Growing Family

The Joy of Family at Christmas

Between Christmas and New Years

The time between Christmas and New Years is a padded cacophony of joy. The kids are playing in boxes, and climbing on their father, who lounges on the couch for a grand total of 17.8 minutes a year.

Ever since we came home we've let them run riot.

Yes, we've been gone. First we went to Nashville to spend a glorious week and a half with all of my family. For the first time in about four years, we all gathered from our global corners (Canada, Tanzania, NYC, and Australia) to sip and sup and glow together. Despite my brother being sick, we had a great time and especially for the cousins, it was everything I wanted it to be. 

Then we drove up to Michigan to spend time with aunts, uncles, and my cousins. Again, the time was so fantastic, and I'm incredibly glad that we went.

We weren't planning on going this year, but when we discovered that the whole family was convening at my parent's house in Nashville, it was too good of an opportunity to miss.

We were amazed at the continued connection with our friends in Nashville. The relationships we had there took so long to build (Nashville has a high "flake factor"), but many of them seemed circumstantial and I expected that after we moved, over time, most of them would naturally dissolve. 

Both our core group of life-long friends, and our greater circle all rallied to embrace us. Some cancelled trips to spend time with us, others travelled from neighboring cities, and in general people went out of their way at the most busy time of the year to spend time with us. It impacted me and I am still processing what it all meant for me.

The trip to Michigan was also very special. My grandfather organized a special evening to celebrate us all coming to town. All my in-state relatives made repeated efforts to see us while we were there. Perhaps more than any other time. They were so generous and enthusiastic to see us. Like in Nashville, we felt celebrated and valued.

My grandmother has Alzheimers and is was so wonderful to see her interacting with my children, and getting to spend time just being near her, even if she doesn't know me anymore.

The trip was so worth the 40 hour door-to-door effort of getting there. The only shadow was having to leave baby with another foster family while we were gone. Now we are all reunited and shaking the walls with the happy exuberance of being in our own home, in our own routine. It is wonderful to go, and wonderful to come home again.

 

My Kids Are...

Dutch

American (and African American)

Australian 

Raising kids this way is so fun and also challenging. I used to be so obsessed with working towards my children being able to "pass" in each of the cultural environments they are tied to. At this point it has just gotten to0 messy, and complicated, and they are so wonderfully complex that I've just thrown up my hands and shifted to enjoying who they are and this amazing life we're living.

Recently a university student studying child development spent a term observing Small Sun. At the conclusion of her observation she gave me a copy of her final report and the following (paraphrased for length) observation was included.

A Trip Overseas

Small Sun, Sarah* and Emmy* were at the pirate area in the back of the yard..."We need a map", Small Sun told the girls. He grabbed a clipboard with some paper and started drawing a map of where they were going to go, marking the stop offs with an X. When Sarah asked Small Sun what the X's were for, he replied "this one's a gas station, this one's a busy road, and this one is Australia." Small Sun then noticed that there were street maps in the area. He pointed to a spot on the map and said "look, the Opera House."

I then asked Small Sun where they were heading. "Australia" he replied...I was surprised and thought I would ask where they were now if they were going to Australia. Small Sun had a quick think and said "Russia." I asked the children if they thought that we could drive all the way from Russia to Australia by car. This made them think...

Small Sun turned to Sarah with a pleased look on his face and said "I think we need to put wings on this car." Sarah looked a little puzzled and asked "why?" 

"Cause we have to go overseas" Small Sun said simply.

It was finally time to make the trip to Australia...Small Sun was looking at the maps when he turned to us and said "when we get to Perth we go overseas, then we go to Melbourne and go on the busy road." The actual trip from Russia to Australia itself wasn't a very long one. They had a few bumps along the way but they finally landed in Australia safe and sound with the flying car in one piece.

What the student took away from her observation as interesting and important, was the childrens' imagination, sharing of knowledge and ideas, cooperation, communication and building skills, as well as Small Sun's interest in the maps.  I took something else away from reading her notes.

Small Sun is five. He understands that we live in Sydney, a city in the country of Australia. Also that we are from America which takes one whole day of flying to reach. Also that Pappa is from Holland which is a country in Europe, and is across the water from England, where his friend M lives. He can recognize pictures of New York city, where his Auntie lives, and he can differentiate between the American city where he was born, and the American city where his first family now lives. He knows about Bangladesh because his cousins were going to move there, and also about Tanzania because that is where they'll actually be. He knows you can't walk from Russia to Australia, yo, because there's a whole lotta water in between!

The Captain recently went to Holland with Sproutje (sprout-ya - little sprout), and now whenever anyone is travelling she asks "are you going to Kuala Lumpur?" because in the last two trips to Holland, we've stopped through. How many three year olds have Kuala Lumpur in their vocabulary?

My kids know that we speak two languages, but that mommy doesn't like to read books in Dutch and if you want to read a long book in Dutch, ask Pappa. They translate The Captain's speaking to their friends if he forgets to switch to english. 

They're swiftly taking on an Aussie-English vocabulary and I had to translate things for Small Sun when we were in the States in June. Now we have an American staying with us and I am having to translate between her and them when things are unclear. 

They know how to Skype and about time zones. They know email gets there fast but post mail takes some time. 

I can't sort and stack and compartmentalize these children into neat little categories, checking off the boxes to make sure each column of identity is full. This is a different kind of life and we are just rolling with it!

 

At the Point of Goodbye

June 22, 2010 Nashville Airport

All the goodbyes take their toll

And stretch the fabric of my soul,

     'till threads extend to breaking

     and seams tear at tender points

     I cry.

Leaving one means joining another

I comfort that it is not forever

     but at the point of goodbye

     when we wave from the terminal

     my heart leaves my body, and goes with you.

Mother. Father. Sister. Brother. Nieces.

Sons. Daughter, Husband. Pieces

     of me here

     Pieces of me there

     Thus, the tear.

Meeting My Son's Mother, Again

I can remember trying to choose the clothes I would wear to meet my son's mother the first time, when he was still on the inside of her - when he wasn't my son. I struggled with "what outfit says 'I will love this baby with all of my being', shows my personality, yet also conveys the gravity with which I view the situation. 

It all comes back to me as I look over the clothes in my suitcase. Five years on, here I am again.

What can I wear that says "My love for your son consumes me body and soul, and he is the radiance of my life." And also, "parenting is harder than I thought. I'm doing the best I can..."

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

I wrote the above in the car, on the ten hour journey to see my son's mother. As it turns out, all I needed were bathers. We spent the first glorious evening of their reunion swimming in the hotel pool. Trying to communicate about the weekend we shared together seems a bit blasphemous. It was so immense, and so God-filled, I am fearful of disrupting the sacredness of it all. I wish I could show you pictures, as they convey the rapture of the reunion. But I won't because beyond being identifying, they are so full of tender emotion, to share them in this way would be wrong.

Trust me when I say that it was nothing short of awesome, and adding a new category called "open adoption" on my list gives me the deepest thrill. 

Under the Wave

I watched a video on Rage Against the Minivan that made me all shivery and inspired. Every once in awhile I read (or in this case, I heard something read) that penetrates the mundane to expose the beauty of heaven. It is in those moments that I want to be a writer and I decide to keep coming back here to try, again, and again, and again, to connect.

It also touched on something I believe so deeply and completely: I believe that being a mother who stays home with children is a massive and stunning life choice. It may be difficult to maintain identity, and to delineate appropriate boundaries, and to stand tall as a person without a "career", but those are just roots for us to trip on while we are in the midst of doing something messy, influential, and immense. It's not for everyone, but for those of us who have it in our hearts, it is something worth doing with every fiber of our beings.

Today my house succumbed to the jumbled play of three children held indoors by rain. There were blocks and animals dominating the living room, left abandoned when I forced the older two to the back of the house while Finch slept at the front. That's the rule around here - outdoors when it is dry, and dining room and kitchen play only when it's wet, while Finch sleeps.

The table was a mess of paper scraps (we're working on scissors skills at the preschool's request), confetti from a hole punch, markers, and lego. The dining chairs were rearranged to create a fort and the old iron cooking stove that is built into the wall became a reading nook with a pillow and books. 

I waited until the children settled deep into their pretend play before slipping out to work on readying the guest room for my cousin who is coming to nanny while I'm gone. The play went awfully quiet at one point but the alarm that registered in my brain wasn't strong enough to motivate me to leave my task. Once, when I checked in on them, I puzzled over the long blond hairs stuck to Small Sun's head. "How odd." I mused, before continuing on with trading curtains out, fluffing pillows, and doing the gymnastic dance that is stuffing a duvet into a silk cover.

When I returned again to the dining room I saw it on the sideboard - a pile of golden hair, and one clump of tight dark curls, and nearby...the scissors.

They practiced their cutting all right!

They told me cheerfully, with no guilt whatsoever, how Sprout wanted to cut her hair, so she did! And she wanted to cut Small Sun's hair too, so she did! She cut it here (a bald place on one side), and here (a top chunk sticking up on the other side), and here (a jagged slash right at the front)!

I did my best to explain the gravity, the seriousness of the offense. When I confiscated the illicitly used scissors, she fell down crying passionately, mouth wide with teeth gaping in protest. How could I take her precious scissors??? The lesson was lost on her, I think.

The guest room finished as Finch awoke, I turned to vacuuming, alternately holding the little imp on my hip, and working in slow motion as he stood, clutching my leg or the body of the vacuum. Between the children's room and mine, I set him on his feet and held out my hands. In the middle of vacuuming, magic happened - the first step! Standing, he stepped his little foot out, then grasped my hands in glee. I saw it. The first step was all mine. Small Sun and I whooped and hollered a little celebration right there in the hall.

Right there, in the middle of the mundane, the curtain flapped and we saw heaven. 

Pillow forts and impromptu haircuts, first steps and hot towels smelling of lavender, fresh from the dryer on a rainy day, it's perfect, and today it's enough for me.

Prepping to Fly

In less than two weeks I'm taking my first trip back home since we moved to Sydney, over two years ago. I did go back to the States for ten days in October, when my Grandfather passed away, but since that was a trip to my Grandparent's house in Pennsylvania, it wasn't actually going home for me.

After traveling with our family of five to Holland last September for a wedding we decided that divide and conquer would be out travel approach this year. May I take this moment to say that we are truly bad-ass travelers? We are. Anyone who can take three kids four years old and under on 25+ hour travels without ending up with entire airports hating them, gets big props in my book. We are charmers when we travel and I am always amazed at how well we pull it off. Yes, I am officially patting my own back now.

But, just because we CAN do it, doesn't mean that we SHOULD do it. Traveling with all the littles is perhaps the MOST exhausting parenthood experience, ever (and yes, I do hold giving birth in mind while I say that). So exhausting it even gets me fired up enough to use all these capital letters and !!! exclamation points.

So, this year I'll be taking Small Sun back home with me for two weeks. Then, later in the year, The Captain will be taking Sprout with him to Holland. (If you ask me, he got the short straw for sure. Small Sun is a dream to travel with and The Sprout is a nightmare! I keep telling The Captain that "one on one, she'll be so much easier to handle!" Yea, we'll see if that's really true!)

With the trip rapidly approaching, I am all kinds of emotional about going home. There is SO MUCH packed into this two week trip. Let's start off by having a little cry moment for the fact that I weaned my baby to take this trip, and that I will be leaving a one year old (super mama's boy) behind for two weeks! The Sprout will be fine, but I am truly concerned that I am scarring Finch for life. There, I've said it. When I planned this trip six months ago, it seemed so far away, and I imagine him being so much bigger. 

The impetus for this trip is that one of my best friends is getting married and I am standing up with her. We talked about taking the whole family for four weeks and touring the country and la di da...but after tickets alone priced the trip at about 10 grand, we had to rethink that plan.

This two week trip is packed with one emotionally charged experience after another. I hardly know how to get my head around it. I'm taking Small Sun to spend time with his biological family for the first time since he was born. Our "semi-open" pictures and letters adoption is getting blown wide open to being friends on FB and going for a visit. That needs a whole post on its own, doesn't it?

Then I spend several days with my family. My brother and his family and my sister are all flying home to be together. And have I mentioned that after that little family time, my sister-in-law is jetting off to Bangladesh to set up home/office/school/life for her family, and my brother and the kids will be joining them at the end of the "summer"? Big changes for them that will bring them closer to "our" part of the world!

Then there's the wedding where my friend needs me to be incredibly focused, present, and supportive. I'll be leaving Small Sun with the grandparents for a few days to really be there for her. 

After we send her off for a happy honeymoon, I'll host an open house to see my friends, and hopefully a dear friend up north will be coming down to spend a day or three with me (hey C, have you booked your ticket?). I am hoping to fill up any and all cracks with eating Mexican food and shopping at Old Navy, Target, and TJMaxx. Keeping children in clothes, in Sydney costs a mint, and I plan to clean those places out!

None of this even touches on how I'm feeling about going home. I am apprehensive about how "home" it will feel, and how comfortably I will fit there. I've definitely crossed over into some murky middle earth where I am not Aussie, but I identify with the way of life here, and I am American, but I imagine I might feel out of touch with American life. I've done this before a few times, and I knew how disorienting and uncomfortable it can feel. This time, I'll have to add language whiplash in as I try to remember to say "stroller", not "pram" and "sweatshirt", not "jumper". Actually, I'll just skip that whole thing by leaving the stroller behind and since it will be summer, there will be no jumpers, er, hoodies to discuss.

Small Sun has already lost his concept of America. When he sees things in American movies, like mail trucks, he gets all tickled about the "funny" way things are in America. Just wait until he finds out you can just leave your outgoing mail in the mailbox and the postman will just take it away for you. It will BLOW HIS MIND! 

My little guy lives an Aussie life, goes to Aussie preschool, and has a serious Steve Irwin obsession. How will Nashvegas respond to him jumping on imaginary crocs yelling "she's a beaut!" and "g'day mate!"? He plays "football", and "chucks rubbish in the bin" and yells "crikey" when he's excited. Even his remaining memories of America are translated through Aussie language. "Mom, do you remember when we were at [grandparent's house] and there was a digger in the paddock?" 

How do I prepare him for all of the intensity and complexity of this trip? How to I prepare myself? Typically I "manage" things by making to-do lists and approaching everything with organization and planning. This time I feel immobilized (partially from post-birthday week exhaustion), and all I can manage is shopping on eBay for great finds to bring home with me. That, and I lie in bed at night and try to imagine what it will all be like.

From These Parts

When I was fourteen my family moved to St. Petersburg, Russia. Growing up, I'd lived in a number of houses and moved from Michigan to Tennessee when I was six. Because we did school at home, the many transitions weren't disruptive, they were more like adventures. Moving to Russia, at fourteen years old, was huge.

I really credit that life experience as being the doorway to where my life is today. When we left the States, I was in junior high school, attending group tutorial classes with other home-educated students, two days a week. I was drifting, reaching farther and farther to find what I could call "me". Like most adolescents, I felt myself to be firmly at the center of the universe. Moving to a post-communist country kind of messes with the me-centered paradigm.

I hated the time in Russia. I didn't have any friends in St. Petersburg. I was angry at my parents for uprooting me. I stayed in my room for the better portion of the year we were there, lying on my bedroom floor, listening to U2 and crying over how much my parents didn't understand me. Wah, wah, wah.

And yet, to this day, some of my most vibrant memories come from that year.

A day-long picnic by a lake, in the middle of the woods, somewhere in the countryside within a train's reach of the city. Walking, singing, with a group of friends from our congregation, through the black-barked evergreens with the dark green needles blocking out the sun overhead, except for piercing shafts of light that left pools of gold on the forest floor. The yellow sand of the dunes surrounding the lake. Russians swimming in speedos and bras and panties. Young boys in their white underwear, splashing through the silver water. A picnic of hard boiled eggs, cold salads, Fanta, and dark bread, held in glass and metal containers, the picnic supplies that were pre-disposable plastics.

Living in Russia meant that I had to recognize the world, and my relation to it. My spot at the center came un-stuck. It meant I traveled extensively, with my parents, and without, by the time I was sixteen. St. Petersburg at that time, was not "Western". I experienced life with lack, poverty, struggle, and a blurring of the lines between life and death. It shaped my future.

When I came back to the U.S. after that year, I couldn't relate to my old friends, and they couldn't relate to me. This huge, raw, crazy life-experience stood between us. I ended up in another school tutorial program and put my head down and worked. Once, in a composition class, we were supposed to write a short story, and provide illustrations. After struggling with the assignment for a week, the night before it was due, I stayed up late making a cardboard book full of my father and brother's photographs, about my time in Russia: how I met God, fell in love with a boy, and came unglued there. When it was my turn to present, I found my heaving soul on those pages, out of place with the comics, and lighthearted concoctions around me. My classmates probably thought they knew me. In the silence that surrounded the conclusion of my reading, I think everyone realized that they didn't.

Here I am in Australia. I am an American girl, but I'm not. I feel like a decoupage project: you can't peel away one set of layers without tearing off another. 

In anticipating a trip back to Nashville, back to "home", I'm thinking about these things. After two years here, this is my normal. The way my life is ordered here is...right. I wonder if I'll feel the way I felt before: on home soil, visibly blending in, but feeling like an alien.

My son can't remember America. He has no concept of the hugeness of the country. He wants to visit characters from American t.v. shows he's seen. He wants it to snow in June. I try to explain to him what America is. But as he says, he is a "Sydney boy" and he knows "100 things about Sydney.

I am not from here, but this is my home. Most of the time it fits like a glove, and sometimes I am betrayed. I feel wholly part of the group here, until friends return from trips to the U.S. and complain about the food, the fatness, the traffic, the excess. Then suddenly I feel small and cornered as if I am being attacked. The things I find offensive in my own country follow me here in the form of others' criticisms.

At other times my heart wells with pride and I plant my feet wide in defense of my home-land.

We are Dutch. We are American. We are Australian. We are Russian ballet school and cold showers in June. We are kindergarten in Germany with stern teachers. We are births with fireworks in the deep South, we are so many things all tangled up in this yarn ball: family. life.

Holidays

Our family recently returned from a spectacular, amazing holiday at Hamilton Island in Queensland, Australia. Seeing the Great Barrier Reef is the only absolutely-must-see on our list for our time here, and we celebrated the end of our second year here with the trip. 

When you approach the island you cannot see the runway as it is a small strip built out into the water. It looks like you're just going down into the water! And because we arrived within 24 hours of Cyclone Ului, there was flooding so there was high water on either side of the runway. That made is a little crazy!

We actually had to postpone our trip by two days because all flights were canceled because of the storm. In the end we took the earliest flight up because we had been marking days off the calendar for weeks and the kids had been asking "are we going to Hamilton Island now?" every five minutes for, I don't know, years!

The island was covered with downed trees and tiny leaf debris from the storm. It was like all the leaves got shredded and then shaken in an even layer over everything. Because it is a resort island, they put all possible manpower on cleaning up the damage. It was like an army of worker ants covering every possible surface. When we arrived at our hotel, located on the beach, the beach was completely covered with about one foot deep of debris. For the first two or three days they completely cleared the beach each morning, complete with giant construction rigs scraping the top layer of sand off. Each high tide would bring in another layer of debris.

It sounds like a kind of awful way to start a holiday, but nothing could be farther from the truth. The storm blew in tons of sponges, coral, and wildlife. Steve Irwin, I mean Small Sun, was nearly hysterical running from find to find, exclaiming. On the first morning I took the kids for an early morning walk down the beach. We were still wearing pjs, and he started picking up treasures until his arms were completely full, he was covered in sand, and his pjs were soaked. He was crying because he couldn't hold it all and things kept falling! I found an empty sand-bag and let him fill that up. Eventually the bag was too heavy for him to carry and I ended up dragging it up the beach for him. Before going up to the hotel, I had to make a new rule "if it's hard like a rock, we can take it up to the hotel balcony, but if it is soft like a plant, we have to leave it at the beach."

We spent hours building "aquariums", and sand castles. The plastic play equipment was happily forgotten as we traded it in for large stones, huge coconuts, and palm husks perfect for digging or riding in as small boats.

 

Every day the tide went out so far that a whole area of coral reef was exposed and we could walk out and examine it. There were hundreds of crabs and hermit crabs. It was really amazing.

In addition there were four different swimming pools connected to our hotel. They were designed to be part of the environment with large boulders to jump off of, shallow kiddie areas, waterfalls, and bridges. Have I mentioned that my kids love to swim? Love. love. love.

But of course, the major highlight was the Great Barrier Reef. We took a day trip out to see it. You ride two hours straight out on a giant catamaran and can I just say, after a tropical storm, the waves were huge! It was like a really long roller coaster ride. Thankfully I had remembered to bring some motion-sickness medication and I gave it to the whole family. I'm glad I did as people all around us were chucking and we made it through. I don't know how I made it. I get motion sickness and frightened on boats in big swell and these waves were massive. I'm pretty sure we got air in our seats a couple times. Finch and Sprout passed right out from the noise and the rocking and slept the whole way there!

The boat we took docks onto a permanent structure built next to the reef and from there you can go in a semi-submersible along the shelf, and also go down in a glass observation room so see huge fish all around. We assumed that is how the kids would see the reef, but when we got there we found out that they had child-minding on the boat, and gear small enough for Small Sun the Sprout. 

We left Finch with the babysitter and geared up in sting suits (really thin full body suits to protect from jellyfish stings), snorkel gear, life jackets, and noodles. The Captain took Sprout and I took Small Sun and we struck out towards the reef. There are strong currents there so you swim within a roped off area that runs along the shelf. In higher tide you can swim over top the reef but because we were there at low tide it was too shallow so you swim along the shelf.

Can I just say, this was one of the most incredible experiences ever with our kids? I never dreamed the four of us would be out there all together, right in Nemo's backyard! Small Sun and I were looking at each other underwater, holding hands, and trying to touch all the colorful fish swimming between us. Remember "the drop off" in Finding Nemo? Well that's where we were. It was so amazing that I just kind of lose words to tell about it. To see something so amazing, holding hands with my four year old son...wow.

We didn't stay in the water long as it was pretty intense for the kids. The Captain and I took turns doing a speed snorkel along the shelf before it was time to load up and head back to the island.

This post is already epic length so I'll close it there. I am speed-writing while my approved morning tv shows are running! And yes, the pictures are pretty gritty and vintage looking, aren't they? That's because our camera stopped working right before we left so we had 27 precious shots from a disposable film camera. Film, people, remember it? If you ever get a chance to go to the Great Barrier Reef, do it!

The Water

Last week our family went away with 6 other families to stay at a lodge for four days. All friends from church, 30 of us crammed into rustic accommodations, and energy was exploding out the windows! We spent lots of time in the pool, at the beach, "surfing" on the sand dunes, as well as going on a dolphin sighting cruise. The ultimate highlight of the trip for me was getting to go sea kayaking at sunset.

Growing up, some of my fondest memories are of summer holidays spent in northern Michigan. We would spend the whole day out on the lake. Sitting outside the rails of the pontoon boat, out on the pontoon itself, I would let my feet ski on the surface of the water. Heels dug in, water would shear up in a v on either side, toes pointed down I had to be careful not to be flung forward by the force of the water.

I'm not a strong swimmer. I don't know how to dive. I don't like cold water.

But when I was pregnant with The Sprout I started to dream about water. In one dream I was submerged in a deep rock pool that was dark and cool. While it sounds frightening, in the dream it was like...ultimate hydration. Complete saturation of spirit. An intense peace.

Ever since that pregnancy I've been drawn to the water. Living in Sydney, constant glimpses of the Harbour and the sea feed that hunger. 

For me, there is a moment in se*x that is like a deepening clarity and a cessation of sorrow. Suddenly, I feel clear to my core and I disconnect from a world that contains darkness, and experience only light. On this trip I realized that being in the water does the same thing to my soul.

Last week, after my long kayak trip, navigating a strong rip, overcoming my fear of sharks in the water (and there are), I flung off my life vest, leaped into the sea, and came up dripping, feeling cleaner than I have in a long while.

I think it is connected to baptism, this yearning for the water. It is not something in my mind, it is something in my soul, and I am beginning to realize, my spirit as well.