BAMBINOS

One year ago today, January 12, 2010, my sons’ birthmother died. We don’t know the details. We only know the words we were told: that when that catastrophic magnitude 7.0 earthquake ripped apart Haiti, demolishing much of Port au Prince, Kyle and Owen’s birthmother “didn’t make it.”

She was one of an estimated 230,000 people who died that day. We’ve all heard the numbers— three million Haitians affected; one million made homeless; 300,000 injured; 280,000 homes and buildings collapsed. Tent cities still brimming with countless people living the unthinkable. For those of us who are not on the ground in Haiti, these numbers seem surreal. Having been to Haiti to adopt Kyle and Owen, these numbers seem especially surreal… it is hard to imagine that place any more distraught and distressed than it had already been. The aftershocks of it ripple far and wide. And the numbers don’t do it justice.

Like most of the other parents of Haitian adoptees that we know, in the weeks that followed the earthquake I was glued to CNN, Facebook, and Twitter. Because of our connection to Haiti we were tied into a complex web of social networks that gave a glimpse of what was happening in Kyle and Owen’s birthplace. The pain and suffering witnessed, second-hand, was almost more than the soul could bear. And we were not even there. As a result of that, coupled with a fierce desire to protect the boys’ privacy, when I found out that their birthmother had died, I was adamant that we keep it to ourselves. It seemed wrong, on so many levels, to talk about it publicly (my worst fear was overly exposing our children, and the potential for our story to be sensationalized; at the time, news outlets were grasping for human interest stories with Haitian-Americans and adoptive families). And so, over and over and over again, I refused to comment to the media, refused to do interviews with radio and television shows, refused to be the focus of newspaper stories, and refused to write about the full scope of the truth of our family’s own aftershocks on our blog. I still believe in my heart that was the right thing to do. And yet, it did what so often happens with monstrous catastrophes—it kept the private shocks and aftershocks just that—private.

This summer, five months after we told Kyle and Owen that their birthmother had died in the earthquake, they told me –on our way to our annual Haitian Adoptive Families Reunion— that they wanted people to know their birthmother was in heaven. They also told me that they wanted me to tell people about it, not them. They didn’t want to carry the burden of explaining it, but they didn’t want to carry the burden of people not knowing either. And so, we took all cues from them, and slowly began telling our own Haiti Earthquake Story more openly.

It seems like a day ago, and at the same time like a decade ago, (but not one year ago), that I told Kyle and Owen that a massive earthquake had struck their island. Snuggled up with them, in the warmth of my bed, with the morning light streaming through the windows, it was one of those profound moments in life where –cliché but true— time seems to stand still. I can remember so vividly their huge brown eyes staring right into mine with a million questions on both sides, and yet it also feels like a blurry hazy semi-memory. I’m glad that I wrote about it on the blog (here), because otherwise I surely would have forgotten the details. It was only because Owen was so insistent in the days that followed that I finally gave in to his urging and decided to try to find out if he and Kyle’s birthmother was o.k.

I put the word out to a trusted source in Haiti, the director of Kyle and Owen’s orphanage, telling him that that we wanted to search. All that any of us knew was that she had been living in Cite Soleil, the same place where she had birthed, in inhumanely gruesome conditions, the unbelievably healthy infants that would become my twin boys. No complex computer systems humming, no official documentation of the dead, no funerals or even proper disposal of human bodies that once gave life to others, no justice. None of that, but an on-the-ground spreading-of-word that rivals none. And it did not take long for us to hear the news. In a strange twist of fate – just another in a long series of impossible-seeming experiences that have taken place in the past six years of parenting our sons – I received the email on my iPhone while we were in New York City celebrating our 5th Adoption Day. While Haiti was suffering to the depths of which I cannot even fathom, we were on our way to see The Lion King on Broadway. I remember reading the email: “She didn’t make it.” She had died in the earthquake. I remember the feeling in my chest, like I couldn’t get a breath. I remember whispering the news in Braydon’s ear, and I remember our eyes locking in, trying to grasp the full meaning of this aftershock on our lives.

Kyle and Owen are, as much as anyone can be at age six, at peace with their birthmother’s death. That is a gift for which we are eternally grateful. We took the time we needed to figure out how to best approach it with them; we told them in a way that conveyed dignity, faith, and ever-lasting love; we’ve processed it with them for the past year; and we’ve struggled with them, wrestling with what it all means, and working through the ripple effects of the aftershocks. But ultimately it is to Kyle and Owen’s credit, and theirs alone, that they’ve weathered yet another storm – this one an earth-shaking, ground-quaking, heart-stopping one. They have, once again, amazed us with their resiliency. While this resiliency never ceases to surprise me, there is also a part of me that thinks, “of course they have handled this so well, they are Haitian through and through“… they are part of a people-hood, a Diaspora, a heritage, a legacy of sheer brilliant stunning resiliency. If there could only be one word to describe the Haitian people, including my two sons, it would be resilient.

Sitting in our house, I am watching Kyle and Owen spin their globe on its axis, around and around, as fast as they can. In typical fashion, they are screaming out loud and jumping up and down as they do it, as if it is the most exciting thing in the world. With the landscape of the earth mapped out in bright colors, Haiti seems so close. And then I look outside the window, to our snow-covered yard, with its swing-set and sandbox and swimming-pool-closed-for-winter, and Haiti seems so far away.

A year later, my heart still aches for my sons, their family of origin, the island nation and people of their roots. A year later, thinking about that earthquake still results in a lump in my throat that makes it hard to swallow. Even as they play happily on the floor right now, just a few feet from me, racing remote-control cars, I never forget from where they have come.

For a family like ours, Haiti is never far from our thoughts or hearts. For us, it is impossible to not remember. We feel the aftershocks everyday. Not just from the earthquake, but from the entire history, trauma, tragedy, and resiliency that is Haiti. I rarely ask for much on this blog, but today I ask you, if you are reading, to please REMEMBER HAITI. And if you can, please HELP HAITI. There are so many ways you can give. If you are looking for a trustworthy organization to which to send a financial contribution of any amount, please consider Heartline, Real Hope for Haiti, or Meds & Food for Kids Haiti.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Meera since the boys went back to school on January 3. Winter Break at Lehigh, in between semesters, is what makes this possible (I start classes again next week). As a university professor I’m unbelievably privileged to have unbelievable flexibility (an unbelievable blessing and an unbelievable curse!), which, now that I’m tenured, I am maximizing to the Nth degree. My career takes a toll, but I’ve made a conscientious decision that I’m willing to pay the cost… whatever it may be down the road. The pay-off comes right now… in the form of the dedicated time I get to spend with my bambinos. I’ve been picking up the boys from school everyday (a luxury for this working mom), and I’ve been spending 24×7 with Miss Meera Grace (a real –and I mean this— treat). To be honest, there are plenty of moments when I’m thinking to myself, “I am not cut out for this” (the at-home gig). But, also to be honest, there are plenty of moments when I’m thinking to myself, “There is no place on earth I’d rather be than right here right now.” The rest of the moments, in between loads of laundry and piles of dishes and an email inbox that is overflowing, I’m lost somewhere in between. (Or I’m daydreaming about our next vacation, but that’s another story). Anyway…  Meera does a lot of interesting stuff that I could blog about. I mean, she’s 2, and 2 year olds are completely fascinating (especially to a sociologist). Amongst many other blog-worthy moments, today, at one point, as I was unloading the dishwasher and she was playing, she called out to me, “Mama! Take a picture!” I looked over and saw what you see below. I grabbed the camera and obliged her. She wanted to see the picture on the back screen of the digital camera. She loved it. Here it is:

Nothing like New Year’s Eve with your college roommate! Nothing! Luckily us two couples spent quite a few New Year’s Eve’s together before having kids, so spending New Year’s Eve together now with kids isn’t a total downer. In fact, I’ll be the first to admit it: our New Year’s Eves with the Slavins are not a downer at all, actually. Not at all. In fact, I like to think that we rock the New-Year’s-With-Kids, and we quite enjoy it very much, thank you. So, no, we don’t do Times Square (even though it is so close that it seems slightly ridiculous to watch it on t.v.), or the Wonder Bar (of our more wild and crazy New Year’s Eve’s Past), and we don’t even venture out to a family-friendly First Night (although us J-Ms have done that, before we started our tradition with the Slavins, and we loved it). But what we do now is exactly what we want to be doing: we have a good good good time with good good good friends, sipping champagne, having dinner together, laughing at our wacky kids, and helping each other keep our eyes open until that ball drops at midnight. Yes, we spend a good chunk of time reminiscing about the good ‘ole days of the New Year’s Eves of our twenties, when we rocked it out in Boston and threw/attended parties significantly different than the dinner-party-for-two-fams that has become our tradition now. Yes, times have changed. And no, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

New Year’s Eve for the J-M’s started off with a bang when – while at a Panera somewhere between our house in Pennsylvania and the Slavins’ house in Connecticut – Kyle unexpectedly lost his top left tooth while eating lunch! Kyle seems to be developing a knack for losing teeth in remote locations. (He is putting the Tooth Fairy to the test, that’s for sure.)

Once at the Slavins it took no time for the kids to get right into their groove. They act more like fun-loving-cousins than friends. And nothing could make me happier than that. This year was extra special because Anthony’s mom was visiting for the holidays from Australia, so she – the truly lovely woman that she is – joined us for all the festivities (we had only met her once before— at Jen and Anthony’s wedding— so it was so nice getting to know her more!).  The fun got seriously underway on the sledding hill.

There was cocoa for the kids, champagne cocktails for the adults, and delicious dinner. In between all that there was lots of “Happy New Year!!”’s and there were lots-o-party-favors and noise-makers and a rockin’ good time.

We have absolutely no desire whatsoever to let the kids stay up until midnight. We have absolutely no problem whatsoever tucking them right in so that we have the rest of the night to ourselves. We have absolutely no hesitation in opening a few bottles of champagne and eating a whole bag of bbq potato chips and an entire pot of fondue. We have absolutely no problem with any of that! The only problem comes with the 7:00am wake-up call from the five who have absolutely no problem with a bright-and-early-New-Year’s Day. They are up-and-at-‘em because they have been waiting for a whole entire year to put on the New Year’s Day Show!!!!!… and finally the day has arrived! After much rehearsing the night before they were ready for their 2nd Annual “SHOW!” With coffee mugs in hand, their parents (and grandmother! what a trooper she is!) were ready too. This year’s “SHOW!” turned out to be a whole solid 45 minutes looooong, and was extravagant. They went way above and beyond last year’s “SHOW!” This year there were tickets, a sign, and a whole series of parts and pieces (including, but not limited to, a “Meet the Cast Intermission,” a break-dancing routine by Kyle, a dance by “the babies,” and a musical duet of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star with Imogen on violin and Owen on piano). For the kids, the tradition of the “SHOW!” is what makes New Year’s Eve.

Jen, being the wise mother-wife-friend-and-roommate that she is, made an executive decision this year to implement a new tradition: The New Year’s Morning Movie. It was Pinocchio. And it was much appreciated by all involved.

Before we knew it we were back on the road to head home. And it was 2011!!!!! This year we’ll celebrate K & O’s 7th birthday, Meera’s 3rd birthday, and the 10th wedding anniversary of Braydon and I! Onward and upward! Happy New Year!

At some point, months and months ago, Kyle got it into his head that he wanted to play ice hockey. We have no idea where, how, or exactly when, this began. But it took hold and wouldn’t let go. Kyle became insistent that he wanted to play hockey. Kyle had only ever skated on ice a handful of times in his life. We had never seen an ice hockey game on t.v., let alone in real life. Nobody we know plays ice hockey. Nobody we know is even a huge fan of ice hockey. I grew up watching ice hockey (it was big in northern New England), Braydon’s dad played ice hockey growing up (even played in college), but that is about the extent of the familial influence (i.e., very little familial influence). For whatever reason (we’ve never figured it out), Kyle was (and is) determined to play ice hockey. This has, right from the very start, not been something that we have strongly encouraged. We have not discouraged it either. But we definitely have not encouraged it. I, for one, can think of about 100 other sports I’d rather have my son play. Hockey can be a hard, cold, ruthless, vicious sport (thus, my fear and trepidation). Hockey can also be a fast-paced, complex, demanding sport… and about as physically and mentally challenging as it gets (thus, my understanding of why Kyle wants to do it).

At the end of the summer, when it was clear that Kyle’s obsession with playing ice hockey was not going to let up, we offered him a deal: if he took ice skating lessons all fall, and still loved it and wanted to play hockey, then we’d let him sign up for hockey after Christmas. He jumped on the opportunity. Every Friday night, from the start of the school year until now, Kyle has taken ice skating lessons (while Owen took gymnastics). At first, Kyle was right about average in his Beginner Ice Skating class. But he quickly advanced and became the pet of the teacher. She raved about him all fall – telling us how talented he is; what a good listener he is (how “coachable” he is… this is what everyone who has ever coached Kyle in any sport has always told us); what good balance he has; how quickly he masters skills; etc. etc. etc. We kept waiting for Kyle to lose interest, to lose momentum, to lose steam. But he never did. If anything, his obsession with hockey just intensified as each week went on.

At the rink where he took skating, on Friday nights, there was almost always a hockey game going on at the same time (they have two full-sized rinks there— and on Friday nights they use one for figure skating lessons and one for hockey). After his lesson, Kyle would beg and plead to “plllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease” be able to go watch the hockey game. Often it was Lehigh playing (this is their home rink). Sometimes it was a high school game. It didn’t matter what it was, Kyle was enthralled. He’d have stayed there all night, if we’d let him, and he’d often be close to tears as we dragged him out of there kicking and screaming, but he’s only six years old and he needed to get home to bed.

At home this fall, Kyle set up a hockey “rink” in our driveway. Many an afternoon he’d get Owen to join him out there. They played hours and hours of hockey on the cement.

And sometimes on weekends, if Kyle was lucky, Braydon would take Kyle and Owen to “Open Skate” at Kyle’s skating center. Owen loves skating, for fun, and would play hockey any day (both K & O would play any sport any day if ever given the chance). But Owen is not serious about it, nor interested in it, nor obsessed with it, the way that Kyle is.

And so, this past Friday night, Kyle had his last skating lesson of the fall. And now we have to somehow, someway find the strength within us to hold true to our promise and sign him up for hockey after Christmas. He’s earned the chance to try it.

I’ll be honest: I’m not thrilled about it. Again, I can think of about 100 sports I’d rather have my son play. In addition to all of the physical reasons I’m fearful of hockey (i.e., aggression; violence; pain; hard-core man-to-man checking against the glass!), I’m also well-aware of how ridiculously white the sport is. And, let’s just say, I get some vibes from the hockey crowd that don’t rub me the right way where race and racism are concerned. (now I’ll probably get 100 nasty comments on this post for writing that, but honestly, people, it is my honest truth and it must be said). Once again I am faced with the cold hard (no pun intended) reality that I cannot protect my precious son, but only prepare him as best I can.

And so, I’m gathering up my mother-courage to bring my son into this hockey world and cheer for him from the stands. I will hold his hand every step of the way. And we will hope for the best… whatever this little hockey-journey might have in store for us.

Perhaps, once he gets going with it, this hockey thing won’t last? Perhaps it will? Who knows. But you can’t see that look in his eyes, as he’s peering at you through the glass of the rink, and not know that you need to give him a try.

This post is going out to Kristen and is in direct reply to her comment on the post below… hi Kristen!… O.k., so the bow and arrow (that Kyle is asking for from Santa)….. Here’s the deal…

So, yes, Kyle has officially asked Santa for a “bow and arrow and target.” Oh my goodness gracious. Never in my life did I think I’d be buying a bow and arrow. Let alone, for my six year old son. Forget that I’m supposed to be “Santa.” We’re talking about a bow and arrow for my six year old son. (?!!!!!!!!!!) At the Waldorf School (that we just stopped attending) there was a lot of talk about bow and arrows. This was a big part of the Boy Culture there. A part of the culture that we were never fully comfortable with. But a part of the culture that Kyle, in particular, was always fascinated with. At the school’s MayFaire festival each spring they would have an archery station (amongst many other stations), and it was – by far – Kyle’s favorite. He’d have done it for hours if he could have. Anyway…  K & O were both –together– going to ask for “one big huge REAL drum set,” and they had been telling us this for weeks, maybe even months. This drum set thing was, basically, Owen’s idea… Owen, who has, for about two years now, wanted a drum set… Owen, who has, for all of the past Christmases of his entire life always succumbed to whatever Kyle wanted to ask Santa for, and then asked for that too, so that they’d both be asking for the same exact thing, because they just couldn’t imagine doing it any other way… and because Kyle has always ruled the roost where these sorts of decisions have been concerned. This year was going to be different: they were going to go with what Owen wanted for once. But then, just this past week, Kyle suddenly announced that he wasn’t going in on the drum set thing with Owen, and instead, wanted a “bow and arrow and target” (he is very clear about the “target”…. he “doesn’t want to kill anything, just use it to shoot at a target” etc., etc., etc.). This announcement (Kyle asking for bow and arrow) definitely threw Owen for a loop, but we encouraged him to “stay strong!” and repeatedly urged him to not be swayed by Kyle. Kyle’s announcement came as a huge surprise to us, too, since, of course, Santa had already purchased the “one big huge REAL drum set” off of Craig’s Week last week (!). A pretty big purchase, and one that had involved a lot of time and energy on Braydon’s part. Anyway, when the letters were written last night we knew that the wishes were set in stone. So, now we’re trying to figure out the bow and arrow and target thing. Braydon is all over it. We’re doing our research. We are in serious marital conflict negotiations over this. I want to get arrows with suction-cups on them (like this one [click]). Braydon, however, wants to do the real deal and get him a full-blown for-real bow-and-arrow “Young Archer’s” set. Seriously. Today Braydon dragged me into the shop pictured above (I took that photo with my cell phone camera as we were pulling out of the place). It was scary, surreal, and totally-over-the-top to be there. I won’t go into detail, but suffice it to say: I grew up in rural New Hampshire, am accustomed to hunting culture, etc… but still… the place was INTENSE. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. Braydon was looking at what I can only describe as WEAPONS (serious bows! serious arrows!), and discussing all of it, in depth, with the guy working in the shop. I had all I could do to contain myself. I am all about getting him a TOY. I cannot even IMAGINE buying a real bow and arrow for Kyle. Braydon feels strongly that we should not buy a “toy” because Kyle will be totally bummed out by it. We shall see what Santa brings. In the meantime, feel free to chime in here. Mr. and Mrs. Claus need all the help they can get on this one! Ha! (I mean Ho!  ho ho)

“Dear Santa, Can I please have a drum set? [heart = ‘love,’] Owen”

“Dear Santa, Please bring me bow and arrow and target. [again… heart = ‘love,’] Kyle.” (and then he made me write, “Somebody who did this is,” and he wrote in “6”)

Meera dictated this Santa letter to me. Translation: Meera wants a Princess Tiana (i.e., Princess and the Frog) dress (as in dress-up/costume dress for her, Meera, to wear), and a Princess Tiana “doll.” This is all so very interesting because K & O tried to convince her to ask Santa for chapstick (she loves chapstick and is always begging all of us to use ours), and for awhile she was going along with that, but then, suddenly, this weekend, out of nowhere, completely on her own, she started saying that she was going to ask Santa for “Tiana doll and Tiana dress.” All of us were shocked. We didn’t even know that she truly understood the whole concept of Santa, let alone that she could ask for something like that from him. Well, it turns out that she gets it. Like, fully, fully gets it. And the girl knows what she wants! Re: “Old McFarmer is to ride on a hay. Hey!”… this is what Meera sings whenever we sing Jingle Bells and get to the part “Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh, hey!” (and she’s always sang, “Old McFarmer,” instead of “Old McDonald” in Old McDonald Had A Farm, so she’s fusing it all together). She then insisted that I trace her hands at the bottom. Sweetie!

SANTA IS HARD AT WORK TO MAKE THESE THREE WISHES COME TRUE!

“Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas.”  ~Peg Bracken

This weekend was Christmas Kick-Off Weekend for the J-Ms. Saturday we put up our Christmas tree. It was, by far, the most successful and “truly merry” Christmas-Tree-Decorating-Event on record in the J-M household. K & O are suddenly so capable of doing these things without causing a major ruckus or catastrophe parental-breakdown. How did that happen? I don’t know. I just know that somewhere between age 5 and 6 they began to mellow just enough to make these sorts of things suddenly feasible. They are not mellow, by any stretch of the imagination… just a bit more mellow… and a little mellowing is a good thing, believe me. Meera (Miss Mellow) was absolutely thrilled with the whole entire experience. She loved putting the ornaments on the tree and she kept saying “oooooh! prettttttttttty!” over and over again. Each ornament has a memory attached. Many have a good story. Some are profoundly meaningful. The boys are starting to remember the ornaments and delight in the re-telling of the stories. The traditions –and all the work it takes to create and re-create them each and every year— are all starting to take firm hold, and it is a gorgeous thing to see. It makes it feel like maybe all of this is worth it. We still have huge clumps of ornaments in certain places, and we still have big blank parts on the tree, but it is, to us, The Most Beautiful Christmas Tree in the whole entire world. Saturday evening we had our first fire of the season. And we drank our first eggnog of the season by the fire (even though some of us don’t even like eggnog). “What is eggnog?,” Kyle and Owen always ask. “It is the nog of the egg,” we always say, authoritatively. “What is the nog of the egg?,” they ask. “It is eggnog,” we say. They might be six, they might be slightly more mellow, but they still have no clue how to get out of circular reasoning. So, they say back, completely earnestly, “Oh. So, what is eggnog?,” and we say, “The nog of the egg.” And by that time their attention span is maxed out and they run off to play. And this goes on and on and on throughout the holiday season, with Braydon and I running into the next room to laugh hysterically in secret. The advent calendar is up and running on the fridge. Every day is a big deal. Sunday morning we had a Holiday-Season-Kick-Off-Brunch in the playroom. There were cheese omelets, smoked ham, waffles, salad, cherry tomatoes, and sliced oranges. We ate on the floor next to Fire #2 Of The Season. It was special. That afternoon we headed off to Holiday Party #1 Of The Season. Not much delights me more than dressing up my children. Seriously. I love it. And I savor these days because I know it won’t be long until they don’t wear whatever I lay out for them anymore. In the meantime, I’ll dress them however I choose. And relish in the absolute adorableness of them all. Of course I’m biased, but I honestly believe that I have the three cutest children on the planet. I also happen to believe that I have the three most-fun-to-spend-the-holidays-with children on the planet.

And so, we start The Christmas That They Were Six and Two. And we pour out the “gifts of time and love” all season long, because surely they are “the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas.” A truly merry Christmas not just for our adorable three, but for their two adoring parents as well.

So, Meera Grace is probably about as sweet as can be. She turns heads everywhere she goes with her ridiculously-cute-ness. But she is not without her sass. And she can hold her own with her big brothers. Seriously. This girl is a crazy mixture of sticky-sweet with a seriously-strong-soul-of-her-own. Upon first glance, her brothers dominate every scene. But anyone who’s looking beneath the surface at all sees the strength of Meera in every picture. She is a force, in her own right. Just a totally different type of force than the dynamic duo of K & O. Not better or worse, just different. And equally noteworthy. For example…

Tonight at dinner, while the rest of us were carrying on a loud and lively conversation (typical dinner at our house), Meera sat quietly doing her own thing at the head of the table. (Sidenote: since she was about 18 months old, she’s been demanding to sit at the head of the table, with K & O on either side of her. That has been her place at the table for the past year or so, maybe longer.) Anyway… as is the norm, we all sort of carried on with our very animated chit-chat, while Meera basically flew under the radar. We all sort of noticed what she was doing, but didn’t really do anything about it. At one point Owen did say, “I’m just ignoring her. We’re all just ignoring bad behavior, right?” I looked over at her and then said, “Yes, let’s just ignore it.” What she was doing was taking small bits of food off her plate, one by one, and carefully placing them in her glass of water. And then, using her fork, she was very purposefully stirring it all up. We were having blackened tilapia, rice pilaf, and a veggie sauté (zucchini and yellow squash, snow peas, cherry tomatoes, Vidalia onions). Meera’s little mixture was absolutely gross. Finally, none of us could take it any longer. She was just blatantly getting away with something totally naughty (as defined by our family). So, we stopped our conversation and we all turned our attention to her. There were lots of “that’s disgusting!”’s and “Meeeeeera!”’s and “ewwwwwww! nasty!”’s coming from the four of us. I said, “Well, really, it is just the same thing that we’re all eating, only stirred together with water.” And then, with very little prompting from us, Meera happily lifted the glass of grossness to her lips and took a sip. She then handed it to Owen, who gladly drank some too. She then handed it to Kyle, who tentatively tasted it and proceeded to run to the kitchen sink to spit it out. Braydon and I both graciously declined the offer to taste it, much to Meera’s disappointment. She then went on to eat a big bowl of blueberry yogurt with sliced bananas, a dinner she seemed to much prefer over the first.

Meera Grace. Not all sweetness.

Two days ago Meera Grace turned two-and-a-half. She is the most wonderful (literally, wonder-filled) two-and-a-half year old we know. She continues to delight us daily.

We got a little layer of white on Thanksgiving Day.

It quickly disappeared, but it was fun while it lasted!

I’ve been slacking off on the blog for about ten days or so. Which feels like a long time. Because around here a lot happens in ten days. I have more blogging material from ten days than most people would probably have from ten months of a normal life. Seriously, never a dull moment, that is for sure. Plus, I have a lot of blogging to get to –answering all y’all’s questions and all. So, in an attempt to try to catch up quickly on just the most rudimentary basics of the past ten days here, I present the following ten bullets:

• Thanksgiving was good, except that for me the whole thing sort of flew by in a blur of yet another bought of bronchitis. The photo at the top is of a painting made by Kyle the other day. In a strange way it sort of visually depicts how I felt over Thanksgiving and the several days leading up to it. Kyle is so uncannily intuitively perceptive of people’s states and emotions that it seriously would not surprise me if he were somehow channeling my raw energy through his paintbrush. Anyway, this is my eighth or ninth (I’ve lost track) upper respiratory infection in the past twelve months. Each time it takes a round of hard-core antibiotics to kick it. Given that I have never smoked a day in my life, and have a track record for being very healthy, this whole thing is completely bewildering, not to mention beyond bothersome (I mean really! I don’t have time for this sickness stuff!). It is also a bit unnerving. My doctor is completely determined to get to the bottom of it (thank God), and called for chest x-rays, an appointment with a specialist, and a whole gamut of blood-work this time around. Hopefully we’ll begin to figure out what the heck is going on with me. Bottom line: I had very limited energy for Thanksgiving, very low tolerance for the annoyances of young children’s not-always-perfect behavior, and very little patience for anything that required it. Nonetheless, it was not disastrous by any stretch of the imagination (thanks to MorMor and MorFar being here and doing everything). I’ll put up a J-M T’Giving Photo Post soon. In the meantime, here’s Kyle creating his masterpiece (I know I’m biased, but I seriously love this painting):

• Yesterday, in an attempt to use up the rest of the T’Giving leftovers, I made soup. What started as just-about-everything-left-from-T’Giving-dinner-thrown-into-a-pot, somehow turned into The Best Soup I’ve Ever Made In My Entire Life. I can’t explain it. It seriously was as if magic had happened in that soup pot. I know it had something to do with the fact that I dumped a huge tupperware full of my mom’s delicious butternut squash in there. Speaking of butternut squash… someday real soon I’m going to post about our new favorite salad (spinach salad with goat cheese and butternut squash —- to die for!).
• It is officially basketball season. That’s how we roll these days—seasons are not about the weather or the temperature or the foliage anymore. No, the season is defined by the sport. We went to our first Lehigh basketball game last week (LU vs. Cornell). and it was – just as it always seems to be – completely inspiring to the two boys in our life. Their love affair with football has not fully ended (not by a long shot!), and before we can blink an eye it will be baseball season (i.e., spring), but I think it is safe to say that we are fully in the throws of basketball now. This (this focus on sports) never ceases to amaze us; it is so entirely not like our life pre-K&O. They’ve rocked our world those two.
• On the Monday before T’Giving we had to put our beloved cat, Cooper, to sleep. I had to be a real grown up and bring Cooper to the vet and make the final decisions, etc. Our Cooper was just about sixteen years old. Braydon and I grew into our adulthoods with him, and the bambinos have never known life without him. For as much as we were ready to let Cooper go (we’d known for a long, long time that Cooper was nearing the end), it was – and is – sad. Of the five of us, Owen and Meera have taken it the hardest. Owen, especially, is missing Cooper.

• On a high note: over the past ten days I had the honor and privilege of personally welcoming home two new babies of two different sets of family friends of ours. Both adoptive families! In my opinion, there is absolutely nothing that compares with the miracle of adoption (and that’s coming from someone who has done it both ways). Biological/physiological reproduction and bonding I can intellectually comprehend and explain. But the creation of, and the attachment that goes on within, adoptive families?— it is a miracle. A true and utter miracle. Witnessing that special form of human-relationship-building goes beyond the comprehensible and is, truly, profound. Our friends the Kulps recently brought Gracie Li home to take her place as their second beloved daughter from China, and as Joy Lin’s long-awaited little sister. After months of looking at photos, it was beyond spectacular to see Grace being held by my friend, her mommy, right here in Pennsylvania. And our friends the Goodmans finally brought home their beloved beautiful black baby boy, straight from the hospital, through domestic newborn adoption. I brought them a gift of some of our favorite skin and hair products and had the pleasure of talking another white mama through her first entrance into this wonderful world of black hair and skin care. It is a special bond to connect with other adoptive families and we feel so grateful to have forged friendships with so many to share these life moments with. It is a true gift to be able to watch a new family form this way. Adoption is hard. But adoption is so, so good. Every new child home feels monumentally miraculous to me.
• Speaking of black hair… we re-twisted and trimmed K & O’s locs this weekend. And they look amazing!!!!! (and my oh my what a lot of work that project always is!!!!) Photos below = after re-twisting (with Meera’s “hair being done too”) & after the whole day-long project was done (deep cleaning, twisting, and trimming… x2).

• You might be able to see in the photo above right that Owen lost another tooth. This one, he pulled out himself. Which saved all of us a lot of drama this time around. It is sitting in the tooth fairy pillow, waiting for Kyle to lose his.
• MorMor and MorFar were with us most of the week of Thanksgiving. We took them to the skating rink where Kyle has been taking ice skating lessons so that he could show off his skills. For the fun of it, we all skated. Including Meera. Who loved it. But what a work-out that is! (skating while leaning over and holding up a two year old, barely balancing, between your legs) Here is Little Miss Meera her first time skating:

• Speaking of Little Miss Meera… I’m taking the advice of all of you and have decided – at least for the time being – not to push the bottle issue. And if she’s still drinking a bottle when she goes off to college, then so be it! (and I’ll blame it on our blog readers).

• Speaking of going off to college…  big news here in the education realm. Now, granted, I’m a professional sociologist (who has written a book on schooling decisions, no less), but this has been feeling ridiculously huge for us… I mean, really, kids’ schooling = the whole dang sociological deal: race, class, gender, and a (the?) major pillar socializing institution of our society (education), etc., etc., etc…. it feels, at least right now, like decisions don’t get much bigger than this. So, last but not least, by far the biggest bullet of this post: today K & O started at a new school. Yes, you read that right. In the past month we’ve undergone a major upheaval, a total uprooting, a big turn in life’s road (which ultimately, ironically, has wound up feeling like a huge sigh of relief and a deep breath of fresh air), resulting in our decision to pull Kyle and Owen out of the Waldorf School where they’ve attended for the past 3+ years. They had their last day at their “old school” last Friday, and then took this past week to re-group and re-orient in the direction of their “new school.” Today we dropped off our precious cargo, the terrific and tenacious twinny twosome that they are, at United Friends School for their first full day. And… it was just plain all-out-awesomeness all around! Upon pick-up this afternoon we received huge hugs and beaming smiles from K & O, and an amazing report from their teacher. We got in the car to head home and Owen exclaimed from the backseat, totally unprompted, “School is GREAT!!!!!!!” That’s just about all I needed to know that this – what has felt like a really hugely important decision – was exactly right. Finally I feel like I’ve been Mama long enough to trust myself, to listen to my inner voice, and to go with my gut instincts when it comes to my boys. I’m so proud of myself for that. I’ve come a long way babies! And I’m so happy for my boys! Big huge blog post soon to come on this subject.

Yes, we’re suckers for this sweet little one named Meera Grace. At the end of this month she’ll officially be two and a half. And yes, for better or for worse, we’re still letting her drink bottles. She loves bottles of milk more than anything else (except her bunny; Bunny is her #1). We all know that we’re going to have to cut her off at some point (we’re trying to get the guts up to do it sometime soon), but all four of us are such push-over’s when it comes to our girl, that we dread the day that we eventually go cold turkey even more than she does. In the meantime, she has us wrapped around her little finger… and she knows it.