Christmas, Part 1

We have pretty much been celebrating since the start of December when my dad came into town for a long weekend.

Turo & Grandpa

We Skyped with Alison so she could watch Turo open the gifts my dad brought.

And we made sugar cookies.
The next weekend we were at my cousin's for our family Christmas. It was lovely to share this annual gathering with Turo for the first time.

Australia suspends Ethiopian adoptions

The Australian government has suspended Ethiopian adoptions due to concern over corruption. When I read this stuff, my stomach just sinks. As I've wondered before, will we ever be certain that our adoption was 100% ethical? I replay the scenes with our agency and with Turo's first family. I think about the paperwork we received and the steps that were taken prior to Turo's relinquishment. I try to look for proof to support the story while also checking for holes in it. I attempt to justify our adoption with the facts I do have. Plus even if our agency and adoption are above board, we still contributed to the "demand" for Ethiopian babies, which in turn leads to shady practices. It is disheartening when the the child, the first family and the adoptive parents are all greedily taken advantage of.

And how will Turo make sense of this element of adoption? There are going to be some heavy talks around here as Turo grows up.

Cute stuff

A fellow adoptive mom started making really cute shirts to fund several humanitarian projects in Ethiopia. (You can read about her amazing plans for her January trip on her blog.) I am inspired by mothers like Jennifer who are using their skills to contribute to our children's first country.

Not only did Jennifer make this adorable Africa shirt, she also has shirts featuring flowers, dogs, initials, guitars, owls... You can view her work on her Etsy site.

close call

While my mom drove along one of the many two lane highways that connect small mid-Michigan towns, we chatted. Turo piped in occasionally from the back. This is a stretch we’ve driven countless times between our house and my mom’s. Although there was some snow left on the road from an early storm, it wasn’t anything major. But it only takes a little bit of ice to cause trouble. Suddenly, mid conversation, the car fishtailed across the road and then slid back to the right before it settled in the ditch. We were stuck, shaken up but unharmed.

As we talked about how we were going to get out of this, a man in a truck pulled over and said he’d be right back with a strap. Moments later another car stopped to check on us. A third driver let us know he had called 911. There were also numerous cars and trucks that zoomed right by, which made me appreciate even more the kindness of those who did stop. Thirty minutes after landing in the ditch, we were able to continue on our journey thanks to the man with the truck and his friend.

We were quiet for the rest of the trip. Lost in our thoughts of “what if.” Luckily, we were fine, but it was a reminder of how precarious life is. We were one tree, on-coming car or steep incline away from our world forever changing.

Later that night, I held Turo for awhile after he fell asleep. Grateful for one more day.

Marching

Turo wasn't impressed with the football during our visit to Camp Randall in Wisconsin. Rather, he was enamoured with the marching band. He couldn't get enough. We stayed for the post-game show and he watched every minute of it. He kept saying "more please" every time they finished a song. When we returned home, I found some videos of Michigan's marching band on youtube. We've watch the pre-game show countless times. He can identify the trombone, trumpet and drum major. He now high steps around the house with various instruments and often implores us to join him. Hopefully, he'll stick to this love over football because you don't hear of too many traumatic injuries during marching season.

Catching the post-game march

Practice

Grandpa is recruited

A project

Suddenly half of a year has gone by. When I think back to that first month with Turo, I am surprised to find us in December. Those first few weeks were long and tough. We were moving and trying to figure out parenting. Turo was uprooted and trying to figure out us. Each day I just tried to get from one “event” to the next. At ten I was already thinking about lunch and at lunch I was thinking about nap and so on until bedtime. It didn’t help that Turo’s attention span was about two minutes long. Once we finally were settled in our house things got easier, but it took awhile to get into a daily groove. I like a schedule, I think it’s the teacher in me. Once fall hit, we enrolled in some classes, shopped the weekly farmer’s market and started going to the Y (got to love the onsite childcare). We developed a weekly routine. Plus, Turo has figured out how to play and can keep himself occupied for longer chunks of time. When you add in the shopping, errand running, meal preparing and housekeeping, the weeks have just whizzed by.

For a moment, I felt guilty I hadn’t done more in these past months. I could’ve unpacked more boxes, organized the closets, made homemade yogurt or written passionate letters to my representatives. But for me, these first six months were about Turo’s adjustment and figuring out this new realm of family and motherhood. Now, Turo seems used to us and I’m feeling comfortable in my role as his mother. I could easily maintain the status quo. But I need a little something else. Something that is mine outside of being a mother and wife. I’m not sure what this endeavor should be. The ideas are brewing. Hopefully, I can turn one of them into reality.

First week in the U.S.

Last week

unglued

Today it was over Cheerios. Turo spied the box on the counter (silly me for leaving them out, I should know better) at lunch time. He wanted them. In a bowl. On the floor (where we sometimes have an afternoon snack). I told him he could have them with lunch but would have to wait. He lost it. Full on tantrum. There was screaming, crying and streaming snot. We have caught a glimpse of this “expressive” Turo from time to time in the last month. It’s as though with his increased ability to understand and communicate, he gets more frustrated when things don’t go his way. Typically, I can distract him with a song or a change of scenery. Today when I belted out the ABCs, he shouted “no” and cried harder. So I continued on happily making lunch (I’m sure that ticked him off even more). Eventually, he calmed down and was back to his happy little self. But if this is a preview of what age two has to offer, I'm going to need lots of patience and some earplugs.

bottle

Twice a day for the past six months we have given Turo a bottle. Before nap and before bed, we slow-down, take him into our arms and rock. I love these twenty minutes. I love this time to just hold my little boy. During the day, he’s on the go and will only pause long enough for a quick hug or kiss. But with the bottle, he’ll snuggle. I love the way he feels in my lap, his head resting on my chest, his hair tickling the bottom of my chin, the smell of him in my nose. I love listening to the sound he makes as he drinks and the small exhalations in between sips. I love how he’ll occasionally fall asleep in my arms when he’s finished. An extra bonus of coziness.

In these quiet moments, I wonder about his first mother and what she felt the first time she held him. Did she see her husband in her son’s eyes? Did she whisper his name to him while he was in her arms? Sometimes I imagine Turo as a teenager and hope that he still retains a sense of these tender moments. That when he’s questioning his adoption, his family and the meaning of it all, that he will know how deeply he is loved. And there are times, when I just make lists in my head or doze along with him.

Sunday was our last naptime bottle. For the past couple of weeks, Turo hasn’t wanted to sit in my lap after lunch. He’d drink his bottle in his own rocking chair. This broke my heart a bit, but I know it’s a positive sign that he’s growing up. So, after several days of talking about it, yesterday was it. We read and when he asked for his bottle, I reminded him that Sunday’s had been his last. Then we went upstairs and he was fine.

The bedtime bottle, however, will just have to wait a little longer before retiring.

Ethiopia, May 2009