Saturday, December 6, 2008

Playing God



My husband and I have spent over a year preparing to bring


two children from Ethiopia into our family. In September we received a referral for a baby boy named Temesgen Tesfaye. In our homestudy we were approved for two children under five. We assumed we would receive a toddler and an older child sibling set. Assumptions are trivial things in the world of international adoption. Here was a baby needing a home. We were a family thrilled to have a baby. We became adjusted to the fact that we would be bringing home our baby first and later receiving a referral for an older child. They were not going to be Mikaela’s biological siblings so we were not so concerned that they were not biological siblings either. We would be growing our family in stages, settling in with a new baby and later adding another child. And then things changed again and our second referral arrived before we have a travel date to pick up our first.
I was not expecting it so soon. The email came through from G: “Are you ready for your girl referral?” Just that. Nothing else. Michael was out running errands. I call her.
G. whispers when she speaks because her baby is down for a nap. She is shuffling papers. “I’m looking at three girls”, she says “and trying to decide which one to give you”.
The best one, I think but I don’t say anything. All I can think of is this person, possibly sitting drinking tea in her kitchen while her babe is sleeping, is about to make a decision that will affect the rest of my family’s life. She is playing God, creating families casually at home. She could be in her slippers. The arbitrariness of the whole thing is all I can think about.
“I think this one”, she says, “because her last name is your son's first name”. (In Ethiopia a child’s last name is the father’s first name) Yaebsera Temesgen becomes our daughter. So, a name in common equals a lifetime together. It is a sweet connection, but is it enough to determine a child's fate for the rest of her life? Then G is speaking so softly I can’t hear what she is saying. Even after I ask her to repeat things I can still hear only every other word. It feels so important that I hear exactly what she is saying. She is going to email me a picture. “I think this is her”, she says. I am lost, imagining looking at a photo that may or may not be my daughter. When her older daughter gets home, she tells me, she will send me Yaebsera's medical information. Her daughter is the only one who knows how to work the scanner. We hang up the phone.
I am caught in the enormity of what is transpiring. My family has increase in an instant once again. Ask me how many kids I have? A few months ago I would have said one, a six year old girl I got the old fashion way. (Getting pregnant and marrying the sperm owner after the fact: alias The Damn Husband) Then in September I would have said two when I became the mother of a seven-month-old baby boy. Now I will say three and not quite believe it myself. No one has asked me how many kids I have lately so I haven’t had the chance to try any of this out to know how it feels. I just say it to myself.
I have three kids. I have three kids on two continents.
Our first referral came through an email on our agency’s adoption yahoo group on September 18th. Our dossier had been in Ethiopia for three days: “Who is left, that has their dossier in Ethiopia, waiting for a baby boy over 6 months? G.”
I emailed her that we were open to a baby boy.
Her email response came shortly after:
“Well, then Temesgen could be yours!!!! I don't have a profile yet, maybe this week the families will bring it back. I will go through and find pics of him. He is cute and around 7 months old I would say. Healthy, I am assured. G."
If I hadn’t been on the computer that morning it would have been someone else that emailed back first and he might not have become my son. I picture a game show where the contestants who have the correct answer race to push the button down first and win. This is not the way I had anticipating international adoption protocol. Our agency is small. I think it lets its hair down a bit at times in a mom and pop kind of way but the arbitrariness is just as present in the big agencies also. They tend to polish it up more with formal manila envelops and introductory letters. We were with a bigger agency in the beginning with a very good reputation. The woman in charge of the program never remembered me when I called and I was a number. When my number came up I would get the next available child in my age range. I prefer the woman sitting in her kitchen who has met the children she is referring and has gotten to know me at least a little. International adoption is still about bringing a child you know nothing about into the middle of your life and holding the belief that this is what was meant to be.
And so I became a mother of two, a mother of a baby along with being the mother of a six year old.
And a few days ago I became a mother of three. I waited until Michael got home to check my email. Mikaela, Michael and I sat on the couch and I opened up G’s email with the picture of our daughter, Mikaela’s sister, Yaebsira Temesgen. I looked at her picture and was speechless. "She looks fun to play with", says Mikaela. She is beautiful and I am petrified. There she is this sad little person staring back at me. This little person with her own life and her own thoughts, her likes and her dislikes. And more than her share of hardships. Michael and I decided that we were up for the challenges of creating a transracial family. But here she was staring at me from a photo. She hadn’t signed up for this and neither for that fact had Mikaela. But this was going to be her life, our life together. Not her decision, but her life. Who was I to make these decisions? What if she doesn’t love me? And she won’t in the beginning, how could she? (This question with the pronouns reversed is unthinkable)
Later I was sitting in the kitchen trying to get my bearing and drinking a cup of coffee when I look up at the pictures of both of my Ethiopian children we have hung on the wall. They were staring at me. The look on their faces seemed to be saying,
no way is this fat white woman my mother.

They are the baby bird in the book, Are You My Mother? and I am the Snort that says, yes, yes, I am your mother.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

The Wisdom of Fortune Cookies



Mine: You never hesitate to tackle the most difficult problems

Michael's: Avert misunderstanding by calm, poise and balance

Mikaela's: You will have good luck and overcome many hardships (the hardships are probably her parents...)

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

When Panic Rules

As humans we are genetically coded to resist change. Today I find myself true to my genes. The reality of the approaching changes in my life has begun to overwhelm me. This is not regret. I have called forth all of the changes and this is the life I am choosing. And, right now fear is my ruler. Today, I am admitting that I need to call in some reinforcements. Julie Andrews, where are you?

I simply remember my favorite things…

*chocolate
*art- making it, looking at it, living in it
*adoption
*cooking with friends
*the way babies smell

*spooning
*morning cuddles from Mikaela
*a really, really, good book,
*good friends who love you through all of your transformations and are always there for you no matter how crazy you are at the present moment. (Amanda, this is you)
*hammocks
*dollhouses and tiny furniture
*looking up at tall trees



*snow
*my silly dog (in snow)

*Open Connections
*homeschooling
*campfires and marshmallows

*fox trotting with my husband
*bubbles

*ice drops on delicate branches

*fall





*tea parties with friends

*the sound of the ocean during an early morning walk

*cappuccino
*tree houses
*poetry that as Emily would say, takes off the top of your head
*Sunday mornings with Elizabeth
*my dad
*Lucy the Elephant

*traveling anywhere, especially Nepal and Africa
*swimming with elephants
*carnivals

*hot baths
*walking in the woods

*long wild dreams especially if they involve flying or opening new doors you have never seen before
*Old Forge, NY
*the Sunday NY Times
*singing along with the music from the Big Chill when no one else is around
*laying on the couch listening to the Tindersticks
*when Amanda makes me music CDs
*capturing a perfect moment with my camera
*a clean house
*cookie dough
*handmade cards
*meditating
*my Tibetan crystal bowl
*loons

I do feel better. What a great reminder that my favorite things are either currently in my life or I have experienced them at one time. What a lucky life I am leading.

Monday, December 1, 2008

The meaning of Monday

Monday, the first of December. How did that come on so fast? I can’t help but think of my father when a Monday falls on the first of the month. Mondays were always reserved for new things, new starts, especially new diets. Having Monday fall on the first of the month just increased the power of hope. What I remember the best are the days leading up to such a momentous occasion, the best of my youth. They were the days where you get rid of all the food that you won’t be eating after Monday, when your new lifestyle starts. And of course, he was raised during the Depression so he never wasted anything. Getting rid of the food meant eating it all before Monday. It was hard work but we had to do it. We had to make a clear path for our new lifestyle. My father was always in a cycle of dieting to lose his belly. He was either preparing to diet, hungry from being on a diet or binging after giving up a diet. (If you fall off the diet bandwagon you can’t start a diet until the following Monday.) Now, my father has succeeded in losing his belly but his mind is too far gone for him to enjoy the fact. I was sick with the flu on Thanksgiving so we had a belated Thanksgiving at their house on Sunday which would have been the ultimate for my dad if he had realized the beauty of it. So Pop, I’m getting on the treadmill this morning for you!! Happy Monday.


My sweet Michael won big points by helping shave my dad’s scruffy beard.
























Dad: I don’t know why... all this...it was fine.
Mom: Bob, your mustache hairs were curling into your mouth. It must be like eating shredded wheat.
Dad: I like shredded wheat.
Mom to Michael: Thank you. Now you can see his lips. He has such nice lips.
Me: Hey Pop, maybe you are more kissable now. You should try it.
A big smile crosses his face and he starts to laugh.
Confused, he starts to kiss me. I spin him around to mom and manage to capture this picture.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

This Damn House




Why did I want an old house? Was I tired of having free time, warm feet, money? My next house is going to be a one level brand new rancher with windows that flip for easy cleaning. I relish a new house with no ‘charm’. I will instead have charming friends come visit my very-dull-very-airtight-no-work-needed house without prehistoric insects lurking in every corner and greeting me by flopping around in the sink each morning. And let’s not talk about the Wild Kingdom effect when the mice come inside to play. In my new house I will never look up at the ceiling during breakfast and wonder if we should try to surface coat the old ceiling and repair the holes or just rip the whole thing down and start again. Yes, wide floor planks are very ‘charming’ but someone please tell me how to fill in the ½ inch gaps between them that are sending freezing cold air onto my frozen toes!













For Mikaela’s birthday we surprised her with a doll house that looks like our house. She loves it! I hope the dolls will be warmer than we are! My friend Amanda gave me this doll house and it has been up in my attic. Many years ago it belonged to her wonderful daughter Karina when she was six. It is so fantastic to have good friends pass their treasures down to my daughter. I painted it to match our house. I still need to finish building the porch but like our real house, the doll house is also a work in progress.
After Mikaela read The Doll People by Ann M. Martin, Laura Godwin and Brian Selznick, and visiting the Doll House exhibit at the Chester County Historical Society, she was primed for this birthday surprise.

Three Becomes Five



A rainy Sunday morning. When I woke up after snuggling with her I couldn’t resist trying to capture the moment. She just turned six and can still look like a baby. Her eyes dart around under closed lids. Where are you little dreamer? Oh, how your life is about to change in ways you cannot imagine, All of our lives are changing. On September 18th we received a referral for a baby boy from Ethiopia. His name is Temesgen Tesfaye. We hope to have him home sometime in January. In the mean time we have pictures of him in every room of our house. A picture of him sleeping hangs above our bed. Yesterday we received a referral for a four year old girl named Yeabsira Temesgen. She looks so sad in the photos we just recieved. Sad and beautiful. I want to make her smile. It is too soon to know when she will be able to join us.
Our family is complete and will soon be living on the same continent. (Soon being a relative term) Last night Mikaela called a family meeting. She dragged the big paper pad out of the closet and ran to get a red marker. “Ok”, she said, “we should start with where is everyone going to sleep?” Now she seems so grown up and filled with plans. She tells us an elaborate idea about bunkbeds that can turn and roll up into a fort. She had two concerns. She wanted to still be able to snuggle with me and she wanted to have a place to be alone when she is sad or angry. I remind her that no matter where she sleeps she is always welcome to come snuggle with me. She makes a quick fort in the living room out of an umbrella, two pillows and Wanda’s dog bed. She is satisfied and ends the meeting.
And my head spins with so much joy, fear, and unanswered questions I can’t imagine that I will ever sleep again.