Our trip to Paw Paw and MiMi's

Ethiopia, huh? So what about...

I didn't think I'd need to address this for awhile, but since it has come up many times this week in conversation with friends and family, and strangers for that matter, I feel I should address it now. Karen, another woman who blogs about her Ethiopian adoption process, called her post on this topic, "The Elephant in the Living Room of African Adoption." That about sums it up, I think, and that elephant's name is:

I could just refer you to Karen's blog because it is so well written. In fact I will: see my side bar where it says, "Karen: Ethiopian adoption." But I will address it here for my readers as well.

When one thinks of problems in Africa, HIV is paramount. HIV creates orphans. (Be aware though that a leading way babies and children contract HIV in Africa is through shared immunization needles at sub-par, underfunded clinics! These children are innocent victims of this disease, as are so many of the women who contract it from their unfaithful husbands. If interested, watch the film Yesterday for a greater understanding of the real face of AIDS in Africa. http://www.hbo.com/films/yesterday/ )

Anyway, the natural question is then: We are adopting an African orphan; therefore, how will HIV affect us?

Hopefully, it won't. Tim and I do not feel that it is our mission right now to parent HIV positive children. Tim said that if it were just he and I, he would strongly consider it since HIV is a death sentence in Ethiopia for these innocents. People born HIV positive in America at the time of modern antivirals are living into their twenties now. There is no reason not to beleive that these people will live long lives. Too bad we don't share some of these life saving drugs with dying children in Africa. . .but that's for another post.

The reality is that we have two very little boys at home. Though ALL children should be taught by their parents, "If you see blood, find an adult," that doesn't mean a toddler will remember such a lesson in a bout of rough housing. There were HIV positive children in the school at which I taught here in America. HIV is all around us. Thankfully, it isn't the flu and cannot be spread through day to day contact. I repeat: It IS NOT THE FLU and CANNOT BE SPREAD THROUGH DAY TO DAY CONTACT. It is transfered through blood. That said, J. fell down a hill at the park last week and scraped his knee. C. was there immediately to kiss his open wound and give him a big hug. Inherant sympathy, the pure God loving through us, rules over discretion with two year olds, so we are not requesting an HIV positive baby.

I've learned after much research and talking with our family physician lately that only 25% of babies born to HIV positive mothers contract the disease.

75-80% of infants test negative for the disease once they reach 18 months of age. It is the mother's antibodies still in the infant that false test positive in the infant prior to 18 months of age.

So what if you adopt a baby under the age of 18 months? How will you know if he or she is positive or negative? The HIV-1 DNA, Qualitative PCR test. In simple speak, this procedure tests the infant's DNA for HIV, not just his blood. Therefore, the mother's antibodies are not interfering with the results, and one can know if an infant is actually HIV positive or not. It is 99.----% accurate. This test is done on all African orphans hoping to be adopted, and it is done AGAIN when the child is preparing to get his or her visa to enter the US. We will know before we accept the referral, and definately before the child comes home, whether or not he or she is HIV positive.

Let me pause now to address a couple of things. We believe that God puts families together. Whether you birth a child, or God in his omnipotence places a baby from one continent into your arms on another continent, His will is done. Remember we requested a sibling group from the Philippines three years ago, one member of which was to be a baby under 15 months of age at referral. That's what US Immigration and the Philippines approved us for-a sibling group from the Philippines. What God gave us was-on the SAME DAY mind you-a referral for a domestic infant and a Filipino toddler. There was our sibling group; the group God had intended, not one that we could have ever imagined. So, what if we accept a referral for an HIV negative child this time around only to find out that three months later, after loving this child from afar for three months, considering this child our child for months, praying and fasting for God to send us the child He has intended for us for a year, we learn that the 99.----% accurate test was wrong, and actually our child is HIV positive. What will we do?

What would you do if you birthed a child that had severe mental retardation, or some other horrible disease? Some people condemn adoption with phrases like, "You never know what you're going to get with an adopted kid." Well, I'm not even going to get into all the reasons why that's a ridiculous statement because I know we all know families who did everything right and still birthed a special needs child. Amazing,God fearing families whose birth children grew up to be challenges, so to speak. It's true, you don't know what you're going to get. None of us do. But God does.

As Tim and I have discussed it in the past, an internationally adopted child is your child at acceptance of referral. Some people consider the child theirs at first meeting, at first step into America, at finalization. For me, I'm committed after reviewing all of the available medicals, history and pictures, and I write a letter to the foreign authority saying, "We are accepting this referral as our son/daughter." That's the birth. The months after that working with US Immigration to get the baby home is, well, just the looonnngggg ride home from the hospital.

As Karen so eloquently put it in her blog, "God doesn't call the equipped. He equips the called." We are confident that God will send us the children He has intended to be in our family as He has marveously and perfectly done twice before, and He will equip us with bodies and minds to handle it. There were surprises with both J. and C. and I guess any child that has ever been born. In conclusion, HIV is not a reason not to adopt from Africa. It is far more likely a woman would birth a child here in America with a medical need than a child test false negative on the HIV DNA test. FAR more likely, so as I see it...all the more reason to adopt your children.

The Big Reveal

(Forget 100 hits every 2-3 days; we were getting over 100 hits A DAY for awhile, so I will keep you in suspense no longer!)

I'm thinking of a country. . .

*that houses 77 million people,

*yet, nearly 10% of all newborns die in infancy.


*The rest live a life expectancy of less than 50 years.


*1.5 million of them are living with HIV.

*It is one of, if not THE, oldest country on the planet. Some refer to it as "the cradle of humanity." In fact, Lucy, the upright walking, somewhat human looking skeleton was found here.

*Its language is Semitic based. No one knows exactly where the strong Jewish influence here originates. Some say it is from Moses' wife of this likely heritage. Others trace it to when the tribe of Dan migrated south after the split of Israel and Judah. Others say it began with the contraversial offspring of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba-a dynasty which they believe lasted until its overthrow in 1974. Today, there are about 80 different nationalities here.


*One of the most popular theories with archeologists holds that the Arc of the Covenant is here, under the church St. Mary of Zion.


*In modern times, seventeen years of civil war from 1974-1991, combined with the Walla famine and universal drought, left thousands orphaned, millions dead, infractructure destroyed, and economy ruined.


*Therefore, it is tied with Burundi for the lowest GDP in the world-$90 and is the third poorest country in the world.


*This country has 5 MILLION orphans, and MSN reported in 2004 that adoptable babies are becoming the country's #1 export. If ever there was a country where there is a need for adoptive families, it's here.



*The adoption fees for this country are some of the lowest available, and referrals for children are quick.

You probably have guessed by now that baby #3 will come from . . . . . . . da da DA.........................Ethiopia!

We were recomended an agency, Love Basket Inc., by Christian Adoption Services-the agency that facilitated J. and C.'s adoptions. Ethiopia is a new program for Love Basket, but one family has already brought home their six month old little boy.

Our prayerful request: a healthy baby of either gender-well under 12 months old at time of travel.

We can't complete our dossier until Tim returns in the fall, but a referral is expected within six months of dossier arrival in Addis Ababa. Travel comes about 3 months after acceptance of referral. Though escorts are available for Ethiopia, Tim and I are GREATLY looking forward to our trip to Africa to meet and bring home the new baby next year. Grandparents-get ready to watch two very excited big brothers while Mom and Dad get to visit The Continent!

Here are some blog links to three "cyber friends" I've made lately who are also in the process of, or have completed, an Ethiopian adoption. You can see pictures and read of their journeys.

www.5mcckids.blogspot.com

http://mysite.verizon.net/resotl5g/id20.html

http://eliasbrown.blogspot.com/

Love Basket=http://www.lovebasket.org/AP/Ethiopia.htm


Blessings to all, and thank you for following along this journey with us. If you have questions or comments, please leave them in the comments (below) and I will try to address them in the next post.

Adoption Chronicles, Volume 3, Chapter 2

Over 200 hits in five days-I'd say you all are a little curious! Thanks for participating in this journey with us. We treasure your support and encouraging words. Well, if you aren't one of those aforementioned 200 people, you'll need to read chapter one below before continuing. As for the rest of you, here is chapter two:

Tim and I have always found the India/Tibet/Nepal region of the world fascinating. It's right in between where he and I have lived and worked, Afghanistan and SE Asia respectively, and combines the beauty, culture, and landscape of both worlds. It seeps of tales of Mt. Everest attempts, Shangri La, Bombay silk, bangle, and cardamom markets, and chanting Buddhist monks. We were actually planning on a trip there for our ten year wedding anniversary in 2009. It seemed natural to look here for our next child. Though Indian adoption laws require that either the father or mother be of Indian decent to adopt a child under four years old, and there are naturally no adoptions allowed through Tibet right now, we qualified to adopt from Nepal.

Amidst its beauty, Nepal is the poorest country in Asia. It has the highest child trafficking rates in the world, with its little girls especially being "exported" to India and Malaysia. Clearly, there is a pressing need for adoptive families in Nepal. The Ministry of Women and Children's Welfare in Nepal says that if a family already has a boy in the home, they must adopt a girl. So, despite the fact that Nepal adoptions require two trips (who's complaining about two trips to our dream vacation spot...),we were psyched to bring home a baby girl from Katmandu.

However, literally the same week we made this decision, the new minister at the Ministry of Women and Children in Nepal decided to suspend international adoptions until he became more acquainted with his job. As a result of his examinations, a couple of weeks later, he decided to stop all international adoptions until Nepal conformed to the Hague requirements on international adoption. Such an undertaking, from one of the poorest places on earth, is quite time consuming. Since Nepal wasn't currently a part of the Hague Convention for international adoption, they weren't complying to the checks and balances within that system, and stories of children being stolen, persuaded, or bought from birthfamilies began clanging in our hearts. Tim and I cringe at the thought of unknowingly adopting a child who had been stolen from his or her birthfamily. And who knows if we'd even qualify for Nepal once it reopened, if it reopened, so why submit papers now-and the fees that go with them? Cambodia has been suspended for these reasons since what-2004? Still, children are sitting in orphanages there, stuck, waiting on the government to produce a transparent program.

So, I must say, for all of you who thought it was Nepal, you're wrong! ;) After much prayer, we feel great peace in putting Nepal on hold until the new rules are ratified. Supposedly, the draft of the new rules state that a family can adopt a child of either gender (even if both genders are already in the home), and the limit of two children in the family is broadened. If it's God will, we'll qualify and adopt from there later. With Tim and I's love for that region, how could we not!? In the meantime, we pray that Nepal moves swiftly to comply with the Hague so that its children are protected from child traffickers, and so that the more than 400 families who were in the Nepal program when it suspended can get their children home soon.

As a result of this, we were back at square one in the search for the right country and the right agency. Where in the world IS baby #3???? I'll tell you in the next post!

By the way, if you're interested in adopting a child from Nepal-and I STRONGLY recommend it once it reopens-here's the link for a fabulous agency. Ask for Eric. All of the children shown in the post are Nepali. http://www.faithadopt.org/home/programs/nepal

Adoption Chronicles, Vol 3, Chapter 1. . .

There is a lot to be said about the developments toward baby number 3 the past few months, and much of the tale is ongoing. (You didn't think we'd stop at two, did you?) So, I will deliver this saga in parts. I know that many adoption friends read this blog, so it will include specific information that some of you couldn't care less about, but others will find it helpful. So, here goes...

Where in the World IS Baby #3?????

Before the actual adoption process can begin, a family must choose a country and an agency that is certified to process adoptions in that country. Sound easy? Think again. Here are some of the issues involved:

Some countries require a family own a home, make a certain salary, or weigh a certain poundage (Korea).

Some countries have limits about how many children can already be in the home before adding another, or what gender a family is allowed to adopt (Nepal).

Some have various numbers for the amount of time between adoptions (The Philippines).

Others require papers to be certified and/or translated (Russia),

or Americans are only allowed to adopt children four years or older (India).

None favor harmonica players.

The biggest variance: wait times. Guatemala has babies available immediately, though the program was recently shut down by the US over very legitimate transparency concerns.

In other countries, like China, the wait for a healthy baby has exploded to somewhere between two and three years! (Note: if you're hoping to adopt an older child, or a child with moderate to severe medical needs, God Bless You! And your waits will be much shorter.)

Just when you think you've found a great program, like Haiti, where wait times are around three months or less and there is a HUGE need, you realize that the wait time to pick up your child AFTER referral may be a year or longer!

Then there's the fees. Some countries require two trips. That's a tremendous added expense. We only had to be in Manila for 5 days with Judah's adoption. Other countries require one or both parents be in country for a month or more, sometimes twice (Ukraine). The agency fees vary, the country fees vary, not all agencies work in every state so there's a homestudy agency fee, and then my favorite people: The United States Customs and Immigration Services who just saw it in the adoptive families' best interests to up their fees again from $500 something to nearly $800. Overall, including travel and USCIS fees, a family is looking at somewhere between $11,000 and $35,000 for the adoption of one child, with fees for a domestic adoption somewhere in the middle of those two figures. See? Big difference.

What am I leaving out? The internet searches, the calls to agencies, the calls to references, the hours on chat rooms with other families who have, or are currently, adopting from a country you're interested in to get "the real" story, and the issue of need. Tim and I have no desire to adopt a child where there are hundreds of families already waiting.

In summary, we spent a couple of months asking, "Where is there a need? From where do we qualify? Can we afford the fees? Is the program transparent? Are there children available that will fit well with our family? What are the wait times? What agencies represent this country? Do they return my phone calls? Do they have good references? Is the paperwork reasonable and bearable? What age of children are available?

Oh yes, and what is God's will?"

Baby number #3 is not in an incubator down the hall with a clearly labeled family name tag on him (or her). He or she is out there among 143 million other orphans, and it takes a lot of research to begin the journey to bring this child home.

I'm presenting a devotional tomorrow night on discovering God's will. After a few hours in my Bible, I've learned that God used to show His will to people by audibly speaking to them. "Moses, go to Egypt." "Samuel, get up." Wouldn't that be nice... "Tim and Tiffany, drop an application with Commonwealth Adoption Agency for Vietnam." Since this option isn't likely, God shows us His will through prayer, fasting, using our mind (as opposed to our sometimes wishy washy hearts) and his Word.

Tim and I spent a lot of time in prayer and study before he left, and eventually we chose....

Sorry, you'll have to wait until Chapter 2. Believe me, this journey gets more complicated than one might think.

We Miss You, Timmy!

Preschool Field Day

This post is a grandparent's delight...LOTS of pics of the boys! J.'s preschool class had its end of the year field day today at the park that we frequent. The boys were so excited. We're here three times a week at least when the weather is nice, and today I had a camera with me, so I took a lot of pictures. Enjoy!

J. with his teacher, Ms. Holly. She will be C.'s teacher next year.

The boys with their sticks on the way to the water. They carry them the whole way so that they can throw them in the water when we get there.

J.'s shirt says, "Kuya." That means, "Big brother" in Tagalog-his native Filipino language. The nuns called him Kuya at the orphanage because he was the oldest child there and was such a big helper. In fact, he responded to Kuya much more quickly than he did his birth name when we met! The nickname stuck, as we still call him Kuya at home, especially when he's being a big helper. Like, "Thanks for getting C.'s shoes, Kuya!" I saw that shirt online and had to get it for him. He wants to wear it all the time, and if you ask him what Kuya means he'll shout "Big Brother!" Since we don't plan on adopting any children older than him, he'll always be our Kuya.

My tree huggers!

They were exhausted by the end of the day, and are sleeping soundly now for a long nap. Now that school is wrapping up, we're packing up for our "midwest tour". We plan on heading out the 2nd or 3rd week of June and will be gone through July. They boys can't wait to see Lola, Papa, MiMi, Granny, Uncle Steve, Great Grandma and Great Grandpa. There's no one they'd rather see more than Daddy, though, but I think they understand that Daddy's long time away isn't done yet. I'm working on keeping them excited about the little trips between now and the time Tim comes home so that they won't dwell on it too much. Happy Memorial Day!

Summer Candy

OK, it isn't technically summer yet. But we're eating cottoncandy outdoors, J.'s school year ends next week; we're flipping in flops-or is it flopping in flips? We're going to our church's family camping retreat this weekend and getting invitations for summer weddings. In addition, to C. and J.'s severe disappointment, it is certainly still light outside when the boys go to bed, hence this Robert Louis Stevenson classic:

Bed in Summer

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?

Pacifism meets David

Q: Which of the following individuals is Ghandi, the assassinated Indian champion of civil disobedience who used peaceful means to free India from England?

A. OR

B.

Funny story: C.'s favorite book is David Goes to School. Yes, I'm working on turning him to more, well, enlightening literature, but for now-the past year or so actually-it's David or bust. He'll go to his bookcase and throw books over his shoulder, muttering, "No, Daba!" (No, David!)until he finds it. Then he laughs with glee, sits down, and reads every page. Every page is the same, mind you: "No, David! No chewing gum in school." "No, David! No hitting the girl next to you." No, David! No throwing food." I guess he can relate to this David character.

I went to Barnes and Noble to buy C. the above pictured book, another in the series, appropriately titled, "No, David!" but I just couldn't do it. We bought "God Bless the Child that Has His Own" complete with the Billie Holiday CD instead. Grandparents, please buy C. "No, David!" He LOVES it, and I just can't stoop to buying it when there is so much else out there. Well...on with the story...

I have a couple of tee-shirts with Ghandi's portrait on them. (Of course you do, Tiffany. . .) Yesterday, I'm wearing one of these shirts. Ghandi's face is big on the front and it reads his famous quote, "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind" underneath. I go to get C. up from his nap and reach for him when he mysteriously explodes into joy. He points, grabs at Ghandi on my shirt and starts right in with, "No, Daba! No, Daba!" I gasp. "He thinks Ghandi is David." My son thought Ghandi was David. It must be the hair.

Needless to say, we spent the day practicing saying, "Ghandi," and the little man finally got it during dinner. "Ghandi!" he said, clear as a bell. He also says, "God" and "Amen" when we pray, just so that you know my priorities are right. ;) Though despite my hard word, this morning C. pulled that same Ghandi shirt out of the dirty clothes, was carrying it around and proudly shouting, "No, Daba! No, Daba!" Well, at least I tried. We'll have to use Martin Luther King Jr. as our civil disobedience example, or Jesus, but I hoped to save him for rescuing the world from death and offering eternal life. Thankfully, either way, neither of them look anything at all like David.

By the way, in case the hair threw you too, the answer is A. Have a blessed week!

All We Need is 40 Acres and VW Van

Allow me to bring you into my communal part of life. I've talked a lot about friends, family, adoption, work, and daily life, but I've never written a post that glimpsed into the commune. Yes, commune. Someone used that term in reference to us years ago and it stuck. Now, when one of us says, "the commune," we know exactly which 8-9 couples we're talking about. Really, family is probably a more accurate term for what we are. This group is my foundation, and life would be terribly lonely without them.

It started when were all a part of a Newly married/Nearly married church small group 6 years ago that quickly evolved into a Newly parent/Nearly parent group. Some couples have come and gone during that time, as far as Italy even, but we're inseparable in heart.

So, what makes the commune any different from any other friends? That's hard to explain. It's such an intimate connection that I never wrote of it here before, like it was too sacred to expose. But without saying too much, here are just a few things that make us what we are:

1. I can look around my house and say, "Eli hung that light;" "Brian hung those curtains;" "R's Tim hung that fan and made those cabinet doors;" "J. tilled that ground,"etc... because the commune guys take care of the commune girls when one of the husbands is deployed. I know some of you commune girls have had some swing sets and ceiling fans that bring back the same memories for you in your houses! Ceiling fans....oh, funny times! ;)

2. We can call each other in times of trouble without a second thought and know that no repayment is due. I'm thinking of someone who mixed cleaning toxins to scrub her bathroom tiles while her husband was deployed and found herself terribly sick in the middle of the night and called me at 2:00am to come over in case she passed out and couldn't take care of her kids! No judgement, dear friend; you should read #3:

3. I left for SE Asia for 6 months, and the electric company told me to turn off the switches in the switch box to save electricity. So, I did. What I didn't do: empty the freezer/refridgerator because I was too distracted to make the connection that switches connected to anything other than lights. Two months or so later...Sara is calling other commune girls trying to figure out what died in my house and probably searching for a hazardous waste suit once she figured it out because she'd need it to clean out my fridge. Yes, she went in there, masked and gloved, and CLEANED my fridge. That is my #1 blonde moment in my life, and that is an amazing friend!

4. I've showed up at a commune girl's house in the middle of the night for a hug and a good cry.

5. We bonded over cinnamon rolls, meatballs, chicken enchiladas, fruit pizza, and any one of Mel's many kid friendly recipes.

6. We were there for each other when a husband's humvee blew up; when a husband hadn't been heard from in awhile, when a husband was deploying AGAIN just after the birth of a baby, and when husbands did all sorts of other-ahem-unpleantries. ;)

7. Has there been a birth where at least one of us wasn't IN the room or on the phone? You were there when I stepped off the plane with Judah and when we brought Caleb home. My fridge was stocked with food for a week, and there were balloons, signs and toys for Judah when he first walked into his forever home.

8. Husbands deployed together and watched out for eachother with a much deeper intensity than just any other soldier would have.

9. Wine and cheese parties at my house. I don't even need to elaborate on that one, do I girls?

10. There have been long heart to hearts in cars, on tailgates, on couches and hospital waiting rooms.

11. We ask each other to raise our children should we both die.

12. We worship and pray together-often.

13. We're all military, so we all move away at some point. Even so, whenever we're reunited it's like we were never apart.

We disagree, argue, make up, talk it out, ask favors, hang out, fix stuff, and celebrate. It's family. Commune, feel free to comment on your favorite memory. I know I'm leaving out some of the best stuff.

So, what's spurred this post on when I've kept these friends so private? The fact that this has been a terribly depressing week. The bad dream I thought I'd wake up from turns out to be reality and Sara and J. really are moving away. Far away. There have been moves before, of course, but none have been as sad as this one. We're separating from two very dear friends, a brother and a sister, and it honestly makes my heart hurt. The up side is that this move is a wonderful opportunity for their family to be together for a few years, deployment free, in a wonderful place. We really are happy for them, but sad to say, "good-bye." There are reunions planned, they'll move back to this side of the country in a few years, and as I said before, no number of miles can separate the love that "the commune" has for its members. If I can find a way to call you two with a crisis on an internet phone from the jungles of Cambodia, I can keep in touch from one side of America to the other! You will be deeply, DEEPLY missed by me and Tim and the boys. Even though you won't be 15 min. away anymore, you'll both be at the forefront of our hearts and lives forever.

Meet the Bulldozer

No harm could come from a little one with a face like this, right?

Wrong! Just wait until he doesn't get his way and he swings at you. Or he doesn't want to hold your hand, so he bites it. Or he doesn't want his diaper changed, so he kicks you in the gut. Or he doesn't want to be held, so he head butts you so hard you think your nose is broke. Shall I go on?

Even here-see it? That mischieviousness in the eyes and grin? He goes from this (L) to this (R) in five seconds or less. Impressive.

Help. My son is a brute, and I have the bite marks to prove it.

Don't get me wrong and think he's a little sociopath. C. isn't much worse than the average male toddler. I've even met little girls who were far worse. Far worse. Like Gabriella from daycare. She was 14 months old, and not a day went by where she didn't manage to rip a chunk of hair out of the scalp of another toddler. And if that didn't get her her way, she bit, drew blood and laughed about it. No apologies. And there's one of J.'s peers at preschool who hits kids on the head with heavy objects whenever the teacher isn't looking and then lies about it.

At least C.'s outbursts are motivated by logical frustrations: I want that toy; I don't want to go to bed; I don't like this food, etc... And he ALWAYS gives his victims big hugs and kisses and says he's sorry. No, no! Not sociopathic. Remorseful and compassionate.

I've taken enough child development classes to know that this is a phase all toddlers go through that is spurred by lack of verbal expression and one year old maturity. I mean if you only had the know-with-all of a one year old, couldn't speak more than five words, and someone took your cool new race car, what would you do? Naturally, go hit him upside the head with a block. Still, it's hard for a mother to watch her son use his immense physical strength, determination, and independence in hurtful ways.

We've tried time-out, swats on the hand (though swatting for swatting quickly become a fun game for him, and frankly this kid is so strong I cry mercy long before he does). I've ignored it when he's attacked for attention and overly praised positive behavior. If I had a quarter for everytime I said, "Gentle touch," I'd be a millionaire. Our last tactic: the baby doll. He says, "Baby DaDa" (a concept he came up with all on his own, by the way). Somedays he won't leave the room without that baby, feeds the baby, puts the hat on the baby, covers the baby with a blanket, buckles her into the car seat... He is very gentle with the baby. If I were the psychologist Tim is I'd say he was acting out some replacement issues about Tim leaving, but I won't go there. The point is: he's sweet with that baby all the time. He's sweet with real people about 90% of the time. And that remaining 10% is rough! Maybe if the baby told him to eat his carrots he'd pinch her too. Who knows.

So moms, what have you done in this phase that worked? Anything? Or do I just wait for the verbal to catch up with the emotional, and the phase passes? Actually, I think it's better than it was 6 months ago, though he is much stronger now so the outbursts seem worse. Regardless, I'll take any idea you have to prevent one more head butt to the nose!

Rest in Peace

Mstislav Rostropovich.

I have a trunk of Tiffany memorabilia. Sounds fascinating, I know. But in that trunk among a marriage tea set that was given to me in Japan by a Japanese friend before I married Tim; a dried rose from high school that an artist gave me in an Italian restaurant in Montmatre, Paris; some love notes from elementary school; and a stuffed teddy bear my grandma gave me that says, "You're my guardian angel" when you press his tummy, there is a St. Louis Symphony ticket stub from 2000 that says, "Mstislav Rostropovich."

I went to that concert alone. (Dad didn't want to go; long classical music perfomances aren't his thing, and Tim was in basic training.) I sat in the 6th row, center, and I remember breathing very little, blinking even less, and thinking it was nice that I was alone. I didn't have to share my attention with anyone. Sitting alone, so close, on those red velvet seats, I was afraid shifting my legs would disrupt him. HIM. Slava. The one for whom Shostakovich wrote concertos. The one who was kicked out of Russia for standing up against communism, and played the cello with just as much defiant force. It was a powerful evening.

Rostropovich died today at age 80. He led a full life, and contributed much. He will be missed.

Here are some links if you care to hear him. The first link is Rostropovich playing the Bach prelude. It is the piece from which you know you have arrived as a cellist; the first of the difficults. He, of course plays it better than me, and arguably better than anyone, though most would say Yo Yo Ma owns the Bach suites.

The second link probably requires Real Player on your computer, but it is of Rostropovich playing an exerpt of the piece composed for him by Shostokovich, the Shostokovich cello concerto. Even Yo Yo Ma said of the Shostokovich at first hearing, "It is physically impossible to play". I agree. Though Yo Yo eventually mastered it, I never got beyond the first five bars.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LU_QR_FTt3E&mode=related&search=


http://emiclassics.com/classic_archive/releases/rostropovich1.html

Peek-A-Boo!

Our neighbor's little dog, Snowflake, and our dog, Moon, have dug a hole under the fence together. Thankfully, it isn't big enough for Moon to crawl through, but Snowflake is a regular guest in our backyard. One of C.'s favorite things to do is get into that hole, stick his head through to the neighbor's yard, and say, "Boo!" I do try to discourage that, as he could get his head stuck or nipped in the nose by little Snowflake. He's just as thrilled to shout, "Boo!" whenever Snowflake peeks into our yard, though. I'm glad the little things still make him so happy!

Gone again

(Thanks for taking our impromptu family photos, Sara!) Tim left this morning for this year's big deployment, and everything went off without a hitch until. . . Tim couldn't find his badge. Cool shiny things tend to disappear around here, like keys, cell phones, and top secret special agent badges. Tim finally found it in a Tonka dump truck in the toy box about 2:00 am. I wonder how it got there? Good thing he was up anyway trying to finish all of his grad. school homework for the next week or two!

We've spent the past few days explaining to the boys that Daddy has to go to work for a long time. Here's some snippets of our conversations with J. lately:

J.: "Ouch! No kiss!"

Tim: "I have to grow out the scratchy beard for work, Judah, but I'll kiss you really gentle so it won't hurt."

J., holding up three fingers: "Daddy gone three days?"

Tim: "A LOT of days. More fingers than you have."

J.: "Daddy jump out airplane?"

Tim: "The plane will land, J. Daddy's not going to jump this time."

J.: "Judah go A'stan. J. go airplane."

Tim (ignoring my, "see what you've started?" glare): "J., you have to stay here and take care of C. and Mommy. You have to be the little man, OK?"

J.: "Yes, Daddy. Li'l man."

We told them that while we wait for Daddy to come home we'll get to go see Papa and Mimi, Lolah, Uncle Steve, Great Grandma and Great Grandpa, and Granny.

So, the day arrived, and we dropped Tim off on base in the pouring rain. Immediately the boys started crying, "No want Dada go A'stan! Daddy home. No want A'stan!" I re-explain it all: he'll be back; he has to go to work; you have to be strong little men and help Mommy take care of the house; we'll visit grandparents, etc. They calm down a bit, and then J. starts, "Papa's house. Night-night in the car? Go Papa's house?" And C. starts "Laloh! Laloh!" (how he says, "Lolah"). I tell them that that trip isn't planned for a couple of months yet; they need to finish school first. Then the tears start going again. . . "Papa's house! No want Daddy go!" Urg.

An hour later, peacefully at home:
Tim calls from the green ramp. He forgot his laptop charger. Can I bring it to him?

You're kidding?

I load everyone back into the car, with the laptop charger. Expectedly, J. asks, "Long time all done? Daddy home?"

"No, long time is not done." We repeat steps 1-3 from above, suffer more screaming, crying and confusion, but they are now thankfully sleeping soundly in their room. Whew!

We'll miss you, Timmy! Be safe.