Growing Family

The Way I Am...Now

I've always been the kind of person that could get a lot done. In school and at work I knew how to break huge projects down into manageable parts. I met deadlines. I rose to the top. I was successful.

After a period devoted to bonding with Small Sun I began to get involved with motherhood themed projects. I co-host a weekly playgroup and I'm part of a group that provides meals to families when a new child joins their family.

I took a leave of activity from these groups until six weeks after the Sprout was born. I thought I would ease my way back into things at that point. Here I am, nearly five months later, and I can hardly get anything done.

My house is tidy, but dirty. I say I can help with things, and I really want to, but the things I could so easily do in the past, I just CAN'T make happen right now.

One of my friends became a mother long before the rest of us. She confided in me that mothering was so hard for her because she was used to accomplishing things - finishing tasks - and the tasks of motherhood are never accomplished or finished. There is always more laundry to do, another feeding for the baby, another nap, another bath, another diaper. Yes, there are wondrous and beautiful moments in mothering, but you never really have the feeling that you finished the job. I suppose one day it will be over and I'll realize I didn't know that it was the last feeding or the last diaper...or I would have treasured it more. That's another topic.

I'm saying that if you're the kind of person who likes to check things off a list, motherhood presents challenges. Right now I'm struggling with how little I can do. How little I get done in a day. Today I couldn't get the Sprout to nap well. She kept waking up and each time I was trying to soothe her back to sleep Small Sun came bouncing in, his joy feet clapping on the floor, his eager body jumping on the bed, his sweet voice saying "Hi hi hi hi hi" one centimeter from his sister's face. Each time she would startle, then cry, and I just never got her to sleep. I'd alternate between hugging Small Sun close and snuggling him, while I patted the Sprout on the back, and glaring at him and hissing "go to the living room, you're waking up your sister." So I wasn't even consistent in conveying a safe, loving mommy to him today.

What am I getting done? I am feeding my kids. They are sleeping through the night. They each nap, some, in the day. Most days I wear clothes and so do they. We always brush our teeth.

Maybe if I set the bar really, really low, I'll feel graceful as I hurtle over it.

Something to feel good about: after nearly five months, my jeans fit again. I've got three pounds of baby weight to lose and I must say, I'm feeling pretty happy. I was nervous that those extra pounds might just set up camp to stay.

Gifts from Kenya

I wanted to share with you the beautiful things mom brought for us from Kenya. Maybe some day I can share her stories as well; they are quite amazing.

This is a beautiful doll with a baby strapped on her back. Both the mama and the child have intricately braided hair. Small Sun loves the hand carved animals.

Here is a hair pick. I can't imagine wood makes a very good pick - it seems like it would snag a lot. Mom said the Masai men take great pride in their hair; they wear it very long in tiny braids. She said the men spend a lot of their time caring for each other's hair. I think it's really interesting that in their tribe the men's hair is so important and the men do each other's hair. A bit like the barbershop, eh? Small Son thinks the ducky needs a touch up.

This club is very dense. The Masai carry it to protect themselves against lions. It can be thrown like a hatchet, gaining great velocity. There is a small nob carved onto the round part. I guess all of the power of the throw is channeled into that very small tip and it can knock a lion out.

I can't remember which tribe the woman depicted in this wall hanging represents. I hadn't heard of it before. I am having this framed for my birthday and I plan on hanging it in the living room. I love the mother and the older child both wearing babies. The jewelry and clothing is so amazing as well. My mom also brought me a piece of fabric, like the one in the picture. I've already used it as a sling for The Sprout when I was out at my mom's helping her cook a Kenyan style dinner.

My mom also taught me to cook plantains, greens, rice, and chicken, Kenyan style. Oh, it is so good!

PS- For the life of me, I can never get my pictures and text to save the way I enter them in typepad. I'm sorry they look so wacked out. If anyone feels like giving me a little tutorial, I'm all for it.

My Cool Sister

Designs clothing and accessories. Check her out here.

Semantics?

So I keep thinking about all the blogs I'm reading now about raising children of color. What I keep hearing over and over is that we want to be anti-racist in our parenting. We want to oppose the racism our children will encounter, we want to change the racism in society, we want to root out the racism in ourselves. I read about discrimination, injustice, and struggle.

I really don't know if I want to be an anti-racist parent. To put so much of my parenting energy against racism is to give racism a real place of priority in my life. Maybe it's just a matter of semantics, but I'd rather invest my energy and focus in being  pro-Small Sun and The Sprout and all their gifts and complexities, than anti-something ugly.

I'd rather be just than anti-injustice. I'd rather be kind than anti-nasty.  I'd rather be healthy than anti-sickness. Is it just semantics or is it the lens through which we view life?

I just don't want myself or my children to have our starting point be angled against something negative. I want to stand in the positive.  Is injustice there? Yes. Is sexism there? Yes. Is racism there? Totally. I just want to turn our faces towards beauty as we're working to overcome it.

Finding Peace

Peace is a state of harmony, the absence of hostility. This term is applied to describe a cessation of or lapse in violent international conflict; in this international context, peace is the opposite of war. Peace can also describe a relationship between any parties characterized by respect, justice, and goodwill.

More generally, peace can pertain to an individual relative to her or his environment, as peaceful can describe calm, serenity, and silence. This latter understanding of peace can also pertain to an individual's sense of himself or herself, as to be "at peace" with one's self would indicate the same serenity, calm, and equilibrium within oneself.

                                                                                                                                          --- From Wikipedia

Isn't it incredible that God created us with the emotional ability to differentiate between peace and the absence of peace? It's pretty complex, really. You know how those hand held metal detectors emit different pitches indicating the presence of metal? Well I think God created us like that to sense peace. The farther I get into a situation that disrupts peace, the more something inside me is disrupted and screams in opposition.

The things I've been learning about transracial and intercountry adoption have been disrupting my peace. I really think adopting kids is what I'm supposed to do with my life. It's been so hard to delve into all of this painful and negative information. Then today it came to me - a sense of peace.

Last night I said I wish it was crystal clear - which children really need to be adopted. I was thinking about that more today and I realized that children who are no longer in the infant phase really need to be adopted. There aren't many families adopting children that aren't babies. And that's when it came to me - the peace I mean. Most international programs allow a period of time to search for a family within the biological family and then the country. Children available for adoption and living in the foster care system in the U.S. have had all hopes of reunification with their birth family  terminated. It's no longer an option. Of course here and abroad there is still a huge amount of injustice that leads to abandonment (whether it be voluntary or through the termination of parental rights) but that feels like a cause I can work for, without it being my direct responsibility. I can use my voice and my vote to lobby for change, but the actual circumstance of the child being separated from the parent didn't involve me or my choices.

I used to think about adopting older children. Then I got freaked out by all the stories I read. The longterm effects of abuse, and neglect. The enduring pain of abandonment. But somehow, in a moment I came to peace. I think I want to do it. I think, with God's help I can. I think I could adopt with a clear conscience. I'll let peace be my guide.

Challenged

I'm really challenged by Cloudscome's Anger Struggles and Rage against the machine on Harlow's Monkey. Taking transracial and transnational adoption seriously can nearly kill a poor soul. Sometimes this struggle can feel so lonely. Not all transracial adoptive families feel the same way about it. I know lots of families who are just living life, doing their thang, without this being a big part of it. Is that okay? Wouldn't that be nice?

I wish I knew a whole crowd of adult transracial adoptees and could come up with some kind of projection as to how the intensity of their parent's involvement in ethnic identity formation/anti racist parenting relates to their current identity and happiness.

I wonder if parents of color parenting children of color are angsting about this as badly as some of us t.a. parents are? Am I kidding myself to think that leaving America will be the answer?

Where do I find support and encouragement when all I can find is people chewing on the problems? I recently read this on Third Mom and it really encouraged me. To give a context, she's talking about whether there would be adoption in a perfect world:

Viewed as a reaction to tragedy, it’s hard to think of adoption as the first or best choice for any child. Who would wish the kinds of tragedies that lead to adoption on anyone, adult or child? No one - at least no one with a shred of humanity. Acknowledging the losses is a simply a part of the adoption experience, and that includes accepting that it would have been better if these tragedies had never occurred.

But what is “second choice” here (or third, fourth, or fifth, depending on how you’re counting) isn’t the family – it’s the circumstances that led to the adoption. Once a family has been created through adoption (putting the injustices of our infant adoption system aside for a moment) the last thing that family, and especially that child, need to hear is that they don’t measure up to families with blood connections.

So where does my family fit in all of this?

When I look at the circumstances that brought my children into our family, I see loss and tragedy, no question. And I can say without pause that the first choice would have been for these circumstances never to have occurred. But life isn’t perfect. My children have experienced great loss, and have traveled across the world to join two people of a different race. We are now a family. No ranking needed.

I read that and I feel such a relief. Because now I can turn my focus onto doing the best job raising the children I have...but...but then I think about having more children in the future. And I wonder where they'll come from. I wonder what circumstances they will experience that will cause them to be thrust from their first families, into the lap of governments and agencies. I wonder if there's anything I can do to prevent that severing? I wonder if that's even my responsibility? It feels like the weight of the world.

I just want to adopt children that need homes. I wish it was crystal clear which children have absolutely no other alternative for a family than adoption, and which situations could be prevented through some kind of influence. If it was crystal clear then I wouldn't feel so conflicted.

I am a Brilliant Mother

One of the first things you lose as a mother is privacy in the bathroom. You take a shower with a baby in a bouncy seat, reaching out a dripping hand to restore a pacifier. A toddler plays around your knees and wants to peer into the toilet to see what you've done. It's hard to feel dignified when the most base and private of your daily activities entertain an audience.

So today as I was in the bathroom Small Sun (who has figured out how to open the door - much to the fear of our guests) pops his head in to see what is going on. In a moment of brilliance I asked him "do you want me to wipe your nose?" Immediately he pulled his head out and slammed the door. I could hear little feet pounding away, posthaste.

He tried to come in several more times and each time I held some tissue in my hand, reaching for his nose. Then, after I emerged from the bathroom, I came and wiped his nose for real. So, I think I may have found the key to bathroom privacy. Patent Pending.

It Feels Good

For the first time in awhile I was able to soak up Small Sun with my eyes. As we looked at each other, light leapt back and forth between us. We connected.

I made him scream by blowing on his belly and kissing in his neck. He writhed and shrieked with utter delight. I felt pretty delighted too.

It feels good.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

And it might be all you've got.

I have a picture of Small Sun, in his mother's arms, shortly after he was born. The Captain and I are standing next to the hospital bed, grinning happily. His mother is smiling, and tired. The picture used to be in a regular frame on his nightstand. Then, he started taking it down and playing with it. I'd find the frame taken apart with the pieces (including the glass) floating around in his bed.

I found a dense foam frame for it and it has become his third sleep time security item. There is "softy" (his blanket that he can only have during sleep time), sippy (his cup), and now his picture. He holds it in his arms like a stuffed animal. He is eager to point out "Pappa!" and "Mama". When I ask him, he will also point out his first mom and himself.

I don't know who it is in that picture that he is attaching to and finding comfort in. Is it us, his parents, who he obviously adores? Is it his first mom? Or is it seeing himself as a tiny baby, much like he sees The Sprout every day?

When we were making our adoption agreement with Small Sun's mom it felt like a good thing that she didn't want continued close contact. For all the pro-open adoption rhetoric I could espouse, in a way I was relieved that we would all "move on". That is, until it was time to say goodbye.

That moment, when we walked to the car carrying Small Sun, while his mother collapsed with grief, was THE MOST AGONIZING thing I have ever experienced. In that moment, adoption felt so very, very wrong. It was only at the urging of the social worker that I was able to follow through. All I wanted was to turn around and return the baby that she was crying for. I don't think I'll ever recover from that. It brings up huge, swelling, choking emotions each and every time I think of it.

We have not "moved on". Yes we are living our lives, Small Sun is growing like a weed, and we are busy with what is in front of us. But while Small Son crawls into bed, cradling his picture in his arms, I carry with me thoughts towards his first mother. Longings, wishing and hoping that some day we will be closer. Nothing is impossible, it's never to late. I want her in our lives. Without her something is missing.

Sleep, Oh Sleep

We've been super-sleep training for five days now. I'm following the structure outlined in The Baby Whisperer. At six weeks Small Sun slept through the night and set himself in a schedule. He's really never looked back. The Sprout is a different story. So...I'm helping her learn to sleep. "Helping" is putting it mildly. Picture me (if you know me) in camouflage (PJ's with moons and stars) holding my weapon (my "patting" hand and my "shush" noise mouth), ready to spring into action.

Actually, I'm dragging around, sleep deprived with bags under my eyes and my hair sticking up like a scarecrow. So that's what I've been doing. That, and wiping bums. Lots of bums.

Small Sun has had diarrhea for 8 days straight. But, there is light at the end of the tunnel! Today he had his first solid(ish) poo. People who are not the parents of toddlers may find it odd to rejoice over poo, but you all know what runny poo means. No nursery at church, no playgroup, no play school, no play dates, no touching anything at the park, and no going to indoor play gyms, all in fear of spreading the evil poo nastiness. And what does that lead to? Stir crazy, cabin fever, wacko, sleep deprived mama, holed up in a too-small house with a pooper and a sleep defier. It's not a pretty combo.

Thankfully the sun is shining and the weather is great. We've been getting our jitters out in our backyard every day. I take the kids for a walk, and Small Sun runs in circles in the yard.

Yesterday we had to come home from church early because some poo leaked out of Small Sun's diapers, through his pants, and onto my dress. That's the end of it though, with the freedom flag of a solid diaper, we are leaving the house today. Yahoo!

You know, there are so many interesting dialogues going on in the adoption blogosphere right now, but poo and sleep deprivation eclipse them all.