Their Order

“I will always be the oldest around here!” he declares with a look of superiority sent in his sister’s direction.  She rolls her eyes a little, for this is nothing new, this place of second child that is hers to possess.  She possesses it well, striving, always, to be as good as her eldest brother at everything.  This drive makes her come in close behind him though she is a full 18 months younger, such that she reads better than he did at her age, she climbs higher than he did, swims deeper and further than he did when he was four.  She pushes herself, sometimes to the point of tears because she is, after all, quite a bit younger than her brother.  Hers is the advantage spot, a perch in life that allows her to see how to do something by watching someone else figure it out before her, perfecting her approach before she even begins.  She puts puzzles together in her head before her fingers even touch the pieces; she plans her next move before her turn comes around on the board game.  She, more than any of us, tends to plot.

The first arrived child has it harder, I think.  He has had to break us in, to survive us while we lurched, suddenly, from child to parent in the swift movement of a baby passed from one set of arms to another.  There was no labor and delivery to mark the momentousness of the occasion, no nurse there to show us how to hold him, comfort him, give him a bottle.  We had to learn through trial and error and he bravely endured our many gaffs on the way to knowledge.  His place of first in our family is worn well on his shoulders, but sometimes I worry that the pressure of being first will mark him somehow.  He is, right now, the child that we sit and talk about at night: How will we keep him busy enough but not too busy?  Is this the right school?  Is he getting a good balance of freedom and structure?  Do we know who his friends are, who their parents are?  What is our stance on video games?  Violence in media/movies/television?  How are we going to not screw this up?  It’s not that we don’t worry about Emma, it’s just that the first child somehow requires a different sort of worry, a more intense scrutiny of life and surroundings and influences and decisions.  Our first child knows how to buckle down, to put one foot in front of the other and make his way through whatever comes his way; our daughter follows quietly and keenly in his footsteps, perfecting his moves with her own brand of intuition and authority.

As we wait for our third child, I cannot help but wonder who he will be, how his piece of this life’s puzzle will fit into our family.  And how will we be with him?  With two children safely and successfully growing under our care, how will we approach the raising of our littlest?  I will not lie – this wait seems endless and insurmountable right now, and there are days when I wonder and despair about the possibility that the child in those pictures we so adore might not come home at all.  I find myself thinking a great deal about the past, about the adjustment periods that both of our children went through upon arrival.  The third time around, will these new circumstances in our adoption make a difference in how we, as a family, process each other?  Will Joon, the stoic, sad face in all of these pictures, join our family with, finally, a smile?

 

I wonder if he will be the happy-go-lucky ‘third child’ I see in the families that blossom around us, or if he will have the yearning to always catch up that his sister so acutely feels.  I grow weary of the wondering, and here we are five months in and possibly more than a year to go. 

The time burns by so very slowly.

Two Months’ Lessons

The last two months have sucked.  There it is, out loud and in print and I am not ashamed to say that is honestly how I feel about that block of time.  
The kids have been endlessly sick with colds and allergies, rashes, high fevers, and strep throat.  They are better now and I am trying to catch up on sleep without developing bad sleeping-in sorts of habits.  Brendan was an entirely different sort of sick and then had an allergic reaction to the medications he was given, winning us an all day trip to the ER.  My husband, in the best health and fitness of his life,  lost 15 lbs. in three weeks…he’s better now, and we’re thinking that the medications that were supposed to help the problem actually exacerbated things, but it was scary to watch him melt before my eyes.  The word “worry” was given new meaning.  As I watched my babies writhe with fever and as I watched my husband’s face unswell and his speech become normal as the anaphylactic shock went away, I realized how quickly and accidentally we could lose it all.  Time is so, so precious and these people I love are so very important to me, my everything.  I will not waste it. 
Our kitchen…oh dear.  We have been waging an epic battle with Sears over a new range.  It’s not worth going into, really, other than to say we lost and now we’re cooking on a propane camp stove propped on an old door from the basement until we can sort things out and find the time to go appliance shopping yet again.  And you should know that Sears does not always think the customer is right, nor will they make grand gestures to help you when they are very badly wrong.  Enough said.  The camp stove was fun for about ten minutes, but now I just really crave some sort of normalcy in our most-used room.  I learned, though, the greatest lesson from this: Shop local, always.  Deal with a company that is in your town, whose CEO is your neighbor.  Deal with a small company that needs your sale, who will defend their reputation because the bad news about one sale gone wrong could sink them. 
School finished up for both children, a huge relief really, but it came with all of those last-minute preparations and gifts for important people and extra obligations that added to an already stressed family’s schedule.  And if you saw my last deleted post*, kindergarten graduation was not the joyful moment we expected, rather laced with anxiety and fear and an unplanned stage appearance.  I learned that my child’s dignity is worth so much more than a teacher’s idea of the perfect graduation performance.  I learned that is it easy to stand in front of a huge crowd when I am aiding my child in avoidance of terrible embarrassment and shame…imagine, the perfect cure for stage fright!
I took a sewing job on commission and got burned.  It was a highly specific and personalized bag which the client raved about, but she also “misremembered” the price I quoted her for the piece.  She stated that she only budgeted for the price she remembered and would not be able to buy the bag if I had to get the price I actually quoted her.  I sold her the bag at her price (cringes) because it was so personalized that I could not do anything else with the bag or materials if I kept it.  I learned, yet again, to always get things in writing.  I learned that I have to value my work in order for my clients to also value my work, and that standing firm on the price I set is a matter of self respect.  I think I also learned that I don’t really enjoy working on commission because to a certain extent I lose creative authority when I am working toward someone else’s goal.  This requires more thought.
I stopped telling people that we are adopting again.  The people we know and love all know, of course, but I’m not telling casual acquaintances anymore.   For some reason it is hard for people to sustain excitement for the addition of a child to our family when they hear that it will take time for our child to come home, and especially when they hear he will be two.  Their faces fall, they cringe in an obvious way, and they whisper questions to us: Are you sure you want to do that to your family?;  Why will it take so long?  Will he really come home?;  A two year old?  I would never do that.  You’ll miss everything!; Did you get your baby yet?  (this one week after I told her we were adopting internationally again). The dentist, the other parents at school, even some friends have said things like this to our faces, boldly questioning our judgment about our family.  It doesn’t hurt so much as it irritates.  I have learned that our joy alone will have to be enough to sustain us through this long wait and we will have to have faith that the others will come around once he is here.  I have learned that other peoples’ fears do not have to be our own.  I have learned, once again, that the general public knows next to nothing about adoption, but I have also reminded myself that I do not always have to be the good will ambassador.  I have learned that I don’t have to share this with everyone, though I want to shout it from the rooftops.  This semi-secret can be so very sweet, if we let it. 
So, two months’ worth of blech provided a few key life lessons and we will be better for it.  We’ll pace ourselves, make better decisions, and I will work hard on that whole creative self-worth thing.  Today is the first full day of summer break and the relief in the room is palpable.  Do you feel it, too?
*deleted because I realized that posting about it would not be conducive to helping our H6 avoid the embarrassment that could have been. 

UPDATE!!!!!

March 3rd:

May 4th (The day after his first birthday):

Oh my goodness, I don’t know where to begin.  We knew that four families from our agency were getting updates and two families got theirs yesterday so I assumed we were out of luck.  I ran to the mailbox today, with the tiniest shred of hope in my heart.  Three business size envelopes lay inside and as I flipped through them I could not believe that one had our agency’s logo!  Tears in my eyes, I ran into the house, found Brendan, and we opened it up to find our little guy’s photos and updates inside.  Hooray!!!!  Our friends, Steph and Jay, also got updated pics of their Sophie (so, so beautiful, that one).  There is much happiness here tonight!
A few notes from our update:

• walks 1-2 steps without help
• says umma, appa, and no
• likes to look at books
• scribbles with a pen
• can drink from a cup
• follows simple errands
• is a good dancer and singer
• a busy, active baby
• is shy of strangers
• has four teeth on top and four on the bottom
• he likes his bath
• he is one year old and weighs 17.4 lbs; he is 28 inches tall

What a peanut! 

A Few (Woeful) Things

• We celebrated Joon’s birthday last week.  Without him.  That was hard, but I only cried a little.  You’ve heard of Flat Stanley?  We have Flat Desmond, a picture of our littlest boy that I cut out.  We propped him next to the cake and then we blew out his candle for him.  It was fun in the most bittersweet sort of way.
• Brendan worked nights last week, 6:30pm to 6:30am.  Please, let’s not do that again anytime soon. 
• We all got some horrible fever/head cold/chest congestion thing that has made us miserable.  Or maybe it just made me miserable, working in conjunction with Brendan’s night shift and Joon not being here for his birthday.  I guess I’m just saying that I have been miserable.  And then this happened:
• We found out that our adoption agency’s partner agency in Korea, ESWS, will hit their quota and run out of Emigration Permits (EP) soon, as in any referrals made after December 1, 2010 will not travel until 2012.  This is very bad news.  Long story short, babies must have EP to leave the country.  As So. Korea winds down its international adoption program, they are decreasing by ten percent the amount of EP they give out each year, creating a backlog of babies waiting to go home to the parents they have already been matched with.  The implications of this are kind of huge for us.  When ESWS starts submitting babies for EP early in 2012, the babies from the end of 2010 are all in line before our child (as it should be).  This means ESWS is a full year behind in EP.  Agencies are rumored to be preparing their families for a minimum 15 month wait from referral to travel…if this is true Desmond will be home in July….of next year.  And he will be two. 
• There is a dark side to all of this, which is the possibility that ESWS could run out of EP even earlier next year, in which case our “baby” could possibly not be home until 2013.  (Did you all just feel the miserable meter’s needle screech forward ten thousand notches?)
• I am trying to remain calm.  Keep calm and carry on.  Plant an herb garden, make summer plans, paint a few more rooms.  And update my resume, because I might as well start making a dent in the adoption expenses while both of my big kids are at school all day next year. 
• I’m not really miserable all of the time.  Just when I am alone, or when I think too much, or when I see all of the beautiful babies our friends and acquaintances are pushing around town in their strollers…you know the type, those small babies, the kind that need diapers and aren’t walking and speaking in sentences. 
• At least it stopped raining. 

Eye Contact

“…a most useless place.  The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.  Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or  waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow.  Everyone is just waiting…

…Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying.  You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing.  With banner flip-flapping once more you’ll ride high!  Ready for anything under the sky!”                                                  -Dr. Seuss, from oh, the places you’ll go!

We’re one month into this Very Long Wait that might be ten months or twelve, or more if we are very unlucky, or less if the hands of fate are kind.  This is a familiar place; we’ve been here before but it all looks different now, like going home for the first time after being away at university and finding your hometown smaller and changed.  We know how to get through this, but knowledge of the road does not equal ease of passage.  Already I feel myself toeing the line of avoidance, trying not to think about him constantly while at the same time I can think of nothing else. 

Who are you, baby Joon?

With our previous adoptions I have found solace in action.  Keeping my hands busy keeps my heart from breaking and this third time is no different: sewing, knitting, painting, upholstery, and other projects are all underway at once and every corner I look to holds some sort of busy work waiting for me.  My quieter hours are filled with books…not the adoption books about attachment and bonding or memoirs of adoptees and adoptive parents that I was devouring at the beginning of the year, but stories that take me away for an hour or two, to someplace far away where lives are filled with other sorts of complications, not the waiting for a child sort.  I have them stashed all over the house and in the car, too.  Keep busy, keep busy, keep busy.  Just don’t think too much.

Have you learned to crawl yet, Joon-ah?

Harrison and Emma make the wait easier, except when they don’t.  When they ask about him or wonder when he is coming, or decry in outright frustration: “Mama, I just wish I knew exactly when he was coming home so I could get myself ready!” (Emma) or “If he doesn’t hurry up he’ll be bigger than me by the time he gets here!” (Harry), at these times my heart lurches because the waiting is hard for them, too.   While I love that they are old enough to understand this process, which in turn helps them understand how they each came to join our family, I struggle with having to witness their sadness and longing.  Waiting for someone as exciting as a new sibling, one who is already born and growing on the other side of the world, is tough.  Impatience gets the best of them, and me, at times.

Do your eyes crinkle when you laugh?  Do you squeal with delight?

I am so impatient to meet our new little guy, not only because I want to get started on all of those important attachment/bonding moments, but also because if there is one thing I know about adoption it is this:  You cannot bond with a baby in a photograph.  You can find him cute, adorable.  You can think to yourself: Yes, this is my child!  You can stare for hours at his chin and his hair and his tiny little fingers, and you can read his social history until you’ve memorized every word, but you cannot get to know that child, the person that child actually is in real life, until you make eye contact.  You cannot know his voice, his temperament, or the softness of his skin until he is in the same room, breathing the same air.  With half a world between Joon and us, my curiosity is killing me.  A million questions linger in the air and the answers can only come some far off day, early next year and most likely not sooner.  The other thing I know about adoption is this: it is entirely possible to miss, with complete heartache, a person you have never met and know next to nothing about.

It is nearly dawn in Korea.  Sleep on, little Joon.  We’re here, waiting for you.

Oh this Waiting Place is a tough place, but with one month down and perhaps (roughly estimating here) nine months to go, we do know how to get through it.  One foot in front of the other, one project following the next, crossing days and weeks and months off the calendar. 

And enjoying life in the meantime, of course, because there is so very much to enjoy, already. 

____________

I’m playing along with Madhouse this week, another way to keep busy!  See the others who are playing along:

Allison – Allimonster Speaks
Barb – Spencer Hill Spinning & Dyeing
Batty – Batty’s Adventures in Spooky Knitting
Dave – Notes from the Field
Eileen - Art Deco Diva Knits
Evil Twin’s Wife – The Glamorous Life of a Hausfrau
G – Not-A-Box
Haley - Aimless Tangents
Jennifer – Ask Poops, Please
JMLC – Daydreams and Ruminations
Kate – One More Thing
LC – LC in Sunny So Cal
LeeAnne - This is the life...
Lisa - As If You Care
Louise – Child of Grace
Marcy – Mittentime
Melanie – usually, things happen
Nikki – Land of the Free, Home of the Depressed
Peri - knitandnatter
Sara – yoyu mama

Desmond!

He is gorgeous!   We have been studying his tiny fingers and toes, admiring his hairline (so similar to Harrison’s at the same age), and trying to imagine how soft those sweet cheeks are.  Our revised timeline gives us hope for a December or January arrival, sooner if things speed up, slower if they become more backed up.  We will wait with all of the patience we have in our souls for this little one and we will be overjoyed whenever he makes his arrival in our lives.  Until then, we know that he is in very good hands (his foster mother has been taking care of babies since 1980!), being loved and spoiled and delighted in on the other side of the world.  There is an amazing peace in my soul with this knowledge, a well-being that sits in my heart while at the same time my head plays with dates and timelines and what-ifs.  Oh, the Wait…the hardest part, but the part that teaches us so much about ourselves.

In this first picture he is probably 2 months old.

At five months old (above and below).

Sitting with his Foster Mom, whom I have cropped out for her privacy.
So many people have told me they couldn’t do it…they couldn’t wait ten more months for the arrival of a baby that is already ten months old.  And maybe they couldn’t, but I know that we can.  I know that all of us are stronger than we know, more patient than we seem, more able to endure hardships and challenges than we think we are.  I know that all babies come when they are good and ready or when all of the proper stars or paperwork or contractions come together at the right time. 
We know that all children, however they make it home, are well worth the wait.  But I would certainly not complain if he somehow made his way home this summer!

Joon Song

In the hall closet, on top of a suitcase and behind my black pea coat, I found the bag I was looking for.  It is just a plain white garbage bag, a little tattered and torn in spots, something I packed a long time ago for a friend but never actually got around to delivering.  I dragged it out of the closet and brought it to the couch, reached inside, and found them: the softest, most well-worn and beloved pair of tiny overalls.  They were the first thing I bought when we were waiting for Harrison to come home from Korea; I found them at a yard sale for a dollar, perfect and soft and just the right size.  They looked brand-new back then; now they have worn little knees from the crawling babies that Harrison and Emma once were and the straps are beginning to fray just slightly.  They hold so many memories for me: crawling, first steps, little adventures around our old yard, and even the earliest memories of when they hung on a hanger in an otherwise empty closet, a symbol not just of hope but of promise.  We would be parents.
And next fall, they will crawl (or walk?) again!
In what can only be described as a whirlwind, we decided for sure to adopt again 12 days ago.  We called and asked for an application packet 11 days ago.  We got the packet 9 days ago.  We emailed with our social worker 8 days ago, who came and updated our home study 6 days ago.  We filled out mad amounts of paperwork and made endless photocopies and finally sent it all off with a kiss from big sister Emma 4 days ago.  It arrived at our agency 3 days ago, and we were called that very night with the news that we had been matched with a gorgeous baby boy in Korea. 
I haven’t seen his picture, I know only a little more than his name, but my heart knows that he is beautiful.  I know that he is perfect, the perfect fit for our family.  I know we’ll have growing pains and fits and starts until finally our lives are intertwined, woven into a new and different fabric that will be ever the more richer for having known each other. 
Those soft, tiny pants are getting washed today and hung in the closet that our Joon Song will share with his big brother Harrison and once again they will be my token not only of hope, but of promise.  We are all so very excited!
A few details:

• Korean Name:  Joon Song  (Joon means “superb”)
• American name:  we’ve got it narrowed down to three options, but need to see his pictures before making the final call.  Once we know we’ll share!
• Born May 2010
• Will come home in the fall…October, perhaps?
• We had been thinking of adopting again for a LONG time before making this decision.  Options were weighed, lots of programs were looked at, lots of research went into it.  We are not rash people, at all.  In the end, we followed our hearts while making sure the logistics would all work out.
• Yes, we will gladly accept hand-me-downs!  He will be roughly 18 mos. at arrival.
• We pick up our referral packet on Monday the 14th…pictures after that!

VIP (very important papers)

At our house, this is what “baby-making” looks like. 
More details soon!

Heavy Hearts

“Mrs. Sullivan, are you sitting down?”

This was how she started the phone call, the cadence of her words forever seared into my memory.  I rushed for a pencil and paper and she began to tell me about the little boy who would be my son. 

“He has apple cheeks, just like you.” she said. 

And just like that we were no longer two, but three.  We were a family.  Our son was on the other side of the world but now he was real, no longer an idea, or a hope or dream, but a real baby with apple cheeks waiting for us in Korea.  It was bliss, a moment of the purest sort of joy.

I don’t know what it is like when you conceive a child, whether you remember the person who gave you your first ultrasound, whether their face and their words are forever etched in your memory.  I don’t know if you remember the person who holds your baby up in the delivery room and shows him to you for the first time.  I do know that when you adopt you remember those words, the tone of voice, where you were and what you were doing and who gave you the news. 

“I have the most beautiful baby boy in the world for you.”

Cecelia K. Park, director of  Love the Children adoption agency, was the woman who made us parents on that chilly evening when we were on our way out the  door, when we almost didn’t stop to go back and answer the phone.  She was the woman whose phone call less than two years later started in the same way, “Mrs. Sullivan, are you sitting down?” when she called to tell us about our daughter.  I will never forget her words or the way her voice smiled, as if she had the very best secret in the world and she was about to share it with us.  I will never forget her kindness when she met our children later on, or the way she held them as if they were her own grandbabies.  I will never forget the phone call she had us make to her when our babies were newly arrived, during which she took the time to teach us how to tell them I love you and You’re a beautiful baby, and how she told them not to be scared because we were their new omma and appah.  I will never forget how she made each of us feel that we were getting the best kid in the world;  she knew that we were because she knew and believed that each baby placed was special and perfect.  She knew, too, that we were lucky, lucky parents and we are, all of us.

Ms. Park died in her sleep last night, a profound loss for all of the families she created, all of the people she touched with her kindness and her smiling voice.  The news weighs heavily on our hearts and we cannot quite imagine a world without Cecelia’s presence in it.  We will surely miss her beautiful soul.

Cecelia, he really is the most beautiful boy in the world, and she is the most beautiful girl.  Thank you for letting me be their mom.  We will never forget you.

Three Things

• The children have decided and demanded that if they should ever have a little sister she shall be named Princess Lulu.  We have no idea why.
• When Emma’s class went to The Hyde Collection this week they studied portraiture.  In front of the entire class Emma did an upward salute, or Urdhva Hastasana, and then gave a deep, reverent bow with hands held palms together in front of Rembrandt’s Christ with Arms Folded.  I guess she’s getting a good mix of ideas.
• When I was writing to both of our foster mother’s today I asked each child if he or she had a special message they would like me to include in their letter.  Harrison asked me to to write: “I want you to know that I look handsome in my school uniform and I am nice to my sister.”  Emma wanted me to write “I love cat toys.”  (She meant toys in the shape of a cat and after much deliberation and explaining we decided on “I love Hello Kitty”.)

Love, from the other side of the world

Emma had a surprise in the mail this week!  A package arrived from her foster family in South Korea, including a small purse, barrettes and hair ties, a Hello Kitty ring (some things are so universal, aren’t they?) and the very very cute jumper she is wearing in these photos!  There was a also a book with a cd-rom and she really enjoyed listening to the story told in Korean, even if we did have to make up what we thought the story was really about. 
Thank you, Mrs. Koo and family, for your continued love and support of our very favorite girl.  She loves you so much and asks about you all of the time.  

I Wish…

Sometimes I forget.  I forget that we are not just any other family going through our days and years, taking pictures and marking milestones and watching our babies grow into small boys and girls.  Although to an outsider it may seem impossible, I sometimes forget that they were not always a part of us, that they came from somewhere else, that they look like someone else. 
And maybe this is a good thing.  We are, after all, entwined just as any other parent and child would be.  They steal food off my plate and drink my drinks and wind my hair around their fingers and fall asleep with their cheeks on mine and run to us when they are hurt and complain when I cook things they don’t like and make the silly faces that we make and they have even learned to love Weezer.  We know each other’s ticklish spots; we know how to make each other laugh.  I am yours, you are mine; we belong to each other just like any other family. 
But maybe this is a bad thing, because although it has been said that love is blind, that love does not see color or race, the world at large does see those things.  And our love, no matter how blind, is not enough to protect our children, to keep them from feeling different in a world in which matched sets of parents and children are the norm.  We cannot afford to forget. 
In our family, normal afternoon conversations with our children often leads to  talk about all different kinds of people, skin tones, religious beliefs, ways of life, and types of families.  We talk about racism.  We talk about the fact, daily, that they were born in Korea, that we adopted them, that they did not grow in my womb.  We talk about birth parents and foster parents and waiting children and orphans and poverty and stigma…all at age appropriate levels, of course (and intermixed with heavy discussion on the merits and downfalls of Annakin, Luke, and Leia Skywalker for good balance).  Our family library is full of multicultural reading material; when we play in our toy kitchen we serve enchiladas and kimchi.  We chose a private school for our children’s education in large part because of the diversity we find there and because there is a high percentage of other children with similar backgrounds of adoption.  We have a large group of friends comprised of blended families, interracial families, adoptive families.  Most days I think, I hope, that we are getting it right. 
Tonight I was getting Harrison out of the bath tub.  I had just cut his hair short and he looked so much younger, with traces of his babyhood still visible at the formerly-hidden-by-too-long-hair edges of his face.  I wrapped him in his towel, he shivered and he leaned in close, so that our foreheads and noses were just touching, our eyes locked together, and he whispered in his bravest way: “I wish I looked like you.” 
And my heart stopped. 
My world tilted. 
“I wish my skin was lighter, like yours.  Mine is darker.  I wish my eyes looked like yours.”
In that moment I did what anyone would do: I told him that I loved his skin, that he has the most beautiful brown eyes that I have ever had occasion to gaze into.  I told him I loved him just the way he is.  I told him that I don't look anything like some of our family, but that we are still a family.  And then I got him dressed and brushed his teeth. 
A few minutes later I knew that I needed to revisit that conversation with a clear head and a heart that was not breaking, but strong.  Because we are strong, we are prepared; these are the conversations we have been spent our parenthood preparing for.  As I tucked him in I laid down next to him as I did when he was a toddler: foreheads together, noses just touching, eyes locked.  I asked him why he wanted to look like me.  We had a frank discussion about what makes a family and what the outside world sees.  We talked about how everyone is the same inside, that only our skin and hair and eyes are different.  I told him I was proud of him for telling me how he was feeling.  I asked if he had any questions, and he said: “Why do people all look different, anyway?  Why can’t we all just be the same?”  We spoke of continents and evolution, and how people from different parts of the world look like other people from the same part of the world.  I reminded him how boring the world would be if everyone looked exactly the same.  We talked for a long, long time.  Eventually it all dissolved into giggles because he is, after all, a five year old. 
In some moments my heart may forget that we are not just any other family going through our days and years, taking pictures and marking milestones and watching our babies grow into small boys and girls.  My mind, however, is always aware of our differences; despite the fact that the road is not simple, that the conversations are more direct than most people probably have with their young children, I am so very grateful that this is my life, my family, my reality. 
Our differences have made all of the difference.

Mobile

When mom and I went to Korea to bring Emma home we had the opportunity to rock the babies at the intake hospital at Eastern.  The baby boy that we rocked the most was a bit older than the other babies because he bad been quite ill when he was first born, and as such had been held and loved by the nannies for months instead of the typical days or weeks.  Most of the other babies in the room were days old, tiny and sweet, but this boy was plump and cute and better able to demand out attention.  We took turns rocking him until we needed to put ourselves to bed, and then he was placed back into his bassinet.  Hanging over his tiny little bed was a mobile, light and delicate and perfect.  It was so simple, just yellow origami paper folded into cranes and strung on thread, but I never forgot it, nor the baby whose early life was spent sleeping beneath it.  I still wonder where he is.

On Saturday I had a Mommy Date with Emma and we wanted to find something to keep us busy during these looooong rainy days.  We were looking for lino block printing supplies, but instead we came home with origami paper.  We made our own crane mobile:



Ours is certainly not as dainty or refined as the one in Korea, but I love its color.  What you cannot tell from the picture is that it is constantly in motion...it softly twirls and sways on the slightest of breezes.  The top of the mobile is a branch from our maple tree.

You can see another crane mobile here (scroll down to see photos).

Family

A couple of hours ago friends of ours went to JFK and met their son for the very first time.  They are on their way home now, the last leg of the journey their little guy has made from the other side of the world to his new home and the first precarious steps of their journey together as a family.  As Harry said, this is a Big Day and I am so happy for you, Stephanie, Jay, and Jack!  Don't forget to eat and sleep, and remember that this is going to get easier as you all figure each other out.

Big Day

As I was tucking Harrison into his bed tonight I told him how happy I am to be his mom, how much happiness he brings to my life and how much joy he fills my heart with.  And I wished him a happy airplane day, because four years ago today was the day he flew to the US to join our family.  He smiled, looked into my eyes and said "Happy airplane day for you, too, Mom.  It was a big day.  A happy and sad day, wasn't it?"  And I said yes, it was both happy and sad.

My dear Harrison, so wise beyond your years, I love you.

We're Not Crazy

We're moving. Rather, we're hoping and dreaming of moving. We are under contract to buy a house in Glens Falls, a grand old Victorian lady with beautiful woodwork, huge old pocket doors, a kitchen with great workable potential, a deep front porch overlooking fruit trees, and a staircase with lovely carvings and a window seat. The house has solid bones, mostly updated bathrooms, and a finished attic room that can replace the space we'll lose by leaving our finished basement. The yard is big enough, with an in-ground pool and a Rainbow Systems playground set, plus enough extra room for some landscaping and a vegetable garden. The street has old trees, interesting architecture, and is within walking distance to the newly remodeled library, the post office, dozens of restaurants, a brewery, and Crandall Park.

We're moving, but the lovely house is not the reason we're moving.

We still have to sell our house, the one we finished building (it was an unfinished spec house) and then put in the landscaping, paved the driveway, put in the stamped concrete sidewalks, finished the basement, built a deck, cleared 40+ tress form the backyard, fenced 1/2 acre of our 1.85 acre lot, installed a swimming pool, and added an enameled woodstove to the living room. We have worked hard these last five years and we don't regret anyof it, not the money spent nor the time spent nor the elbow grease spent. We love this house. It is our home, the sacred place where our babies took their first steps. We love our neighborhood, a mixture of couples and singles, young and old. There are good people here, friends we've known a lifetime and friends we've known for only a season.

We're moving, but it is not because we're running away.

We could easily stay here, stay put in this house we know and enjoy surrounded by people we like. It would be easy for us to stay put, to watch our children board the school bus, go to the prom, and graduate in this safe community. It would be easy to stay here where our friends are mere houses away. But if we stay here, our children will likely be the only children of color in their class, perhaps in their entire school.

We're moving, not because of our children, but for our children.

When we bought this house diversity was not one of our major concerns. We didn't know then that our life path would lead us to building our family through adoption. We didn't know that the two people we love most in the world would look nothing like us, that they would not, in fact, share our race. And even once we started our adoption, we didn't always think about race as mattering very much. We knew it mattered, of course, but once we knew our children and fell in love with their personalities and the amazing little beings that they are we didn't always see their differences. To us they looked to us exactly the way our kids should look, and so it was easy to forget for a little while that race matters. It does matter. In fact, it matters a lot, especially to children who join their families through transracial adoption.

From what we have learned, when children join their families through transracial adoption and are raised in nearly entirely caucasian communities, they feel as though they are, themselves, caucasian. The problem is the world will not see our children as caucasian and they will not be treated as such once they leave our cozy little nest in this nice, white community. We, their caucasian parents, cannot teach them how to be people of color because we have no point of reference. We don't know what it feels like to be called a racial slur, to have someone pull slant eyes on us (hello, Miley Cyrus). Yes, we can educate ourselves and we can try to understand how awful it must feel, but we will never be able to commiserate with them on this. We can't offer any firsthand insight on how to deal with racism. While we don't believe our current community will hurt our children, and maybe they will never have a problem with racism here (although I doubt that very much), we also know that the real world is not 99.9% white. Once our children leave our cozy nest and nice community the world will not see them as Sara and Brendan's kids who were adopted as babies, they will see them as Asian men and women and many of them will assume racial stereotypes based solely on their looks.

In adoption, the child (along with the family of origin) is the one who gives things up and most often it is without their choice. Our children didn't choose to have an adoption plan made for themselves. They didn't ask to be taken away from their country and culture of birth, from their genetic background, from all of the people who look like them. It is a lot to ask a little kid to make all of the sacrifices in a relationship, to ask them to grow up in a place where they are The Asian Kids, easily spotted and easily targeted. Like I said, it would be easy, for us adults, to stay put and watch our children grow, enjoying our friends and our own feelings of safeness and comfort.

We are moving, not because we are running away, but because we are running toward Something Else.

Race and Adoption

The Anti-Racist Parent linked to a great post about racial hierarchy in adoption by Our Life.  You should read it.  We all should. 

Happy Thursday To Me

I just bought this.  It is so pretty, has a great message, and I love what it stands for: helping HIV orphans find homes.  I'm no impulse shopper, but it took me roughly 10 seconds to decide to buy it.  You can get your own by clicking here, else you'll be jealous when you see me wearing mine.  Maybe it's Happy Thursday to You, too?

Marking Motherhood

It's been three years now.
Three years since we slept soundly through the night without one ear cocked and waiting for the sound of a child needing us in the night. 
Three years since we spent an entire day, 24 hours, doing exactly what we wanted to do when we wanted to do it.
Three years since another mother's loss and pain became our life's greatest gift and the physical embodiment of our greatest joy, the fact of which we struggle with each and every day.
Three years since I held his tiny hand in mine for the first time, feeling both his physical strength and the strength of his character coursing through his baby soft skin.
Three years since my maternal ache became maternal love.
Three years since a baby boy, who in the course of less than six months had lost two families, a country, a language, all familiar sights, smells, and sounds, took the biggest leap of faith imaginable and held our hands, smiled back at our smiles, and learned to love and trust again.
Three years since one small boy changed our world, for the better, forever. 
We love you, Harry.  You rock our world.

A Food Post: Cooking With Maangchi

While food is only one aspect of a culture, I think food especially embodies the character and soul of the people, those who have brought recipes down through generations or mixed their own new flavors with old standards in the creation of something new.  The food we eat sustains and grows our families; a carefully prepared meal can express our love for someone, celebrate the birth of a child, or rejoice in the union of families in marriage.  The foods we prepare can reflect our society's bounty, or delineate the space between prosperity and poverty.  Food is symbolic and meaningful; what we eat tells the story of our lives, simply.

When we knew we were going to adopt from South Korea, one of the first things I wanted to do was try Korean food.  I had never had it before, and while eating the food specific to a country is not an education in its culture, values, or mores, it was at least a starting point, a place from which to jump into our greater education of Korea.  Three plus years down the line from that jump I can safely say this: If the only requirement for moving to a country was a profound love for its food, I would be able to move to South Korea (among others) in a heartbeat.  The unique flavor combinations, the spicy hot kimchi, and the pride taken in the presentation of the food itself felt both new and like home at the same time for me.

Even if I didn't love Korean food I would want my children to grow up knowing (and hopefully loving) the smells, textures, tastes, and sights of the food of their country and culture of birth, but living in Upstate NY we have very limited access to Korean restaurants.  So we did the next best thing: we bought Korean cookbooks, researched recipes online, and began a culinary adventure in our very own kitchen.  We have churned out some great meals by flipping to a page and following a recipe, but we're never quite sure if we obtained the proper texture or presentation of a dish.  That all changed when I stumbled upon this website: Cooking Korean Food With Maangchi.  Maangchi is my new hero for taking the time to make online videos showing how to cook Korean food.  It's like beaming up a culinary teacher whenever I want to make a new dish.  I get to see what the ingredients look like, how the vegetables should be cut, what consistency the marinade should have, what substitutions will work, and how the finished dish should be arranged for the table.  And her recipes are great, too!

My very favorite Korean dish, bulgogi (fire meat) is easy to make and is so scrumptious it's like eating candy...whenever we make it we fight over the leftovers, and the kids wolf it down as if they haven't eaten for months.  The same marinade is awesome on chicken, too.

A dish my mom and I had in Insadong that was terrific was bulgogi jungol (fire meat hot pot or stew).  It is a great way to get your vegetables in, as they soak up the amazing flavor of the beef marinade and are hard to resist.

I also love bibimbap (mixed rice with vegetables), which takes a while to prepare but is well worth all of the effort.

While we haven't tried all of her recipes yet, we are happily working our way through them.  I am so excited to have a visual resource to go along with our cookbooks.  Really, go check out her site.  The videos are fun to watch and the ingredients section in the left sidebar is especially helpful for those of us who are clueless as to what certain pastes, noodles, or spices look like.  Cooking your own Korean food has never been so easy!  Of course, it helps if you have a laptop that you can perch on your kitchen counter as you cook.

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I also recommend the books eating Korean (Cecilia Hae-Jin Lee) and Dok Suni (Jenny Kwak), both available on Amazon.com.  We especially like the gamja-buchim (potato patties and dipping sauce) in Dok Suni, and the d'ak-dori-tang (stewed chicken with potatoes) is excellent as well.  In eating Korean the recipe for yuja cha (citron tea) is as close as I have come to recreating what I had with my lunch in Insadong (my mouth waters just thinking about it), and the recipe for mandu (dumplings) is great.  Happy cooking and, more importantly, happy eating!