Twos

For three days, I have two two-year-olds. But, today, I have one with a birthday.

I really love this kid. Because none of what makes him amazing can be genetically attributed to me, I feel very free to brag about him. I tell everyone how smart he is and how he is talking so much earlier than my other two were at this age. How he can count to, like 17, depending on the day. How I've been too busy to teach him one darn thing, but how he knows absolutely everything, as if his brain is extra-spongey.

I look at him, and the ease with which he accomplishes everything, and it is easy for me to predict what he is going to be when he grows up: a soccer play, a football player, an actor, a singer, a dancer. So, pretty much he is going to have a very risky career path, but it will ultimately be very fulfilling and make lots of others jealous.

When he was still in the orphanage, our friend/advocate wrote to me and said "He loves to smile." I was filled with a moment of pride (as if I, having never met this 6 month old baby, had a thing to do with it) and then the cynic in me took over and I was filled with dread. What if that goes away? I thought. What if he comes home with us and he doesn't smile and I'll know it wasn't just his melancholy personality but that he used to love to smile and then he met me and never smiles again? 

Over-dramatic much?

When a child has a birthday, the mother usually posts some pictures of what they looked like on their birth-day, and goes through a series of "A year ago, I was rushing to the hospital" or "Two years ago today I became a mother." Even with my other two, there's a sense that their birthday is more than a little bit about me. In fact, Ben used to give me presents on Simon's birthdays because I did all the work.

Hmmm. Two years ago, a child was born but I was not his mother. His birthday is not about me. But it's no less sentimental. It's a celebration of the day his story began. It's a recognition that we don't need to know the details of those beginnings to hold them sacred. It's a prayer for his birth mother and for Charlie that God would heal any hurt that took root two years ago.

When I picked him up from childcare at the Y today, he yelled "Mommy!" An older boy looked at him and said emphatically, "That is not your mommy." I said, "I am his mommy." The boy looked at me, looked at Charlie, and said, "But you're white and he's black so I didn't think you could be his mommy." I explained to him what adoption is, and have never been so proud to say, "So, I am his mommy."

Because it's his birthday, and I don't need memories of his birth to know it happened and to know that it changed my life.

Wall Art: Silhouette Timeline

This one wasn't super easy. It was more of a labor love. And now that it's done, we can't ever have any more children because then I'll have to redo it. Not really :) Actually, once I figured out what I was doing, it got easier. The hardest part was picking pictures that really captured cornerstone moments in our family's journey together.

There's our wedding, of course. Me with the poofy veil and the almost kiss. Then my belly being turned into a giant basketball, from which it's never recovered. Then Simon, adorable and naked crawling around through our home. Then the three of us on an elephant in India a few days after losing Elijah. Then Simon patting his little sister as she nestled inside me. Then Talya reaching out to her Daddy. Then the two of them, the beginning of a great friendship. Then me and my Charlie, the day we first met. Finally, the three of them running through life together. 

In between all of these, are other moments that we've lived together - some not easy to capture on film or able to be outlined in black in white. The arguments. The times we were afraid of losing Ben's Dad. The year we had to say goodbye to our family home. The moment I knew there was no longer a heartbeat. The meals we've cooked, the friends who've lived in our home, the sisters-in-law we've welcomed, the holidays we've celebrated. 

But these silhouettes reflect the Big Moments, where God made us Us.

**********

I'd been working on this project for a while, and knew I wanted it printed on canvas, so when Groupon featured Canvas on Demand, I was ecstatic! I was able to get a 16x20 canvas of my design for $49, including shipping - quite the deal. I regularly surf all the cities' deals on Groupon, and I see that deal pop up from time to time, so jump on it. Once you start, it's hard to stop, so also head over to Canvas People for another amazing deal on printing your own artwork on canvas - $55 off any order, which amounts to a free 8x10.

If you want a quick synopsis on how I did the artwork, here you go: (I used Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop)

In Photoshop, open up the photo you want. You are going to turn your artwork into a resizable vector, so quality isn't too important - making those iPhone camera photos an option for this piece. First, unlock the layer and create a mask that hides anything you don't want in the silhouette. I use a combination of the lasso tool and magic wand. Then, create a new layer. Paint the new layer black, and move your mask to the new layer. Make sure you hide your bottom layer, and you should be looking at a black silhouette of your image. 

If you're like me, your image isn't at all perfect. There are bumps and divots and all kinds of rough edges. Save your photo anyway and place it into a new document in Illustrator. From here, do a live trace of the image and hit "expand." Now, instead of a photo, you're working with an editable vector. Here's where I do my tweaking. I fix any major problems with the sub-selection tool, and then I use the "smooth" tool to get rid of all the imperfections of my unsteady hand. I much prefer working in Illustrator to Photoshop, so I like to do my editing there, but if you're a photoshop person, you can get it the way you want it there.

In Illustrator, I just typed our last name, found a font I liked and arranged the silhouettes over it. I experimented with a thousand different color combinations and decided this is what I liked the best. 

When it was finished, I decided it was too small for the space it would be hanging in. It needed a friend, so I whipped up another one to hang next to it using our family promise and another silhouette of all five of us. This one I printed at winkflash because it was the cheapest I could find at the time. They both turned out great, but the one done at Canvas on Demand is crisper, brighter, and smoother. Just so you know :)

And that's us in a nutshell!

I linked up here:

Please visit and check out all kinds of other creative projects!

Proof how normal we are

Part of the adoption process is follow-up with your social worker. This is not mandated in the sense that no one can take Charlie away if we don't comply, but it is required, begged of us, encouraged, and emphasized by having us put down a thousand dollar deposit that we only get back if we do this. It's fine, I'm happy to do this because we really like our social worker and I can't wait for her to meet Charlie. (She doesn't know about this little bloggy-blog, so don't read this as kissing up.)

Anyway, our first follow-up visit is in a few days, and being the responsible adoptive mother that I am, I just opened up the paperwork that we were supposed to fill out ahead of time. I thought it was a quickie form, but it turned out that we have to pretty much write the whole report, and it took a lot of time.

And then, in some sort of weird dossier deja vu, I realized that we have to submit "picture pages." I assume this is to show anyone who is interested that we are all normal, happy, and functioning as a family. It's required that one picture shows Charlie with his parents.

You'd think this would be easy, seeing as he is perfectly adorable and his parents are also quite cute. Turns out, though, that Charlie would rather look at anything than a camera, I look more tired than I feel, being dressed before noon is optional, and the only photographer I have on call is 4 1/2.

So, here it is. A series of pictures that proves to anyone who wants to know that Charlie is in excellent hands.

I don't feel bad though. Becky is a professional photographer, and look at her family portrait. Judah doesn't look super happy.

Name That Year

My grandparents are almost 88 years old, and they save almost everything. It really comes in handy, especially if you need - say - a bucket of pine cones, the plastic tabs that fasten bread bags, or pretty much any Bible commentary that's ever been written. Their house is a treasure trove of memories.

This year, Grandma pulled out a stack of letters that my brothers and I wrote her with our Christmas lists. We thought they were pretty funny, so of course I'm reposting them, which may or may not violate my brothers' privacy.

Of course we were more than thorough with our wants, but none of us wrote a date on our letters, so my challenge to you is to take a look at our lists and tell me what year you think these were written. I'd give a prize to the winner, but, I don't know the answer myself, and I don't have any prizes.

Here you go, in order of age, from oldest to youngest.


Dear Grandma & Pop-Pop -

Thank you for your letter. I hope we can come up for Christmas. Mom said you wanted to know what I wanted for Christmas. So this is my list!

Big sweaters - you know the kind you bought me before except without the turtle-neck.
Jeans - faded
88-key keyboard
earrings
hair-things
books - Peggy Books - 3 & up
Shoes - black Sunday shoes - size 7 1/2 or 8
Stretch Pants

I think that’s it!! Did you have a good Thanksgiving? We did. I love you!! I miss you.

Love,

Susie


Dear Grandma & Pop-Pop

Did you guys have a good Thanksgiving? We did, we went to the Holliday’s house.

Thank you for the letter. That grandparent’s Day was fun. I wish you could have been there.

I will tell you what I want for Christmas:
faded jeans,
T-shirts Adult Small or Medium
Bulls Stuff*
Bears Stuff*
Bo Jackson Stuff*
“NIKE” shoes
Basketball cards
Football cards
Baseball cards
Watch
WWF Wrestling Buddies
Nintendo Games
Money
Bike

From,
Scott
PS Mark copied some of my stuff.
* Stuff as in posters & shirts

Dear Grandma & Pop-Pop,
I want these things for Christmas:

Winter Clothes
Nintendo Games
Michael Jordan stuff
Football stuff
football
Water gun
sword
Bow & arrow
WWF Wrestling Buddies
Ninja turtle figures
Ninja turtle stuff
faded jeans
T-shirts
Basketball cards
Football cards
Baseball stuff
Punching Bag
clothes
Bo Jackson stuff

From,
John



Dear Grandma & Pop-Pop,
This is what I want for Christmas:
Nintendo Games
Bow & Arrow
WWF Wrestling Buddies
He-man sword
School box
Ninja turtle figures
light-brights
coat
Michael Jordan stuff
Bears stuff
football suit
sleeping bag
Ninja turtle stuff
faded jeans
T-shirts
Bo Jackson stuff
Basketball cards
Football cards
Baseball cards
Punching Bag
Construx
Markers
toy boat
clothes

From,
Mark


A few observations and updates: What the heck is a Peggy book? Can anyone explain the obsession with Bows & Arrows? I don't think we got any of this stuff. John did just get a punching bag - lifelong dream fulfilled.

Name that year.

Once was blind but now I see and other Happy Thoughts

Color Me Katie asked what makes me happy (I'm sure she was talking directly to me), and since this week was full of happiness, here's my list:

1) Three kids who were each "made" in different places

2) My Baby's first haircut.

3) Father's Day (Long white gloves used to make me happy... sadly, that is no longer true)

4) Going from this:

to this:

to this:

to Perfect Vision! Thank you Dr. Stahl for that creepy Lasik procedure that has changed my life!

Also....this picture makes me really happy:

Race, Culture, and In-laws: What I've learned in the first 10 years

Ten years ago I met my (then future) in-laws for the first time. Have I told those stories yet? Wow, lots of tears as I came face to face with my future forever and how different everything would be for me. Not bad, just really, really different.

Forgive me if I'm repeating myself, but here's the gist of it. I grew up in a very white community in the midwest. Close enough to Chicago where there should have been more diversity in my life, but there wasn't. I was raised on church, Christian School and the Cosby Show. Every Thursday night on tv, I learned an important lesson in regards to race and culture: We're all the same, we just come in different colors.

And then I met Ben's parents, and my world came crashing down as I realized that everything the Huxtables taught me had been wrong - we were NOT the same. We weren't even close to the same. In fact, other than the fact that we were all fond of Ben, I don't think think there was anything between us that resembled sameness.

We spoke different languages, ate different food, wore different clothes, had very different ideas about what it means to be polite, what it means to be modest, where one should sit, whether or not it's acceptable to kick your husband in public, etc.

So, ten years ago, I met Ben's parents and decided that the Cosby show didn't do me a whole lot of good. I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say that Easter weekend 2000 involved my future mother-in-law trying to make me kill a duck, say "fart" in Malayalam to my future father-in-law, and bringing up each of Ben's former girlfriends who were "so nice" and "so pretty."

It's been a journey. A journey on which I've mostly been arrogant, selfish and insecure when confronted with people very unlike me. But, I've been seeing it little by little - the ugliness in my heart that bubbles up when everything I know to be "right" doesn't apply.

Do you like all the "quotation marks" in this post? It's important, because I'm learning that we all use similar words, but often don't all mean the same thing.

Here's the thing about Ben's parents: Despite the whole duck-killing and other mean-spirited tricks that weekend, they are great people. Ben's mom was just trying to make sure I knew who was in charge, I think. I have a son now, who isn't allowed to marry someone I don't like, so I know things now I didn't know then.

Ben was recently giving a talk to a large group of people, and he used some stories from his upbringing as illustration. He did great - painting the picture of his parents as new immigrants sacrificing everything to help others in their community gain a foothold in the New World. He described how even though the four of them lived in a one-bedroom apartment, they always made room for relatives who needed a place to live.

It was beautiful. People ooohed and ahhhhed at all the right places. Concepts like that are completely foreign to us Americans. We hail from the Land of Boundaries. We say things like, "We'll just get a hotel room so we don't overcrowd you," and no one gets offended.

Anyway.

Afterwards, I was chatting with a friend about the story. She knew a little of my adjustment to my new culture, my new family. I remarked that Ben's story was a perfect example. Yes, they are AMAZING people. But, you try marrying into a family where it's perfectly acceptable, expected and assumed that you would share a one-bedroom apartment with all your relatives.

I don't even like sharing my bedroom with my baby boy.

So, it's been a (tricky, stretching, gratifying) journey. It's shaped me and given me perspective. It's stripped the polish and veneer off my efforts to convince the world and myself that I'm not prejudiced towards other cultures.* I am. We are. All of us to a certain degree, probably, but I'll go ahead and put myself in front of the bus first.

I prefer to be around people who make me comfortable. I prefer to love people who communicate love the same way I do. I prefer to go to a church where I am fully familiar with all social "rules", eat food that reminds me of home, and when people speak my language easily and clearly, I assume they are smarter than I would if they didn't.

Ugly.

And just so I don't keep sugar-coating things, it's not just that I feel uncomfortable. It's that I get fiercely defensive of my way, which is of course the right way. It's that somewhere in my heart I believe that I'm right and so people like me are also right, or at least more right than people not like me.

Ugly.

I am learning. It's been ten years and I'm still learning. It's hard for Ben to believe that it can take this long. It's exasperating for me that it's taking this long. I'm a slow learner, I guess.

But like all journeys, it is one rich with reward. Hopefully my slow learning will teach my kids important lessons about race and culture, and about sin and grace. Hopefully walking the long distance that lies between my right and their right (or your right) will mark the difference between real relationship and convenient relationship.

I have a lot to learn from my husband's family, so my future daughters-in-law better watch out - I've got some new tricks up my sleeve!

*After a lot of thought, I edited this statement. Originally, I used the term "racist," and I don't think that's an accurate description of the issue at hand. Skin color doesn't scare me. Differences in cultures, values, upbringings, and communication freak me out and can bring out some ugly sides of me. Thanks for your patience and understanding!

Jiggity-Jig

We're home again.

I'm trying to see the entirety of the sweetness of it all through the haze of jet lag. I am so tired. If my mom wasn't here, life would be rough. As it is, I'm not sure I can envision the day that I'm not wearing these red pajama pants.

But, it is so sweet. Simon and Talya are so excited to have their baby brother home, and Charlie is handling the dramatic increase in affection quite nicely. Watching Talya meet Charlie was hysterical. She simultaneously tried to smother him in kisses while ensuring that he didn't touch her at all. Simon insisted on holding him, feeding him his bottle, and sharing his room with him right away. He continues to be worthy of Big Brother of the Year award.

We can see the jet lag taking a toll on Charlie as well. He just seems a little out of it, except at 3 or 4 in the morning, when he is the life of the party - my thanks to Ben for being willing to attend that party while I try to sleep.

We took Charlie to the International Adoption Clinic at Cincinnati Children's Hospital, and everyone there was fantastic. It was amazing to talk to people who are experts in the health and well-being of children brought home from overseas. Charlie hammed it up for all of them, and convinced them that he is perfect. Tests run on stool samples (um, gross) and blood will let us know if we're dealing with any problems. The only sad part was trying to draw his blood. It took two techs and lots and lots of screaming to determine that they couldn't find any veins. So, we still have to figure that out.

While we were gone, my kids grew like crazy. Especially Talya. She is huge. Yesterday, she was my baby. Today, I stare at her and think, what the heck is she doing in diapers - she's a giant! More beautiful than ever, but big enough to take my breath away every time I pick her up.

Simon is even smarter than I remember. When I woke him up on Superbowl Sunday, I said, "Today is the day of the biggest football game of the year!" He said, "Really?!? Are there going to be three teams playing?" Now seriously, people, why has no one else thought of that?

Thank you isn't enough

The car is packed. It's almost time.

But I can't go without saying thanks.

Thank you to everyone who has been happy for us, who felt the urgency with us, who tried to understand why waiting for a piece of paper could drive us absolutely insane.

Thank you to those of you who sent stuff for the Bloggy Baby Shower for Charlie's orphange. I got stuff with no information identifying who sent it, but know that I am so thankful!

Thanks to our parents & siblings, who have loved us in a way that has shown us we always have enough love to give. We make crazy decisions often that you are dragged along behind, but you always do it with so much enthusiasm, which makes it infinitely easier.

Thanks to Lindsay & Megan. Without you, I'd be up til 3 am packing and cleaning. Megan, when I put Sy to bed tonight and thanked Jesus with him for Megan, he interrupted me to correct, "No Mom - Megan Aunty." You are indeed an aunt to all three of my kids. Lindsay, you cleaned my bathroom, is there any greater love? Yes, there is - peanut butter smoothies, and you brought me one of those too.

Adrianne, Ben calls you my adoption wife, which I think might be slightly overstating matters, but I can't imagine having done this without your voice on the other end of the line. Becky, Suzanne and the rest of you, I can't wait to meet you either.

Thanks Elizabeth for showing me that adoptive moms don't have to be weird (although right now, I think I'm evidence to the contrary).

Thanks John & Lisa for easing the burden and loving us like family.

Thanks Pop-Pop for lending your name to our son. We hope you are as proud to be his as he will someday be to be yours.

Thank you to Ben for always listening and obeying, which makes it a little easier for me to obey when I don't want to.

Thank you to the Inventor of Adoption for allowing me to be a part of Charlie's story.

When God Builds a Family: a letter to all my kids

When God builds a family, He doesn’t always like things to be all matchy-matchy. It’s not like when you’re redecorating a bedroom and you go buy the bed in the bag because that’s the easiest and you know for sure that your comforter will match your shams which will match your valance.

When God builds a family, he doesn’t care much that the shams match the valance.

God doesn’t build a family the way some people shop at JCPenney’s for ensembles. God likes to build families like the seasoned, well-traveled buyer for an exotic boutique, who with an unlimited budget, scours the Earth for the perfect pieces that come together to tell the perfect story at just the right time.

Did you know that when God set out to build our family, He criss-crossed oceans to find us all? It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. You see, for God to build our family, He had to get Mommy and Daddy together in the same place so that we could fall in love.

Well, in many cases, it’s not that big of a deal for God to arrange a meeting between Mommies and Daddies. But, our story was a little trickier – it took a lot of advanced planning to make it work out just right.

You see, before Daddy was born, when He was just God’s Really Good Idea, your Amma & Appa lived far, far away in India – where jackfruit grows rampant and elephants walk the streets. And, before Daddy could be born, God had to bring Amma & Appa together so that they could get married.

That was a tricky case too. Things started of smoothly because Amma & Appa lived in the same town. But, when Appa got to be a little bigger, he had to go fight in the army. He traveled all around India and China and Bangladesh fighting for his country. It was very dangerous, and a long time went by when no one knew where Appa was. Everyone assumed that he had died.

This is what we call a “turning point” - because at this point in the story, Amma’s family was looking for a match for her. They looked at many boys, but they never looked at Appa because they thought that he was dead.

Now, God knew that if He was going to build our family, He was going to have to get Amma & Appa together. So, he saved Appa during that dangerous war, and one day, Appa walked back into that hot Indian village. A match was made, and your Amma & Appa got married.

Well, I’m sure that God was pleased that He’d accomplished that tricky match that almost never was. But, He still had a big job ahead of Him.  God knew that if Mommy & Daddy were going to meet, it sure wasn’t going to happen if Daddy lived all the way over in India with the jackfruit and the elephants.
God knew that Daddy had to be born in America.

There are people who will tell you stories that will make you believe that it’s easy for immigrants to come to this country. But, the truth is that your Amma had to work really had to come here, and even after all of her hard work, she still needed some miracles to make it all happen.

But, God was building our family, so He made those miracles happen. And, finally, one day your Amma flew to America with eight dollars and the hope that a letter she had written months before would result in someone picking her up at the airport.

I know it seems like the hard part was over. But Grandma & Pop-Pop weren’t easy to get together either. And, if Grandma & Pop-Pop didn’t get together, there would be no Mommy. And, if there had been no Mommy, then you wouldn’t be here either.

Grandma & Pop-Pop look like they match, which makes it seem like they were easy to put together, but back when Mommy was just God’s Really Good Idea, they didn’t match at all. You’ll have to see pictures to believe me, but basically, the point is that God had to get Pop-Pop into the churchy world if Pop-Pop was going to meet Grandma, and Pop-Pop was nowhere near the churchy world.

Pop-Pop had decided just like Appa to join the army. Like Appa, he didn’t have the opportunity to go to college, and so the army seemed like the next best thing. This was when God saw His opportunity to get Pop-Pop over into the churchy world where Grandma was. God sent a man named Bob to tell Pop-Pop that Jesus loved him. Pop-Pop eventually believed him, but Bob thought that if Pop-Pop didn’t get into the churchy world, he’d probably get himself into some trouble in the army.

So, Bob got Pop-Pop a chance to play basketball and go to college at the very place that every single person in Grandma’s family went to college.

When Grandma met Pop-Pop, he was scraggly and skinny, and a little uncomfortable having just been transplanted into the heart of churchy-ness. The odds were stacked against them, for sure, but Pop-Pop moved fast and married Grandma before she could even finish college.

So, now, the stage had been set and most of God’s preparation work had taken place. Mommy & Daddy were still just Really Good Ideas, but ideas that would at least be born in the same country.

I don’t know how old you’ll be when you realize that Mommy & Daddy don’t look the same. We’re alike in a lot of ways, but we’re different colors. For the most part, no one really notices, but there will always be people who think that’s a big deal. You know what? I actually think it’s a big deal too.

I think it’s a big, cool, amazing deal.

The fact that we don’t look alike is my little reminder that God had to work extra hard to match us together. It reminds me that we are not a bed-in-a-bag family, but that we were hand-selected to coordinate and complement and make each other shine.

You too, kids. You are all amazing, interesting products of an extravagant treasure hunt that has spanned the globe. We are not a matchy-matchy family, but we are a family a built by God.

A Very Indian Thanksgiving, and the many thoughts surrounding it

Thanksgiving cracks me up. The myriad of "official" stories of that first celebratory harvest meal between what would soon be warring peoples. The way that it is so "American" and we all join in and are granted vacation time and eat too much, and then go the gym as if we're going to counteract the calorie count of 4 pies. The cliche of the Pilgrims and the "Indians" is especially funny to me, as my first Thanksgiving with real Indians involved a masala turkey prepped by Ben's uncle.

I cried a lot that year. I was engaged to marry Ben, and this was the first real holiday I was celebrating with his family instead of mine, and the it all seemed monumental, final, and foreign. What was lost on me was the spirit of the first meal between "Indian" and white man - coming together in differences (well, in that case, before we steal your land in the name of freedom and a pioneering spirit).

To be honest, I cry sometimes still. It's been 10 years since I've been in this family - a rich, wonderful 10 years of multi-cultural living. It's beautiful and interesting. But, it's hard. It's hard to understand things that you aren't born understanding. And, so much of what we know, we were somehow born knowing. It's in our blood, our genes, our origins, and it shapes everything.

But, this is of course, what makes it worth being thankful for - the things that are not easy. The things we can reflect back on, and say like the writer of my favorite old hymn, "Here I raise mine Ebenezer; hither by thy help I'm come..."*

A Very Indian Thanksgiving has its very entertaining moments. Here are a few from this year:

Simon's pre-school teacher loves the Thanksgiving feast where the Penguins and the Bumblebees come together to eat food that the mamas prepare (or in my case, shamelessly bring in the Trader Joe's packaging). The little Bumblebees are the Pilgrims, and the Penguins (Simon's class) are the "Indians." I was shocked to hear that they still call them Indians - mostly, because that's an inaccuracy white people made centuries ago that you'd think we would have corrected by now.

Anyway, in a pre-schoolyear meeting, I helpfully pointed out that my son is an *actual* Indian who we're trying to help have a healthy understanding of his race and culture, and it might be confusing to tell him that Indians lived in America, wore feathers, and had names like Running Bull.

While I'm sure she found my advice very useful, the Indian festivities continued. I learned that all the kids were given Indian names (I'm pretty sure my son received his four years ago), and when I may have made an issue out of this, I learned that Simon was the Chief Indian. Being the proud mother that I am, I basked in his superiority and decided not to make an issue out of things. Maybe next year.

Now, we're in New York. Last night, we went to church with Ben's parents. They go to a small Indian church that is attended largely by our cousins. Ben is always asked to preach, leaving me sitting alone on the men's side with two crazy kids who are up two hours past their bedtime. Talya was literally rolling around in the center aisle (that red carpeting just looked too fun for her to pass up) while her Daddy preached on Thankfulness, and it just seemed so anti-sentimal for me to cause a temper tantrum at that very moment.

It is a strange and wonderful thing gathering with the real Indians as we celebrate the first meal with the mistaken Indians. It is strange and wonderful because these people are immigrants to this rich country, strangers in the land, just as the pilgrims were. (These immigrants are more gracious,  less give me your land or else).

It is strange and wonderful to celebrate with people who are thankful for the kinds of things the original party-goers were thankful for: God's protection in a strange place, opportunity, going through the hard times to give your kids the good times.

During the pastor's opening remarks, he couldn't remember what year the Pilgrims first came to America. There was a short back-and-forth between him and the congregants.... 1776? No, that was independence. 1492? No, that was Columbus. I laughed because of course they wouldn't know - this is not the kind of thing taught in schools in India. I laughed because I didn't know the answer, and I had a relative or two on the Mayflower.

After churh, we ate a catered turkey dinner in the too-warm basement of the church. To be honest, I was hot, hungry, tired, stressed from keeping Taly away from the platters of hot food, hurried to get to the city to see the Macy's balloons... but thankful. So, so thankful.


*real English translation is supposedly something like this: "Today I commemorate how far You have brought me."

Emergency Party

Sunday was the fourth birthday party I’ve thrown Sy, but the first at home. (#1 was at Lake George, #2 in India, #3 in Philly.) It was also the first party that I let him share with his friends.

Well, that’s not true, exactly. For his 2nd birthday, in India, we invited every kid in the neighborhood plus all the kids at one orphanage. But we had the party at a park, not my house, and there weren’t a lot of parents, just kids running around crazy, and someone else cleaned up.  Which is completely different than playing hostess to a mass of kids in your own home.

I figured for our first attempt at a friend party, we’d limit it to just a few kiddos. And, lucky for me, Sy’s little best buds are all girls, which leads to more squealing, but less killing, stabbing, destroying, etc. I promised him next year he could invite all his boy-buds too, but thought it’d be best to start out small.

I think any mamma knows that present-opening time is the most stressful part of such an event. That is when your kid is most likely to say something like “I HATE dinosaurs” or “I already have this one” or “Is this ALL I get??” That last one happened at a recent party I went to, and I still giggle about how cute it was.

Pre-party, I went into full lecture mode about having a grateful heart. Why? Because everyone knows that the way to get your child to have a grateful heart is to lecture him. Lectures breed righteousness, right? Wrong? Shoot.

Well, it (sort of) worked for me. Sometimes it’s about short-term results, people, not the big picture. He excitedly opened all his gifts and said thank you (every time I reminded him). He got a couple of shirts to which he responded, “I don’t get shirts for my birthday!”

He meant, “Um, hello? It’s my birthday people – I want toys!” But I tried to giggle loudly enough and murmur responses to give the illusion that he meant, “Wow! I’ve never gotten a SHIRT for my birthday!” That’s okay, he got excited about them later.

And then it was cake time. Now, I watch A LOT of Food Network. Well, I used to, before we cancelled the cable. Now I just dream in re-runs.  So, I’m pretty much an expert on decorating cakes. Except I’m not.  I already shared with you my strict cake-decorating rules, which emphasize creativity, not perfection.

Sy has spent the last month or so going back and forth between wanting an Ambulance cake and a Fire Truck cake. This is due to his current obsession with emergency situations. Because I love him, and I knew his indecision was a recipe for disappointment, I decided to make both.

For those of you homey types who want to see the directions, I used this, and this fondant recipe. For those of you who just want to make fun of my pictures, here you go:

I was pretty proud of my efforts, even though the results were a little crumby and sloppy. I mean, he is turning 4 and the sooner he learns to accept “good enough,” the better off we are all going to be.

Emergency Response cakes, Fireman games, squealing kids, a birthday boy battered into having a thankful heart – all added up to a successful party and an exhausted mommy, and it’s not even his birthday until tomorrow.

(This is the kids being firefighters, putting out the "fire" with squirt goons and watching the fire float away.)

)

PS - Why did PBS Kids change their programming? Where is Clifford the Big Red Dog?

The way vacation should be

For years - generations, really - my family has spent summers at Lake George in the Adirondack Mountains. It is, really, the most beautiful place in the world.

We have a tiny little cabin that is called the Jenny Wren. The Jenny started as a two-room cabin on the original camp (what this place was when our family acquired it) down by the water. Pop-Pop had the foresight to move the Jenny up the hill and add on some bedrooms and ThankGoodness a bathroom. So, now it is technically big enough to sleep a large family, although it is still quite small.

Pop-Pop and Grandma also had the genius idea to retire up here and build an actual house across the little dirt road from the Jenny. They broke many long-standing rules when they brought television and a washing machine to Lake George, but no one complains because we all have clothes to wash and broadband to pirate.

So, now we have a teeny little (adorable) cabin and my grandparents are nice enough to share some guest rooms for our growing extended family.

This means that a handful of bedrooms, one tiny bathroom, a "rustic" kitchen, and an overflowing storage shed are being shared by Grandma and Pop-Pop, their four children and spouses, their thirteen grandchildren and their almost-fourteen great-grandchildren.
That's a lot of sippy cups, bottles of sunscreen, and wiffle bats crammed into one place.

But, it is SO worth it. This place is amazing. The Lake is large enough to be spectacular and grand, making our corner of it remote and "ours." But, it's small enough to be hidden and secret - and some of my crazier cousins even swim across the thing.

The trees are large and old and lovely.

The flowers that Grandma plants are beautiful, all the more so now that Grandma also hired someone to weed them (That used to be our job).The water is clear and chilly, and drinkable-clean (but we don't drink it - because those 14 great-grandchildren swim right over our water pipe, and apparently swim diapers only hold in poop. Who knew?).
Our family isn't wealthy. When we marry, we only really bring two things of significance into the marriage: massive amounts of student loans and Lake George.

We bring prospective spouses here, and they are tested. Back in the day, the test involved meeting the matriarchs that sat out in the Adirondack chairs. Today, there is less of that, and there is really just one question to be answered: Will you love this Lake and cherish it and honor it? It sounds an awful lot like a wedding vow, and really it probably should be included. It is THAT important.

The Lake. The Jenny. The Point. The General Store. The Loop. The Post Office. The North Wind. The Dirt Road. The Mountain. Rock. The (forbidden) Sandy Side.

It's good to be back at home, but hard knowing all that beauty is there and I'm not with it.

Lessons from Dad: A Birthday Cake

I don’t come from a super traditional family, but there are some things that are written on my heart like stone. And, when it comes to birthday cake rules, as far as I’m concerned, there are a few hard and fast rules:

1. You must never buy a birthday cake. Birthday cakes must be homemade (Duncan Hines is fine) and hand decorated.
2. Decorating kits and custom pans are cheating.
3. It’s not really about the final product being perfect, as much as it is about the time, creativity, and love put into the decorating.
4. Decorating supplies are not bought, so much as they are rummaged around for in pantries and forgotten cabinets. There isn’t a lot you can’t do without toothpicks and food coloring. And Nerds.
5. Bonus points for repurposing unexpected items. Minus points for anything bought in the cake decorating section of the store.
6. If the kitchen counter isn’t a formidable mess when you’re finished, you’re not finished. Get back to work.
7. First birthdays need to be celebrated with a clown cake and must have a cupcake for its nose. The entire cake must then be presented to the baby for demolishing.

Clown cakes are tricky. As far as clowns go, there is a very fine line between cute and creepy. I immersed myself in icing, licorice ropes, strawberry whoppers, and enough food coloring to dye 6 dozen eggs. I found a medicine syringe that worked out perfectly in place of a piping bag, and most importantly, my little brother was there to convince me to stop while I was ahead and not to use the can of pink icing I found at the last minute.

Thanks to my Dad for teaching me ALL of the important things in life.

Dogs-in-Law

I have three brothers. I spent my whole life adoring them, in part because they are just that funny, cute, smart, and sweet, and in part because they directed all of their sibling tension at each other and treated me as the favored princess that every girl should be.

Eventually they started dating. That was tough, because they started directing their adoration elsewhere, which was pretty frustrating. I started to have nightmares of what it would be like to someday - for the first time in my life - have SISTERS. In Law. Three of them. It became extremely important to me that they all marry normal, happy people, who were nice.

Check.

Check.

Check.


All three of my sisters-in-law are just as (probably more) funny, cute, smart, and sweet as my little brothers.

What a relief.

In the past year, however, a new family dynamic has taken root. All of these three amazing women love dogs. And, somehow, have converted each brother into the dog-loving camp. I would like to now point out that for at least a decade, each said brother was TERRIFIED Of dogs. (Except Mark, sorry to lump you in there.)

First came Wrigley. She is super cute, and small enough that she didn't freak Simon out too much.

Then came Bella. We haven't met Bella yet, but she looks to be the kind of dog that is adorable and rambunctious. I don't do rambunctious super well, but I am getting a chance to practice. Bella is coming for the weekend!


I am so excited, because with Bella comes my brother Mark, and I would definitely host a puppy to get one of my brothers out here, but I am freaked out.

Simon heard me talking to Mark about Bella, and he immediately got nervous.

"Mom, I don't want the puppy to bite me."

"Simon, she won't bite you."

Mark interjects - "well, she probably will."

Awesome.

But, clearly I need to make this adjustment. There is one more brother and sister-in-law in the family, and I think Christina covets puppies the way most women our age get Womb Itch.

We have suddenly become a Dog Family, and since I will do anything to maintain good relations in my family, I am jumping on board. So long as it doesn't mean I have to EVER get a dog.

Channel Surfing in Motor City

I am sitting with my feet up in a nice hotel room on a HUGE bed with CLEAN sheets. ALONE. The tv is on, and that's Oprah you hear, not Handy Manny.

Life is Good.

Okay, so technically I'm not in Motor City, I'm actually in Canada. Yes, I needed my passport for this exotic little vacation my husband sent me on. He's a good one, my man. He gave me his ticket to tonight's national championship game.

He gave it to me because he knew that, though I may not be the world's biggest sports fan (who's playing? Who cares?), I am a big fan of

1. time alone
2. time with my dad
3. listening to Oprah talking about motherhood (umm, what made Oprah an expert on motherhood, exactly?) when I would normally be wiping butts and cooking dinner.

So, a few more minutes of taking up every inch of real estate on this bed, while I flip channels and wonder why I didn't bring a book, and then it's off to the big game.

Woo-hoo!! Go State! Go Heels! Go Canada!

Oh, and a big thanks to my mom for helping Ben with the butt-wiping and dinner-making while I'm gone.

Now, I wonder what John & Kate are up too...

The Bible scares my son

The celebrations are over. I've been spoiled and celebrated and now I'm just a thirty-year-old mom trying to look hip, survive the days and treasure the moments.

My little brother visited this weekend to surprise me for my birthday. Simon was so excited, and Mark was gracious enough to babysit for our birthday date. I'm pretty sure Mark hasn't so much as babysat a plant before (could be wrong), so it was a brave offer - especially since Simon hates hates hates being left.

I explained the bedtime routine, and that Mark should read the next chapter in the "God Book" (that would be this awesome story Bible) before bed.

If you're not the parent of a three-year-old (or maybe it's just my three-year-old?), you might think that Bible stories are appropriate for children. They are not. They are full of more brutality and inappropriate behavior than a forbidden R-rated movie. To a small child, the overarching themes of forgiveness, love, grace and mercy are often lost.

So that's why Mark was disturbed to see that the evening's selection was the crucifixion of Jesus. Say what you want about that being the cornerstone story, it's darn scary for a little boy to read about how his "best friend" who "lives in his heart" is tortured and killed. But, Mark gamely read the story to a thoughtful Simon.

As he was saying good night, he heard, "Uncle Marky? Why were they mean to Jesus?"

There's a lot more to the uncle thing than presents and playing - Marky did great and I got to swoop in the next night with the story of the resurrection (and to a baby who can barely understand death, there's nothing confusing about that one!)

Congratulations John & Christina!

Here are some pictures from our wedding weekend in Philly. Everything was beautiful. Simon decided to throw his ringbearer's pillow in a raging protest of his duties before walking down the aisle and didn't make it this time. But, other than that, and my embarrassing myself with a laughing fit at the pulpit before reading my Scripture verse, everything was so nice - it was a lot of fun, Ben did a great job officiating, Christina looked beautiful (as did John of course), and there was actually a sort of Beebe family reunion the likes of which I've never seen before! (Click on the picture to see the whole album.)

John & Christina's Wedding

So Good...

I was so excited to see that Jhumpa Lahiri (author of the The Namesake and Interpreter of Maladies) was coming out with a new book, and, despite my commitment to the public library, I couldn't wait for them to get it, so I ordered it right away. I'm so glad I did because I want a copy to have forever and to share with whomever wants to share my love for Lahiri's work. (But you better give it back when you're done!)

Most of Lahiri's writing focuses on families experiencing different versions of the Indian - American culture clash. She tells stories of immigrants and their children, and allows those of us who are not Indian to imagine how such a monumental move can impact and change us. Her stories also invite those who have experienced such culturally-conflicted/combined/compounded lives to celebrate and at times commiserate with her characters as they go through life torn in pieces by different homelands.

Unaccustomed Earth does not disappoint those who have read her stories faithfully. Her writing is beautiful, her characters complicated, and the settings she creates are so familiar. (I especially enjoyed driving down Rt. 128 from Beverly to the Dunkin Donuts by Liberty Tree Mall with one of her characters!)

The main theme, introduced by a Nathaniel Hawthorne quote, is that we do so much for ourselves and our children when, instead of replanting ourselves over and over again in the same place, we "strike our roots into unaccustomed earth." I know Ben and I are living a life very much in tribute to and as a result of our own parents' bold steps to go where God has called them, and not just assume their assigned roles in life. Thanks Moms and Dads!

Read this book - I'll lend it to you if you want - and let me know what you think!

Bye-Bye Beebes

We had a great weekend with my family. Mom, Dad, and the boys came in so the guys could all go to Chicago for a pre-weddings guys' weekend and Mom could hang out with me and Simon. It was so weird - I went to get everyone at the airport, and as we all stood around, it hit me that it was the original 6 - Mom, Dad, Susie, Scotty, Johnny and Marky. I don't think we've been together in that state for over 7 years! Of course, the "extras" that have been added to our family - Ben, Sy, Barb, Christina, and Stef (along with Elijah and Talya) have remade our family into something even better, so I missed them in that moment. But, it was such a picture of how we started and how far God has brought us in his faithfulness.

Mom and I took Sy to the Boonshoft Museum of Discovery and had a great time. We also tackled wedding dress shopping. I was pleased to find that I can probably fit into a large size of Stef's bridesmaid dresses, even though I will be 9 months pregnant! As far as Mom's goes.... here's a question to be answered by anyone with an opinion: If the bridesmaids are wearing black and white and the mother of the bride is wearing black, what should the mother of the groom wear? We're stumped!

Well, we miss you Beebe family, but we can't complain - we'll see you again in like 4 days!

Time to Breathe...Just one breath

There are many reasons I haven't updated this blog recently. Here are a few:
I've been busy.
Potty training and dealing with "Terrible Twos" is suprisingly unfunny.
Does anyone care about my life anymore now that I live here, just like you, shop at Target, just like you, and empty my dishwasher every morning, just like you?

But, here are the highlights - find in them what you will.

Potty Training
We did it. It started with Simon throwing his potty across the room and declaring he didn't want to go to the potty. We are now at the point of being accident free, at least as it comes to pee. Poop is a different story, but gross as it is, it's self-contained and doesn't happen so often, so I don't really care. Biggest surprise: Those little boy pee-pees are very hard to aim. We've refined our technique to Sy putting both hands on the wall behind the potty and letting me point him down. I'm sure at some point he will be able to do the aiming himself. But, my paper towel budget doesn't allow me to begin that adventure just yet.

I'm 29.
Years. Old.
Not much more to say about that.

This may have been the worst Easter of my life.
I really tried to remind myself that Christ's power over death means I am not subject to the tears, anger, impatience, and frustration controlling me, but to no avail. Ben, Simon, and I spent most of the day mad at each other. I was mad at Ben for being mad at me for being naggy and irritable about getting to church on time. We were both mad at Simon for being bratty in any new and creative way he could think of. He was mad at us for being mad at him (now where does he get that from?). My day ended with him peeing in the potty, and then picking it up, looking at me, and dumping it on the floor. I cried. He was sent to bed early. Happy Easter.

Family, Family, Family
Thank goodness for family. The love us. They help us with projects we are in no way capable of completing on our own (namely, potty training, finishing our basement, and cleaning my oven). They watch and support us as we struggle through parenting. They try to say the right things, like "I'd spank the hell out of him," when appropriate and not say anything when we're falling apart. Good work Moms and Dads and thanks for spending your senior year spring break with us Marky!

Twos
A couple of weeks ago, Sy was an angel. He's two-and-a-half, so I started to think maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Well it is. So. Bad. He's begun screaming in our faces when he doesn't get our way. Oh, and the aforementioned pee dumping incident. He's even decided to wake up in the middle of the night just to throw another tantrum. I think that potty training has probably contributed to this by making him feel just insecure enough to act out in other ways. But, frankly, I don't care. I just want him to stop.

Today
Today was our breath. Our one breath. Just the three of us doing normal things. Haircuts, shopping, errands, naps, etc. We breathed the breath as deeply as we could, and it's soon over. Tomorrow we road trip to Birmingham to see wonderful friends who are helping us in our support raising and ministry. We are armed with Shrek, Shark Tale, Veggie Tales and a new DVD player. Hopefully that will provide us minutes for more breaths. And hopefully Sy won't dump his pee all over our friends' house. Please, God, grant me that.