April Fools Day

So proud of Marin. She has been planning this elaborate trick for weeks and pulled it off like a champ today. About 4 weeks ago, while driving in the car............... Marin: Daddy, when is April Fools Day Me: About a month, why? Marin: I know what I want to do for a trick and I need you to help me, but you have to promise not tell anybody. Me: OK, what Marin: I want to break my leg. Just pretend, though. I need you to get me some crutches. So I make a few phone calls, find a leftover pair of kids crutches, and I dug up one of my leg immobilizers from when I used to be a jock. Voila. April Fools trick. So Marin hobbles into day care this morning (schools were closed for snow) and starts hamming it up. I knew she got the caretakers because they suddenly started arguing over who would get to stay inside with Marin while all the other kids went out to play in the snow. Marin looked at me in disbelief at how easy it was to trick people. She had a grin a mile wide. Finally, Marin holds the crutches up in the air and yells "April Fools!!!". Then one teacher said "No, it isn't. You have a temporary cast. You can't just go get one of those anywhere" She still believed!! Marin face expression was "Crap, now what do I do. This dumb teacher doesn't even believe that I tricked her."

American History Museum

We all went to DC for Thanksgiving. Like any family with kids knows, you have to get a hotel with a pool in it. So there are the kids in the pool, making friends with another little girl about Marin's age. You just never know where these new friendships are going to go.

Marin: Where are you from?
Friend: Georgia. Where are you from?
Marin: Ethiopia.
Friend: What? Is that in Africa?
Marin: (encouraged) Yes!
Friend: Wow, you are so lucky you got out of there. If you lived there a few years ago you would have been a slave!
Marin: What?
Friend: You know, a slave. Where white people beat you and make you work and buy you and sell you and you can't go to school or have friends or anything
Friends Mom (as alarmed as I am and trying to recover) No sweetheart, that was a long time ago and it doesn't happen anymore. Your new friend has nothing to worry about.


We spend the next three days reassuring Marin that she will not become a slave.

This is my house??

Over the weekend Marin and I were enjoying a quiet breakfast. She had this peaceful, confortable, satisfied expression on her face. I asked her what she was thinking about.

Marin: I can't believe this is really my house.
Me: What do you mean?
Marin: I just can't believe it.
Me: I still don't know what you mean.
Marin: It is so different from my house in Ethiopia.
Me: Tell me about your house in Ethiopia
Marin: It was like a three little pigs house made from pieces of wood and grass and leaves
Me: What else do you remember?
Marin: It had a hole for a door. Not a door that you can close or lock. Just a hole in the wall that you can walk through. And it had windows. Not with glass or curtains, but a hole in the wall so the air and the light can come in.
Me: Do you remember anything else?
Marin: It was pretty tall inside. I could not reach the ceiling. Sometimes it was really quiet and peaceful. Other times it was really noisy, like when the chickens and the goats wanted to come inside.
Me: Do you remember anything else?
Marin: I remember the smell. Our house today always smells clean like the stuff under the sink. My other house smelled like outside. Mostly dusty and like grass, and sometimes like smoke if the Mamas were cooking.
Me: Do you miss your other house?
Marin: No. I like this house. But I hope I can see my other house again some day.

Race Relations

Nto sure what is going on with Marin, but she is peppering me with questions about Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King. Basically, what was going on with white skinned people to the extent that Rosa and Martin had to do what they did.

I explained it in the context of bullies. You know, the white skinned people used to bully the brown skinned people until the brown skinned people decided to not take it anymore and the brown skinned people got all the rules changed so no more bullies are allowed.

Marin understood that, then asked why the bullies still happen.

Me: It doesn't happen much anymore, Marin. The while skinned people and the brown skinned people get along now. Look at how many white skinned people love you and Emmy.
Marin: Only in my family.
Me: What are you talking about?
Marin: Not at school. It's not like that at school.
Me: What do you mean?
Marin: Well, on the last day of school, a lot of kids come up to me and said "I didn't like you at the beginning of school because you had brown skin and I thought it was gross, but I like you now."
Me: Seriously? Who said that?
Marin: Everybody except Molly and Vee.
Me: speechless

So here I am thinking everything was great at school. Marin loves school. She actually is bummed when she has school vacation. She seldom shows signs of being bullied. I am not sure what to do with this.

Mother Daughter Dance

Marin and Emmy were supposed to run in their first track meet last week. Just the relays, but I was really excited about watching them. Alas, my car battery dies and I cannot get there. Colleen volunteers to pick up the kids and take them to the meet.

I get a phone all. The kids will not get out of the car at the meet. They claim the crowd is too big, it is scaring them, they think its a bad idea. And they are inches away from a meltdown. I tell Colleen to abort and take the kids home. She does.

Later that evening, I take Marin to the high school for her field hockey clinic and the track meet is still going on. I suggest that Marin and I go watch for a little so she can see a real meet and not be so scared next time. She agrees.

So there we are, standing at the rail, right where the relay baton handoffs occur. I explain to Marin what is happening and she is nodding her head and smiling. She sees some of her friends run the relays and she cheers for them.

Me: So Marin, do you understand what is happening here?
Marin: Yes.
Me: It looks like fun doesn't it?
Marin: Yes
Me: You could do this
Marin: I know
Me: You could have won a ribbon on the relay team
Marin: I know
Me: So what went wrong? I thought we had you all ready to race today?
Marin (shaking head wearily) Daddy, you just don't understand. Sometimes Mama brings out the worst in me.

Seize the moment

Marin has field hockey practice in the evening this week. Last evening, I decided to leave her at practice and go run some errands. When I returned, there were no players on the field. After a mad scramble, I learned there had been lightning sighted nearby, the coaches cleared the field, and had the kids all sitting in a van on low ground.

As I approach the van, I see Marin sitting in a folding chair, arms crossed, big pout, and ugly look on her face.

Me: Hi Sweetie. Are you OK?
Marin: No
Me: What's the matter?
Marin: I've told you I need my own cell phone for situations just like this one. But you don't listen to me. What if my coach had to leave? I would be here all alone. How can you do that to a little kid? It is too dangerous for me to be out here with no cell phone.

Wow. She ripped that off like she had been rehearsing it for months and just waiting for the perfect moment to serve it up.

The Sudan

So there we are, wandering through the produce aisle, and Marin spies a couple of tall dark women dressed in the really colorful traditional African dress and headscarf. Marin laser locks on these women and insists on talking to them.

Turns out they are from Sudan, but when they learned Marin was Ethiopian, they said they were from Addis. So I asked "Wait a minute, I thought you just said you were from The Sudan?" (and, by the way, they looked way more Sudanese in appearance than Ethiopian) Big mistake my asking. Now we get the whole Sudanese refugee story.

The women speak: "We are from Sudan, but conditions there are terrible terrible. Soldiers are killing our families, burning our houses, and stealing our livestock. There is no jobs, no food, no water. This women here, my sister, and me, we packed our belongings on a donkey and walked to Ethiopia. We can travel only at night to avoid the soldiers, but we can travel only in daylight to avoid the lions and hyenas. It is very dangerous. Many of us were lost. Once inside Ethiopia, we found a bus ride to Addis. Once inside Addis, we must do unspeakable things to earn money to go to London and then to America. " And on and on and on.

Normally, I would be fascinated and heartbroken by such a life history and would have invited these women someplace for dinner to get the time to hear all the details. But in front of Marin? Shheeeesh. I could see her little head about to explode. So now we are in the car. Marin..........

"Why did soldiers burn them house down?"
" What did they eat when they walked a long time?"
" What does the word unspeakable mean?"
" What did they do that is unspeakable?"
"Daddy, tell me the truth, is this what really happened to me and Emmy?"
" Were we in Sudan and had to walk to Ethiopia before you found us?"
" Daddy, did the soldiers have guns or knives?"
" Did they hurt kids or just grown ups?"

And about a million more questions. I am exhausted.

Focus

So there we are, Marin's first track practice.

The coach asks the kids to run at medium speed twice around the track to warm up. Marin is walking.

The coach divides the kids into relay teams of about 20 runners each, and tells the kids to sit down after they have run to help her keep track of who has run and who has not. Marin, about 5th in line, casually looks around, sneaks her way to the back of the line, and sits down before having a turn at running.

At water break time, I ask Marin if she is having fun.
Marin: An enthusiastic "Yes, Daddy! I love this track game!"
Me: Then why aren't you running?
Marin: Huh? I'm running really hard.
Me: Marin. I watched you. You walked while the other kids ran and you sat while the other kids raced.
Marin: Really, you were watching me?
Me: Yes. So what is it you love about this track game?
Marin: (looks around carefully, leans in, and whispers) I get to talk to all the boys.


Thinking quickly, I informed Marin that boys like girls who run fast. The faster the girl, the more the boy likes her. Marin looked cynical. Thankfully, one of the Mothers had overheard the entire conversation and piped in "Oh yes, Marin. I learned in third grade that boys like girls who run fast and I started practicing my fast running and always had lots of boyfriends."

Well, that was all Marin needed to hear. She burst back on to the track and instantly became the Usain Bolt of third grade!

Lighten up on the Sarcasm

This morning Marin came down to breakfast in a foul mood.

Me: "Marin, why are you so upset?"
Marin: "Mama said 'Ooohhh, you're hair looks soooo nice today'.
Me: "Why is that upsetting? Mama is telling you how pretty you are."
Marin: "No, Daddy. Her words were nice, but her tone was mean. She wasn't telling me the truth. She was teasing me. Grown ups do that all the time. They think they are tricking kids but we no for real when they are being mean."

Wow. That was a mouthful. Even though Colleen was being sincere (I learned afterward), the fact that Marin faces sarcasm so often, and has now caught on to it, has compromised her ability to differentiate sincerity from sarcasm. I am really bummed by this. Colleen and I took the anti-sarcasm pledge. The most difficult challenge will be another close relative - who has a highly acid tongue even when she is being sweet.

GriefStorm

Don't know what triggered this - maybe a dream or something - but the girls were in full blown grieving this morning. Bodies shaking with sobs, contorted facial expressions, flailing limbs, ear splitting wailing, pillows soaked with tears, inconsolably begging to see and hold their Ethiopian parents. I'll tell you what, I am having a hard time coming up with words or analogies to describe the shock value of such an emotional display and the helplessness that we, as parents, were feeling.

When we finally got them calm enough so we could reason with them, we told the kids we would take them to their parents grave to spend time with them. (readers of the blog know we had a stone carved for the girls' parents and placed in Leo's family plot)

So this afternoon, I took the kids to the graveyard. The kids can find their parents' stone by themselves now because they recognize some of the names on nearby stones.

Marin stared at the stone for a few minutes and read it out loud to me. Then Marin said "I think I feel my mother here". I said "Marin, if you feel her here, then talk to her. I'll stand over there and give you privacy."

Marin kneeled in the grass and bent over to kiss her mothers' name on the stone. Then she said, in the sweetest sounding voice, the kind of voice used when people see someone they really loved for the first time after a long absence and they aren't really certain how the other person is going to respond. "Hi Mama. This is Marin. I want you to know I am having a good life in America. Emmy too. I hope you are having a good life in heaven. I miss you. This man behind me name is Leo. He is my new Daddy. He is doing a good job. He treats me and Emmy good. I love you and I miss you. From Marin."

Then she bent over and kissed the stone again, and we left.

Eff Bomb

So Marin finally heard it on the playground at school last week. She comes home, sits quietly at the table coloring, then looks up to address Colleen.

Marin: (tentatively) Mom, what is fuck?
Colleen: What?
Marin: (cautious and puzzled) I heard a new word on the playground today. Fuck. What does that mean?
Colleen: (cool as a cucumber) What do you think it means?
Marin: I think it means run as fast as you can. But I'm not sure because the playground lady said it is a bad word.
Colleen: Why do you think it means run as fast as you can?
Marin: Because when the boys say it, they are doing something naughty, then the say 'Let's get the fuck out of here', then they run away as fast as they can.

What next??

Readers of this blog know that Marin periodically has episodes of badly missing her Ethiopian mother, and these episodes have become more frequent recently. We comfort Marin by reminding her that a Mother's love for her child never ends, and her mother is loving her from heaven right now and forever, and some day Marin will see her mother again in heaven, and she has to be patient for that day.

Saturday evening we entertained an Ethiopian immigrant family at our house. The husband began speaking Amharic to Marin to see what she remembered. Marin remembered a little, but not much. She went back to playing with the other children and we all enjoyed a very nice evening.

Sunday morning, Marin awoke in a bad state of distress. After getting her calmed down, she explained she is upset because she forgot her Amharic, and how will she speak to her mother in heaven if the mother speaks Amharic and Marin speaks English? OK, I'll admit, I am not fast enough on my feet to come up with a credible answer to that question.

Homesick, Part 2

Saturday we were at an Ethiopian Christmas (Feast of the Epiphany) party. There must have been at least 60 ethiopians there spanning all generations from toddlers to grandparents. It was pretty cool and our kids had a ball.



Sunday morning, all Marin wanted to talk about was Ethiopia, her adoption, and how we found each other.



Marin: "Daddy, tell me the whole story, from the very beginning, about how you met me."

Me: "Well, we flew on the airplane.........

Marin: "No, before that. All the way from the first time you thought you wanted to adopt a kid."

Me: (tells the entire story a to z)

Marin: Tell me everything you know about my Africa Mom and Dad.

Me: (tells the entire story, which isn't much)

Marin: And when can I see them again.

Me: Sweetheart, you know what happened to your Africa Mom and Dad, right?

Marin: Yes.

Me: Were you there and do you remember?

Marin: Yes (getting choked up)

Colleen: Marin, we will see them again in heaven. Just be patient. They are watching out for you from heaven and they will be excited to see you.

Marin: OK, Now tell me about my brothers.

Me: Marin, I don't know of any brothers. Do you remember any brothers?

Marin: No, but just checking, you know, in case you forgot to tell me. Tell me about my sister Genet.

Me: (tells all I know, again, not much)

Marin: But Genet is your daughter, too, right?

Me: No, Marin, we did not adopt Genet.

Marin: (tears welling up) What? Why, Daddy?

Me: (caught totally offguard) Well, Genet, is a teenager. She could take care of herself. You and Emmy were just little kids and you needed someone to take care of you.

Marin: (falls into my arms, full blown bawling her eyes out) But Daddy, how do we know Genet is OK? We need to find her. If we find her will you adopt her, too, so we can be all sisters again?



Anyway, now Colleen and I are discussing whether I should take a fact finding trip to Eth this year. Just to see if I can locate Genet, take some photos and video, and set the stage for a visit with Marin and Emmy. I think it's a bad idea to take the kids over there and conduct the search with them in tow. We need to know beforehand whether Genet is still alive and where she can be found.

Brown skin girls

I had womens basketball on TV, UConn vs. Carolina, but no one was really watching it. It was background noise to all the stuff we were doing around the house. Suddenly Marin perks up.

"Daddy, on the TV is all brown skin girls."

"Yes, Marin, sometimes in college the brown skin girls are the best basketball players."

"Daddy, brown skin girls rule."

Eighty Eight

Continuing on this homesick theme the next morning, Marin asked a lot of questions about death and heaven, and whether I promised to take care of her the rest of her life.

I told Marin I promised to take care of her for as long as I live, which then prompted questions about how long I will live (Marin is very alert to possible double talk and digs for the truth). Unbeknownst to Marin, longevity is something I obsess about because it is linked to my determination that we not outlive our wealth. I have gone so far as to have my life expectancy scientifically projected using data points like my health and safety habits, blood and urine test results, family history, and genetics. So, I have a very good idea about how long I will live and a financial plan for supporting that life span.

So then I ask Marin "How old do you think you will be when you die?" Without missing a beat, she shoots right back "88" (which happens to be my number) . I looked up at her, to see if she was smirking or laughing - you know - anything to signal that she had overheard me saying that number to someone and was trying to push my buttons - but she was dead serious. That was her real answer.

It's creepy. Marin is not that good at math (yet), and of all the numbers she could have said, she just pulls that one out of thin air.

Homesick

We had a great New Years Eve celebration with two other adoptive families and one waiting family - a total of ten Ethiopians in the house - with Injera bread on the buffet and Ethiopian pop dance music on the CD player. The waiting family, naturally, talked a lot about their prospective visit to Addis and asked the kids what they remembered about Eth.

During our ride home, Marin was very quiet, with a pensive look on her face, then she started asking a lot of questions.

When will she go to Ethiopia again?
Can we find her sister?
How will we know where to find her?
If her sister wants to come to America will we take her?

Then Marin started talking about all the people in Eth she missed, which brought the discussion around to her mother. I asked Marin if she remembered when her mother died and to tell me about it. Marin said she remembered all the family standing in a circle holding hands, saying prayers to her mother and telling stories about her mother.

We are starting to realize this wound may never heal, it can only be managed, as positively and constructively as possible.

Santa's Village aftermath

Each Monday the children in Marins' class have a 'sharing minute' in which they bring something to show the class, or a story to tell. (I think we used to call this show and tell).

Anyway, Marin brought the photo of her and Santa taken at Santa's Village over the weekend. Unfortunately, I did not anticipate the controversy.

The kids peppered Marin and challenged her credibility.......
- Was he real or fake?
- How do you know?
- Did you see Rudolph?
- Isn't Santa really Mom and Dad? and on and on and on

Marin stood tall. After realizing she was getting no help from the adults in the room, she said "Listen kids. I sat in his lap and I heard him talk and he looked right in my eyes and told me I am a good girl. I gave him a picture I drew and Santa said Mrs. Claus was going to hang it on the wall in the North Pole. So he is real. I saw him myself."

That's my girl!

Curiousity

Marin had a day off from school last week, so we left her with a dear friend and her high school daughter for the day. Marin cornered the daughter, thinking the mother was out of earshot, and began - ummmm - interviewing her.

Marin: Do you have a boyfriend?
Megan: Yes.
Marin: What's his name?
Megan: Seth. You met him before.
Marin: Oh yeah, Seth. He's cute. Do you kiss him?
Megan: Sometimes, a little.
Marin: Do you kiss him on the lips?
Megan: Marin!!
Marin: OK, OK, sorry, sorry. Do you kiss him in front of other people?
Megan: No
Marin: Only in privacy, right?
Megan: Yes.
Marin: Do you stick your tongue out when you kiss him? Like this. (demonstrates with a french kiss into the air, complete with eyes closed and moaning soundtrack)
Megan: Marin, I am not answering any more questions. Where did you learn about this stuff?
Marin: I watched my cousin do kissing with her boyfriend. But she is in college now.

That clinches it. I am locking her in the attic.

What makes her tick??

This AM we had one of those dramafests that mothers and their daughters seem to get drawn into. The climax came when Colleen was buckling Marins' seatbelt. Somehow Colleen's thumb became entangled in the belt. At that instant, Marin decided to become resistant and tugged powerfully on the belt, spraining Colleen's thumb. Colleen, naturally, screamed out in pain. The interesting part is what happened next.

Colleen abruptly returned to the house to get an ice pack and an ace bandage. I put Marin in teh car and drove her to school. Marin was overcome with panic.

First, Marin thought she had killed Colleen. She made me promise her that Colleen was not going to die and asked me over and over "How do you know, Daddy?" "How do you know?"

Once, I got her off that, Marin continued her panic session expressing fear that Colleen would not want to be her Mother anymore. Again "How do you know, Daddy?" "How do you know?" The poor kid was like nearly suicidal until I finally dialed Colleen up on the cell, explained the situation, and Colleen got Marin calmed down.

Some thoughts....................

1. Even after three years in America, Marin's first reaction to even the most routine illness and injury is that the person is going to die. It's just unbelievable to think about how many people she saw die in her young life in Ethiopia. And its' equally unbelievable to think about how totally preventable those deaths were if the country had any kind of living standards.

2. Even after three years in our care, Marin fears abandonment. This really caught me by surprise. We have been totally diligent about hugging the girls every day, several times, telling them we love them forever and we will always take care of them. Never once using corporal punishment. And when we have ourselves convinced that the kids are totally secure with our love and commitment, something like this happens to make us realize they still live in fear of our abandoning them. Bummer.

When does the hungry train stop??

Yesterday we were driving in the car and we saw a homeless person standing with a "hungry" sign at a busy intersection. Marin saw him and asked about it. So I gave a rambling explanation of what a homeless person is and why some people are hungry even in America.

Marin: But where is his guitar?

Me: What?

Marin: I know hungry people, too. But they play songs on their guitar and have a box to put the money in.

Me: Where did you see this?

Marin: At the Sea Dogs game ( local baseball team to which Marins day care went last summer)

Me: Tell me more about this.

Marin: Remember you gave me five dollars in case I needed to buy a snack at the Sea Dogs game.

Me: Yes.

Marin: Well I bought something to eat, but it cost only two dollars. So I had three dollars left, and I gave it to the hungry man who was playing his guitar.

Me: Why did you do that?

Marin: Daddy, listen, I know what it feels like to be hungry. It hurts and hurts and hurts in my belly. So I felt sorry for the man with the guitar and I wanted him to buy a sandwich.