The Things We Keep

Determined to avoid an American Hoarders intervention session, we decided to tackle the “stuff” in the basement.  My husband M took the side with the ski equipment, extra golf clubs, folding chairs and the like.  With efficiency and precision, he handled the task admirably.  K and I took the side with the toys, books, and other cherished belongings.  We took a little longer, and there’s still work to be done.  But to be fair, we had the harder job.  Our stuff was the good stuff.

We started with the box full of “guys.”  Small plastic figures representing Disney movies of her toddlerhood, K had simply called them guys from the start.  I can’t put a number on the hours we spent playing with those characters.  They rode along on Thomas the Train tracks.  They hung out in the beautiful wooden dollhouse and in the assorted plastic Polly Pocket residences.  They loved the animals in the Fisher Price red barn.  They came to doctor’s visits and the grocery story.  They visited Nana and Pa’s house.  They were the guys and they were everywhere.

I don’t remember K ever having a favorite overall but I do remember how she felt about King Triton from The Little Mermaid.  Sometimes she would separate the guys into two lines – good guys and bad guys.  You can imagine the bad guy line:  Scar, Gaston, the Witch from Snow White, etc.  In our house, King Triton was also in with the bad guys.  The first time I noticed I pointed out to K that King Triton was Ariel’s dad and was in the wrong line.  K looked me in the eye and informed me that King Triton was absolutely a bad guy.  “He destroyed Ariel’s things, Mom.  He’s a really bad guy.”  “Well K,” I replied, “that was wrong but he was scared for Ariel.  He was trying to protect her.”  “Mom, he’s her dad and he took her most precious things and destroyed them.  He’s a bad guy.”  She had a point.  Triton thought he was keeping Ariel safe but to destroy her things was bad and wrong.  He was in the right line.

“I think J (K’s three year old cousin) would love the guys, Mom.  Let’s give them to J.”  She’s right.  J will love them.  He’ll take them places and they’ll play with his plastic animals.  K’s old Thomas trains are at his house so they’ll feel at home there.  K decides to keep just a few – some of the dwarfs and a couple of other good guys.  We put the box aside and move on.

We sort and separate.  Broken things with missing pieces are thrown in the trash.  The vast collection of plastic horses is combined into one box. Dinosaurs are sorted into keep and give away.  McDonald Happy Meal toys are culled through.  K keeps the most favorite of her VHS tapes and we resolve to spend a day together watching them all.  Surprisingly, The Little Mermaid makes the cut.

We get hungry and tired and start sneezing from the dust.  It’s time to quit for the day, but I notice a box K has been filling with an odd collection of things.  “K, what are those?  What box do they belong in?  What category are they?” I ask in a tone that indicates my patience had already quit.  “They’re memories, Mom.  That’s their category.”  I look more closely at the contents.  There’s the pink haired gnome doll that K selected from the hospital gift shop.  She was three and visiting my dad for the first of many, many visits to that wretched place over the years.  We were hurrying to get to his room when K saw the gift shop and declared that she needed to get her Pa a present.  When her Pa died eight years later, he still had that foolish gnome doll and K claimed it.  There’s a small piece of railing one of our contractors gave to her when she was two.  He was building an addition for our house and K adored him.  He made her a special block out of the railing and she kept it when she gave all her other blocks away last year.  A dozen tiny bears and some plastic eggs that looked like cut glass fill out the collection.

“But what category?,” I begin and stop myself.  She’s right.  Those things are memories.  Memories that can’t always be categorized or labeled like good and bad guys in line.  We put the box, as is, on the shelf and head up the stairs to get some lunch.  We’ll finish the rest another time. In the meantime, I’m looking forward to a day of watching old videos very soon.

SAHM with Twins……….Am I cut out for it?

Yes, I was one of those whose position was eliminated at the start of the economic meltdown.

Freaking out for the first 8 months, I frantically looked for a position.  Signing up for Ladders.com, Beyond.com, monster.com, updating linkedIn profile, meeting with former colleagues , attending networking events, taking webinars, connecting with those who know someone who knows someone,  you know the drill.  Sat there and worked out the numbers………I could work for $XX dollars albeit 40% less than I was making but it would pay for half day preschool for the twins, cost of a nanny/babysitter to handle the afternoons, dry cleaning, gas etc.  Ok….I came to grips with a lower salary now I just need to find an interesting position.

Ohh wait, what do I want to do?  I enjoyed some work I did in the non-profit sector….should I explore that?  Should I stick with what I know?  Go out on my own?  Go back to school?  Ok….I will stick with what I know.   I secure a few contract jobs that didn’t pay well but combined with unemployment insurance…we were ok.  Then unemployment ran out and contract jobs dried up.  Fast forward…2.5 years.   I never would have imagined that my efforts  would lead to only a handful of interviews.  “You are over qualified.” “The salary is too low for you….you won’t be happy.” “We don’t want someone to take the job and leave immediately once the economy recovers.”  “You don’t have enough social media experience.”   Not once did I hear………”the job is yours….wow we are fortunate to have someone with your experience!”  Falling into the category of long-term unemployed……..not a place I ever expected to be. 

Have I have lost my momentum and confidence?  Am I enjoying my time home with the kids?  Have I started to embrace the SAHM lifestyle spending my days at the gym, lunching with the ladies, getting weekly manicures and pedicures?  Hmmm….I don’t do any of that and don’t know any SAHM that have the time to do it either.   I am an ace chauffeur, barely competent cleaner, darn good negotiator (as long as it isn’t with a 4 yr. old—I always come short in those negotiations),  substandard accountant,  quite qualified scheduler,  entry level secretary, good cook, etc.    Ok….embraced it for 5 months.  I am done with the SAHM thing….I am just not wired for it.  I love my children…….but I am convinced that I am a better mom when I work outside the home.

Sent a resume out this morning….I am back in the job hunt for a senior Marketing / Program Management job.   Ok….probably won’t make what I made before….But that is ok.  I am great at what I do and I will find the perfect job.  My confidence is high and momentum back in swing.   

I am a great mom, wife, daughter, sister and friend.  I look forward to showing my next employer that I am a great marketer too!

Love and Reading part III

I’ve completed two books this month in the Adoption Reading Challenge, and I’m currently searching for my third. Upon completion (finally!) of Jaiya John’s memoir, Black Baby, White Hands: A View From The Crib, I came away with many conflicting feelings. However, I am glad I read it, and feel I have many takeaways from it. As I read Jaiya’s words, I felt as if a friend was telling me stories of his life, a little bit at a time, rewinding over the very good, and really bad parts, to make a statement, and to gain my understanding.  I do not think this book is for everyone. Jaiya is a poet, and he writes like one.  If you are looking for a concise book on the feelings of people who are transracial adoptees, this is not your book. However, if you are looking to understand the depth of the soul of one man, and his journey through life as a transracial adoptee, or to challenge your thoughts on what to means for a black child, to  grow to become black man in a white family, then this book should be a must read. Black Baby, White Hands is not an easy read, it’s musical like Jazz, and it’s painful, like a sunburn, but it’s worth the time for the insight that is gained.

I jumped right from Black Baby, White Hands, into another memoir written by an adoptee. The Mistress’s Daughter, written by A.M. Homes, tells the story of the author’s reunion with her birth parents in her thirty’s.  I cheated a bit on this Adoption Reading Challenge, as I actually listened to the book on Audible.com. It is narrated by Jane Adams, who I had to often remind myself, was not the author, as she narrated the memoir so genuinely. I felt as if Ms. Homes wrote like a journalist while telling the story of her reunion with her birth mother, Ellen, and her birth father, Norman. Her writing is to the point, pragmatic, and almost devoid of feeling. However, the stories Homes tells are both touching, and revealing, about the void that is filled by knowing where one comes from.

Homes takes the reader on a journey through the everyday nitty gritty of living in a once closed, and now open adoption. Homes also explores her own fantasies of her birth parents and her adoption. Even after the reunion, the continued not-knowing in the story drives the author to genealogy, to look for a connection to her families and her place in them. Reading/Listening to Homes’ memoir has confirmed for me that having an open adoption, no matter how it plays out in the future, at least provides a door for my children to walk through on their path towards discovering who they are, and who their birth families are. Knowing who we are seems such a basic right, that I am often perplexed by the stories of hidden truths, or falsehoods by omission, about children who joined their family through adoption. Although the truth is sometimes hard to swallow, sometimes hurtful, sometimes scary, I think untruths’ can create deep wounds that are hard to heal. Again, I pray that I am on the right path for my girls. I pray that they truth will heal them and make them whole.

Our First Family Adventure

My husband and I have been contacted by 2 families within the past couple of months who are preparing to make their journeys to Korea.  Just like we did in May of ’09, these families will board a plane with their own suitcases, plus one extra duffle with the items they hope will make a good impression on their new little family member.  I am envious of the thrill and adventure they have ahead of them!  I always tell people that adoption is the biggest, most thrilling, most mind-blowing leap of faith you can take.  As fulfilling as my life is, I don’t think I will ever experience anything so exciting as the anticipation leading up to and meeting our son for the first time.

My husband and I recanted our stories and coached the families on what to bring and do.  I thought about my huge red duffle that I packed with 60 pounds of “what ifs” and “just in cases”.  “What if he has allergies to the soap we use? I’ll pack unscented detergent and soaps.”  “What if he doesn’t like cotton and prefers fleece?  I’d better bring 2 blankets!” “Just in case he gets a rash, flu, or fever, I have my emergency medical kit!”.  What I didn’t know was that #1, his wonderful foster family would send us home with everything we could have possibly needed, including a big stuffed bumblebee, formula, diapers, pollock soup, burp cloths and several outfits.  #2, much to our relief as first time parents, Maximus didn’t really need anything else.  At 8 months, he just wanted to be clean, fed, and entertained.

When we first saw him, he was on the floor with his bumblebee and an airplane eating corn puffs with his foster mother.  He stayed with her for about 2 minutes, then his curiosity got the best of him and he came over to us.  We picked him up and tossed him around and zoomed the bee and plane around his head. He giggled with his big wide gummy smile.  We asked some questions about his caretaking though our translator couldn’t really speak English.  I watched his foster mother get teary as she answered our questions.  Soon it was time for us to go and we were told to report to the agency at noon the next day.

The next day we showed up and Maximus was there with his foster mother and one of his foster sisters. Their eyes were puffy and glassy and he looked like he belonged with them, not with us.  As happy as I was, I felt awful for them.  Thankfully Maximus didn’t seem to be phased at all.  We got all of our instructions and documents for Immigration, exchanged presents, then it was time to go.  We tried to express our profound gratitude and promises to give Maximus every opportunity in life, but who knows what his foster family really thought our parting words were.  They sent us home with 4 photo albums they had taken of Maximus since he had come to them, and it was clear he was a beloved member of their family for those few months.

And then there we were, taking photos of our new little family in front of the agency in Seoul.  Maximus’ hair was a wispy crown right at the top that made him look like a cockatoo from the side.  When he was in the Baby Bjorn, his head bobbed back and forth from front to back like a parrot.  He was so cute I couldn’t believe my eyes.  He still is.  I say to him all the time “Do you know that you are enchanting?”.  He looks at me, smiles coyly, and says “Yes”.  Anyway, we took him back to our room and got down to the business of being parents.  First time parents, to be clear.  We had to call my friend in the States during the first diaper change. He was so squirmy that I didn’t see how it could be done.  In addition, all his clothes had buttons instead of snaps or zippers!  We actually went to a department store searching for just 1 onesie with snaps or a zipper, and it didn’t seem to exist.  I admire the patience and dexterity of the Korean people!

Maximus slept a full 8 hours his first night with us (set aside that this didn’t happen again for another 3 months).  It was the strangest most wonderful thing to wake up next to this cuddly little fuzzy headed baby for the first time.  We had no idea what to do with him so we just followed his lead for the next 2 days until we headed back to the US.  We tucked him into the Baby Bjorn and set off sightseeing, meeting several American couples along the way in the midst of an adventure like we were.  We spent our first full day with an American mom, grandmother, and new family member baby Jenna.  We still keep in touch with them.  When you meet another family going through the same completely surreal experience in a completely disorienting place, the bond is pretty tight!

Maximus made the transition so easy.  Setting aside a harrowing 22 hour journey home, he was very gentle on us.  Sure he had his time zone issues for the first 2 weeks, but he adapted to our home, dog, and lives like a champ.  Sometimes if he cried I wondered if he was crying for his foster mom, and maybe he was.  But he was willing to take comfort from us too.  He was a smiling, cuddly bundle of joy with everyone he met, and still is to this day.

I can’t believe it’s already been almost 2 years since we had our adventure of a lifetime.  I think about my friends who had their adventures in the delivery room, and I know that theirs can’t even possibly come close.  They all knew what to expect – at least 80% of the thrill they can share with other friends or read about in books.  No one ever has the same adoption story.  We had no idea what to expect – it was a blind leap of faith the whole way through.  I still can’t believe how lucky we are.