———

Now for the winners of my book giveaway last week:

2D Geometry-Yvonne
E is for Ethics- Leigh
The Colors of Grief- Jenn B.

If you ladies will send your street addresses to owlhaven at aol dot com, I will get the books sent your way.

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E is For Ethics contains several dozen short stories about various ethical dilemmas and include discussions of virtues such as honesty, loyalty, and compassion. I’ve read several chapters out loud to my kids at lunch time. In each case the stories were interesting conversation starters. Since the book is not faith-based, I do think the book just begins the conversation. I can’t talk about ethics without talking about faith too. But I did like that the book has given us a reason to talk about a variety of topics.  Bonus: here’s a link for a free coloring book that goes with the book.

I got The Colors of Grief from Tapestry, an online bookstore that specializes in adoption-related books. It took me awhile to get around to picking up this book. Frankly, it is a tough topic, and not one that I tend to be ready to focus on at the end of a long day.   However, when I did pick this up, I was soon reminded of just how important this topic is to our adopted kids. They have experienced great loss–yes, even the ones who came to me as preverbal infants. And the more I understand and acknowledge that loss, the more compassionate I can be in my dealings with them.

Head First 2D Geometry is billed as a way to give a non-math-oriented kid a boost up in understanding geometry. The lively illustrations are reminiscent of a comic book— actually, if you own any of the Tightwad Gazette books, that’s the style of this book. Lots of stories, lots of pictures. It is definitely a livelier explanation of geometry than I’ve ever seen. This book looks to be a great boost to a kid who struggles with math but really needs to get through geometry.

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I will be giving away a copy of each of these books. In comments, tell me which of these books sounds most interesting to you, and next week I will pick one winner for each.

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I recently discovered a video series by an adoptive mom named Christine.  She is a mom of many who is dealing with challenging stuff with many of her kids.  In the videos she engagingly describes what she’s found effective with her kids.   Very interesting and insightful.

I also came across a great article by Deborah Hage, discussing how to  teach self control in wounded kids.   If you haven’t dealt with scarred kids, Deborah’s suggestions and descriptions may not resonate with you.  (Count your blessings.) However if you do have tough kids, you will find lots of good stuff both here and in Deborah’s other articles.

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When we do lots of little braids for our girls, we will often finish the braids up with 4 or 5 pony beads. My 5 year old especially loves the way her hair flips around when she’s wearing beads, and I think it is adorable too. Over the years we’ve had several beading ‘needles’ or ‘wands’, onto which you thread the beads, making it easier to then thread beads onto each braid. Problem is, the beading needles are EASY to lose– I can’t tell you how often I’ve hunted high and low for the things.

Plastic craft string is a fairly decent substitute. But the other day I discovered that an even easier thing to use: a skinny ponytail holder, the kind that has a bit of metal on it. I took a few pictures of the process so that you can see how it works. Click on the pictures to enlarge. If you ‘mouse-over’ the pictures before you click, you’ll be able to read the explanation of each step.

And here’s a shot of my daughter with her completed hairdo on her 5th birthday last month.

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We decided to give the subway a shot, and do our best to make sure he got a seat instead of having to stand. He was still droopy at 10 when we left, but he made it onto the subway fine, and our ride went well. The new Holt building is a couple blocks away from the old one, and despite instructions, we did a bit of back-tracking to find it. By then, thanks to the Advil, Josh was feeling decent.

When we made it to the right building, the doorman sent us towards the elevator, explaining something jumbled about the elevator not opening on the 4th floor? Being from Missouri, I had to try doing it the unrecommended way, only to find that the elevator did indeed balk at the 4th floor. Only when we followed instructions (ride to the 5th floor, then walk down the stairs to the 4th) did we make it to where we belonged.

Toni, a very sweet social worker with an Australian (?) accent, ushered us into the room where Mrs. Che was waiting for us. She hadn’t changed much at all in 11 years, amazingly. It was pretty amazing to see that Joshua was now almost as tall as she, however! Josh was nervous at first, but her obvious warmth toward him soon had him feeling comfortable, and he spent much of the visit smiling. We talked for a little while, catching up on each other’s doings, with her doing lots of exclaiming over Joshua and patting him and smiling at him. She also told us that she prayed for him every day. How precious to know that someone from his early life still cares that much for him.

The social worker asked if we’d like to go someplace to eat bulgogi for lunch. We walked a couple blocks to a clean-looking restaurant where the tables were low, and you sat on small cushions on the wood floor. Each table had a grill in its center, into which they placed a rack full of glowing coals. Bulgogi was cooked for us right at the table, then cut into bite sized pieces with a scissors.

Many side dishes were set around the table as well: several kinds of kimchi, tofu, acorn jelly, plus normal ‘American’ salad. There was rice as well, and beautiful large leafs of lettuce in which to wrap your meat before popping it into your mouth. Yum.

Mrs. Che and Toni made sure the boys were supplied with all the food they could eat.  I remarked on the tenderness of the beef, and asked Mrs. Che the secret.   Turns out she is an accomplished cook, and soon explained to me the ins and outs of excellent bulgogi, one of the secrets of which, apparently, is marinating the beef in rice wine. I am going to try her method, and hope to share a recipe with you soon.

We had a nice visit over our meal, one that left my son feeling really good about the kind woman who cared for him before he came to us.  I was really glad he had the chance to meet with her.

After the meal, she even walked with us to the store, so that I could buy the kind of wine she liked best for bulgogi.  While we were there, she pulled Josh and Ben off to the side and told them to pick out a treat.   They picked banana chips, which she bought for them.  More glowing from the boys.   More confirmation of what we’d seen all week:  that there were a lot of people here who wanted them to be happy and feel loved.

When it was time to say goodbye, Toni pointed us to the nearest subway stop.  Just as we were going down the steps, we turned and looked back, to see Mrs. Che looking after us as we left.  We waved and smiled, and then reluctantly walked away down the stairs, the last of our meetings now done.  But oh, the kindness of the people we’d met.   Our hearts were full indeed.

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Friday we were blessed to meet both with our youngest son’s foster mother and with his birth family.  We approached the day with some trepidation. That morning was the first day I navigated the subway on my own this trip, so I was a little worried about getting to our meeting in time.  But all went smoothly, and when we arrived, his foster mom was already waiting.  She hardly looked any different from 9 years earlier– can you believe she is in her mid-50’s??– and she greeted Ben with warmth and kindness.

We talked about what he’d been like as a baby, what she remembered about him, and what she has been doing since then.  She said he was a handsome boy and looked very pleased to see him again.  He is one of the oldest of her foster kids she’s met. She was able to visit the US last year and meet some of the others.   She gave him a taekwondo uniform, since her son is a taekwondo master, and she was pleased with the photo album of pictures that we brought her.  All in all it was a very nice meeting.

We had about an hour between the two meetings, and during that time we were invited to go cuddle the babies currently living at the baby house.  My boys could hardly get past the fact that we were all asked to wear pink bathrobes, but I thoroughly enjoyed the chance to cuddle some adorable little ones.  (John, can we have just one more??   Isn’t she cute??? )

After we got our fill of baby-cuddling the boys managed to tear me away from the babies, we headed back for the office where we were to meet Ben’s family. Though we were early, we were told they had already arrived. As we prepared to step into the room, my chest was tight, hoping that this would turn out to be a good thing for my boy.

As soon as we walked into the room, his mother was immediately standing, crying, embracing him, stroking his hair, touching his face. His dad stood back, face stern, tears welling, letting his wife greet their son first. The mother’s grief was so great that I was instantly in tears as well, patting her back and telling her thank you over and over and wishing I had more Korean words with which to express my gratitude.

The social worker guided everyone to sit, and it was then that Ben’s dad sat down in front of him, knee to knee, holding both of his hands and speaking earnestly. Ben looked at me helplessly. He could see his dad was saying something important but couldn’t understand. We looked to the social worker, who jumped in to translate as the father apologized and shared more fully the reasons they were not able to parent him.

I knew that they had good reasons, and had told Ben for years that they had his best interests at heart. But seeing the emotion on their faces, and they way they stroked his cheek and smoothed his hair and examined his hands and sought out his eyes made their feeling and intent so much more clear.

Ben was extremely shy at first– his father told him that shyness runs in the family– but answered their questions with a little coaxing from me. They were concerned about his health.  I was quick to assure them that his prosthetic leg allows him to do anything that any other child can do.

After a bit of talking, we gathered our things and went to a restaurant for lunch, where we had a private room complete with grills on the tables for grilling the bulgogi that was ordered for us. All through the meal, his parents were filling his plate with choice morsels and encouraging him to eat and stroking his hair and studying his face.

His mother has a glowingly brilliant smile that often sparkled with tears. (I wish I could share pictures but I think I will wait to get their permission). I got the impression she was soaking up these moments as priceless treasures. His father was more somber, his sadness closer to the surface. Yet there were delightful flashes of humor that reminded me so much of our son.  Over and over again he reached out with warmth to Ben, talking to him, telling him how he resembled their family, or explaining where he might have gotten some trait that they noticed.

By the end of the dinner, Ben was getting comfortable, joking and smiling more. I was so happy they were starting to see more of his true self. As the dinner wound down, it was obvious no one wanted to say goodbye. The family asked if they could take us out for coffee. And so we walked to another place close by, again to a little private space in a corner, and talked for another hour or so.

Finally the social worker gently suggested it was time to go. (We were going to a baseball game at 5, and the family had a three hour train ride back home.) We walked to the subway together, Ben walking alongside his dad with his dad’s arm over his shoulders. Ben was peaceful, content — relieved I think that these strangers had turned out to be people of great kindness. But my heart ached hard for what the family must be feeling, getting ready to say goodbye to their boy again.

Before saying goodbye we took more pictures, exchanged email addresses, and agreed to try to come to Korea again in 5 years so that they could see Ben again. John and I had been hoping we could do this even before this trip– John wants to come along next time. But after meeting the family, we feel even more strongly about visiting again.

Goodbyes were quietly tearful and put off for as long as possible, with many hugs, and his first mom and I taking turns telling each other thank you. As the boys and I walked away, they watched tearfully, and I knew part of my heart was back there with them.

The boys felt the sadness less than I. They chattered about how nice the family had been and how much fun it had been to meet with them. There was a lightness to Ben’s face that hadn’t been there in the day or two before the meeting– I think he’d really been worried about that meeting.  I could tell he was really glad to have the experience, and I think it was in a way helpful to our other Korean son as well. Even though he is not going to get to meet his first family on this trip, seeing the kindness of Ben’s family helped him guess or imagine more about the kind of people his family might possibly be.

I think some people might wonder about the wisdom of letting a child meet his birth family. What kind of emotions might that stir up? Are we borrowing trouble? Those thoughts definitely went through my mind beforehand. But the day after the meeting the boys soundly dispelled any doubts that might have lingered in my mind. In the middle of a long subway ride, I was chatting with the boys and asked them to choose their favorite part of the trip so far. Both of them quickly said that the very best part of the whole trip was meeting Ben’s family.

I would have to agree.

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In the lounge in San Francisco as we wait to board our plane, I sit in a wash of Korean language, wishing I’d reviewed my Korean more diligently. I have a few things down pat: ‘thank you’, ‘thank you very much’, hello, goodbye, ‘my name is…’ and ‘too expensive’. But most
other things have slipped from my head. Ten years ago, before my last trip to Korea, I studied diligently. This trip amid much other busyness, I opted to skip the cramming. But now amid the familiar but oh so foreign lilting Korean– every sentence seems to end in imnida’– I am wishing I knew more, wishing I could really ‘get’ the language. It flutters around me like butterflies. I manage to capture words here and there, but most of the meaning slips away, just beyond my grasp.

On the plane, a 60-ish Korean businessman in a silk suit bullies a flight attendant for a second blanket repeatedly, even though she tells him she has no extra– that in fact some passengers have none. After his third tirade, I come thisclose to just handing him mine, partly because I want him to hush and partly because I think maybe he’d be ashamed of himself. But I decided that his sense of entitlement was too mammoth. I’d be out a blanket and that would be all. A few minutes later a flight attendant walks by and drops a blanket on his lap without even pausing, irritation evident. He subsides.

I think of what I’ve read (and to a certain degree observed)—that in Korea men rule the roost, and some are none too kind about it. The unkindness and condescending attitude is the part of that equation that I have trouble with. I am glad to do things for my hubby, but I am even gladder that he is thankful for my help and doesn’t hesitate to do things for me. I heard that kind of relationship is getting more common with younger Koreans. But the man on the plane was downright rude– I hoped we wouldn’t meet many like him.

A few minutes later a younger Korean man strikes up a conversation in an aisle with a stranger and– sure enough– is a perfect gentleman. I am relieved. I realize that I am feeling very emotionally invested in the behavior of people around me, for the sake of my kids. I want this to be a wonderful experience them—a trip where along with the new and exotic they also observe kindness and beauty. I want the people they meet to be kind, encouraging, and unpitying. I want the boys to come home with memories of good people.

I feel like if they meet good people that they will end up with fewer doubts about the path that their lives took, about the reasons that may have led to them needing a new family in another country. I want their experience to back up what I’ve been telling them all along — that the adults in their lives at every step were doing their best.

But the belligerent man reminded me of a facet of Korea I hadn’t thought about for awhile. For many Korean adoptees, that patriarchal society is the very reason that they did need new families. Men took liberties and walked away from responsibilities. Of course that happens every day in every country. But Korean society is not like American society, where few people bat an eyelash at a single mom. In Korea your father is your identity. If you have no father you have no name. You cannot be enrolled in school. Future options are extremely limited, both for you and for the mother who may very much wish to raise you herself.

I hear that times are slowly changing. I hear that single moms are not as stigmatized as they were in the past, that in-Korea adoption is getting more common, and that fewer kids need to leave Korea to find families. But as I fly over this great ocean with my children, I still wonder what our experience will be. They are flying trustingly with me, excited for this adventure that I’ve offered to them. I hope and pray that it will be a good one.

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Although we were sad that the adoption of the baby in the US hadn’t worked out for us, it helped tremendously to know that we were headed to Ethiopia soon to get our daughter. In February when I got on that plane with my second daughter as my traveling companion, I was jubilant. Yet I was also concerned. Our little girl, now 20 months, looked sober in so many of her pictures. I feared she would be an unhappy child.

For the first three days in Ethiopia, she looked at her big sister and me sternly. Cooperated, allowed me to hold her, but looked ever-so-serious. Finally on the third day she smiled. Laughed for the first time. Cuddled in. Fussed when I walked away. It was as if she suddenly decided that we were okay people and she would be all right.

Some toddlers take a year or more to settle in, but once she made up her mind about us, she never looked back. She was (and still is) a delightful, easy little girl in every way. Eleven months after she came home, in January of 2005, we started talking about adopting that little sister we’d had in our minds all along. We decided that when the money came, we’d know it was time to begin.  Within a couple weeks the money came. Within days we were neck-deep in adoption paperwork again. We got the referral in March of a beautiful 3 month old baby girl who turned out to be born in the same area of Ethiopia as our first daughter.

In June 2005, I was on a plane to Ethiopia again, this time with my oldest son and my 3 year old daughter, whom I couldn’t bear to leave home. Our new little girl was 6 months old by then, and living at the same orphanage where our first daughter had lived for almost a year. The nuns at the orphanage were jubilant to see their little Tsion (Zion) again. She was 3.  Traveling with a toddler to adopt an infant was a big job, but with the help of my teenage son it was doable.

There was much rejoicing when we arrived home with our two little girls. John and I now had 8 kids (4 girls, 4 boys). We wondered if this would be it for our family– it seemed like a good number and a good place to stop. But we’d been wrong a few times before. So when people asked us if we were done now, we just smiled and said, “Who knows? We’ll see what God says….”

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Related posts
Adoption: The first time
Adoption: Our second son
Our little girls, part one
Our little girls, part two
Adoption: How we afforded it

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