Friday, August 25, 2006

A Friend Writes


Parents of transracial adoptees manage to draw strident criticism and fawning adoration, and I don't know which is more annoying.

A friend of mine wrote an eloquent post to a list that discusses transracial adoption. I thought it was so powerful that I asked her for permission to reprint it. Here it is.

There was a post a couple of weeks that to me said that no matter what I did as a parent, I was going to fail. My boys would never know a moment of happiness as adults. They would hate me. They would be constantly miserable because of racism in their world. They would grow up thinking it was better to have died in infancy than to have had to deal with the pain and anguish of their adult lives. And that I had sealed this terrible fate for them the moment my racist colonialist white self got on the plane for China.

Sigh...for me, as a parent, the struggle is about optimism. All parents, not just those raising transracially adopted kids, are constantly bombarded with so many messages about what it takes to successfully parent. Kids need to have 7.5 servings of veggies a day and get 1.5 hours of exercise or they'll grow up obese. And please also spend an hour a day reading with each one or they'll grow up illiterate. Spend 'x' amount of quality time with each one each day on top of the reading and exercise and veggie time so that they'll know how to have fulfilling relationships with other adults. Make sure the carseat is installed just right. Less than an hour of TV a day. Don't let them play competitive sports because it will damage their self-esteem. Encourage them to play competitive sports because it builds self esteem. Give them an allowance and tie it to chores so they'll learn responsibility. Give them an allowance but don't tie it to chores because studies show that this is ineffective. Please work in at least two playdates with peers a week so they'll have strong friendships. Raise them in church. Don't raise them in church. Give them structure. Don't give them structure as it stifles creativity. Homeschool. Public school. Private school. Work outside the home. Don't work outside the home. Daycare is good. Daycare is okay if necessary. Sending them to daycare will ruin their lives. Etc. Amidst all this information, you're supposed to sort out what is best for your child and your family.

And then there's the messages we get as adoptive parents. You're so wonderful for rescuing these little colored heathens. You should have adopted one of the ten zillion babies waiting for homes in US foster care. All adoptees wind up in prison anyway so nothing you do matters. It would have been better to leave them to die in their home country rather than dragging them here to the US to experience all the problems we have here. Etc.

And amidst this mixed bag of messages, I'm supposed to somehow manage to be optimistic enough about life to crawl out from under the covers each morning, give my kids a big hug, pack them a nourishing lunch, and send them off to deal with their own little corner of the world in public school.

If you listen too much to what everyone tells you, it's too hard. You have to keep a bubble around yourself and your kids and try to select what information you're going to allow to pierce the bubble. You surely can't let it all in or you'll just go nuts trying to sort it all out. Just my thoughts as a parent.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

What We Have Here Is A Failure To Communicate


I was trying to return some shoes to Walmart on Sunday night. There was this cheerful guy on the return desk running around hollaing at everybody. Most of the support desk staff are sort of surly, but this guy was On, baby. On.

"Got another abortion!" he'd holla. I have no idea what he was talking about, I suppose a return that was not completed? Anyway the whole crew would sniff disdainfully and move a few inches away from him each time he screamed this.

We got up to the front. I handed him the shoes. He lifted them up to check for wear.

"WHEREJA GET THESE TWO LITTLE BEAUTIES!" he hollered, looking at the shoes.

I looked at him like people are always looking at me.

To wit: I wonder what planet you came from?

"From The Sh-0e De-part-ment," I replied, carefully enunciating every word.

"I MEANT THOSE TWO LIL OL' KIDS THERE!" he hollered, pointing at the girls, who were staring at him fascinated.

"Oh!" I giggled uncontrollably. "Sorry!" Posted by Picasa

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Diary Of An Egomaniac Part 1

The girls were baptized last week. I photographed the event.

The following photo essay captures the beautiful inner spirit of me, a person tragically and delusionally convinced that she is a both hottie and a world-class photographer, ready to take her place among the giants in the field. You will be treated to an unplugged, uncensored, up-close-and-personal look into the mind of a extremely frightening person.

For your convenience, I have provided my inner dialogue and the inner thoughts of the other participants in the baptism.

You have been warned. Proceed with caution!! Posted by Picasa

Diary Of An Egomaniac Part 2

Me: Why is it that the best picture of me has that wonky light coming in from the FOOL THAT OPENED THE DOOR AND RUINED THE LIGHTING BALANCE?
Baptismal participants: We Love God. Posted by Picasa

Diary Of An Egomaniac Part 3

Me: Do I look hot? Do I look reallllly, reallly hot? I must be the HOTTEST 40ish WOMAN THIS CHURCH HAS EVER SEEN. Keep on taking pictures, please, until I achieve the look of MASSIVE HOTNESS that I crave!
Family: Our feet hurt. Posted by Picasa

Diary Of An Egomaniac Part 4

Me: Look! I'm shooting the girls in full light and close up! What a talented photographer I am indeed!

Could you little ex-heathens please look at ME?

Meredith: I am having a vision. I see the Virgin Mary in the sky. Posted by Picasa

Diary Of An Egomaniac Part 5

Me: What an awesome idea it was to capture the contrast between the awesomeness of the church and the tiny girls! I bet nobody ever thought of this before!!
Children: It's 97 degrees and the sun is in our eyes. We feel faint. Posted by Picasa

Diary Of An Egomaniac Part 6

Me: I'm an Artiste! Look at the quiet beauty and poignancy of that shot.
Family: Can we please get out of here and get to lunch? Posted by Picasa

Diary of An Egomaniac Part 7

Me: OOOOOOH!! Look at that good light and great close up. My God (excuse me, God) but I am SOOOO FREAKING GOOD.
Meredith: I will pray for you Mommy. Posted by Picasa

Diary Of An Egomaniac Part 8

ME: OOOOH! I love candid shots. Sorry about sticking the camera 6 inches from your face! Eh, no, I'M NOT SORRY!!
Madeleine: Mommy, I'm making the Sign of The Cross. Please allow me a moment of privacy and dignity. Posted by Picasa

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Heathens No More


I apologize for the lack of posts. It's the first week of classes here.

The little darlings were baptized on Sunday. Back this afternoon with pictures after I pull 'em off the camera. I shall also include a thrilling, exciting, minute-by-minute update of the baptism. No, wait. Even I'm not that boring.

Titillating Tip: Godparents should NOT wear belly baring shirts with large tattoos in a House Of God. Not ours, but the other family getting their heathen baptized.

Monday, August 07, 2006

Back From The Beach


It was a good vacation at Myrtle Beach, if you enjoy paying $115 a night (for 115 degree temperatures) and swimming in an overcrowded pool populated with tattooed bikers while you wistfully think of the private pool in your back yard.

But no parent died (August 1, 1997), there was no cold snap down to 60 degrees (July, 1997), I did not run a fishhook in my toe (July, 1996) or a nail in my foot (April, 1980) and Roger did not get a tooth infection necessitating a root canal (August, 2000) or the flu (August, 2001).

I did actually watch a car accident. A minor one, but it was weird to see the front of the car crumple in front of my eyes.

Oh, and Madeleine did have an attack of "appendicitis" (diagnosed by me, Dr. Google, taking into account the Beach Curse) which turned out to be an acid stomach from drinking too much lemonade.

Things heard around the beach:

"Hot enough for you?" (23,434 people)

"If you think THIS is hot, just think how OUR TROOPS ARE DOING!" (Waitress at Friendly's, or Unfriendly's)

"Those baby sharks preserved in a jar (on sale at every beach shop) were not KILLED, Madeleine. They died of NATURAL CAUSES at a SHARK HOSPITAL. And they are LIVING WITH JESUS now. Um, no, I'm not sure which disease they died of."

"I don't care that the kids are asleep. I don't care that you gave them melatonin, valium, vodka, chloroform, and bound and gagged them. This motel room is G rated."

"There's a Wisconsin tag. I wonder if he said 'Hey Hon! Let's spend $1000 on gas to drive cross county into 115 degree heat!'"

"Is it air conditioned? WELL air conditioned?" (said about each suggested activity)

"Madeleine I know I said it was hot as Hell, but Hell isn't this hot. It's just a place where they make you eat ONE THOUSAND CARROTS a day."

"Thank God that's over with."
 
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