Holding Still

up in the air

It's been a little more interesting around here than I'd care for it to be.  I LOVE summer -- beaching, wearing very little clothing, barefoot walking, corn on the cob, etc.  However, working at the camp definitely puts a bit of a damper on the usual slothfulness I'm used to.  Oh, and having two kids.  

I'm actually enjoying myself at camp these days.  I'm at the point I remember many moons ago when I worked with wee ones in nyc:  Falling for the little people who independently motor around the early childhood room, yogurt smeared on their faces, toys employed for a totally different purpose than intended.  The way they move into magical thinking like that -- poof!  "We are all baby turtles hiding in our shells!"

What I didn't anticipate was how bittersweet it would feel.  The joy of getting to know someone so little, so interesting was one of my favorite perks of the job.  Feeling one way about a child the first few weeks, and then slowly watching as he/she opened up to you, their teacher.  Realizing how special that little person is!

I'm discovering all of the campers' quirky personality traits and enjoying it immensely.  The hard part is that I don't think I ever got to feel that with my older son.  There has been so much struggle all along, that the intimate surprises were overshadowed by doubt and concern.  What makes it that much more difficult is that with our younger guy, it did happen, and still happens daily.

I realize that this is all me.  He doesn't know, or even care, what my expectations of our relationship are.  He's trying to make it one day at a time, trying to find his place in our family, in the world.  I try to remember the students I had who didn't make it easy for me.  I learned a lot from them, of course.  I know that H will help me to learn new ways to communicate, new ways to respond.  

I missed a great deal of H's early childhood, which becomes more apparent as we discover that he is indeed significantly older than we were told.  He was never my baby, my toddler, or my three-year old.  His 6 year molars came in over the winter and he lost his first tooth this week, with two more loose ones ready to fall. I think he is still confused about all of our roles in the family.  We are having a tough time helping him relax into being a kid.  I think he thinks of himself as an adult, one of us.

Summer camp is fun for him, but he's having problems relating which he didn't have so much in school.  Probably because it is much less structured and there is little quiet time.  Fortunately it only goes to one, and then we have enforced quiet time at our house.  Then all four of us do something together, and we ease into the evening and bedtime.

Not sure how to end this one.  Everything is still up in the air, so I guess I'll end it that way.  Wish us luck on fitting our puzzle family together.      

 

bottoms up

Sorry for the butt shot.  It's not the most flattering photo of my bottom half, but we were having a good time -- yoga bringing the family together.  Note Chauncey upon my work table.  He's looking for squirrels, his arch-enemies.

I had my first three days of summer camp orientation this week.  On Monday we start for real.  Today the campers and their parents were able to come for an open house to meet all the counselors and see our amazing digs (it would make you cry, it's so lovely).  That means that Habtam came with Dad and Lire to meet his counselors, see his room, check out the grounds and see SO MANY KIDS!  I could tell he was in heaven.  He really likes to be amongst a bunch of kids.  Lire, too, but especially H.  It's a very free and easy place with the ability to run around and not get lost or hurt easily, so it was nice for me to see him racing about, happy with the world.  

I met most of my 19 charges and their parents.  Only one chilly, limp-wristed handshake was had (hey, turn off the ac, biatch!).  Luckily most of the parents were sensible, kind people.  The counselors working under me are absolutely terrific.  I lucked out.  Since I'm new, I think the director purposely gave me experienced counselors, some of whom are former campers themselves.  The staff is much more diverse than the clientele, which I was expecting.  This school (it's an alternative/hippy/liberal private school during the rest of the year) makes a point of recruiting staff from all walks of life.  There are three head counselors who are African, another African-American, two of Asian descent, a number of people who are Hispanic, and then all of us Caucs.  The clientele are mostly wealthy Manhattan kids whose parents or grandparents summer out here.  The campers are not as diverse as anyone around here would like, but the staff is, and for that I am grateful. 

I was telling H that three of the counselors were from Africa, like he was.  He appeared interested, but didn't say anything.  We have been talking about Ethiopia again lately, usually combined with questions about family relationships.  The other day I was on the phone chatting with my mom.  I hung up after saying "bye Mom!"  Habtam asked me why I called Nana "Mom."  He's asked this before, so I repeated that she was my mother.  

H:  Why is she your mother?

me:  (deep breath) well, Nana carried me in her uterus until I was born, and then she took care of me until I was a grown-up.  Do you remember who carried you in her uterus?

H:  You?

me:  Nooo...

H:  (His name for their first mom)

me:  Right.  So she was your mother, and she took care of you as long as she was able.  And now I am taking care of you, right?

H:  Right. (begins to jump on his bed)

me:  So I'm your mother, too.

Lire:  You my mommy, too!

H:  Will I go back there visit?

me:  Yes, when you get older, we'd like to take you and Lire to Ethiopia again.  Would you like that?

H:  (Jumps on bed, no answer)

Lire:  Yes, I go Ethiopia!  (also jumping on bed)

The jumping got out of hand, as usual, with all of us jumping on Lire's bed and holding hands.  I had to jump ship to keep H and L from dragging me into their too-physical-for-me game of banging bodies against the wall.

And that's how a lot of stuff gets discussed around here.  Catch as catch can,  with a side of physical comedy and/or violence.

 

hello darkness my old friend...

Lack of school is proving to be difficult for a certain someone in our household.  Actually for both boys, just one's behavior is easier to manage than the other.

Being a preschool veteran, I played around with behavior charts a couple of months after the boys arrived home with us.  It worked really well helping them to learn our routines:  waking up, having breakfast, clearing our plates, playing and cleaning up, brushing teeth, getting ready for bed, etc.  They liked the charts a lot, and when they were able, began to talk about it and helped us make the smiley/sad faces on it.  Once things started going smoother, routine-wise, I focused on different behaviors (Lire not waking Habtamu up at 5 am, Habtam using gentle hands).

Anyway.  The chart, which is a large dry-erase board, had been disbanded and used as a fun drawing surface for the guys.  No longer.  Unfortunately, we've had to reinstate a chart for Habtam.  Oddly enough, he seemed relieved by the whole thing.  He is someone who requires structure, likes concrete and consistent rules (though he bucks against them like a goat), and is visual.  I think the very visualness of the chart, with the ability to concretely see his behavior throughout the day, helps him consider his choices.  Maybe I'm giving the chart too much credit, but he responds to it. 

The day is divided into three sections --- morning, afternoon and evening.  Each section has three time periods within, and we check back with one another throughout the day to see how he's been doing.  We use simple sad and happy faces to illustrate it, and at the end of the day, if he's got enough smiles, he gets a sticker.  If there are enough stickers at the end of the week, we'll talk about a privilege, a toy returned, etc.  Are you tired reading about it?  I'm tired just thinking about it.

The difference this year to last is that H and his Dad and I can talk about his behavior, his choices, and his feelings SO much better.  Of course, it also means that H can tell me and Lire how much he hates us, that Lire is stupid, and he never wants to talk to us again!  More sophisticated expressions of anger.  Sigh.

I'm not sure if Lire is responding to H's renewed misbehavior or the loss of the school structure, but he is regressing a bit.  It takes the form of him making baby cooing sounds, attempting to suck on our fingers, and needing to be held more.  Fortunately, he bounces back quickly, and if we allow him to act out being a baby, he reverts back to his old self within minutes.

Very much looking forward to camp starting next week for H, that's all I can say.  I'm going to be working half-days at the same camp, but with the 3 year olds, so H will have his own space, his own experiences and I'll just happen to be nearby.

wish us luck!

 

easy now

Birthday party and full cousin immersion went almost without a hitch!  No chocolate was had, and there was only one tantrum which dissipated quietly, although it did take a fairly long time.  It was mostly quiet crying/whining after a few "I don't care"s.  We had a lot going on socially this weekend, so it would have been abnormal not to have some sort of meltdown.

Phew!  We have come a long way!  

I have been going back in time a fair bit lately, as one is want to do upon a year's anniversary of adopting one's children.  Sometimes I can still taste the feelings of panic and exhaustion I awoke to every morning for far too many months (isn't this supposed to end sooner?  I'd ask every morning).  Other times I look at my teen-aged sons and wonder where the time has gone.  Really, H's feet are almost as big as mine.  He rolled his eyes at me the other day.  Lire sighs audibly.  

There are still moments of weirdness for me.  For example, tonight H. wanted to be tickled after he saw me playing a tickle game with L.  H. is still highly sensitive to touch, so I was leery -- generally his body becomes taut and his limbs will shoot out unpredictably, jabbing the unsuspecting parent in the nose or ear.  A shrill scream will follow, and somehow his mouth has ended up right where your jabbed ear happens to be.  

He did pretty good, all in all, but it still was pretty awkward for him.  I am aware that he watches me and Lire interact and notices that it is different from the way he and I do.  If I do something with one, I usually have to do it with the other.  Probably not unusual with siblings.  However, things flow more naturally between me and L.  This troubles me, but I'm aware of it, and I'm working on ways to make my and H's relationship easier.  I feel how uncomfortable H. feels in his body, with his words, and I want so badly for him to relax, take it easy.  Time and greater comfort with the language and ways of our crazy country will help, I know.  The more I relax helps, too, of course.  Still.  I wish I could magically make him feel at ease.

   

misty watercolor memories...

Al and I have been reminiscing about "the good old days," aka last year. Please note subtle sarcasm.

As we remember how hard it was in the beginning, how it got easier in some ways, but stayed very difficult in others, we can see how far we've all come. All of us. Physically, emotionally, psychologically. We are all doing better. I think I only started feeling normal-ish after 9 months, and can look at things more objectively after a full year. I've always been a late bloomer, and a bit slow.

Anyway, today H. had his first meltdown in a while. It's nothing compared to a year ago, but it made me and Alex all misty-eyed. I could kind of see it coming. H. has always had a difficult time with transitions, especially transitions from something really, really fun to anything else. The end of fun. All kids have difficulty saying goodbye at a party, going home, etc. H. has a doubly hard time, AND he doesn't seem to react to sweets, particularly chocolate well. I've been mapping his recent meltdowns, and they all come after a party with chocolate. He's been to parties without chocolate, and he does not have the same reaction. The same defiance, the same stubborn refusal to leave, even though every other kid has left, party is over, lights off, crickets chirping, you get the drift.

It was definitely a bit deja-vu, what with the dissociative, glassy stare, non-responding, and the screaming. The way it was different was that it lasted a much shorter time, we were able to talk about it afterwards, and he rebounded much more quickly. And we rebounded more quickly, too.

I don't ever forget that H. has difficulty with leave-takings -- but things had been improving steadily, so a tiny regression sort of took us by surprise. If little things can trigger emotions in me, imagine how saying goodbye to one's beloved cousins could trigger, even subconsciously, the biggest leave-taking of his life.
Some may think we read too much into it, but the patterns I've been tracking are pretty consistent.

I spent some time reminding H. that his family in Ethiopia know me and Daddy, and that they want us to take care of him. They want us to make sure he rests enough, that he eats well, and well, listens to us. That he has two families, and right now, we are the ones who make rules for him, and keep him safe and healthy. He looked quite interested at this, though lately he hasn't wanted to talk about them.

We'll see! He has another birthday party to attend this weekend, so I'll check back and let you know how we all fare. I may be over-protective, but I am very tempted to bring our own "cake" so I won't have to play Russian Roulette with the chocolate. I know, you all think I'm crazy, but I'm just trying to keep my mind open to any elements that can help our guy feel good.

Next post: I'll be wearing a mimiboo exclusive hat! Very stylish, very cute.

tiger suits and dinosaur eggs

Today was a de-gorgeous day here -- sunny, 50ish degrees, lots of yellow flowers popping up all over. Lire was still napping and Al had gone to pick H up at school. Chauncey and I were cleaning up the yard. At least I was cleaning the yard. Chauncey imagines he is my Centurion, guarding the perimeters of our property against speeding tractors and noisy pick-ups.

The boys have managed to make our yard look pretty trashy, I must say. Broken plastic frisbees and sand buckets, bubble wands aplenty, sodden tennis balls and random pieces of wood decorate our lawn. So I decided to pick up a bit while the wee lad slept. I kept the front door open, so when he awoke, he would see me.

I traversed the lawn about a million times, picking up random bits and throwing them in a bucket. I kept looking at the door for Lire's little face, listening for his usual post-nap "Mommy?... Mommy?" I found one of Al's garden spades amongst a pile of broken bricks (yikes! what do these boys do when I'm not around?). I decided to put it in his work room, to keep it from rusting when I heard the saddest sound.

Heart-wrenching sobs! I rushed to the inner door and opened it to find my sad little Lire on the other side! He was beside himself with sadness and fear that no one was home for him! Writing about it hurts my heart yet again. I've been so strict about one of us being around for the boys when they awaken, and all last summer he would come outside to look for us after a nap. I guess with the cold weather he hadn't remembered that I may be outside.

I held him and rocked him and told him I would never leave him alone, not ever. That he must have been so scared to wake up and not find anyone in the house. To add comic relief to the situation, Chauncey decided this was the perfect time to rip the hat off my head. For those of you who don't know, it's C-dog's favorite trick, next to catching the boys' tee-ball hits. He did it not once, but twice as Lire bawled and I tried to comfort him. You have to give the dog some credit, he was trying to lighten the situation.

Dad and Habtam arrived home and I carried him over to them. Fortunately, Al had a plastic dinosaur egg that hatches when immersed in water in his hand, which put a smile on his face.

It brought home (again) to me how fresh the boys' relinquishment is in their subconscious. Just below the surface of Lire's joyful exterior. I find myself thinking how terrified he must have been, and it twists my insides into a knot. You will be glad to know that he had a wonderful rest of his day. He is anxiously awaiting the hatching of the dinosaur egg, and wore his tiger suit for the bedtime story. Little man.

time was...

A year since the boys' arrival is soon approaching. We've come a long way in a lot of respects, and are still struggling in others. I've been reading a couple blogs in which the families have just recently returned, and it is bringing back LOTS of memories. Some great, some very painful.

H had another spitting/screaming episode the other day. He hadn't had one in a really long time. I feel responsible for it in some ways, I should have eased off of him. I was PMSy, and was triggered by his disrespect -- he resembles a teenager in a lot of ways. Anyway, he ended up spitting at Lire, so I carried him to his room so he could spit on his bed as I held him, and not at his brother or anywhere else in the house.

Sigh.

I held him while he screamed about how much he hated me, how he wanted to go to the store with Daddy, a few odd threats thrown in. I started to watch my breath go in and out, trying to become an observer as well as a participant to the situation. I realized I should have stayed downstairs and ignored a few of his earlier activities and words. None of this would have happened, and who cares if he trashed the piano?

I think my conscious breathing calmed him. He stopped fighting me and his shrill scream turned into a little boy's crying. I said a few things that validated how he might feel -- angry at me, afraid, not liking when people didn't like the things he did and being told to stop doing those things. He nodded at most of them, especially the last one. He said he didn't like it when people told him to stop or to change. I acknowledged that it is hard to hear people tell you that they don't like what you're doing. And I told him I didn't like it much, either, but sometimes it was to help us. I admitted that Daddy and I often told one another we didn't like what the other was doing or saying, and although it made us angry, we knew it was usually to help us make better decisions. He actually seemed quite interested in this.

Hugging ended our session, and he went outside and did yard work with Dad.

None of this really had to have happened, if I had just minded my business and let the kid be a kid. At the same time, I'm glad we ended up having the discussion we had at the end. I always feel spent and a bit of a failure after one of these blow-ups. However, I do feel I'm learning how to get through them better, H and L seem to be weathering their tantrums better and we're avoiding them more.

BONK!

Ouch. Lire just butted his head into the wall as he was falling asleep. It doesn't wake him, believe it or not. The noise is loud enough to get me running downstairs to make sure there are no hi-jinks, or worse, head injuries. There never are. Just Lire under his pillow, legs up the wall, or head against it. Bonk.

The book I alluded to last post is Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves by Naomi Aldort. I don't have it in front of me, and I don't want to write an exhaustive review of it. Frankly, I'm a bit tired (it's the last day of an eleven day vacation, people), so I'll let you know why I think it's helpful and all that good stuff.

First off, it shares a lot in common with this book, which I've discussed briefly in the past, and which mimiboo writes really eloquently about in regards to her children. The biggest thing that they share, for me, is that they address the parents' reactions, behaviors, what-have-you in relation to their child's behaviors. Beyond Consequences discusses the triggers that set the parent off into his/her own maelstrom of fear and reaction, generally originating way back when. Identifying the triggers and one's reactions help one to slow down, analyze what's really going on, and hopefully allowing the parent to identify for the child the possible reasons for his/her behavior. Mimiboo gives a great example in the post I linked to above.

Aldort's book also helps the parent to look at his/her own reactions by slowing down and surveying a situation before reacting. She uses an acronym, SALVE: Stand back and survey the situation. Pay Attention to your child. Listen. Validate and Empower. The key letter for me was the V -- validate. Not only do I find that I often do not validate my children's reasons for outbursts and questionable behaviors, I'm repeating the actions of my parents. Who are WONDERFUL, don't get me wrong. I cried a lot as a kid. Some do, some do other things. This was a Big Deal in the family. It was discussed, teased, jeered, and yes, scorned. I understand. I find L's frequent crying a bit hard to deal with. But I'm treating him the way I really, really hated being treated. I'm not validating his sadness.

For me, validation equals compassion. Breaking down the word compassion, it means "suffering with." It doesn't mean spoiling. It just acknowledges that something -- something that to us doesn't mean so much, or something we can't even know -- has made the child cry, or hit, or scream, or throw toys down the stairs. When I turn down my roiling Italian/Irish blood, I can more easily see what may be the trigger. And I try to calmly identify this thing in an objective way. "you might feel hurt that Habtamu said Grace by himself (real example). That might be why you hit him." In this instance I waited a bit, and the Pucker fish (see previous entry) stopped pursing his lips, reversed the Ethiopian head-fake and looked at me with the biggest, saddest eyes. The screaming lasted a little less long than usual. We were able to go back to dinner and finish our pasta. Previously I might be so ticked at the hitting that I might berate him for it, saying that H saying Grace alone wasn't a good enough reason for hitting, yadda, yadda. To me it isn't a good enough reason, but to Lire, apparently it is.

Anyway, this may be elementary to you seasoned parents, and others may be saying, yeah, and?

For me, validating my own sadness and crying from Way-Back-When helps me to slow down. I have a harder time with disrespect, sadly. It really pushes my buttons! I'm trying to go back and think about when I've been disrespected and how it made me feel, how maybe I felt powerless at the time. This allows me to better see that our guys may feel powerless a good bit of the time and find my sometimes bossy ways a bit much.

The two books also share concepts I've been exploring in Buddhism and Siddha yoga. Bear with me! Nothing too esoteric. Just the idea that anger is mostly one's own thoughts wheeling about one's mind, not the actual event that precipitated the initial feeling. We've all been there: Someone says or does something which p's us off. A lot. Our mind starts cycling -- "she always does that! I bet she's going to go home and tell so-and-so. She probably thinks she's smarter than I am..." blah, blah, blah.

Those swirling thoughts make us angrier and angrier until we have a whole movie in our heads of our being wronged. Whatever precipitated our response, it's over. Buddhism advises us to acknowledge that thing, look at it as an observer, watch our feelings surrounding it, our thoughts, and then... let them loosen. Let them go. Practicing this a lot makes it easier as time goes on.

Aldort's book discusses how important it is for us to do this for our kids, to teach them not to wallow, not to attach to negative feelings. Something happened which made us sad, angry, whatever. Name this thing. Allow yourself to feel it, experience it, and then let it go. Easier said than done, but I'm working on it.

Today Al was wrestling with the boys on the rug. He had pinned H's arms with his legs, which H usually (why?) enjoys. All of a sudden he started to wail, to cry, to panic. Of course, Al let him go. He was bemused and went into the kitchen to check on dinner. Here goes mom, "It must be scary to be pinned like that." H shakes his head no. "Maybe you weren't sure he was going to let you go." H nods his head, we hug. H enters the kitchen, tears still glistening on his cheeks: "Daddy, you no catch me!" and runs into the living room, apparently ready for more.

Doesn't sound earth-shattering, I know. However, a few months ago that crying would have turned into a high-pitched scream, following us around the house, knocking over random objects, not looking me in the eye (whenever H was upset, he would transfer his negative feelings to me. Yay!). I know a lot has to do with increased language acquisition, but the fact that he came to me for comfort, and I could give it and not feel worn out and empty. Well, that is good.

Of course, most people probably don't need parenting books to help them be effective parents. I am a reader, however. And when I find parallels between books and an established spiritual tradition, I listen.

An added caveat: I am not doing either book or Buddhism enough justice. I wanted to show you the gleanings I found helpful and that resonated with me.

Below: Lire in mid-sleep. Note the foot poking out from under the pillow.

food and sex (gender, that is)

I know I have mentioned before about not being prepared despite preparing ourselves for our kids. I'm speaking specifically about "cultural differences" that are discussed in numerous books and by sw's regarding international adoption: "Your child(ren) will suddenly have to deal with brand new smells, sounds, faces, foods, homes, clothing, etc."

We prepared ourselves for rejection by the boys -- I know I would have rejected a "new mommy/daddy" if I were put in a similar situation. One thing I hadn't thought of was, well, sexism. I had met a few boys early in my teaching career who refused to play dress-up -- "that's for girls," or who claimed that boys were better than girls at various activities. But I wasn't prepared for some pretty unusual behaviors exhibited by our older son.

H would become noticeably displeased if I was served food first, or if I received what he perceived to be a larger portion than what he had. When we first met them in Ethiopia, one of the nannies told us that if H wasn't served first, he would leave the table and refuse to eat with the other children. Of course, with all of those kids, there was no way they could (or even wanted to!) indulge this desire. I filed this away with the other anecdotes they shared with us. How H held L's hand all the time when they first arrived, how he helped load all of the younger children into the vans for their numerous visits to court and doctors.

We are aware that the food issues the boys have had everything to do with their early malnourishment -- not knowing when they would eat again, or how much. We guessed (and spoke to other adoptive families) that when food was served at home, there was a hierarchy of who was served first and how much.

So we did serve H first when it was just us, in the beginning. We deviated now and then, either on purpose, to see how he would react, or unconsciously because, hey, we're human! Over time he seemed to feel more secure about being fed regularly and enough, and could wait while we served L first, or Daddy. And sometimes me. But that received scowls. When language came, we could explain that the person serving the food served him/herself last. He and L practiced serving us and themselves, and we took turns, making our gestures and words exaggerated -- "Thank you for the pasta, Mommy! Would you like some, too?"

However, language also brought expressions of discontent. When passing around the parmesan, if I received the bowl first, H might exclaim accusingly "Me no have cheese!" Taking turns was still tough when it came to food. We also realized that if I finished something -- for example, if I took the last meatball -- I would be roundly chided and given angry looks.

A lot of this also has to do with his resistance to me as a mother figure, of course. But his preference for all men, not just Alex, was obvious. We realized that women made him nervous -- he didn't seem to know how to act around them. He was brought up in a male-dominated environment, so that explains a bit. He continuously asked us for corroboration on his theories -- "Boys more smart girls? Boys more faster girls? Boys better cookers girls?"

Needless to say, my American feminist little self was pretty irritated after a while! Our responses that boys and girls were as smart as one another, that girls could be faster than boys, were met with a grimace and a frustrated grunt. Most of this, thank goodness, is dissipating. If H is tired, or especially hungry, it can rear it's head. About a week ago, when there was a bit of food left, Alex asked if I wanted to eat it the next day. It was a tiny portion, not enough for a meal. So I said, "sure, I'll finish it up tomorrow." H had already cleared his plate and was leaving the room. He looked at me. He looked at the food. He asked Al if he could eat it. Of course, we said yes. Would he have done this if Alex had expressed an interest in eating it? Probably not.

I'm not really sure where this post is going. I think I just wanted to put out there something which I didn't expect from a 4 year old. I had read about food issues, but never as it relates to who gets fed how much when, and why.

H is beginning to see that women play a big part in his life, and are in positions of authority over him. His teachers are all women, as are his grandmas. A few of the farmers we see working around us are women. They drive tractors. That blew his mind! Little by little, we're understanding one another.

rainbow day 2

I've been calling days "Mostly Good" when there are steps backwards in our attachment as a family, but more than just a couple limps forward. Generally those are good days with one or two blow-ups from one of us. Mostly Good. The days which are wonderful and happy and make us recognize that we LOVE our family better than anything. Well, those have been named Rainbow Days by wee Lire.

Nothing spectacular happened yesterday. Lire was still napping (he is a powerful napper -- we think that's why he's so happy) and Habtam and I were hanging out and having tea and milk. We were also sharing crusty bread with peanut butter and jelly. I can't remember how it came up, but he wanted to know all about how Alex and I came to Ethiopia -- did we come more than once, where were he and Lire, etc. So I went over the story of how we first got a photograph of them and were asked if we would be their parents -- "Yes!" squealed Habtamu. How we traveled for a long time to get to Ethiopia. How we met them at Horizon House and played with balls and bubbles. How they cried when we would leave for the day and then how they cried when they spent the night with us. How we all took a big airplane to the US and a long car ride to their new house.

Then I started telling him about the types of things he and Lire got into when they first arrived. EVERYTHING! Gas was turned off and on, child-proof cabinet latches were laughed at and household cleaners were sprayed, lights were turned on and off and on and off and on and off and ...

Toilets were filled to the brim with toilet paper and flushed. And backed up. And flushed again so that they would overflow. Mmmm...

A dryer was broken, a lightbulb exploded, pillows and blankets were cut by children's scissors -- we never knew how well those scissors could cut!

As I told the stories, gesticulating and exaggerating my and Alex's reactions, Habtamu laughed and laughed.

"Oh, Mommy! Too funny!"

It actually IS funny now. But at the time, OY! Keeping up with Habtamu and Lire the Destroyers was not an easy task.

H and I spent the next hour tracing letters and coloring them in with markers.

H: Mommy?

Me: Mmm?

H: Makes the sign for "beautiful" and points to me.

It was a Rainbow Day.