Our Chicago Holiday Road Trip by the Numbers

We spent 4 wonderful days with Pa's family in Chicago over Christmas. It had been 2 1/2 years since we had last been up there. Most of Pa's family had not met Mr. Garvey, Mary, or Miss Almanzo. We had not met Baby W. Pa's family planned so many fun activities for all of the kids (9 in all). We had a cookie baking and decorating day at the Fuzzies' house and an ornament making party at cousin A's house and a birthday party for cousin G. There was lots and lots of delicious food and conversation. On the flip side, hopefully we did not create too much chaos or stress for anyone as we are quite a large bunch to have descend upon you especially when the option of sending the kids outside to play is pretty much non-existent.

The Trip Up to Chicago

800: miles driven between Chicago and South Carolina

0: extra seats in the van

1: number of times we almost ran out of gas while travelling through the section of the NC mountains with no gas station exits for about 30 miles.

2: how many times we looked like the southerners that we are by playing in the small remaining piles of snow at two Indiana rest stops.

1: number of other large trans-racial adoptive families we ran into in the middle of nowhere Indiana. (It was kind of surreal. They were a very nice family from Nashville with 3 bio boys, a daughter from China, and 2 daughters from Liberia.)

14.5: hours of music loaded into my iPod. Just enough to get us there without repeating any songs.

5: number of above songs with explicit lyrics that Pa and I forgot about. (oops!)

Weather in Chicago

50: degrees F the temperature dropped in our first 12 hours in Chicago.

40: increase in wind speed (mph) in our first 12 hours in Chicago.

2: hours the nestlings will stay outside in 25 degree weather with 40 mph winds and a couple piles of snow.

1: hours Pa was willing to stay outside in the above conditions.

0: hours Ma was willing to stay outside in the above conditions.

Accommodations

5: nights spent in a hotel

4: number of beds

5: different sleeping combinations of 7 people in the above 4 beds for 5 nights.

3: number of times I awoke to find by pregnant self squished between Pa and any one of the given 5 nestlings.

4: number of nights Mr. Edwards woke me with fears of spider bites, poison, or nerve gas.

0: number of nights Ma got a full night's sleep

Lego Store

00 (infinite): how far a posh Michigan Avenue shopping center, with a much coveted Lego store, is from Mary, Miss Almanzo, and Mr. Garvey's village of Lafto Lenka in Ethiopia

5: combined minutes it took Mr. Laura, Miss Almanzo, and Mr. Edwards to select their Lego purchases.

40: combined minutes it took Mary and Mr. Garvey to select their Lego purchases.

Ethiopian Food

12: number of Ethiopians we met at an Ethiopian restaurant

12: number of Ethiopians who repeatedly told Pa and I "Thank you. Thank you for what you've done."

3: number of nestlings who moaned and ooohed and aaahed and ate themselves sick on the delicious Ethiopian food.

2: number of adults who did the same.

1: number of nestlings who left the Ethiopian restaurant hungrier than when he got there. (That would be Mr. Laura - he is such a picky, picky eater. Plus he knew there would be cookies at the ornament making party at cousin A's house.)

7: number of times our Ethiopian children tried to get our server to bring them bunna (coffee).

7: number of times our server told our Ethiopian children it was not good for them to drink bunna.

Behavior and Good Times

5: number of extremely well-behaved nestlings.

2: number of nestlings who wanted to be left in Chicago with Pa's family. (That would be Mr. Edwards and Mary. Saying good-bye was difficult for both of them.)

The Trip Home

0: cubic inches of cargo volume remaining in the van for the trip home.

3: number of traffic jams we sat in on our way home.

3: hours late we were getting home.

3643: number of times Mr. Laura said, "oh my butt hurts" on the last 2 hours of the trip.

0: number of times Pa and I wished we had DVD or video game capability in the car.

1: number of times the nestlings bickered with each other.

18: hours the kids kept themselves busy in the van with made up games, reading, writing, and drawing.

2: number of times someone said they were bored.

The Good Memories

562: number of times Baby Walker's name has been mentioned since we left Chicago.

642: number of times the nestlings have asked when will we be going back to Chicago to see everyone.

Home Sweet Home

5: loads of laundry done after we returned home.

2: hours it took to clean the van.

Spankings or "The Naughty List": The Great Debate (hypothetically speaking)

A few nights before Christmas, Mr. Laura, Mr. Garvey and I were sitting at the kitchen table making ornaments. Mr. Laura brought up the topic of who's nicer Ma and Pa or Santa. With a few questions from me, this started a debate between Mr. Laura and Mr. Garvey.

Mr. Laura: I think Santa is the nicest person in the whole world. Ma and Pa are second.

Ma: What makes Santa so nice?

Mr. Laura: He brings us presents every year.

Ma: What about that naughty list? That doesn't sound too nice.

Mr. Laura: Yeah but he doesn't whip us.

Ma: When is the last time you were spanked*?

Mr. Laura: I don't get spankings.

Mr. Garvey: I think parents are nicer because they only spank you. Santa won't bring you any gifts. That's mean.

Ma: But we've never hit you.

Mr. Garvey: I know, but if you did that would be better than not getting presents.

Mr. Laura: I still think Santa is nicer.

I find it interesting to note their positions in light of their vastly different backgrounds up until the last 18 months. For Mr. Garvey, physical punishment was common and material goods scarce when he lived in Ethiopia. Mr. Garvey is nothing if not careful with his things. He keeps everything organized and becomes upset if he loses or breaks anything. He sees the idea of Santa withholding gifts as unforgivable because he so cherishes everything that is his. On the other hand, Mr. Laura who has grown up in the land-of-plenty (or should I say the land-of-too-much) and scarce physical punishment takes the opposite view. I think he believes that if he were to get on the "naughty list" and not receive gifts that eventually there would be more. He doesn't see his supply of goods threatened or scarce at all. For him, the idea of physical punishment is more unforgivable.

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*In the spirit of full disclosure, Mr. Laura went through a very frustrating phase as a 2 and 3 year old where he would bite Mr. Edwards, often drawing blood. It would not be unusual for Mr. Edwards to have 4 or 5 bite marks on his body at any given time. After many other failed attempts to curb this behavior, I did resort to giving him a pop on his bottom or hand. It was not effective in the least. What finally worked was Mr. Edwards becoming frustrated enough with being Mr. Laura's personal human chew toy that he bit Mr. Laura back. And so ended the biting.

Navigation

It was not my intention to drop completely off the blogging radar, but sometimes life calls. About two months ago, in response a friend's question regarding how my mother was doing, I wrote that although she wasn't in great shape, she at least seemed to have stabilized for now. At the time "stable" felt like a relief to say after the summer we'd just experienced. I still vividly remember hesitating with my choice of the word "stable". Although not really superstitious, I did worry that using my mom's name and "stable" in the same sentence might jinx the situation. I was hopeful though, so I kept it as is. As it turned out using "stable" was a bit premature.

Mom suddenly lost her ability to walk on October 29th and spent three weeks in the hospital. She then spent two weeks at a rehabilitation center trying unsuccessfully to learn to walk again. The rehab was too intensive given her overall weakness. It was recommended that she go to a skilled nursing facility where the therapy would be conducted at a pace more suitable to her current condition. This has caused considerable angst between my grandmother and us (my sister, my brother, and myself). My grandmother is hard of hearing which makes these discussions all the more difficult. My grandmother won't hear of a nursing home. She wants her home. In truth, we all want her home, but we disagree on the best path there. Going home directly means 2 care workers in the house 24/7 as she is completely bedridden and it takes at least two people to lift her. It also means less therapy than she would receive in the skilled nursing facility. The reality of the situation is that my mom cannot afford in-home care. In my heart I also believe that she will get better care and therapy at a facility.

Both my sister and I have offered to have my mom transferred to a facility near either one of us and for my grandmother to move into our homes. They are adamant that they want to stay in their current city. Even though I feel that my mother's care could be better monitored with more eyes on the situation I can't make them move. I am finding peace currently by continuing to let them know that my offer is still on the table should they change their minds. In light of their desire, my sister and I spent an afternoon touring facilities. We found a nice one that was close enough that my grandmother could very easily visit everyday. We took my grandmother to tour the facility and even got her blessing. The rehab facility had a wonderful caseworker who helped me get the arrangements made. My mom was all set to go on Tuesday.

I received a call Tuesday morning saying that she was being readmitted to the hospital because her liver was not functioning properly. In the last few days test after test has been run and we are waiting on the results. We do not yet know what is wrong this time, what procedure, if any, will be needed, if she is even strong enough to endure anything else, and she has lost her spot at the nursing facility and moved onto the waiting list.

Everything is up in the air again. I hate the feeling. I'm a planner. I'm an organizer. I'm a fixer. I'm a bit of a control freak. While it may seem silly (or at least leave gaping holes) to base one's life philosophy on a movie, I'm not sure where I would be in life if I had never seen Out of Africa. Once again I'm finding words to live by in this current situation. In the movie, Tanne is reflecting on how she and her love interest, Denys, navigate differently. She says that perhaps Denys understands something that she does not - that the world was made round so that we could not see too far ahead.

I find these words comforting not so much for what they say, but for the world they negate. - the one where we would know everything that is going to happen and when. I find this to be a much more frightening alternative. So when my mom's situation begins to feel out of control, I repeat these words to myself, and work on shortening my view and surrendering to the current of life.

And Now Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Mother

I ran across this post about 6 weeks ago and have been coveting the day that it too would apply to me. I believe that day has come. I think I can finally say the first trimester is loosening its death grip on me. This week I have begun to actually take an interest again in providing a clean, stimulating home abundantly stocked with healthy snacks and meals for those five lovely darlings currently depending on me for such things.

So here's to turning up the funky house music, baking a batch of cookies, and cleaning the house before my worst fear is realized; that being that all the hair the two dogs have shed in the last few weeks will reconstitute into a third dog before it is vacuumed up.

Wanting Things that Don't Matter Not to Matter

Mr. Garvey is a wonderful person. I often hear many complimentary comments from other adults who come in contact with him. They usually tell me how polite he is, how well-mannered and well-behaved he is, how mature he is, how smart he is, how athletic he is, how he looks out for the younger kids and plays well with everyone. All of this is true.

Underneath all of this, though, is young boy who has known and seen suffering that I can't begin to imagine. He grieves daily for his Ethiopian family that he loves and misses more than he can say. Sometimes a sound or smell triggers a memory and you can see the sadness sweep over his face. He becomes very quiet and introverted, lost in his thoughts and memories. He use to cry, but he rarely does that anymore because he has realized how much it upsets his sisters. He remembers his Ethiopian father's mandate that he must take care of his sisters. So he soldiers on silently and stoically waiting for the melancholia to pass. He waits to feel more settled and then returns to being his usual upbeat and determined self.

His life in U.S. has been pretty uneventful in a good way. He has transitioned into a new family, country, culture, and language with very few bumps in the road. He has embraced the many opportunities he now has without losing his perspective. Mr. Garvey has opened his heart to us and accepted us without reserve. He has forgiven us for any of our missteps along the way and is always willing to let us try again.

I have been pleased and relieved that Mr. Garvey and his sisters have been so openly accepted by our families, neighbors, and community at large. Racism, at least anything overt, has been non-existent. However, I knew at some point living in a small southern town that one of my kids would be the recipient of a cruel and confusing comment about skin color. It happened to Mr. Garvey the other night at gymnastics.

A new boy joined his class last week and teased him that he has been eating too much chocolate and that is why his skin is so dark. He went on to suggest that Mr. Garvey start drinking white milk as a means to becoming white. Mr. Garvey told him that he liked his skin color and did not want to change it. New Boy replied, "I doubt that. Nobody would want to have skin that is your color."

I want to tell New Boy how presumptuous and cruel and disturbing his comments are. I want to tell him that it is who we are and what we do with our lives that is more important than what any of us look like. I want him to know what Mr. Garvey knows. I want him to know what is like to live without enough food. I want him to know what it is like to see your own father refuse to eat so that you and your siblings may eat. I want him to know what it feels like to know that escaping the grinding poverty depends on getting an education but that your family only has enough money to send the oldest son to school and that's not you. I want him to know how it feels to be alone herding goats when a lion shows up. I want him to know how your life depends on being able to climb high and fast into a tree. I want him to understand how it feels to lose everything sacred and familiar and to begin again with strangers in a strange land. I want him to know how it feels to be told you are less than others because of a way you look. Of course, I don't literally wish any of these trials and tribulations on anyone including New Boy, but I do wish for things that don't matter not to matter.

Mr. Garvey wants me to let the matter drop. He doesn't want to cause any trouble. He understands that what New Boy said is wrong and cruel. He tells me that it is New Boy's problem not his. He is prepared to just ignore New Boy. I feel ignoring this is not acceptable. We have agreed, for now, that I will speak privately to his coach so that he can keep an ear out for any inappropriate remarks in the future.

Anyone else have any wisdom they'd like to share?

A Mr. Laura Declaration

We told the kids about the pregnancy pretty early on mainly because I was feeling so bad that I needed them to understand that I wouldn't exactly be myself for awhile. We cautioned them that it was early and that sometimes something goes wrong and that a baby would not be born in May. Mr. Laura always says good night to the baby and finishes with "See you in May - maybe." The other day he walked up to me and said, "I know nothing is going to happen to the baby. He's gonna be all right." I replied, "You are pretty sure of yourself. I hope you are right." To which he declared, "I am sure of myself. Mr. Edwards and I were both in your belly as babies and we both made it out alive."

By George I Think She Finally Understands

I have written before about how much the girls argue with each other. Their arguments are never of very much substance or really ever about anything in particular. They are more of the endless "Yes it is - No it isn't - Yes it is - No it isn't" variety. My latest attempts at curbing this behavior is to simply point out the behavior when it is happening. That usually works for a little while until they find a new topic to disagree on. I was hoping that this might help them recognize the behavior and eventually allow them to police themselves. I, of course, had not seen much improvement and then I had the following conversation with Miss Almanzo the other night:

Miss Almanzo: I'm sorry for not listening very well today.

Ma: It's ok. We all have bad days. It is important for me to know that I can count on you to listen to me. Sometimes it is very important. I know you will do better tomorrow.

Miss Almanzo: I can't do it. I don't know how.

Ma: Yes, you can.

Miss Almanzo: No, I can't.

Ma: Yes you can. All you have to do is try.

Miss Almanzo: Now you are arguing with me.

That's progress, right? She recognized the pattern and called me on it!