Won't Somebody PLEASE Think of the Grandparents!

We went to Port Aransas in September. It was a much better trip than this one two years ago. But not nearly as funny to blog about. I can't wait for Uncle Yonas to be with us next time we go.

Quote of the Week

Safa was in the bath, Ava and Eden at school.

"Mama? Sometimes I like it when Ava and Eden aren't in the house."
"Oh, is that right? Why is that?"
"Because sometimes they do crazy things in the living room."
"Well, that's true."
"Yeah. That's why I don't like them in the house."

I Think I Just Threw Up in My Mouth a Little

Something gross happened last Sunday night. Something really gross. I took pictures, but I'm not sure they are appropriate to share in this format. (But if I get enough requests, I might be swayed.) I noticed last week that the sink in the bathroom the girls use was draining slowly.

After brushing their teeth, Ava and Eden came running to me and said, "Mama! Come into the bathroom! We need to show you something!" followed by much giggling. My standard, "Can you bring it to me?" brought more giggling. "Nooooo, You have to come see it."

Now at this point, I should have been scared. But I wasn't because I was too exhausted from the camping trip described below to be lucid enough.

"Look what we found in the sink!" Eden said. I walk into the bathroom and there, in the sink, is a four-inch long sprout of some kind, with another three or so inches of root attached.

"This came from the sink?!"

Erik walked by right at this moment and I showed him. He began to dig around in the sink drain and pull out several more sprouts, one with a pumpkin seed still attached. Also a lot of good old fashioned dirt. Someone, perhaps of the childish persuasion, put a clump of dirt and a few pumpkin seeds down the drain. And they sprouted and grew. They grew in the nasty sink-drain muck. Gag me with a sprouted pumpkin seed.

Salad anyone?

His Last Name Is Romberg

We found out earlier in the week that Yonas has now been moved from the Bethel Orphange in Nazret to our agency's care center. And although it was a necessary step, I hate that he has left the place that he has known for so long. All new nannies, new bed, new food, new toys, new smells. The good news is that the other children being adopted from Nazret all moved at the same time, so he will have some familiar faces. This is a bittersweet time now, as we make the final steps to get him home, he is bearing the pain and loss without adults he trusts. It is a necessary part of the journey he makes to become our son.

We also received his birth certificate today, which is a huge next hurdle. This was the next big step, so that feels really good. In the top left corner there is a small picture of him, a copy of his passport photo that was taken this week. He looks worn down, traumatized, and weary. It kills me. They also shaved off all his beautiful hair. This is standard procedure, it lessens the amount of work for the nannies and keeps lice to a minimum. I knew it was coming, but he is not the boy he was in his social report. He has lost more in his 18 months than I ever will. And it shows all over his face right now.

I want to be there now, to hold his chubby hand while he walks, to watch him sleep, to help him heal and trust we are his final, forever stop. No more sweet boy. No more. Hang on just a bit longer.

We are coming.




P.S. I will bring the funny tomorrow. I swear.

1989

So I lied yesterday. I need one more day. If you come back tomorrow, I have an awesome story about living with children that I promise you is unlike any other you've heard.

Kelsey, me, Brad, and Sam. This picture is from a trip to Six Flags. We'd stayed in some crap motel (pictured behind us) and were walking over to the crap diner across the parking lot for breakfast. This is hands down one of my all-time favorite pictures of my late teens. The giant denim shorts, the black and white shirts (which I can swear to you we didn't plan) makes it even funnier. We are all so gorgeous and young and happy I can hardly bear it.

Onward

(If I hadn't committed to NaBloPoMo I wouldn't be posting today. I don't want to bump the post about Brad, and I can't figure out how to embed the music in the post so I will have to delete the music tomorrow. )


My grief regarding Brad's death is multi-layered and I think it is in large measure because it is impossible not to experience this loss through the lens of motherhood. People grow up and things happen to them. Sometimes wonderful and beautiful things, other times tragic. As a mother I watch my children grow into the people they are meant to become, watch them rise to their best selves and watch them struggle, knowing I can not protect them from the pain that comes with simply being human. I can parent, pray, guide, yell, whisper, bend, take a stand, plead, laugh, worry, hug, and love all I want. But nothing I do will keep the tragedies of life, small and large, away.

And so tonight, as I reluctantly post on this blog of motherhood and life, I send peace to Brad's mother, from the young woman I was when I knew her son, and from one mother to another.


And tomorrow, I will post about motherhood and life. Because the tragedies and joys of life, the lovely and the chaotic, they keep moving on.

Youth

Last night I learned that a boy I once knew died. Four and half years ago. His birthday was the 7th.

There was an art class, laughter, The Cure, an Isuzu Impulse, a Six Flags trip, silliness, and the kind of beauty only found in youth.

I have spent the day remembering him, listening to 80's music, watching my girls dance to David Bowie and The Clash, playing heartbroken hide-and-seek with Safa, crying while I waited for her to find me.

Brad, this is for you...

EDIT-- I ran "Pictures of You" by The Cure, but couldn't figure out how to embed it, so I sadly had to delete it

It's Been Real. It's Been Fun. But It Ain't Been Real Fun.

Yesterday we went on our first ever family of five camping trip. It was a school-wide trip so we were there with lots of families we love. The afternoon was fun and included paddle boating and rambling. It reminded me how far we've come from the village. Having multiple other eyes on your kids, taking a hike with kids that aren't yours, having five adults ask if you're OK when you fall down and your parents aren't around; this is good. Really good. It's how it's meant to be.
But I'd like to do my best now to describe my experience last night at Inks Lake State Park. Evening time was your standard group gathering with burgers, s'mores, campfire, etc. The party dispersed. Ava had been invited to sleep in a tent with two other girls.
Erik and I got Safa and Eden in their sleeping bags and Ava settled. All three of them had noses so stuffy they could barely breathe. It was about 9:00. Eden and Safa fidgeted and were generally over-tired and miserable. The park was over-crowded and noisy, we were right across the street from the bathrooms.
Erik and I got into our sleeping bags. The level of noise was insane. Erik said that it was like trying to sleep in the middle of the street in our neighborhood and in a bar all at the same time. We did the kind of complaining that was marked by a solid, self-satisfied notion that we were, on the deepest level, better than the people making all the noise.
Then we heard them. Some kind of humanoid (i'm quite sure humans aren't physically capable of this level of noise-making) whose sole purpose was to create a cacophony loud enough to keep even the most exhausted person awake. They were playing some kind of game. A game that consisted of intermittent whooping and laughter so loud and it made my throat hurt. I leaned over to Erik and said, "I have to practice "Hot Cross Buns" on my recorder, I'm not very good, but I AM loud." He said, "OK. I have to go and check the doors of my 63-door car." We laid there for a very long time. Eden fell asleep. Then Safa. I stared at the tent ceiling and seethed only the way a person can when they are being kept awake against their will.
Erik went to the bathroom. While he was gone, the couple (not part of our group) in the tent next to us (read: right on top of us) started making some noise. I thought: Maybe their having sex. Well, at least it will be entertaining. I really thought this. I heard whispering. Then: "I just don't understand why you have to be such an ASSHOLE!" The promise of distraction was over before it had begun.
Erik returned, I closed my eyes, tried to fake sleep hoping to induce the real thing. Then Ava appears at the tent door. She needs to go to the bathroom. We go. She wants to return back to the tent with us. After much rearranging we get her settled, but it takes her a very long time to fall asleep. An hour passes. Maybe two. Then "Dude" comes on the scene. Loud, obnoxious, drunk Dude. And he brought friends. They are so loud they actually drown out the humanoids. Hours pass. Crickets scream, but finally...quiet. I fall asleep.
Safa awakens soon after and needs to pee. I ask Erik to hand me the potty chair we have moved just outside the tent to accommodate Ava. He hands it to me and I spill pee all over my sleeping bag. I clean it up with someones shirt. Then more noise. Is that coyotes? Owls? Puppies being strangled? My family sleeps. They snore. Car doors slam. I finally fall asleep. A little later, noise at the bathroom. Awake.
What's black and white and stinks all over? A freakin' skunk. Seriously. The funk moves through our tent and hangs in the air while my family sleeps and I cover my face and start mentally writing this post.
Then somehow, miraculously, it's dawn. The man from the couple next to us stirs and they start fighting immediately. Tires screech. Kids yell. Birds cry.

Ah, nature...

Water = Life

80% of all disease in Ethiopia is due to dirty water and poor sanitation.

At any given time, more than half of the country's population of 80 million people is suffering from water-related disease.

More than 250,000 children under the age of five die each year due to diarrhea.

In an era of unprecedented global wealth, four out of every five people on the planet do not have access to running water.

You can help. Please consider making a donation to A Glimmer of Hope. You can donate here to join the effort of a group of adoptive families that are trying to raise enough funds to build a well.
Even 10 dollars will help.

"Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could only do a little."
~Edmund Burke

Friday Flashback