HELP WANTED

On Sunday the girls woke up determined to fight, argue, and bicker with each other ALL DAY LONG. It drove the other five of us insane. They drove the boys so crazy that they declared it a "boy day" and played together in their room for most of the afternoon. We tried talking to the girls about it. We tried pointing out the behavior when it was happening. We tried ignoring it. We tried distracting them with new activities. We tried separating them by forbidding them to be in the same room together. Nothing worked. They seemed determined to annoy and be annoyed by each other no matter what. Their last argument before I finally banned them from being in the same room at the same time went something like this.

Mary: Can I try your dress on?

Miss Almanzo: No. It is too small for you.

Mary: Please, please can I try your dress on?

Miss Almanzo: No. It won't fit you.

Mary: I just want to try it on one time.

This continues for several minutes.

Miss Almanzo: I said no. Take my first answer. Quit asking me the same question again and again.

Mary: I did not ask you the same question again.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you did.

Mary: No I didn't.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you did!

Mary: No I didn't.

At this point you could safely go for a 30 minute run and not worry that you missed anything. Their arguing continued with each "Yes you did" and "No I didn't" getting increasingly louder. Miss Almanzo finally broke the stalemate with the following.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you did and now you are arguing with me.

Mary: I am not arguing with you.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you are!

Mary: No I'm not.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you are!

Mary: No I'm not.

At this point you could grab a quick bite to eat without fear of missing any of the argument. Their "Yes you are" and "No I'm not" volleying continued until I could take it no longer. Now they were actually arguing with each other over whether they were arguing with each other. I sent them to different parts of the house until dinner. Mary went upstairs to her room and fell asleep. Peace and harmony settled over the house for an hour or so with the exception of an argument between Mr. Laura and Mr. Garvey. It went like this.

Mr. Laura: Can I play with your cars?

Mr. Garvey: No because you break them.

Mr. Laura: I didn't break them. It was an accident.

Mr. Garvey: Maybe in a little while.

Mr. Laura: I don't like you any more.

Mr. Garvey: That is not a nice thing to say.

Mr. Laura stomps off upstairs mad. Moments later he is back and he and Mr. Garvey are laughing and rolling around on the floor together.

There is definitely something to be said for the way the males in general handle their disagreements. They say what they have to say and then they move on. What is the significance of the way women argue and hold grudges? I know my sister and I fought like this as children. I can still hold a grudge when I feel that I have been unfairly treated. Anybody out there have any good suggestions for curbing the non-stop bickering and arguing between their daughters?

"Extremely Fascinating", Well Perhaps Not Anymore

Mr. Laura was an easy child for me to fall in love with. He was this incredibly happy, easy-going, snugly baby. He only had eyes for me for the longest time (I'm talking years and years and years.) . I must say I savored every moment of it. He learned how to charm the socks off of me from his earliest words. As a toddler, instead of saying "up" or "hold me" when he wanted to be picked up, he would toddle through the house declaring, "I want to hold you, momma". Needless to say he made me feel like he was doing me a favor by allowing me to heft his 30 or so pounds at his every whim. And needless to say, I picked him up often. As his vocabulary increased so did the words that I would find irresistible. He would still tell me he wanted to hold me and after I indulged him by picking him up, he would tell me things like "You are beautiful" or "You are delicious". As he grew and began to ask all of the "Why?" and "How come?" questions, he would often say, after I answered his questions, "You are extremely fascinating". Again and again he would manage to turn the situation around to where it was I who felt I had been given the greater gift in our interaction. I've been dreading the day that I would be replaced as the center of his universe. I know it will happen. I know it should happen. I already see signs that it is happening. So far it has been a nice gradual process. He hasn't completely pulled the rug out from under me. Things may be a changing though.

The other day we spent the afternoon at a friend's house. Mr. Laura, rather than playing with the other children, chose to spend his time with our friends' two dogs. A blissful and content expression settled on Mr. Laura's face for the rest of the day. After returning home, he described in great detail his afternoon with the dogs. He was very animated in his speech and gestures as he described the dogs' personalities, what he liked about each one, and how they interacted with him and each other. He then asked if animals had doctors. I said yes, they are called veterinarians. He declared that he would like to be a veterinarian and asked how he could become one. We talked about what kind of schooling was required. Always the planner, he wanted answers to such practical questions as Where the school was?, When could he start?, and my personal favorite, Would I be able to drop him off and pick him up from school?

I explained that although he was too young for formal training yet, that it was never too soon to start learning all he can about the animals he is most interested in. The more he learned now the easier school would be. I also mentioned that when he was a bit older he could volunteer at our local animal shelter and then as a teenager probably get a part-time job at a local veterinarian's office. Again he had some practical concerns, such as, Will I have to perform surgery on the animals?, How will I know what medicine to give each animal? and What if the dog is bigger than me?

Later that evening he approached me. Pen and paper in hand and poised to take notes, he wanted to know "what are the medicines that animals take?". When I explained that it depended on what was wrong with the animal. He then asked, "What kind of diseases do animals get?". I suggested that these questions were too broad and that he choose a particular animal to study. A bit disappointed that I was unable to provide him with a complete and comprehensive answer to the disease pathology and pharmacological treatments for any and all animals, he replied, "Let's keep it simple. How about a cat?". "Wild cat or house cat," I inquired. "House cat," he stated. I told him we could look for books on house cats the next time we were at the library. The disappointment became more pronounced across his face as he, maybe for the for the first time, realized that I don't know everything. He certainly at that moment did not find me "extremely fascinating". Ready or not Mr. Laura is growing up.

A Taste of Nepal or Not?

The clean kitchen and a new saute pan have put me in a cooking mood. Here are a few pictures of our lunch today. It was simple to make and I thought absolutely gorgeous to look at. Even better was that it tasted so delicious. The kids absolutely inhaled it. I scraped every last morsel from the pots and left the kids asking for more.

Another nice thing about the recipe is that you can substitute vegetables based what is seasonally and locally available. Green beans, sweet potatoes, eggplant, or cauliflower just to name a few would have all been as equally scrumptious. Today I used yellow squash, carrots, zucchini, and snow peas. They are cooked in a coconut curry sauce and served with rice and a red lentil dal which is seasoned with garlic, ginger, and turmeric. The flavors and textures were wonderful in our mouths. I can't wait to make it again with varying combinations of local vegetables that will be available throughout this growing season.

The recipe is from one of my favorite cookbooks called "The World in Your Kitchen: Vegetarian Recipes form Africa, Asia, and Latin America". It is a Nepalese dish called Dal-bhaat and tarkari (or Lentils and curried vegetables). According to the book and I quote, "This is the main Nepali meal. In the villages, rice is served only to guests or on festival occasions. Instead, a heavy porridge is made from maize, millet, or wheat flour boiled in water. The lentils or vegetables are often omitted and a single accompanying sauce called tyun is made from whatever dried beans or vegetables are available - such as stinging nettle and fern shoots".

I do take pause to consider that a meal I consider fairly basic and economic may be considered a meal to be served only on special occasions or to guests in another part of the world.

The Best Kind of Quiet

We awoke this morning to cooler temps and a slow and steady rain. Perfect conditions for a lazy morning and eventually some intensive cleaning. Our kitchen has been a bit of a disaster lately. With all of the trips we have been making to see my mom, the kitchen counters have become a collection point for all sorts of items. If there is one room in my house that I need to have clean and neat, it is the kitchen. I become miserable and grumpy until order is reestablished. Pa and I decided to give it a thorough cleaning today. We banished the kids and dogs from the kitchen and got to work.

Sometime while cleaning, we realized the house had become extremely quiet. When you live with five kids, a quiet house is rare and is usually not a good sign. Unsure of what may be going on, I decided to investigate. Here's what I found:


On the rare occasions that I find myself alone in my house, I never enjoy it as much as I expect to. I often find myself counting down the hours until everyone is back home safe and sound. The silence of an empty house always leaves me with feelings of longing and uneasiness. Today's quiet was sublime. Today's silence, while it lasted, filled me with peace and contentment.

Silver Linings

It has been a while since I have posted. Life has certainly presented us with some challenges lately. In mid April, it took three weeks for a respiratory infection which was more irritating than serious to work its way through all seven of us. Since the beginning of May we have been trying to convince my mom to see a doctor. She began acting in strange ways and had really become the "anti-mom". She was saying and doing things that were so definitely out of character. She was often disoriented, confused and unorganized. Finally on May 11 we got her to agree to see her doctor. She has been hospitalized ever since. In fact, on May 17th she had the first of 2 planned brain surgeries. Thankfully it was successful and she is getting along well.

Mother's Day this year was to be a milestone of sorts for me. Last year this time was both difficult and surreal. Five days before I was to leave for Ethiopia to meet Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo for the first time, my mom phoned to say she had been diagnosed with breast cancer and would be having surgery in two days. I made the two hour trip to be with her during the surgery and the day after. My grandmother, sister, and brother assured me that they had everything under control and that I should continue with my trip. I rushed back home to finish packing and to say goodbye to Pa, Mr. Edwards, and Mr. Laura. I spent most of Mother's Day that year 37,000 feet above the earth somewhere between Rome and Addis Ababa worrying about my mother, missing Pa, Mr. Edwards and Mr. Laura, and anxious about meeting my new children.

My Mother's Day expectations were high this year. This was my date for which I planned to look back and see how far we've come in exactly one year. My mom had finished her chemo in December and was getting stronger and more active this entire year. Life at home had really settled down. Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo are family now. No longer do I feel like I am babysitting for Ethiopia and wondering when their parents are coming to get them. So spending this Mother's Day in the hospital with my mom learning that her breast cancer had metastasized to her brain was not what I had foreseen.

Despite the circumstances, the mood was surprisingly light and often even funny. One of the lesions on my mom's brain was affecting her memory. She would often say the same thing over and over. Her most repeated statement was "Where is my black bag with my lipstick? Make sure you don't lose that. I really need it." She would also have times when she could not recall our names and would refer to us as that woman or that man. Her personality had also changed. She was mellow and relaxed and often displayed an uncharacteristic sense of humor. On the night she was admitted to the hospital, the nurses kept trying to get her to take her jeans off. She insisted on wearing them under the hospital gown because in her words "I'm breaking out of here just as soon as I get the chance."

Even though I'd rather my mom not be facing 2 brain surgeries and the impending radiation with all the horrible, horrible side effects, I am grateful to have experienced, even in a situation like this, unexpected moments of joy and laughter. I am humbled by all of those I know who have come out of the woodwork with all sorts of offers to help with my kids during the times I have to be away helping my mom. I am glad that my sister, brother, and I can work together to figure out how we are going to rearrange our lives to be there for our mom. I am finally so thankful for my children who even in the most seemingly somber of occasions can lighten the mood and make people smile. There are always silver linings.

Handstands, Perspective, and Daughters

The kids have been working on handstands in gymnastics. As I have already written about, Mary absolutely loves gymnastics. It continues to be a great source of joy for her. She spent all of last week at a gymnastics camp and thoroughly enjoyed herself. Recently she asked me if I would help her with her handstand. I was more than happy to oblige.

Handstands happen to be one of my most favorite things to do in yoga class. Handstands are inversions in "yoga speak". Inversions are important because they facilitate a different perspective not just physically but mentally as well. From a physical point of view, turning your body upside down reverses the effects of gravity, nourishes your brain, and activates certain glands. Yoga for me, however, is more than physical. Yoga helps me challenge and change my mental habits as well. Inversions give me not only a new perspective physically while I am in the pose but emotionally and spiritually long after the class is over.

Doing handstands together with Mary was fun and got me thinking about this past year. It has been almost one year since Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo joined our family. It has been a year of big transitions for everyone. Overall I would say that everything is just about where I hoped it would be at the one year mark. Life feels settled and normal again, albeit much more busy. Many of my perspectives on life, mothering, and gender have been challenged. I still struggle with how to be as good of a mom to 5 kids as I was to 2. I have learned and am still learning what it means to be a mother to daughters. There is definitely a different dynamic between mothers and daughters than mothers and sons. On that front, I am still a work in progress.

I recall when Pa and I first began considering the adoption of a child, we were going to adopt one baby girl. We had two sons and although I love those two boys more than I can say, with each pregnancy I secretly hoped for a girl. Once Pa and I decided on Ethiopia, one girl quickly became two sisters. We felt that with the transracial and transcultural issues this adoption would present, it would be nice for our new child to have someone else in the family who would completely understand the experience of being adopted, of losing your culture, of looking different than the rest of your family. Long story short one baby girl became three older children.

Once we knew Mr. Garvey, Mary, and Miss Almanzo would be joining our family, my biggest fear was how I would bond with Mr. Garvey. I was afraid that I might find out that I could not love him like I love my bio sons. I was so relieved to find that these worries were just worries. I liked Mr. Garvey instantly and I felt that he fit right into our family as if he had always been here. I never had these concerns about Mary and Miss Almanzo. After all they are girls and I use to be a girl. This should be a piece of cake right? Well having daughters is a lot different than having sons. For those of you with children of both genders feel free to laugh. I know. I know. Boys and girls are different. On an intellectual level I get it. I just didn't know what it would mean in a real world situation.

Here is an example:

Ma: It's time for bed.

Boys all run up give me a kiss, hug, and the customary "Sweet Cheese. I love you. See you tomorrow. Night. Night." The boys head up the stairs to their room not to be seen again until morning.

Ma: Girls, it is time for bed. The boys are all ready upstairs. Let's go.

Girls saunter in. I get the kiss, the hug, the customary "Sweet Cheese. I love you. See you tomorrow. Night. Night." They however do not proceed up the stairs to their room. Suddenly they have 5 million tidbits of information they need to tell you right this minute. They double team Pa and I talking at a breakneck pace without even a pause to catch their breath. I'm not sure how they keep from passing out. Their volume increases with each new statement as they try to be heard over the other. Now I am one of those annoyingly chipper morning people. When I wake up I am ready to go. Evenings are a different story. I have less patience, less ability to go with the flow. I try to listen for a few minutes, but then my head is spinning. I'm tired. I just want quiet. I finally convince them that some of this information can wait until morning. The kissing and the hugging commence again. They finally head upstairs. On good nights we won't see them again until morning. Other nights there are some topics that really, in their opinion, can't wait until morning, thus forcing them to come back downstairs and share.

On one night in particular, when it finally appears that the girls are in bed for the night, I turn to Pa and ask, "Why do you think that they must tell us every detail of every move they make or even think about making? Why do they tell us every thought they have?"

Pa laughs. He also looks at me as if I just asked the proverbial "Does this make me look fat?" question. He seems uncomfortable and isn't sure he should say what he is thinking. I finally insist. He begrudgingly answers, "They're little women."

I respond, "You mean this is a woman thing? Is this something I do also?"

Rather than answer the direct question, he replies that women like to talk and in general talk more than men. Turns out he's right. According to a show I heard recently on NPR, women speak an average of 22,000 words per day and men only 7,000 words per day. I would say Pa is on the low end for men and me for women. Mary and Miss Almanzo are definitely on the other side of the curve making up for all us quieter women. Mary must hit a good 35,000 words per day and Miss Almanzo is completely off the charts. Guess I am going to have to start encouraging them to talk more in the morning, if I am going to have quieter evenings.

Root Beer and Salad

Mr. Laura informed me this morning that he had tasted root beer for the first time this past weekend when he slept over at a friend's house. I asked him how he liked it. Evidently it was a tongue tingling, taste bud extravaganza that he thoroughly enjoyed. I stated that I had never liked root beer. I still vividly remember my first taste of root beer when I was six years old. It left an impression on me quite different from Mr. Laura's experience. He was really baffled that someone could not LOVE root beer and so the questioning began.....

Mr. Laura: Why don't you like root beer?

Ma: I don't know.

Mr. Laura (not satisfied with the answer): Yeah, but why don't you like it?

Ma: I just don't like the way it tastes.

Mr. Laura (still not satisfied): What don't you like about the taste?

Ma: I really don't know.

More questioning along these lines continued for what felt like hours and finally concluded with these last few exchanges.

Mr. Laura (getting exasperated): What do you mean you don't know?

Ma (getting equally exasperated): I just don't. Why don't you like brussel sprouts?

Mr. Laura (quite triumphantly): Because they taste like salad without sauce.

If I follow Mr. Laura's line of reasoning to its conclusion, then for me root beer tastes like a root without the beer. Perhaps this answer will satisfy him.