Growing Family

Looking Into Cultures

Forgive me if this post is like chewing sand. I usually mull over things for awhile before I write, but this started wandering around my head while I was washing dishes this evening.

I recently read a piece by Macon D., writing as a guest contributer over at Racialicious. He's discussing his own process of becoming aware of how he travels the world, and examining how his privilege as a white American male might be contributing to his mindset that he can go off the beaten track to see the "real lives" of people in less wealthy countries. I couldn't find the clarity to comment, nor can I comment here. I'm chewing on it, and finding a lot that I agree with.

So this evening, up to my forearms in sudsy water, catching my reflection in the foggy window over the sink, I thought about all of the cultures I stand outside of, looking into. Places where I will never cross the thresh-hold to belong, but I am committed to standing outside the door, all the same.

First there's Holland, and my permanent connection to it. I speak basic Dutch, but I am not fluent. I was really focused on learning about Holland when I married the Captain. I read books intended for outsiders: books that explain the culture and customs, and the basic history. I can cook a handful of Dutch dishes well. I know when the holidays are and how they should be celebrated. There are certain things about Holland that I love and yearn for with enough passion to bring tears. The green, green fields and the canals in between, the blankets of flower in springtime, the sand-spitting storms on the sea, the cheese, and the sweets, and the cobbles.

I've listened a lot, enough to have a pretty good feel for some of the nuances in Dutch culture. Not all of the social dynamics fly over my head. Yet, when I am in Holland, I am definitely viewed as AMERICAN. Everyone turns to me for answers about American history, politics, music, sports, and customs. Outside of Holland, with Dutch people, my knowledge of Dutch culture is appreciated, seeming more informed by the complete lack of knowledge in the surrounding culture.

This year, at the local Queen's Day celebration, I felt so absolutely out of place. People assume that if I'm there, I'm Dutch. After a few sentences they realize I am not, and hastily switch to English. Then I swiftly find my place: attached to Holland, but definitely NOT Dutch.

Then there is my connection to the African American community. I have undertaken the life-long pleasure of raising a biracial son, and am committed to doing my best to connect any way I can.

Even after three years of effort, this connection is much less solid than I would like it to be. I am connected less through relationships, and more through reading and attending functions. Without an adult guide, like the Captain is for me and Dutch society, I make my own way, trying to adequately interpret the differing language, customs, and perspectives.

Outside of my own cultural reality, it is hard to know which voices to trust as representative of a majority. I react to extremes, not knowing where the middle ground is. But I stay close, and keep reading, and keep listening, so that I can be all that I can be for my son, when he relies on the connections I've forged to be the bridge to that part of his person.

Then, of course, there's me here in Sydney, doing my best to get my bearings. Brikkies? What the heck are brikkies? Cookies, of course. Biscuit+Cookie=Brikkie. And what a "dear little posi" I live in. It's a nice position, as in, our house is in a nice spot. And every day I pop on the kettle, trying to think of American English words to describe it, but floundering as I've never seen an electric kettle (teapot) in the States, and you really do just "pop" it on the base, flip the switch, and pour out boiling water in seconds.

Of course, those are simple, surface examples of deeper differences that I am struggling to navigate. Even if we stay here forever, I won't stop being American. I might lose my American ways, but national heritage runs deep, even in non-patriotic families. It shows up in things like yearning for familiar native plants, and the taste of home-country food.

So, I am permanently invested, yet permanently excluded from multiple cultures. It's an interesting dynamic. I wonder how it will feel, another ten years on?

More Centered, Finding Calm

I feel badly for spilling my emotions all over the place, here. I know that you all probably want to hear all the confirmations that this was a good choice, to come here, and all the adventures we're having. These is plenty of that going on, as well!

A friend here lent me a "cultural training" curriculum for expatriates moving to Australia. In the section discussing culture shock it describes the effect of culture shock on the body, saying that when everything in your environment is new and you are processing new information, constantly, every day, it physically exhausts the body. From sending a letter to attending a party, everything is just different enough that you can never completely rely on your previous experience. It is tiring, and I felt comforted to know that I am experiencing a very normal part of a move of this scale. Also, that it will pass, and things will require less effort in the future.

In our service on Sunday the teacher spoke about finding the quiet place, where we hear truth, feel peace, and find bravery to walk in strength through our days. Hearing that was so restorative to my peace. Also on Sunday, a friend here who is growing more dear by the minute, called to ask us out to afternoon tea. We bundled up in our scarves and coats (so glad they finally arrived!) and met them at a nearby bakery/cafe for a hot drink before we turned the kids out of doors to play at the park. My new friend shared her vulnerability and fears with me, and I am so thankful for a friend that is going below the surface. The mens got along well too, and are meeting for lunch as they work close to each other, in the financial district, downtown.

My continued exploration into expatriate adoption is a big contributer to my stress levels! After getting close to nowhere talking to agencies, I set up an appointment with an Australian immigration lawyer for next week, spoke to the Consulate here in Sydney, and spoke to someone at USCIS (U.S. Citizen and Immigration Services). It's a bit of a game of hot potato, everyone says that what I am inquiring about isn't under their jurisdiction and hands me off to someone else, who in turn hands me to someone else! Each immigration authority points at the other, saying "it's their issue, you'll have to take it up with them!" No wonder the agencies don't have a clue.

So hopefully, after seeking legal council and hearing back from the detailed inquiry I submitted to the Consulate, I'll have a clearer picture. May I just say, I can't believe how much time and effort (and stress!) I have put into this process, before even submitting an application! It's hard to imagine having the energy to follow through an adoption process, which may involve preparing a dossier (gathering documents from abroad), coordinating the legal systems of three governments, and time spent in the U.S. Not to mention the emotional experience of adoption.

On Saturday, on the park bench, I was asking God "do I keep pushing on this, or do I let it go?" I was miffed when He said "both". I saw a pictures of pushing on the wind, like I do with my arm out of the car window. I saw that when you open your hands and let go, that doesn't mean that the surface you are pushing disappears. Sometimes it moves and you just keep pushing, open-handed.

Lately, a lot of my guidance from God has been puzzling. So I'm puzzling over it, waiting for the clarity to develop.

When people ask me why we've moved here, I sometimes feel foolish trying to explain what we want out of this transition. But foolish or not, I think we heard right. I think we're in the right place. And who was it that said, "sometimes you have a tough year and then a good future". We feel like this might be a tough year. However, even at the low points so far, it has been incredibly grace-filled.

So, here's to open hands, pushing on who knows what and stepping out, into the invisible. May the housing market and the immigration and adoption authorities smile on me!

So Many Feelings in My Imposter Home

I am on an emotional roller coaster with no hormonal explanation.

The process of explaining my situation to agency after agency in hopes of finding one that will help us adopt, that process is drilling my reality into my consciousness. I have left everything behind. I thought that having our things here would surround me with comfort. I am thankful that they are finally here, but seeing them here brings home the revelation that nearly leaves me gasping: our old home is empty. Our old life is a closed chapter. There is a tangible finality that is leaving me pale.

I wish that in making such a tremendous move, I'd have come to a place that is solid. Instead we've come to a whole new layer of decisions. The rent on the house we're living in is not proportionate to our income. It would be wise to move. The idea of living here for only three months, unpacked, only to pack and move again is just dreadful. I've always known that there would probably be one more move in the near future before we settled down. Now I wonder if I'll have the energy to do it all again?

My brain is just a mess of questions. I went for a walk by myself today and sat on a bench in the park, looking out into Five Dock Bay, watching the wind make meringue-like peaks out of the water. I thought that if I sat there and listened, and made my inner wind still, that I would hear The Answers. The Answers to all of my questions. I did hear some answers, but the questions are still ricocheting around my insides.

This life is so weird. What are we doing here? I'm an American. I don't plan on becoming Australian. Some days it makes so much sense and I am peaceful. Other days I feel like a fizzy drink, shaken, with the cap screwed on tight. Pressurized. Intense. Trying to force my energy to the boundaries, the parameters of my life here, so that I can settled down within them, and rest.

Finally!!!

Our container is scheduled to be delivered tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. Hooray!

I may just have to give those movers a big hug and kiss!

I have had stomach flutters all day, just thinking about the possibility of sleeping in my own bed tomorrow night, setting up Sprouty's crib, using my cooking pans and my sharp knives!

As I'm getting ready, I can't help but think about fellow blogger friend Sster, whose house has been wrecked in the Midwest floods. She and her hubby and toddler are staying in a studio apartment and will never be able to return to their ruined home. She is working on her thesis and is a writer. She's lost all of her books. Can you imagine? My books are dear friends.

So rejoice with me that my ship has come in, and if you want to help a dear net-friend get back on her feet, go to her blog and request her info. They are going to set up a Target registry for house stuff. It's so easy to pop onto a registry and have something delivered.

I think having our stuff here will propel us into the next stage of adjusting here. I hope it's a fun stage.

Culture and Family Size

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

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

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

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

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

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

(I) enter Sydney.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Edited to Add:

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

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

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

Number 3, Where are You?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Quick Shout

A quick request: if you have an adoption agency that you feel is exemplary, or that you are pleased with, please email me the agency name.

I am casting a larger, and larger net in order to find an agency that might work with us abroad. The more I find out, the more I think it might work, if we just find an agency that will participate in such a bureaucratic nightmare!

Thanks!

The Church Search Comes to a Close

I really can't believe it. After only two months here we are already putting down roots in a church I am really loving. Oddly enough it is the church I wanted to avoid because it is a MEGA church, but it seems to be the right place for our family.

We are attending an "extension service" near our house, so the church is linked with the main church, but maintains the small congregation feel. There are about 300 members that attend two services (the building is not large enough to accommodate 300 people in one service) and people also go to events at the MEGA church.

In those 300 people, 30 nationalities are represented. There are several people with African heritage, a Dutch grandmother who has already taken us under her wing, no end of inter-racial couples, and inter-ethnic couples and their children, and I'd guess about 15% of the members appear "white" but there again, people are coming from lots of different countries. Second languages are normal, immigration is normal, diverse heritage is normal, connection to a big world is normal.

The theology embraced by the leadership and the members is right up our alley. Basically, God is good, and what is not good is not from God. Last week the teaching was on fear. I found myself on permanent head-nod as the pastor exhorted the members that a life filled with fear and anxiety isn't God's will for our lives. As a person who spent a childhood absolutely consumed in fear, is was a spot-on message.

The style of the worship is familiar to us, and the people are warm and genuine. In the last four weeks we have been invited to (and attended several of these) a home group Bible study, a games night, lunch after church, a movie night, a guy's footy night (Australian rules football - kind of a football, rugby hybrid unique to Australia), and dinner at a couple's house. Every week scores of people introduce themselves and take time to talk and get to know us. At first I assumed they were just very proactive in their "greeter ministry", but people are genuinely friendly and I can tell we are not part of a "new members program". Amazingly, the people just really are this warm.

One couple in particular has really taken us under their wing and they are just so kind. To be a world away from friends and family and have people take a sincere interest in getting to know us, AND following it through with ongoing interaction just means the world right now.

The children's service is so cheerful and the teachers kind. Our kids are enjoying it and they already have friends from a range of ages that they play with after church. The older girls take turns carrying Sprout around and Small Sun wrestles with the other boys and burns out his energy running laps around the hall after the service is ended. Person after person comment on how beautiful and kind our children are and they also seem very positive on adoption.

I'm pretty flabbergasted, really. I mean, there are some things I'm not so crazy about, but every time I assume that something is just staged or for show, I am amazed at the genuineness of the conviction behind different decisions and actions. I said in a previous post that "with God, nothing is too good to be true". My own assertion is shaking me up a good deal these days.

Don't Trust a Vegetarian

Don't trust a vegetarian to buy your meat for you. If you do, you might end up with this:

Last time I was at the store I got all excited because I saw what I thought was prepared Lebanese meatballs. I decided to buy them next time I shopped so I got them today. Is there even such a thing as Lebanese meatballs? It wasn't until I started looking at the package for the cooking directions that I started to get puzzled.

Oh no, the

-"nutritionally complete & balanced meal for your dog"
-"pet food only"
-picture of a barking dog, and
-"4 Legs" logo

didn't tip me off.

How could such a glaring oversight occur, you might ask? Two reasons:

1. Shopping with two children for two weeks worth of groceries - you just grab stuff as fast as you can.
2. Desperation for help with preparing meat. If you don't eat it, it's hard to be creative with how to cook it and you end up in a rut quite easily.

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I love to cook vegetarian food. I've been watching Top Chef all the time and while I enjoy it, I don't find much that translates to our dinner table. I did notice, however, the way a contestant was cooking peppers. I gave it a go and really enjoyed the flavor. Here are some bright ingredients from some pasta sauce from scratch, sans dog meat!

Waiting for my Ship to Come In. Literally.

We shipped a full container with 70% of our belongings in the first week of March. We sold our house, car, and a bunch of other stuff. Anything electrical had to go, except for our computers which we are running through power converters. We've been living out of suitcases for three months now. It's getting old.

What we're doing now is glorified camping. Since our house has no closets, we bought things like bookcases, a sideboard, wardrobe, and other large storage furniture at Ikea. We have a lovely rug in the living room, and one chair that we take turns sitting in at night. If we're watching a long movie, Captain and I take an intermission to get dessert out, and trade places so one person doesn't have to sit on the floor the whole time.

We also hit a Craigslist goldmine buying tons of stuff from a Canadian girl moving back home. So really, it's cushy camping but it's still camping. I have one sauce pan, one frying pan, and one baking pan. I've been experimenting with cooking pasta in the rice cooker. I brought some pretty plastic plates from Target and I have some cutlery from Ikea. The forks only have three tongs and the food falls off between them. Sometimes dinner is late because I have to let something finish cooking in one pan before I can get the next thing on.

Everything in our place is off-white. Don't get me wrong, it's a gorgeous place, but I'm a color girl. The bland walls are wearing on me and I curl up at night in my orange-pattern duvet and feel warmed by the color as much as the down.

Sprouty is sleeping in a pack-n-play, which is too small for her. We sneak in at night to wiggle her around when her neck it at an angle, smushed against the side. She doesn't want us to take any of her snugglies out so she has a blanket, a duvet, a large donkey, a doll, and her small soft blankie all tangled up in there with her. I would never have let Small Sun do that, what with SIDS and all...second children.

Not having our stuff is hard for me. I miss it. I sit and dream about what is in our container. I have a box of cake mix in the cupboard, just waiting for my cake pan. My bed! My sweet, wrought iron bed that I've been sleeping in since I was a teenager. Sprout's crib, of course, and the play kitchen still in the box from Christmas. Cloth diapers. My pure white china, simple and strong. My cutlery, bought in a shop in Holland. Vases for flowers, instead of milk jugs with the top cut off! And my clothes, oh I miss them so much!

I loved The Boxcar children growing up, and really, I can be very creative with just about anything. There comes a time, though, when the pleasure of the challenge wears off, and you just want it to feel like home. I need this place, our little house at least, to feel like home. I need the plants growing in the garden, and my earthly treasures on the shelves, for it to be home. For me to know that we're staying here. For it to be life instead of camping.

Our container has been part of a backlog in quarantine for three weeks. They're supposed to process it today. Cross you fingers with me, will you?