A Week with Wee Ones

I'm a trained middle school teacher, so when I was asked to sub for the week in a 3-year-old preschool class, I wasn't quite sure what to expect.

On the first day I had a little guy dressed in a policeman uniform demand (in the most authoritative voice he could muster) that I "put my hands behind my back" because I was "under arrest." Of course I did as I was told. He led me to the corner where he "locked" me in jail. When I asked him what crime I had committed, he answered, "You made BAD choices!"

The next day a lovely child hurled in front of the classroom door right before dismissal. My reaction was to flee to avoid hurling myself, however the preschoolers desired to cluster around the miserable child and jockey for the best view. Since this incident took place in front of the door, the kids couldn't leave the classroom unless I performed an airlift mission over the vomit into the waiting hands of parents.

On the same day I had helped a little girl put her shoes on. After I tied her laces, she looked up at me and said sweetly, "Thank you, my serf." What 3-year-old knows the word SERF and can actually use it in proper context?

The week ended with one of the students loudly declaring, "My dad only wears Jockeys to bed!" Then the rest of the class began shouting out what their fathers wear to bed (or not) even though I was shouting "no, no" and holding my hands over my ears. Let's just say I won't be looking some of those guys in the eye anymore.

All in all it was a great week. It made me even more anxious to have Spud home.

And anxious to buy WMWM some pajamas.

Orphanage Review Update

CHI let us know today that the orphanage review that is holding up our travel will be completed March 7. That's two days earlier than we expected. We'll take it!

Girl Talk

Surprise -- I’m a liberal! What, you’re NOT surprised? :)

Like many women, I feel torn this year about our democratic field. I am caught up in the optimism of the Obama campaign, yet I’d really love to see a well-qualified woman in the White House.

I continue to be disgusted by commentators who ascribe adjectives to Hillary that would never be applied to a man with a similar forceful personality and ambition.

Take these, for example:

“Her sunshine-colored jackets on the trail hardly disguise the fact that she’s pea-green with envy.” (BTW,who cares about the color of her jackets?)

“After saying she found her “voice” in New Hampshire, she has turned into Sybil.”

“She peevishly and pointlessly complained…”

Seriously, would anyone describe Hillary as green with jealousy if she were a man? As unglued and suffering from a mental disability? As being whiny and nagging?

I know I’m not even close to the first person to complain about this. But what really made me crazy about these particular statements is that they were written by a woman, columnist Maureen Dowd in today’s New York Times. Wouldn’t you think she’d know better?

Then again, maybe I’m just being peevish.

P.S. Here's an interesting post.

Spudster again!

We were blessed to receive another update from a traveling family: "I just wanted you to know that I have seen Spud several times. He looks great, just very shy around us. He is very loved and very cared for by the nannies. He seems very happy with them. I even saw him out playing in the courtyard with a ball and several other little boys around his age. He let me come up and talk to him today, just wasn't ready for me to give him a hug yet. But, I told him mommy was coming soon and the nanny understood me and told him, too." Isn't that fabulous?

WMWM is QUITE alarmed that it may be a soccer ball Spud is playing with in the courtyard at HOH. We are not a soccer family -- WMWM's theory on soccer is "it's not a sport if you don't use your hands." Of course, this is from a man whose theory on the Grand Canyon is that "it's just a big hole in the ground."


WMWM and I have been in negotiations about me going to Ethiopia before him and the kids to begin bonding with Spud. His concerns have included my safety and health. However, the possibility that Spud is playing soccer may have sealed the deal for me. WMWM has instructed me to pack a baseball. It's obvious where my heath and safety really rate, huh?

WMWM took a l-o-n-g time to warm up to this adoption thing (years and years), and when he finally agreed I was worried he was doing it for me. The day we received Spud's referral and saw his picture, WMWM declared Spud's middle name would be "Banks" after Ernie Banks of the Cubs. I wasn't worried after that.

Thank you ALL for keeping us in your prayers.

Peace.

Spud Update

Spudlet turned 18 months last Friday, the 15th. At one point we thought we would be traveling this week to bring him home. It appears now as though we will not travel until April.

I got a call from a wonderful mama who returned home with her beautiful child last week. She shared that Spud is TINY, like 12-18 months-pants-size-tiny. He likes lollipops and bubbles, but he is very shy and apprehensive. He has some hair now. He seems sad.

I have been praying that God softens Spud's heart for us and that his hurts can heal. I know He is holding him in the palm of His hand.

Amen.

I Want My Baby Back

I was informed by Tater on the way home from school today that he will be "chillaxing" in the basement all evening because he needs some "me time." I was further instructed that his father and I are not to have any contact with him unless it is an emergency, and that means someone better be bleeding.

That's it! This growing up MUST stop! Mama's heart can't take it. Effective immediately Tater will be restricted to a diet of cigarettes and candy in an effort to stunt his growth.

Is That a Volcano in Your Pocket ...

As a fifth grader, Tater got to watch the "puberty" video at school yesterday. The following exchange took place when I picked him up from school.

Me: Did you learn anything from the movie today?

Tater: Yeah. I learned that boys have things called "eruptions."

Close enough, I suppose.

Peace.

Back to the Books

There are several books that celebrate being Black-American and having African heritage that we have added to Spud’s library.

Black All Around is a rhyming book with bold illustrations. This joyous picture book honors all things in our world that are beautiful and black.

The beauty of diversity within the African American community is the focus of the book, Shades of Black. It features fun photography and marvelous metaphors for skin of all hues.

I See the Rhythm is a serious yet fun rhyming book that is a stunningly-illustrated. It explores the history of African American music and the impact it has had on the world. This is a book kids can grow into – they may not understand all of the vocabulary when they are small, but they will love the sound of you reading it. And as they get older, kids will enjoy the timeline and facts that are included in the margins of each page.

Africa Brothers and Sisters is an out-of-print book I ordered from an online reseller. It’s about a father sharing the family’s African roots with his son and describing the diversity and gifts of the people and cultures of Africa.

The author of Masai and I uses the imagination of a young girl to take readers on a journey through Masai culture. The main character compares a typical day in her life to what her life would be like in a Masai village. The text is engaging and the illustrations are colorful.

A couple of books I’ve read but have not purchased are Happy to be Nappy, Nappy Hair, and I Love My Hair. These are all great books that feature girls experiencing the joys and trials associated with their hair. Since Spud is a boy, I decided to spend my limited funds on other books for now, but I hope to add these to our collection at a later time.

Do you know of any other books along these lines that we should check out? Please share!

Peace.

Responsibilities - Last part!

I have just a couple of random thoughts to wrap up this string of posts.

First, I know that just showing up at a church a couple times a month won’t integrate us into the life of its congregation. I do plan to become an active, contributing member of this church family and be about its work. Last Wednesday I began attending a Bible study, and I will be volunteering for a committee that is forming this month. (On a side note, I’m not one who often thinks she’s “heard” the Lord “speaking” to her, but He was screaming at me Wednesday to get my rumpus to Bible study. I have been telling myself to go for a couple of months now, but when Wednesdays rolled around, I always chickened out. I made every excuse to Him this Wednesday too, but He would have none of it. Thank you, Lord!)

Second, the pastor of this church embraced us whole-heartedly (literally and figuratively!) from the first second we stepped through its doors. After a few months of attending, I made an appointment to speak with him. I spilled our adoption story and explained our desire for Spud to grow up with strong, faithful people of color in his life. Then I asked if he would help us raise our son. He was affirming and encouraging and gracious. We spoke openly about adoption, race, raising children, and faith.

If you, like us, look out at your life and see only pale people gazing back, think about the message you’re sending to your child. Meeting new people and putting ourselves in new situations is often uncomfortable, but we need to get out there and do it. It is our responsibility, and it’s an amazing gift we can give our children and ourselves.

Peace.

Segway...

I took the "religion" quiz at this link and matched 100% to Orthodox Quaker. Wow.

Responsibilities - Pt. 2

Many years ago when Tater was about 3, I decided to visit a predominantly Black church in the same neighborhood as our church. It’s difficult to sort through my motivations for doing so. Honestly, part of it was that I love gospel music. Part of it was that I was a bit disenchanted with our church at the time. And part of it was that I was vaguely aware of the “whiteness” of our family’s world, and I wanted to expand Tater’s horizons.

So one morning after T's 8:00 service, Tater and I walked down the block and attended another service. I was wearing a jean dress, no nylons, and flat shoes. As usual, I brought Tater Cheerios to eat and little cars to play with during service. When we arrived, people stared at us. The ushers greeted us cautiously. We were led to a pew where I proceeded to unpack all Tater’s food and toys and spread them out next to us. Next thing I knew, a stern usher lady with white gloves and a white cap descended upon us and told me to put everything away. I was embarrassed. I was intimidated. I wanted to go home.

After that experience, I decided it would be a cold day in H-E-double-toothpicks before I tried that again. But if you really think about it, what happened at that church was MY OWN FAULT. I was incredibly disrespectful. The congregants of this church were dressed impeccably, and I had shown up in a jean dress and bare legs. The children of this church (even the little ones!) sat reverently behind the pastor with their hands folded, yet I had commandeered one-quarter of a pew with my kid’s stuff and assumed that my toddler’s eating and playing during service would be excused.

People hadn’t stared and frowned at me because I was white, they had stared and frowned because I was PRESUMPTUOUS AND RUDE!

Whenever we accept an invitation, I make sure to dress appropriately. If I don’t know a lot about where we are going or who is hosting, I usually ask around so I can prepare myself and my children to behave according to expectations. Yet as a guest in this church, I hadn’t bothered to attend to these simple courtesies.

Though this experience was painful, it was invaluable in my life in general, and it was part of God’s plan to shape me into Spud’s mama, even though at the time I had no idea I would be Spud’s mama!

When I decided to visit churches again this fall, I went about it differently. I dressed respectfully. I humbly asked questions about the traditions of the church and its worship service. I observed the expectations of the congregants and did my best to conform.

But as I mentioned earlier, I’m not perfect. I’ve made embarrassing mistakes (walking down the center aisle of M’s sanctuary after service has started is a no-no, in case you’re wondering). When I make mistakes, I apologize profusely, and then I forgive myself. And I find others forgive me too.

Peace.

Responsibilities - Pt. 1

A couple of things I want to set out before I start this entry:

1. I am not an expert nor am I perfect. I am a work in progress.
2. The purpose of these entries is not to “toot my own horn,” but to share information and encourage others who are also works in progress.
3. Since I am not an expert nor perfect, I will make mistakes. If I phrase something in a way that is insensitive or I have made assumptions based on stereotypes without realizing it, please call me out. I want to learn.

One of the greatest responsibilities we accept as adoptive parents is to make sure we are raising strong people of color. It occurred to me early on that we are uniquely unqualified to meet this challenge alone. WMWM and I would have to look to people of color to help us.

So, I started counting the number of people of color with whom we have close relationships and who could serve as role models for our son. There were exactly none. We have a few Black-American acquaintances, but no close friends.

It saddened me to realize that it took adoption for me to grasp how very white and very privileged my world is, especially since I considered myself an open-minded, non-racist individual (more on that deluded thinking in a future post).

The thought of establishing new, close relationships in our lives was overwhelming. By the time you reach our age, your circle is pretty much established. Building relationships requires time and energy, but kids, jobs, and other commitments don’t leave you with much of either. On top of that, where would we start?

We decided to start with church because we truly desire our son to be loved and influenced by people of faith. I began visiting predominantly Black-American churches and found one that I loved, which I'll call "M". We are very active in our Lutheran church (T), so this decision meant that we would need to find a way to honor both our Lutheran heritage and M.

I’ll be honest – it hasn’t been easy finding a way to honor both. See, WMWM was baptized and confirmed at T and has attended there all his life. His parents, grandparents on both sides, and on back for generations attended this church. Our kids were baptized there. The roots run deep. Also, WMWM was elected president of our congregation, and as such is expected to attend faithfully.

For now our solution is to split our time. I attend M every other Sunday, and WMWM has committed to attending once a month for now. On the one Sunday a month when WMWM and I do not attend the same church, we usually let the kids decide which parent they would like to go with.

I’m getting off track from where I wanted to go here, so let me bring it back around. Deciding to attend a new church was not easy. As usual, I was worried. I worried that . . .

people would stare at me . .
some might resent me for being there . . .
people would think I was trying to “act black” (whatever that means) . . .
once they found out I was adopting, would people think I was “using them” to be my “black friends”? And would they be right? . . .
I would accidentally say something stupid or offensive . . .
etc. etc. etc.

In other words, it was all about ME. But then I realized it's not about me, it's about SPUD.

This post is getting long, so I will continue tomorrow. Thanks for hanging in there!

Peace.

It's Not That Simple

International adoption seems like such a simple thing -- there are children in the world who need homes. We have a home and desire a child. Put the two together, and the world is a better place. Right?

Some days I try to convince myself that adoption is actually that simple. Because the reality of adoption is so much more complicated and difficult to face.

The reality of adoption is that it's about loss. A birthmother loses her child. A child loses his birth family. He loses his country. His language. His name. Everything that looks, sounds, feels, tastes, and smells familiar.

The reality of adoption is that it's about race. It's about (mostly) white people adopting children of color. How will we white people raise these children? Will we raise them to be strong, confident, adults of color? Or will they grow up angry, hurt, and confused about their identities?

The reality of adoption is that it's about class. It's about upper and middle class people removing children of poverty from poorer nations. It's about profiting personally from someone else's unfortunate economic circumstances. It's about thousands of dollars exchanging hands, but none of it getting into the hands of the family who needed it to take care of the child.

The reality of adoption is that it's about control. As in the child has none. He doesn't choose to forfeit his culture. He doesn't choose to abandon his language and his customs. He doesn't choose to live in a country where people of his skin color are still stereotyped, discriminated against, and marginalized. We've made all the decisions -- but it's our child who has to live with them.

Why then are we moving forward? It's a question always on my mind. The answer is simple: there are children in the world who need homes. We have a home and the desire to parent a child. So we move forward humbly and with the understanding that we are accepting an incredible gift, and with it incredible responsibility.

Peace.