Growing Family

I Am Sick

I just finished watching This American Life with Ira Glass. Act II, In Wiener Veritas, tells the story of a hot dog restaurant in Chicago that stays open until five a.m. By day it is a fairly normal place, at night, the rules of propriety are set aside and mayhem reigns.

The place is run by two middle aged white men: one of the men became frustrated trying to serve drunk men at night and finally got their attention by yelling obscenities at them. It all went downhill from there.

A stark color line exists - Blacks in the kitchen, Whites at the counter. Obscenities and insults fly both ways, but vile, lecherous, abominable things are coming out of the patron's mouths. I squint my eyes. My stomach rolls. I am ashamed.

The patrons are well dressed. They are wealthy. They are cruel. I have never heard such stomach-turning racial slurs in current times, all thinly veiled as humor. "Come on, we're all having a good time here!" A good time riding into hell.

Really, I can't emphasize enough how disturbing this was. It was like learning what the Nazis did, their intricate cruelty, their inhumane beliefs. I don't even want to quote some of the things said. I am too appalled.

Journey to the Mother Land - 16 Days and Counting

That's right, it's time for our annual trip to Holland, aka The Netherlands. When we went this time last year I was starting, in the middle of, somewhere around in my second trimester. I hadn't gained any weight yet because I'd been puking so much. Then, in Holland, I was still puking, but in between bouts I was eating. Kaas (cheese), and more kaas, vla (similar to pudding), fritjes (fries), croquettes (fried dumpling type things),  aardapellen (potatoes), appeltart (apple pie), and chocolate, glorious chocolate. I gained 5 lbs. In one week. The Captain is a carnivore (and I am not) and he will be eating herring (the Dutch love it! The Captain buys it from stands on the beach, so stinky and fresh!), meatballs, and we will all be eating Spanse Pannekoeken (Spanish Pancakes) and any other pancakes we can get our hands on.

This makes me a little nervous. I'm still holding on to five pounds of baby weight (for those of you who are reading carefully, yes, I did gain BACK two pounds - blame the Easter Bunny). What am I going to do? This is food that I only get to eat once a year, that I love, that I can't get in the States unless I pay an arm and a leg. (Which we do for Calve peanut butter, Nutella, and imported cheese.) I just eat everything in sight there, like I'm about to get dropped on an island or something.

The week before we go to Holland, the Captain is going to a Java conference on the West Coast. We fly out the day after he gets back. I'm going to pack up the kids and stay with my parents for the week he's gone so that I have some help. So basically, everything needs to be ready to go for our trip by the end of next week.

I'm packing, I'm shopping, I'm making cards for Mother's Day. And there's lots more packing and shopping to do. I had so much fun going through the toy store buying special plane toys for Small Sun. In the past I've been really stressed about transatlantic flights with the kids but this time I'm so excited. I know I can nurse The Sprout to calm her and help her sleep. I know Small Sun will be excited about the plane, the new toys, and Curious George on the laptop. Ha! He also has his own seat, which makes a big difference.

Once there we have a car, and a cottage rented. We have a schedule (as all good Dutch families should) outlining who is coming to visit when. Each day is already booked up with entertaining guests, visiting friends and family, and sightseeing and shopping. The fact that we have a house makes all the difference. We can continue to have nap times and regular bedtimes, albeit all turned topsy turvey from jet lag.

The Captain's mother and oma are staying with us as well so they will dote on the kids. And the kids have their own room so we might actually get some good sleep! And did I mention we're staying in a water park resort that has all sorts of kids activities and childcare? Yea, I'm pretty stoked. Prepare for 16 more days of blogging anticipation and then an enthusiastic report afterwards.

What Does this Mean?

Okay, go check this out. It's a tshirt at Urban Outfitters that says "Adopting is the New Black". I am familiar with the phrase ___ is the new black. As in, brown is the new black, pink is the new black, etc. Saying that black is classic and something else is becoming equally as classy.

What does this shirt mean? That adoption is as classy as birthing a child? That forming a family through adoption is as good as the normal old way of doing things? Some people are upset by this shirt. I think I need to know more about what it means before I decide.

What do you think?

***************

Updated Opinion.

So I got to read what some other people are saying (thanks Abebech) and the discussion at Anti-Racist Parent. I love hearing everyone's opinions. Something I realized is that at this point I look at most adoption related things through my own lens. The first thing that comes to mind with that shirt is "does it offend ME?" and why or why not. I hadn't even put it through the lens of my son, asking how it would make him feel, were he old enough to read it. It does totally diminish adoptees to commodities. And yes it is satire, but satire can really hurt, eh?

Categories

So I've just spent way too much time going through my archives and assigning everything a category. I only started categorizing a little while ago so any new readers just have to sort by the dated archives... Today I saw in my stats that someone was searching by topics. I felt bad that they didn't have a complete list to work with...

More interesting (to me at least) upcoming topics include: saving needy children: if not adoption, then what?,  Ayaan Hirsi Ali's Infidel: leaving fundamentalism for a welfare state and the expression of the soul, and Prepping for Holland: Our annual pilgrimage. Stay tuned.

The Ignoble Made Noble

Today Small Sun discovered my armpit. He asked again and again "what's that" and bent over to kiss it. Yes folks, he kissed my armpit repeatedly. Seldom have I felt such a pure joy and found something so laughable. Staying at home with my kids can be so surprisingly funny.

Forgive Me

For my lack of references and forethought but I'm going to blog this topic anyway.*

I've been following Nicole, aka Paragraphein and her experience being censored by the administration of the Bethany Christian Services forums. I've been listening to Nicole for a long time. Like many others, I'd have to say that my ideas of adoption were all positive (that is, I thought adoption was a purely positive thing - a good solution to bad situations) before I started paying attention to what she had to say. Now, my perspective is drastically different. As you know, if you've been reading, I don't really know what I believe about adoption these days. It tears me up.

A long time ago Nicole mentioned something about countries like Holland and Australia have minuscule numbers of domestic voluntary adoptions compared to the U.S. The Captain did some digging around in some Dutch language resources (and here is where my lack of references comes into play) and he found that in Holland, there are approximately 50 in-country adoptions a year. 50 The Dutch adopt internationally, but the kind of domestic voluntary placements we have here are quite uncommon. They do keep track of the numbers, and that's what they are...50.

Why? What's the difference?

Off the top of my head (where this all comes from anyway) I think of a couple of things.

1. State funded (read: crazy taxes on higher wage earners and everyone else) health care.

2. Free birth control pills to women under 21 (the age cap is a new regulation, it used to be for all women, period).

3. The normalized use of birth control for all women (single and married professing Christians not excepted).

4. A silence surrounding abortion - for better or for worse, it's a silent issue.

5. State subsidization of housing for 20-40% of citizens with less than average income.

6. The absence of private schools and homeschooling being against the law leading to greater homogeny in the education system which is one of the best in the world.

Okay, so what am I saying here? (That question is for myself) First of all, women and girls are less likely to get pregnant unintentionally in the first place. They have greater access to birth control and there is less stigmatization in using it. If a woman becomes pregnant and decides to terminate, that option seems to be more easily available to her. If a woman becomes pregnant and decides to carry the baby, issues like health care, access to education and housing for herself and the baby are less of a factor in the decision making process. They may still be factors but I think that they are less.

If we had some of these same systems in America would we see plummeting voluntary placement rates? How many would there be? 50? I wonder.

*And to any of my Dutch family reading, or to the Captain, please feel free to chime in with why you think Dutch women don't voluntarily place their children for adoption as often as American women do, or more accurate statistics if I have misrepresented these.

It's All in Your Head

One of the joys a new parent experiences, is taking that little bundle home, removing layers of clothing, and revealing the unique personality contained in such a small body. Our culture relishes in comparing traits, looking for similarities, finding commonalities in our very beings.

When we arrived in our hotel, carrying our tiny new person, newly entrusted to us by another, we began to learn him and his uniqueness.

You might think that my son's skin, the color of dark honey, or his eyes, pools of dark light, or his hair, corkscrew confetti, in contrast to my skin, warm olive golden, or my eyes neither truly blue nor gray, or my hair, basic brown and neither straight nor curly might be what sets us apart as "adopted". Me being the adoptive mother, him the adopted son. Maybe those things set us apart to others but they do not feel like differences to me. I find the differences in less obvious places. More than anything, they are the signposts pointing to a history that predates our meeting, pointing to a rich and complete heritage that we do not share.

My son has a special place between his toes - perfect for flip-flops. It was in examining his newborn feet, their shape, the toes and the nails, that I was struck with his individuality.  I held those feet like tiny treasures -  I knew they were his mother's and her father's. I take Small Sun in with my eyes every day. His bouncing, buoyant personality is what fills all of our hearts with laughter. Splashing in the tub with his sister, running back and forth between me and the Captain for kisses, doing his own jerky dancing, he is delightful. We always feel connected - we are family.

It is when I rest my hand on Small Sun's head and I feel the shape of his skull that I am most rapidly carried beyond him and me to his other family, his first family. No one in my family has a head shaped that way. More than his toes, more than our different ethnicities, his head stands out to me. I pat it, I bless it, sending a prayer to all those I do not know.

Easter

May apples, bridal wreath spirea, jack-in-the-pulpit, woodland phlox, bluets, and dogwood survived the frost and waited to great me this birthday morning, this resurrection day.

For me, Easter and springtime are inextricably entwined. As I reflect on Life triumphing over death I see the truth illustrated in the natural world around me. Blossoms opening, shoots rising towards the sun, leaves unfurling like tiny banners. The world seems to be throwing down a carpet of blossoms just like the palm fronds were thrust as a carpet under Jesus' feet as he entered Jerusalem.

I wonder how it will feel in Australia, to celebrate Easter at fall time? Will the message seem as true if the leaves are dying, the grass withering, the light going more quickly? I really can't imagine.

I might need to frame this photo of my indoor garden, gathered from my mother's woods, to remind me of the life and growth at Easter time, when around me things are dying.

Another Day, Another Year

I never knew that 26 would feel so young. When I was a teenager I imagined that this would feel pretty old: college degree, married, two kids, a house and a lawn service... Now I'm wondering if I'll feel grown up by 36? My parents are in their 50s and they seem awfully perky. I may have to reevaluate this whole age thing.

Happy Birthday to Me.

Leaving a Wedding

Tonight I saw a lonely dusk.
Lilac sky and gray, gray clouds.

Leaving the throng of warmth and laughter,
To start the long hill climb in the cold.

Driving home, after a springtime wedding,
Missing my son at his Omi's.