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Do you live in the Philadelphia area? This benefit concert is being organized by Margie’s daughter (Margie = our nanny/pillar-of-our-family). Great show, great cause — spread the word!!!
January 31, 2005-January 31, 2010 = 5 Years Together!
Hotel Montana
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Port au Prince Airport, about to leave for Miami
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Kyle, after a few weeks home
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Owen, after a few weeks home
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Our great friend Stacey has organized a Haiti Earthquake Relief Fundraiser. All proceeds to benefit Heartline. This is such a great idea and could be replicated in every city and town!— Just imagine!!!
Read about it here (and go if you’re from the area!!!):
P.S. What a joy a good friend is. Thanks Stacey. I love you Stacey.
Kyle, first week together, in our room at the Hotel Montana, Port au Prince, Haiti
We began our adoption process in January 2004. All we knew was that we were ready to start a family and we had a lot to give. We were open to anything and knew from the beginning that race, gender, or place-of-origin did not matter to us. We did some research, but very quickly decided on Haiti. We felt, all along, that Haiti chose us (not the other way around). The primary reason we went with Haiti was because, simply, in our opinion, Haiti had the most need. It was straight-forward for us and felt like an obvious choice. At the same time as we began the adoption process we also began the process of learning all that we could about Haiti. During our year-long wait (now 1 year seems impossibly short for Haitian adoption, but at the time it felt like an eternity), we spent a lot of our time learning about Haiti. We read a ton, talked to everyone who knew anything, and scoured the internet. At the time, most of the people we encountered in our day-to-day lives didn’t even know where in the world Haiti was located. It was not on the radar for the vast majority of people, nor would it have been for us if we hadn’t been adopting from there.
We knew that it was going to be up to us to instill in our children a sense of connection to their place of birth. We knew that it was entirely our responsibility to raise them with an intrinsic understanding of their Haitian roots. We knew that it was on us, and us alone, to foster their pride in, and compassion for, Haiti. We took this on with little hesitation, and made it our own. By the time they came home, we, as Kyle and Owen’s parents, were pretty well-read, aware, and able to hit the ground running. Our boys were eight months old but we talked to them, daily, about Haiti. I don’t think one day has gone by since then that we haven’t talked about Haiti.
We’ve fostered in Kyle and Owen a deep and true love for Haiti. That is something of which we are extremely proud (I think it is right up there as one of top few things of which we are most proud in our parenting so far). But it is complicated. Very, very complicated. In so many, many ways. Haiti is a place they don’t consciously remember, an island they left at a young age, a world far removed from their day-to-day lives that they can’t possibly fully understand — but it is their place, it is their land, it is their roots — and they know it, and they feel it. I guess I did not completely comprehend the extent to which this was true until these past few days. Haiti is in their minds, in their hearts, and in their souls. In the most profound, inexplicable ways. I have heard things from my boys in the past few days that I would not have anticipated or predicted. Phrases, and ways of saying things, that have stopped me and given me chills. Ways of talking about their homeland (I write that word consciously) that make me want to cry– in more ways than one. Yes, they were adopted to white American parents. But Kyle and Owen are Haitian through and through ~~ in ways that I wasn’t fully aware of two weeks ago.
On Saturday we were eating lunch in a restaurant that had televisions all over the place broadcasting sports. In the middle of lunch Owen, Braydon, and Meera headed to the bathroom and during those few minutes that they were gone from the table an advertisement came onto the television fund-raising for Haiti earthquake relief. A few images were shown on the ad. It was unavoidable, and Kyle saw it. In between bites of macaroni and cheese he said to me, very mournfully, “Mommy, that is our land.” I said, “Yes, it is. It is all of our land” (motioning around the table, to say, ‘it is all of our family’s land — we are all in this family connected to Haiti’ — trying to help him feel that he’s not alone in this). He corrected me, “No, that’s my land. I was born there. It is my land. It is me and Owen’s land.” “Yes, you’re right. It is your land,” I said, trying to let it be what it was. A minute or two of silence and then I said, “How does it make you feel when you see pictures like that?” He said, “Sad. It makes me sad. Because it is my people. I wish it happened here instead. I wish we had an earthquake instead of them.”
Things I’ve heard my boys say in the past few days, that I never saw coming:
“Our houses fell down.”
“Our people are hurt.”
“Our land got shaked.”
Earthquakes are at the forefront of their minds. It comes out in their play. Climbing high in a tree, they shake the branches on purpose, as hard as they can, and I listen as they play it through together: “We’re in a huge earthquake! It is shaking! Everything is falling!” In the house they pretend that they are rescuing people from the rubble: “Quick! Someone is stuck in here and we have to get them out before they die!! Hurry! Get them some water!” In the sandbox today they were mixing buckets of rainwater with sand saying out loud to each other, “We’re going to make the houses with floors and strong, no dirt-floor-houses, no houses that could fall in earthquakes.”
All this time we’ve been so conscious of their Haitian roots. All this time we’ve been working to build a foundation of pride in our Haitian-American sons. But never, never, could we have imagined the way life would all play out. And so, everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed. And they are Haitian through and through.
Meera, age 18 months, having a bottle while we pack up at the hotel before heading out to the Portland Symphony Orchestra, December 20, 2009
Since Kyle, Owen, and Meera were all born in May it is hard to not always be thinking of the contrasts and similarities between the experiences of things during the cycles of life. Braydon and I think and talk about this all the time. From the time Meera was born we’ve been doing the compares and contrasts, and we’re completely fascinated by the similarities and differences. There are obvious differences — like the mega-humongous-difference between raising twins vs. raising a singleton; raising boys vs. raising a girl; raising off-the-charts-spirited children vs. raising off-the-charts-angel child; adopted children vs. biological children; ETC. The similarities are not so obvious, but they are most definitely there — like the fact that all three of our children are extrovert social butterflies who love being out-and-about; that all three of our children seem unusually (strangely?!) happy pretty much all the time; that all three of them are physically big and tall for their age; etc. The fact that they were all born in May means that they were all just turning one in the springtime; were swimming like little maniacs in our pool the summer they were one; were the exact same age for their first time trick-or-treating; were all 18-months-old for their first non-infant Christmas. The fact that they were all born in May also means that Meera’s been able to wear the boys’ hand-me-downs throughout her babyhood — which just makes the compare and contrast come to mind more often because we see her wearing things this winter and they are the things the boys wore “the winter they were her age” (etc.). I think because of the same age cycle between them, the memories seem to come more easily to the surfaces of our minds. This Christmas we thought about it a lot. Getting Meera in and out of all her snow gear was a major job (like it is with any toddler), and we couldn’t help but think, “Remember when we were getting TWO in and out of all that snow gear?!?!!” (now THAT was a job!). Dealing with one baby while traveling is a task, but we remember the craziness of traveling with twin toddlers and we sigh with relief that we got a singleton this time around! Meera’s delight in Christmas this year reminded us of the boys’ delight in the Christmas when they were her age. The year the boys were Meera’s age they loved the bouncy Santa dangling from MorMor and MorFar’s ceiling over the dining table. And Meera loved that too this year. They used to love to take ornaments off the tree and toddle all around the house with them. Meera did that this year too. The boys were off-the-walls, crazily-active, bouncing-baby-boys when they were Meera’s age. Meera is calm and laid back and happy to just quietly toodle around doing her own thing. The boys were so hard to contain. Meera is so easy. The boys took forever to get to sleep at night, but then would be out ’till morning. Meera goes right down, but is up all night when we’re not at home. Each Christmas is special, of course. But there is something really magical and momentous about that 18-month-old Christmas — the first Christmas that they are really consciously aware; the first Christmas that they have an inkling that something really special is happening; the first Christmas that you can really see them taking it all in. That 18-month-old-Christmas is a once-in-a-lifetime for a parent to enjoy. We don’t take it for granted. And we feel so lucky to have been able to get three of them.
Braydon, Kyle, Owen, Heather on a sleigh ride through the woods, Christmas 2005.
Last year after Christmas, we headed down to Philly, where my sister was living to visit with her and my mom for the day and had a very nice time. Now that my sister is in DC, we decided it was best to stop by my mom’s great new place in MA on the way home.
We got there in the morning after having missed a big winter storm the day before and had a chance to go for a nice walk down past the pond to the playground and get out of the car for while. My sister was up from DC and our Aunt Diana swung by for the visit and had a chance to meet and experience the entire family.
After some crazy, yummy gourmet pizzas from a place nearby and some homemade cookies, we got down the business of opening Christmas gifts. The boys enjoyed bringing out the Connectagons and books, while Sabrina told Kyle stories. Meera toodled around looking at the pictures and Sabrina’s sculptures while getting picked up and cuddled by my mom. Everyone got some good affection.
The visit was just a couple hours, but we fit in a lot of good chatting, playing and enjoying each other.
It was a VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR’S CELEBRATION for the J-Ms this year! We made the quick 2.5 hour road trip to Connecticut to spend New Year’s Eve with the Slavins (see post from August by clicking here). Something about having been college roommates seems to make time spent as families now that much sweeter. I don’t know why, exactly, but it is just really really really special. And fun!!!!!!!!!!!!! I especially love to see our kids play together! Imogen and K & O get along together (and fight too!) like 3-little-wild-peas-in-a-pod. And Audrey and Meera are really just too cute (even when they fight!) as “the babies” twosome. I love it that our kids fight and play together– more like healthy cousins or siblings than as friends who hardly ever see each other. To me, that is really great and I take it to mean that we’re in it with these kids for the long haul. I have high hopes that our kids will know each other well their whole lives. There is no family on the planet that we’d rather spend New Year’s with. We plan on making it a tradition. Highlights included seeing, and spending time in, the Slavin’s new house (they relocated to CT from CA this summer); sledding on their perfect front-yard sledding hill (what K & O wouldn’t give to have this hill in their own front yard!!!); hot chocolate and marshmallows; the Keurig coffee (ahhhhhh!!!!); indoctrinating the children to New Year’s Eve party trinkets and noisemakers; lots-o-margs (of course!!!); an amazing sweet-potato-black-bean-burrito dinner; the kids curled up on the couch with their loveys watching Tinkerbell; champagne and bbq chips; chocolate fondue at midnight; super-duper french toast and Canadian bacon on New Year’s Morning; and… the biggest highlight of all… The New Year’s Day SHOW (this was a show, in five acts, put on by the five kiddos ~~ and what a show it was!… they are already planning for the 2011 New Year’s Day SHOW); many laughs and lots of good time. Meera was fast asleep within 5 minutes of pulling out of the Slavin’s driveway, and K & O were in bed asleep by 6:30 p.m. that night. Four days later, we’re all still recovering. But it was OH-SO-WORTH-EVERY-SECOND-OF-IT!!!!!!!! 
Oh my goodness. Christmas 2009 was the best ever — at least of my adult life and our life of Christmas-with-kids (as opposed to Christmas-as-kids — in our family, according to my mother, the Matriarch, you get a stocking until you have kids yourself– and thus, you experience Christmas-as-a-kid until you begin to experience, first-hand, Christmas-with-kids). I gotta say, both are magical in their own right. But I, for one, am definitely a huge fan of Christmas-with-kids. I can honestly say that this was a magical, wonder-filled, as-good-as-it-gets-Christmas. So much so, in fact, that I am self-conscious to post about it for fear of what people will think (“oh, she’s gotta be delusional” or “she’s making this stuff up” or “screw her and her Norman-Rockwell blog” or worse). I’ve decided to write these Christmas posts as if 1,000 people aren’t reading this everyday (sidenote: I still am stunned every time I look at our blog meter and see that 1,000 people are reading this). I’m going to write as if this is just a journal for my three children and Braydon and me. I’m going to write this to reflect the Christmas that it was — despite my trepidation of ‘audience.’ For the past few days I’ve been thinking about something that a friend of ours, another adoptive mom of Haitian sensations, wrote on her blog recently. She wrote: “So if it seems like I write with rose-colored glasses, it’s because I am blessed to be living a rose-colored life.” I too, am living a “rose-colored life.” At least that is how I see it. We can, I believe, to some extent, choose how we view the world. We can choose the lens through which we see our lives. And I choose to, and naturally do, see the best in things and people. Having said that, still, I must admit, even I am often breathless for a moment in thinking what a charmed life we are living. And times like the past two weeks are big reminders of all that we have to be grateful for. I live a great and grateful life. Without further ado… here is… a glimpse of Christmas 2009… in snippets and snapshots.
The boys’ last day of school was Friday the 18th. We had quite a whirlwind few weeks leading up to that, and I was out-straight and burning the candle at both ends to make everything happen. But on Saturday morning the 19th, we set sail for our holiday. We hit the road, just ahead of a big storm, and we made it in record time. It took us only 8.5 hours to get to Portland, Maine. Where we checked into a lovely hotel and immediately headed to the indoor swimming pool. We spent a great family night in Portland before kicking off our Christmas on Sunday with the beloved Johnson tradition of the Portland Symphony Orchestra’s Magic of Christmas concert. We joined up with my parents, our dear family friend Alice, and my sister’s family at a stupendous Portland chowder house before heading to Symphony Hall. This concert has been running every Christmas for 30 years. And we have been to 29 of the 30! I started going when I was seven years old! Braydon started going when he was 22! Kyle and Owen have gone for all but their first Christmas (when they were infants, in Haiti still). Meera’s already gone twice now. It is tradition. And tradition, at the root of it, is what our Christmas is all about. So far, for Meera only, it is tradition to fall asleep during the Magic of Christmas in Portland. This year MorMor was the lucky one to have the precious sleeping babe in her arms for most of the concert.
Here we are (below) in Portland after the concert. Three generations valuing the tradition that it is. Meera was, I must admit, beyond adorable in her Christmas attire. How much do I love dressing my baby girl??? What a gift this girl is to me and her grandmother. And what a gift this girl’s grandmother is to me.
We left Portland and headed for New Hampshire. Within just an hour of our arrival in Freedom, at MorMor and MorFar’s house, MorMor unveiled the 2009 Christmas Cookies. Tin after tin after tin. She spent an entire 8-hour-day making over 9 different kinds of cookies (multiple batches of each) this year. Her kids and her grand-kids all have their favorites, of course. But these are all traditional cookies which have varied very little over the years of my life.
Many of the cookies are Swedish, of course, and it is tradition — at least for MorFar — to break out the whipped cream to eat with the pepperkaker. Pepperkaker is good. But with whipped cream, some say, it is great. Here are K & O, following tradition.
Lots of traditions, big and small. A specific concert every year for 30 years and a specific type of dried toast to dunk in your coffee every Christmas of your entire life (and your parents’ and their parents’ lives). What is the difference? It is something I’ve been thinking about a lot in the past days. Traditions are traditions. Big and small. Huge and tiny. They are the glue that holds it all together. It is precious and it is important. And it is profound when you think of passing them all along. Here is our Little Miss Meera eating her first (of many, for sure) cinnamon-sugar-rusk.
Oh, how I love those rusks at Christmastime. Dunked in hot black coffee. Is it the rusks and coffee, or is it the specific bakery where my parents always buy them (hours away from their home), or is it that it is Christmas, or is it that I’m standing there, in the kitchen, doing the exact same thing as my dad – almost in unison – as we have for so many mornings during Christmas week? Rusks– a major, tiny, Christmas tradition.
There is a theme here. Traditional foods. Traditional Swedish foods. Traditional Swedish Christmas foods. And drink. Like Glug. This is Glug with a twist — served by MorFar, outside, on a picnic table in the snow, on Christmas Eve Day.
But the biggest Swedish Christmas food tradition of all? –The Christmas Eve Smorgasbord. My mother is a force to be reckoned with. She is the one who makes it all happen. And the smorgasbord symbolizes it all. Foods that she ate, and we ate, and now our kids eat, every Christmas Eve every year, with no exception, ever.
Important notes re: smorgasbord 2009 — Braydon finally loves gravlax! And Owen loves fish pudding, just like his mother!!!
And then there are the butterhorns on Christmas morning. Fresh from the oven, with the sugar glaze still dripping. Dough that was been rising by the woodstove overnight. I love this photo below. Amidst opening presents, Kyle (prompted by MorMor) suddenly appears bearing the first tray of butterhorns, and Owen bolts upright to run to the tray! (I love it too because Meera is playing with her favorite gift: a gift from Owen that she’s played with for long chunks of time every day since).
But Owen’s treasured edible tradition of choice this year turned out to be that box of fine Swedish chocolates he discovered the first day. And by the last day, it was entirely gone. And the rest of us had eaten only a handful, total, from that two-layered box.
Kyle says his favorite treasured edible tradition of choice this year was the hot dogs that he roasted over the fire on Christmas Eve Day. This is a new tradition, only a couple of years old. But it is set for the long haul, of that I am sure. Because Kyle will never let us not do it. Hot dogs, roasted on sticks, out in the snow, on Christmas Eve Day. That’s one of the most amazing parts of all of this whole Christmas thing for us– some of the traditions have been passed down for 3, 4, 5, or even more generations. And others are just getting started now. It is a joyful, evolving thing. Not a stagnant, bland thing.
Interestingly, speaking of new traditions, I’m pretty sure that Meera’s favorite treasured edible tradition of choice this year was the wood-fired pizza at Flatbreads in North Conway. She’s a modern girl, what can we say?!
Traditions… old and new… they are the glue.
Over the rivers (the Delaware, the Hudson, and several others)
And through the woods –and cities (of New York, Hartford, Boston, etc.)
To grandmother’s house Flicka Stuga we go
[note: MorMor & MorFar’s house was named, by them, when they built it, “Flicka Stuga,” the Swedish for “Girl’s House”… and it is aptly named]
Papi knows the way to drive the five
Through the white and drifted snow, oh!
Over the river and through the wood
Oh how much work it takes —
To prep, and plan, and shop, and scam to create the Ho Ho Ho!
But, over the river and through the wood
Is the least that we can do —
{and this is where the emotions kick in and the whole lyric/rhyming thing starts to break down…}
For what we do is absolutely menial in comparison to what MorMor and MorFar do…
My parents. They love Christmas. They bring magic to the word magic. And they share it. But, the thing is, it isn’t actually magic. It takes thought, time, energy, money, and most of all — hearts of gold — to make it all happen. My parents. They are, truly, an inspiration. I am learning from them. All that I can hope is that I will be able to carry it on for my children as my parents have done for me. The details are endless. Everywhere you look, every moment of each day spent, you see and feel what they have done to make Christmas Christmas. It is all meaningful. And for five people with the last name “Johnson-McCormick,” it is all deeply appreciated.
Over the river and through the wood
to Flicka Stuga we go
Who knows what each day or year may bring?
So we savor these memories so.
Thank you Mom and Dad!
(and really, let’s be honest– MorFar is truly awesome, but MorMor is the Mastermind — so, Mom, thanks especially to you at Christmastime. You are, for real, the best of the best.)
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