Harmonious Hamoos (Thursday- b' amarigna)

Another one of those gratitude posts

When we moved in to our house five years ago, dreaming of having kids, the area where I'm sitting now - the porch- looked like this.

The  next year, it looked like this.

The next year it looked like this.

Here it is right now

My present view

 It has taken five years for me to grow plants on and around the porch, but I can smell my little organic, rain-barrel fed herb garden right now, and I am ridiculously thrilled.  Wait. let me stand at my front door and show you. Taking these pictures is so fun right now. Simple minds. . .

It's embarrasing how proud I am of this. Five years it has taken me to have a 2.5' by 4' garden on top of a trash bin. I am freakin' delighted. This little porch haven is entirely thanks to my daughters, (and handy husband, and craigslist, and carpenter who owed me money). For years, everything was waiting. I couldn't seem to accomplish or grow anything. Our kids' room looked like this:

And this.

Wanna see it right now? Okay. Hold on.

Giants. Crazy. It's the two year anniversary of the first day they came here.

I had TIME, slowasmolasses time, before kids, to clean up my house/act, - but I couldn't do it. I apparently needed to wait for them, in order to wake up and come (back) to life.  Now that I have this little relaxation spot, surrounded my things that make me happy, I never, ever find time, which goes boltlightning fast now, to sit here.

 I have absolutely no business being awake but it is so warm and perfect out here right now that I just have to stop. Reflect. Record.

I have no business being awake because it's midnight and we've been on the sleepless (okay, sleeplittle) go for days.

 Here's Thursday night, in Concord, NH:

 

Here's Friday, driving from Concord to Franconia, NH

And Saturday, having left Franconia and attending a pool party in Amherst, NH.

The pool party was a reunion of WHFC Group 66 - 8 of 9 families attended. It was amazing. We slept over, but were at the beach at home by noon. Swimming, sweating, tiring.

This summer has been wild like that.

Here's last week when Ruth, Aster and I went on vacation to N. Conway at the begining of the week.

And then we came home,  picked up Dada and hit ECECC.

Different from last year.

Equally fantastic.

When I first sat on this porch, five years ago, I was just not a very happy person. Then the girls came and everything changed. Right now, I feel like I was somewhat lost in a crazed blur after that, and I still am. But this summer, for the first time, with a regularly scheduled Habesha babysitter, things are getting less blury. I'm sitting still tonight looking around at my little life, going dayum! This is so good.

I know it sounds obnoxious, and I know it will change. And of course it's not as perfect as may appear through my sleepy  mango-margarita-googles right now. But I coudn't be more content.

I'm even growing vegetables. Maybe. We'll see. I always wanted to do it for myself, but always failed (see previous link). This year, I wanted to do it for them. I thought about their farming family in Ethiopia while we planted seeds, and imagined them being delighted by sprouting seedlings. It didn't work out that way because they just wanted to yank out anything green and eat the dirt. Turns out, they suck at gardenting even worse than I do. But I still planted a teeny little box, late in the season, that looked like this a month ago.

Wanna see it now? Okay, hold on.

It's quite possible that nothing will bear fruit because it's all jammed up too close together but I don't even care because shit grew. I feel like it's a big mothering metaphor. Maybe I didn't do it right this year because I don't know what I'm doing, but things are alive and growing, and I can do it better next year. I'm pretty much psyched and just wanted to say so. Happy Summer to you.

Birthday Porn

Is this a joke?

Bloomberg Businessweek published a story entitled Ethiopia’s Peace Score Showed Biggest Gain in 2009, Survey Says. All I can think of is Survey Says! Eeeeeeeeaaaahhhhhh. That's supposed to be a loud Family Feud buzzer, not a donkey.

I understand that the violence and repression didn't get much coverage that you could find without looking for it until 2010, and that this survey was conducted in 2009. But it seems like maybe, at publication 1/2 way through 2010, you might include a little disclaimer. Not that the widespread violence and flagrant human rights abuse and repression weren't obvious to an interested observer in 2009 but, in fairness, the bulk of the higher profile reports did come this year. 

Still, it seems to me like you should lose bigtime points for literally jailing, stabbing, shooting, beating (sometimes to death), censoring, bombing, and otherwise harrassing, intimdating and silencing and/or killing political opponents of your dictatorship along with domestic and international reporters.

These links are just examples. If you google any of those things you will find no shortage of horror stories. Despite an all out independent media blackout.

What kills me about this survey is that it will be used to encourage "investment" in things like oil exploration and agri-business - in which the government owned land (which is all of the land) is leased out to multi-national corporations to produce crops for export. Farmed by people with a life expectency somewhere between 45 and 55 years, depending on who you believe.

I just don't trust that this government will do right by its people in sharing the wealth to be gained from such ventures.

"Measuring peace allows countries and companies to better assess the risks of major shocks to the global economy and to evaluate efforts to reduce those risks, according to a discussion paper presented along with the report."

Read: do business with the Meles regime because YOU and YOUR money will be safe there.


This is my favorite quote:

“The total cost of violence in the world is over $4.8 trillion per annum in foregone economic activity.”

Cuz that's what matters. The dollar value of not-dead/not-fighting-daddy and not-dead/not-hiding-mommy's production and consumption of stuff.


Gross.

Well, that answers that question

about Starbucks.

ECECC. . . Just Another Reason

As if the mass convergence of cool kids and gobs of insight were not enough, now there's Rachael and her wicked sweet photography. Official photographer of ECECC 2010.

Referralversary

In August of 2006, we decided to adopt children from Ethiopia. We decided to start saving up and investigate it for real, and "we" started talking about it a lot. A lot, lot, lot. Undoubtedly sick of hearing about it, a friend said in October of 2006 (! seems like yesterday) "It sounds like you've decided. When exactly are you going to apply?" in an appropriately "what are you waiting for" tone of voice. Before I had a single conscious thought formed in response, my mouth flew open and I announced "April!" I remember being kind of surprised that it came out so naturally and confidently and immediately then decided that April was, of course, exatly when the Powers that Be wanted me to submit my application to be matched with kids, and that must be why I said it.

By November 2006, April was way too far away. We gave eachother the gift of mailing out the intial WHFC paperwork and money for Christmas (on the 19th) and I was very concerned about the whole moving up the April deadline thing. I felt like I was messing with fate because April came to me so clearly and definitively out of nowhere and I committed to it, and now I was exherting my overbearing need to control everything and make it go very fast free will and could be blowing my date with destiny. It bugged me for 18 months.

The official congratulations and "welcome to the homestudy" paperwork came a few days before Christmas. Aldous was home when it arrived, and decided it would be a good idea to hide the package from me until midnight on the 31st, and give it to me at the bar while his band was on a break. Like, Surprise! Cheer up! Romantic! And for those of you who think, "oh, that's so sweet" I can only say, Really? You think? I am weak, and I was on a mission to win a compitive paperwork processing medal and I was nothing short of PISSED. Really honey? Did you just meet me? Are you NEW? I got over it right then and there (a rare thing, unfortunately), kissed him Happy New Year-that-we-get-kids (ha ha) and was homestudied and dossier'ed before February. Fingerprinted March 16, a time when the Boston CIS office was routinely flipping out approvals within 4 days of fingerprinting. I know this because I made yahoo-group based charts and graphs.

But our approval didn't come for two weeks. There was nothing noteworthy in our histories. April 1 was a Saturday and when CIS reopened that monday April 3, 2007, we started our "official" wait. And I thought Oh, so that's what that spiritual moment, Will-Ferrel-debating-in-Old-School, involuntary blurting of "April!" was all about! The Powers that Be wanted us to "officially" start the 1-6 month process in April. We'll have a referral by October! I can't beleive that I have reached a point in thime where I think it is funny to mock myself in a really patronizing tone in my head as I write that.

Ruth and Aster were born the following April and got our referral on May 14, 2008. Two years ago. That wait is such a distant, fading memory now that I forgot to stop and notice that it was our referralversary. I like remembering that day. There's a new post, btw.

I'm sorry

Sometimes I write blog posts that I regret. I read them later and see that they don't at all convey what I was trying to say. Normally, I move on. I feel like deleting them is somehow wrong so I just leave it and live with it. It's all me and looking back to the beginning of this little journal, it's obvious that my thinking about lots of things has evolved over time. Normally, I don't go back and retract things I said before, even if they bother me.

But the post I put up at 2AM last night bothers me so much that I can't stop thinking about it. It's not passing the gut check. I can't read it without getting that bad feeling. Here's the thing: I don't feel like saying "birth" mother. Fine. Don't. I want to celebrate another mother on mother's day too. Fine. Do.

What bothers me so much about my public opinion, and my last waking thought last night and my first waking thought this morning is that "Birthmothers' day" was created by birth mothers. They wanted a separate occassion to honor their mother experience. It's not like adoptive mothers decided they would relegate birth mothers to a separate, disparate day. This was the idea of honorees who wanted it. I'm sorry that I even attempted to have a loud-mouth opinion about it.

Similarly, "birth" is no small contribution. "First" is accurate. The name should, ideally, be chosen by the bearer, and in most of our situations here in EthiopianAdoptionLand, it can't be. I wish I could just ask her. I think that what motivated my relatively bad atttitude was an overwhelming desire to honor and recognize her, and my tremendous anxiety about not doing that well enough.

All those waiting Mother's Days, I never expected it to be so hard in a whole new way now.  It is incredibly joyful - don't get me wrong. I'm the luckiest girl I know getting to spend the morning with my own mother and my own daughters.

But next year, in addition to trying to live my life and raise my daughters everyday in a way that honors and recognizes her (and my own mother), I think we'll do somethings special and ceremonial with her in mind on both Saturday and Sunday.

BirthFirstBio. . . Whatever

I forget from where I learned that the day before mother's day is celebrated as "Birth Mothers' Day" or "First Mothers' Day," but I thought it was a nice idea. Until I really thought about it. Now, I have to agree with the author of the linked entry above.


In telling you my feelings, I do not mean to disparage anybody else's thoughts, traditions, or vocab. Different things work for different people and situations. I think that most reasonable people who end up here on this blog would agree that "gotcha day" is gross. But what to call the woman who gave birth to your children? Seems like "birth mom" is most popular, despite a movement to change that to "first mom."


I have never been comfortable using the term "birth mother," or it's way-too-cutesy-for-me-counterpart "tummy mummy." There is more to it than the birthing thing. Conjures images of a breeder robot in my messed up head.


"First mother" doesn't sit well with me either. In part because it seems confusing to kids who can count. If there's a first, then there's a second. So is there a third, fourth, fifth. . . ? I guess I just don't really see the need for a modifier at this point.


When speaking to people who are not my children, she is just their "mother". Since I am not in the habit of referring to myself in the third person, when I say "Ruth & Aster's Mother . . . " nobody is confused.


So far, when speaking to my children, I just call her by name. I understand that it could be confusing to them if I were to go around talking about "their mother," who is not me, to other people, in front of them. But I'm pretty sure we will figure this out without using birth or first.


Again, I don't think they are derogatory words, or incorrect. They just don't fit in my big mouth.


As for having a separate day? In our case, it just seems to just emphasize the huge inequity and sadness of it all. My day gets hallmark hyped for weeks. Nobody even knows about hers. So, we can plant something for her on a Sunday every May, instead of a Saturday. We can all remember, think about, and appreciate her too on Mother's Day. It's not a mutually exclusive thing. My Mother’s Day is happy. I imagine that it is not a happy day for lots of women. I can’t imagine that designating a different day, distinctly NOT Mothers’ Day, is always helpful.


Maybe I’m totally missing the point. Feel free to educate me. Ruth & Aster’s mom doesn’t get to weigh in on this subject and let me know her thoughts. So you’re just stuck with Ruth & Aster’s mom’s (just kidding) thoughts.

Picking up

where we left off. Today  was such a beautiful, warm, sunny day, that it can't really be called typical. And I suck at this and did not take a photo every hour. But anywayz:

Typical breakfast.

No video watching this morning. Playing in the big cage on the little deck while I get ready to go.

10 minute ride and we're at the office (aka oppice). The door on the left is my oppice. The door on the right is Breeze Inn drop-off activity center. Ruth, Aster, and I (and everyone else who knows them) love the two women who run it. Seriously, if you are local, check it out. I wish it were a daycare and they could go there every day. It isn't and they can't. But they go there often and I'm so lucky.

9-12 they're there. At 12 they come up for lunch and a nap. That can get pretty hectic and I forgot to take a picture. BUT I have photographed lunch and nap in the office before, and it looks like this.

They slept 'til 3. Ruth woke up and immediately asked for ice-cream. Why not? The plan was go home and go to the beach. But we stopped for ice-cream and decided to stay at the public part of the beach.

Some people are dainty when eating ice-cream.

Other people are not.

Then we walked.

Out of the stroller and into the water. Freezing cold water, and plunked right down. In retrospect, I think I can hear the other moms laughing as I roll up my daughters' pants.

The beauty of hanging at the strip is being with all of the different kinds of people there. Seriously. And before you ask me WTF is up with these people we saw today, I'll tell you. I have no idea.

People were really hungry by the time we got home, and there was no time to change out of wet clothes. Damp is better than melting. Notice the two green tones to Aster's t-shirt? Wet/dry. Surfer girl.

After dinner, tub. And brush teeth. Gotta tell you, I really love this Burt's Bees bath oil and moisturizer.

Then Sessie with "passy blanky".

Then bed for them. Then clean up. I'll spare myself the embarrasment you the details of that.

Then couch for me. Still couch for me.

Good night.