Holding Still

mother's day comes late

I've been feeling more like the boys' mother lately, rather than their teacher and/or nanny. Since the screaming has slowed down considerably, I'm able to feel clearer and recognize their really nice sides. They are slowly emerging, as I'm sure my better side is beginning to peek out, too.

This morning at 6 or so when the boys crawled into bed with us, I wasn't annoyed. I actually enjoyed it. Habtamu cuddled with me for a few minutes. Lire is always one for cuddling, so that wasn't a surprise, but what touched me about him was how quiet and thoughtful he looked. He was gazing into my eyes and really studying me, and had such a sweet look. These types of moments help me realize that they are trying to figure us out as much as we are trying to figure them out.

Another breakthrough today was that I was able to take H. in the car with me without his father being there. H. was actually able to walk out of the house with me and his father, say goodbye to his dad, and join me in the car without getting upset. He rode his bicycle (bicicletta) around the beach parking lot for almost an hour, practicing his breaking, looking out for cars (macchinas), and even riding his brother's bike (don't tell Lire!). Lire was napping at the time, so I think he especially enjoyed this clandestine adventure. I'm hoping this will lead to more outings with one boy at a time. They both have an opportunity to relax when they are apart from one another. There isn't the need to compete for our affection and attention, and they focus and slow down.

Tomorrow we will go to the nursery to pick out some plants for the many pots we have. Lire especially likes ababa (flowers), so it should be a hit. Another friend is tending to a stray fawn, so we may go and visit them tomorrow, too.

relief

I'm not going to jinx us, so I won't tell you how long it's been since a major screaming fit here. All I'm going to say is that everyone is more serene, including the dog, which is nothing but good news.

For those of you interested, I discovered a copy of Homeopathy Today during a rare appearance alone in public at the health food store. It features adoption stories, and how homeopathy has helped families with some of the more difficult behaviors. I found one of the articles especially helpful, and being comfortable with homeopathy (my MIL is a homeopath), decided to try the remedy chosen for that particular child.

We've been using it every day, once a day since the last meltdown, and it has been really, really helpful. I'm not a prescriber, so I don't feel comfortable saying which remedy. Also, homeopathy is really an individualized medicine, and each patient's case is unique. What works for one child might not for another. Have a look at the magazine (the articles are interesting), visit a local homeopath.

I also know that sometimes people attribute a positive change with the placebo effect. I often wonder about that myself, but in this case, we had been trying other remedies to no avail. This one seems to work.

We've also gotten the bicycle (bicicletta) on our side. H. wants to ride it more than anything in the world. We can remind him of it whenever he needs to make a choice regarding his behavior. This works much better than a time out (or a time-in), which is pretty useless for him. The time-outs are much more effective for his brother, who would rather do anything than sit in the designated chair for 2 minutes.

We also are in survival mode, letting certain things go in favor of a happier household. As the boys gain language (which increases with lightening speed every day), we can work more on the less important boundaries, like toothbrushing. "Let his teeth rot, just let me get some rest!" Alex has spent A LOT of time with all of us, which has helped, too. It hasn't helped Alex's work schedule, but H. needs to know that Alex is a constant; when he leaves he will come back, and when we leave, he will be waiting for us. It's going to take some time to establish that trust, so we are being patient, plodding along here. I still am not able to take Habtamu in the car with me and Lire without Alex, so getting errands done has been challenging. H. also doesn't like it if I go off in the car with Lire without him and leave him with Alex, (that's when he refuses to get into the car), so nowadays we go everywhere as a family of 4. I'm hoping I can get him to trust me more, that I'm not going to ride off into the sunset with him, leaving Alex here at the house, alone.

Having some quiet days has been healing for all of us. H. especially has made some language leaps in the past 2-3 days, which has been fun to watch. He is also allowing me to cuddle with him more, to look him in the eye, to chuckle with him about his silly brother while Lire isn't looking.

We've made green playdough, gone bicycle riding, made our own bubbles, taken several baths, and mixed colors together with water and food coloring. We're on our way to becoming a family of four, rather than 2 families of 2, (Mommy and Lire; Daddy and Habtamu) which is what I think H. was pulling for. I should say a family of 5, because of Chauncey. He has been a star throughout all of this. He matured so much during his 3 week CT spa vacation at my parents' house. He even stays by our side during the tantrums, which is saying a lot. He lets the boys take his toys, though hugs are still not allowed. He only let Alex and I do that, anyway, so that's not a surprise. He also guards the boys on our walks. He doesnt' let them out of his sight, whether he likes them or not. Such a good dog.

You're welcome!

Thought I'd temper the attachment/post adoption depression stuff with some cuteness. Because despite my earlier posts, cuteness abounds around here.

We've been working on "thank you" and "you're welcome" with the boys at the table. Habtamu has gotten it down and is onto bigger things such as "I like it. Mommy like? Daddy like? Lire like?" I was excited about this simple three-word sentence because he picked it up on his own, without our feeding it to him.

Lire, being 2 1/2, is still in the mimmicking stage, and loves to sing his favorite conversation duo: "Yawr wekkum! Tank you!" over and over again. And he always starts with "Yawr wekkum!," as if he's this sarcastic guy who won't give you a chance to say thank you first. Our conversation back and forth to the post office consisted solely of these four magical words.

And does every toddler run leading with his/her stomach? Or is it just that Lire has a particularly protruding one? Just asking.

Habtamu has gone from spending 30 seconds or so on a puzzle to completing a floor ABC puzzle independently, spending about 20 minutes on it. He is also interested in books, for which he had no interest when he first came home with us. He most likely hadn't seen many books, nor been read to , especially in a weird language like English. He's been naming things he identifies in books, and prefers reference books like atlases and flower catalogs. He is also a fearless swimmer who needs to learn how to swim. His younger brother is a bit more distrustful of the water, preferring to pick up rocks on the beach and have someone else get his water for him.

Today was a meltdown-free day, by the way. We've been changing our strategy and using homeopathy and holding our breaths.

better day

Just so you won't think I jumped off the deck to my death into the lilac bush, here I am! Thanks for the support, too. Today was much, much better than yesterday, which I will take. Of course, Alex isn't able to leave H's sight. Not at all. Even leaving the room to get a Q-tip is not allowed.

I'm trying to remember to take it a moment at a time, which sounds easier than it actually is. It's hard not to look at the road ahead and see hours and weeks and months of this. But when I am objective, I see the growth in all of us. I also know that I am one of the grown-ups here, and I have more awareness of what has happened and what will happen. H has no idea that when Alex leaves he'll come back again. Why should he? It's just going to take a lot of repetition of leavings and returns, a lot of comforting (when he allows it), and many trips to the beach. The great healer.

Phew. Thank heavens for American Idol, that's all I can say! I need a dose of fake reality now and then.

treading and swallowing water

Haven't posted in a while because of serious PAD, lack of time and ability to concentrate, and husband in the city for 2 days. Recipe for meltdown disasters and questioning of my ability to parent and capacity for compassion.

My mom has been here, thank heavens, and has helped a hundredfold. Alex is back, has a permanent shadow in Habtamu, and we're trying to establish trust again. Lire is doing really well, considering, as long as he doesn't get sucked into his brother's vortex of anger and grief.

I have definitely swallowed gulps and gulps of water while treading in this deep, deep pool. I think H. and I are waterlogged, and my mom feels helpless. Having Alex back has given us all a glimmer of hope that things might return to normalcy.

We'll see.

Family visit

First I must say -- OMG I miss my dog! Chauncey is returning home this Saturday, escorted by my parents, who have been caring for him for the last few weeks. I can't wait to see him, though it is going to be tough for him, for sure. We have been having Sammy (his tiny, 8 lb. girlfriend) over to visit and out for walks with us to innoculate the boys for when Chauncey comes for good. L. is TERRIFIED of dogs, and will whimper and scream bloody murder when wee Sammy comes his way. H. felt that way at first, but realized she liked balls as much as he does, so he now thinks she is great. He still has to learn to be gentle with her, and fortunately, she is great with kids, rolls over on her back and stays away when she feels it's too much. Chauncey will be another story. I'm going to mail off two of the boys' shirts to my parents' house so C-dog can have a smell of them before he arrives. I feel for the guy. Ultimately, I know it will work out, but the immediate experience isn't something I'm looking forward to.

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Visit to H and L's village in Kembata.

The land rover parked in front of an opening into another yard along the rutted path we'd been bumping along. My stomach was moving independent of any other part of my body, somersaults, the works. I think our SW said "you're on," or some such, Alex was ahead of me a bit. The people who had accompanied us from our first family visit were still here and eager to watch the next show.

We walked into a clearing which turned out to be H. and L.'s family's yard. I have to mention, if I haven't already, what a beautiful day it was. Around 80 degrees or so, a light breeze blowing, and sunny. Despite all of the people present, it was quiet, and we could hear the wind rustling through the enset and bamboo. The yard and fence surrounding it were very neat and well-tended. Inside, more bamboo fences surrounded crops which included enset, sweet potato, and apparently sometimes corn, though not at that point. I also don't remember if I mentioned that enset is the chief food crop in the Kembata region. I've heard it called the false banana, because of its looks. Fibers from the plants' stalk are scraped and formed into little cubes sort of like tofu. We learned from Solomon, our driver, that it takes 5 years to grow one plant to maturity, which will feed one family for a month or so, depending on the size of the family. We also learned that the average family size was 6-8 children. Most of the people living here have lived here since they were born. The land is generally divided amongst the children (and I think boys get preference here, as it is assumed a girl will marry into another family), so each plot gets smaller and smaller every generation. But the family sizes have not shrunk, they've stayed the same. As green as the area appears, the soil has been severely degraded by generations of farming and overpopulation. According to the Kambata Development Network, the area is one of the most densely populated in Ethiopia, creating an imbalance between population and land resource. There is almost no land left for grazing or preservation, and the forestlands have vanished.

There is a lot of information on this website about the area, and their attempts to help the Kambatas out of this dire situation. The forcast does not sound good when you read it through. Which is why it was so hard to put this information side by side with what we saw around us, which was lovely. The KDN calls it a "green famine."

Returning to our visit, we walked into the yard and greeted the members of the boys' family. We were able to see resemblances between some of the relatives very easily -- it was hard not to stare when I saw H.'s eyes here, L.'s head shape over there. Alex began by reading our letter, which was simultaneously interpreted by our Ethiopian SW. I won't transcribe it here, but it included our gratitude for the privilege of raising their children, our respect for them and how well the boys had obviously been loved. We talked about our intentions to bring the boys to school and how they would have the opportunity to go to college if they wanted. We ended by saying how they were our family too, since the boys were joining us all together, and that they would always be in our prayers and in the boys' hearts.

It was a pretty emotional reading, and Alex had a little break in the middle where he had to breathe a little. They nodded as we read and the SW translated. Next we asked our questions, the answers to which I noted. Our American SW took photos while our friend videotaped what was going on. I should also note that one of the elders in the family shooed away the villagers who were trying to listen in on our meeting. They were more private than the previous family. Each of the family members also spoke into the video camera, though it will be hard to hear, since I doubt they understood that they were being recorded, never mind what recording is.

We got a lot of great information about the boys, including that a cow came into the family upon Habtamu's birth, which is why he was named H., which means "wealth," and that when Lire was born, there was much joy and happiness in the household, the reason he was named so. These little tidbits will be nice to be able to share with the boys as they grow and are able to understand more from us.

Next we presented them with the photo album we had compiled. It had as many pictures of the boys as we had, which was actually quite a lot, since we had asked parents to take some for us and the agency took extras, too. They absolutely LOVED the pictures, kissing the boys' faces as they looked at them together. this really broke the ice. It hadn't been cold or anything before, just awkward. But now we were sharing the boys' together, and it was wonderful to see. They smiled and laughed at the photographs and noted to us how happy the boys looked. We then took polaroid pictures of each of them separately and as a group, along with us. This further melted the ice, and soon people were chatting more easily, we were able to hold hands the Ethiopian way (hand shake with an elbow hold), and exchange kisses, also the Ethiopian way (three kisses, beginning on the other person's right). A little hugging took place (Probably mostly on my part, because I really needed to), which they were gracious enough to accept, even though they are more reserved than that with strangers, I'm sure.

This is when I started to cry. I can't believe I made it so far, to be honest. It was because of a particular look I exchanged with one family member. I know that Ethiopians in general don't look one another in the eyes directly as much as we do, and the further you go out into the rural areas, I'm sure the more traditional it is. We actually looked into one another's eyes and tried to say as much as we could without speaking. It was wonderful, and sad, and I started to cry.

We said our goodbyes ("Ciao!"), and Solomon walked me out to the car, patting my back and saying "you are having a big emotion, I know." I loved him for that. He was such a great guy all around during this trip.

Once in the car, Alex comforted me, and then I heard a tapping on the car window. The elder of the family was there, and his eyes were wet, too. I opened the door and we held hands for a bit, both salty-eyed, not looking at one another directly, but the grasp said enough. Alex and he shook hands and we waved to everyone as we bumped away.

The drive home was just as circuitous and insane, but because we were finished with the visit, the bumps felt a bit smoother.

present days

Just wanted to let everybody know that the tantrums are dissipating. Which is good news for our ears. And for our hearts, of course. Not to say that they won't resurface in full force again, I'm no fool, but both boys seem more at ease here with us. Trust is growing, and routines are beginning to be not only followed, but maybe embraced?

Alex has taken to reading from our Amharic phrasebook after dinner, which is great fun for H. He repeats what Alex says, and if he is familiar with the word or phrase, he corrects our pronunciation. He gets to be the expert, and it really seems to make him comfortable and happy. That and the great CD I found before the boys got here -- It's called Sorene, and it is a nice long series of Ethiopia folk/children's songs sung by a locally famous folk singer and Ethiopian children. The boys love, love, love it, especially the "ABC" song. They sing it under their breaths throughout the day. Our favorite part is "LMNOP," because they repeat it -- it's pretty cute. We just got about 300 pictures back from Sn@pfish today, and I think we might start showing them pictures of their friends from Horizon House. H was talking about a few of the kids today, so we thought it would be a good way to start the discussion about Ethiopia, our trip here, and on and on. H also said today "Mommy, Daddy, America," without any prompting or lead-in conversation. I remember him talking to a nanny in Amharic about going to America with us, so I'm wondering if it's only now making sense to him. He is a complex and interesting fellow, to be sure.

L is simpler, mostly by virtue of being younger, I think. He is also a HUGE ham. He will be the class clown. He puts all three of us in stitches every night. He does an amazing Mussolini imitation where he puts on an exaggerated frown, raises his eyebrows, and rocks back and forth on his feet as he stands on his chair. All the while he is shouting something -- it's almost as if he is imitating someone. It always brings the house down over here.

I'm off to bed -- got to get ready for the 3 am L. crying and padding down the hall to our room. The rest of the night is spent trying not to get kicked by his wee body perpendicular to ours, thrashing about in the bed.

Kembata, cont'd

We arrived at the family of the little girl adopted by our friend, C. He strode forward purposefully, much braver than I think I would be. I won't go into many personal details, as it isn't my story to tell. I will try to give an idea of what it looked and felt like to me.

Alex was in charge of the video camera, I had the digital camera and the polaroid, and our American sw would take notes of the conversation. We were all invited to enter the hut, which was dark and cool. The meeting would take place here. Many members of the village joined us and were not shooed away -- we had heard that this was not unusual in these situations. I also want to mention how incredibly well-made the hut was. The thatched roof was so tightly woven, I'm sure very little water would leak through during the rainy season. I don't have any experience staying in one, of course, but it was impressive to see and attractive to look at. It looked as if many thin reeds/branches were woven side by side concentrically to form the roof, which was later thatched.

Watching someone else going through an experience we would soon undertake was interesting to say the least. The variety of emotions coursing through the room was electrifying and heartbreaking at the same time. I was also interested to see that no one minded that we were taking photos of the experience. "Fotos" have turned out to be the best source of icebreaking we found while visiting Ethiopia. That is why I brought the polaroid camera. Very few people in rural areas like Kembata have any photos of themselves or their families, so they were happy to pose and share the pictures with their neighbors.

The meeting ended too soon for our friend. He wanted to spend more time and ask more questions -- this is how the meetings are designed. The agency suggests you write a "dear birth family" letter which is read aloud and translated into Amharic (or another, more regional language) and to make up a list of questions to ask your child's family. These are questions and answers that you will share with your children as they grow and have questions of their own about Ethiopia, their adoption, their first family.

Unfortunately, our driver and the Ethiopian sw said we had to go, we were on a schedule. Which seemed kind of funny to us, since it was still pretty early and no one around here seemed to be on a schedule for anything in particular. But there was no arguing with them

It turned out one of the relatives of the little girl was friend and neighbor to our boys' family. He jumped into the Land Rover with us and we drove a short distance to our family's home.

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I still need to flesh out our own visit, so I'll try to get to it tomorrow. Don't mean to tease, but it's hard to describe without betraying the boys' and their family's privacy. The more we get to know the boys, the more confident I feel in our decision not to share the full story right away. As one prepares for an adoption, you read so much about letting them tell their own story, or for them to give you license to do so. In theory, I agreed, but Alex wasn't so sure. Now that we are getting to know them better, we feel it was a good decision for us. They are very sensitive boys, they have experienced trauma and are feeling grief. Seeing it in person brings it home. It hurts them a lot, and they are confused. I felt protective before I met them, but that was nothing to how I feel now. And Alex feels similarly. I've watched him become the most nurturing and amazing father this last week and a half. He has responded so patiently, and with humor and understanding. I feel a bit humbled by him, if I'm going to be honest. I'm supposed to be the one with all of the preschool/toddler experience, loves kids, etc. He is a natural, and I'm learning a lot.

We're still having camera woes, but I promise pictures by tomorrow. Or even tonight. I wish we had taken more on our drive, but it was so bumpy, I doubt many would have come out.

Kembata

I'm going to start posting more from my journal about the Ethiopia trip. I'll do it in pieces, and may intersperse it with day-to-day stuff.

We awoke around 5-5:30am on Tuesday, May 1st. We had a bite to eat and some tea and were soon on the road. Five of us trooped into a welll-used Land Rover, including Solomon, our intrepid driver. He is a person small in stature, but super-strong and incredibly intuitive and focused. This comes into play throughout the two days we spent together.

We drove through and out of Addis, the capital. Goats crossed the road in bunches, donkeys trotted alonside exhaust-belching buses and trucks. As we reached the outskirts, buildings became less numerous, livestock more so.

Our vehicle climbed up and down mountainous terrain as the morning progressed. Other vehicles became fewer, too, usually only large trucks or tractors. The donkeys multiplied, however, laden with bags, water containers, etc.

We began to see the traditional Ethiopian round huts with thatched rooves. Some of them were painted with geometric patterns, others with imagery like animals or human faces. Shepherds from the age of 5 and up tended sheep, cattle and goats. Fields of teff, sweet potato and enset appeared with more frequency. Speaking of sweet potato, we ate our first real ones in Ethiopia. They are white potatoes with just a hint of sweetness. The ones I'd been calling sweet potatoes all these years are actually yams.

Around 10:30 or so we stopped at a town whose name I'm afraid I've forgotten to use the bathroom. I went armed with my tissues, approached the attendant, who was mopping the floor. Heading towards a stall to her right, I heard her "ish-ing" to me. Another aside: "Ish, or Ishe" is like our "ok," or the Italian "prego," meaning many different things and used often. The Bradt guidebook said that entire conversations can be comprised of "Ishe."

Anyway, what she was telling me was NOT to use the stall I was approaching, but the one across the small room. The one I had been about to use was just a hole in the cement floor, with which I had no problem and had been told to expect. I've gone to the bathroom in many strange places and positions, the most impressive of which was off of a moving freight train. But I digress. I chose the stall she indicated, and it was a toilet, which I did appreciate.

Back on the road, which changed from a paved surface to a more gravelly one. That was ok. That was actually wonderful. Because soon we came upon roadwork. And detours. Forget everything you've ever known about the detour. Forget everything you've ever known about the dirt road, or about the pot-hole. The images in your mind do not come close to the detours, dirt roads or pot-holes we encountered. I can't remember how many kilometers it was, but it took hours, and every bit of it was rough and bumpy. We tilted sideways, we were almost vertical, with the truck's nose pointing down a few times. It was reminiscent of a rollercoaster ride at a sketchy, transient amusement park somewhere. Sometimes we'd be surrounded by clouds of dust so thick, we couldn't see anything. Not the oncoming tractor or stray goat. Yet we never hit anyone. This is where Solomon shined. He drove intuitively and always seemed to know when to yield, when to forge ahead. He beeped the horn to warn lazy mules who refused to budge, or kids tossing water bottles across the road.

The bumping went on interminably. Whenever there was a respite, we hoped that that was it, it had to be. No, it wasn't. The semi-bump-free passage lasted maybe 30 seconds, and then we were back in it. We looked awful, and my head was jumbled. I kept reminding myself that the boys had had to ride on this road somehow, in order to eventually end up in Addis.

Somewhere in the middle of all this we arrived at a town called Hossana. This is where we would spend the night. It was also where we picked up a social worker employed by another agency. He would help us find our families and serve as our interpreter. He and Solomon chatted together in Amharic as we returned on the "road." We soon picked up another person -- a young man @15 years old or so. He was to help us find the families' homes, as he knew their village.

Bumps aplenty when we turned off onto a steep dirt path that became sort of cobblestoned. This was to help cars and donkeys and people keep their traction on the precarious slopes, especially during the rainy season. Which this was not, fortunately. Apparently, during the rainy season many of these roads are impassable and so visits to children's families have to happen in villages or cities closer to Addis Ababa. I was very glad this wasn't to be the case with us, as seeing the boys' home and village became so important.

Deeper in we drove. It became greener and lusher as we continued, and narrower. Bamboo fences bordered the drive, some made more snug and tight than others. Behind the fences wer the round huts we had been seeing. Children began to surround our vehicle, waving and smiling, laughing and running away when we waved and smiled back. We kept hearing our boys' family's name repeated, as well as the name of our friends's daughter's family. Solomon drove the Land Rover up a hill the exact width of the vehicle, into a yard which we thought would be our family's home. Wrong one. Apparently this family has the same name as the boys' family. We were told it was a common name in the neighborhood. The children were having a blast chasing us, waving and saying "Ciao!" (which with their accent sounds more like "Cho!"). After watching Solomon and the social worker scratch thier heads, consult a piece of paper, and talk to numerous neighbors, a younger boy with the BIGGEST grin I have ever seen jumped into the back of the SUV. He was radiating extreme joy at having a ride in the truck. He knew where the family of our friend lived. He led us there, enjoying the ride and soaking in every bit of it.

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More on that later. I just want to end with a few of our experiences on our second day back. Our oldest boy, H slept 18 hours last night. No exaggeration, and almost straight through. He is having a tougher time of it than his younger brother. He will become very sad throughout the day, and it is difficult for him to receive comfort from us. Juxtapose this with a swing in the other direction towards extreme joy and hilarity, and you've got a most rollercoaster type of day. And the boys are also doing some tag-team tantrumming. Once H has settled down, L will begin to break down. A domino effect with only two dominoes continually knocking one another over.

The boys are making incredible strides, however. I've been forcing myself to note every incremental improvement in the workings of our family, so I don't get too bogged down in my own exhaustion and frustration. Which sounds selfish, and I know it is. Nothing I am feeling now can compare to the confusion and grief the boys are going through. I received a comment from another parent who adopted from Ethiopia, and she talked about the perceived deprivation of future pleasures. We took the boys to the beach today, which was a huge hit. It was moving to re-see the ocean from the eyes of two boys who had barely seen water, never mind the crashing waves of the Atlantic. We all left the beach in high spirits, and returned home. H looked happy, until he left the car. Then he became so sad. We realized that he has no idea that we will return to that wonderful place many, many more times in his life. Why should he think otherwise? Nothing has been permanent or consistent in his life for a long time. And why should he trust us?

These realizations make it easier to withstand the hour-long screaming, or the angry punches coupled with the hugs, one right after another.

Alex and I are learning a lot about our little guys, and learning a lot about compassion. This feeling of coming so close to another's hurt first hit me when we arrived at the boys' orphanage. The pain and love in that place was stifling and joyous both at the same time. The yin and the yang, one cannot exist without the other.

Off to bed. More tomorrow, if nap and bedtimes continue as they have.

First full day here

First, I must say thank you for the wonderfully supportive comments. A couple of them almost brought me to tears, which, if you know me IRL, isn't too hard to do. But both Alex and I are tearing up a lot these days. We saw Chauncey's bed in the little cottage today, and both of us had to fight back a sob or two. Poor little dog, he has now idea what's in store for him.

We woke the boys up for dinner last night, kept them up until 8:30 or so, and then put them into bed again. There were tears, but not anything major. Lire woke me up at around 12:30 crying (Al and I had gone down about 9:30). I took him to the couch and cuddled till we both fell asleep. Then my subconscious woke me and told me to put him back to his bed so I could sleep better in my own bed. Smart subconscious. At 3:30 Habtamu woke Alex, and the two of them went to the couch for some cuddling. Lire awoke again about an hour later, and it was party time on the couch under the quilt. Lots of "sunki" (Sidamo or Amharic for "kisses") were traded back and forth, which was super sweet. Of course, I cannot leave out the kicking the brother in the head parts -- cruelty and kindness go hand-in-hand with brothers, I think. Sleeping was not going to happen, so at around 5 or so we all had some oatmeal and bananas, which was a big hit. I don't remember if I mentioned this, but in Ethiopia the children at the orphanage are very often served tea (called "shai", sounds like "chai" but with more of a shh sound) with LOTS of sugar and "dabo," (bread). The kids dip their dabo into the tea and then slurp up the debris and tea that's left at the end. We gave them some herbal tea and dabo, but I think they were onto us. They looked a bit skeptical as they drank, and didn't finish. Later we gave them some real tea, and they were much more into it. We're going to have to wean them off of the caffeine.

H is virtually potty-trained, only an accident here and there, especially during his screaming jags. Otherwise, he can tell us he has to go, and is able to hold it really well. L is amazingly on the road to being totally potty-trained, too. He isn't as good about communicating his bathroom needs, there are a lot of false alarms. However, he HATES having accidents and does not like a diaper with anything in it. I'm switching to pull-ups for him, because pulling the diapers up and down mangles and wastes them. They never wore diapers at home, and at the orphanage the nannies didn't have time to change 40 diapers several times a day, so they are not into carrying their waste around, which is great. While in Ethiopia we were able to witness the lining up of the potty chairs, with a toddler or preschooler perched upon each, all wearing that look of intense concentration we know and love.

We had some fun today outside with the boys, though it is cold for them. H wears a look of consternation when he first comes outside -- "what the?" is the only way to describe it. We ran around and kicked the soccer ball, picked a few flowers and took some pictures. Al was spinning them around upside-down, and H didn't want it to end. That caused meltdown number whatever of the day, the worst one yet. I can't remember what it is called, but I know there is a situation where some children need to spin, or swing, basically move around a lot, because of a sensory integration challenge. I'm going to talk about it with the ped tomorrow, since we'll be going for our required "next business day" visit (required by agency). If anyone has any thoughts about this, they'd be appreciated.

As for the meltdown, Al handled it this time. He had to hold him tightly to get him to rev back down again, and the amazing thing to me is the immediacy with which he goes from full-blown screeching to deep, deep sleep.

I'm off to buy some shoes and whatnot. Pictures will come tomorrow, once we get the cord here in this house. Thanks again for the support!