Becoming (and not becoming) Catholic

Last week Turo was baptized. He is now an official Catholic. I, on the other hand, am not. I’m not really anything (gasp). I was raised to believe in the beauty of the world, in treating others with love and kindness, but we didn’t go to church, we didn’t follow any particular faith. I went to church with my cousins from time to time and once or twice with my dad at Easter. As I grew older, I became wary of organized religion and the hurtful, discriminatory things it often seemed to support. So, I didn’t have a reason or a desire to go to church. Until Jose.

Jose is Catholic. His family is Catholic. Both his brothers married Catholics. And then there is me. After we started dating, I began going to church once and awhile with Jose. Once I understood the basics, I began to like going to Mass. I enjoy the ritual of it. The history of it. I like that you can go to Mass anywhere and you know what to expect. It’s comforting. I like having that time to be reflective. To think of things greater than me, to think of others. I can get behind the teachings of Jesus. Even so, I’m not going to become Catholic. I’m just not able to make that jump.

But I wanted Turo to be baptized and raised with a Catholic perspective (and getting to this place of acceptance has taken me awhile). It’s an important part of Jose’s life, of his history. I also know that we will be open with him about the less rosy parts of religion, and we will expose him to other beliefs, including Ethiopian ones. I know we will encourage the Big questions and be truthful in our answers. And that we will be okay even when these answers might differ depending to whom he is talking.

In the end, Jose & I want the same thing for Turo. We want him to grow up to be a loving, happy, kind and compassionate man. It seems to be to our advantage that we have multiple ways of helping him on this journey.

Repurposed

From New Orleans 2009

To Ann Arbor 2010

birth story

In December, I entered a “birth story” contest for a baby-parenting type magazine. I wanted, in my own way, to point out that mothers don’t always physically birth our children. I usually don’t compare our journey to Turo with pregnancy/birth related language, but for the purposes of this contest, I did.
___________________________

My son has two birth stories. One took place in a small village in Ethiopia. The other happened 8,324 miles away in Dallas, Texas.

Buturo was born in rural Ethiopia. As I listen to my friends talk about prenatal care, doulas and birthing plans, I think about my son’s first mother. I’ve tried to imagine the day he was born. I think of her pushing him into the world as the sun streamed through her thatched roof. Who was with her? A sister? A midwife? What did she think when she held his little, slippery body for the first time? Did she see the husband she had lost in her infant son’s eyes? What did she hope for him when she gave him the name Buturo, which means hard worker? Did she picture him becoming a farmer like his father? I can’t imagine she ever thought he’d grow up half a world away.

Around the same time Buturo took his first breath, my husband and I gave birth to our adoption plan. We had been through two painful miscarriages. It had rocked us to the core. Although I underwent numerous invasive tests to try to figure out why my body had failed me, there wasn’t a magic answer, no certain explanation. Maybe it was a clotting disorder. Maybe it was just bad luck. There was no reason not to try again, but we just couldn’t. It had been too hard, too heartbreaking. So we decided to adopt. The outcome seemed more certain. Eventually we’d become parents even if it took awhile.

So in January 2008, two mothers a world apart, held this new child in their hearts. She likely dreamed of a good life for him. And I dreamed of being there for a child who needed me. As we celebrate Buturo’s 2nd birthday, we will pause to light an extra candle to honor the woman who gave him life.

Shhhh

As he placed Baby in the dishwasher, Turo declared, "naptime."

Reason #4567

Papi and Turo Time is yet another reason why I adore my husband. Every Saturday morning, Jose and Turo go on an adventure while I get to sleep-in and then do whatever I want. All alone! I can run errands quickly. I can go have coffee and read. I can do nothing. It's awesome. It recharges me for the upcoming week. It helps me keep my sanity. And it is why my husband rocks!

Sink Fun

Baby

When Mama says no

Read-In

Hello fellow readers,

Thank you for joining me in reading Letter to My Daughter for our Black History Month Read-In. I hope you've gotten your hands on the book and are finding some insightful tidbits from Ms. Angelou. I would love to hear about your favorite piece of wisdom. Remember, all that is required is that I know that you're reading.

Cheers
Sara

p.s. It's not too late to join us. The book is divided into short essays, so it is easy to read in little bits.

Happy Valentine's Day

Jealousy

Today we visited our new friend Josie. Josie is the three week old little sister of Turo’s buddy Wes and the daughter of my dear friend Meredith. At one point during our play date, I got to hold the new baby. She is so cute, little and light (my “baby” came to me at 28lbs). After about a minute, Turo came over to investigate. He started to whine and tried to climb on my lap. When there wasn’t enough room, Turo declared, “baby, Meredith.” (As in, “take your baby back”.) As soon as my lap was free, he climbed right in. I know that he knows that I’m his mama, but I’m not going to lie that I was a little tickled that Turo was jealous.

Snow

My Narrator

Turo frequently provides running one-word commentary for many of our activities. Our first attempt at church on Sunday was no exception. Turo made sure everyone near us knew there was “singing,” “crying” and “talking.” Anytime there was a pause in the Mass, Turo would loudly ask, “all done?” Not in a rude way, just in a I’m –not-sure-what-is -happening -next kind of way. Once some particularly nice music ended, Turo exclaimed, “clapping” and tried to applaud. I probably comprehended 1% of what was going on because I was rather nervous he’d bust out with something loud and possibly inappropriate (he has developed a recent fascination with pointing to and naming his penis, and I was convinced he’d blurt that out at some point). After he got a little too squirrelly (about 35 minutes in, which was pretty good for Turo), we headed to the atrium, where we met a fellow adoptive mother. I’m always checking-out families that look a like ours, so I was excited to chat with her. She told me not to be too concerned with Turo’s talkativeness because the church was pretty laid back. Thank goodness, because we're heading back next weekend.

When you let your toddler into the cupboards

Texas

Last week we spent time in Texas to celebrate my father-in-law's 70th birthday. Here is a bit of Turo cuteness from our trip.

fork and sippy cup

by Turo