Hair

Well, this Mama Blanc is gettin' some practice at workin' the hairdos, because our Diva loves her locks lookin' nice and doesn't mind the time together -- not in the least.  I'm including the images not so much to brag (obviously), but to offer honestly my "still learning" baby steps for two reasons  .  .  .  One, to inspire any other new mama blancs (that they can't be so bad -- I mean, look at that Cluver lady's attempts), and two, to see if anyone has advice to give (Jules?  Judith?)  I've got a great book on natural hair care that includes philosophy, inspiration, and loads of practical stuff from natural, healthy products to hairdo's and don'ts.  My fingers (which I believed previously to be nimble) are not exactly veteran at this, yet -- it's been just a month.  Sticking with my life philosophy -- not to let fear of imperfection (or total ineptitude) hold me back.  (If you're reading this blog, you already know that much.)  Anywho, I share because it feels good.  I enjoy the blogs of others, sometimes folks find value in mine, and I guess, really, I'm also proud of my efforts (at least) on Anna's hair, and more than just a little proud of my beautiful daughter.  (I know I can't take any credit for her beauty; nonetheless, I'm proud of her.)

After 48 Hours

We left the house today for the first time since Monday, and the arctic blast was really somethin' -- woa -- not quite the kind that freezes your nose hairs, but durn cold let me tell ya!  Anna and Jameson to the dentist, and then a swing throught the bank and by the post office. 

Thennnn, boys tackled Wal-mart with Daddy (thank you, Amen!) while we, three girls, strolled calm, quiet, pretty, clean Target with hot yummy beverages in hand.  (I soooo love Target  .  .  .  and Starbucks in Target.  Anna loves to pretend she's speaking yet another foreign language by reciting my "usual" -- "Grande Cinnamon Dolce Latte Decaf."  Which, I know, is largely a foreign language.  It's just that she imagines she is saying something other than the name of my favorite over-priced coffee drink.)

And then back to hermitting in the house for what was left of "Snow Day #3"  .  .  .

What Hunter was watching:

   

                          Meanwhile, in the family room, Mom becomes a fan of Disney XD,

(Sorry for the poor photo quality. I'd blame the camera, but high chance it's operator error.)

because BOTH girls like it, and were willing to snuggle up (on opposite ends) on the same couch, using the same blanket without negotiating leg room or showing concern over whether they each had equal share of blanket coverage.  Still learning to be vulnerable with each other, they declined an embracing pose for a picture, but readily moved to a shared center position to do some 

generally pleasant and just plain silly shots. 

And now that all four are nestled warmly into beds, visions of early morning and school-

work loom overhead (for two, at least).  For tomorrow the retreat ends and classes are in session

 for the planned half-day, but then there will be a weekend for more play! 

I'd better rest up.  (wink)

The Childlike Joy of A Snow Day

There are few pure exhilarations of childhood one can still experience as an adult, and a snow day is one of them.  School is cancelled as are any expectations that you have to go anywhere.  Expectations are cancelled.  How rare.  How beautiful!  As a teacher, I realize this is a gift that not all professions receive, and thus, I savor it gleefully and with gratitude.  Sure, there are scheduled vacation days off, and the lived-for weekends, but those are always planned away with day trips or errands, catching up on projects or finally tackling the paperwork for taxes.  A snow day, however, is free time -- really, truly free time -- that presents itself without advance warning; Mother Nature disallows us to "to do list" it away.  It's breathing time -- ahhhhh.  Exhale, and awake to daylight instead of an alarm  .  .  .  inhale, and smell the pancakes hubby is cooking for breakfast.

Today is actually Snow Day "take 2," and yesterday I waded into an attempt to foster play and communication between my two daughters who have spent our first three weeks at home politely giving each other space and carefully guarding each of their own territories.  While my creative little activity didn't produce the results for which I hoped, it did dig out the issue.  There were words of frustration from each of the gals, and tears (at different times), and conversations with Mom and then Dad (privately, one at a time), and then we allowed for some quiet room.  By dinner they were sitting next to one another for the first time.

This morning at breakfast Baylor exclaimed that Anna made for her a bracelet and necklace.  And so, their shared space is becoming much more than space.  Ahhh.  Exhale, again.

Told in short, it all sounds easy, but when in the middle of pouts and stomps (from the kids) (I try to save my idiocy for private when the kids are not looking), and not knowing what will be the outcome (or when), there is a heavy darkness of parenting doubt, worry, and exasperation.  No matter how many times I cycle through the madness of being responsible for young people and come through on the other side of figuring out the problem and seeing resolution, my feeble mind continues to struggle when the problem phase resurfaces anew.  You'd think the repetition would reassure that solution will always follow, but each new little conflict is always a mite bit different, and my human mind weak.  I talk with lots of friends who are parents, and so, it seems this is all normal, but boy, that doesn't make it easy.  When I was a kid I thought that people suddenly felt differently when they were "old," but it really does seem like just yesterday that I was the one worried about whether I would be the "blue" or the "red" when we played boardgames  .  .  .  or who's turn it is to pick whatever  .  .  .  when did I get old?  And where is the omnipotence I'm sure my elders were gifted magically at a certain age?

But snow days give us time to sit in the messy moments and to come through them.  To see learning and legitimate personal growth in our wee ones.  And this is a good thing, because my two smart, strong-willed daughters have a good deal of energy and creating in their shared play room, and I'd love for them also to feel at peace in their snuggly beds when they put closure on the end of each day.

Sometimes it's about talking and teaching and showing.  Sometimes it's about allowing time.  Sometimes it's about letting a kid's awkwardness or hesitation or guilt be replaced with fun, activity, and laughter -- like playing in the snow to break the ice.

Every time my children toss off their wet mittens and hats after playing outside on a winter's day, I am reminded of my years playing with my dear sister-friend, Andrea (Hauser) Sutherland.  Our old house has those wonderful, large floor vents just as did the Hauser home, and Mama Hauser always dried Ann and my soaked winter gear atop the metal grates.  As a frequent visitor to Ann's home, I was always enamored with her large family, and specifically, that she was the baby of six.  Another dear friend, Kara (Koester) Erdahl, is the baby of five.  Large Catholic families -- I loved it!  Being the oldest of three, I so envied them and thought that I would have a large family of my own when I grew up. 

Decades later the reality set in that being a child of a large family was quite different than being the parent of one, and I kissed goodbye that "silly" childhood daydream.  I needed my introvert time for creative projects, and reading, and contemplating world news  .  .  .   and then came home from Haiti with my mom a photo of a little girl.  We later learned she did not need a family, but we were committed to becoming parents to a child or children who did need us.  Here we are, with four kids who sometimes need us all at the same time, and I am overwhelmed while reminding them "One at a time," "Don't interrupt," "You'll get your turn," "You won't always get what you want, but you will always get what you need," and "'Fair' does not always mean 'same.'"  There are interludes, such as this one, here, as I write, when the kids entertain themselves and/or each other, and I am able to retreat to my home office to revisit quotes I've torn from articles  .  .  .

This one from psychologist William Bridges seems relevant to my musings of today -- "Genuine beginnings begin within us, even when they are brought to our attention by external opportunities."  So, maybe it's not five or six kids, but four is a good number.  A large family, multicultural experiences, using my own experience of having a complex family structure to guide and heal my own, new children -- it fits.  Sure, it challenges my patience and intuition and confidence and any remote charade of wisdom, but maybe I'd been too careful, too neat, before. 

In Andrew Solomon's recent Newsweek article he reflects on parenting, "I dwell too much in abstraction and the future, and parenting has taught me the present time that children require, where contentment, even rapture, reside."

And then we got a phone call -- another snow day tomorrow  .  .  .

Waste Not, Want Not

Chef Anna helped me with a good ol' Mom Finch recipe (ol' recipe, not ol' Mom Finch) -- stuffed tomatoes.  Okay, so, it's my derivative of such, as I no longer stuff tomatoes, but rather, stir extra tomatoes into the stuffing and then bake in a pan to maximize the crunchy surface area.  Otherwise, it's her recipe.  A delightful taste sensation that is classically Finch (actually going back to my Mom's Miller Family upbringing in the coal-mining hills of Pennsylvania) -- inexpensive ingredients!  Sauteed celery and onion (w/ salt, pepper, and sage) are mixed into broken pieces of bread along with tomatoes and bacon pieces.  I call it "Bacon Tomato Stuffing."  YUM!


Of course, this savvy, pragmatic Haitian gal trumped me on the frugal factor.  After cutting up the watermelon (yeah, I know it's not the right time of year for that, either, but it sounded good, and Anna had been asking for it for two weeks), I was prepared to dump the rinds into the trash.  But, oh, no -- "Mom!  Will you save the skins for me?  I want to eat them."  Intrigued and a little concerned, I pointed to the green of the rinds and asked, "Eat this?"  She laughed at me, knowing I'd missed the obvious fact that there was yet a thin layer of red fruit flesh that could be bitten off or dug out with a spoon.  And after the main part of dinner, she did just that.  [Photo shows the food I almost wasted -- yep, that's BEFORE she (and Baylor) took their spoons to it.]

No Joke

Okay, so, a mom, her American son, and her Haitian daughter walk into a Mexican restaurant  .  .  .  after reviewing the "inside voices" expectation, and they are seated in a booth.  Sodas are ordered, nachos and salsa crunched, hot food is on the way.  The only item on the girl's plate she doesn't much appreciate is exactly what brother is coveting.  The sauteed seafood is transferred from one to the other, and both are pleased.

Daughter's south island taste dares the dare; she tries a drop from every bottle of hot sauce (yes, including the habernero, and the xxxtra hot habernero), and likes them all. 

The son who must be related to "Elf" (Will Ferrell character in tights, believes he's an elf; lives on sugar, candy, and syrup; it's the sugar part, not the tights that pertains to the boy) decides something unbelievable -- the sopapillas are too sweet (drizzled with honey).  (So the mom takes one for the team and finishes the dessert.  I know, parenthood is about sacrifices.) 

And after a dinner of magnificent manners and restaurant-appropriate voice volume, the daughter can't help but comment privately with criticism about the ladies two booths behind us -- "Mom, they are talking loud!" 

And as we enter our home, Kreyol-speaking daughter who is growing beautifully in her use of English begins counting her footsteps aloud -- uno, dos, tres, quatro  .  .  .  in Spanish.

Cluvair Arteests

Okay, so, I don't know how to make my keyboard do that little slash thing above a vowel that I think is supposed to make an "e' sound like an "a" -- just pretend that the title sounds French-ish.  Anyway, we've been busy making some artwork and getting it "installed" as "they" say in the art world  .  .  .

The finished piece

 

 The one Hunter, Bay, & Mom did collaboratively last summer

And wires were added to the girls' playroom to make room for the growing collection

Not to be outdone, Jameson made his own four-panel poster of his strengths, dreams, what he loves about Haiti, and what he loves about the U.S.  "Self" can be viewed in the "Boys' Playroom Gallery" on the west side of the south end of the second floor grand foyer.  It is showcased on the dark cork display.

Baylor's "Hibiscus," Summer 2010

Hunter's "Kiwi," Summer 2010

Honoring Anna's request for her art to be framed on the wall as is an abstract painting of Hunter's in the dining area, I scored these awesome, simple frames from Target (again, think French-esque, because we all know it's Tar-jay (soft, soft "j").  (Who can help me with this keyboard-foreign-spelling thing?  Oh, heck, who am I kidding?  I need more than a keyboard trick.)

 "Green Circle" by Jameson

The desk of Artist Anna

 And of Brain-in-overdrive-Baylor.  Has nothing to do with art, really,

just showing you what I live with.  The beige pokey things in the clay pot are the remains of the experimental planting of an entire ear of corn, that has not been watered since October. 

(But can't be thrown way.  Lord, help me.)  

 Sweet Hunter's hand print (done at age 3), Bay's newborn footprint, and NOW, Jameson's thumbprint, and Anna's puckered lips. (We tried the two-finger peace sign; doesn't translate in black paint prints.  Jameson got a big laugh seeing his sister with the gooey dark all over her kisser.)   

We also read today, and worked on sight words, and math, and writing.  (And Starbucks hot cocoa.)

Busy, busy day -- and very, very good. 

Nigh' night!



Say What?

It is with absolute affection that I delight in the kids' evolving mastery of the English language.

Even our little, American-born linguist -- Baylor -- has created humor for us with "Glam Slam" (instead of Glam Salon) or "Cookie Dough Carving" (yep, you guessed it -- Craving). 

Most notably, nuance and connotation are lost in Anna and Jameson's early phase of translation -- "It's a bad song" sounds pretty judgmental, but do you know how to indicate in a foreign language that you prefer something different to which to listen?  Okay, maybe you do, but I sure as heck do not.  When preparing my Kreyol messages for our call to Haiti, I lost any sense of eloquence in having to reword and reword so that I was able to translate with my English-Kreyol dictionary.  It's tough stuff.

The really cute things, though, are purely grammatical -- like their endings on words  .  .  .  "I'm scared" comes out as "I'm scary."  (And this phrase is used a lot in story-telling about the past.)  And the "s" is almost always lost on plurals -- "I pray that Jesus protect all my sister in Haiti  .  .  . " 

On a lighter note, when cold, they get "chicken skin," which was a nice chuckle, but the most entertaining habit is that Jameson has learned to pantomime some of his speaking as he talks so as to be better understood.  He wondered to Daddy, "How girl(s) play basketball with, you know (hands cupped beneath his chest) 'boom-boom'?"  Imagine, really, a wide-eyed, young boy asking this IN EARNEST.  Now, definitely funny.

Hangin' In There

This is the bear that Jameson told us all about as we tucked him into his sleeping bag their first night in our cottage during our visit on the HFI campus -- Monday, this January 3rd, 2011. 

He made sure to tell us that it is his favorite animal, which is saying a lot -- he is giving zoo-kid Hunter a run for his money on the plush animal collection.  And he emphasized that it is the bear he got at the hospital (UPMC in Pitt, last January, 2010) from us -- upon meeting, and just hours before being required to leave to begin what became a very, very long wait.

I remember giving plush animals to Anna and Jameson.  And I remember with certainty that at least one was a bear.  I can't seem to pull from my oatmeal brain of foggy stress and chaos the exact image of this as "the" bear, but if he's hugged it all year while waiting -- loved it 'till it's arm dangled by a few threads -- I'm gonna believe him.

One of our first tasks once finally back in Illinois was to get that arm stitched firmly into place.

And to give his owner -- our son -- a snuggly tuck-in with a back rub.  In his new bed.  At home.

Anna the Diva and Little Tiger, and A Segue or Two

Well, Miss Beatha has decided, quite seriously, that she wishes to be called by the name Anna, which will become one of her middle names when the adoption is finalized.  (We're preserving her given name as her first name on all legal documents, thinking that she may, as an adult, wish to use once again the Haitian name gifted to her by her birth mother.)  Anna is, however, a beautiful choice, and we empathize that it is, indeed, distressing to have a name that is difficult for others to pronounce.  Especially as a "new kid" in the upper elementary years.  [Anna is sort of a family name, after all -- a derivative of my and Baylor's middle name, Ann, which was the first name of my maternal great grandmother, Annie Sherry.  Yes, her last name (pronounced sure-ee) is from where my first name came!  And my paternal aunt -- the fabulous and gentle Aunt Ann, and my paternal great grandmother -- Anne Stoltz.]  Good choice, daughter! 

I tell ya, Beatha, er uh, Anna, and Jameson are two uber smart kiddos.  They ask about ev-er-y-thing -- so, so curious!  "Why do some houses not have an upstairs?"  (That's how some people like their houses.)  "Why do I need to eat healthy food if I'm not sick?"  (So you stay healthy, and grow, and have energy.)  "Can dogs eat white chocolate?"  (Yes, but Bogey is only allowed her special dog food.)  "Why can I see the veins in the back of your hand?"  (Hey!)

And our pink diva is doing quite well at letting new mom be in charge of "Tiger" (Jameson growls playfully with a beaming smile when asked to do something he'd rather not.)  He is still Jameson -- I've just got to have my own mommy nickname for him at home.  So, we've got Diva and Monkey at the 5th grade level and Tiger and Snickerdoodle in 2nd.  What a crew!  Who needs legal names anyway?  [Which reminds me of our college days -- I'm not sure if anyone at Eureka College ('91-'95 at least) had real names.  "Geick" (okay, so that was his real last name) asked me one day during senior year, "So, what is 'Cluv's' name anyway?"  (They'd lived on the same floor for over a year.)  And then, there was Peanut, Hube (oob), Footlocker, and a few names I shouldn't mention.]  Moving on  .  .  .

We've placed our first on-our-own call to Haiti to speak with the kids' birth mom and oldest brother, and all was well.  Both dial-ups went through on the first try, believe it or not!  My brief, prepared Kreyol messages were well-received, and Anna did a great job translating the rest of the time.  For the sake of privacy, I will not share the names of their birth family, but I will offer that the talks were amazing and humbling.  To hear a mother say she is very happy and will sleep well and that she prays for me to be strong (healthy) and will pray especially that night for Hunter and Baylor, too  .  .  .  to have her instruct her two youngest children to behave well and to obey me is, um, indescribable, really.  And the brother had a laughing tone of happiness in his voice, and he was pleased that I attempted some Kreyol and also lectured the kids to obey me and to work hard at school.  Resilience.  Absolute and utter resilience.  And it amazes me thoroughly in the children, too.  They speak of memory after memory -- any of which that would have brought Hunter or Baylor (or me!) to devastation -- and they carry on in a casual tone.  I have no doubt that their continued, positive contact with their birth family has given them much strength during some very difficult years.

They are both anxious to start up at school, and we are making nice progress on all of the necessary appointments and other preparations.  The decision to have ample time at home together has really paid off -- you just can't go back and get the "first days" to do over, and they are so, so comfortable in their new home, now, and with all of us.  It's remarkable the growth and progress already in just over two weeks!