Been Thinkin'...

...A lot lately about the girls' birthmoms and birthfamilies.

Now, this might have something to do with the fact that I have 2 photo books burning a hole in my kitchen counter as they have been sitting there since early December, just waiting for me to mail them to our agency already!! (A is going to do it tomorrow for me.)

It may have something to do with the fact that I finally got a reply to an email inquiring about birthfamily contact that I'd sent to our adoption case manager weeks ago after reading something on my agency's listserv.

It may be that R has been asking a lot of questions again lately. Tonight, about both her birthmother and her birthfather-- as well as her sister's birthfamily.

It may be that I showed some pictures to E of her with her birthmom yesterday. To which she pointed at her birthmom and said, "Mommy!" (Is there any way possible that she remembers her birthmom and knows who she is?)

It may be that E will be two in a few weeks, and I've been thinking a lot about that.

I mean, the thing is I think about the girls' birthfamilies A LOT on a general basis. Multiple times daily... And when I do think of them, I always pause to pray for them. I wrestle constantly with the fact that I don't know more about my girls' first families. I am their mother, but that does not change the fact that two other women were their mothers first.

Sorry this blog has been a bit of a downer lately. I suppose it is because I've been in a bit of a funk the past month or so.

Memory

25 years ago, I sat in my first grade classroom and watched on live TV while the Challenger blew up in a million pieces right before my eyes. I was 6 at the time, and I believe that event was the first really tragic moment I truly remember. When I got home, I told my mom about it. She was home that day and was very pregnant with my little brother. (He was born on Feb. 6 of that year.) I remember her not believing me. She said something like, "honey there is alway a lot of smoke when shuttles go into space. That's probably what you saw." Finally, after my insistence, she turned on the TV and saw I was right.

I remember the Challenger explosion through the eyes of a child, and I always sort of pinpoint that event as the first thing that I can truly remember where I was and what I was doing. There are other moments-- of course-- since then that I can remember the wheres and when. 9/11, when my grandparents died, other tragedies both public and personal.

I know the man who was the runner-up in the search for the first teacher to go into space. He lives in my area, works at a local university, and has been a consultant for my school district for several years. He trained alongside Christa McAuliffe just in case she could not go for some reason. I think sometimes about how much that would have changed me. Getting that close to something that amazing, training for it, and then, watching shuttle blow up into a million pieces.

I think sometimes we get so close, want something so badly, and then... we don't get it. Or then again, maybe we do. Maybe we get what we need in other ways, at other times. There have been things in life I wanted so badly and not gotten. At the time, it is hard to keep it in perspective and to understand. Time passes, wounds heal. There are new wants and needs. Doesn't that happen in life a thousand times?

I don't really know where I'm going with all this. I guess, I just know that when I look back on my life, I don't want to have regrets about how it turned out. I want to know that the path I take and the decisions I have made were good and right and the best I could have made. How does that connect to the 25th anniversary of the Challenger disaster? It's my blog. I don't always have to make sense!

Can't Forget

It was late and raining when we touched down in Addis Ababa. I was exhausted from 26+ hours of travel. So happy to back in Ethiopia to bring our second daughter home. Returning to Ethiopia was, after all, a homecoming of sorts. I felt confident and calm as we loaded the van, hopped in, and started the journey from the airport to our hotel.

People on the streets. Homeless. This time, unlike last time, begging children do not swarm the van, thank god.

We chat with the others who are in our travel group, and A and I start to recognize some landmarks.

We stop at a light, a rarity in Ethiopia.

A man emerges from under the cover of a tree and approaches the van.

He is practically naked, wearing only gym (basketball) shorts. Rain rolls down his face. His feet are bare. The elastic has come out of the shorts so he holds them bunched in one hand.

In the other, a piece of paper. The paper has some writing on it and a photograph. He speaks to us, his voice desperately pleading. We cannot understand what he is saying. His expression is one of pain, of suffering, of agony. I don't think I will ever forget what his face looked like.

No one in the van gives him money. All, I think, are in shock as the light changes and drive away.

I cannot tell you how often I think of this man, alone, desperate, begging to people in a van. For what? I do not know.

But I do know that I wish I would have reached into my bag and handed him some birr. Even in saying this, it is for a selfish reason-- so that I would not feel the way I do now about that man, so that I would not think about him and wish I had handled the situation differently.

Sometimes, the suffering and pain and poverty of the people of my children's beautiful homeland overwhelms me. I feel helpless to do anything. I think of that man on that night and other equally horrifying things I experienced in my 2 trips to bring our children home.

Please, God, forgive me for not helping that man.

New House

My parents are building a new house. It's been a long time coming (they bought the land over two years ago by now and had the plans for it shortly after that), but they'd been waiting to sell their current house to start it. Considering that only 3 people have looked at their house in the past 12 months, that's not seeming to happen anytime soon. But, anyway, due to a few factors, they decided to go ahead and start with construction in Nov. The girls and I went with my dad last week to see the progress and for the girls to pick out which bedroom will be their room-- the princess bedroom. Here are a few pictures!

The front of the house...

Peering through the construction.

Babies looking out the window of "their" bedroom. Nice view of the lake!

The Luxury of Water

I read the book A Long Walk to Water this week. It is a YA lit book about Sudan based on the life story of a Sudanese man who was one of what is known as the Lost Boys of Sudan. The book actually follows his story but is juxtaposed with a story of a young girl whose daily task is walking miles and miles to gather water for her family each day.

The Sudanese man started a non-profit that builds wells for villages in Sudan. So I've been thinking a lot this week.

First, about how to integrate this book in my curriculum for next year, and I think I've found a way. (Oh, yeah, I'm probably going to be teaching 8th grade again next year.) With another book I taught, my students did a huge research project on non-profits that do good around the world and in our own community. Most of my students lack the ability to see outside our community for a variety of reasons. Anyway, I was trying to figure out how combine both the novel I previously used with this new one. I'm actually really excited by the idea of using this book along with the other one, which is a piece of historical fiction. I feel like my students need to be able to connect with something current; the book was published in 2010...

Second, another adoptive mom I "know" recently returned to Ethiopia. One thing that struck me from reading about her experiences was that she said that people in southern Ethiopia were constantly searching for water. That is their whole lives, the finding of water, which is necessary for survival.

And, then there's me. I have the luxury of going to any one of the faucets in my house, turning on water, and using as much of it as I want with the guarantee that it is safe for my family and for me. I think of those people of southern Ethiopia whose children cannot go to school because their job is to gather water... something I take for granted.

I don't understand why I have the privilege of living in a country where water is an afterthought, while the people of my children's birth country do not have access to water... and if they do, it may or may not (usually not) safe for them to drink and use.

How the hell is that fair?

D.I.V.A.

The Plunge

Some travel group friends of ours are starting their second adoption process this week. Like I told her, in a lot of ways, I wish we were ready to start again!

For example, as I drove today to pick up the girls from work, I was thinking a lot about our next adoption. I had almost convinced myself that of course we were ready! Let's go! I'll tell A tonight that we should start again. Sure, we have less than 1/2 the money we'd need to fund another adoption and our kids are little.... But R would be 4 and E 3 when a new child came home... That's doable, right??? Yeah, we can totally do that. Let's go! E's been home a year, and it was when R was home a year that we started the process for a second time. I'll call my case manager tonight and email our social worker!

Umm, riiiight. That's easy to convince oneself in the quiet of the car (ok, van!) as I drive to pick up the babies. And then I pick up the kids. I love them dearly, but R was crazy tonight again, and E is definitely entering the terrible twos (will be 2 next month) as well.

And I realize how incredibly crazy I am.

There is no way.

I mean, come on! Like I've said before, I'm not ready yet. No way. I feel like I'm already not a great mom for my 2 precious girls. It would be unfair to add another child to our family now-- unfair to A and me, to the girls, and of course to another child. I don't know how people with lots of little ones do it. Being a mom is so overwhelming to me sometimes.

I'm just not ready to take the plunge...