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

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."

******************

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."

***************************

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."

************************************

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.

********************************

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

*********************************

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?

**************************

*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

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

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?

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*

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*

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

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?

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

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

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?

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

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

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

Six Years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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*

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

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.)