Life Lesson #2: Finding our Common Humanity and Your Children Can Surprise You

What my dad looks like most of the time

Seeing my dad for the first time in six years was startling. His ALS had progressed to where he spends most of his day lying flat on a medical bed with a breathing machine attached to a full-face mask. The machine makes noise. His voice is now inaudible. He has very little muscle control left. His mind is clear and sharp. I did not know how my boys would react. I think my little guy was terrified at first. He would not even look at my dad for about a week. It was not until the final two days that he was able to hug my dad and say hello to him without turning his face away.

My oldest child, on the other hand, made me so proud on this trip. When he met my dad, I could tell he was a little thrown back and nervous. But he looked my father in the eye from day one. He greeted him with a wave and a smile the first couple of days, but then on his own he began greeting him with a hug. "Oi, vovo!" he would say every day. He was so sweet to him. The two developed a special bond, one that I was able to capture in the photo below. Since being back, he has said many times, in a sad voice, "I miss my vovo." Yes, son, I miss vovo, too.

If someone sits him up, dad can go without the mask for a few minutes at a time.  Here we were taking photos before our big goodbye.

The Little Things

There are so many small things that I miss about Brazil. Some seem insignificant, some I can't even name. But together they add up to more than their parts. It is a full-body experience that I cannot reproduce here in my little corner of America.

• The big sky: I miss how big and blue the sky is in Brasilia. I am not making this up. Ask Bill, ask my boys. The sky seems bigger and bluer in Brasilia. The clouds are whiter and puffier. The air feels clearer.
• Kissing on the cheek: Brazilians greet each other with two kisses, one on each cheek - unless two men are greeting, in which case they use a handshake and some back slapping.
• I miss the smallness: Smaller homes, small coffees and drinks, smaller packaging, smaller cars. With this comes more a more innovative use of space. Hidden and organized spaces to tuck things away.  I think it also brings with it a certain appreciation of the thing itself, without it having to be venti-sized.
• Hearing Portuguese. Language is tied to culture. There is no substitute to hearing Portuguese all around. The language has more ways of expressing emotion and of expressing care. The diminutive lets you know just how cute a little bitty baby is, and the augmentative lets you know just how big a hug you want to send someone.
• The enthusiasm. Bill, the boys, some friends and I were returning from getting ice cream around the corner when the entire city block exploded in cheers, screams and fireworks.  People hung out their windows, waving flags.   Even our friends started screaming in solidarity. A favorite team had scored a goal on TV.  It was so funny to see my boys stop and look absolutely confused by all of the commotion.
• Bem-ti-vi. I love that little bird. I don't even know what it looks like, but I love it's little song first thing in the morning. Bem ti vi, bem ti vi. Roughly translated, it means "I saw you well." A nice way to start the day.
• The food. Enough said. I swoon, I drool, I sigh from the wonderfulness of the food. And the smells! At lunch-time, no matter where you are, you can smell good meals being cooked, as people take their two hour lunch breaks, often at home and eat the main meal of the day.
• Breakfast. Fresh baked breads from the corner bakery, cheeses, jams, fresh tropical fruit, yogurts and of course, some delicious cafe con leite.
• Down time. Brazilians know how to take down time. With at least a month of vacation yearly, my friends travel regularly, whether it be to Europe, another South American country or the vacations spot a couple of hours away, they do get away. And they are able to leave work behind.
• Laughter. I think Brazilians are quick to laugh. It makes life feel lighter.
• Thumbs up. That is the universal sign for "hey, I might be cutting you off in traffic, but I don't mean any harm. We do what we have to do, right?" Thumbs up.
• The smells. We Brazilians love nice smelling soaps and lotions and we take lots of showers. Of course you run into a person here or there who just has not mastered the art of smelling nice, going overboard with some awful perfume. But generally, people use light and refreshing products that keep them smelling yummy and fresh like they just emerged from bathing in a spring infused with Amazon fruits and flowers.
  
  

There are lots of things that I don't miss. I don't miss the ridiculous amounts of hoops there are to jump through for every little thing ... from getting a temporary pre-paid cell phone to letting my children use the pool in the condo we stayed in. Living that bureaucracy daily would drive me mad. I also don't miss the stark inequalities among people or the government that can't seem to rid itself of corruption. But I love Brazil with a fierce love and I miss it tremendously when I am gone. I cannot go six years without going back again. It is too long, too much time spent without breathing all of this in.

Life Lesson #1: Love and Goodbye

 
I wanted to write down one of the many life lessons my boys learned from our trip to Brazil.  The boys really bonded with my younger brother, Marcos. He just graduated as a medical doctor and is doing one year of mandatory military service.  Even though he is working, he would come home early and make a lot of effort to spend time with my boys. I did not expect him to show them so much love, but he would go downstairs to play soccer with them, would to hang out with us every free minute he had, went with us to the zoo on his only day off after being on-call, etc. 

He was going away for the weekend two days before we left Brazil, so we had to say goodbye to him early. As soon as we shut the door after the goodbye, Agegnu's face crumpled in the elevator. I caught his eye and he became embarrassed and defensive because he was about to cry. I realized then that he had never had the opportunity to understand such a goodbye. Before, he was taken/left by loved ones without knowing what was going on. This time he knew he was saying goodbye to someone he loved and would not see for a long time. I told him that it was a natural reaction, that I cried when I had to say goodbye to people I loved. He completely dropped his defenses and cried and cried on me.  Bill and I were really touched to see him form a bond, feel the pain of goodbye and be able to express it.

Wordless Wednesday - Once Upon A Genna

Friday Flick - Archive Valentine Message

I just ran into this video this morning. He had been home for just a couple of months! I wish I had more videos of my Amharic/Sidamic/English mixing boy. How do you feel when you see videos of your kids when they were younger? I have aches in my heart and in my stomach. I yearn for a re-do. I wish I could know then what I know now. But life is not like that. Life is now.

Adjusted Expectations

Scootle busy working on this year's valentines in 2012

Last year, I had big plans for homemade Valentine cards.  I had been a mom for a little over two years then (what a novice, pffft!) and still didn't have a good handle on what projects were doable with two kids, 2.5 years apart.  I have blocked out the details, but lets just say that I did what I NEVER thought I'd do, I sent the kids to school with BOUGHT cards (gasp!).  Little did I know that I was actually doing a VERY DOABLE project, it's just that my timeline was off.  We embarked on a very doable, two year valentine card making project.

 This year, it was a piece of cake.  I pulled out my handy-dandy box full of cut pink and red card-stock and random cute valentine cut-outs the boys and I worked so hard on last year.  I sat the boys down for an assembly line a lovely afternoon of crafting, with threats against taking away their play time romantic music playing.  I barked out gently showed them how to glue!  stamp!  write names!  It was actually kind of fun, but crazy.  Rather than some idyllic craft time with my kids, they were moving so fast so they could go play that I could hardly keep up with them.  It's a wonder they didn't glue the whole house down just so they could hurry up and play.

Speed stamping

Speed name writing

After gluing these last ones down, he ran out of the room!

I am not as crafty with my kids as I thought I would be.  I thought I'd be more like my mom.  I have so many memories of being crafty with my mom.  She is really creative and was able to make a lot with little while I was growing up.  I would love to involve my kids in crafts, but I have also learned (now that I am a wise mother of three years) to adjust my expectations.  I have already started brainstorming next year's valentine's project and it is a little less involved.   I am also trying to be more realistic, realizing my childhood memories are mostly snapshots of highlights.  It's not as if we were crafting every day (right mom?).  There were a whole lot of just plain, average days in between.  And even though they will remember the snapshots, I think it is the every day routines and structure that will nurture them most into who they are going to be.

A sample of the two year cards

* The sample above is so misleading!  Unfortunately, the Valentine cards are already being delivered at school, so I can't go take a picture of some of my favorites.  They have cut-outs of things like a boy in cool shoes, a popsicle, leaves, birth announcement advertisements, etc. 

Your Name

I knew the day would come.  In fact, it has come before in other forms.  It still stinks.  The day when you, my beautiful child, with a beautiful, unique, Ethiopian, biological-parent-given-name say you wished you had a name like James.  Yes, James just happens to be my grandfather's name (also my cousin's).  It is a fine name.  A family name at that.  But it is not YOUR name, my dear child.  Your name seems like a liability to you now.  It is a way you stand out from your friends.  No one can read it and pronounce it correctly without help the first time.  It harkens to a place few people around you know or understand.  Not even you, yet.  But YOUR name, how can I even put into words your name?  It holds so much that you have lost.  So much that you will likely struggle to get back piece by piece.  It is something your father and I will treasure for you in these early years.  And hopefully something you will learn to treasure, too.  It has such an interesting meaning.  A sometimes comical one.  It means I got it.  It makes me smile to think of your Ethiopian family looking at you and saying, I got it!  For you, my son, are a sight to behold, a wonder to be had.  I don't know what exactly they meant when they looked at you and thought I got it.  There are so many ways to interpret that phrase.  But for whatever reason, now, I have you.  I have got it.  I've got it!  A treasure to hold and ponder.  I will keep that treasure safe and close until you are ready to hold it, to own it, to have it, to be proud of its many layers, to be proud of how it makes you uniquely you.

Nearing 3 Years, One Month and Two and a Half Weeks

I am having a casual conversation with my beautiful eldest son at the table.  He is sitting on my lap.  We talk about nearing the day when he will have been with us longer than he was in Ethiopia (can you believe that day has not yet passed!).  In this very casual conversation, he is barely paying attention to me and at some point mentions that he will go live with another family next and stay with them for a while because we are so boring and he wants to play with more toys.  Whoa.  I don't care about the boring part or the toys.  I think boring is just fine and he has more toys than I did.  But there is something more to his thinking that he can just go and be with another family.  Before I get the oh, it's so normal for kids to have this magical thinking and everyone wished they had another family at some point, let me say that his words seem to perfectly match his reality.  Why wouldn't he get another family?  He has had so much change already.  Unfortunately his words seem to match the level of our attachment, too.  I love my son fiercely and I know he cares about me, but he does not feel he needs me at a primal level.  I am his provider, but I am not irreplaceable.  I want to be, but I am not.  Not all the way, at least. 

I can feel the difference in attachment between my children in a way that hurts.  My youngest (adopted at 8 mo) craves me and needs me in such a marrow-deep way.  His body is relaxed and soothed by proximity to mine.  My presence brings him comfort.  I can de-escalate whatever problem comes his way.  Not the same with my oldest.  Requests for nearness or affection are usually brought on more by competition with the youngest rather than real felt need.  He feels he needs to control or manipulate everything around him and thus take care of himself.  This saddens me so much.

I need to go back to my attachment books (yet again) and try to figure out more ways to connect to my big guy.  He is still so young.  He thinks he can be independent, but he does not have to be.  There is more I can give him, if only he will let me.  I don't know how to convince him that he needs me.  As I've been recuperating from surgery, Boo has come in to check on me several times.  He needs that connection with me.  He misses me when I am not around.  Scootle hasn't done that really.  But I need him.  I have become attached to his smile, his beautiful eyes, his presence.  I miss him when he is not around.

In a few days, Scootle will finally have lived with us longer than he lived in Ethiopia.  Boo has already lived that 4 times.  Isn't that crazy?  Brothers, home at the same time, but living such a different story.  It is incredible, really, to think that we know so little about such a huge period of Scootle's life.  We have come such a long way.  SUCH a long way.  But I still have a lot of hopes for our attachment as a family.  I hope that one day, that soft spot where my shoulder and neck meet can be a spot where he can bury his head, weep and find real comfort, find home and it be here, with us, not with just any family.

Tonsils, Who Needs Them?

So, I had a tonsillectomy Thursday.  It is supposed to be pretty horrid for adults.  Not the eat-ice-cream-after-the-procedure you hear about with kids.  I had been pretty scared of the surgery given all of the horror stories out there.  Add kids to the mixture and the whole thing sounded like a nightmare.  I think I took all of the precautions I could and accepted all of the help offered and so far, it has not been so bad.  Bill worked from home Thurs and Fri.  We had a friend bring dinner (for the guys since I could not eat) Thurs night.  My mom was going to come stay with us for the weekend, but got kidney stones instead (pobrecita)!   But Bill's mom arrived today and a good friend delivered a meal for us.

Except for a very gross and painful throat....I will spare you the details... This really hasn't been that bad.  I did a lot of preparation for the surgery ... bought myself lots of liquids for post-op (I have lost three pounds so far because I can't really eat),  I took homeopathic meds for a week before surgery (arnica montana), and for the first time ever in my life, I was hypnotized to prepare my body for the welcomed invasion.

This post has no point really, but it is a reminder to myself for if ever I am sick or just in over my head.  Accept the help.  Do not feel guilty for lying on the couch and reading all day.  Take the time you need to heal or deal, whatever the case may be.  People depend on you, but can also function without you.  It is okay to take care of yourself.

Cochlear Contest

Are you on Facebook?  If you haven't already seen it, I have a treat for you there.  Search for "Cochlear" on Facebook.  Once you get the Cochlear TM facebook page, click on the box below the banner that says "Celebration 2013 Video Contest."  You will see a few thumbnails for videos.  You should recognize Boo's video ... there is a picture of us nose to nose.  Will you do us a favor and vote today, tomorrow and Thursday for that video?

This is the thumbnail picture

If we win, we get a free plane ticket to San Diego and hotel stay at the Cochlear conference, where we get to learn more about Boo's implants.  I think we may have a chance.  It would be great if you voted!  Especially any of you out there that have been "lurkers" on this blog.  You can remain anonymous, because I can only see the votes of those who are friends with me on FB.

Thanks so much!!!

Evelyn and Boo


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Alas, we did not win the contest, but I am happy we created the video.  It was worth it.  A teenaged girl with implants won.  I think she will get a lot out of the conference.  She deserves it.  Thanks for your support!

Dead Squirrel

We have been having some beautiful weather here where we live.  It feels like spring.  These days have come after a particularly chilly stint, so we are excited, ready to open all the windows and play in the fresh air outside. 

This afternoon, while I was picking up dog poop surveying the beauty of our backyard, I almost stepped on a dead squirrel.  I cannot tell you how uncomfortable I was with this finding.  I do not like dead things.  I wasn't 100% sure it was dead.  It was just laying there in the middle of the backyard.  My children had not seen it yet.  The dog had.  I did what any sensible person would do and threw a plastic bucket on top of it. 

Discomfort.  I had not planned on spending the afternoon in the backyard, but did plan on letting my children run around there for most of that time.  I was not going to get away with the plastic bucket in the middle of the yard.  I needed to deal with this before I went inside.  There would be questions.  I did not want to frighten them in case they decided to kick the bucket (!).  The dog was starting to dig around it.  Ugh. 

I facebooked about what to do gathered my courage and got a shovel.  I had to tell the boys what I was doing.  They were going to see it.  I did not want to scare them.  Scootle immediately started with I want to see it!  I want to see it!  I had spoken too soon because I still did not have the guts to pick up the bucket.  I want to see it!  What if it wasn't dead and it jumped out at me when I lifted the bucket?  What if it was injured and I had to DO SOMETHING?  Why was my husband not coming home for another three hours?  I want to see it!  I could not bury the thing because our dog would just dig it right back up.

Friends on facebook and whatever inner wisdom I conjured up helped me to stop and seize moment.  I told the boys what I was going to do.  I used a shovel to gently lift the bucket and pick up Mr. Squirrel.  I sat him down outside our fence so the boys could still look at it, but not touch it and the dog could not get to it. 

Boo-boo:  Mommy, he will wake up one day?  No sweetie.
I asked Scootle how he felt seeing a dead squirrel:  Not good.  It makes me sad.  

We just sat there and looked for a while.  Boo got distracted.  Scootle wanted to drop a stick on Mr. Squirrel to see what happened.   I asked if he instead wanted to put the stick and other beautiful things he found in the yard there to honor the life of Mr. Squirrel.  We talked about how a life is something special, something we honor and give thanks for. 

He seemed relieved to have something to do, some way to deal with the confusing thoughts he was having.  We made a little memorial.  We said a prayer.   I was very grateful to have let go of my discomfort for my children's sake and my own.

What's in Your Purse?

As I was cleaning out my purse today, I was struck by just how much junk I carry around.   I am sure this says something about me, but I am too tired to give it much thought right now.  I do remember googling what's in your bag a few months ago for a talk I was giving and finding it curious to see what people carried around.  I filed away the possible blog post in the mess of what is now my brain.  Cleaning out my purse today reminded me of it.  So, here goes - the contents of my bag (minus the trash I got rid of before thinking of this post):

I guess from these contents, one would guess my priorities were cleanliness, moisturizing and fresh breath (somewhat true).  What is in your bag?  For all of you bloggers who are stuck in a rut like me, this is something you can do that does not take much attention or brain power.  And for anyone who was curious, this is my purse:

This is my ugly, beat up, quintessential mom purse.  I will say my sweet husband bought me a lovely vegan fair trade purse I'd been lusting after online.  Too bad the bag was HUMONORMOUS.  I have since tried finding another fair trade purse that I liked, but gave up.  So this khaki aberration remains by my side.

Still Here...

December 26th marked our three year anniversary of being home together as a family.  It feels really good to have three years behind us.  I was very tempted to let that date also be the date I closed this blog for good.  Obviously I didn't.  I don't know if it's that I still hope one day to have time to write all of the blog posts that are filed in my mind, I don't know if it's that I don't want to let go of this venue that brought so many dear people into my life, I don't know if I am nostalgically seeking the few moments of depth and clarity I was able to find through writing here long ago (not many deep moments these days).  Whatever the reason, I still hang on to this blog even though I don't write much.  I still check my blogroll even though I don't comment much either.  How do you feel about your blog?  Why do you still keep it around?

Que Gostoso - Black Bean Dip

So this Thanksgiving,  I found myself uninspired and without the time to prepare the complicated things I used to enjoy cooking/baking.  We were headed to visit two parts our family, where others took care of the main dishes.  I just wanted to contribute.  My contributions were 1) Black bean dip, 2) Brazilian Pao de Queijo (cheese bread) and 3) Lemon pie.  I know, none of the above sound particularly Thanksgivingy, but they were easy and yummy.

The black bean dip has become one of my staples, a quick go-to recipe that is an easy contribution to just about any event.  I originally got the recipe from my amazing friend, A.  A is a kick-a** feminist and a regular Martha Stewart at home.  She and I don't get to see each other that much, but she has been a rock in my life since I met her.  You know the kind of friend that flat out tells you she is your friend for life and you believe her?  That is A.   A is the How DOES she do it all!!???? grad school friend that many of us still marvel at. 

A's Black Bean Dip

1 can black beans
1 tomato
3 green onions
1 seeded jalapeno
1/2 cup cilantro (I love cilantro, so I use the whole bunch)
juice of 1 lime
1/2 tsp salt
chug of olive oil (I use 1-2 tbsp)

Throw all of these ingredients into a blender and puree.  Serve with a sprig of cilantro on top.

Though this dip has an entire jalapeno, it really is not spicy at all.  I hope you enjoy this recipe and treasure those A-like friends in your life!

I will be posting the other two recipes soon!

Wordless Wednesday - Birthday Bedtime

Ode to My Sons

I was at a women's retreat with my church last weekend.  At some point we were gently told to go and write a poem, an "ode" to something.  Ha!  I thought.  I am going to my room to take a nap in this cozy house by the ocean.  Nobody can make me write a poem!  Nobody can tell me what to do!

The funny thing is, I went straight to my room, picked up my journal and blanket and walked out onto the deck.  The direct way that my body moved, even though my brain was on its little rebellion was almost comical.   I sat on a chair, all wrapped up, with the sound of the ocean lulling me on and put pen to paper.  This is what came out.  I am no poet, this is not meant to be a work of art.  But I felt a huge relief as I put words to what has happened to me in the course of the last three years.  Turns out my body knows what I need to do sometimes even if I don't.
 

Ode to My Sons

Somewhere in my fight to keep myself

I realized that the self I clung to was no longer me.

The me I have found is both less static and more whole.

There was really no need for such a tight grip.

You changed me.

You, in your funny little ways,

Lightened my heavy load.

What I feared had taken my life away from me

Gave me my life back

Only with more laughter, lightheartedness and flow.

Que Gostoso - African Sweet Potato Stew

Spicy Asian Noodles?  No problem.

Tacos?  'Cause I'm cool like that.

Beans, fish and spinach?  Oh, yeah!

Just milk for me thanks.  (Still true today)

When the boys were first home with us from Ethiopia, we relied quite a bit on stews.  Scootle was used to spooning up warm and spicy concoctions.  They were his comfort food and our way to get him to a healthy weight and size.  He would eat anything.  Though we continue to feed our boys a pretty international and varied diet, they have slowly developed an almost typical American kid sense of taste.  I say "almost" typical because (for now) they do not know the names of any fast food restaurants and we try not to cook anything just for them at dinner time (you know ... the nuggets, hot dogs, fries, mac & cheese, etc).  We expect them to eat what we are eating.  It is really hard sometimes!

I feel so guilty when my three year old goes to bed having eaten only rice or a plain tortilla for dinner because he refuses to eat a pea or some chicken or heaven forbid, beans.  Boo-boo does get plenty of what he loves earlier in the day (oatmeal, bananas, apples and pb&j), but dinner is tough!  I just keep hoping that one day he will give in to the food that is put before him.  Scootle is much more adventurous and atypical.  He loves salads (even for breakfast), greens, spicy food, etc.  But recently he seems to have reached that developmental stage where what his friends think means A LOT!  (Already???!!!)  Where I used to be able to throw last night's leftovers in his lunch box, anything that he deems "embarrassing" comes home untouched.  Sigh.

Well, tonight I am pulling out one of the stews he loved so much when he first came home, when nothing made him happier than a bowl full of stew.   Boo was drinking bottles and rice cereal when he came home from Ethiopia, so he never never developed those associations.  This African Sweet Potato Stew* is in the crock pot for tonight.  I am keeping my fingers crossed that everyone will be happy!  Though I confess, I may puree a bit of it for Boo, lest he see that there are BEANS in there!
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* I would characterize this stew as more West African than East African.  I always put more spices than any Cooking Light recipes call for.  This might also be interesting with a bit of berbere.  Wish I had thought of the berebere earlier!

Holding On

These pictures of the boys were taken consecutively this past Saturday on our their first trip to the fair.  Scootle wanted to ride a very benign kiddie roller coaster.  He got in line to ride.  Boo surprised us by wanting to ride too.  I was a little worried about my three year old riding a roller coaster (even though it was no bigger than my living room), but he insisted that he wanted to follow his brother.

In the first picture, they are getting strapped in.   In the second picture, Big Bro looks excited but Little Bro has his I am not sure about this face on.  The third picture makes me want to cry.  The tiny one loop coaster just did its first of two laps.  What do you hang onto when your world is spinning, moving too fast and overwhelming?  I hang onto the most solid, secure, trustworthy and unchanging thing I can find.  So did little Boo.  He hung onto his Scootle for the entire ride. 

Wordless Wednesday - Scrumptious

Wordless Wednesday - Scootle, age 16