don't see many (okay, I haven't seen ANY) boys with braids here. Back in Nashville you saw all kinds of long styles on boys but here it seems to be short or loc'd styles. So internets, give me some feedback. Is this style a) boy appropriate, b) current or outdated, and c) decently executed for a first try? 

He is so rough and tumble and we're coming into the season of really windy (dry wind) weather so I'm trying to work extra hard to make sure his hair doesn't get damaged by the elements. I've got some new product (mixed chicks) coming from the States so I hope it is a good match for us! 

Ten Brothers

About two weeks ago Small Sun announced that he has a brother named Muddy. Shortly after that he informed us that actually he has ten brothers! They live in Kenya. Since then Muddy and his ten (in total) brothers have become a frequent part of our daily conversations.

According to Small Son, the ten brothers live in Kenya, and all have brown skin, like Small Sun. Small Sun and his sister, Sprout, have been on multiple trips to visit the ten brothers. The ten brothers have given presents to Finch, and they share toys with Small Sun.

The names of the ten brothers change frequently. Muddy stays the same, but the others can be called the names of Small Sun's preschool classmates, our family's real names, the names of church friends, letters of the alphabet, etc.

Small Sun includes the ten brothers in anything that he's excited about, or processing, or interested in. Like, Small Son might say "oh, we're going to the beach? (reality) My ten brothers love to go to the beach and once they gave me a bucket and shovel (wishful thinking) so that I could build a sand castle with them. (fantasy)" He combines reality with wishful thinking and fantasy.

Of course it does not escape my notice that these brothers have brown skin and live in Kenya. I am not sure if Small Sun has latched onto Kenya because his grandmother lived there and has told him a lot about it, and he knows about Barack Obama's connection to Kenya?

It's so interesting (and scary!) to try to help a (barely) four year old understand the concepts of ancestry, migration, and ethnicity. We've talked about how Small Son's birth father is African American and that means his ancestors come from Africa and his ancestors had dark skin, etc. But at this age it is all a bit difficult to sort out. Sometimes when he sees pictures of people with brown skin, Small Sun will say "those are my ancestors in Africa!" He doesn't get the concept of past and present to the extent that he can understand ancestry.  He does get that he is connected to Africa and that he is connected to people with brown skin.

I've always heard that play is one of the best ways to interact with your child on the subject of adoption. The emergence of Small Sun's ten brothers is making me think that he might be ready for some play-based adoption learning.

I hate the vagueness of "Africa". I imagine I join many Americans with African heritage in wishing that I had something more specific to tie him to. When we participated in a West African drum workshop I wondered "is this Small Sun's heritage?" Here in Sydney there is an African population, but not really a cohesive presence of African Americans,  so in looking for cultural connections, African cultures are present here, but I have no way of knowing what is specifically relevant to Small Sun. Now, with his current interest in Africa, I can only present information on a variety of countries and cultures and let his interest lead us.

Small Sun continues to express his desire that our skin match. He often plays with Sprout's hair making it "curly". And he explained several times that even though Finch was born with light skin, it would darken, and he is holding out for The Captain's skin to darken as well. Recently he tried to convince me that when he was born he had light skin, and he pulled out his birth story book to show me. I had to explain that while he was lighter, he did indeed have brown skin.

After keeping Small Sun's hair short for over a year, we are currently letting it grow into a mop of wonderful curls. At church a few weeks ago a friend of ours asked Small Sun "are you growing your hair out?" and he answered "no, because I have a chocolate face." In the car on the way home I asked him if he wanted to grow his hair out and he said "no". I realized, however, that he might not know what "growing it out" means. After I explained, I asked him again and he said that yes, he did want his hair to be longer so he could have long curls. He also wants me to cornrow his hair (I'll try!), and wished I would braid his hair like his sister's. I also don't know where he got "chocolate face" from, as we haven't used that as a descriptor.

In all of this, I don't know what else to do other than to continue to admire his features and admire similar traits in others, as well as emphasize all of the ways we are the same.

Now that he's in preschool I am sure that any day now we'll face a friend saying "that can't be your mommy, she doesn't look like you" or "that's not your real sister". I try to be ready for what's around the corner, but in the meantime I'm going to try to get to know the ten brothers and see where that leads us.

Not Enough Chocolate

There is a fine line between assuming your trans-racially adopted child is not suffering at all as the only person of color in a white family, and inserting drama and trauma where none exists. I do my best to always be listening to what Small Sun says, and asking opening questions when I detect pain or discomfort. Here are three recent examples that hurt my mother heart.

Over the weekend we were camping with 20 people from church. It was a wonderful time at the beach, and we really had a great time. The last day I was doing the sunscreen lather on everyone, including The Captain, who usually refuses to wear any. Small Sun asked, "Pappa, why are you wearing sunblock?" Hubby replied that when you are in the sun your skin gets darker and you need sunblock to keep it from burning. I was applying lotion to The Captain's back so I had a clear view of Small Sun's face, as he was looking at his daddy. His face lit up as he asked, "does your skin get brown in the sun?" The Captain, replied "yes", not seeing the wheels turning in the little head in front of him. My Small Sun jumped with excitement saying "your skin will be brown like my skin? We'll both be brown?" He was ECSTATIC. I had to turn my face so he didn't see the pain there, it was a giddy moment for him.

Yesterday at the bakery the woman helping us took a special interest in my two sweet kiddies and my round belly. She asked lots of questions and I was polite and cheerful. She proceeded to step around the counter to look closely at my little darlings, who were holding hands and looking at all the sweets. "But they're not the same" she said. "MmmmHm" was my non-encouraging reply. "But they're different. Their skin is different. They don't look the same." she continued, insistently. I acknowledged her observation and then left the store, still polite and cheerful. Small Sun became stubborn and had a little episode after we got out of the store, while he had been happy and outgoing moments before.

As I buckled him in the car I said "That lady in the store said that you and The Sprout have different skin. Did that make you happy or not happy?" "NOT happy." was the immediate reply. I continued with, "you and your sister DO have different skin, that is true. I love her skin and I love your skin and they are both beautiful skin. It is still okay to be sad if your skin doesn't match and it is okay if you don't like it when people talk about you and your sister looking different. Did what the lady say make you sad or was it okay?" "I want my softy (his special blanket), and my Pappa, and my teddy" he replied, tremulously.

Moments later he noticed his tennis ball on the floor and was so excited to see it and completely moved on and I let him. I just wanted to go tweak that lady's nose! I don't know why adults feel they can take the liberty to make children feel small and different. It doesn't take a very intuitive person to see when their comments are shutting a child down, does it?

Lastly, Small Sun consistently keeps asking if the baby in my tummy can be brown. I have tried to explain, again and again, that skin tone comes from birthparents and that his skin tone comes from his birthparents, and that since neither The Captain nor I have brown skin, this baby won't have brown skin. He's not getting it. He keeps asking.

Being the only person of color in a white family is hard. Even if you're Small Sun, who is resilient, social, confident, and strong. Seeing him go through these experiences where he wants to match is difficult. I hope he comes through loving himself and seeing himself to be as beautiful as he is.