Journey to Lana

All The Answers That I Started With Turned Out Questions in the End*

2009-10-10T14:26:00.000-07:00

Lana has been asking the hard questions for about two weeks now.

THE QUESTIONS. The Big Questions.

The questions that have come from her these last two weeks...are the ones I have trouble answering. I'm not entirely sure what I'm "supposed" to say. It's one thing to read about these scenarios in a parenting book. It's another thing entirely to look into your child's face, to know they are looking for answers, and to know that sometimes the only answer is "I don't know."
The other day, she pointed at a photo of her foster mom and asked if she had grown in her belly. I told her no. She asked me "whose belly then?" and I told her what I knew about her birth mother.

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I know this is difficult for her to understand. She remembers her foster mother. I am pretty sure she believed her foster mother was her biological mother. To the best of my knowledge (and believe me, I understand that it is a blessing to have the limited information that I do have), Lana's birth mother never saw her again after Lana was about six months old.
We have had lots of questions about her foster mother, but the questions about her birth mother are, for the most part, recent.

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"Did she give me a name?" she asks. (I am surprised by this - the question seems complex to me.)

"Yes, she gave you a name. She gave you a name that was very close to her name. Her name means Jade Lotus. She gave you a name that means Jade Orchid."

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Lana knows what a "Jade Orchid" is - I have an orchid made of white jade on a necklace, and she knows I wear that necklace for her**, she knows that an orchid is a flower, and that jade is the stone it is made of. She knows her name in Vietnamese and she knows it means this type of flower made of jade.***

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"What is Lotus?" she asks me.
"It's a kind of flower, like an orchid is a kind of flower. A beautiful kind of flower."
We were lying in bed together (so often these hard conversations take place at the end of the day) - so she spooned her body closer into mine, but turned her face away from me. "Why did she even have me at all?" she whispered.

I said the thing that I thought she most needed to hear. "Because she loved you."

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I expected her to question this. I just wasn't expecting it...yet.

The truth is, I don't know why she had Lana. I wasn't about to explain the concept of abortion or it's incidence in the place of her birth. Vietnam doesn't have a rigid "one-child policy" for me to point to.

I have nothing, really, no knowledge, of why Jade Lotus chose to give birth to my daughter. Perhaps she was in love with Lana's biological father. Perhaps she was hopeful they would have a life together. Perhaps she couldn't afford to do otherwise. But, in my heart, it seemed the only answer that was appropriate to give a confused 6 year old girl who has concrete memories of two mothers and questions about a mother who gave her away when she was seven days old was,

"Because she loved you."

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Then she hit me with another big one. "Why did she leave me with her?" she asked, pointing to a photo of her foster mother, the other mother Lana remembers. The mother Lana lived with for three and a half years. The mother who still, on occasion, emails me to ask if Lana is okay, if she is eating, if she learning, if she is a good girl. The mother who, I don't doubt, loved Lana very, very much.

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I think...I probably should have told her she left her with her foster mother because she knew her foster mother could take care of her when she (her birth mother) could not. But I don't know for sure. Jade Lotus either wasn't particularly forthcoming with information, or that information never made it into Lana (extensive) file.

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What I did say was, "She wanted to make sure you were safe and loved and cared for."

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What do we tell our children, when they look at us for answers to questions that we have no answers for? There is a school of thought that we should tell them the truth - that we simply don't know.

The truth can be harsh and ugly. There may come a day when those answers can be discerned. I do not have it in me to tell my child, my beautiful, joyful child, MY child - how can I give her any answer that does not lead back to the only answer that she needs to hear - "She had you because she loved you. She gave you to me because she loved you."

Even if it's not true - even if there were extenuating circumstances - I have to believe that the woman who brought this joyful, amazing person into the world - love had to have been one of her motivations. And if it was not...if it was not...well, if it was not, I don't ever want my daughter to know. I want her to always believe that she was loved. And if that's not the truth - what good would it serve her to know that, at the age of six?

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*Alison Kraus, Gravity

**I also have a St. Gabriel's medallion on a necklace, for Gabriel, obviously. I cannot wear them at the same time - I try to remember to wear one or the other of them if something important is happening for either of them.

***Any native Vietnamese speakers care to tell me if "Bich Lan" (Jade Orchid) refers to a specific kind of orchid - an actual flower? Any searches I have done on the term Jade Orchid have results in orchids made out of jade, as opposed to living orchids in any shade of green. I am intensely curious about it, though.

Cereal Killer

2009-09-17T14:20:00.000-07:00

We have had a Fruit Loops Drama in my house that is so ridiculous I have to share it so that you can know the kind of surreality I am existing in.

Yesterday morning, before I was really awake, Gabriel came into my bedroom and said, "Mom, I ate all the Fruit Loops."

I said, "You ate ALL the Fruit Loops?" and inwardly, I felt annoyed by the fact that he had eaten them all because A. I wanted some and B. I was pretty sure that eating two big bowls of Fruit Loops would make him insane all day and I was secretly thankful that he had soccer practice so at least he would run all the Fruit Loop Insanity out of his body before the day was over.

Last night, things were kind of crazy in my kitchen because I decided that the inside of the dishwasher was disgusting and had to be cleaned before I could accomplish anything, and also that I needed to bake a batch of cookies for David's aunt who is stopping by today on her way from Philadelphia to Detroit, and also that I needed to prepare the things to make a casserole that would reheat easily in case David's Aunt was hungry for something more than cookies at whatever time she happens to stop by.

PHEW. I am tired again just thinking about this.

So, after I scrubbed the dishwasher with a toothbrush, and after I cut up a bunch of cabbage and onions and cooked some long grain rice and defrosted some beef and baked a batch of banana chocolate chip cookies, I put Lana and Gabe to bed.

As I was singing to Lana she said, "Mommy, Gabe didn't really eat all the Fruit Loops."

And I said, "What?" and she said, "He didn't eat all the Fruit Loops, he hid them and I want some for breakfast tomorrow."

I finished singing to Lana and I walked into Gabe's room where I found him stretched across his bed, petting the cat, wearing only pajama shorts and a Korean Air eye-mask, and I said, "Gabriel, did you hide the Fruit Loops?"

He had the courtesy to look ashamed and said, quietly, "yes."

And I said, "Why would you hide the Fruit Loops?"

And he said, "Because I didn't want to share them with Lana."

And I said, "We share food in this house and where are they???"

He told me where they were.

And then I sent Husband in to have a chat with him about why we share food and why we DON'T LIE TO OUR MOTHER.

So...I went downstairs and hid the Fruit Loops. Yes, because I am a grown up. Or not.

This morning, Gabe woke me up and said, "Mom, where's the Fruit Loops?" and I said, "I hid them."

And Gabe got upset, and I suggested that it did NOT feel good when somebody hides the Fruit Loops, and I said that WHEN I GOT UP, I would pour three servings of Fruit Loops and that he and I and his sister would eat them AS A FAMILY, because FAMILIES SHARE FRUIT LOOPS.

At which point I advised him to leave me alone OR ELSE I WOULD THROW THE FRUIT LOOPS AWAY.

And so he left and I made him and his sister eat bananas before they could have any Fruit Loops, and at this point I am considering never buying Fruit Loops ever again. They aren't something we usually buy. This was a diversion from our usual Cinnamon Life or Kix, and I can't say it went very well...

This is my life....I'm not sure what happened to it.

Cut Your Teeth and Make Your Peace

2009-06-30T14:12:00.000-07:00

Lana lost her first tooth last week.

She was incredibly pleased about it.

It fell out while she was wiggling it in front of the bathroom mirror.

David and I were sitting out by the pool at the time. (This is pretty much where we can be found most of the summer. We have a strict rule about no kids in the backyard when there are no grown-ups out, by the reverse is not true. In fact, some times the adults in our house enjoy the pool when there are no kids in it. Blasphemy, I know.)

Anyway, David and I were sitting by the pool. Lana came bursting out the back door and triumphantly produced her tiny tooth, exclaiming, "MY TOOTH FELL OUT!! MY TOOTH FELL OUT!!"

We made all the appropriate parental noises and I took the tooth inside and put it in a sandwich baggie.

WHICH I then promptly lost. Seriously.

I put it somewhere safe. And I can tell you, it SURE IS safe, because I cannot, for the life of me, tell you where it is.

As bedtime drew near, I became increasingly distressed about the fact that I had misplaced her tooth.

Lana became increasingly distressed about the fact that A FLYING MAGICAL CREATURE WAS COMING TO HER BEDROOM TO TERRORIZE HER IN HER SLEEP.

She was totally freaked out about the tooth fairy. Scared out of her mind, in fact.

She asked David to put the tooth under HIS pillow. (We readily agreed to this, since the tooth was, and is, still LOST.)

She asked us to leave the tooth fairy a note. She specified that we should not say who in the household had lost a tooth.

"Don't say it's Lana's tooth!" she begged and pleaded.

We wrote a note to the tooth fairy, conspicuously removing any reference as to whose mouth it might have come from, and we put Lana to bed.

She was awake every half hour from 10:00 to 12:30, worrying that something was flying around her bedroom, at which point I gave up and took her to sleep in the guest room with me.

She slathered her small body next to mine, under my arm, and that's the way she slept all night. (Usually, when we need to bring her to bed with us, she is just satisfied to be in the bed. But not that night. That night, fear of the tooth fairy required actual parental contact all night long. The horror of that tiny little fairy. Who knew?)

In the morning, David hung a $2 on Lana's bedroom door while Lana was still asleep.

The $2.00 bill had been in the drawer of my jewelry box, where a bottle of my perfume once spilled out a bit, and now everything that spends any time there smells faintly of Yves St. Laurent's Paris.

When she woke up, Lana pulled the bill off her door.

She eyed it suspiciously. "Who put this here?" she demanded.

"The tooth fairy," David said.

Lana brought the bill to her nose and breathed deeply.

Her eyes narrowed. She sniffed the bill again.

"This money," she announced, (in a tone much like that of Sherlock Holmes solving some kind of mystery), "SMELLS LIKE MOMMY!"

She ran to show Gabriel the bill.

"Smell this!" she commanded.

Gabe said, "The tooth fairy always brings two dollars."

"Smell this money, Gabe!" Lana said again.

Gabe smelled it.

"That money smells like mommy," Lana said. "Don't you think that money smells like mommy? It smells like mommy's smell!"

Gabe considers for a minute and said, "That money DOES smell like mommy."

I tried to tell them that the tooth fairy made the money smell like mommy because she didn't want Lana to be afraid of her.

They both pretended to accept that explanation. But truthfully...I think they might be on to me...I can't believe I've been outed by a fear of small flying magical money bringing fairies and a devotion to Yves St. Laurent...

*Make Your Peace, INXS

A Bad Mother?

2009-06-09T14:10:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to decide if the fact that my kids are out in the yard with the neighbor children, apparently playing a game that resembles a convenience store hold-up, should be appalling to me, or if I should just be glad they are out in the fresh air???

Careening Through the Universe, You're Axis on a Tilt, You're Guiltless and Free, I Hope You Take a Piece of Me With You*

2009-05-07T14:05:00.000-07:00

Driving Lana to the doctor's office** on Tuesday afternoon, we were passed by three men on Harley Davidson's.

I was going 70 in a 65*** on the interstate, so the motorcycles must have been going at least 75.

"Mama?" Lana asked from the back seat."Lana?" I answered. (She likes it when I say "Lana" when she says, "Mama". I don't know why. Maybe she just likes the balance of the sounds.)

"Did you see those motorcycles?" she asked.

"I did." I answered.

"Did you know you could take a motorcycle on a big, fast road like this?" she asked.

"Well," I said. "You CAN take a motorcycle on a big, fast road like this, but I'm not sure it's a great idea."

"I don't want to ride a motorcycle on this kind of road," she said.

(Inwardly, I said a little prayer of thanksgiving for small favors.)

Lana recently told my friend Heather than she (Lana) and her mommy had ridden a motorcycle in Vietnam. Heather had gently tried to clarify if Lana meant that she had ridden a motorcycle with ME or with her foster mother, and Lana had insisted that she and *I* had ridden a motorcycle together in Vietnam, which is simply not true.

I decided that it was a good a time as any to explore what Lana had meant by that conversation.

"Lana?" I asked.

"Mama?" she answered. (There we go with the call and answer thing again.)

"Did you ride motorcycles with the mommy you had before I was your mommy?" (Ponder, for a moment, the monumentally small odds of the necessity of this sentence being formed under any normal circumstances. I KNOW. It's weird. It's a weird sentence.)

"Of course," she answered. "All the time." She said this very matter-of-factly. As if this was not a conversation of extreme importance. As if everyone on the planet, at one time or other, had had another mother who rode motorcycles with them.

"Did you ride on big fast roads like this one?" I asked."No, mommy. We rode on bumpy, small roads."

"Oh," I said. (What else COULD I say? Really?)"There weren't any big, fast roads like this, mom," she said.

"Oh?" I said again. (I'm predictable that way, I guess.)

"Vietnam is a very old place, mom, that's why. A very old place with small bumpy roads."

I tried very hard not to laugh at loud. I suppose I should have taken the opportunity to point out that it was a very old place with delicious food and a complex and fascinating history, or at least that it boasts fabulous beaches. Something she could relate to.

But I was a bit busy being gobsmacked by the idea that my daughter not only remembers the mother she had before me, but that she can also talk about her in the most casual way.

That what my daughter remembers, of the time before me, is riding on a motorcycle, on small bumpy roads, in a very old place.

* Third Eye Blind, Motorcycle Drive By
**Because she has a UTI. Again.***
***Please do not turn me over to the authorities.

It's Part Hard, Hard to Remember, It's Part Hard to Say, Parts Unknown, Unknown Forever*

2009-04-21T13:57:00.000-07:00

One of the most frustrating things about parenting ~ in particular about parenting a child who has not always been one's own child ~ is that you can be going through life, thinking that things are okay, and then ~ WHACK ~ you get kicked in the teeth.

I've had a "kicked in the teeth" sort of week with Lana.

I think a lot of mommy blogs and adoption blogs tend to focus on the positive, and that's completely okay.

But, this blog is primarily for me, it's my space, and there are times when I have to talk about the hard parts, if only for my own sanity.

I truly believed that Lana was ready to be away from Husband and I for a week while we went on vacation.

I truly believed that she was going to be fine, hanging out with her grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousins.

Part of the reason I believed that was because she spent a week away from David and I last summer.

She went on vacation with my mom and my brother and my aunt and Gabe and one of her cousins.

I think the key difference was that, in that case, Lana left US, to go have an adventure with her Grandma and her Uncle J~.

And in this case, WE left HER.

That was an enormous difference, in Lana's mind. Evidently. As near as I can tell.

All last week, she misbehaved in totally unacceptable ways.

When she was called out on this misbehavior, she would begin to cry and wail, "I love you, I love you, Mommy, I love you, Daddy, I love you, I love you."

It was kind of weird, to be totally honest. So we would respond, "we love you, too, but you cannot __________ (fill in the blank with whatever bad behavior she was doing.)"

There was a lot of crying, and whining and stomping. There were unreasonable demands (some of which were highly amusing. For example, "I WANT TO GO TO A JAPANESE RESTAURANT RIGHT THIS SECOND OR I WILL SCREAM.") (As IF I would take a screaming 6 year old out for sushi. Not in this lifetime.)

(The thing that she wants at Japanese restaurants is tempura shrimp and steamed dumplings. She will eat sushi but she doesn't like it, and it's too expensive to feed to anyone who doesn't REALLY enjoy it, you know?)

The bad behavior came to a head on Sunday. She was in a terrible mood. She had a friend over for a playdate and was very bossy to her. The girls ended their playdate on a happy note (after I told her she needed to stop being so bossy), but when her friend left, there were more tears.

Late in the evening, she told me that she wished Gabriel would die. I kind of lost it when she said that to me.

I did not deal with it well. I had to walk away from her because I felt like she had stuck a knife in my heart and twisted it all around.

In the end I told her she wasn't ever going to be allowed to leave her bedroom until she apologized to me and Gabriel. (There was a lot of screaming coming from her bedroom until she finally emerged and apologized. Her apology was half-hearted. I honestly don't have a clue how else I should have handled this.)

Before bed, she cried for forty-five minutes about hating her school situation. (She loves kindergarten, but she hates her after-Kindergarten program. I will concede that I am also unhappy with the after-Kindergarten program. I just don't have any other options at this point, and she has several friends who attend the program. It's only for another month. She's going to spend the summer at home with Husband and Gabriel, and then, when she starts First Grade, I will put her on the bus in the morning (as I do now) and she will come home on the bus with Gabe in the afternoon, and Husband will be home from school when they get here. So, I understand that she's not happy with the situation, but I cannot fix it for another month.)

Then she cried that everyone hates her, she hates everyone, and everyone is mean to her. She cried herself to sleep. She was up and down all night, screaming and crying.

It was like one of the nights when she had only been with us a few months, screaming, anger and refusing to allow us to comfort her. (Normally, when she wakes in the middle of the night, she will allow us to take her to bed with us and she'll sleep between us and calm down. But, Sunday night, she screamed at us to go away, not to touch her, to leave her alone. She screamed that she wanted to stop crying but couldn't. She screamed that she was hurting, but couldn't say where or what hurt. It was incredibly frustrating. And exhausting. And sad.)

But yesterday, when she woke up, she was excited to go to school. She ate breakfast and put on her shoes and put her lunch in her backpack without any trouble. When I picked her up after school, she was in a good mood. She ate dinner happily and she and I went for a walk through the neighborhood, and then she played Pixos with Gabe until bed.

When I went into her room to sing her a song and tuck her in, she was under the covers.

I said, "Where is my Lana?"

From under the blankets she said, "I am a monster and I ate Lana because she is a mean girl."

I decided to play along. So I said, "Listen to me, Mr. Monster. You bring me back my sweet Lana."

"No, I ate her," came a voice from under the blankets.

"Mr. Monster, if you do not bring me back my sweet Lana, I will cry," I said, and then I made theatrical weeping noises.

From under the blanket came the sound of fake vomiting.

(Evidently, the monster was throwing Lana back up?)

She popped out of the blankets and said, "I escaped from the monster's stomach, Mommy." I crawled in bed with her and snuggled with her and sang her a song. I

n the darkness she looked at me and said, "What would you do, if I disappeared for real, mommy?"

I looked at her, and said, "Lana, if you disappeared, I would FREAK OUT."

"For real? You would freak out?" she asked me. "Would you cry?"

"Yes, Lana, I would cry. And I would look for you and look for you, and I would be really, really upset."

So she said, "Okay mommy, I won't disappear."

She fell asleep without tears, which felt like a victory after the horror of Sunday night.

I just worry, that there will be more times when the monster will rear his ugly head again. And I feel like I'm never quite sure when to expect a visit. These hard parts...can be really hard.

*The Tragically Hip, 700 Ft. Ceiling

Pajama Fan

2009-03-04T13:53:00.000-08:00

Yesterday evening, we were sitting at our kitchen table, eating a bedtime snack and reading some stories.

I was wearing the Hello Kitty pajamas that Lana (with Husband's assistance) gave me for Christmas.

Lana climbed into my lap when I finished reading our second story of the night, and began tracing the Hello Kitty face on my pajama top with her index finger.

"Me and Mommy both love Hello Kitty," she said, happily.

So I said, "Yep, we both love Hello Kitty."

"What do Daddy and Gabe like?" she asked.

"The Tigers," I said. "Daddy and Gabe love the Tigers and baseball."

"I like baseball!" she protested.

"Yeah, but your not as much of a baseball fan as Daddy and I are," Gabe said. "We are real baseball fans."

Lana seemed to have no response to that for a second and then said, "I know what mommy is a fan of!"

"What?" I asked.

"Mommy is a fan of pajamas! You are a pajama fan, mommy!" She declared.

I'll tell you what - truer words have not been spoken.

Is it racism or does she just hate lotion?

2009-03-01T13:49:00.000-08:00

I am surprised how well Lana is doing, all things considered.

Gabe had a very hard time after his tonsils came out, and we ended up back in the doctor's office with a dehydrated kid in a lot of pain.

Lana is uncomfortable when her pain medication starts to wear off, and she's a little sleepy (probably from the pain meds) but she seems to be doing fairly well.

Last night, about 30 minutes before she was due for another dose Tylenol with Codeine, she declared that she was itchy. So itchy, in fact, that she was "dying from the itchy" and that I needed to do something about it 'right now'.

When I told her I could help the itch, but I needed to put lotion on her to do that, she declared that I was a bad mother who did not like having kids.

I asked her what made her think I didn't like having kids, she said, "because you never make us any good food."

This was after I had steamed five dumplings and cut them into tiny pieces so they wouldn't hurt her throat. Because the only thing she wanted to eat on the planet was dumplings, and I wanted to get some protein into her, and I am a sucker like that. (Note, she ate four of the five dumplings and insisted I save the one leftover dumpling for today and not eat it myself. Because evidently I'm also the kind of mom who cannot be trusted when there are leftover dumplings about.)

(Okay, she might be on to something there.)

She loves dumplings, she would eat them every day if I would let her, and on a day that I made them for her, I was the kind of mom who never gives good food. Nice.

After she had her medicine, she decided she would let me put lotion on her, but only if Husband helped. We were slathering up with Eucerin, and she suddenly declared, "I hate my brown skin!"

I said, "what?" because I didn't want to think I heard her correctly, and she said, "I hate my brown skin" again.

And my heart broke into a thousand pieces and fell out of my body onto the floor where it settled into a pool on the carpet screaming "failed mother!" at me.

Well, at a minimum let's say I felt pretty lousy about it."Why do you hate your brown skin?" I asked.

She didn't have an answer.

I'd like to think she was expressing her displeasure with the fact that she needs lotion all the time (and let's face it, regardless of what shade it is, if you take a child from a climate that is consistently warm and humid, and put her in a place where it is cold and blowy and snowy, lotion is going to be a skin-care necessity.)

I don't want to think that she was expressing a sentiment from any other children at her school or elsewhere that her skin tone is undesirable. Because if that is the case, my head might actually explode.

We have her at a school with the second highest percentage of Asian students in this part of the state. There are lots of Asian kids in her school. But most of the kids in her school are Caucasian.

And I just hate to think that someone has made her feel bad, or lesser or inadequate, because of her skin.(And truly, Lana's skin is a beautiful color that millions of American teenagers spend millions of dollars exposing their skin to the cancer rays of the indoor tanner in an effort to achieve...shouldn't they be jealous?)

I know she will encounter ignorant people in her lifetime. I know it will happen. I know that I cannot shelter her from Ethnicism and Racism and people who make assumptions that she will be good at math.

But does it have to happen in Kindergarten?And maybe I am reading to much into this? Maybe she just hates lotion?

Not sure what to think....

It is Done

2009-02-27T13:48:00.000-08:00

Lana's tonsils are out.

She woke up a bit earlier than was expected from the anesthsia, so she woke in the recovery room before David and I were back there.

She freaked out and they had to give her three doses of morphine and I had to climb on the gurney with her to help her calm down.

She has been taking liquids and popsicles, and this evening ate a little mac'n'cheese and some ramen noodles and two bites of banana.

I suspect it's going to be a long couple of days. But I'm hopeful that once she is healed she will be able to breathe and swallow much more easily

Quote of the Day from Lana

2009-02-13T13:44:00.000-08:00

Lana says: "I hate penguins. Penguins are stupid. I like monkeys much more better."

That's all.

That's all I've got today.

Are you Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot?

2009-01-12T13:40:00.000-08:00

We have a small regional grocery chain in our area that we like to frequent.

They call themselves a "general store" because they have groceries and fresh local produce, and also anything you need to run a farm. So, for example, if you need some locally grown tomatoes, some milk, a saddle for your horse and some food for your goats - you can get it there. Or a new sink, some wallpaper, and alarm clock. General Store. They mean it and they've been around for over a hundred years.

It is an especially nice place to visit if you are hungry because they usually have lots of 'samples' out for tasting. This makes it a favorite place of Lana's - she loves fresh fruit and fresh tomatoes.

Lately they've been selling roasted peanuts still in the shell. (They've probably been selling these for over a hundred years as well, it's just that Lana noticed them and wanted them, so we've been buying them.) They have a few options in terms of flavor - salted or Cajun. David had Lana at the store about a week ago and she dove into the sample dish of Cajun peanuts. One of the employees tried to stop her, saying, "oh, sweetie, that's the cajun!" just as Lana shoved one in her mouth. "Daddy! It's SPICY! Can we get some??" she said, to the amazement of the woman working the store who thought that there were going to be tears instead of excitement.

They bought a small bag to bring home. Lana has been guarding these Cajun peanuts a bit carefully. She will share them with David but she clearly views them as her own. She graciously offered to let me try ONE, which made my eyes water and sent me looking for a glass of water. I have not touched them since.

Yesterday she must have gotten one that had a particularly large amount of spice on it, because she lunged for her water and exclaimed, loudly,"OH! MY MOUTH HAS GOT THE BURN! MY MOUTH HAS GOT THE BURN!" David and I tried not to crack up.

It must not have been too bad, though, because after a little water she was cracking more shells in her tiny capable hands.

Two Years

2009-01-08T08:46:00.000-08:00

TODAY it is very important that I write. Because TODAY is the second anniversary of our Giving and Receiving Ceremony. TODAY is the second anniversary of the day we went from being a family of three to being a family of four.

A few days ago, I was sorting through Lana's clothes, and bagging up things that were too small. (She has been growing like a weed lately). At the corner of one of her drawers was a wrinkled pair of yellow capri pants with a bad stain over the knee.

She is wearing the pants in this photo.

We bought those pants two years ago tonight, at a shopping center in Da Nang. (We also bought her a yellow sweatshirt with a red tulip on it, and a pair of pink pants and a turtle neck. And crayons and coloring books and boxed milk, and pretty much anything else that she pointed at in the grocery section of the shopping center, because she was so very thin. And she wouldn't eat much, aside from fruit.)

The reason that the pants have a terrible stain on the knee is because she was wearing them when I dropped her. In the road. Yes, in. the. road. In Vietnam. Where traffic is INSANE.

I don't think I blogged about this when it happened.

We were walking in the road near the Somerset Westlake in Hanoi and I was carrying her in my arms, when my shoe caught in something and I tripped...and I dropped Lana in the road and she was almost crushed by a taxi.

When I think about it now, when I think about what might have happened, what could have happened, it makes my heart beat really fast and I feel panicky.

More panicky, in fact, than I felt at the time it happened.

I think I was numb. I think I was in a state of heightened awareness. I think I had reached a level of 'completely-and-utterly-freaked-out' that was previously unknown to me. So dropping my newly adopted child in the road in front of a taxi didn't really register as it probably should have.

And with two years hindsight, all I can say is Thank God, Thank God, Thank God that taxi driver stopped.

This has been quite a journey. We are in such a different place than we were two years ago tonight, when Lana fell asleep watching a Strawberry Shortcake video in a hotel bed in the city where she was born, a city she may never return to.

Tonight we went to dinner as a family, and Lana gleefully ate a cheeseburger and french fries and lettuce and tomatoes. She stole shrimp off my plate.

Afterwards, Lana and went shopping, because Coldwater Creek was having a 70% off sale and Gymboree was having a 60% off sale, and Lana grinned at me and said, "Let's Go SHOPPING MOMMY!"

We are dangerous together, she and I.

I could not bring myself to throw out those yellow pants. They are tucked in the back of her closet, and someday, maybe, I will tell her the story of why there is a stain on the knee, and why, of all of her clothes, I kept that pair of wrinkled pants, even when they no longer fit her.

Lana In The Leaves

2008-11-19T10:10:00.000-08:00

My Girlfriend H~ took this picture of Lana playing in the leaves. I just love it.

Six Years

2008-11-05T10:18:00.000-08:00

Six years ago, today, Gabriel and I flew from Los Angeles to Detroit, after spending a week in California, visiting family and friends and attending my cousin's wedding.

It was the first time Gabe had ever been on an airplane.

It was otherwise an uneventful day, as far as we knew then.

But...

Six years ago today, in a city on the South China Sea, a woman whose name means "Jade Lotus" gave birth to a baby girl and she gave that baby girl a name that means "Jade Orchid". She stayed with her for one week, before taking her to an orphanage and asking them to care for her, because she did not have the means to do so herself.

I think the fact that she gave her baby a name so close in meaning to her own meant something of tremendous importance to her. I have to believe she chose that name with a great deal of care.

My feelings about this woman, Jade Lotus, have often been conflicted. And I think the reason for my conflict stemmed not from the actions of Jade Lotus, but rather from the difficulty I had in becoming the mother of Jade Orchid.

Becoming the mother of Jade Orchid was not easy for me. It was a road filled with potholes and switchbacks and, many times, as I began walking on that road, I stumbled and I did not think I could get up again and keep walking ~ because it was so hard. And in its difficulty, I did not have kind feelings about Jade Lotus.

But, that bumpy and difficult part of the road is far behind me, I am no longer becoming Jade Orchid's mother. I am her mother. She is no longer becoming my daughter. She is my daughter.

And in the transforming from the becoming to the being, I have come to feel something towards Jade Lotus that is not conflicted, but, merely simple.

I am grateful.

I am grateful for this little girl, who came into our family in such an unusual way, who, by all rights should have joined another family years earlier. I am grateful for this child who smothers me with kisses and sings me songs and tells me funny stories.

I am grateful, that six years ago, Jade Lotus made a choice to bring this child to the world. I am grateful that she gave me the opportunity to become this child's mother.

And if I could say anything to her today, it would be, thank you. Thank you for this beautiful child, and her beautiful name.

Jade Lotus, where ever you are today, I hope you know that Jade Orchid is safe, and loved, and that she is, above all things, joyful.

Happy Birthday to my beautiful, beautiful Lana, who woke up this morning with a smile on her face, and a blissful announcement that "Today is my BIRTHDAY!" It sure is, baby girl, it sure is.

I am not a Llama

2008-09-21T10:33:00.000-07:00

Gabe had a friend over yesterday who (either inadvertently or on purpose, I don't know which) called Lana, "Llama".

It's actually not that far a stretch from Lana to Llama. Although many people mispronounce Lana's name like beginning of the word "land" with an "a" on the end, her name is more correctly pronounced like the word "llama," only exchanging the "m" sound for an "n" sound.*

Do you suppose more people would say it right if we changed the spelling to "Llana"? (Or, you know, that might lead to her being called "Yana," which would just be ridiculous.)

At any rate, after several instances of being called, "Llama" by Gabe's friend, Lana had had enough.

Which is when I heard her yell something that I really never expected either of children would have a need to yell across our yard, ever ~ namely,

"LISTEN TO ME!!! I. AM. NOT. A. LLAMA!!"

It gave me a giggle.

*we choose to pronounce her name this way because it was the way she, herself, pronounced her Vietnamese name, which was "Lan". We just westernized her name by adding the "a" sound on the end.

Of All the Gin Joints, In All The World, You Had to Walk Into Mine

2008-09-21T10:07:00.000-07:00

This evening I was having dinner with my family at a smallish chain restaurant that all four of us like.

Lana surprised me by reaching over to my plate and taking one of my shrimp. (And no, we were not at Red Lobster. Ever since the great Red Lobster Debacle of 1993, David has not set foot in a Red Lobster.)

Where was I?

Oh, Lana reached over and took a shrimp from my plate, put it in her mouth (uh...tail and all) and ate it.

"I like this," she announced.

David and I stared at her, a bit dumbfounded.

Lana loved shrimp when we were with her in Vietnam. And, for a short time afterward. LOVED them.

Then, inexplicably and without warning, she refused to eat them. For a long time she offered no explanation for this. And then, one day, months ago, she said, "I no eat that no more. I ate that when I spoke Vietnam. I no speak Vietnam, I no eat those things."

And while this made me sad, I didn't know what to do. It's not like shrimp is something I feed to my other child, well, ever. So, I stopped putting shrimp on her plate and replaced it with other things - chicken and pork and salmon. She didn't complain.

But today, she put that shrimp in her mouth and ate it happily. And I'm not sure what to make of it.

I watched her, sitting across the table from me, in the booth, leaning into David's arm. She said something very funny (although I cannot recall what it was exactly), we all laughed and she cuddled into him.

For a moment, I was awestruck, looking at this beautiful, beautiful child - this child who once loved shrimp, and then didn't anymore, because it reminded her of a place or a time before, that was too painful or confusing to think about.

To think that we had traveled to the other side of the planet, and arrived at an orphanage on a rainy afternoon, to meet a child we knew almost nothing about...and 20 months later, to find that she fits into our lives, into the crook of my husband's arm, into the spaces of my life that I didn't know were empty...

Truly, what are the odds?

What are the odds that people who are truly meant to be together will find their way to each other? It's almost a little like arranged marriage, isn't it? To be handed a packet of information and a picture and a list of instructions. You will get on a plane. You will meet this stranger. You will love them and live with them forever.

Is the human capacity for love so boundless that we can find love under such a pretense?

I think it might be. And maybe there is something greater going on. Maybe we are drawn to those we are meant to have in our lives by something bigger than ourselves.

For a long time, when I looked at Lana, I knew, somehow, that I loved her, that I was choosing to love her.

Love can be a choice that you make, and I was choosing to love this child.

But, I am not able to remember, at what point, I stopped choosing to love her, and found that I had no more choice in the matter. I love this little girl. It's no longer a choice I am making but simply the be all, end all - I love this little girl. Against all odds, against language and culture and blood ties that do not bind - I love this child.

I could not love her more than if it were my blood pumping in the heart in her chest.

And I am weirdly relieved, that, for whatever reason, she is ready to eat those things again, that remind her of Vietnam, and not feel bad about it.

Gretchen

*Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart), Casablanca, 1942

You Are My Only Mommy

2008-09-19T10:03:00.000-07:00

Lately Lana has been extremely, even demandingly, affectionate. I'm not sure how to describe this exactly, except to call it, "attack affection". She lunges herself at Husband and I and wraps herself around our necks or legs or waists or whatever part of us she can get a hold of, and announces, "I LOVE YOU! HOLD ME!"

We try to accommodate this need for affection as well as we can, but, it's difficult to, for example, chop an onion and hold a five-year-old, even a really light one who is hanging on to your body like a monkey. (Believe me, I've tried.)

She is doing well in kindergarten. I spoke with her teacher on Monday for about 15 minutes, about how she was getting along in class. Mrs. K~, Lana's teacher, who appears to be 16-years- old but obviously must be at least 24), said, "Honestly, if you hadn't told me that she had only been speaking English for 18 months I would never have guessed." She said that, from her point of view, Lana understands everything that happens in class, has no trouble with her "skill ring skills"*, and is socializing very nicely with the other kids. Mrs. K~ is not concerned about the trouble Lana has pronouncing consonant blends, because evidently (?) lots of kids who speak English as their native language have trouble with "fricatives and blends" in kindergarten. So, it's a relief to know she is doing just fine at school.

The other thing Lana has been saying, A LOT, is "You are my only mommy" or "You are only my mommy." I think there is a huge difference between those two statements, and I'm not sure if she means both of them.

When she says, "you are only my mommy" she will often add, "not Gabe's mommy" as a clarifier, which makes it pretty obvious what she is trying to insist that she should not have to share me with Gabe. (Sorry, sweetie, but, Gabe is part of the package.)

However, there are times when she says, "you are my only mommy" without insisting that I am NOT Gabe's mommy, and I don't know if she means that she no longer remembers her foster mother or, if she's just being affectionate or what?

I probably should not dig too deeply into this, as it is likely that she is simply marking her territory, so to speak.

Needless to say, the comments from her that I am not Gabe's mommy are going over like a lead balloon with Gabe.

There is some constant bickering and arguing happening between the two of them almost constantly, and, quite frankly, they are making me a little nuts.

This Is How We Spent Labor Day Weekend

2008-09-07T09:59:00.000-07:00

It was all too much excitement for my nephew, M.

On Saturday, as we were driving the boat out into the middle of the lake for some tubing-fun, my sister-in-law mentioned how much her (late) mother had enjoyed water-skiing on the lake. Two minutes later this butterfly landed on my sister-in-law. Coincidence? (Am I the only one who has heard that when you are visited by a butterfly, you are being visited by a lost love one?)

Lana and my niece Jo-Jo (her nickname, not her real name)

Lana, always wanting to "go faster"
Lana and Dave

David and I (keep in mind I had very recently been dunked in the lake. Several times. And it was very, very cold water!)

David and Gabe

First Day of Kindergarten

2008-09-04T09:52:00.000-07:00

Harold and Kumar May Have Gone To White Castle but Gabe and Lana Went to Arkansas

2008-09-01T09:49:00.000-07:00

No alligators (or Lanas) were harmed in this photo session.

Anyone who told me girls are easier than boys was totally lying!

2008-08-27T12:26:00.000-07:00

Oh the drama! The epic emotion! The tyranny of the mood-swings of an almost-six-year-old girl!

Seriously, in my experience, a boy child is a WALK IN THE PARK by comparison.

Perhaps it is just MY boy child?

Gabriel started 3rd grade today. Kindergarten, despite being in the same school building, doesn't start until next Tuesday.

Suffice it to say that Lana is P*SSED.

We had a mini meltdown last night, that nobody likes her, she doesn't have any friends, she doesn't know anybody in her kindergarten, why does Gabe get to start school today if she doesn't, and, the topper, "EVERYONE" thinks she is "STUPID". (I'm ticked because I think a little girl in the neighborhood called her "stupid" because she didn't understand something. I have no idea how to deal with that, and it's ridiculous. Lana is, categorically, not stupid.)

She also demanded to know why she couldn't go to kindergarten with one of her friends from her pre-school. When I said, "she's going to Hebrew school and we aren't Jewish" - Lana insisted she could be Jewish if she wanted to be. (Then she demanded to know what Jewish was.)

Anyway, there have been tantrums and tears and gnashing of teeth and high-pitched screaming, and crying that no one likes her and everyone is mean to her.

I am really hoping kindergarten goes well next week. I want her to meet some new friends, I want her to have the kind of friendships she had at pre-school. (I think she has really been missing her pre-school buddies this summer.)

I just hope I can get through this weekend without throttling someone. Or myself.

I am terrified of what "12" is going to look like if "almost 6" is making an emotional wreck of both of us!

When did I do THAT?

2008-08-18T12:24:00.000-07:00

My babies are back.

They got home yesterday afternoon after a whirlwind visit to Nashville, Memphis, and various parts of Arkansas, and attending a 100th birthday party for their great-great-grandma. They had a good time but were happy to come home.

A funny anecdote from Lana's first meeting with my great-grandma.

(Scene - great-grandma's kitchen)

Lana and Gabriel and their cousin T~ run into the house.

Great-grandma says, "Hey, I know you all! I gotta picture of you all right here on my fridge! Here's my Yankee great-great-grandbabies!"

Gabe and Lana and T~ are playing in Great-Grandma's family room for about 10 minutes. Great-grandma leans into my mother and whispers, conspiratorially, "Do you think her daddy mighta been an Oriental man?"

My mother looks at her in surprise and says, "Yes, Grandma, I'm sure her daddy was an Asian man."

Great-grandma says, "Uh-huh."

Forty-five minutes pass, during which my great-grandma visits with my mom and brother and watches the kids playing.

Out of the blue, great-grandma whispers, conspiratorially, again, to my mother and brother "I just don't see Wart (her unlovely nickname for me since I was a very skinny, sickly looking baby) in that child at'all. I just don't see a lick of Wart in that girl."

My mother looks at her in shock and says, "Grandma! She's adopted! They went to Vietnam last year to bring her home!"

Great-grandma nods with sudden comprehension. "Oh! Well! That'll do it. That'll do it."

From this exchange, I can only conclude that my great-grandma has spent the last 18 months looking at pictures of Gabe and Lana and believing I had a tawdry affair with an Asian man....

Lighter Notes

2008-07-28T12:20:00.000-07:00

Our receptionist buzzes my office. There is a light giggle in her tone, odd for our office these past few days.

"Line one is for you," [snicker].

"G~W~," I say in my best, 'I am a professional ball-buster' voice.

"Hi Mama!" Lana squeals. "Is Lana!"

"Hi sweetheart," I say, surprised she is calling me, all by herself. "Are you okay? Where's daddy?"

"Yeah, mom, I okay. Daddy just starting his run on treadmill. But, I need to cancel our appointment today." [This comes out sounding like "I neeta canshel ow appertnent tuhday" but, I know what she's trying to say." (She has a speech impediment, but her vocabulary is impressive.)

"You need to cancel our appointment?" I ask, incredulously.

"Yeah, I just gonna stay home and swim in the pool with Daddy and Gabe? Kay? So, cancel our appointment."

Evidently, I was suppose to pencil in a meeting with my five-year-old, but, she's cancelled it, due to the fact that she'd rather swim. Go figure. What impresses me most is that she was able to find the listing for "mom's office" in the call log of our phone, and dial it. She's a pretty savvy cookie, that one.

_____________________________

It's come to this. I am taking hula-hoop tips from an 8-year-old girl. My latest obsession is my new weighted hula-hoop, which I can now keep going for 3 and half minutes straight. (I find that the song "Animals" by Nickelback is particularly good for background hula-hoop music. The beat is just right, or something.) Anyway, Lexi, our 8 year old neighbor, is the reigning hula-hoop queen of the neighborhood. Two nights ago, she walked the entire rectangle around our pool, including stepping up on to the diving board and jumping down, while keeping her hula hoop in motion around her waist. And she did it without breaking a sweat and with barely appearing to move her tiny body. I was so fascinated I thought about taking notes.

It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Her advice is not particularly helpful, though. "I just do it," she answers, when I ask her how she is doing it. Kids.

the heart has no bones you say so it won’t break, but the purpose of loving is the pounding it takes*

2008-07-25T12:15:00.000-07:00

Lana has had a rough time of it the past week.

There have been two significant tantrums, and some smaller fits.

When I say “tantrum”, I’m not quite sure if this fully describes her behavior. When she is in the midst of one of these episodes, she is screaming and kicking (although, admittedly, she does not kick at PEOPLE. She will kick the floor, but, she doesn’t kick people. She also doesn’t bite, which I have read about other children doing during this kind of thing, so, thank God for small favors). Her body becomes very, very rigid, she curls in on herself, and eventually will begin to hyperventilate, at which point whatever she has been crying/screaming about becomes, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe” or sometimes, ‘I need Daddy, I can’t breathe, I need Daddy, I can’t breathe.”

She has not, ever, called for me during one of these episodes. Her anger may be directed (and in fact often IS directed) at David, because he is the one who has punished her by denying her something she wants or sending her to her room, but, he is the one she wants to come to her when she is upset like that.

This is unfortunate because I am much more capable of sitting next to her and waiting for her rage to pass than Dave is. (I am not good at having the rage directed AT me, but, I will sit quietly next to her and wait.) I employed this “sit quietly and try to hold child” method on the rare occasions in Gabe’s toddler hood that he would throw an epic tantrum. Even now, if Gabriel is angry (Lana being the person most likely to make him angry), if I follow him to his room and rub his back and talk to him quietly, he can be brought back from his anger fairly quickly.

This technique does NOT work with my daughter. When I try it, she curls further into herself, becomes more upset, and chants, “please leave, please leave, please leave, leave leave leave leave leave” until I worry she will start with the hyperventilating, so, I leave.

At a certain point her raging becomes something…else, something sadder and less angry, more woeful, I guess. At that point, if David goes near her, rather than kicking the floor and screeching at him, she will fling herself at him and cling to him, and he tells her “breathe, breathe” and then she desperately needs affection from him.

The extremely unfortunate part about these tantrums in the past week is that they have been witnessed by Keiko, who is an exchange teacher from Japan who is staying with us for 3 weeks.

(I actually wonder if the presence of Keiko in our house, and the disruption of her routine, may be responsible for her heightened tantrums this week. She was quiet and clingy at the airport when we went to get Keiko, and she overheard someone ask Keiko if she (Lana) was her (Keiko’s) daughter, which prompted Lana to climb up my body and into my arms (not necessarily odd behavior, but, the timing seemed telling.)

Keiko is far too polite to comment on the tantrums, but, I have to think she found the behavior disturbing to witness.

After the second tantrum this week, I took Lana into my bedroom to read some books and to cuddle in our big bed. We read about four books and then we were just lying there, and I was rubbing at my ear.

“Why you rub your ear?” Lana asked.

“Because it hurts right now,” I said.

“Maybe you gotta go see the doctor?” she inquired.

“Maybe.” I said. (I think it is just sinuses, but, it’s been hurting for about a week, so, maybe I should go.)

Lana suddenly says, “I don’t never wanna get another shot from the doctor.”

“Sometimes you have to get a shot at the doctor, to keep you healthy.” (I think she might actually need one more shot this summer before she starts kindergarten, so, this conversation is making me nervous.)

“I no like shots. I cry,” she says.

“They hurt, but, sometimes you have to have one to stay healthy. Daddy had to have a lot of shots when he was so sick last month.”

“Babies get lots of shots,” she comments.

“Yes, I guess they do.” I say, wondering where she is going with this.

“Who went with me? Who went with me to get my shots when I was baby?” she asks.

“Um…” I say.

“You go with me, when I was baby, I cried for shots?” she asks.

“No, honey. I think, maybe the mom you had before me, your mommy before me, maybe she went with you.”

She is lying with her back to me, her tiny backside curled against my stomach, the back of her head nestled against my throat. She says nothing for a few minutes.

“I had two moms, before. One of them was hooker.”

“What???” I say, too loudly.

“No, no, that’s wrong….” She corrects herself, “One of them was COOKER. She was all the time cooking. She was COOKER.”
(I try very hard not to laugh at this point. She certainly wouldn’t understand the humor in her alphabetical mistake.)

“You had two moms and one of them cooked all the time?” I ask.

“Yeah, one of them was cooker,” she repeats, as if I am not getting her point.

I wonder if she thinking of her foster grandmother, who, in the four photographs we have of her, is wearing an apron. Maybe she cooked a lot?

Lana rolls over to face me, and wraps her arms around me very tightly.

“I give you a squishy hug, mama,” she says. “I love you very, very,” (on her fingers she carefully counts “very” 10 times) “much,” she finishes.

“And I love you very, very” (and I use her fingers to count “very” 10 times) “much, too.”

I’m just relieved to know that she knows I love her, and that, of her life before, she remembers someone who came with her when she had to get her shots, and someone else, who was a COOKER, and not a HOOKER.

Some days I feel like mothering this child takes me from the depths of despair and frustration to the heights of hilarity. It’s quite a roller coaster, but, I think the high points are outweighing the low ones.

Gretchen

* Josh Ritter, You Don't Make it Easy, Babe

Things My Children Have Accused Me Of Today

2008-07-20T12:22:00.000-07:00

1. Forcing them to eat foods they hate.
G.W. pleads....not guilty. As hard as I try, I cannot "force" them to eat things. I keep putting various things in front of them, and pleading, and cajoling, and begging and bargaining, but, FORCING, per se...not so. It's not true! It's not like I'm prying their jaws open and sliding the food in! I swear. Despite the cajoling and bargaining, their diets are fairly limited to: fruit (all kinds), cheese (all kinds), milk, eggs, bread, noodles, plain chicken, plain pork, mac n' cheese, french fries, and broccoli. And tomatoes (for Lana) and cauliflower (for Gabe.)

2. Not being fair.
G.W. pleads..............not guilty. I try really, really hard to be fair. The fact remains that life isn't fair, but, I feel like I bend over backwards to make things fair. Today, they said it "wasn't fair" that I refused to buy popcorn when we went to see Wall*E. But, I didn't buy popcorn for ME, or THEM, so, it was FAIR. It just wasn't the outcome they wanted.

3. Eating all the cherry flavored skittles out of the dish of skittles in our kitchen.
G.W. pleads............well, GUILTY. Yes, I am totally guilty of that last one. It was me, I cannot lie. (Come on, the red ones are the BEST, everyone knows that.)

I don't want a pickle, Just Want to Ride on my Motorcycle*

2008-06-02T12:12:00.000-07:00

Lana came in the house yesterday after jogging at the park with David.

(For Lana, jogging at the park involves sitting in the babyjogger and yelling, "go faster, Daddy, go faster" while Husband runs, pushing the babyjogger in front of him. David indicates that other joggers find this hilarious.) (I tend to think that David WOULD find it hilarious, except that it is also very hard work to run and push a babyjogger faster and faster. So I'm told. I wouldn't know.)

As they walked in the house, David asked me, "Is today the 1st of June?" (This was apropos of, what? I don't know, because we never got any further into that conversation.)

Lana piped up, "In June, I'm gettin' a MOTORCYCLE!"

Dave and I, together, "What?"

"In June, I'm gettin' a MOTORCYCLE. Gonna go FAST."

Yeah, hold the phone and put on the brakes, baby girl. Not. Gonna. Happen.

"Where are you getting the motorcycle from?" I ask her, curious.

"Don't know," she said happily. "Just gonna get one."

I am in so. much. trouble.

LM

*Arlo Guthrie, "The Motorcycle Song", from the album Alice's Restaurant

And it's Poetry In Motion

2008-05-23T12:02:00.000-07:00

As I was picking up our standard Friday night sushi-takeout order (because evidently I have an addiction to California rolls that must be fed at least once a week), David called to say that he and Gabe had lucked into a pair of tickets to this evening's baseball game. Lana was with me in the car when he called, and heard me say, "oh, that's fine, Lana and I will just have a 'girl's night in'."

When we arrived home, my girlfriend Heather called to ask how we were getting along with a problem we had been having with our pool filter*, Lana clamored to talk to her. (Lana loves Heather unabashadly, and loves talking on the phone.) "We havin' a girl's night!" she exclaimed. "We gonna paint our toes, and watch a movie and take a bath!"

She chattered some more on the phone, and when she hung up, she started up the stairs, swinging her hips and singing "girls night, we havin' girls night" to herself. Shortly thereafter, we heard her door shut and CD player start up, loudly, blasting The Indigo Girls. Because, evidently, Closer to Fine is the appropriate soundtrack for Girls Night In.

So, the boys went to the ballgame, and Lana and I painted our toes and took a bath and watched Tom & Jerry, and also went out for ice-cream, and I cannot imagine a more perfect 'girls night in' for Lana and I.

Sometimes Lana takes my breath away with the sheer joy she finds in the simplest pleasures. She was bubbling over with happiness this evening. It was contagious.

LM

*(Heather works human resources for a large pool and spa company, she was my go-to person when my filter wouldn't work yesterday. Specifically, it was blowing, but, not sucking, and with pool filters (as with so many other things in life), when there is blowing without sucking, nothing good can come of it.)

She's Got High In the Sky Apple Pie Hopes

2008-05-19T12:04:00.001-07:00

Driving home from work and school today, Lana says to me,

"Mommy, turn the radio down for a minute."

I turn off Rihanna singing "Take a Bow". (I cannot decide if I love Rihanna or if I hate Rihanna - I kind of like this song, though, but, not so much I mind turning it off.) (Note that we are not listening to NPR on the way home because they made me cry hysterically while driving last week TWICE*, so, I consider the news too dangerous to listen to while driving at the moment.)

"You know what I'm gonna learn, mom?" Lana asks.

"What are you going to learn, Lana?" I respond.

"I am going to learn how to fart REALLY REALLY LOUD. Super loud. I am."

Dream big, baby girl. Dream big.

To Light Up The Darkness and Show Us the Way

2008-05-14T12:07:00.000-07:00

I bring you the distraction of an amusing story about my funny little man....

I believe I have mentioned before that my Gabriel is something of an old soul. He also, not surprisingly, loves music.

(His love for music is not surprising because everyone in my mother's family, save for me, is very musically talented. I, myself, CAN carry a tune in a bucket, but, much to my family's dismay, just barely.)

Gabriel likes many, many kinds of music - he even will listen to freeform jazz. (I have always WANTED to like jazz, but, the truth is that, mostly, I don't.)

His favorite albums are (and have been for the last 5 years) the "O Brother Where Art Thou" soundtrack, and "Down From the Mountain" (which is more music from the artists on O Brother). He listens to the 'O Brother' soundtrack on repeat at night, all night long. (It is for this reason that Gabe's room is on the opposite side of the house from our room, because David has trouble sleeping with Ralph Stanley singing "O Death" in his ears. (Go figure.))

But, back to Gabriel - he is not at all hemmed in by his bluegrass roots. Yesterday, for example, he was listening to Queen's "Fat Bottom Girls" on Husband's ipod...he has broad musical interests.

A few months ago, Gabe came home from school and asked if we had any John Denver CDs. He said that they had heard some John Denver songs in music class that day and he had liked them and wanted to hear them again.

And because Husband and I are both children of the 70's, and nostalgic, I said, "of COURSE we have a John Denver CD" and pulled out John Denver's Greatest Hits from our CD shelf, and Gabe took it to his room and he listened to it for a while. He came back down and said that he really liked "Sunshine on my Shoulders", but he was upset the album didn't have "Calypso" on it. And I said, "what song?" and he burst into song, singing (loudly) "AYE CALYPSO WE SING TO YOUR SPIRIT"..."but I can't remember the rest of the words".

And then for four days, he walked around the house singing those same ten notes over and over and over and over and OVER AND OVER again, until I was forced to obtain a copy of the album Windsong from the library, so that he could at least learn the rest of the chorus so I would not be forced to strangle him.

So, "Calypso" became a favorite song of his to listen to, or just sing to himself. He is a BIG FAN of the song. (What I find adorable about 8-year-old-boys is that they really have no clue about what is "cool" or "not cool" - so, that at this age, Gabe is free to like or not like whatever music he wants. He has felt the peer pressure a bit with games/toys/TV Shows, but, so far, he is uninfluenced by his peers as far as music goes. I like this and I hope he continues to buck his peers and listen to music he really enjoys just because he enjoys it and not because it's what everyone else is listening to.)

At any rate, Gabriel loves the song Calypso with all the passion that an 8-year-old-boy can muster.

SO, with all that in mind...............rewind to the end of our vacation in Jamaica last month.

As we were sitting outside our hotel in Negril, waiting for an awfully long time for the bus to leave to take us to the airport in Montego Bay - the driver got on the bus and said it was going to be a few more minutes before we could leave for the airport, and everyone on the bus groaned audibly. The bus driver says, "Shall I entertain you with a bit of Caribbean music while we wait? I could play some reggae?" The driver was smiling and some of us smiled a bit (but mostly we were still annoyed by the wait.)

"What? No fans of reggae? How 'bout I play some Calypso, then?"

And my earnest, happy, little boy jumped up from his seat on the bus, jumped up and down clapped his hands and (loudly) said, 'OH! YES! YES! Play CALYPSO! I LOVE CALYPSO!"

Everyone on the bus laughed. (Presumably because they thought it was hysterical that such a small child had such a huge preference for a particular type of Caribbean music. I didn't feel the need to clarify that my kid was actually hungering for a John Denver song.)

The bus driver looked at Gabe and said, "I'm sorry little man, I can't actually play any music."

And Gabe pouted in an adorable kind of way and said, "I guess I'll just listen to it on my mp3 player" and he put on his headphones, where he proceeded, presumably, to listen to John Denver, while the rest of the bus, no doubt, thought he was soaking up the sounds of the Caribbean.

What Not To Do In A Jacuzzi Tub

2008-04-18T12:00:00.000-07:00

This is possibly the stupidest thing I have ever done as a parent.

Gabe and Lana were both taking a bath in the jacuzzi tub in Dave and my bathroom.

The like to use the jacuzzi tub because it is larger and deeper than the tub in their bathroom.

I went to pull Lana out of the tub and I noticed that I wasn't feeling like her hair was rinsed very well, but, I was tired and not feeling great and I contemplated letting it go. (Yes, bad bad mommy.)

But, when I got her fully out of the tub, I saw it was still FULL of bubbles in the back, so, I said, "Lana, just jump back in for two seconds and stick your head under the water and shake it around." (Yes, I was being lazy. I am a horrible person.)

Unfortunately, I had pulled up the plug and the water was draining.

We live in a new house (four years old) and the drains and the plumbing still work very efficiently.

So, when Lana jumped into the tub and laid down to rinse her hair....

THE DRAIN SUCKED HER LONG HAIR DOWN THE DRAIN AND PULLED LANA'S HEAD TO THE FLOOR OF THE TUB.

Now, fortunately, the tub was draining very quickly, and I grabbed Lana's head to keep it above the water as it was draining, but, SHE WAS STUCK. Her hair was being pulled down the drain by the water rushing out of the drain, and then it got tangled in the plug mechanism, and I was screaming for Gabe to go get Husband from downstairs, and Lana was just screaming (because she was terrified and because it hurt!)

Dave came running upstairs and jumped in the tub fully clothed and began pulling Lana's hair out of the drain strand by strand while I held her head and pulled it forward.

It was NOT a fun time.

And believe me, her hair was a MESS of tangles when we finally got it out of the drain. (And, a mess, in general.)

After another washing, and soothing of tears (Lana's and mine) - all of us were in our jammies and curled up in bed together in the guest room watching Tom and Jerry. Gabriel turned to Lana and said, with a very very serious look on his face,

"Lana. That was really scary when you're hair went down the drain."

And Lana said, "It was Gabe. It was."

Truer words have not been spoken.

Moral of the story - DO NOT LET your long haired daughter lay down in the tub to rinse her hair if the drain is open.

The Incident of the Strawberry Pop-Tart

2008-04-11T12:03:00.001-07:00

This is how my morning went:

Gabriel woke up at the insanely early hour of 6:15 AM. He got up and went downstairs where David was eating breakfast, and it was determined that there were no Cheerios in the house.

Gabriel, distraught, ultimately consented to eat a strawberry pop-tart. (Actually, it was an organic dye-free strawberry toaster pastry from Costco, but, as far as my kids are concerned, a pop-tart.)

It was...(cue dark foreshadowing music here) THE LAST STRAWBERRY POP-TART.

I came downstairs at 7:15, ate my breakfast, and then went upstairs to retrieve Sleeping Beauty from her bed. (I've been trying to let her sleep until 8:50, but, this morning is my early court morning, so, it wasn't an option.)

There was angry growling as I pulled her from bed and took her to the potty.

She was asleep on my shoulder when I opened the car door to strap her into her seat, followed by crying that she was "too cold, too hot, too tired". I asked her what she wanted for breakfast and, eyes still closed, sleepily she said, "a strawberry pop-tart."

FRAP.

Of course she wants a strawberry pop-tart. How the hell does she KNOW that her brother has eaten the last one? HOW? HOW????

I go into the house. We have blueberry organic dye-free toaster pastries that are the same color as the strawberry ones, so, I grab one of those. I run to the car and hand it to Lana, run back in the house, shoo Gabriel out the door, grab my purse and my coat and my lunch, and run back to the car, where Lana is crying hysterically.

What's the matter? I ask.

"I WANT A STRAWBERRY POP TART. THIS NOT STRAWBERRY." Lana is wailing. She is beside herself.

"Lana, we don't have strawberry. We have blueberry and we have cherry."

(Now, my kids have only disdain for the Cherry Pop tart (which we have in actual Kellogg's Pop-Tart form, and which is, in MY opinion, a superior tart to all other flavors of tart. The cherry pop-tart is da bomb (verily, da cherry bomb) but my children normally disagree with me on this fine culinary point. They shun the Cherry Pop-Tart. The Cherry Pop-Tart is tarta non grata to Gabriel and Lana.)

"I want STRAWBERRY" she wails again.

At this point I am in the car with the key in the ignition. "Do you want a cherry pop-tart instead?" I ask her as I turn the car on.

"I want STRAWBERRY!!"

Seriously, I have no idea how she knows the tart in her hand is blueberry, because these organic dye free toaster pastries all have the same color frosting - vaguely graham-cracker-colored. If "graham-cracker-color" is a color. They all look the same.

I pull out of the garage and hit the garage door remote and the door closes and we are driving down the street and she starts to scream, 'I want cherry! I want the cherry one!!"
And I am ticked because she is pulling this crap a lot lately - waiting to ask for something until it is incredibly inconvenient for us to get her what she wants - I swear she wants to see if we will run in circles for her. (She doesn't have to pee until there is no bathroom anywhere near her, she's not hungry until there is NO FOOD anywhere, she wants a particular toy when it is at the very bottom of the carry-on luggage, etc.)

I had to be in court by 9:15, it was already 8:07, and I needed to get both of them to different schools.

So, I kept driving, and I said, "I'm sorry, you should have told me that when I offered it to you, you're going to have to eat the blueberry one."

"I WILL NOT EAT IT. I WILL NOT." There is screaming and crying and gnashing of teeth.

"Well, then you'll eat it for a snack on the way home from school then, cause we don't waste food."

"I WILL SMASH IT IN YOUR CAR!! I WILL MAKE A MESS WITH IT ON THE SEAT!!" she threatens.

I about lost it with that one. Gabe was crying cause he said her crying made his head hurt. I told her if she smashed it on purpose she was going to eat it ANYWAY. (She hates to eat things that are broken or smushed.)

I let Gabe off at the elementary school and she continued to cry and scream and tell me I was a "mean, mean mommy" for another 15 minutes, during which I kept saying, "if you're hungry, eat the pop tart" every minute or so, until she finally ate the damn thing.

When we got to her pre-school, her face was a mess of tears, snot and blueberry pop tart remains. She looked pathetic and wretched. "You are mean to me" she cried some more.

I picked her up and took her into class and she stopped crying and laid in my lap in a lump in a chair in her classroom.

I tried to hand her to her teacher S~ and she said, "I want to go to work with you" and S~ convinced her that mommy's work was boring and that they were going to play beauty shop and do jewelry making today, and Lana agreed that sounded like more fun...

And when I got into my car, thinking, well, at least I can turn on NPR and have a few minutes of CALM, I remembered it was *&%$#!@# pledge week and I had to turn the radio off. I hate NPR pledge week. (We pay our pledge every year, we do. I just hate to hear them beg other people to do it. Mostly because I've already paid. Ugh.)

So, that was MY morning...

Gretchen

Stick your heart inside of my chest, Keep it warm here while we rest*

2008-03-25T12:08:00.000-07:00

This morning as Gabe, Lana and I got in the car, I put Tegan & Sara's So Jealous album in the CD player.

As soon as Lana heard the beginning of the first song she said, "Mommy! Play the sticky hands song!"

"Sticky hands song?" I asked, confused.

Lana started to sing, "Sticky hands inside of my pockets, keep them warm while I'm outside".

I thought for a second and realized she was singing the chorus to another song on the album (I know I know I know), which goes

"Stick your hands inside of my pockets, Keep them warm while I'm still here."

At any rate, that was my giggle for this morning. I wonder if I should send the sticky hands song lyric to this guy, who writes whole books about misunderstood song lyrics?

Forgotton Pictures from last Summer

2008-03-21T16:16:00.000-07:00

Lana and Gabe creating some masterpieces at the kitchen table
Lana and Taylor and Gabe at the Zoo

Things Lana Said This Week That Made Me Laugh

2008-03-06T12:20:00.000-08:00

Lana: I don't talk regular

Husband: It's okay, you're getting better every day

Lana: I knows

Lana: I only like really CRUNCHY salad, mommy, like REALLY REALLY CRUNCHY, like, you bite it and it says CRUNCH-CRUNCH. This salad [she picks up a leaf of spinach from a strawberry spinach salad] is not so CRUNCHY. Not so crunchy, I not eat it, okay?

Lana: We goin' on VAY!CATION! We goin' on VAY! CATION! All four of us go on vay! CATION! All four of us guys [she gestures to our immediate family unit] goin' on vay!cation! on a airplane! Last time, I go on airplane, I go [Lana makes a vomiting noise]. I did that [vomiting noise] last time on the airplane. But, not this time! I don't know how to say that [vomiting noise again] but, I no do it on VAY!CATION! (Let's hope she's right about that one!)

Is It Really 8 Years?

2008-02-21T12:26:00.000-08:00

The calendar tells me that it really is February 21, 2008, and I'm having one of those "where has the time gone" cliche moments of motherhood.

It was eight years ago this morning that we first met our little man Gabriel, who came to us scrunch-faced at exactly 10:00 AM, weighing in at 7 lbs, 7 oz.

I had a moment of angst the other day, when, having purchased him some new long sleeve shirts (size 10! Good grief his arms are getting long), David came into our room and said, "his new shirts don't fit on his hangers."

This seems like such a little thing, but, it means THAT HE NEEDS GROWN UP SIZE HANGERS. No more baby hangers. BIG REGULAR SIZE HANGERS for my baby's clothes.

Is it pathetic that this bothers me?

Last night I was telling Gabe the story of his birth (the highly sanitized version which is minus the blood and the screaming and the swearing like a sailor at the unknown doctor who was grabbed out of the hallway to come in and deliver him), and I had gotten to a key point in the story, the point at which my then-five-year-old-niece Jordan laid her head against my gi~normous belly and started whispering, her mouth flush against my sweater. And when I asked her what she was saying, she looked up at me and said, "Aunt Gretchen, I am telling that baby it is time to come out now!"

(After which, she also looked from me to her own mother, my sister, who was pregnant as well and said, "is my mom's belly going to get as huge as yours?" (No, I am not making that up, not even a little.) And considering the fact that my sister is an adorably petite 5-ft-tall tiny person, and I am a 5'7" Viking-lady, I assured her that it was impossibly unlikely that her mother's belly would get as huge as mine. And it didn't. Not once. Even though she's had FIVE babies.)

Anyway, I had gotten to the part where I went into labor only 4 hours after my niece Jordan had whispered into my stomach that it was time to come out, when Lana piped up,

"What about me, mommy? What about ME!!??!!"

Oh, the crushing and irrational guilt that consumed me! I have no story to tell her about the night she was born. I cannot even tell her if it was night or day or raining or windy or gloomy or sun-shiny. Nothing. Nada. I got zip. Zero. Zilch. No information.

I have told the story of Gabe so many times that it is like second nature to me - and the little details are important (David had a fever of 103, I went to the grocery in a snow storm, the bit about my niece, and how we were watching an episode of The X-Files when we left for the hospital and how it's the only episode of the X-Files we have never seen all the way through*), but, even though I have been telling all of YOU the story of Lana for the last two years, I have not been telling it to HER.

And, well, let's face it, the past year has been a lot about getting to know each other, and her learning English, we haven't exactly had a ton of time to build our shared history, the story of 'us'.

I have yet to tell Lana the story of how, on the day we learned she was our daughter, we were swimming in the backyard when the phone rang, and a woman named Abbie, on the other side of the country, told us "Congratulations!" I have not told her of how I took the tracings of her feet with me to Frankenmuth, Michigan at Thanksgiving in order to buy her the perfect pair of shoes, and how I got excited to buy lace trimmed anklet socks to go with them. I have not told her of how her grandmother and I packed and repacked her suitcase 3 times on the night before David and I left for Vietnam, or how the lady at the Northwest counter in Detroit wished us "good luck with your daughter" when we checked in for our flight. I have not told her that I was nervous to meet her, or what I was thinking when I first saw her.

I have a good story, a compelling story, (really, it is a good story) to tell Lana. I need to work out the details, to get them right, to perfect the story of 'us'.

It may not ultimately be the story she is craving, it may not be the story that she wants. The time may come when she decides she needs to know the rest of her story, and I worry that she may never be able to find it. I worry about this, that no matter how compelling and interesting and humourously told, the story I have to tell her...may not be the story that she NEEDS. But, I will do my best, to craft a story for her, as carefully as I have woven the story of her brother, and I will weave those stories together, and I will hope for the best...

Gretchen

*It was episode 7.12, an episode entitled "X-Cops", and Mulder and Scully were followed around by the film crew of a "Cops" style show - I honestly think that episode only aired that one time, because I have NEVER seen it advertised, anywhere, as a re-run.

Navel-gazing

2008-02-20T12:18:00.000-08:00

My children have both hit me with some stunning questions this week.

Gabriel: Why doesn't the President like Barack Obama?
Me: Wow, Gabe, that's a big question...

(Anybody care to craft an answer to that in terms an 8-year-old can wrap his head around?)

Lana: Who made all this snow?
Me: God.
Lana: How did God make snow, mommy? How?
Me: (Absolute silence as I search my head for information on precipitation long buried since 8th grade Earth Science)
Me: (finally) Ask your father (I should get some mileage from being married to a guy who TEACHES earth science, right?)

Gabe: Why isn't the Feast of the Epiphany* (this is the day which Roman Catholics and Episcopalians (and a few other Protestant sects) recognize as the day the The Three Wise Men arrived to meet Jesus. Gabe is strangely intrigued with this concept - possibly because I told him that in France it involves CAKE) always on Wednesday?
Me: It's always on January 6, Gabe. Why would that always be a Wednesday?
Gabe: I think Wednesday would be the best day to meet Jesus, that's all.
Me: Hmmm....

* Gabe pronounces this more like "the feast of Fanny" which cracks me up a little bit

Lana: Mommy? You have belly-button?
Me: Yes, I have a belly-button?
Lana: I have a belly-button!
Me: Yes, you have a belly-button, too.
Lana: All people got belly-button?
Me: Yes, all people have belly-buttons.
Lana: Mommy? How come cat got no belly button?
Me: (long silence) Ask your father.

And now I'm left wondering...all mammals MUST have belly buttons, right? Or at least a spot where the umbilical cord was attached. So, dear readers...WHERE IS a cat's belly button???

A Cautionary Tale, or, Do Not Put All Your Eggs in One Basket

2008-02-11T11:39:00.000-08:00

I have done a rather stupid thing.

And that stupid thing is this: I put almost every document relating to Lana's identity in ONE burgundy plastic expandable file folder.

The exception to this is her US passport, which, just by happenstance, is in an envelope with our plane tickets for our spring break trip. (And until the tickets came, her passport was in there, too.)

The burgundy plastic file folder is THE ONLY PLACE I had her social security number. (The file folder also contains 3 copies of her social security card, but, fat lot of good having a copy does if it is sitting with the original.)

This morning, for about 4 hours, I thought the burgundy file folder had been stolen from my car, and let me tell you, I honestly about lost my mind.

I KNOW better than this. I DO. I give people LEGAL ADVICE for a LIVING, you can guarantee that I would never advise any client to keep all important documents in one place with no copies anywhere else. SO WHY WOULD I DO THAT TO MYSELF??

So, for a few minutes I sat and thought about how I would reconstruct Lana's life - how I would put the pieces back together so that she would have an adoption decree, a birth certificate, a social security card, a certificate of citizenship.

I called the clerk at Probate court who handles all the adoptions, and she told me that they would be able to produce a certified copy of the final adoption decree (from my state, of course, but not from Vietnam), and my adoption agency said they could get me a copy (though not certified) of her Vietnamese adoption documents.

To reconstruct her life's documents would take time and money, and I am kind of desperate to get my taxes done. And to do that, I need her social security number.

When I called social security to see if they would tell me what the number is, they said, "we cannot give a parent the social security number for their child until they give it to us first."

Huh?? (She has got to be kidding me, right?)

So I said, "if I had the number, I wouldn't need YOU to give ME the number."

"Yes, I know, but, that's our policy ma'am."

I said, "What do I have to do to get the number?""

Fill out form F-5 requesting a new card." she says.

"Form F-5 requires that I KNOW the number. I don't know the number."

We went round and round for 5 minutes. She tells me I should have written the number down in more than one place. (Thank you very damn much. I needed that advice. NOT.)

She keeps saying that she cannot give me the number until I give her the number first.

I want to strangle her.

Finally, I say, "would you PLEASE tell me what I have to do, if I have NO DOCUMENTS relating to my daughter's identity, how do I get her social security number?" (This was a stretch of the truth since I did have her passport.)

She hems and haws and says that I have to go in person to the social security office and take any documents that I can find, including any school records and medical records, and if I have "enough proof" they will help me out, in person.

I was thinking that I was going to have to leave work tomorrow afternoon and take her passport and the replacement adoption decree and beg the people at social security office to tell me what her social security number is. (Which, frankly, as her parent, I think I should be entitled to be told if I can show that she is my child, but, I don't really have high hopes about what might have happened.)

The good news is that, when Husband got home, he found the burgundy file folder in our computer room. Evidently, I must have brought it in from my car myself.

(Smacks self in head).

So, I'm off to do my taxes. And put copies of all the important documents in about 3 separate places.

Perspective

2008-02-06T11:37:00.000-08:00

Last week, there was a shortage of O+ blood in our area, and so the Red Cross called my husband and asked him to come in and give.

(He gives pretty regularly, but, in this case they called him on exactly the next day he would be eligible to donate - I believe it's 57 days or something like that.)

So, David made an appointment for the next day, and he said to Gabe, "after school tomorrow you're going to have to come with me while I give blood, and then we'll pick up Lana."

Gabe: Oh yeah! I love it! (Gabe does a small happy dance around the kitchen)

Lana: What? What give blood? What that mean?

Gabe: Daddy gives the nurse his blood and the nurse gives us OREOS! And NUTTER BUTTERS! As many as I want! I'll get a pack for you, too, Lana.

So, there you go, my son loves it when Husband gives blood for the COOKIES.

Evidently, in Gabe's head, we happily exchange bodily fluids for baked goods.

GW

Freaking Out About Kindergarten

2008-01-23T11:32:00.000-08:00

Well, it's January here in the frozen tundra we call home (and no, I don't even live in New Brunswick or anything- it's just very freaking cold here)...so, of course, what is on my mind but - AUTUMN and BACK TO SCHOOL.

Lana will be starting kindergarten in the fall, and I have it on good authority that if she doesn't have a private school placement by March 1, she will not get one.

No, I do not live in Manhattan. Or Chicago. Or some chi-chi suburb of either one. I'm just a mid-western girl in a city on Lake Erie, and I did not expect this kind of PRESSURE.

It's not that I have anything against public-school. In fact, I'm married to a public school teacher who does a darn fine job educating the public (if I do say so myself.) I have many friends and relatives who are fabulous public school teachers. I support public education. And I am generally happy with the public school district in which we live.

Gabriel attends 2ND grade at the public school.

Need I go on to convince you that I am not anti-public-school?

I think not.

BUT....

You knew this was coming, right? The big BUT...

BUT, the school district we live in is one of only two school districts in our county that has half-day kindergarten.

Which is, frankly, kind of a pain-in-the-neck for a working mom. And not really what Lana, in my opinion, needs.

Since March of last year, Lana has been in a NAEYC-accredited all-day pre-school program located on the campus of a large university. They have done a phenomenal job with her - she has two awesome teachers in a positive, comfortable setting. Lana is happy there. She loves S~ and S~, her teachers, and she loves her school friends. Her ability to speak English as well as she does is really a testament, I think, to the school and her teachers. Bottom line, I love Lana's current school situation. Gabriel was in the same day-care/pre-school from the time he was a baby until he started first grade. Gabriel did his kindergarten year at the school and it was a great success.

The problem is, there may not be enough children this coming year for the school to have a kindergarten program. Which means I need a second choice.

I'm all freaked out about this. As near as I can tell, our options are as follows:

1. Hebrew School - although I'm left wondering if it's totally inappropriate for me to send my Vietnamese-American-previously-Buddhist-being-raised-Episcopalian daughter to Hebrew School, merely for the convenience of it having all day kindergarten.

2. Catholic School - there are two options for all day Catholic school kindergarten near our home. One of them has an extremely inconvenient start and end time, so, it's out. The other one would be okay, except that I have many deep, unresolved issues with the Catholic Church...like, just as an example, birth control. I'm all for it, they're not, and I cannot reconcile giving tuition money to them. Does that make me too rigid?

3. Montessori School - we have an excellent Montessori School option. It is quite expensive, but, I'm leaning in that direction.

4. Public School in the morning, some kind of after-school day-care program. Honestly, this would be the most convenient for me, but, I am not sure about the after-school program. She would be bussed to a different building from her kindergarten...I'm all in a tizzy about this. I'm not sure it's a good fit for Lana when she has been in one place getting consistent care and lessons from the same people all day, for her to have kindergarten with a brand-new teacher, followed by afternoon care with brand-new care givers...I think it is worth mentioning that this is the option that Lana would probably choose for herself, because she is desperate to go to the same school as her big brother...

Just not sure what to do,
Gretchen

2008-01-07T19:40:00.000-08:00

Right now, as I type this, it is about 7:40 PM Eastern Time in the US on January 7th. But, in Vietnam, it's about 7:40 AM on January 8th.

Which is roughly the time that, one year ago, we left our hotel to travel to Lana's orphanage for the last time.

Lana left the orphanage with us, and two other families, in a taxi a few hours later. She had never been in a car before. At times it is hard for me to wrap my head around the enormous changes this little girl has been through in the last 365 days. She had never been in a car before.

She had never been outside the province of DaNang before. She had never seen snow. The list is endless...

If you've been reading our story for a while, you know this. If you haven't been reading...well, I blogged the whole thing here:

We Have Lan

and here

Giving and Receiving Ceremony

As I type this, Lana is sitting in the big bathtub in my bathroom, tormenting her brother with a fish-shaped water pistol.

A year ago, as I concentrated on getting through each second without flying apart into a gazillion pieces of emotional wreckage, I don't think I allowed myself to believe that such normalcy was attainable.

I'm not going to lie and say that every day of our lives is an exercise in normalcy. (And I'm not sure that I would want to be living that kind of life.)

I strive for honesty here in this bloggy place.

The truth is, this has not been an easy year.

The truth is, this year has been more difficult than I imagined it would be on the day that Lana became our daughter.

The truth is that Lana crawled into my lap two days ago, played with the buttons on my shirt, and matter of factly said, "I used to have a different mommy. You used to be not my mommy. I had another mommy. Now I have you. I love you, mommy. I love two mommies." (I am NOT paraphrasing. That is, word for word, what she said to me.)

The truth is that is I was so stunned by her statement that instead of forming a response, I blinked and I just said, "I love you, too, Lana."

The truth is that while watching her adoption video with me on New Year's Day, she pointed to the footage of the orphanage and said, "I was scared. I was scared in that place, Mommy. Scared." And my heart broke for her.

The truth is that she was up half the night after watching that video, screaming in her sleep, "I don't want to go, I don't want to go, I don't want to go."

I don't think you have to be Freud to draw some pretty hefty conclusions about that.

At the end of the day, at the end of a year, the truth is that I love this child. I didn't fall in love with her right away. I fell in love with her in bits and pieces. When I think about what our journey to this child means to me, and the family of four that we have become with her in it, there are two verses of a song that run through my head. And begging the pardon of the person or persons who wrote it, because I don't pretend to know what they were writing about, (and it is most certainly about a woman, because, come on, isn't that what all the best songs are about?) - the song is Pat Green's Wave On Wave- and to me the words sum up the way Lana brought us to find her, and then made us love her - wave on wave, piece by piece, over and over. The words go like this:

So caught up now in pretending
That what we're seeking is the truth
I'm just looking for a happy ending
All I'm looking for is you.

You came upon me, wave on wave.
You're the reason I'm still here.
Am I the one you were sent to save?
You came upon me, wave on wave.

Gabe loves Santa, Lana is not so sure

2007-12-23T09:06:00.000-08:00

Incongruous

2007-12-07T07:19:00.000-08:00

Some time ago, my Girlfriend Amy sent a gift to Lana and Gabriel that included a CD called "O Canada." It's a collection of Canadian songs sung by Canadian children. The cover of the CD features a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman and a Maple Leaf.

The point I am trying to make is that it is an extremely CANADIAN album. (Which makes sense, since Canada is where Amy lives when she is not running around Northern Ireland writing her thesis and taking pictures.) The album is more Canadian than The Barenaked Ladies and Bryan Adams put together. It's like a little audio helping of maple syrup and poutine.

Recently, Lana has decided that she LOVES this album. She LOVES it.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I must also say that Lana LOVES the song "Cyclone" by Baby Bash, and also "Bubbly" by Colby Callait (sp?) - so, there really is no cataloguing her musical taste.)

But, at any rate, she is especially fond of two songs from the "O Canada" album, namely, a folk song entitled "Farewell to Nova Scotia" and the Canadian national anthem.

And I just have to say that I find it extremely incongruous, to be driving my newly emigrated Vietnamese-American daughter through a snowy Ohio day while she happily sings, "Oh Canada, My Home and Native Land" in the backseat of the car...

Soaking Cold

2007-11-30T07:18:00.000-08:00

As Lana becomes fluent in English, some of her phrases cause me endless amusement. She has recently begun to use the word "soaking" in the most interesting way. (I mean, I find it linguistically interesting, because I am a geek that way, but, also, I find it adorable.)

She learned the term "soaking wet" over the summer when we were swimming in the pool every day.

When it started to get cold, she looked at me and said, "Mommy, I'm soakin' cold." The first time she said it, I asked her to repeat it, as I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly. "Soakin' cold, mom." She said. "Not soakin' wet right now, but, soakin' cold."

At Halloween she happily announced to Gabriel, "We're SOAKIN' in candy, Gabe! Soakin' in candy!"

She has also, on other occasions, been "soaking hungry" and "soaking tired" and "soaking in birthday presents."

It's astonishingly cute, is what it is.

I don't have the heart to tell her these aren't common colloquialisms - besides, maybe it'll catch on. Maybe soon, all across the Midwest, we'll be soaking cold. While we're soaking in Christmas presents. While we cure our soaking hunger with some Christmas treats.

Thanksgiving Tidings from Gabe's Backpack

2007-11-29T07:17:00.000-08:00

I found the following letter in Gabriel's homework folder. It was written on notebook paper and stapled to an attractively decorated paper turkey, lovingly colored by my 7-year-old son in festive fall colors...I hope it doesn't imply my son is some kind of gleeful poultry murdering psycho-path...

"Dear Turkey,

I will eat you for Thanksgiving. We will cook you in the oven. I hope you taste good.

Your friend,
Gabe"

Please tell me he's not a burgeoning Hanibal Lector.

Halloween

2007-10-31T18:02:00.000-07:00

Overheard

2007-09-15T07:25:00.000-07:00

Gabriel: I'm cold. I want hot chocolate.

Lana: What hot chocolate?

Gabriel: It's a drink. A warm drink. For drinking in the winter, when it's cold outside and you want something to warm you up inside. I need something to warm up my inside, cause it was so cold at my soccer game. But, it's not winter yet.

Lana: What winter?

Gabriel: When it snows and gets real cold. Oooh, and, in the winter, we go to talk to this...person. His name is Santa, and if you are good, you can tell this person, Santa, what kind of toys you want, and he brings some of them to the house, on Christmas, if you've been good. It's awesome. We have to be good, though.

(Gabriel runs to coffee table to grab a picture of himself on Santa's lap and shows it to Lana.)

Gabriel: Here, this is Santa. This is me and Santa. In Christmastown.*

Lana: Why I not in this picture?

Gabriel: You weren't here yet. But, THIS year, we'll get a picture of ME and YOU talking to Santa.

Lana: Yeah! A picture of ME and YOU and Daddy and Mommy! Talkin' to Santa. Awesome!

Gretchen

*Gabriel believes that Frankenmuth, Michigan is actually called Christmastowne. This is because we have always spent Thanksgiving there, and on the Friday after Thanksgiving we take him to see Santa, who is just sitting in the town square. For this reason, Gabe started calling Frankenmuth "Christmastown" when he was about 3 years old.

Halloween Hi-Jinks

2007-09-13T08:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, Lana and I were waiting for my prescription* to be filled at Mega Grocery Store Chain that is Not Wal-Mart, and we had about 20 minutes to kill.

We wandered around the store for a few minutes, and I just let her look at whatever she wanted to look at (with the exception of a rack of birth control products in the health and beauty aisle, which I think she was drawn to because the boxes were so many different colors. I am sure that the marketing geniuses at Trojan and Lifestyles would love to know that their boxes are eye-catching to four-year-olds, but, I really wasn’t ready to have “that talk” just yet.)

We came to the “seasonal” aisle, currently decked out for Halloween, which I had been vaguely trying to avoid because Lana is totally a Sugar Addict (as am I), and I didn’t want to have to have a fight about the fact that we were not going to buy a gigantic bag of fun-size Nerds. (Mostly because, if we had a giant bag of fun-size Nerds six weeks before Halloween, they would be LONG GONE before Halloween arrived, which really isn’t something that anybody in my house needs. Talk about a sugar rush.)

In the middle of the aisle were two of those giant inflatable items. You know what I am talking about – recent additions to holiday decorations, also used for sporting events? This is what I mean - http://www.inflatableseasons.com/ ). Anyway, there were two of them: one kind of like this http://www.inflatableseasons.com/4-ft.-Ghost-coming-out-of-Pumpkin-p-16239.html and one kind of like this http://www.inflatableseasons.com/Skeleton-Head-Hard-Shell-Mini-Tornado-Globe-p-16230.html except that it had a spooky looking house inside instead of the skeleton head.

Lana was fascinated by the ghost coming out of the pumpkin, because, well, she’s four and it was a giant inflatable pumpkin. And also because about once a minute, the ghost would settle back down into the jack-o-lantern and then pop back up again. It was a jack-in-the-box-jack-o-lantern, if you can imagine.

She stared at it. She was TRANSFIXED by all its air-blown glory. At first she just stared at it quietly, and then she made a sound, a sound like, “oooooooooooooohhhhh” - a sound of complete and utter delight.

One of the store employees walked by and said, “Do you like the pumpkin?”

“Shesh” she breathed, almost reverently. (This is how she pronounces ‘yes’ – I don’t know if it’s a speech impediment or a by product of the fact that she is still learning to speak English.)

“What are you going to be for Halloween?” the store employee asked.

Lana looked up at me, confused. (We haven’t really discussed Halloween with her. This contact with the giant inflatable jack-o-lantern-jack-in-the-box was her first exposure to the concept.)

Lana looked at me for an answer to the employee’s question.

“This is her first Halloween,” I said.

The employee looks at me like I’m nuts.

“We adopted her from Vietnam eight months ago, so, she’s never seen Halloween before.”

“Oh,” the employee said. “Well, this is sure going to be fun for her. What about Christmas? Do you think she celebrated Christmas before.”

“Probably not,” I said.

“Well, if she’s that impressed with the pumpkin, I think she’s going to be REALLY excited when Christmas rolls around.”

I think the employee might be right about that. Very, very right.

Gretchen

*Evidently, one of the reasons I have had NO SUCCESS in losing any weight is because my thyroid has crapped out. Which is why we were waiting for a prescription to be filled.

Daniel McNeal

2007-09-11T08:40:00.000-07:00

(I wrote this last year on September 11 - which is why it references 5 years instead of 6...I wish I had something more to add on the subject that I've written more recently, but, I just don't have it in me right now.)

In March of 2002, I celebrated my 30th birthday.

I was still reeling from the horrifying year that had been 2001 – the accidental death of our friend Tad, in July of that year, the death of my grandpa in November, 2001, and, of course, September 11.

I was struggling with writing my law review paper. I was slowly losing my sanity because my two year old baby still was not sleeping.

I think, truly, that I, like so many other Americans, was experiencing some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder.

I was depressed on that day in March that was my 30th birthday. When my mother called to wish me “Happy Birthday,” I gloomily told her that I “so depressed.”Instead of responding as one might expect that she would (i.e. “You’re depressed? I’m the one who’s old enough to have a daughter who is THIRTY”) she instead said,

“Think about the people who didn’t get to turn 30 today.”

I said, “What?” And she said, “Think about the people who WOULD have been 30 today, but for 9/11 or car accidents or leukemia or what have you. You should celebrate turning 30 today, because the alternative, is NOT EVER turning 30. You see?”

I fixated on this question, of who was not turning 30, and through some quick research via the Social Security Death Index (an index of people who are dead, who had social security numbers), I found that the answer was EIGHTY-SIX. Eight-six people, who had U.S. social security numbers, who shared my exact birthday, did not get to turn 30 in 2002.

(It’s likely that there were some other Americans, who shared my exact birthday, who passed away before adulthood, and they are not listed in the Social Security Death Index, as they did not have social security numbers. Unlike today, not all children born in the 1970s got social security number the same year they were born. At that time, the IRS didn’t require social security numbers to claim a dependent on their taxes. This did not happen until 1988, and, as a matter of curiosity, on April 15, 1988, some 7 million American children disappeared, due to the fact that they never existed at all: http://www.snopes.com/business/taxes/dependents.asp )

One of those eighty-six people who in particular stood out, to me, was a man named Daniel McNeal.

I didn’t know Daniel McNeal, and it’s unlikely that our paths would ever have crossed. But, he was born on the same day as me, in 1972, and he died, five years ago today, on the bright sunny morning that was September 11, 2001.

While I sat in a lecture on Trust and Estate Law at a small Midwestern law school, Daniel McNeal was on the 104th floor of the World Trade Center Tower 2. He had recently been promoted to a position of Vice-President. And while it appears that he did attempt to escape from his office on the 104th floor, he did not make it out of the tower alive.

Daniel McNeal will forever be 29.

I think, in a way, Daniel McNeal makes this day that much more horrifying for me. His is an identity for my collective grief. I didn’t know him, but, we shared something – the day we both came into this world. And Daniel, who should have celebrated his 30th birthday in March of 2002, on the same day as me, did not get to blow out those thirty candles. He didn’t get his “free birthday dessert” at any number of chain restaurants. His mother didn’t get to call him on the day she gave birth to him thirty years earlier. He didn’t get any of those things. Maybe, perhaps, if 9/11 hadn’t happened, it’s wholly possible that Daniel McNeal would have met his end in any other myriad of ways in the five years that have passed since that horrible morning.

But maybe, just maybe, but for Osama Bin Laden, Daniel McNeal would be just fine this morning. Maybe he would have had a cup of coffee and some Raisin Bran and hopped on the subway to the World Trade Center station. And the rest of us 260 million Americans would not have the occasion to be caught up in the grief of remembrance today…

I think of this man, this man I did not know, this man whose name I WISH I had never come to know - because the fact that I know it is solely because he is no longer walking among us - each year now, on my birthday, and again on September 11. Daniel McNeal, I wish I could tell you, five years after your death, that we caught the man who stole your 30th (and all subsequent) birthday from you. I wish I could give you that piece of information, and I can’t. But, I hope you rest peacefully, Daniel McNeal.

Gretchen

A Testament to Their Distinctive Natures

2007-08-27T12:21:00.001-07:00

My children are...very different from one another.

This should come as a surprise to no one, I suppose, and yet...

And yet, still, somehow, I find it surprising. Which is ridiculous, really. Even if they had both been born to me, the only logical thing to expect would be that they would not behave similarly. Other parents tell me this all the time - no two siblings are truly the same. Certainly this is true of Gabriel and Lana.

I was looking at a book of Chinese Zodiac signs on Saturday. (I'm going somewhere with this, just, bear with me.) (For what it's worth, I *AM* aware that Lana is not Chinese. Well, actually, I'm reasonably certain that her birth father probably WAS Chinese, based on her appearance, but, that's not why I bring up the Chinese Zodiac. I bring it up because it is used in Vietnam as well.)

Anyway, Lana was born in the year of the Horse. (Specifically, 2002 was a Water Horse year.) According to the book I was reading, the motto of those born in a year of the Horse is "I run free", and I cannot think of any motto more appropriate for Lana. She requires a lot of room to gallop, symbolically speaking. It is her nature. I am learning to accept this, but, it's all new to me.

Gabriel is a cautious child. He is contemplative. Lana is fearless. They are dark and light, yin and yang.

As I watched them swimming the other day, they set up a perfect visual explanation of their innate differences that I just have to share.

The each stood at the edge of the pool, with their backs to the water. They held hands and called out to me, "mommy, watch us do the 'plunge'". (Referring to the 'Nestea Plunge' wherein one falls backward into the water - they know this reference only from hearing adults refer to this activity as the Nestea Plunge, since I think Nestea retired that ad campaign decades ago.)

I turned my head to watch them. Gabriel extended his foot backwards, he dipped his toes into the water, as if to either assure himself that the water was still there, or that it was where he expected it to be. He then cautiously slipped gracefully backward into the water.

Lana on the other hand, simply raised her arms and flung herself backward without a second glance. Lana leaps without looking.

They both emerged from the water with happy giggles.

Anyone want to lay a wager on which one of them is going to give me a heart attack someday?

Gretchen

Scenes From A Mock American Wedding

2007-07-30T13:08:00.001-07:00

Over the weekend, our exchange student, Miho, had a mock-wedding with her International Youth Academy Class. It was a hoot.

Here are some highlights:

A real cake for the mock wedding
Gabe looking handsome at the mock wedding
The mock bride, Asuka, with her mock flower girls, Miho and Kanako
The mock bride with her mock groom
The mock bride with her mock parents (aka her host family) :-)

would've could've might've

2007-07-03T09:03:00.001-07:00

The girl on the bike was just a tiny slip of a thing, perhaps 13, perhaps 17, no older, no younger, I don't imagine. She had her pretty brunette hair pulled back in a pony tail this morning, and I am deeply, deeply grateful that I did not crush her with my car this morning.

I was only 5 minutes into my daily commute, and hence still within the confines of cute little town where I live, on my way to big city downtown where I work*. I was almost to the library, and the town was decorated for the 4th with bunting and flags, and I was looking at the decorations and feeling happy, feeling almost blissful at how adorable it all looked, and thinking that I needed to fish into my purse to find my phone to call my mother to ask what time she wanted us for dinner this evening, and I was pulling through the light just west of the library and town square and thinking about reaching for my purse to find my phone, when, out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of yellow t-shirt, and then, there she was, THERE SHE WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY CAR and brakes slammed-tires swerved-horns honked and my car stopped (thank you God thank you very very very much my car stopped) just inches from her and the fear on her face as her bike hit the curb and she fell over, she fell over but SHE WAS NOT CRUSHED (thank you God she was not crushed), and my hands shook as I tried to find the button to roll the window down, to speak to her as she picked up her bike to walk it over the curb across the grass to the sidewalk, and she was crying and I was shaking and I said, "Are you okay?? Are you okay?" and she cried "Yes, I'm fine, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have turned" and I realized that traffic was backing up behind me and pulled forward and drove away. The man who had been directly behind me pulled up next to me at the next light. He was looking at me, and I was looking at him, and my fingers still shook as I rolled my window down, and he did the same.

"Did I run that light?" I asked, voice shaky.

"No," he said. "It was green, it had been green for a while, it was still green. I don't know where she came from. I don't know which one of you looks more terrified right now...but, it was green. Are you okay to drive?"

And I nodded my head and probably looked very much like I WASN'T okay to drive, but, the light turned and I pulled onto the highway entrance ramp anyway, and my fingers, really, my fingers didn't stop shaking until I sat down at my desk.

And I cannot help but dwell on what might have happened, what could have happened, had I been reaching for my bag, had I been dialing my phone, had I been distracted further from the road. It would have been cold comfort to me, to know I was in the right, to know the light was green, if I had crushed her beneath my tires.

*by which I mean, big city for the part of the country where I live - I mean, clearly, not big city like Chicago or New York or anything

Fun with the Feds

2007-06-29T13:39:00.000-07:00

I suppose it is possible that I will come to regret writing this post. Perhaps I should wait until I have the actual CARDS in my hands, but, I so surprised and shocked that I had to share.

I actually had a PLEASANT experience at the Social Security Administration. I encountered not one, but TWO, pleasant, knowledgeable federal bureaucratic types. (No offense to my friends H~ and M~, both of whom are biologists for the federal government. See, they are SCIENTISTS, not bureaucrats. Big difference. And also one of them is technically an employee of a contractor of the federal government, but, let's not split hairs here.)

Anyway, I have been married for twelve years and had not ever managed to convince the Social Security Administration that I was legitimately using my husband's last name. It's a long and stupid story that involves a passport and an amendment to said passport, and two trips to the SSA where I encountered unhelpful bureaucratic types who sniped at me that I should not have gotten my passport changed before my social security card, and that I hadn't brought the right paperwork, and didn't I have my baptismal record or something to prove who I had been before I took a name I've been using since 1995? (Yes, because a baptismal record from a now defunct Methodist Church in Detroit, Michigan is WAY more official than a passport issued by the UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF STATE. But, whatever.)

I needed to apply for Lana's social security card, and, since I have been getting nasty grams from the IRS for the past three years about my name not matching the name I was being paid "wages" under, and finally, last year, an insistence from the IRS that I file my taxes under my maiden name since that is the only name the federal government recognizes (oh, yeah, except for that pesky PASSPORT from the State Dept and that LICENSE TO PRACTICE LAW IN THE FEDERAL COURT FOR THE NORTHERN AND SOUTHERN DISTRICTS OF OHIO.) (I'm not bitter about this or anything), I decided it was time to kill two birds with one stone. I took my passport, my driver's license, my Bar card, Lana's Vietnamese passport, Lana's Certificate of Citizenship, all the documents from our re-adoption hearing, all our documents from the dossier we sent to Vietnam (essentially, every single piece of identifying information about me that exists in public record form), and set off for Social Security.

I was prepared. I had a book (If you Lived Here by Dana Sachs (thanks Nicki for the recommendation) AND my pink Nintendo DS Lite, fully loaded with a murder mystery game, and I was prepared to sit for hours and offer lengthy and detailed explanations for my child's adoption and for my own pathetic failure to prove my true identity.

There were A LOT of people in the Social Security Administration office. I approached a computer screen that politely inquired why I was there. The computer gave me six options - and I chose, "Option 1 - to obtain a new social security number or a name change". The computer spit a piece of paper at me, with the number "582" at me.

I took my number and sat down. There were three open windows, behind which bureaucrats sat. "TWENTY-TWO" called the bureaucrat at window #2.

And I thought, "Wow. It's REALLY lucky I brought my book and my Nintendo, cause I'm gonna be here a WHILE." And then I thought some swear words that I won't repeat since I know my niece reads this blog on occasion, and she doesn't need to know what a sordid vocabulary her aunt has.)

And THEN, less than a minute later, the bureaucrat at window #1 calls out, "582", as if he had not skipped fully 560 numbers between the last number called and my own. AND he had a very slight, very pleasant Russian accent, which made me inexplicably happy. (Because, for reasons I have NEVER understood, I really LIKE the sound of people speaking with Russian accents. Or people speaking Russian. Not that I speak any of it myself, because I don't. I just like the way it sounds.) (Yes, I'm a freak.)

So, "Boris" was a very plain and efficient looking man. (Let's call him Boris. Boris wasn't his actual name, but, his name tag had an equally stereotypically Russian name on it, so, let's just take Boris and run with it, shall we?)...anyway, Boris said, "Vat can I do for you, today, miss?" (Oh, and this makes me happy, too, because when people call me "ma'am" I get all bent out of shape, for no real reason I can explain.)

I said, "Well, I need to change my name on my social security card, and I need to apply for a new number for my daughter, who I adopted in Vietnam on January 8 of this year." And I handed him the paperwork I had filled out from having downloaded the forms on-line, and my passport, and my driver's license, AND my birth certificate AND my Bar card AND my certified copy of my marriage certificate, and he looked at them for about 2 minutes, typed some things into a computer, and it spit out a happy little receipt with my married name and my social security number. Boris said, "Here ees your receipt and you will be receeeeeeving your new card in the mail in seben to ten daiz." (See, imagine Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle saying this, imagine that inflection, exactly, cause I'm not getting it right with the mis-spellings.) Then, I handed him Lana's Certificate of Citizenship, and a certified copy of her re-adoption and name change decree, and her IR3 Visa from her Vietnamese passport, and her Ohio Record of Foreign Birth, and the official translation of the minutes of our G&R, and Boris said, "you come very very prepared, today, miss." And I said, "yes, it's better that way, I think. To be prepared." (Heck, not for nothing am I married to an eagle scout. I know "be prepared".)

Boris started to fill out some more things on his computer screen, and then, he said, "I think I need my supervisor." And my face fell, because I was sure it was all going to go to hell in a handbasket at that point. He directed me to sit down again and wait for his supervisor to call me.

I settled back into one of the plastic chairs and prepared to wait a LONG time.

I waited five minutes, and the supervisor called me over, and I gave him all of Lana's paperwork and my driver's license, and he looked at everything and typed, and looked at everything some more, and typed some more, and then he handed me a receipt with Lana's correct name on it, and said that her new number would be issued by Monday and the card mailed by ten days from now. And that he hoped I had a pleasant weekend. The whole thing took less than 20 minutes.

As I was leaving, I heard Boris sigh, and in a pained voice explained to his next customer that she could not get a social security card without any identification, and she asked, "what if my purse was stolen" and he said, "was it?" and she said that, no, she just didn't KNOW she had to bring it with her to come to social security...(why on earth would you come ALL THE WAY DOWNTOWN to visit a government office without your purse?? WHY? Why would anyone do that?? I mean, with the exception of social security, every other government office in this city is housed in a tall white "government center" where one has to show a photo id and sign in and out to even get past the front door.) (Because of the Oklahoma City bombing. It's been a high security building since 1995. WHO DOESN'T KNOW THIS??)

So, I'm feeling reasonably hopeful that, in 7 to 10 days, I'll have actual social security cards for both Lana and I, in the mail. Preferably with generally accepted monikers on them.

Cedar Point in Pictures

2007-06-12T19:03:00.000-07:00

Gabe's first real roller coaster ride - the Iron Dragon
Lana and Gabriel playing on the shores of Lake Erie

Gabe and Lana ride the Froghopper On "the Monster" - the only time anyone has ever heard Lana say "NO GO FASTER"
Lana with Bok Ho (aka Uncle David)

Relaxing on the beach

There is Polly Pocket in My Purse, Where Once Only Hotwheels Tread

2007-06-05T08:08:00.001-07:00

Five months ago, David and I first met our brown-eyed girl. (See post below for a photo of our first mintues together).

In many ways, I can hardly believe that it has only been five months. It seems like a lifetime ago.

I know it makes no sense, and I know I have said this before (to some of you in real life, if not on this blog), that my memories of our time in DaNang and HaNoi are farther away from me that my memories of our time in Japan, or my time in France or our time in Tucson. Those times and places are all more than a decade in the past. But, my memories of the lives I led in those places are clearer, crisper, more available to me, than the three weeks we spent in Viet Nam. My memories of that trip seem to grow fuzzier by the day, like they are at the very edges of my consciousness and threatening to fade away into oblivion. I am so glad I kept such a detailed journal, because, without it, truly, I would have a hard time remembering that it was "real."

Obviously, when I look at Lana, when I see tiny pink shoes in the foyer of my house, I know she came from somewhere. But it seems impossible - only five months ago? Only five months ago, David and I flew halfway around the world, for this child, and brought her home? Hasn't she always been here?

And yet it is the pink shoes in my foyer - I KNOW those haven't always been there. Or the Polly Pocket at the bottom of my purse, hanging out with a Tinkerbell lip gloss. Is it possible it has only been five months since I first saw her with my own eyes?

It hasn't been easy, these five months. But, I think it's getting easier. It's certainly getting harder to remember that she hasn't always been a part of us.

Gretchen

You've Come a Long Way, Baby

2007-06-05T07:50:00.000-07:00

Five months ago

One month ago

McDreamy Motivation

2007-05-30T12:35:00.001-07:00

I have always had a hard time finding motivation to exercise. For a while, I was exercising on our ellyptical trainer 4 to 6 times per week, and my motivation was solely weight loss, and, after six months passed and I had lost all of 3 pounds...it was no longer motivating for me. It wasn't doing what I wanted it to, so, why bother?

Okay, so, I know, excercise that doesn't result in weight loss is still important for overall health, blood pressure, etc. That wasn't enough motivation and I was just depressed as hell that I had spent so much time working out and I was no thinner.

In January, we got a treadmill in addition to our ellyptical trainer. It's a good treadmill because Husband runs something like 8 miles a day. Fast. (Have I mentioned this before? The man runs. The man is addicted to running. He runs and runs and runs and runs. And for years he kept telling me that it felt GOOD to run, and, mostly, the only thing I have ever felt while running is PAIN. And, in my book, PAIN does not FEEL GOOD.

Anyway, I think I have finally found the motivation I need to work out on the treadmill, and the motivation has a name, and its name is...

McDreamy.

AKA Patrick Dempsey as Dr. Derek Shepherd.

Yes, yes, I know that the REST OF THE NATION discovered Grey's Anatomy two years ago, but, I have MISSED A LOT OF TV in the past 7 years. (See, there are choices one has to make when one is parenting a child who doesn't sleep a lot. And when it comes to choosing between prime time TV and enough sleep, I am pretty much going to choose sleep every time. The show airs at 10:00 PM, and I just cannot stay up until 11:00. And I miss a lot of 9:00 shows because I am putting the kids to bed. The only shows I have really kept up with in real time are Desperate Housewives (because one of the writers is an old friend of mine in real life) and Gilmore Girls (and I had to drive to my friend M~'s house to watch, because we don't get the CW on our DISH package.)

Anyway, for the past three weeks, I have been walking/running on the treadmill for 40 minutes about 3 or 4 times a week. My goal is to get up to 5 times per week. And the carrot I'm using to get myself on that machine is the opportunity to watch Grey's Anatomy. I have banned the Grey's Anatomy netflixed DVDs from any other TVs in the house, except the one parked in front of the treadmill. And it seems to be working. I actually WANT to go and work out. And, I am working up to running for part of those minutes. At the moment, I am only running (not fast, not gazelle-like as is Husband, but, actual real running none the less) for 8 minutes of the 40. But, in the grand scheme of things, that's like 40 minutes per week of RUNNING, which is 40 minutes more of running per week than I have ever done before. Plus, you know, the other 32 minutes per day of walking. It has to be good for something. It has to be making me healthier even if it's not going to make me THINNER. And I least I get to watch...sigh...Dr. McDreamy.

Here's my problem. Very shortly, I will come to the end of the available episodes of Grey's Anatomy, and THEN where will I be??

SO, my challenge to you is - name addictive television shows available on Netflix WITH English subtitles! (I need the sub-titles because I have low decible hearing loss to begin with, and, even without hearing loss, it is hard to hear all the dialogue - so, shows such as Veronica Mars (which only had subtitles on the DVDs for Season 1, cheap bastards at the CW) have to be ruled out. (Well, plus I've already watched all the episodes of VM. Twice. Such a good show. Anyway...) I was thinking of trying Boston Legal next, but, it only has captions in Spanish. :-(.

So, please, indulge me. What TV shows on DVD will keep me coming back to the treadmill?

Gretchen

Errors in Judgment

2007-05-28T11:32:00.000-07:00

I realize that all of the international adoption literature in the world will tell me that what I am about to say is wrong. I realize that what I am about to say will probably make other transracial adoptees (some at least) furious. (Although, I suspect that just about everything I say on this blog, ever, about anything, probably is capable of making someone angry with me.)

So, here goes.

Lana was not ready to attend the Asian Festival.

I thought that taking her to the Asian Festival would be a positive experience for her, exposing her to Vietnamese food and culture and people. I thought (and in fact, still do think) I had a *duty*, and *obligation* to remind her of what it means, for her, to be a Vietnamese person.

And it was a horrible, wretched, traumatizing mistake. For Lana. I'm not saying it was a bad festival, not at all. I'm not saying that it wasn't a positive and fabulous experience for the gazillion other trans-racial families I saw there.

I'm saying that Lana was not ready to go to the Asian festival. As near as I can tell, the experience - the travel, the hotel, the enormous crowd - made Lana believe that we were trying to give her away.

I thought things went well, on Friday night. We met up with several other families who adopted from Vietnam, who had come to the Asian festival from as far away as Texas and Oregon (among other places), and we had really fabulous Vietnamese food at a place called HaLong Bay. And Lana, for the first time in almost 2 months, ate Vietnamese food. (Which is not to say that we haven't offered her Vietnamese foods. We have. She has rejected them outright. And vehemently.)

But, Friday night, her eyes lit up when the waitress set the soft spring rolls and nuoc mam in front of her. She dove into the food. SHE DRANK the dregs of the nuoc mam sauce after she had used up most of it eating her spring rolls. (She did this once in Hanoi, as well, and it made me nauseated just watching her do it. Both times. On other occasions she has attempted to drink salad dressing and honey mustard sauce.) She devoured her chicken pho - slurping the noodles and the savory broth with loud and messy gusto.

And at 2 AM, in our hotel room, she woke up screaming in terror. She ran to the bathroom, she huddled on the bathroom floor, screaming and crying and begging for her Daddy. She fell back to sleep wrapped around Dave, and whimpered on and off through the rest of the night.

So, perhaps we should have known better than to take her to the festival. But, it was the main purpose of our weekend trip. (Well, that, and meeting with the other families on Friday night.)

So, we went. And parking was crazy, and there were TONS of people everywhere, and the food smelled AMAZING. And we got bubble tea and a pineapple and lychee beverage and Malaysian food (my best friend from highschool, Amy, has been living in Malaysia for the past decade, and she raves about the food, and I had never had an opportunity to try it. And I have to agree, what we had at the festival was delicious.) I tried to get more spring rolls and some shrimp chips for Lana. She screamed and rejected them. She rejected EVERYTHING. She demanded to be fed "donald's shicken an fries" (McDonald's Chicken Nuggets and French Fries - which I believe she thinks is at the pinnacle of the cuisine found in her new life. This, despite the fact that I am a decent cook, and regularly offer her much better food.)

She cried, she threw fit after fit, and, in one weird moment, she stopped crying when she saw a police officer on a horse. (There were several Asian law enforcement officers at the festival. One of them let Gabe sit in his squad car. Gabe was thrilled. Lana refused to sit in the car.) Anyway, Husband took Lana up to the horse, and the officer let her pet the horse. As they were walking away from the officer, Lana said, "Bye-bye horsey. Yummy horsey. I eat you up. Yummy horsey. Yum." (No, I'm not making that up.) Husband doesn't think the officer heard anything after "bye-bye horsey."

I sincerely hope he didn't.

I have no idea if Lana has ever eaten horse. I myself (inadvertently) ate horse in France, and considering the French influence in Vietnam, it wouldn't surprise me if they also eat horse there. But, I never saw it on any menus. Maybe she was just being silly. Maybe she was just trying to get a rise out of David. Hell, maybe she knows they eat horses in France (she seems to have been educated about a couple of odd things in her short school life in Vietnam) and was commenting on that. I don't know. I have no idea. I just know that Lana's behavior at the festival ranged from bizarre to wretched.

After two hours, we left. We went back to the hotel. All four of us took a nap. We went and swam in the hotel pool (even though it was not as nice as the pool in our own backyard.) We took the kids to the California Pizza Kitchen for dinner and, back at the hotel, we watched Over the Hedge and tried to get some sleep. Lana cried and whimpered through most of the night. We did not return to the festival on Sunday. The kids wanted to swim again, and then we took them to the Columbus Zoo. We visited the zoo, and with some other Vietnamese adopting families whose agency (VORF) was having an event at the zoo that day.

All the way home in the car, Lana demanded, "go faster, Daddy. GO HOME. GO HOME FASTER, Daddy."

She crawled into her own bed last night and slept for twelve hours. She just wasn't ready. I guess I should recognize that Bich Lan spent over four years being Vietnamese in Vietnam. For just over four months she's been getting her feet underneath her, being a new child, in a new family, a family that doesn't look like her, or eat the things she is used to, or speak the language of her old life. She is trying to make sense of that new life, and it wasn't fair of me, so soon into this new family, to put her in a position that made her uncomfortable.

She is trying her hardest to learn to be Lana, in a whole new world. I don't really know where to go from here, in terms of helping Lana feel comfortable as a trans-racial adoptee. She has positive Asian role models in her life, every day, thanks to the diverse staff at her daycare center. I can take her to visit our Vietnamese friends, and cook and offer her Vietnamese foods that maybe only Husband and I will eat. Beyond that, I'm not sure what to do. Feeling a bit at a loss,

Gretchen

Mommy Got Boobs

2007-05-23T10:27:00.001-07:00

I debated blogging about this, truly I did. But, I decided that I really did think it was funny, in retrospect...

Lately, Lana has been obsessed with breasts. OBSESSED. Who has them, who doesn't have them, and why they do or do not have them.

I'm not sure when the obsession began. She likes to come and keep me company if I am taking a bubble bath. At first, I resented this intrusion into what is, for me, SACRED PRIVATE TIME. However, it then occurred to me that I used to have some of my best talks with MY mom while she was taking a bubble bath and I was keeping her company. Also, Lana will happily sit for 10 to 15 minutes with one of her plastic tub-toy-cups and pour water down my back repeatedly. Really. It's like a spa treatment. Probably, there are people out there who would pay good money to have someone pour warm water over their back, over and over, while they are having a bubble bath. So, I've found I don't necessarily mind the company.

So, I believe the first time the subject she broached the subject, she was sitting on the side of the tub. "Mommy?" she asked. "Mommy, what those?"

I debated how to answer this question. "Breasts" seemed like too formal an answer for a child who is only 4 and whose English vocabulary is still limited. I sighed. "Boobs," I said. And immediately regretted it. And continue to regret it to this day...because she LOVES the word "boobs" and doesn't want to replace it with any other word.

She recently picked up a bra out of the clean laundry that David was folding. She wrapped it around herself. Honestly, I wish I had had a camera at that moment, because it looked absurdly comical. It was electric orange, for one thing, and the child only weighs 35 pounds soaking wet, so, to say it was gigantic on her is an understatement. "Look, Mommy. Lana need this. Lana need boobs."

"Lana doesn't need that yet." I said.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, Lana."

"Where Lana boobs?"

I sigh. (See, I sigh a lot with this child.)

"When Lana is a big girl, Lana will have boobs."

"Lana need boobs NOW, Mommy."

Sorry baby. Not gonna happen.

"Where Daddy boobs?"

"Daddy is a boy. Boys don't have boobs." (The Mansierre or The Bro of Seinfeld fame notwithstanding, of course).

"Gabriel no have boobs?"

"That's right. Gabriel is a boy, too. Boys don't have boobs."

I thought perhaps we had moved beyond the "boobs" obsession, because she didn't bring it up again for a few days. Until Saturday, when we were in the CEREAL AISLE at a MAJOR GROCERY STORE CHAIN. Did I mention it was SATURDAY? When the entire population of this city is grocery shopping?

I was wearing a v-neck t-shirt, and I picked her up to put her in the cart, cause she was whining about walking. From her vantage point in the cart, Lana snaked her fingers into my shirt and stuffed her head inside, and then she peeked back out (still pulling on my shirt and thus exposing far more of my body than I really care to think about) and announced, with happy excitement, to everyone on the cereal aisle, "MOMMY GOT BOOBS!!"

Twelve shades of red later, I decided to only let David push the cart.

Gretchen

Lydia???

2007-05-17T11:19:00.001-07:00

This morning, for no reason that I can even begin to fathom, I called Lana, "Lydia".

At 8:43 this morning, the following sentence came out of my mouth:

"Lydia, put your shoes on, we need to get in the car."

This caused both of us to stop and look quizically around. Me, because it occured to me that I had just called my daughter Lydia, and Lana, because, well, her name isn't Lydia.

I don't even KNOW anyone NAMED Lydia. I don't think I've EVER known anyone named Lydia. I do kind of enjoy that scene in The Fisher King where Michael Jeter's character sings "Lydia the Tatooed Lady" to Amanda Plummer's character. But, it's been, like, four years since I last watched that movie. Even though I own it. Sad.)

Once, a long time ago, I had a cat named Lydia. For two days. (Her name was Lydia for two days. Then we decided it didn't fit her and renamed her Kashi. Then we decided she didn't fit US and we gave her to our friend Wendy. Who pampered her until her untimely death from feline leukemia a few years ago. Hi, Wendy.)

Anyway, I have no clue why I did that.

Also, when I dropped Lana off at school, I started to write July 17 on her drop off sheet. And it's only May. It's possible I'm losing my mind.

_________________________________________________

I'm totally depressed and sad that the crap network that is the CW is not renewing Veronica Mars. I've only recently discovered (via watching Seasons 1 and 2 on DVD courtesy of Netflix) what a great, funny and well-written show this is, and WHACK. It gets cancelled. I'm bad luck like that for shows. I'm like a TV show killer. Seriously. As soon as I start to love them? They get the ax. I am not kidding when I say I am bad juju for intelligent television. Oh, what? You want example??

Dead Like Me? Cancelled. Arrested Development? Cancelled. Brimstone? Cancelled. Queer as Folk? Well, first it jumped the shark in the middle of season three, and held on for a while, AND then it was cancelled. (I mean, REALLY, did anybody buy Ted Schmidt as a drug addict? Because I did NOT.) There are others, I'm sure.

________________________________________________

I have more to say and no time to say it. Such is my life right now.

I feel old

2007-05-11T08:14:00.001-07:00

A few days ago, I was talking to my 12-year-old niece, J~. J~ was showing me a photograph she had taken and put on her cell phone.

(Can I backtrack and say, first and foremost, I feel old because, WAIT. WHAT? I am OLD ENOUGH to have a 12-year-old niece? (And it's not like my situation with my Aunt S~, who was only 3 years old when I was born, so, technically speaking, I WAS the 12-year-old niece to my 15-year-old aunt. NO. I have a 12-year-old niece and I her mom is my very slightly younger sister, so, not the same thing. Therefore, I am OLD.)

Also, my 12-year-old niece has a cell phone?

God, I am SO OLD. Because, when I was 12? It was 1984, and the cell phone hadn't even been invented. And when I was 15 I was SUPER-IMPRESSED that my boyfriend's mom had a car phone. (Does anyone else remember those enormous phones, mounted in the center console of the car?)

What was I saying?

Oh, yes. Twelve year old niece. Cell phones. I am OLD.

Anyway, J~ had taken a picture with the camera on her cell phone (I guess, to put a fine point on it, it is my SISTER'S EXTRA CELL PHONE, that her children USE. But, I'm splitting hairs, here.) The photo was kind of spooky looking, and I said, "wow, it looks like something from the X-Files."

And, what did J~ say? Did she say, "Yeah, Aunt Gretchen, I was going for a Mulder-Scully type feel when I took the photograph?"

No. She SO DID NOT.

She asked me what an X-File was. And then it occurred to me that The X-Files hadn't been prime-time cultural phenomenon at any point in J~'s pop-culture cognizant lifetime. At the time The X-Files was an enormous hit, J~ either hadn't even been born, or, J~ was still a TODDLER.

Slam. I am OLD.

Because, really, wasn't it, like, two days ago that the whole country tuned in every Sunday night to see if Mulder and Scully would EVER get it together? Oh, and yeah, to see if they could solve that week's paranormal mystery, of course. Sigh. (On a trivial note, I was watching the X-Files when I realized I was in labor with Gabriel. It's the episode where Mulder and Scully are being accompanied by a reality tv show. COPS, I think. It's the only episode, ever, that I haven't seen all the way through. But, I was watching X-Files after having eaten a mountain of my Aunt Harriet's pasta with olives, and, suddenly, I was in a lot of pain. So, I blame Fox Mulder and Aunt Harriet equally for sending me into labor. :-) )

_______________________________________

Lana has been annoyed this week because her pre-school has been closed. She isn't happy about this. "Mommy. Go Apple Tree. Go Apple Tree now, Mommy. Why no go Apple Tree, Mommy? How? How?" An explanation that the university is closed for a week between semesters has fallen on deaf ears. "Apple Tree not closed. No. Not closed. Mommy lie." Yes, Lana. Of course. Mommy is lying to you. Why wouldn't I??

She seems to have some trouble differentiating the concept of How and Why. Anyone who speaks Vietnamese have an explanation for this? Are How and Why the same word in Vietnamese, by any chance? Or, you know, is she just, a four year old learning a whole new language and there is no deep linguistic confusion occurring?

Lana is also becoming a speed-freak. And by this, no, I do not mean that she is a meth-addict. I mean, she likes to go FAST. "Go faster!" came chirping from my back seat about 10 days ago, and she hasn't let up since. "Go faster, Mommy! Go faster!" She demands this as we are stuck in traffic, or while she is sitting in the grocery cart. David was running at the park with her in the Baby Jogger, and she was egging him on, "Go faster! Go faster Daddy!!" She also did this while riding in the toddler seat on the bike David was riding. And, while we were walking into Buffalo Wild Wings the other night, she saw a Harley Davidson motorcycle in the parking lot, and announced, "Lana go there! Lana go fast!" (Should I add an "over my dead body" here?) I am starting to suspect that Lana is going to have a fine old time next month at Cedar Point. Although I am already picturing her sitting in the Snoopy cars, yelling, "Go Faster! Go Faster Snoopy!"

Gretchen

The View from Probate Court

2007-04-26T09:58:00.000-07:00

Lana and Gabriel on Lana's final adoption hearing day - April 26, 2007

Like Athena...

2007-04-19T08:44:00.001-07:00

Lana is fascinated by photographs. She pours over them with complete concentration, sifting through them, sorting them, putting them in different piles and re-arranging the piles.

She also loves to look at Gabriel's baby book. I will admit that I am a lousy "scrapbooker" and that, as yet, Gabriel's baby book is kind of haphazardly put together, not necessarily in chronological order. But, Lana loves to look at it anyway, and yet, each time she looks at it, she is a little bit agitated and upset.

"This is Gabriel?" she asks, pointing to a photo. "This is Gabriel and Yi Stace?" she asks, pointing another photo. "Gabriel and Nana? Gabriel and Mommy? Gabriel and cat?"

These questions always lead to the same place. The same question ultimately rears it's head. "Where Lana? Where Lana pictures, Mommy?"

When Lana is pointing to a picture of Gabriel as a baby and a toddler, it is easier (for me) to answer these questions. "Lana wasn't born yet." Is an easy answer. Lana doesn't necessarily comprehend that answer, but, at least it's not an answer that leaves me with a sense of uneasiness. The answer would be the same, even if Lana had been born to us.

Gabriel was about 2 and a half when Lana was born in Da Nang. The photos she asks about of him at this age - I find it difficult to answer her. One set of photos in particular has bothered me since I made an effort, a few weeks ago, to determine what I happened to be doing on the day Lana was born.

I went back through my Yahoo! email account, trying to find an email to me or from me, sent on that day, which would give me an idea of what I had been doing. But, there was only one email from that day. I only save personal emails, but, I tend to send personal emails (at least one or two short ones) every single day. But, from that day, November 5, 2002, there is only one email. From my Labor Law professor, advising me on a question I had sent him a few days earlier, about a paper I was writing comparing the collective bargaining laws of Ohio and Michigan.*

In fact that is the only email in my account from October 28 to November 6, 2006. So, I opened up a November 6 email and determined why there was no correspondence during those days.

My cousin E~ had gotten married in Los Angeles that year on November 2. Gabriel and I flew to L.A. with my mom, my step-dad, my grandmother and my aunt. I didn't return home until November 5.

The upside of this is that I know what Gabriel and I were doing. We were flying from L.A. to Detroit.

The photographs that make me...what? Uneasy? Sad? Melancholy? Guilty? Something that cannot be named precisely? They are the photos from that trip. Gabriel dressed up to go trick or treating in Simi Valley with my cousin's son. Gabriel and I and my aunt visiting some botanical gardens with my friend Jennifer, with whom I had taught English in Japan. Gabriel and I at my cousin's wedding, and later at my cousin's wedding reception. Gabriel dancing to the Irish band who played at that wedding reception. Gabriel and my mom and I, shopping Little Tokyo in Los Angeles. Gabriel seeing the ocean for the first time.

On one hand, I am glad to know what I was doing those days, those days in which Lana was making her way into this world. But, in other ways, I look at those photographs and I realize that Lana, Bich Lan, was not even on my radar screen.

I did not know, then, what I know now. That my daughter was out there, on the other side of the planet. At the time, I believed that Gabriel would be an only child. At the time, I could not conceive of mothering another child.

Lana was born, on the other side of the planet, roughly at the same time Gabriel and I were flying home from L.A. We came home, we went about our lives. I finished that paper on collective bargaining. I went to Immigration Law and Labor Law and Environmental Law classes. I took exams. I went to work twice a week at my job as a clerk for a huge law firm. Gabriel went to daycare. David went to school everyday to teach biology and English. Our lives were not interrupted by the birth of a child.

It's amazing to me, when I look at Lana, who seems (from my point of view) to have sprung magically into my life, fully formed as a four-year-old creature...logically I know she did not spring forth in this form, she is not Athena sprung from Zeus's skull. She came to this world in the usual way. It is only AFTER that that her life became unusual. She did not come to our family in the usual way, which has me sitting in an unusual seat - asking my child, my CHILD, my DAUGHTER, questions about her life BEFORE ME. She has a whole history that I don't know much about. And I find myself almost desperate to know.

We are lucky - we are not without any information. We have photographs, mostly from 2004 onward. From July of 2004 through December 2006, we have four pictures taken every three months. Twelve photos per year for 2005 and 2006, and 6 pictures from 2004, provided to us by our agency. Prior to that, our agency's child update reports regarding Lan contain no photographs. We do have one picture of Lana, taken as a teeny tiny screaming infant, and a package of 24 photographs, all taken on the same day of June in 2003. We also have 8 pictures that her foster mother gave us in a small album, on the day we met with her. We are lucky to have even this much information. I know other children who came home with much less. But, I still wish I had something more, something more to help her remember her life before, and for us to know these things as well.

This morning Lana surprised me by being able to express something of her prior life. She was looking at one of the photos taken of her in Vietnam. In the picture she is wearing a white dress with sailboats on the front, and holding two bottles of Tiger Beer. (Yes, really.) The bottles are capped, so, it's not like she is DRINKING the beer. It looks more like she is walking with the beer to give it to someone. I have OFTEN wondered the circumstances surrounding this photo, which was taken by one of Holt's social workers, but not provided to us until after her "assignment" to us - it was not included in the child reports we were given at the time we were asking to be matched to her.

Anyway, Lana was looking at the picture and she pointed and said, "Oh! Mommy! Lana Happy Birthday! Lana Happy Birthday Party! Lana party, Mommy. Lana, party, picture." I was skeptical at first, Lana being somewhat obsessed with wondering when we will have a birthday party for her. (She has been to about 7 birthday parties for various family and friends since we have been home. She WANTS a party for Lana, that much is clear.) But, I checked the date on the photograph - it is dated by our agency as "Nov. 12, 2005". Only a week after her birthday. So, I believe her, and it's a little piece of her life, for me to know. That on her third birthday, someone cared enough to have a birthday party for her. It's not a lot, but, it's something. I'm hoping that, as her language ability increases, she will be able to look over the other photos, and share something of their circumstances, before those memories start to become fuzzy to her.

Gretchen

Some Interesting Linguistic Jumps

2007-04-12T09:33:00.000-07:00

Last night, Lana was standing by the sink, washing plastic dishes. (This was after a minor fit that she threw when David refused to allow her to wash the knives and a glass bowl. Lana is a very thorough dishwasher, but, "gentle" isn't really part of her vocabulary.)

Anyway, Lana was washing the dinner dishes that could neither be hurt by or hurt her, while I was putting coffee in the coffee maker for morning (you know, with the delayed-timer function) - and I said to David, "How many scoops of coffee do you think I should put in?"

Lana answered, "One." Simutaneously, David answered, "Four and a half."

What impressed me with this was not Lana's (lousy) coffee making skills (one scoop of coffee for 8 cups?? Come on!) - but rather, that she recognized that a "how many" question required a numerical answer.

Deciding to test her comprehension skills further, I said, "Lana - who likes coffee?"

Lana immediately answered, "Um...BA! And Mommy! And...um...Yi Stace!!" ("Yi Stace" is what she calls my sister, Stace.)

It's amazing to me, how much she understands, and how much she makes herself understood. (This morning, she made it very clear to David that Mommy would have let her eat fruit snacks in the car and that his refusal to let her eat fruit snacks in HIS car was a cause of immense displeasure to her.) (Sure, it sounded something like "Mommy car froooot snack eat! Wanna eat frooooot snack Ba car!! Wanna eat froooot snack now, Ba!!" But, she made herself understood - perfectly.) (It's true. I do let her eat fruit snacks in the car...does this make me public enemy number one? Or just dental enemy number one?)

Gretchen

Sleep and Happy Easter

2007-04-09T08:24:00.001-07:00

Lana has slept with Gabriel for the past three nights and significantly more amounts of sleep have been had in our house.

Lana's first Easter was impressive to her. I believe I have mentioned before that she is a candy fiend, so, any event that brings her MORE CANDY is really tops with her. She has picked up the words, "Wow" and "Awesome" from her pre-school pals. She repeated them constantly over the weekend.

On Saturday morning, she and Gabriel attended an Easter Egg hunt at my mom's church, She LOVED this. She wouldn't leave Gabriel's side and he helped her find her 12 eggs while he found his 12 eggs.

From there, we went to my mom's house for egg dying and lunch. Lana really enjoyed coloring the easter eggs, and then she and Gabe and their cousin T~ had another impromptu Easter Egg hunt around my mom's house. They were using plastic eggs, but, my brother and I remembered (and laughed about) the year that our parents hid real eggs around the house, and then 2 of them could not be found, and didn't show up until about 8 weeks later. With a horrific smell. Probably our parents didn't laugh about it AT THE TIME, but, it was funny in retrospect.

We drove up to my in-laws house in Michigan late Saturday afternoon. Saturday night, Lana and Gabriel slept in my in-laws guestroom on a futon couch. (You know, the kind that folds down into a bed? Incidentally, these "futon couches" bear very little resemblance to the futons that David and I slept on the year that we lived in Japan...)

Anyway, Lana and Gabe slept fairly well, with Lana only waking up once to go to the bathroom around 4:00 AM, and she went right back to sleep. At 8:00 AM, Gabriel came into the room where David and I were sleeping and said, "Lana's not in bed."

"What do you mean, Lana's not in bed?" I asked. (I was dead asleep, which is the only explanation I can give for such a stupid question.)

"I mean, she's not there." Gabe said.

I got up and went out into the living room and kitchen, to see if she was with my in-laws. The house was dark and quiet - my in-laws had already left for 8:00 mass. I checked both bathrooms, and Lana was not in either of them. I went back into the guest room, and looked UNDER the futon couch. There was Lana, sleeping peacefully, under the futon. Since she has been so sleep deprived lately, I didn't want to risk waking her up by moving her, so, I left her there. She slept under there for another hour. (Does this make me the world's most horrible mother?)

We missed going to church, but, since my in-laws church does not have a children's chapel during service, and while I thought I would feel horrible about that, I really don't feel too bad about it. I was not looking forward to trying to get Gabe and Lana to sit still for an hour in a packed sanctuary.

We had a wonderful meal with David's extended family - ham, pototoes, perogi, kielbasa, etc. Everyone ate too much. This was Lana' first experience eating baked ham (at least in the US) and she LOVED IT. She was less impressed with perogi and kielbasa (I guess she's not secretly Polish. Is anyone surprised?)

I will try to post some pictures later today.

Gretchen

Tired

2007-04-06T09:01:00.000-07:00

I am SO TIRED. Seriously, so very very tired.

I am not sure what happened to this child who formerly slept like the dead. I miss that child. Because THIS child, this child who has not been sleeping so much for the past few weeks, is EXHAUSTING ME.

We had two nights where she was up screaming like a banshee at 1:00 AM. Then we had some nights where she didn't scream, she just kind of moaned and yelled in her sleep on and off all night long. Nights where she wakes up needing to go the bathroom and then begs to sleep with Mommy or Daddy or Gabriel.

Yesterday, I took the day off and Dave and I drove to Ikea with the intention of getting a loft bed with a desk for Gabriel's room and a bed with a trundle for Lana's room, so that Gabriel can sleep with her occasion. (They both ask to be able to sleep in the same room on a fairly regular basis, so, I thought if her bed had a trundle bed then Gabe could sleep in there for a few nights and maybe Lana would go back to sleeping 10 to 12 hours per night.)

Anyway, we got to Ikea and were totally overwhelmed by the gazillion possibilities. And overwhelmed by how VERY MANY PEOPLE were there on a Thursday at 10:30 in the morning.

So, finally, after 2 hours of wandering around trying to find what we wanted, we settled on the Tromso loft bed and desk for Gabriel (you can see them here http://www.ikea.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/ProductDisplay?topcategoryId=15558&catalogId=10103&storeId=12&productId=11534&langId=-1&categoryId=15619&chosenPartNumber=50019950 and here http://www.ikea.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/ProductDisplay?catalogId=10103&storeId=12&langId=-1&productId=50797 ) and we wanted the Robin bed and trundle bed for Lana's room. (This http://www.ikea.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/ProductDisplay?catalogId=10103&storeId=12&langId=-1&productId=68614)

Problematically, they were sold out of the bed and trundle bed. AND THEY HAD NO OTHER TRUNDLE BEDS available either. NONE.

I'm sorry. This is freaking IKEA. Reasonably priced Swedish furniture solutions!! HOW CAN THEY HAVE NO TRUNDLE BEDS AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE?? HOW???

And THEN, despite following their instructions for actually locating the boxes we needed for Gabe's bed and desk, we were not able to actually find them. We had to find an IKEA employee (no easy task considering the place was SWAMPED) and they took us to the aisle/bin where the boxes were supposed to be, and low and behold, the boxes were not there. So THEN a manager had to be located, who had to make phone calls, who spoke to someone who said that, "oh, yes, those desks had to be moved to different location because of x, y or z." (I don't remember). So, THEN, we had to go that aisle to find the desk, which was sitting in a bin marked, "MALM Queen Sized Bed Frame". Which the bin WASN'T, because it was filled with boxes of Gabriel's desk. So, heaven help any IKEA customers who wanted the MALM bed frame...

Anyway, we got it home and Husband put the bed and desk together and Lana was ticked because Gabe got a new bed and she didn't. So, we told her she could sleep in Gabe's room in her sleeping bag.

And there was much getting up and down by the children, and then there was much screaming and yelling about them not being asleep and lines were drawn in the sand about what was going to happen if a parent had to come into the bedroom again, and then, of course, we had to go back in, and then Lana was made to go and sleep in her own bed and all hell broke loose. By which I mean she screamed for about an hour (during which time I had a complete and utter meltdown because she has been giving us a hard time with sleeping for two weeks now and I've just about reached the end of my damn rope) and she finally fell asleep in her own bed, against her will, around 10:45. And then she was up screaming and yelling at 12:15, and she refused to go the bathroom, and then when put back in her bed she demanded to go to the bathroom, and then claimed that she was in pain but couldn't identify where, and I gave up and took her into the guest room where she fell asleep and I kind of fell asleep, except that she woke up every now and then to cry for no apparent reason for a minute or two, which would wake me up and then it takes me a while to get back to sleep, and then she would cry for a minute or two again and the whole stupid cycle began again.

Anyway, the point is, I'm tired. And fed up with this sleep nonsense.

This mornign she woke up and announced that she "NO SLEEP IN LANA'S BED. NO SLEEP THERE." And, frankly, I was tempted to chuck her and the bed out the window.

Anyway, I have no idea what to do about this situation. We have been to the doctor and she is not sick. Any advice would be appreciated.

Gretchen

Bathing Beauty

2007-03-30T10:19:00.001-07:00

Last night, for the first time, Lana took a bath. By which I mean she sat in the tub, with water up to her chest, played with toys, and splashed around. She had to be coaxed into the tub by her big brother (they were in the big jacuzzi tub in our bathroom.) Once she was in, she had a great time. She laughed, she loved the jacuzzi jets. When we told them it was time to get out, she raised up her right hand, all five fingers extended and said, "Five Minutes!! Five minutes more!!" Sometimes, she cracks me right up. The only tears came when Husband washed her hair. They were brief.

Lana also had her first hair cut in the United States yesterday. I took her to my good friend, J~, who also does my hair. She was very nervous when we went into the salon, and she clearly DID NOT want her hair cut, but, she sat on my lap and J~ patiently trimmed. She looks so much better without her hair hanging down into her eyes.

When we got home, Lana curiously told Husband, "Look Lana's hair! Lana's hair pretty. No cut. No cut hair. Pretty hair."

I'm not sure what to make of this - except that Lana may be trying to make a distinction between the "hair cuts" she got in Vietnam (in which her hair was basically shaved down to about 2 inches long) to the trim she got yesterday.

What was explained to us by our agency's social worker, when we arrived in Danang, was that Vietnamese children have very short hair until they are about 4 or 5. I am not sure if she meant "all Vietnamese children" or just ones in foster and orphanage care.

This morning, Lana let me put a clip in her hair. (We are growing part of her bangs out long - and that part of her hair needs to be pulled to the side with a barette.) The barette lasted about 10 minutes in her hair before it started to fall out. Her hair is so straight and so fine, it's like there is nothing for the barette to keep hold of. We may have to look for some clips or something...

Gretchen

Is she a Pirate?

2007-03-21T10:36:00.000-07:00

It is astonishing to me how quickly Lana's English is coming now. I heard about a group of DVDs (from another mom who adopted a four-year-old through our agency), called "Sesamee English". These DVDs are from the Sesamee Street people (obviously) and they teach English as a Second Language, and also have some of the soundtrack in Vietnamese, Hmong, Mandarin or Korean. Lana really seems to be learning from these. Also, I think being in a classroom with other children every day is helping a lot.

This morning, while we were dropping Gabe off at school, she said, "I stay in car, mommy." !!! A whole sentence! She has also said things like, "Mommy, I cold," and "Daddy, I hungry, want chicken, want pony!" (Um...I am embarrassed to say that what she means is she wants chicken nuggets from McDonalds and the My Little Pony toy that is currently accompanying them. She has a collection of three of these little ponies, and, left to her own devices, would evidently eat McDonald's chicken nuggets around the clock.)

But, the one notable word that Lan DOES NOT SAY is "Yes". She has "NO" down pat. "NO" was one of the first English words she used.

But, not "yes".

Instead of saying yes, Lana says, "ayuh" or "aye" or possibly "hai". We are trying to figure out if a pirate has sneaking in and teaching her to speak. Or a person from Maine? Or possibly a Japanese person?? It's the funniest thing.

Also amusing - one of Lana's best pals at school is a little boy named Nico. Nico's mom is a German professor at the University where the school is located. She is actually FROM Germany, so, she speaks to Nico only in German while her husband speaks to him only in English. The result is that, at four, Nico is bi-lingual. So, as we were leaving school the other day, Nico held the door open for Lana and said, "Komen Sie Aus, Lana, Komen Sie Aus!" Which Lana promptly did. Nico's mom and I laughed that Lana is going to be speaking German, too, pretty soon!!

More later,
Gretchen

Cuban?

2007-03-09T08:14:00.000-08:00

This morning, whilst driving Lana to her pre-school, we were listening to the BBC World News Hour on NPR. (See, that's why I used the word "whilst" - to be all British and such.)

Anyway, we were listening to the BBC, and I thought Lana might comment on the fact that the announcer was doing a story about Vietnam (evidently, there has been a crackdown on dissidents of late), but, she didn't say a word about that. (Although, the British newcaster's pronounciation of the word Vietnam is very very far from Lana's own distinct pronounciation of "Viet Nam" - she may not have even registered that they were talking about her homeland.)

However, the story after the story about the jailing of Vietnamese dissidents was about Cuban refugees.

Suddenly, from the quiet back seat, Lana yelled, "Mommy!!! Cuban!!"

I said, "What?"

"Mommy!!! CUBAN!! CUBAN!!! CUBAN!! CUUUUUUUUUUUBAN!!"

Me: "Huh?"

What the heck is that about? She continued to say it, all the way to school.

It just leaves me scratching my head and wondering what she thinks "Cuban" means...

Perhaps she is hankering for a lime-and-cumin spiced pork sandwich?

Gretchen

She Loves Me Not

2007-03-05T10:20:00.000-08:00

We had a difficult day on Saturday with Lana. I have several theories on why it was so hard, but, who knows, really?

Her schedule had been all messed up since Wednesday, as Wednesday evening we had a Lenten dinner and lecture at church (during which Lana happily went to the children's program with her cousins and brother), and Thursday we were at the T~'s house having Vietnamese food and didn't get home until 10:45 PM, and then Friday night my niece, Taylor, spent the night.

Gabe and Lana and Taylor played well together, until it was time to go to bed. As is customary for when Gabriel and Taylor have sleepovers (and they've been having sleepovers for 3 or 4 years now), I put in a movie and put them, along with Lana, into the guest room to watch a movie and drift off to sleep.

Except, that's not what happened because Lana does not have 3 years of cousin-sleep-over-experience to draw on. She did not lay down quietly (and it was 10:00 by this time and way past her usual 8:30 bedtime for the 3rd night in a row.)

So, I ended up turning the movie off for a few minutes, and taking Lana to her room and putting her to bed by herself. And she fell asleep. Until she was awoken by Gabe and Taylor having an argument about (of all things) the Statue of Liberty. (Taylor had recently been to New York City with my brother, and she insisted that you could go INSIDE the statue. Gabriel had been studying the Statue at school, where his teacher had told them that visitors were no longer allowed inside the statue. If any New Yorkers are reading this please let me know which of them was right!!)

Anyway, the ridiculous argument woke Lana up, and she was crying and upset (probably feeling left out of the fun, but, what was I supposed to do? If she won't lay down and fall asleep to the movie, what are my options, really?)

She fell back to sleep with some comforting from David, and Taylor and Gabriel fell asleep soon after. Taylor and Gabe were up again at 7:30 AM (what the heck??), but, Lana slept until 9:45. There was arguing about whose My Little Pony was whose, and arguing about this and that. Typical arguing among children who haven't had enough sleep, nothing out of the ordinary.

My brother came to pick up Taylor, and we went out the mall to run some errands.

Lana was absolutely atrocious at the mall. She ran away from us, she refused to hold anyone's hand, she pushed another little girl...David ended up practically dragging her by her arm because she was refusing to walk if either of us tried to hold her hand. There was fit throwing and screaming.

We went home without our errands finished because she was just being impossible.

Around 7:00, David and Gabriel left to go finish the errands, and I planned to give Lana a bath and put her to bed on time.

The best laid plans of mice and men...

Lana lost her mind when David left the house with Gabriel. She went ABSOLUTELY BANANAS. She tried to run after him, running into the garage as she tried to put her shoes on (after he had driven away). She screamed. She bawled. She was in hysterics.

I put some water in the bathtub and she ran away from me yelling "NO NO NO NO NO NO NO". She ran into her bedroom and LOCKED THE DOOR. When she came out of her room she was wearing pajamas and running shoes. I physically tried to pick her up and take her into the bathroom, telling her she needed to get clean. She is strong. She made it physically impossible for me to get her into the tub, or even out of her pjs. She ran down the stairs and back into the garage, screaming, "BA! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba!" (Daddy).

I dragged her back in the house. I offered her food. She refused. I told her it was bedtime and she went into her room and threw herself on her bed and cried and kicked some more. I offered to read her a book. "NO BOOK! NO BOOK!" she screamed. I sang her a song (the one I usually sing at bedtime) and she screamed "NO MOMMY NO MOMMY! NO LOVE YOU! NO LOVE YOU! NO LOVE YOU!"

She was covered with tears and snot. I told her I loved her - she pushed me away from her. I told her Ba would be here when she woke up in the morning. I closed the door. Her angry cries turned to sad cries. "Ba...Ba....Ba....Ba..." I went in the room to comfort her and she screamed "NO MOMMY! NO MOMMY!" again. When I left she switched from crying "Ba" to crying "Daddy...Daddy...Daddy".

It is hard to hear a child tell you they don't love you. And when she says, "no mommy" sometimes, I believe what she is saying is that I am NOT her mommy. It is painful to hear this from a child you have, literally, been to the ends of the earth for. I will be honest and say that, mostly what I felt about her, at that moment, was frustration and anger and hopelessness. She fell asleep a little before 8:00, and I laid in my bed and cried for a while. I turned on the TV and saw that the Oxygen Network had attempted to turn Margaret Atwood's The Robber Bride (one of my favorite books) into a movie, so, I watched that for a while. (Um...they tried, and they used Mary Louise Parker as Xenia, but...it really didn't work out very well.) When David and Gabe came home, I told them about the last two hours and I curled up like a lump on the couch to watch the end of the movie.

Lana woke up, and David went to comfort her. She was furious with him, but, she did quiet down. Ten minutes later she was screaming "bafroom, havva go bafroom" and I went up to take her to the potty. She pushed me away, and then she saw David was right behind me. She jumped into his arms crying, "bafroom, bafroom" - he took her to the bathroom and she fell asleep again. She was up once more at 11:30, but, went back to sleep when David tucked her back in. She slept the rest of the night and was in a much better mood yesterday.

She finally consented to a shower (she has lately decided that she hates water worse than a skittish cat), but, yesterday, we finally had a clean child with no tears and no screaming, a first for her in the last three weeks.

And this morning, she came to me for comfort when she woke up, and let me help her get her clothes on. She happily got in the car to go to school, and, when I was threading the seat belt through her car seat, she kissed my cheek and say, "Love you, Mommy."

I'm trying to focus on that postive response. It's not easy. But, I'm trying to focus on it.

Gretchen

Where is my brother?

2007-03-02T10:32:00.000-08:00

Lana threw me for a loop on Tuesday with her use of the word "Brother."

She was home from school (still sick from the virus that sent us to the hospital on Sunday, which is a post unto it's self and which I do not have the patience to write about right now because it made me so angry I thought my head would explode).

Anyway, we were looking at pictures and trying to decide which pictures to put in collage-type frame, when she picked up a picture of Gabriel and said, "Ga-bri-el!" And I said, "yes, that's your brother, Gabriel."

"Brother!" she said, happily, pointing at other photos of Gabe and saying, "Brother! Brother! Brother!"

I was proud of her for learning a new English word and I gave her a "high five". (She high fives everyone right now. EVERYONE. She tried to high five the check-out girl at the grocery the other day.)

Then, all of the sudden, she dug through a stack of pictures from our trip to Vietnam, until she came to a photo of several children at the orphanage.

She pointed to a child named Son, the child who had been fostered in the same foster home as her, and, in all seriousness, looked at me and said his full name in Vietnamese (which I cannot pronounce and cannot even begin to imagine how to spell) and then said, "Brother."

I looked at her completely stunned.

"Brother," she said again, pointing at Son. "Brother mo? Brother mo?"

She took my face in her hands and said it again, "Brother mo?"
"Mo" means "where" in Vietnamese.

SHE WAS ASKING ME WHERE HER FOSTER BROTHER WAS.

I felt like someone had poored ice water down my spine.

It has been weeks since she said Son's name (admittedly, she did ask about him in Vietnam, and on one occasion vomited when he and his new parents got out of the agency's van to go to their hotel, so, I was AWARE, at least, that they had a bond of some kind.)

I would venture a guess that she has not mentioned Son since we left Vietnam, but, it was clear, Tuesday, that his absence was weighing on her.

Where is my brother? Where is my brother? (Can you imagine not knowing the answer to this question?????????????????)

It is at moments like those, it occurs to me how much this child has lost. And I do not have the ability to tell her, "Son is with his new family in Chicago" because "Chicago" means nothing to her.

Ultimately, I pulled out a photo of Son's parents and I said, "Son co Mommy" and "Son co Daddy".* She looked at the photos of Son's new parents (thank God I have pictures of them at least) for a second and shook her head. Then she picked up a different photo of Gabriel and she hasn't brought up Son since.

I don't honestly know what to think about the whole conversation, except that it makes me sad to think she has been wondering what happened to her foster brother, and it never occured to me to tell her where he had gone.

Gretchen

*I believe that "co" is a possessive marker in Vietnamese, equivalent to an " 's " - this is based on my observation of Lana's speech pattern when she is talking about something that belongs to her - i.e. she says, "Lana co shoe" or "Lana co kitty" - when it is clear she means "Lana's shoe" or "Lana's kitty."

Six Weeks - A letter to Lana

2007-02-20T08:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Lana,

In the six weeks since you became our daughter, you have gone from a sad and quiet child, into a little girl who laughs. A LOT. You giggle. You are FUNNY. (Restricted by language as you are right now, you love to make a joke. The last several days that joke has been, to point to Gabriel and say, "Lana!" Then you point to Daddy and say, "Mama!" You point to me and say, "Ba!" Then you point to yourself and say, "Gabriel". Then you laugh like a lunatic, and we laugh with you. Sometimes you point to Batsu and Nolan (our cats) and say, "Con vuoy!" And you laugh some more. (We believe that Con Vuoy means Elephant in Vietnamese.)

You are LOUD. Wow. You can make some serious noise when you want to.

You are starting to like your school. In the mornings, in the car, you ask me, "Apple Tree mo? Apple Tree mo?" (Where is Apple Tree?). When I take you into your class in the morning, you look around for Shelley, your teacher. You are disappointed when she is not there yet, but, you let me kiss you goodbye, and you are brave and do not cry. Shelley and Sena tell me that are starting to sing songs with the other children. Which brings me to the next thing -

You love to SING. Six weeks ago, your foster mother told us that "this child would sing while she eats if she could." She was not exaggerating. You love to sing, but, sadly (this breaks my heart), at this point, you seem to be forgetting the words to your Vietnamese songs, and haven't yet learned all the words to new English songs. So...you sing the first few lines of "Happy Birthday", over and over again.

You sleep. You fall asleep by yourself after cuddling with me and singing three songs. You sleep almost 12 hours at night. All the books say this is the exact amount of sleep that you need. I thought the books were lying when they said four-year-olds need 12 hours of sleep a day. But, you do. It's incredible to me. Friday night you actually PUT YOURSELF TO BED. Evidently your were tired.

You love love love your daddy and your brother. You regularly throw your arms around them and give them big kisses and say, "I huv you." This is more adorable than you can possibly imagine. Sometimes, but not as often, you wrap yourself around me, and say, "I huv you Mommy." This makes my heart melt like an icicle in July.

You are a GUM ADDICT. You love GUM. You ask for gum 12,000 times a day. Your optimism on this front is astonishing.

You love shrimp. And pizza. And noodles. And toast with Nutella. But, you hate peanut butter. And yet you love peanuts?

I think we still have a lot to learn about eachother, little one.

Love,
Mommy

Happy Lunar New Year!!

2007-02-17T08:45:00.000-08:00

The new lunar new year begins tomorrow!

Welcome to the year of the boar (or the pig)!

This photo was taken last weekend just before we left for the Ann Arbor Pan-Asian Lunar New Year Festival. We will spend celebrate tomorrow at a Chinese New Year party with some friends of ours from my FCC group.

Lana was thrilled to wear her ao dai, but, not so happy to have to wear other clothes underneath since it was 1 degree outside.

Gretchen

She Was Surprised to See Me

2007-02-12T22:53:00.000-08:00

When I arrived at the center at 5:20 this afternoon, she was sitting on Shelly's lap (Shelly being one of her two teachers.)

She had a sad look on her face as she watched the other children being picked up by parents. I'm not sure if the look was sad or resigned.

Then she saw me and the look on her face was SUPRISE.

The child was surprised I came for her.

I think this breaks me heart more than if she had been angry with me. I think, because if she had been angry with me, she would have arrived at the place in our relationship where she feels entitled to be mad at me. And I'm not sure she's quite there.

She cautiously got off Shelly's lap and came over to me. I looked down at her, and she raised her arms up to me. She said, "Bahm!" which, as near as I can tell, means, "pick me up." (At least, this is what this means in our house, where it is said about a gazillion times a day to Husband.)

I picked her up (she only weighs 34 pounds after all) and she wrapped her small hands into my coat. "Do you want to go home?" I asked her. She nodded vigorously. "Gabriel* mo?" she asked. (Where's Gabriel?) I said, 'Let's go find him" and she nodded again, vigorously.

I put her down and she ran to get her coat. With her coat on, she showed some excitement in showing me some things in her classroom, like her mailbox.

David wasn't home when we got there, as he was at a board meeting.

There was REJOICING when he came home. There were squeals of delight. There was dancing in a little circle and hopping around and cries of "Ba! Ba!" (You see, he was already gone when she when she woke up this morning, so, she hadn't seen him since the night before.)

I am glad she was happy to see him, and I am glad her first day at school was less traumatic than anticipated. I'm a little bit sad that she doesn't believe we will come for her, that we will always return for her. (Considering the loss of her foster mom, can I blame her? Not a chance in hell.)

Gretchen

*She pronouces Gabriel with suprising accuracy, considering the trouble she generally has with consonant blends. But, Gabriel started off as "gay-be-ul" and is now pretty much a perfect mid-western "Gabriel".

Harder this time

2007-02-12T13:48:00.000-08:00

On a Monday morning in May of 2000, I took my infant son to a child care center on the campus of the University where I attended law school.

Gabriel did not cry when I left him the capable hands of Molly, Sam and Jini. I cried, but, Gabriel, a happy (though sleepless) baby, cuddled into Molly's arms, and my husband and I left the center. My husband had taken a personal day, so he could come to the center with me. I was due back at work the next day.

David and I actually went to lunch and to see a movie. I don't remember where we ate lunch or what movie we saw, but, I do remember feeling relieved to do something "normal" (wherein my life to that point with tiny Gabriel felt nothing like "normal".)

When we returned to the center to pick Gabe up, he was happily sitting on Jini's hip. I watched him through the observation window. He was 11 weeks old and Jini was just fine by him. Until I opened the door, and Jini handed him to me, and he hollered and butted his tiny baby face against my blouse, pulled on the buttons with his fingers and loudly demanded FOOD. At least I was his one and only for something!! :-)

This morning was different. This morning I took Lana into that same center, and we were greeted by Jami (who, as soon as she joined the center staff in late summer of 2000, replaced Jini in Gabriel's small heart.) (Jami replaced Jini when Jini left to teach at a public elementary school when Gabe was about 5 months old. Jami is still referred to, by Gabriel, as "my Jami". Gabe's first word was "ma-ma", but, his third word was "mi-mi" (his tiny infant word for Jami.)

Anyway, Jami greeted us with her own darling baby girl (hi Lily!), and then Lana and I walked down to her classroom. I put her boots and her snow pants her cubby, and hung up her coat and signed her in, and I sat with her for a few minutes, and read a short story, and then I held her close to me and kissed her face, and she clung to me, and I disentangled myself from her and...I left.

I left and she screamed and I could hear her screaming as I walked away. I felt like someone had stuck their fist through my chest and was squeezing my heart. I did not feel relieved. I felt...awful. Logically, I know that she is 4 years old and is used to being in school all day. Logically I know she was bored at home all day with David. Logically I know that David needs to go back to work so that a) he doesn't lose his mind being home all day and b.) so that we can continue to pay our mortgage!

But, illogically...I felt lousy. I had been sitting at my desk a few minutes when the director of the center called to tell me that Lana was doing okay. That she had stopped screaming, that she was sitting with her teacher, that she was thinking about eating a banana, that she was a little sad but, not hysterical.

I felt...less horrible. And I just got off the phone with her teacher, who told me that she had settled down on her cot to rest after lunch, and she is, right now, fast asleep. That she ate a whole piece of pizza and three slices of apple for lunch. She stays close to her teachers, and is being, as is typical for Lana, "watchful". I still worry.

I worry that she will be angry when I pick her up. I worry that she will allow this anger to disrupt her attachment to me (she seems to love David without strings and with total abandon, but, her feelings about me, I think, are more complicated. She will tell David she loves him, both in English and in Vietnamese*. She told me she loved me once in English, at David's urging...) Worrying for my watchful girl,

Gretchen

*I THINK she is telling him she loves him in Vietnamese. What she says is "Mai yeu toi" - which, as near as I can tell is the words "You love me." I suppose she might be asking a question, but, I am assuming it is just that the words are in a different order...anyone happen to know how to say "I love you" in Vietnamese?

Bluegrass and Sunday Morning

2007-02-05T10:03:00.000-08:00

We took Gabriel and Lana to the Museum on Friday night. Our art museum has special events every Friday night, and the museum is open until 10:00 PM on those nights. Gabriel had been studying “France” at school the week before last, and, as part of that study, he and his classmates had painted their own versions of Monet’s Water Lilies. Since then, Gabe has been asking to go downtown to the museum to see one of the real Water Lilies (his teacher told the class that we have one of Water Lilies series here).

So, on Friday afternoon, David brought Gabe and Lana downtown, and I met them at the museum after work. They were waiting for me at the entrance, and when I walked through the doors Lana came rushing at me, her arms wide, her face grinning, hooting “Mommy!!!!!!!” at the top of her lungs. It was cute. And also loud. We got “shushed” by the guard.

We walked around the museum and Gabe was extremely impressed with the Water Lilies. He sat on the bench across from the painting (it is a very large painting) and stared at it for several minutes. Then he said, “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” He also liked looking at the other impressionist paintings in the museum collection, and some of the hyperrealism and of course he loved the sarcophagus in the Egyptian collection, as all children seem to. He was less impressed with 16th Century European art. I don’t blame him.

At 6:30 we walked over the Cloisters section of the museum, because they were having a Bluegrass band playing.

Can I say that Lana is not impressed with bluegrass music?

Gabriel, on the other hand, loves bluegrass music and was having a great time listening to the band, and asked David to ask the band to play “Big Rock Candy Mountain” – which is a song from one of the “O Brother Where Art Thou” CDs that is pretty much Gabriel’s favorite song in life.

Since Lana was not enjoying the music, I decided to take her and head off to meet our friend Shelly, who was babysitting a child who is going to be in Lana’s preschool class. (Well, rather, a child is WHO is the class that Lana is GOING to be in.) Lana and A~ (the other little girl) played for about an hour. I hope that they will be good friends, as A~ lives less than 2 minutes from our house, and since they will be in the same class, I think it would be convenient for them to become good friends. (And yes, I’m just the kind of person who would choose my child’s friends based on convenience for me. Shoot me.) I was glad that they had a good time playing together, as attempting to leave the museum without David and Gabriel with us resulted in a crying fit. The fit subsided during the car ride, thank goodness, so, by the time we got to A~’s house, she was not screaming or crying anymore.

I should mention that we stopped (Lana and I) to get some dinner at Wendy’s (between the museum and A~’s house.) Lana’s foster mother described her to us as a “watchful child” and it really is an appropriate description of Lana much of the time. She watches people very intently. While we were at Wendy’s, she was openly staring at a man who was eating there with his small son. She was quietly eating and following the man with her eyes. It was like she couldn’t take her eyes off of him, and then it occurred to me that she may not have ever seen a black man before. (There are black students in her class at pre-school, but, she has only seen the children, not their parents, since she and David have been visiting the school in the late mornings when no parents are around.) The man, who had his hands full with a cranky toddler, did not seem to notice, and I’m glad he didn’t because I’m afraid that it might have come off as rudeness instead of curiosity.

__________________________________________________________

Yesterday morning we took Lana to church for the first time. She balked at going to children’s chapel with Gabriel (we expected as much), so, she sat with us through the service. We were at 9:15 service which is a family friendly service, where people don’t mind so much if there is a fussy or squirmy child. She mostly sat on David’s lap, and she was quite shocked when the organ began the processional hymn. After her initial shock, she opened her mouth now and then and pretended to sing. (She also pretends to sing when I sing to her.) She was, as usual in new situations, very watchful. However, she did make noise one time…oh my. My ten year old niece was sitting next to her, and they were drawing pictures on a bulletin. My niece drew a picture of Jesus (standard oval head, smile, with a beard), and Lana looked at it and excitedly pronounced, “Bac Ho!! Bac Ho!!” Jesus Christ as Ho Chi Minh, who would have thunk it? Fortunately, I don’t think anyone in the congregation knew what she meant! During announcements, Father P~ introduced Lana to the congregation. Next week, we are going to have a blessing over her adoption during the service.

More later,
Gretchen

Spring Rolls

2007-02-02T10:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday afternoon, a Vietnamese family invited us to come to their home for dinner for traditional Vietnamese spring rolls. We thought this was a very gracious and generous offer, and we had a lovely evening with them. The family was comprised of my sister's nail technician, M~, her brother V~, V~'s wife, D~, and their son, J~. Also at dinner was M~'s boyfriend, who is not Vietnamese.

Most people probably think "spring roll" and imagine a "spring roll" from a Chinese restaurant - sort of like a smaller version of an egg roll. But, a traditional Vietnamese spring roll is different. Sort of like a burrito. But cold. With shrimp and vegetables.

It was a very social kind of meal. We sat together at the table, and we dipped hard rice paper disks into bowls of warm water. When the rice paper was soft, we put it on our plates and then put cool rice noodles, strips of cucumber, cilantro, mint, green onion, lettuce, beef and shrimp into the roll, then rolled it up, and ate it, dipping it into a garlic sauce. It was very very good. We have had pre-rolled Vietnamese spring rolls before, both in Vietnam and at a Vietnamese restaurant in Chicago - but, I didn't care for them on those occasions because they had been chilled and it hurt my teeth to bite into them (my teeth are really sensitive to cold) and I don't usually eat cold foods (except ice cream, which requires no biting) because I hate the way cold food makes my teeth feel. (I even heat up milk before I put it on my cereal in the morning. I don't like cold food is what I'm trying to say.)* But, because we were fixing these ourselves, they were more room temperature than cold, and they were really really good. Lana was in heaven. She ate two whole rolls and some plain shrimp.

What she didn't do for most of the 3 hours we were there, was TALK. I kept telling the family that she DOES speak Vietnamese to us all day long, but, she was not keen to speak to strangers. Finally, towards the end of the night, she began to talk a little bit to D~, who was playing with her and D~'s 2 year old son. Afterward, D~ told me that Lana has a strong "central" dialect in her Vietnamese, and she may not be completely understanding the southern dialect of their family. I hope that if we visit them again she will be comfortable enough to speak more freely. I would love to know what she is thinking of all this - her new life, etc!

More later,

Gretchen

* Yes, I am aware that both my uncle and my cousin are dentists and that both are probably reading this right now and swearing at me for not asking for help with this tooth problem. Sorry!

Feeling A Bit More Human

2007-02-01T12:31:00.000-08:00

Lana seems to be feeling better. She has had good sleep the last few nights and is in a much better mood. She has been happy and affectionate - offering kisses and hugs and wanting to be held.

She met David's parents (Nana and Poppa) yesterday evening. She was shy at first, but, warmed up to them, and spent some timing laughing and playing with them. It seems to me that she watches Gabe for clues as to who to trust and who to show affection to. I notice that began to offer freely kisses to me once she noticed that Gabriel often kisses and hugs me. Sometimes, if Gabe is cuddling or snuggling with me, she comes in to "get in" the hug. I find this endearing - I think Gabe finds it both cute and annoying at the same time. The last two nights Lana has been to sleep about an hour before Gabe went to bed, so, he has had some one on one time with David or I - which he seems to need. He slept by himself two nights ago, but, last night he was back in bed with us. One day at a time...

Lana has taking a liking to my sister and we are hopeful that David and I may be able to go out to dinner for Valentine's Day and that Lana might be able to stay with my sister for an hour or two. She played very happily with her cousins the other day at my sister's house, and actually left the house with them to walk around the block without Dave or I. (It could be that they were taking the dog for a walk, and the lure of being able to walk the dog was greater than the desire to keep Dave or I in her line of sight.) She also sat on Stace's lap while Stace got her nails done. The Vietnamese-American nail tech tried to get her to talk to her in Vietnamese, but, no luck. It was clear that Lana knew what she was saying (for example, when asked if she wanted her nails painted pink, she nodded quickly and picked up her hand to put it on the counter.)

Lana and David have been visiting Apple Tree (soon to be Lana's preschool) every day for a little while. Today Dave left the room for a few minutes and watched her from the observation window. She is not entirely comfortable there yet, but, I think each day she will become for comfortable with her new teachers and friends.

Gretchen

Steven-Johnson's Syndrome...or Possibly Johnson-Steven's Syndrome

2007-01-29T17:50:00.000-08:00

Lana's allergic reaction to the sulfa medication was somewhat more serious than we originally thought. In addition to the large, red, itchy lumps, her mucous membranes were bleeding and it was not a good situation. She can never have any sulfa drugs ever again. The doctor called the reaction a Steven-Johnson's Syndrome reaction. Or vice versa. I'm somewhat too tired to recall. She was hesitant to give her any other antibiotic at this time, but, fortunately, her urine was "clean", so, she (the doctor) seemed to think the bladder infection had cleared. I mentioned the crying in her sleep, and the doctor said, "Well, she was in a lot of pain. She probably felt like her skin was crawling off."

She has been on Benadryl round the clock and seems to be feeling better. She slept all last night which is a huge bonus. Gabriel slept with me in the front room, because he is having some kind of nighttime anxiety - he says he is afraid of something but he doesn't know what (oh, I don't know, perhaps afraid that his parents will leave again for 3 weeks and come back with a whole human being??). He did go right to sleep once I laid down with him, and, at the moment, the only thing that matters to me is that everybody sleeps. (Adding to our exhaustion, poor David has some kind of flu - chills, fever, achiness, etc. No fun.)

Somebody tell me I'll feel like a regular human being someday soon,
Gretchen

Fun with Sulfa Drugs

2007-01-28T09:47:00.000-08:00

It seems Lana is allergic to the Septra she was prescribed for her raging bladder infection. The smallish, roundish, non-uniform raised welts started yesterday. They have now spread to most of her little body. I paged our doctor this morning and described the rash, and he said it sounded like a classic non-anaphalatic (sp?) reaction to sulfa drugs. I inquired if it was possible for this to happen five days after we began treatment, and he was responded that was typical, evidently, unlike hives which would occur much more quickly.

So...lovely. We had lousy sleep again last night, but, probably because the poor child was itchy. She may also be experiencing lower back pain and mouth pain and joint pain. Not that she could tell us that...

Tired,
Gretchen

New Pictures and Pre-School Visit

2007-01-26T11:14:00.000-08:00

I have uploaded some new pictures at:

http://s140.photobucket.com/albums/r21/gretchenfaith/

We took Lana to see her new pre-school this morning with an unexpected result. (And honestly, we should have expected this, and the fact that we didn't makes me wonder about our cognitive abilities in the face of some serious jet lag.) Lana was AFRAID. The look on her face when we took her down to the baby and toddler room to introduce her to Gabe's old teachers was pure terror. Pure, cold terror. She clung to David like she might drown if he let go of her.

And then it dawned on me. She thought we were at an orphanage. She thought we were at an a orphanage and we were going to leave her there.

So, David held on to her and we walked down to the "Gecko" room, which is the preschool room she will be in. We went in and sat down at the back of the class and watched the children. She was still afraid. We watched for a while and the other children came up to say hello, but, Lana sat firmly in David's lap and didn't budge.

So...we have located a student from the Vietnamese Student Association at the University who is going to meet us at the nursey school (which is on campus) and he is going to explain to her that this is a SCHOOL and that it is not an orphanage, and that she will go to school there just like she went to school in VietNam and that mother or father will pick her up from school every day and go home. And then David is going to spend some time with her there every day for a week. And we are going to meet her teacher one night next week in a setting away from the school. And hopefully, after that, she will feel okay about the situation.

Lana also went on a cub scout "go see it" outing last night with Gabe and Dave and I. It was the Historical Museum and Village, and she did very well. She was shy, but, no more shy than the two other little sisters who were there. After the outing, she ate some rotisserie chicken and some grapes and some lettuce, and we put her in her new footy pajamas, since it was so cold.

The footy pajamas were a hit while she was awake, but, when it came time to go to sleep, she tossed and turned and eventually started tugging at the feet, and when I changed her out of them, she was sweaty and burning up like a chimney. So, I guess the footy pajamas are not actually going to get a lot fo use.

Gretchen

Silent Night

2007-01-25T10:12:00.000-08:00

What a difference a good night's sleep makes.

I took a nice long nap yesterday afternoon, and woke up around 7:00 PM. Evidently Lana passed some of the time while I was asleep WASHING THE KITCHEN CUPBOARDS. David said she was very happy while she washed the cupboards and sang her little song that she sings about "Bak Ho"*. She is particular about cleanliness and Vietnamese nationalism**, this new child of ours.

We ate some scrambled eggs with cheese and toast for dinner, and then we had Gabe show Lana the joy of a bubble bath. Lana watched with interest as Gabe played happily in his tub of bubbles. Then, I took Gabe out of the tub, drained the tub, and put fresh water and bubbles in. Lana stood in the tub and handed me a stacking cup from our tub toys and motioned that I should pour water over her with it. Sigh. It seems it will be some time before she enjoys a bubble bath, or perhaps she will always prefer to bathe this way. I can't complain - she's clean and this way seems to make her happy.

After baths I tried to get Gabe and Lana to eat some yogurt for snack before bed. I was reading them two books, "The Napping House" and "From a Railway Carriage" - and trying very hard to keep Lana's attention on the reading. (Her foster mom said she liked to be read to, so, I am hoping that once she has a better handle on English that she will enjoy being read to in English, as this is one of Gabe and my favorite activities together, and it would be nice if she would join us without a fight.) Gabe ate all of his yogurt and Lana barely touched hers. When Gabe said, "mommy, I want more yogurt," Lana turned her head to him with a shock of surprise in her eyes. I swear it was an "a-ha" moment for her. (I remember having such "a-ha" moments myself in France and later in Japan, when I realized that someone had said something to me and I had understood it without having to consciously think about translating it. Lana is too young, probably, to be consciously translating, but, I do think it was a moment when she heard the words and understood their meaning and that it was a pleasant shock for her.) She picked up her spoon and carefully got a bite of yogurt and put it in Gabriel's mouth. Then she proceeded to feed him the whole dish of her yogurt. I wish I had pictures!

After books and snack, I put both kids in Gabe's bed and I sang "I'm in Love with Big Blue Frog" and "Be Thou My Wisdom" and Lana helped me tuck Gabe into bed. Then, I put her in her bed, and she lay down, but, she cried until I laid down next to her. Ten minutes later she was out, and I crawled into my own bed, only to find Gabe snuggled up next to David. Too tired to argue, we all fell asleep. At some point Gabe must have gone back to his own bed, because I woke up at 5:30 this morning feeling more like my own self than I have in weeks. Gabriel slept until 7:45 and Lana slept until 9:00 and things feel like they are looking up.

Gretchen

* and ** - I'm not sure what to make of Lana's earnest devotion to Ho Chi Minh (Bak Ho). My main concern is that it is not the kind of thing that will endear her to the Vietnamese community here in the States (please correct me if I am wrong about this), and that I will find myself at a something like Lunar New Year or Autumn Moon Festival Event with a child yelling, in Vietnamese, "Bak Ho is Vietnam's Savior" to a crowd who will not find that even a little bit cute. I'm really not at all sure how to address this matter.

I do have to share this one story, though, which I find hysterical: When we arrrived at the Incheon International Airport in Seoul, South Korea, Lana had her first glimpse of Kentucky Fried Chicken. (There are very few American restaurant chains in Vietnam, I did not see a single McDonald's or Burger King or anything of that sort. With the exception of Coca Cola, I really saw very few American products.) Anyway, we are walking through the airport, dead tired, and Lana sees the KFC and the picture of Colonel Sanders and she starts jumping up and down, excitedly yelling, "Bak Ho! Bak Ho! Ba! Look! Bak Ho! Bak Ho!". So, yes, my daughter thinks the king of fried chicken is Uncle Ho. What are we to make of that??

G

"What Can Go Wrong Will Go Wrong" ~ Murphy

2007-01-24T05:59:00.000-08:00

Someone really needs to check into my ancestry because it sure feels like Murphy (or possibly Lucille Ball) must be back there somewhere...

I've had one flat tire in my whole life up 'til yesterday.

At three thirty yesterday afternoon, we put Lana in her winter coat and I buckled her into her car seat in the back seat of my car. She seemed shocked by this (the car, not the weather). I guess, considering that the child had never been in a car her whole life until 15 days ago, and spent our time in Hanoi riding in taxi cabs, it may have been something of a shock to learn that not only does mommy have a car, but that mommy DRIVES a car. She stared at me dumbfounded through the rear view mirror.

I was worried we were going to be late for the doctor, so, in my haste to get out of the house, I had grabbed my red purse. Unfortunately, my cell phone was in my black purse I had taken to Vietnam, which was sitting on my kitchen floor.

It felt odd to drive the car, but, I thought it was just that I hadn't driven in so long, and also that driving through the quiet western part of our county was so surreal after the insanity of Hanoi.

THEN, I heard a weird sound and a flub-flub-flub and a skid and I was sitting on the side of the road with NO cell phone, a flat tire and a confused four year old...

Much swearing ensued. (Let's hope Lana didn't pick up those English words...)

I got out of the car and after a minute a car came down the road. I flagged the driver down and it was a mom and two daughters. I explained that I had forgotten my cell phone and could I use hers - thank goodness she was happy to help. I called David at home, who had to wait for about 4 minutes to get Gabe off the school bus. Then he and Gabe drove down to where I was stuck, and he took Lana and Gabe and went to the doctor, while I called AAA and waited. My neighbor, April, happened to drive by, so, she stopped to make sure I was okay, and then my uncle stopped to make sure I was okay - but, by that time (45 mintues) the AAA guy had finally shown up and was changing my tire. Oy.

I drove home and Dave called to tell me that, according to the doctor, Lana has a "raging bladder infection" and "there's ALL KINDS of stuff in there." Lovely. This is when the guilt started on my part, since I had an antibiotic for Lana with us in Vietnam, and I SUSPECTED that she might have a UTI, but, I didn't want to give her the antibiotic if she didn't, and now she was sick and in pain and I felt like it was all my fault for not just giving her the stupid antibiotic. (But, there was a part of me that wondered if she kept asking to go the bathroom all the time because it was one of the few things that we were completely communicating on. If she said she had to pee, we went to the potty. Cause and effect, etc. Now I realize that she had to pee all the time because she was sick and feel tremendously lousy about that.)

Anyway, we got her her first dose of antibiotic before bed, but, last night was just hell. She cried on and off from 10:30 to 3:00, and had a screaming fit when I tried to get some Tylenol in her. After force feeding the Tylenol, she finally fell into a quiet sleep...she is still sleeping now. I probably should be too, but, I can't.

Hoping for a better day and night today,
Gretchen

Feels Like Home to Me, Feels like I'm on my way back where I belong

2007-01-23T08:58:00.000-08:00

Home. Home home home home home home home home.

"Home" was my mantra for 27 hours of travel. "Home" was what I focused on, that single word, as I sat in airplane bathrooms for half-hours at a time, holding a screaming, grieving child on my lap as she screamed her sadness, terror and anger, as she begged for the mother she finally seemed to realize was lost to her forever. "Ma---------------------" she cried, she screamed, she hollered, her face pink with sadness and rage. I would point to myself and say, "Ma. I am Ma." The look of despair on my child's face as she shook her head broke my heart. "Ma Ham, Ma Ham" (I am pretty sure that this means "not ma". (I took her to the bathrooms when this happened so that she could rage without disturbing the other passengers. Sometimes I would emerge from the bathroom, crying myself, holding my crying child, asking strangers, "Chi co hio din viet? Ang co hio din viet? Which I THOUGHT was supposed to mean, "do you speak Vietnamese" Evidently it does not. I resorted, at one point, to bursting into a sob and begging a stewardess to find a Vietnamese person. The Korean stewardess at first thought I was asking for a BEER (????????????????????????) and when I finally wrote the word "VIETNAMESE PERSON" on a piece of paper, 3 minutes later the stewardess was back with a bewildered Vietnamese twenty-something woman, who, after several minutes of explanation, sat down with Lan and spoke quietly to her for a few minutes. She stood up and said, "I'm sorry, she says she is sad. She wants her her mommy." Then, the girl touched my shoulder (I was crying pretty hard myself at this point) and said, "I'm so sorry. In time, I'm sure, she will be very happy with you.") I cannot even put into words how painful, stressful and exhausting this was. I will tell you the saving grace, though. At the end of each session of hysterical crying, Lana would get control of herself, and then she would point to my nose and say, in English, "mommy". And then she would ask for her "Ba". And we would go back to our seats and she sit for another while, sometimes as long as four hours, before she had another meltdown.

So, it seems I will never be her "Ma". But evidently, I can be her "mommy".

Time can do funny things when you have been awake far longer than one is supposed to be awake. Our flight didn't leave Hanoi until midnight on Sunday night - we had been awake since 6:30 Sunday morning. The exhaustion that came over us was complete - a feeling of almost madness, of desperate longing for sleep. We slept briefly in the airport in Seoul - I did not know that there was a TRANSIT HOTEL in the AIRPORT in Seoul until it was TOO LATE to be useful for us. But, for the Brubaker family and anyone else traveling to Vietnam via Korean Air- totally look into that transit hotel at the Incheon airport. Believe me when I tell you that I woke up on the floor of the airport, with drool on my face, dust in my hair, and the sad realization that I had only slept for 45 minutes. It was disheartening to say the least. (Lan probably slept for 2 solid hours on a bank of chairs in Seoul, but, she wouldn't lay down until I layed down, and in order to do that, I had to lay on the floor next to her. It was then that I wished I had purchased one of those tiny silk "sleeping bags" that are for sale all over the old quarter of Hanoi. I kept seeing them (folded up they are smaller than a tiny purse) and thinking, what is the POINT of a sleeping bag made of silk that folds up tinier than a purse? ANSWER - if you ever find yourself needing to sleep on a cold floor in a South Korean airport, that's where.)

The flight from Seoul to Chicago was better than the flight from Hanoi to Seoul. There were still many fits and rages in the bathroom, but, we each had a personal entertainment system with movies and games, which kept her at least VAGUELY interested. She didn't eat much (but, then, neither did I.) The plane was WAY TOO HOT, and I just couldn't fall asleep. Lan insisted on sleeping on me when she wasn't screaming at me in the bathroom. (I bizarre dichotomy of anger and dependency...)

We landed in Chicago and made it through immigration without any trouble. Lan did not want to allow our bags to be rechecked through to Detroit (there was angry footstomping at the bag handlers). By chance I saw a man with the name of Nguyen and address in Illinois taped to his bag, so, I asked him if he spoke Vietnamese and he looked at me like I must be crazy or dangerous, but, he nodded yes. (Thank you GOD!!) I asked him to tell Lan in Vietnamese that we had to get on one more airplane, but that it would be short and when we got off we wouldn't get on another airplane for a very long time. The man looked EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTABLE with this request, but, he leaned down and said something to Lan in Vietnamese. She gave him a look like she wanted to slap him and stormed off to grab David's hand. I thanked the man and he shrugged. Whereever you are, Mr. Nguyen of Champaign, Illinois, I do appreciate your efforts.

When we got to the domestic gate for our flight to Detroit, we were informed that the plane that was supposed to take us to Detroit was stuck in Minneapolis. THAT was when I lost my mind, I think. I started crying HUGE sobs of exhaustion and frustration. HOW can you get us 9,000 miles, from the other side of the planet, ON TIME, but, can you NOT GET US FROM CHICAGO TO DETROIT? It was not pretty. David managed to procure a Big Mac and French Fries (clever clever man) and a toothbrush and toothpaste, and the plane managed to arrive in Chicago (not in a timely enough manner to get 31 angry New Orleans Saints fans to their connecting flight to Louisiana in time, however...yes, you haven't lived until you've been awake for 46 hours and are sharing a small plane with 31 New Orleaners whose team has just lost it's shot at the Super Bowl and who have just been told that they are going to have to spend the night in DETROIT because all the flights to New Orleans will have left by the time they get there. Yeah. That's fun. NOT.)

After what seemed like a year, but was really 26 hours of travel, we arrived in Detroit to find Gabriel, my sister, my mom and my step-dad. I cried again when I saw my Gabe. We got our bags and climbed into my sister's mini-van and I promptly passed out. I woke up a few minutes from our house, we ate some dinner my sister had left for us, and Lan and I and Dave were asleep by 8:00. My mom stayed the night and put Gabe to bed. Lan was up and down much of the night - we think she might have a bladder infection. I am taking her to the doctor at four pm.

I am just glad, so glad, to be home at last. (Sorry if this post is disjointed. I'm still not 100%.)

Gretchen

Blue Boys Pajamas and Mismatched Socks

2007-01-20T20:17:00.001-08:00

Lana came to us, on the morning of January 8, 2007, in a pair of blue boys pajamas and mismatched socks (one red with black stripes, one red with blue stripes.) I don't think I have posted a picture of Lana in that outfit, but, another child can be seen wearing the same set of pajamas in the photo here:

http://s140.photobucket.com/albums/r21/gretchenfaith/?action=view&current=DSCN0753.jpg

They are either the same jammies, or the orphanage may have had several sets of those blue jammies (the child is the last child on the right side of the picture, who, incidentally, is being adopted by another Holt family (Hi Michelle!) who should be leaving soon to come and pick her up.)

At any rate, Lana was wearing those blue pajamas and the mismatched socks, and a pair of pink plastic clogs that were two sizes to small and had seen much better days.

My initial gut-instinct was to pitch all of these items in the trash. However, I overruled my gut, assuming that, one day, those clothes might be extremely important to Lan. (It occurred to me that one day they might be important to me, as well.) At one point the orphanage director asked, as we were leaving with a crying, hysterical Lana, that we bring those clothes back to the care center after we had changed Lana into other clothes at the hotel. The orphange director had done a few other things that made me really not happy with her, and considering that David and I had just delivered 30 brand new outfits in varying sizes to her, I did not return the clothes to the orphanage. (For one thing, I certainly wasn't going to return there with Lan.)

These clothes are the only thing Lan has left of her old life, with the exception of some photographs given to us by her foster family. And these clothes are actually poor examples of her old life - she didn't live at the orphanage until 2 days before we arrived in DaNang - she lived with her foster family, she had other clothes, a backpack with school things in it, some toys, some items David and I had sent to her. But, none of these things came with her. Only the blue pajamas, the mismatched socks, and the tiny clogs.

So, it was somewhat of a concern to me when I found that one of the socks had gone missing. I had looked for it a few times since we arrived in Hanoi, but, to no avail. I assumed it had been lost in our transition from DaNang to HaNoi. gone forever.

But, this morning, I found the wayward sock in my carry-on bag, as we were packing to get ready to leave Vietnam. I was relieved to have it. Lana showed no interest in wearing the mismatched socks, but, I am just glad we are able to take them home - the only tangible pieces of her prior life that will leave Vietnam with her.

We will get on a plane in about 12 hours. We will be home Monday about 2:30 PM. I think in a bit we will take a taxi into town for one final look at Hanoi. We had intended to see Hoa Lo prison and Lenin park yesterday and did not have the chance (it rained a lot.) We have some time to kill, so, I think we'll head out to do that.

Bye for now,

Gretchen

Coming Home!

2007-01-19T17:50:00.001-08:00

Thanks to my sister Stace's efforts in dealing with the airline and travel agents, we are coming home tomorrow night! (She tried to get us rerouted on a flight through Bangkok and Nagoya today, but, no such luck.) The good news is we have a midnight flight Sunday evening from Hanoi to Seoul, and then we leave Seoul at 12:00 noon on Monday, arriving in Chicago at 9:30 AM Monday morning (we land in Chicago before we left Seoul)!

I have a question for the Curry Family or anyone else who has traveled back to the US with an adopted child on an IR3 visa with an entry point at O'Hare - how did the immigration experience go? Please reply here or email me at g r e t c h e n f a i t h at y a h o o dot c o m.

Yesterday we went to the Temple of Literature and also the Ethnology Museum. We enjoyed both but we are so ready to come home!

Gretchen

~Blessed are those who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused~

Visa!

2007-01-18T01:01:00.001-08:00

I am happy and relieved to report that we have received Lan's US Visa, an IR-3 visa, which allows her to enter the US on a Vietnamese Passport and "become" a US Citizen as her feet touch US soil. (A legal fiction I find very interesting from a professional standpoint.)

We tried to get out of Hanoi on Korean Air's midnight flight to Seoul tonight, but, unfortunately, there are no more seats. We are waitlisted for Sunday, but, if that doesn't happen, we can definitely leave on Tuesday, which is still 5 days earlier than expected. Trying to look on the bright side and remind myself that now we will have the chance to see the Museum of Ethnology and Lenin Park.

Relieved that the paperwork went through without a hitch and that the only bureaucracy left to deal with is the airlines,

Gretchen

~Blessed are those who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused~

SOS Clinic and Embassy Interview

2007-01-17T20:51:00.000-08:00

We had the SOS Clinic visit and 2nd Embassy Interview yesterday.

The French doctor at the clinic may have thrown things for a loop for us. She listened to Lan's heart and then told us that she has a heart murmur. We weren't aware of this, but, we know that many children have heart murmurs and that most of the time, they aren't a big deal. Even if it is a big deal, it's not as if, at this point, we wouldn't take her home with us.

BUT, the French doctor says, "before I can sign your paperwork for the Embassy, she must have an ultrasound to determine if she can fly."

WHAT??

So, David says, "she flew here from DaNang - she's already been on an airplane."

And the doctor says, 'No, she must have the ultrasound to see if she can fly."

We leave the examining room and speak to our Holt representative, who tells the clinic staff that we are leaving for the Embassy and that he needs to know if the doctor will sign the papers or not. The doctor agrees to sign the papers but insists that we come back to the clinic for an ultrasound that will cost $87.00. Suffice it to say I felt like I was about to fall apart.

We got to the Embassy and went into the interview room, and the Embassy employee opens the envelope from the doctor. On the front page, the doctor has signed that Lan has no defects that would prevent her coming to the US (i.e. TB or HIV). BUT, on the back of the form, the doctor has written, 'pending ultrasound re:heart murmur before departure."

So, the Embassy woman says, "I don't know what to do with this?" So, she has a conversation with another employee, and says, "well, you are aware that she has a heart murmur and that she needs to see a doctor within one month of coming to the US?" and we say, "of course we will take her to a doctor! We'll take her to the Univ.of Michigan if we need to. We'll take her to the Cleveland Clinic if we need to." So, the embassy worker says, "well, I am going to stamp this, 'ok to issue visa" and you just need to get her to a heart doctor at home. Come back tomorrow at 4PM to pick up the child's visa and passport."

So, now we are just praying that no one at the Embassy changes their minds. There is a vague possibility to get on a flight out of Hanoi tonight at midnight. If we don't make that flight, we won't be able to leave until Sunday or Tuesday.

Cross your fingers and your toes for us,
Gretchen

She loves to do the dishes...

2007-01-16T19:43:00.000-08:00

Lana has spent the last 25 minutes washing the dishes. She is very serious about this activity, and obviously has been carefully trained in the art of dishwashing and conserving dish soap (she actually will wipe the soap off the nozzle/dispenser of the dish soap, before pouring any new soap into the sink.) She won't watch television, but, she'll quietly wash dishes. To say that this feels odd to me would be an understatement. (Neither David nor I slept well last night, so, we are both tired and needing her to amuse herself for a few minutes. I did not expect dishwashing would be the answer...)

Holt called us late last night and said they were moving up our medical exam and visa interview. They were supposed to happen on Friday, but, instead are happening today (Wednesday the 17th). Conceivably we may be allowed to fly home on Friday - if we can get flights. My sister is communicating with our travel agent to see what can be done. I want to come home.

Lana woke up in the middle of the night last night, around 2:00 AM. I wouldn't say she was awake, actually, she was calling out in her sleep. What she was calling was, "Ba! Con ga!"

As near as I can tell, I have determined two sensible possibilities for this - either, "Daddy! Fish!" or "Daddy! Police!"

Any other thoughts on what that might have meant??

More later,
Gretchen

Clean Hair and a Passport

2007-01-16T04:43:00.000-08:00

We washed Lan's hair this morning for this first time. (Yes, I know we have had her for 8 days. But, honestly, until yesterday, it didn't look dirty and I was worried about what her reaction would be to having her hair washed. As some of you recall, until Gabe was about 4.5 years old, he screamed bloody murder whenever his hair had to be washed, so, I was expecting the same reaction from Lana.) Anyway, based on her prior bathing preferences (we have given her a "bath" almost every night) I put about 2 inches of water in the tub and starting pouring bowls full of water over her body. She looked at me kind of confused - we had just had a bath last night and this was the first time we had bathed her in the morning. I called in Dave for reinforcement, and then I carefully poured a bowl of water over her head and braced myself for screaming.

Except that no screaming ensued whatsoever. She looked at me like maybe this wasn't her favorite thing to do, all things considered, but, she wasn't going to give me a hard time about it. I started pouring more water over her head and she just wiped it away from her eyes every now and then. I shampooed her hair with the Johnson&Johnson's baby shampoo we bought in DaNang, and then I rinsed her hair. I was concerned that we didn't have any "no more tangles" type of product, but, as her hair dried - it was a parent's dream - it dried shiny and silky and fell perfectly into place. I don't know if I have mentioned this before, but, her hair is absolutely gorgeous - it feels like silk and doesn't tangle much and is generally shiny and stunning. So, we lucked out in the hair department - she has none of the colicks that plague her big brother's head.

We have been experiencing some testing behavior, and I am pretty sure we can never go back to the Fivimart, where, this morning, Lan threw a bit of a fit and we had to pick her up repeatedly. She was wearing a dress and she didn't make it easy for us to pick her up, so, several times when we lifted her up her underpants were exposed to the world. It was such barbaric behavior on our parts (I mean, we weren't intending to behave like barbarians, we just had an out of control four year old and no means of picking up her wiggling, kicking body without causing her dress to ride up...very embarrassing - at one point I thought someone was going to ask us if we were kidnapping the child.) Anyway, she won't be wearing a skirt again until we can get some little shorts or some tights. As we were leaving the Fivimart, I saw a pair of children's denim overalls on clearance for 30,000 D - about $1.90, so, we bought those and she has been wearing those the rest of today.

We had omelets for lunch and then Lana took a nap for about an hour. (She still seems to need an afternoon nap), and the Holt picked us up to take us back to the Vietnamese Immigration Department. The children's passports were supposed to be ready today, but, when we arrived, they told the Holt representative that the passports weren't there. Thai (the father in our group who is Vietnamese and speaks quite a bit of Vietnamese) was understanding most of the conversation, and I could tell from his face that the news was not good. I think that the immigration people told the Holt representative that we would have to leave and come back another day, and, I'm not sure what was said, but, we sat down and waited for 45 minutes, with the representative from Holt talking to different people. Finally, they called us to the counter and miraculously, our children's passports appeared. I was very very very relieved to see that passport.

After obtaining the passports, we took the children back to the playground at the Somerset Grand, and then walked around the Old Quarter, and had dinner at the Cyclo Bar - the food was good - we had a goat cheese appetizer, and then a traditional beef Vietnamese dish made me beef and vegetables, and David had a dish made with eggplants, peppers and cumin. Lana had fish fingers and potatoes and tomatoes and lettuce. She absolutely loves lettuce and tomatoes - which is just shocking to me (considering that the only vegetables Gabe will eat are broccoli and cauliflower - to have a child who stuffs vegetables into her mouth is just amazing. Watch - she will hate broccoli and cauliflower, I can totally see that happening!) One odd thing that happened was that Lan suddenly demanded some of my steamed rice. (We have offered her steamed rice daily and she has refused it, even though we were told it was eaten by her foster family every day - her refusal to eat any of it was really confusing to us.) But, today, when I ate steamed rice and didn't offer her any, she was suddenly all about steamed rice, and ate quite a bit of it. So, so far the western foods that Lan enjoys are fish fingers, potatoes, and yogurt. She hates spaghetti. She loves pho, but won't eat the meat that comes with pho, only the vegetables and the noodles, and appears to love fruits (except pineapple) and vegetables of all kinds, but especially greens.

Today, Lan gave David a kiss on the cheek. She also didn't scream when we kissed her head, which is a good sign, I think.

Off to have a snack and put this girl to bed,
Gretchen

More Impressions From David

2007-01-15T03:09:00.001-08:00

Hello,

We went out to eat last night and I ordered the Mullet fish. It said
something like "Grilled Mullet in Vietnam style" so how could you go
wrong. Lana's plate of mustard greens cooked with garlic (that she dipped
in the spicy soy based sauce - it has cut up red peppers in it - it is
quite good, but spicy) and her battered shrimp (which turned out to be
whole shrimp skewered, battered and fried - eyes, legs and all - it was a
bit of work to extricate the meat, she only ate one, Gretchen and I ate
the rest.), and Gretchen's beef and noodles came quickly to the table. I
assumed after about 20 minutes of waiting for my fish (assuming it was a
grilled fillet of mullet) that I had not actually ordered it (something
that is quite possible, as the waitress spoke no English and my vietnamese
is laughed at by my daughter.) A few minutes later a large plate came to
the table, on it was a 2 kg fish, head, fins, and eyes attached.
Thankfully it was gutted and cooked. I know it was 2 kg because that is
how they charged me for it, of course they could have just charged me for
a 4.5 lb fish and brought me a smaller one, I don't know. It was good,
but in an unexpected form. After the turtle blood cocktail we saw the
other night, we have become less suprised by things not being what we have
anticipated - it really is a good way of going about things.
The Ho Chi Minh musuem is a bizarre blend of modern art and Ho Chi Minh
stuff - things from his home, letters, things from his time in France,
etc. It is difficult to describe - suffice it to say that there is a
replica of Picasso's Guernica mixed with other images from Dali, Matisse,
Chagall, etc. It is very interestingly done, just completely unexpected.
The art is very interesting. We went to the top floor first, intending to
see the lower stuff later, on the tip from a guidebook that it was the
most interesting. We, however, were not allowed to go back down once we
were at the top.
Today we toured Hanoi and blew through three million dong. (I originally
typed that as "we blew three million dong" then changed it on the advice
of my attorney.) We got some nice silk purses and ties, and laquered
plates and stuff. It was nice, but I am considering starting to smoke on
the thought that smoking through a filter would be better for my lungs
than breathing the smog, my throat hurts and my nose and eyes are running.
Even if there was a treadmill in the hotel, I am not sure I would be able
to use it, it is very hard to breathe. And most of you know how obsessive
I am about running...
It was good to walk around the city, some of the old quarter is accessible
by foot without fear of being run over. There are very few children out
and about with their parents. We are already a spectacle, but with a
Vietnamese child as well, we stand out more. The people are very friendly
and often tell us that our daughter needs more clothes on. It is 65-72
degrees here and people are in parkas with fur hoods. Lana is often hot
and sweaty and when given the chance, she takes her coat off. The stores
that are indoors are also very warm. I am a bit concerned about how she
will deal with the cold of Ohio...
Today Lana was interested in me alone. She sat on my lap during meals and
even went up to the room with me while Gretchen stayed in the lobby to
talk with some people. She seems to often find me amusing - pulling my
beard, throwing stuff at me, making fun of my attempts at speaking
vietnamese or singing the songs she is singing. Today, she wouldn't hold
Gretchen's hand and only held mine while we were walking.
It seems her passport is in and we have to get some medical stuff done for
Lana - a standard check, then an interview at the Embassy on Friday. The
Visa for Lana should be issued Monday or Tuesday next week. Maybe we will
be able to get home mid week, but we heard that everything is booked until
the 25th and that is on standby, we might just be stuck here until the
27th.
We are going to try and get some food now.

Dave

Shopping in the Old Quarter

2007-01-15T00:48:00.000-08:00

After breakfast at the hotel this morning (a mediocre affair, generally speaking - one thing I do not understand is why, in a country that has, hands down, the best coffee ever, the hotel coffee is burned every single morning), we took a taxi into the Old Quarter. We found a coffee and pastry shop called "Bread and Chocolate". This pastry shop is part of the Hoa Sua school, which provides restaurant training for disadvantaged Vietnamese youths. By the quality of the pastries we sampled this morning, these trainees are on their way to becoming spectacular pasty chefs. I understand that they also have a French restaurant in the French Quarter (where else?). We may try to find that tomorrow, although it sounds like it might be too fancy for a four year old, and we are not willing to leave Lan with the hotel sitter. (I'm sure the hotel sitter is a lovely and kind person who is excellent with children - I'm just not willing to leave a four year old who is beginning to attach to us with anyone else right this minute. I expect that she will be with either Dave or myself until she is scheduled to begin at Apple Tree in February. She does seem to miss school - she was at school every day here in Vietnam from 8:30 to 5:00 until we adopted her last week. It is not clear if this was a pre-school or a compulsory kindergarten type of school - I've tried asking this question twice and got the answer, "it was school.")

After our pastries and coffee (good, Vietnamese coffee with sweetened condensed milk instead of the burnt American coffee at the hotel), we wandered along Hang Gai street in the Old Quarter. There were tons of silk shops on this road (although we are sad we didn't get to shop for silk in Hoi An (near DaNang), which is where the best prices and quality for silk are supposed to be found) we did find an ao dai for Lan, and some other beautiful things. I would like to buy Lan an ao dai that might fit her as an adult, but, I've no idea how to guess how tall she might become. She is tall for a Vietnamese girl - several people have questioned whether she really is only four years old - but, she is still within the realm of "normal" for a four year old girl...(I'm babbling, I'll stop.)

After shopping we found a restaurant, which I wish I could remember the name of, or even it's location, because it was very very good. David had something called "beef steak cooked in Hanoi style". It was beef with steamed rice in a sauce that was fabulous - it tasted like maybe the sauce was a vinegar based sauce, but, it's hard to describe. It was sweet, but not too sweet, and tangy. We ordered an egg and cheese omelet for Lan, because she ate eggs and cheese the other day - and she ate them very happily again. (Vu, one of the social workers from Holt, told me later that all Vietnamese children love fried eggs. That would have been great info to have 6 days ago when she wouldn't eat anything but fruit and yogurt. No one at Holt in DaNang, or even her foster mom, mentioned eggs one way or the other when they told me her food preferences. Of course they didn't mention greens either - although they did stress that she loves "boiled vegetable" - which I think now probably means greens. I just imagined that they meant boiled carrots...although, she likes boiled carrots, too.) I ordered noodles with chili and garlic - it was excellent.

We met this afternoon with a Holt representative, who told us that our I600 application was approved on Friday. They are picking us up tomorrow to go back to the Vietnamese immigration office to pick up Lan's passport, and then we will have our SOS clinic appointment and 2nd US Embassy interview on Friday afternoon. Holt expects our visa will be issued on Monday or Tuesday. The question will then become, can we get on a flight out of Hanoi before Saturday the 27th? Things are not looking so good with Korean Air in that respect...

Well, it's time for bath and then bed. Lan is picking up English - today she counted to ten and will say "up" and "down" and "hello".

More later,
Gretchen

"Bac Ho" and "Tail and Testicle Hot Pot"

2007-01-14T05:07:00.000-08:00

We went this morning to the Somerset Grand Hanoi (the sister hotel of the hotel we are staying at) to use their children's playground, as the children's playground here at the Westlake is still under construction. (Honestly, it looks nearly finished to me and each day I hope that they will let Max and Lana and Danny play on it, but, so far, no such luck.) There is also an international grocery store under the Grand Hanoi, so Tara (other Holt mom) and I took advantage of that to buy a few groceries while the kids played with David on the playground.

When we came back to our apartment, we made spaghetti for lunch (it was so nice to eat something recognizable and homemade), and then Lan fell asleep for a nap. David decided to go with the other Holt family to the Ho Chi Minh Museum and Mausoleum while Lana and I napped.

(This is now David relaying his experience) - We couldn't figure out how to get in to see the wax like body of Ho Chi Minh, or "Uncle Ho" as he is called here. The Ho Chi Minh complex includes the mausoleum, museum, presidential palace and the stilt house where Ho Chi Minh resided on the grounds of the presidential palace, and something called Mango Row which connects them. The stilt house is quite beautiful with remarkable woodwork and gigantic ravenous koi in the pond next to it. There are guards everywhere, and if you cross the white line they will blow their whistles and look fierce. Max (age 5) only got whistled at once. The museum is something truly to behold. The top floor has a bizarre collection of modern art and Ho Chi Minh quotes or sayings. There are strange replicas of Guernica and pieces of Chagall and Dali and Matisse prints. (Ho Chi Minh evidently met these painters when he was a cook in Paris in the 1920s, or was at least influenced by them, it was not clear). The museum is in strange contrast architechurally to the mausoleum. It is very modern while the mausoleum is stark, Soviet style utilitarianism. The gift shop sold a variety of Ho Chi Minh Memoribilia, along with a strange array of American products, like the child size shirt labeled, "Angel Boy American Sport." The grounds are beautiful and peaceful.

(This is Gretchen again.) Lana woke from her nap asking where her "ba"was. I was worried this would turn into a full-on meltdown, but, she didn't get upset. She just kept asking, "Ba? Ba?" about every 10 minutes. I tried to interest her in the Vietnamese version of Bugs Bunny we purchased yesterday, but, she is not at all interested in TV, at least not at this point in our attachment. So, we played with bubbles on the balcony for a while and then we went through her English language flash cards about 10,000 times. (She holds these up and insists that we say them to her. She won't repeat them for me at all - only for David, and only sometimes. But, she wants to hear the words over and over and over and over again.) Then she plastered her strawberry shortcake colorforms all over the balcony door, which kept her busy for about 20 minutes, and then we colored in her fake Disney coloring book (which we paid about 60 cents for and I am sure the Disney company didn't see a dime of. The complete and utter disregard for international copy right law is very curious to me.)

When David came home, he had purchased a packet of Ho Chi Minh post cards. Lana looked at the post cards and suddenly declared, "Bac Ho! Bac Ho!" (This means "Uncle Ho" in Vietnamese, their name for Ho Chi Minh.) Then she began to sing a song, the only words we recognized were "Bac Ho" and "Bac Ho" and "Vietnam" and "Vietnam". She sang this song very happily as she carried around her post card of Ho Chi Minh. I wish, truly wish, we had video of that event, but, sadly, we do not. However, whenever she sees the postcards she very earnestly says something that sounds like, "Bac Ho Viet Nam Ngan Nya." I am very very very curious what she is saying when she says this. She is very serious about it - which is strangely cute in a four year old. (It's probably something totally inappropriate in a four year old!)

When we began to get hungry we went down to the front desk to ask for the recommendation of a restaurant we could walk to. The doorman recommended a place called "Bep Viet" which means Vietnamese Kitchen. It was very close to the hotel walking along the lake side of the hotel, so, the doorman walked us in that direction until we could clearly see it. It is an open air restaurant with a large menu. We ordered some fried prawns for Lana and some more greens. (They were sold out of sweet potato buds, but, they brought mustard greens with garlic. Lana's love affair with greens is not limited to sweet potato buds, as she happily ate the mustard greens with garlic and ignored her fried prawns.) I was a bit suprised by the appearance of the fried prawns. They basically dipped the whole shrimp, eyes and legs and all, into batter and then deep fried it and covered it with tamirind sauce. Once I was able to separate the the shrimp meat from the eyes and the legs and the tail, I thought it tasted very good. Lana was less impressed. I also ordered beef with noodles which is a very common and tasty dish here. We were very curious where David's mullet fish was - and then. It arrived. Truly...I don't have any words. You are going to have to go over to the photobucket account and check itout. http://s140.photobucket.com/albums/r21/gretchenfaith/

I should note that I did actually eat some of this fish. I think you should all be proud of me for not running screaming away from the table with that fish looking at me like that. I will say that we did not order the most unusual item on the menu - the "Tail and Testicle Hot Pot." (No. I am not making that up, and no, I really don't want to know what it involves.)

When we walked back to the hotel, I showed the doorman the picture of Lana's face when she saw the fish. The doorman smiled at me politely and nodded and said, 'yes, she likes the fish'. I thought it was the doorman who had walked us down the restaurant, and afterwards Dave pointed out to me that it was NOT the same doorman, and that THAT doorman probably thinks we are insane for showing photos of our daughter to doormen out of the blue. Oh well.

Earlier today David purchased three cans of juice. One was dragon fruit juice, one was something called Basil Seed Juice (I swear I am not making that up, either. It's too weird to be fictional!), and the last one was passion fruit juice. Suffice it to say that only one of these is worth drinking. The basil seed juice (what on earth is a basil seed, aside from the obvious, which is, you know, that which you grow basil with?) - the basil seed juice was sickeningly sweet with "basil seeds" floating in a gelatinous goo. The dragon fruit juice was sickeningly sweet with bits of dragon fruit floating in a gelatinous goo. (We have eaten dragon fruit since we've been here, and it is much more enjoyable as a fruit than as a gelatinous drink.) The passion fruit juice takes very good, especially after the bizarre drinks that preceded it.

Well, it's time to get to bed. More from the land of basil seed juice and tail and testicle hot pot tomorrow.

Gretchen

Water Puppets and Emotionally Exhausted

2007-01-13T04:25:00.000-08:00

We started the morning with a Skype call to Gabriel. My dad has set up a video camera, so, we were able to see our sweet boy's face for the first time since he was at my sister's house last Saturday. It was wonderful to see him, but, we just miss him so much. It is hard to be away from him so long.

After our video call, we had breakfast and went to the market. We bought two children's dvds in Vietnamese - we are hoping they will play on our dvd player back home, but, we're not sure if they will (Christina or anyone else who has been to Vietnam and back, did the dvds you bought here play at home?).

Lana wanted some more shrimp flavored chips, and when we got back to the apartment she was insistent upon sharing them with Dave and I. (We are happy that she wants to share, but, MAN!! Those chips are NASTY!!!) She also ate some instant noodles for lunch that were either crab or crawfish flavored. David fed them to her because the fishy smell was not something I could deal with. I am very happy to report that Lan is all about her daddy today. (I even got to take a whole bath with only two short visits from her (I guess to make sure I didn't slip out the window or something.) (Lan is odd about bathing. She refuses to sit in the tub. She stands passively and allows me to pour water over her body, and helps with the soaping up, but, she steadfastly refuses to sit in tub. I was hoping when she saw me sitting in the tub she would do so herself, but, no such luck. Maybe when she sees what fun Gabe has in a bubble bath...)

In the afternoon we took the hotel shuttle in to town and saw the temple that is in the center of Hoan Kiem Lake. We got some good photos outside the temple - I will try to post those tonight. Then we went to a boulangerie for some pastries (pain au chocolate!!) and Vietnamese coffee (which is, hands down, the best coffee that either of us have ever had.)

Then, we went to the Water Puppets. Lan was entranced by the Water Puppets until the last 5 minutes, when she started to fuss a little. I'm not sure how exactly to describe water puppetry, it's puppets...in water. It was very interesting, even though it was all in Vietnamese so we couldn't follow the story. HOWEVER, the ladies room at the Water Puppet Theater is ABSOLUTELY INFURIATING. The ladies room was overflowing with people, while the men's room was quiet. Also, in the men's room was a perfectly clean western style toilet. (I could see it from the hallway and David confirmed it's existence.) But, what did Lana and I find in the Ladies after waiting for 10 minutes with my child clutching her crotch and hopping up and down and pitifully saying "pee pee pee pee" in Vietnamese?? A FILTHY, NASTY UNFLUSHABLE squatty potty. I.e. a porcelain HOLE IN THE FLOOR. Lana had clearly never used one of these before, and it has been 10 years since I used one in Japan, where at least they flushed well.

This is the third time we have encountered deplorable conditions (like,for example, no toilet seats and no toilet paper) in the ladies when David has reported clean and pleasant conditions in the men's room. I don't know why I find this so infuriating - it would be merely a cultural thing to deal with if both the men's and ladies' rooms were in poor condition, but, to know that the men's is clean and not lacking in toilet seats or paper just makes me crazy.

After the water puppets and the heinous bathroom, we walked to St. Joseph's Cathedral. It was huge and quiet inside which was a relief after the insanity that is traffic in Hanoi. From there we went to dinner at Pho 24, which is a restaurant serving Pho (obviously.) The Pho was delicious, but, I had a pounding headache.

We finally found a cab to bring us back to the hotel. I feel utterly emotionally exhausted right now, although my headache has stopped pounding quite so much. I think we are going to eat some yogurt and head to bed.

More later,
Gretchen

Suddenly "Ba" is best

2007-01-12T04:58:00.000-08:00

First and foremost, we have moved to a new apartment in a different wing of our serviced apartment hotel. We are now on the third floor and the staff has assured me they have scoured the apartment for any signs of "mice" - the best thing is that we now have two tvs - one in our bedroom and one in the living area.

David is no longer persona non grata as far as Lan is concerned. Suddenly she is calling for her "Ba" and showing him everything. She picks things up and demands something that sounds like, "BA! Nine!" We have presumed this means something like, "Daddy! Say!" and then David says whatever the name of the thing is in English, and then she says it in Vietnamese, and then David tries to mimic what she said, and then she laughs likes a lunatic. She says something which I assume is, 'My Ba speaks Vietnamese really badly."

Her passport didn't come in today, which is depressing.

We went to the zoo with another Holt family - I am going to try to post photos at the photobucket site. The zoo was in a peaceful setting, but, the animals were in very old cages. The tigers were going completely nuts when we got there, pacing figure eights in their cages and growling and vocalizing. At first I thought they wanted to eat us, but, then we saw a pony approaching the cage area. I have no idea why the pony was loose in the zoo. The pony is certainly very lucky the cages were strong and well made, because those tigers were desperate to break out.

There were also a lot of loose rats in the zoo. Evidently, I cannot escape the curse of the rodents that is upon me.

Lan also chose the zoo to start testing us. She ran from us to see what we would do. It was disturbing, one because it does hurt our feelings for her to behave like she wants to be away from us, and two, because we had to chase after her, and we looked like we were kidnapping a Vietnamese child.

After the zoo, we went to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. I didn't think things were going to go very well - it was kind of a nice place with white tablecloths, and there appeared to be some kind of wedding party going on. The waitstaff killed a turtle right next to our table and then we watched as the thing struggled while they drained it's blood into a big glass and then they served the blood with vodka to a large group of people who were there for the wedding party. It had been such an emotional day for us (with the rat, with Lan running from us) I thought I was going to start to cry. I miss Gabe so much, and there is so much about this culture we don't understand, and we are so helpless linguistically.

Anyway, we ordered two beef dishes, and a fried shrimp dish for Lan, and then something called, 'pan fried sweet potato buds'.

Contemplate 'pan fried sweet potato buds' for a moment. Do you have a thought in your head of what it might be?

Yeah. Me too. Pan fried bits of sweet potato is what I thought.

Did you think 'collard greens'? Because, truly, the words 'collard greens' never crossed my mind when I ordered 'pan fried sweet potato buds' but 'collard greens' is surely what they looked like. I must have looked VERY DISAPPOINTED because the waitress brought the menu back over and pointed out 'pan fried sweet potato buds' and pointed to the greens. At the point I was just resigned to paying 15000 D (about .90) for something no one would eat, Lana lunged across the table, grabbed a huge handful of the greens in her fist, and SHOVED THEM INTO HER MOUTH. She followed this with a guilty look, like she expected she would be in trouble for eating them. I just pushed the plate toward her AND SHE ATE THE WHOLE PLATE. With gusto. She dipped them into the sauce they came with and she polished off an entire plate of 'pan fried sweet potato buds'. She also ate some of the fried shrimp. Fried shrimp and collard greens. That's my girl. (David and Tara (the other Holt mom who was with us) both tried the greens and pronounced them 'better' than collard greens, because they were less bitter. Being as I am not a fan of greens in any form (sorry Grandma), I didn't try them. My beef with vegetables was quite tasty, though.)

Well, it's about time to get this greens-loving-child to bed.

More tomorrow,
Gretchen

I know what mouse poop looks like...

2007-01-11T19:20:00.000-08:00

Not for nothing did I grow up in a farmhouse built in 1901. I KNOW what the poop of a standard house mouse looks like.

And despite the efforts of the hotel staff to tell me that is what I found ON MY BED TABLE and ON MY BEDROOM FLOOR and ON MY COMPUTER TABLE this morning...these droppings are from something significantly larger than a mouse. I've been researching rodent droppings for the past half an hour and I am pretty sure it came from a Norway rat or a Ship rat. (Question - if the Norway rat originated in central asia, why is it called a Norway rat?)

I am NOT CALM about this. I am entirely NOT CALM or COOL or COLLECTED about this. It would be an understatement to say that I FREAKED THE HELL OUT.

This is a NICE HOTEL. Wealthy ex-pats live in this hotel year round. However, it is under extensive renovation and we are the only people on the 8th floor. Suffice it to say we are moving. As soon as possible. Definitely before dark.

Why is my life so plagued by rodents? Bats in my old house, now this!

On the bright side, Lana is acting like a normal four year old, so, we have that to celebrate.

Gretchen

First Visa Interview and Lan warms up to David - a little

2007-01-11T00:13:00.001-08:00

We had our first visa interview at the US Embassy yesterday. The embassy was not very impressive looking from the outside or in - I'm not sure what I expected, but, dingy and grungy was not it. Anyway, our interview was very quick and now we are waiting for Lan's passport to be issued by the Vietnamese government. There is a possibility it may be issued tomorrow, so, cross your fingers. We are supposed to stay at the hotel all day tomorrow and wait for the Holt staff to phone regarding the passports.

Lan threw up again in the Holt van on the way back from the Visa interview. I think it was a combination of car sickness and also that she got upset when Son, the little boy who was fostered with her in the same home, got out of the van. His family is staying at the Somerset Grand, and we are staying at the Somerset Westlake. She quietly cried when his parents took him out of the van, and then she threw up a few minutes later...fortunately, we were almost back to the Westlake when that happened.

After that, we had a play date with the other Holt family who is staying here at the Westlake. Lan, Max (age 5) and Danny (age 2) played and laughed and chased eachother around. It was nice. Then, we all went for a walk and took a cab to the Old Quarter to have dinner at the Green Tangerine. It is a very very swanky restaurant (none of us realized that when we chose it!). Lan actually ate some fish and some potatos - it's the first thing she has eaten that wasn't fruit, yogurt or crackers since we have had her. I think it was good for her to see Max and Danny eating - she ate too.

Lan is beginning to open up to David. She played a game with him this morning with a ball and then she fed him some papaya. She wouldn't let either of us feed her papaya, but, she did feed both of us and then ate some herself. She is laughing and smiling and talking (only in Vietnamese though). She likes to wash dishes and clean up. She is very particular about things being tidy.

She is still stuck to me like glue, and I ended up sleeping with her last night. She refused to let go of my pajamas when I tried to get out of her bed. She also slept clutching the Tinkerbell chapstick we gave her yesterday...curious. She is awake and we are going to go out and do some exploring.

More later,

Gretchen

~Blessed are those who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused~

Giving and Receiving Ceremony and Travel to Hanoi

2007-01-09T21:40:00.001-08:00

On Monday morning, January 8 (which would have been Sunday evening at home) Hoa from Holt picked us up from our hotel and took us to the bank to change some travelers checks. That took about 1/2 an hour, and I was shocked at how insane the bank was. I think I was expecting something like the banks in Japan, where maintaining one's proper place in line is practically a religious edict. Instead it seemed to be a free for all. People were shoving papers at the teller who was trying to help Dave and with the traveler's checks. It was overwhelming with people talking and getting in everyone's way. Finally, after filling out two forms and taking photocopies of our passports, they gave us the Vietnamese money and we left for the orphanage. One of the other couples adopting through Holt was sharing a cab with us.

We arrived at the orphanage, and the orphanage director spoke to us and the other two Holt families for a few minutes. (I should point out that it is very unusual for three Holt families to be adopting at the same time. But, it is NICE. It is really nice to have other people who know exactly what you are going through! Also, one of the families, the father is a Vietnamese American, and although he is extremely modest in insisting that he doesn't speak Vietnamese very well, he has been a real HERO to us. For example, on Sunday night, we were allowed to visit at the orphanage until 5:30 and then we were supposed to have the orphanage staff call a taxi to take us all back to the hotel. But, it was raining so hard, when the orphanage staff called the taxi company, they said they couldn't come because they were too busy with so many people needing taxis in the rain. All this info was relayed to Thai (the Vietnamese American father). We were allowed to stay at the orphanage an extra hour until the cab could come, but, we would have no idea what the orphanage staff was trying to tell us if he hadn't been with us!)

Anyway, back to the going away party on Monday morning- after the orphanage director spoke to us, we went into another room and had a going away party for the three children who were being adopted that day - Lana, Danny and Son (who is keeping his Vietnamese name. There were candies and cake and a white steamed bun called Bao ("Pow") that had pork and eggs inside.

Lana had really warmed up to us the night before, but, the morning of the party she cried, and she cried on the way to the hotel.

On Monday afternoon, we had the Giving and Receiving Ceremony, in which we promised to love Lan and raise her to be a good citizen, and said how much we appreciated how much she had been loved and cared for by the orphanage staff and her foster mom.

After the ceremony we returned to the hotel. Lan kept putting her shoes on, so, we decided to go out - we took a cab to the Supermarket - I cannot remember its name, but, it reminded us of a Japanese department store, with four levels of different departments from clothes to groceries to toys to furniture. We bought her two shirts and two pairs of pants (grand total of $10 for everything) and then two coloring books, some colored pencils and a fish shaped pencil sharpner ($1.80). Then we went to the grocery - she showed us the kinds of boxed milk she likes, and she was happy to get a bag of shrimp flavored chips. Yes. Shrimp flavor. Yum. NOT!

From the Supermarket, we went to Bread of Life in DaNang. I am going to post about this more - all adopting families going to DaNang need to know about Bread of Life - they have Ham and Cheese sandwiches and BAGELS!! It's also a charitiable organization, so, I will post about this later.

Lan fell asleep watching Strawberry Shortcake in English. I woke her up at 11:00 to go to the bathroom (as her foster mom had told me to do), and we had to wake her at 6:15 to leave. She refused food, but, did drink some orange juice. That was a mistake...

She threw up in the cab on the way to the DaNang Airport. THEN, when we finally got on the flight to Hanoi, she began to sob inconsolably, crying for her foster mother. THEN she started throwing up. And she threw up again and again. She went through three of her own outfits, and one outfit belonging to Max, the five year old son of one of one of the families traveling with us. (And I felt awful about that, because Max's mom had only her carry on luggage because China Air lost all their luggage - so, she had Max, her new son Daniel, and herself, all with only 2 pieces of carry on luggage!)

She threw up the last time as we landed, and I couldn't imagine where it all came from, since she had only had orange juice for breakfast and had already vomited several times. It was awful. She was screaming for her foster mom. The Vietnamese people on the plane looked at us like we were monsters. The European people on the plane looked at us like we were lunatics. It was wretched.

We finally got our luggage at baggage claim in Hanoi, and she and I changed our clothes and we shared a cab with one of the other families (it was Max's family - David has been happy to have Max around, as Max, age 5, think David is the best thing since sliced bread. Max reminds David of Gabe, so, all is well.)

Things went better after we arrived at our hotel. We are staying at the Somerset Westlake, we are serviced executive apartments. We have two bedrooms, two baths, and kitchen and eating and living area. It's very nice. We could finally unpack and Lan seemed much more comfortable. She is a little shadow to me and will not be in a room without me. (She sat outside the bathroom door while I took a shower.)

I have to stop typing as we have our first appointment at the embassy. More later,

Gretchen

We have Lan

2007-01-08T01:08:00.001-08:00

We had the going away party at the orphanage this morning. Lan was visibly shaken and sad. She ate only yogurt at the party. After the party, the staff insisted on feeding her an enormous bowl of what looked like oatmeal with chunks of meat in it. (I really didn't want them to do that, I was terrified she would throw up on us when we tried to leave.)

We got a taxi (ourselves and one of the other Holt families who is adopting) and returned to the Hotel. Lan sobbed most of the way to the hotel, but, she stopped crying right before we arrived. Hoa (the Holt social worker) told us it was the children's nap time, so, we took them to our rooms. Lan laid down on the bed with me, and took a nap and cried a little. When she woke up, she laid on the bed and watched us very intently. After some coaxing she accpted her new clothes and we got dressed for the Giving and Receving Ceremony.

We have just come back from the G&R. She was very good during the long ceremony and quietly ate a tangerine through the whole thing.

We are going to go out now to the grocery and try to find some boxed milk (like Capri Suns, but, milk. Evidently, she likes that.)

Our flight tomorrow has been changed to very early in the morning. We will leave DaNang at 8:00 AM and arrive in Hanoi at 9:15, so, we will not be able to Skype home at 8:30 tomorrow night as we will be flying. Tell Gabe we love him so much and miss him so much,

Love,

Gretchen

Impressions from David

2007-01-07T03:37:00.001-08:00

We got to meet with Lan's foster mother and sister. That was difficult. It was obvious that they love Lan and are sad to see her go. They have had her in their house for four years. They are also "losing" their other foster son on the same day. The other family that is here is adopting the son that Lan's foster mother was fostering. Her house went from two children to none on the same day. It was good to meet her and know that she loves Lan and that Lan was cared for, but it was very emotional on both sides.

We also got to see Lan again today for a few hours. She warmed up to Gretchen and let her feed her and hold her most of the time. She, however, seemed suspect of me and would only look at me. She refused food from me and did not want me to touch her. But it is good that she is bonding with one of us. We know that it will come for me as well.

First Meeting with Lan

2007-01-06T06:12:00.001-08:00

We met with Lan for about 1 hour and 45 minutes this afternoon. Her foster mother had dropped her off at the Care Center this morning. She recognized us from our photos but was hesitant to come to us. With urging from the nannies, she sat with us and let me feed her some fruit snacks. She began to cry when the nannies asked if she was happy her new mom and dad had come for her and she shook her head. After a while, I showed her some pictures of Gabriel. She was interested in the photos of Gabriel building with his legos. When the nanny told her, "This is your big brother, he is building a dragon". She looked very interested. The nanny asked if she wanted to meet her big brother and see his dragon toy, she nodded. She let me pick her up and walk with her, and sing her a song. She held on to me around my neck and with her legs around my waist and did not try to push me away, which I think is a good sign. She liked the white bear, but, was VERY interested in the Polly Pocket doll. She started to cry a little bit again, and the social worker from our agency asked her if she was sad, and she nodded. I held her on my lap and rubbed her back and told her it was okay to be sad right now. I asked the social worker to tell her that in Vietnamese - she said something to her, I hope she translated it correctly. By the time we left, she let me feed her some chicken broth (but no noodles) and she sat in Dave's lap. Then we had to leave and she looked terribly upset again. (I cannot imagine what a horrible day this has been for her. The only mother she remembers dropped her off an orphanage, everyone told her her new parents would come, they came, and then they left again.)

We will go tomorrow morning at 8;30 to meet her foster mother, but, Lan will not come with us. After that, we will go back to the orphanage for a few hours in the morning and again in the afternoon.

This evening we had dinner with another Holt family who is adopting a little boy. We had some beef and noodle dishes that were good. We are exhausted and heading to bed.

Gretchen