The Strangers

I have always been pretty open to talking with people about my sons' adoptions, as long as the person making the inquiry at least attempts to be sensitive (and does not say things like, "I can't believe someone would give their baby away"). I tend to assume that people are simply curious about something they do not fully understand, and it makes me feel good to spread the word about a wonderful experience. But lately I have been wondering about how this affects my oldest son. He is starting to talk a little bit more about adoption and is often around when people start asking questions. Yesterday we went to a new yoga studio to try out their kid's class, and one of the teachers at the studio approached me after class and asked if my son was adopted. When I said yes, she looked at him and said, "I was adopted too" and we talked briefly about where they were each born in Korea. Then she said to me, "My husband and I have one of our own. We want to adopt too, but the first baby was such a good experience that we plan to have two of our own and then adopt." I'll admit that I had to pick my chin up off the floor after that. When I told my husband the story he chuckled. We have been well versed in adoption rhetoric and he knows that particular phrase gets under my skin. My students often ask if I plan to have "kids of my own" and I generally reply, "I already have two, see?" while showing off their pics. I worry that this woman heard the phrase once too often during her childhood and is now using it to describe her biological children in some sort of twisted hierarchy. My son heard her use it and witnessed his mother saying nothing to correct her. Witnessed his mother making no effort to protect his story or identity in the family. At what point does casual conversation with strangers become something potentially hurtful to my children? He has already started having to answer questions that really aren't anyone else's business. Perhaps I need to teach him how to say things like, "That is a personal question that I am not comfortable answering." Somehow I don't see that coming out of his mouth. He generally shares oodles of personal information with strangers and seems to have no qualms about airing our family story. I did notice yesterday that when he was asked if he was adopted, he immediately began talking about his brother. Witnessing the process with John seems to have helped him understand what it means to be adopted (although for a while he believed that every baby arrived on a plane from South Korea), and instead of speaking about his own experiences he relates everything to his brother. Perhaps his own story is too abstract, the details too fuzzy. I wish I could crawl into his head and figure out what he thought of all of this.

Same old resolution

I am just going to come right out and say it: I desperately need to get more organized. There seems to be this tremendous dichotomy between my work life and home life. At work I have no trouble multi-tasking, meeting deadlines and keeping everything in its place. My desk is always clean and my email box gets a regular purging. If someone needs a piece of information, I can put my finger on it in minutes. At home, well, it's a different story. I regularly find myself searching for something for hours on end, tearing apart the house and cursing under my breath. The horizontal surfaces (namely the kitchen counter and shelves in the den) are never neat for more than 24 hours, and when company comes over I often just shove everything into the nearest drawer. Now it isn't the entire house. My clothes closet is in perfect order and the playroom has bins for every category. I have the skills to be an organized person. What is my problem?
I had this theory on the drive home today. My desk at school wasn't always spotless. It wasn't until I started subbing for other people that I began to develop a system of organization. I was motivated to keep their area as neat as they had left it (the Girl Scout in me), but also saw it as a perfect opportunity to borrow ideas for myself. Each new job brought new ideas, and I am now able to keep up the appearance of a well organized person while on the job. My thought then is this: do I need to start living in other people's homes for a few weeks at a time to learn how they stay organized? Why is it that I can't transfer what I have learned at work to my humble abode? I certainly can't use the children as an excuse. The times when CJ was out to sea and I had no one to blame but myself (and often only a part time job), the house was still a disorganized mess. It's truly embarrassing. And I am desperate to not pass this onto my sons. Perhaps that is why I force them to keep their playroom and bedrooms organized. Don't look in the kitchen, children. Please ignore mommy when she is running around the house screaming about a lost book or important piece of paper that should have been dealt with weeks ago. Someday she will figure out how to get everything where it needs to be. Someday.

Nature vs. Nurture

Ah yes, the classic debate. Made far more interesting when raising children whose nature comes from a completely different source.

My husband often accuses me of being just like my mother, which is in many ways a good thing, but in some not so much. Take for example our need to hover in the kitchen. When I was growing up I wanted to learn how to cook and would spend time in the kitchen with my mother and grandmothers. Both grandmothers were fantastic bakers and I have strong memories of watching them at their art. Equally strong are the memories of my maternal grandmother hovering over me and loudly instructing on the proper way to dust sphinges. Really? Does it matter how one distributes powdered sugar onto a ball of deep fried dough? Heaven forbid anyone tried to whip meringue under her watch. No one could ever master her technique of using a fork to transform egg whites into the fluffiest, most amazing topping imaginable. I used to think she should have her own cooking show. Although she would probably end up telling the audience, "Never mind. I'll come over there and do it myself."

Whether it be nature or nurture, my mother behaves the very same way when it comes to baking. I will never forget when my now 15 year old nephew helped make traditional Italian cookies for the first time. My mother's endless taunts of "That's too big. Stop playing with the dough!" almost brought him to tears. And my sister and I threw in the towel one year after she mocked our ability to properly roll the sesame seed cookies.

Sadly, I find myself acting the same way with my son. Every Sunday morning we make chocolate chip pancakes together. And I'll admit, I am a bit particular when it comes to the distribution of the chips. They really should be spread out nicely and not all clumped in one part of the pancake. I tell myself every week that it really doesn't matter where Paul puts the chips, but every week I end up micro-managing the chip distribution. I'm sure it's a control thing. I have no idea if I come by it genetically or it is a learned behavior. Was I unconsciously planning these moments in my head each time an elder chastised the way I did something in the kitchen? The bigger question of course: will it end with Paul? Or will he, in 30 years, be standing in his kitchen telling his children how to do things "just right"?

In the meantime, here is a lovely photo of Paul making cutouts. And Grandma trying not to hover.

Making contact

I just got off the phone with our social worker from John's adoption. She contacted me because they have been receiving several packages and letters from John's foster mother and wondered how we were feeling about the amount of contact. I have to admit that it is leaving me conflicted. It was obvious from the enormous bag that arrived with John in JFK that his foster mother was very attached and enjoyed showering him with gifts. During the time that he was in her care, she took five albums worth of pictures, something that I am sure he will treasure (and already has - he loves looking at himself as a baby!) throughout his life. Just this past week we received another huge package with toys for both boys and a letter that was written in August. Apparently the gift was hand delivered by an escort who was bringing a baby to the US from Korea, the last arrival for a while as the agency has reached their yearly quota. The letter was very sad and described how much John's foster mother missed him after he left. My heart breaks for this woman as I can only imagine caring for a child for over a year and then sending him on a plane to live halfway around the world. Especially when that child is John - who is just a barrel of sweetness and love. I explained to our social worker that I have no problem sending her letters and pictures to help ease the pain of her loss, and that from what I have read believe that her need for contact will taper off with time. The reason I am feeling conflicted right now is because of Paul. He too had a wonderful foster mother, who described him as her busiest child ever (he was her 25th foster child). But after the initial exchange of letters and photos, we lost contact. I feel almost guilty maintaining any long term contact with John's foster mother because it just doesn't seem fair. Thankfully she always sends a gift for Paul and mentions him in her letters. I wonder how much of this he understands. We talk about his adoption pretty regularly, but he has never asked me questions about his birth parents or about the time he spent in Korea before he came into our family. Sometimes I wonder if one day it will suddenly occur to him that he could have led a completely different life. In the meantime, I hope that he is not feeling hurt by the letters and gifts. I am thankful for anything that ties my children to their homeland and know that they will appreciate it all someday.

Social divide

One of the biggest difference between me and my oldest son is the fact that he is extremely extroverted and I am most definitely an introvert. He jumps into social settings with both feet and is rarely afraid to strike up conversations with strangers, while I remain on the sidelines riddled with anxiety whenever confronted with new people. The good part in all of this is that he is teaching me to come out of my shell a little, and I have been working on opening up to people. It is hard not to when he garners a reaction from strangers wherever we go and has been doing so since he was a baby. The bad part is that he wishes to spend his days surrounded by others while I prefer the comfort of solitude. I have made efforts to accommodate his needs while on the home front by involving him in several social activities, but it never seems to be enough. He regularly questions me as to why we don't have more play dates and why other children do not come home with us from school. How do I answer him honestly? That I have a hard time approaching parents about such things? That I have learned to make small talk in some situations, but taking it to the next level fills me with fear and anxiety? That is not an easy thing to explain to a four year old who has no qualms about walking up to a complete stranger, introducing himself and sharing his life story. He is extremely popular with the neighborhood kids and will most likely continue to enjoy popularity his entire life. I have no idea what that feels like and honestly have no desire. Social temperament is something we are born with and it does not change. I inherited mine from my father, who fully understands and appreciates the need to escape from overwhelming crowds. My husband shares a similar mindset, and we often spent our pre-children weekends relaxing at home. We quickly learned that that lifestyle would not fly with our son. I remember coming home from our first Christmas and watching him sit in the middle of the family room floor, surrounded by toys, crying. He had been swept up in the chaos of the holiday and did not want it to end. So where do we go from here? I hope that we are able to reach some middle ground and perhaps learn from each other about how the other side of the social spectrum thrives. As for my youngest, he seems to be in the middle. Not nearly the social butterfly but nevertheless eager to impress a crowd. His sensitive soul with surely make him a good listener, someone who the girls will probably turn to when they are eager to get a date with big brother.

It's Halloween - what's not to like?

Sadly, it does not seem that John has the same enthusiasm for Halloween as the rest of us vans. (Paul is already talking about next year's costume, and CJ regularly wants to discuss how we can have the scariest house on the block.) Perhaps it is because he does not yet understand the joy of candy. Perhaps he is too young to appreciate the thrill of donning an alternate persona. Perhaps it is because there is a scary zombie in our front hallway. Whatever the reason, he most certainly does not like to get dressed up. My friend Nicky handed down her son's dragon costume and it is as cute as ever. But when I tried to put John in it for his story hour costume party, he completely lost it. Granted he is a bit out of sorts, suffering from a head cold and the arrival of several teeth, but his reaction was quite over the top. Being the insensitive mom that I am, I snapped a few pics before taking off the costume. In the end, he was happy to be a frog for an hour and collect things in his treat bag. Someone passed out cookies and I rewarded John for his bravery by letting him eat his immediately. Hopefully he will agree to wear the dragon costume for trick-or-treating, or at least our church party Sunday afternoon. It really is cute when the child inside isn't bawling his eyes out. Mom, please don't make me wear this scary costume! I don't want to be a frog either!!
Oh. Light sabers make it all better.

(In case you thought the frog looked familiar, it was Paul's costume for his first Halloween. And cousin Sam's a few years before that.)

The force... it must be a boy thing

Feeling inspired by costume god Shawn, I dusted off the sewing machine and began working on Paul's Yoda costume. I was pretty proud of what I had accomplished until my husband came home and asked, "Is he supposed to be Spanish? Did you even look at a picture of Yoda?" Well, yes. I tried. But my searches kept turning up head shots and endless photos of dogs in costume. I suppose I could have popped in one of the movies and searched for a scene with him in it, but then I would have had to watch Star Wars. Ick. It's bad enough that I have to endure endless conversations about it with my son.

"Mom, mom. You know that guy in Star Wars? The one with the blue light saver?"
"Sure."
"What's he called again?"
"I have no idea."

"Mom, can I tell you something? Did you know that General Grievius (I believe his name is actually Grievous, but that's how P pronounces it) has four light savers??"

"Sure."

"That's so cool. Right mom?"

"Uh-huh."

You get the idea. But I digress. After the humiliating unveiling of my poncho cloak, I enlisted the help of my husband. We both have basic sewing skills (thanks to our 7th grade home economics teacher) and he set to work on improving the costume. I had happily found a Yoda t-shirt earlier in the day that showcased his entire "person" and we were able to use that as a guide. (And then

hide it until Christmas.) I purchased a brown shirt that also contained Star Wars images and P could hardly contain his excitement while putting it on. The final part of last night's dress rehearsal was the presenting of the GREEN LIGHT SABER. I was surprised Paul did not ask to take it to bed with him.

Here is the boy at his first party of the week. I decided to wait until the actual holiday before applying green makeup to all of his exposed skin. Oh, and I still need to figure out what to do with his feet. ????????

P.S. I did not appreciate Target's anti-homeade costume commercial. Paul said to me today after the party: "Mom, I love my Yoda costume." So there.