Growing Family

Orphan Care

Kristen at Rage Against the Minivan has written a really fantastic piece outlining how the Christian evangelical orphan care movement needs to be very thoughtful in how it goes about attempting to help orphans, and how some of the current models contribute to abandonment and lifelong institutional care.

If you are interested at all in international adoption, faith-inspired orphan care, or children's rights, please take the time to read and share it. It is really informative and compelling, and worth your time!

http://www.rageagainsttheminivan.com/2013/09/how-christian-orphan-care-movement-may.html

Unexpected

There are some changes in a major move that the relocation specialists, and the "Welcome to _____" guidebooks just can't help you anticipate. Things that you don't even think about, but that end up mattering in a profound way.

No one says "the intensity of the sun, and the length of daylight hours, and the angle of the sun in the changing seasons (or seeming lack of them) will disorient you entirely and leave you feeling the most primal unfamiliarity, where you awaken, disoriented, for weeks on end."

We moved to Russia during the white nights in June. The sun dimmed from ten pm until about two or three am. It was not dark, just muted daylight. Daylight filtered by the impression of night, but not night itself. Then, three hours later, the sun rises with strength, and I couldn't tell where, or when, I was.

Each time I am in Holland, I arrive in a jet-lagged stupor, and each time I am struck by the paleness of the sky, the whiteness of the sunshine, and the mournful sound of the turtledoves when I awake in the morning, to the ringing of bike bells out on the street below.

In Australia the sky was so blue, and the light so intense, I could hardly believe it was real. I took picture after picture, documenting cornflower skies against terra cotta roof tiles, the saturated colors filled up some empty reservoir inside me. The sun shines butter yellow, unimpeded by the ozone layer.

Here in Houston it is dark when I awake. I have never lived at this latitude and longitude before. I have never experienced the sun at this angle in this season. I look for friendship in the color of the sky, the rhythm of the seasons, the way things are here.

I plant my garden, I sow seeds in trays. I squat down to examine blossoms that don't ripen to fruit. I plunge my finger into the soil, to the second knuckle, dry. I roll the soil in my palm, the richness has all dripped away in rainstorms, the plants sag and shrivel.

They don't tell you in a guidebook that the very earth feels different, depending on where you stand on it, and sometimes, waiting for the firmness to descend into your feet is the hardest part. 

Savoring Summer

We are officially into autumn, or as I need to re-learn, fall. A major storm came through over the weekend, flooding our sun room, and bringing with it slightly cooler temperatures. Don't misunderstand me, it's still Texas, and it's still hot-as, but first thing in the morning, and late at night, you can step outside without feeling like you've been bear-hugged by a moist bear wearing polar fleece. That's something, eh?

There was a week at the end of the summer holidays when Finch started school but Small Sun and Sprout had one more week at home. We turned out of doors for a walk one morning, when the walls were caving in. We were actually on our way home when we spotted a ditch full of water, full of tadpoles. We fetched a large pickle jar I found in the garage, and a tadpole collecting party commenced.

I read yesterday about a writer who takes a moment to write the best moment from her day on a small piece of paper before dropping it into a jar. It may have been a beautiful ray of sunshine, or a shared laugh, a small treasure to keep forever.

I keep going back to the joy of our tadpole party. The greenness of the grass, the long lying shadows of the trees, the reflection off the water, the dog twitching with desire to eat every squirrel in sight, my children returning home, triumphant and fulfilled, with their "babies".

Here is my scrap of paper and my jar, I'm popping this one in.

Two out of Three is Not Enough

In Australia Small Sun and Sprout went to a private Christian school with about 350 students spanning Kindergarten to sixth grade. Each grade ran two classes, and the whole school had assembly together two times a week.

The older children looked out for the younger children, and as a parent, I really felt that if my young children grew up admiring and copying the older children, I would be pleased. It was a wonderful school for us.

I did as much research as I could  into schools here, and knew stacks of statistics about the public schools (diversity profiles, number of financially disadvantaged students, special programs), and the details about the private schools in our budget, in the areas we were considering.

In the end, we landed where we landed, and prioritized a house we liked, and it happened to be zoned for a really good public school that met all of our criteria. It is big, about 750 students in Kindy - 5th Grade. Unfortunately, there wasn't space in the preschool program affiliated with the school, so we had to look for another option for Finch.

This is how Small Sun and Sprout feel about going to school in the morning.

 

They feel like Usain Bolt before a race, or after he's won, take your pick. They're playing in the school band, they're reigning champions of lunch time jump rope competitions, and they're surviving the American worksheet homework and myriads of tests. Small Sun reported having made "about 17" friends on the first day of school, and Sprout had "about nine best friends." They're confident, they're athletic, they're capable, and they're ruling this transition.

On the other hand, here's how Finch looks most mornings.

Forgive the blur, but this picture captures the most scowly of the scowls*. He hates the formal uniform (which includes hard black dress shoes on chapel days), he hates the formal academic structure, he hates learning a second language, he just isn't into it.

How can I blame him? In Australia preschool was something I wanted to attend. A massive outdoor space with a sandpit as big as our swimming pool, a resident rabbit on the premises, a garden, raising tadpoles, making messy art, very tuned in and empathetic teachers, bays of sunny windows, interest-led curriculum...I could go on for ages.

In Houston when I looked for a preschool I asked each place we toured "would you say your program is play-based or more of a formal education model?" As if to assure me that my money was well spent, they would all jump to exclaim "oh no, not play based! Our kids learn French/Trigonometry/Baroque Literature, etc!" If only they had known that was the last thing I wanted to hear.

I care about childhood immensely, and I have a very clear opinion on what kinds of environments and opporunities contribute to great childhood experiences. The only local preschools tailored for those types of opportunities were 25k+. For PRESCHOOL. EACH YEAR. So I picked the best of the options in our budget, and we're doing our best.

It is a good school, it's just no the right preschool for Finch at four years old. He is, shall we say, ecentric. He was finally thriving with teachers that went to great lengths to find a new dinosaur activity to engage him each time he arrived at preschool. Here he comes home and moans "we had to write so many letters, and I cried because I was so fruster-er-ated!"

My poor baby.

Two are thriving, and one is hating. We've done what all good parents do, and have resorted to bribery. "If you can make it through drop off this week, without throwing tantrums in the morning, we will celebrate with a special breakfast on Saturday with your choice - waffles or pancakes."

Tomorrow is Monday, so we'll see how we go.

Thoughts? Condolences? Opinions? We are contractually bound to pay for the year whether we stay or not, and I really don't think we'll find anything better in our budget. The teacher is good, although less tender than I'd hoped for...Sigh.

 

*I know the star looks weird, but it's the only way I know how to obstruct the school logo. I'm tech savvy enough to write a blog, but not savvy enough to do it better!

Brothers

Four years apart, fast friends. This is what brothers look like.

My Next Step

The Captain and I agreed on a plan when we decided to start a family. I would stay home with our kids until they were all in school, and then I would go back to work, or transition back into a greater level of engagement with society.

It wasn't easy. I've been at home for eight years, and it has taken determination, sacrifice, and focus. I am so glad that I've done it. I am proud of sticking with it, and doing my at-home mothering to the best of my ability (most days!).

This year is my transition year. Now that Finch is in preschool, getting ready to start school next year, I need to decide on what I want to do next, and how to get there. Easier said than done.

I have two different dream jobs in my head that are completely different from each other.

Job 1 - Working with a landscape design firm on small projects, designing and installing gardens specifically for families, incorporating permaculture principles, bringing wildlife into the garden, creating organic kitchen gardens, and creative and thoughtful play areas for children. Bunny Guiness is my idol.

Job 2 - Working to support families (biologically intact, foster, or adoptive) with access to information, and connection to resources during times of challenge. 

The kind of job I had before we started our family is completely out of the question, now that we have three busy kids. I don't want work to stray too far outside of school hours. For Job 1 I would need to retrain, as I have no credentials in design or horticulture.

You'd think that after considering it for several years, I'd know just what to do...but I don't. 

After being out all this time, the idea of going into job interviews or back to study is a bit daunting. In my dream scenario, I find work through a social connection, and just kind of slip back in. There's a lot of fantasy going on here, I know.

How about you? Have you navigated a career change or a relaunch back into the workforce? How did you do it?

Living Open

I was always amazed in Sydney, at the breadth of financial resource represented in my group of friends. Once I pulled up to a new friend's house to discover that she was quite wealthy. I hadn't known before arriving at her magnificent home. Another school friend, also there for the same event, said "that's the thing about Australia, rich and poor alike can all have a place at the same table." 

I had friends receiving government assistance, and there was no shame in it, unlike America. I had friends who owned successful businesses, and though wealthy, lived simply. I had friends whose wealth showed a little more, but was still understated by American standards. And truly, we all gathered together, on equal ground, each valued and contributing*. 

This weekend we are entertaining three different groups of people in our home. People whose homes I have never seen, and whose net worth I have no grasp of. In Australia it wouldn't matter. Whether in a  humble cottage or a grand estate, it is the people you are there to see. It is the people that matter. 

The Captain and I watched a funny movie the other night. I can't remember the title now, but two friends meet after long years apart. The man says "I am doing really well. I'm driving this Escalade, and you should see my condo, it's amazing." The woman says, "so tell me about your life now?" "I just did." he replies. 

In much of America, things matter more. What you drive, where you live, whose clothes you wear. Kids know the different between the Polo pony and a regular old horse on your tshirt. 

Having new people over to my house feels so vulnerable. My taste is not mainstream, and I am in all the details. It is like they can see all of me at a glance, and like it or not like it. They can like or not like me. It's like the blog, really. I just write it all here, from my heart, and everyone once in awhile I feel anxious at the thought of some unknown person finding it all rubbish. 

I'm excited, and nervous. Hoping this action of opening up our home and ourselves will result in new friendships. I'm trying to live open, even though it takes effort and intent. Here's to a sunny weekend, and seeds of friendship. 

*That is not to say that there are not areas of Sydney where class, and new money vs old money, family names, and your suburb and alma mater don't matter, there certainly are, but generally speaking, in the circles I was in, those things didn't define the potential for friendship. 

 

Wish to be Known

Last Thursday I was invited to a new friend's house. Also an expat, new to Houston, and with young children, she can relate to the stage I am in. This is the phase where you can see all you've left behind piled up like a mountain of longing, but there is very little new richness accumulated to tip the balance.

She served tea, in a teapot, with milk and sugar, in their little pots. She served pastries on a pretty plate. She gave me a housewarming present. We sat at her table and talked for two hours, taking turns snuggling her plump baby. My tears well up just to recall it.

The desire to be known is such a deep and primal longing. I was struck today, reading in Genesis, that the Biblical writers often put sex in those terms. Adam knew his wife, and they had babies. Not just pleasure, or procreation, the greatest shared intimacy is a knowing and being known.

I walk our dog in our neighborhood nearly every night. He loves the exercise and starts nudging my leg and jumping back and forth as soon as dinner is wrapping up. I need the rythm of seeing, and being seen, while I am still unknown here. 

In these early weeks I've felt like I am hardly fastened to the planet, that I could somehow come untethered and just slip off into the atmosphere. I think over the myriad of tiny interactions in my life in Sydney - those that seemed to little matter - smiles and waves to friends across the schoolyard in the morning, a text message from a friend, a neighbor bringing over a package delivered while I was out, or seeing the same faces at the post office each time I go. Each slight interaction was a gossamer thread, all crossing over me, securing me in place, and in community.

Walking at night I say hello to each person I pass, needing to be seen, and acknowledged. I slow down for neighbors watering their grass, or tending their gardens. I throw out invitational sentences, and feel I have struck gold when someone exchanges small talk with me, rich upon learning my neighbor's names. Those nights I feel my feet on the pavement, and a calm in my heart, reassured that I will not lose my grip on gravity that night.

I remember my deepest longing as a child, was to have big people really see me, and know me. They spoke over my head, indeed, their whole existence was beyond my level. I longed to have their faces and their eyes come down to me, to take me in. I vowed that when I grew tall, I would stoop, and I would see.

I think that is the value I carry through life. Sometimes the fire burns bright, and other times it is embers, but I want to see people, and to know them. I want to hear their stories and experience those moments of connection. I want the children in my life to know that I hear them, I see them, and they matter. 

It has been a long time since my own need to be known has been so accute, but there it is, layed bare, intense, vulnerable. 

It doesn't take much, a smile, a salutation, a small generous act, a cup of tea, to help another person feel fastened to this life. Thank you, to my new friend, who kindly did that for me. 

Seven Weeks In Houston

The Captain and I have been in Houston for seven weeks. Just to record things for posterity, here's where we stand.

We have a house.

Our container arrived six days ago and much of the house is unpacked/set up/decorated.

Finch is in his third week of school. He is starting to fight going a little bit less in the mornings. He reports that he is "very fruster-er-ated" with learning to write, and that he needs to take a nap at school because he is working so hard. 

Small Sun and Sprout are in their second week of school. Small Sun jumped ahead a half grade to start in 3rd grade and Sprout is starting 1st grade again, because of their birthdays. So far they both love their school, their teachers, and are making lots of friends. It has been all positive for them on the school front.

Small Sun passed the coordination test to play percussion in the school band. Sprout is learning the flutophone. We are taking advantage of the strong music program at the big kid's public school.

Small Sun is playing soccer. When he was here, my brother introduced us to some good friends of theirs who recently moved from Tanzania to Houston. The father of that family is coaching a local soccer team, so when he invited Small Sun to join, it seemed an obvious opportunity.

Sprout is taking ballet at a well-recognized studio that is fifteen minutes from our house. 

Two weeks ago we visited a church that we loved. It is a good half hour drive, but worth it. There are two community/small groups within ten minutes from our house, so we'll give those a try.

My sister and her boyfriend came to spend Labor Day weekend with us. It was fantastic to have her pop down. We went to The Museum of Natural Science and saw the dinosaur exhibit, the Faberge exhibit, and the Butterfly arboretum. Those exhibits were only a very few of what is on offer there, and they were AMAZING. We got a family membership, and I can't wait to go again.

Yesterday I planted a butterfly garden, inspired by the arboretum. I also have a vegetable garden in, and did some landscaping.

Tomorrow I have my very first invitation to have coffee with someone. I am so excited.

My cooking is starting to taste better now that I have all my pots and pans, and know my way around the grocery store a bit better.

I love our neighborhood. 

Our dog loves it here.

I'm homesick every day, but I feel normal when I've driving on the right hand side of the road.

Five days a week I have 7:45am-12:15pm to myself. It is heavenly. 

I know our daughter, our other daughter is out there, and soon I'm going to start looking for her.

That's the news from the seven week mark.