Adoption Stuff

Recently Kyle and Owen have been talking a lot about things related to adoption. We seem to go through phases with this, as I'm sure all adoptive families do. For stretches of time it rarely, if ever, even comes up. And then we have periods of time when it is bubbling up to the surface a lot. Right now we're in one of those. Our motto with kids' information has always been to give them age-appropriate information if/when they ask for it, but to carefully only answer the questions they are asking and restrain ourselves as much as possible from pushing it further. The idea being that they'll ask what they want to know; they'll ask what they are ready to know. This approach of ours is common, I think. Anyway, we try to stick to this 'information approach' and it has worked for us so far (in many realms, not just adoption). Lately, though, K & O have begun to not just ask questions, but to make statements that we feel compelled to respond to with information. We're comfortable with this, but it is new. And it is not always easy to know how much information to give them. Perhaps it is their age (4 years + 4 months old), perhaps it is the start of school (new questions arising in their now more complex social worlds), perhaps it is all just coincidental... it doesn't matter-- but they are, for sure, thinking about adoption stuff now that they definitely were not thinking about even a month or two ago.

I know with no uncertainty that Braydon and I are well-educated and knowledgeable adoptive parents. We are very confident in that. This is true for me especially because I tend to be the one who actually does all the research -- and I do a lot of research. But Braydon and I communicate intensively on this stuff and I always give him the 'cliff notes' version of all I've learned/read/heard/figured out (i.e., over glasses of wine I tell him everything I know). I think we're relatively well-prepared for much of what is ahead as far as our boys' adoption questions and confusions go. But I have to say, no matter how prepared you are, some of this stuff is just absolutely astonishing. It is one thing to hear the stories from other adoptive parents or to study the research literature or to read adoptees' biographies, etc., etc., etc. It is quite another thing to sit there, face to face with your own child, and experience this stuff. Right now the form this is taking is this: I'm looking at my precious sweet boys, they're looking back at me, and they're saying things that --yes, should be to be expected-- but stun and astonish me nonetheless. It is common (if not the norm) for adoptees to question the permanence of their families. It is common (if not the norm) for adoptees to fantasize about their birthparents. It is common (if not the norm) for adoptees to wonder about their history. But still, despite my intellectual understanding of all this, I continually find myself dumbfounded and wondering, 'How do these thoughts even enter their minds?' Just three examples (of many) from recent days~~~

A few nights ago I was getting Owen ready for bed. He was being his silly self and he was saying, "I want to be a girl! Then I would pee on the potty sitting down!" Then he'd giggle and pretend to pee on the potty sitting down, etc. Typical Owen. But then his tone suddenly took a dramatic turn. Sitting face-to-face with me in the bathroom he looked me right in the eyes and said, "When you send me back to Haiti I will tell my birthmother that I want to be borned again but as a girl next time. That's what I'm going to say to my birthmother when you send me back to Haiti." Huge gulp. What? "Send me back to Haiti?" How on earth did he even come up with this phrase, let alone this thought?? It is stunning. And you just can't be prepared for that. No matter how prepared you are, it just hits you like a ton of bricks. A ton of bricks.

A couple of days ago we were outside playing in the backyard on a beautiful sunny day. Out of the blue Kyle says, "When I was borned that was my birthday." I said, "Yes!" Then he said, "When I was borned I was not here. I don't know who caught me. I wanted to be borned from my mommy but I wasn't. It was my birthmother. And it was so, so scary. It was dark and me and Owen were in there. And you didn't come for me mommy. You didn't. You took too long." O.k., Oh. My. God. Again, a ton of bricks. I don't care how much you know about this stuff, when it is your kid, and they're saying it right to you, it is astonishing. Just astonishing. Awhile later, as he was running off to the trampoline, he looked back at me over his shoulder and shouted out: "Am I in this family forever? Or no?" Of course I shouted back, "Yes! Forever! Forever and ever and ever!" He stopped, turned back to face me, looked at me, and said, "So, are you my mommy forever and ever? Or will I have to have another mommy?" It doesn't matter how many millions of times we've assured them of these things. Their questions still remain. Their uncertainty seems to be forever in tact. You try to convince yourself that the good thing is (the proof that you're doing a good job is) that he's verbalizing this stuff to you. You try to tell yourself that its all good because it reveals that he's able to put this stuff out there to you. He trusts you to say it to you. You say this to yourself, but you can't help but feel totally flabbergasted. How could he even question the permanence of my mothering? How?

The day before yesterday, on the drive home from school, the boys were talking excitedly about how we were going to feed Meera her first taste of "baby rice" that evening. Owen says, "When we were babies we didn't drink breastmilk. We drank formula. Formula from bottles. We liked bottles. But when we were first borned we drank breastmilk from our birthmother's breasts. Yup! We did! We drank breastmilk from our birthmother's breasts! When we were first borned babies in Haiti." I couldn't leave it there. I felt it would be wrong to let him get that belief cemented into his mind, because then I'd have to burst his bubble down the road which would probably be even more painful than bursting it now. "Sweetie," I said, "baby, you never drank breastmilk. Your birthmother gave birth to you and then you went straight to the orphanage. In the orphanage they gave you formula in bottles. And then Mommy and Papi came to get you. And we fed you bottles too. You never drank breastmilk from your birthmother's breasts." Looking at me through the rear view mirror he responded with, "Yup! We drank breastmilk from our birthmother's breasts! When we were first borned in Haiti! When we were with our birthmother!" "O.k.," I said, "we can pretend that is real." That was the best I could do. Because no matter how much I know it is all about him, I would be lying if I were to say that I didn't have a lump in my throat, secretly wishing that I could have "borned" him, secretly wishing that I could have given him what he sees me giving his sister. Knowing that his questions and confusions and fantasies are healthy and normal and right, but secretly wishing that I could whisk them all away so that his tiny heart and tiny mind wouldn't have to be encumbered by all of this history. And secretly astonished, yet again, by the complexities of adoption.

Thinking About Tomorrow, And The Past

Tomorrow we will celebrate our 4th Adoption Day. And it is on our minds.

In our house, Kyle usually wakes up first and comes to snuggle with Braydon and I in bed. He is such a sweet sweet sweetie pie. Anyone who knows Kyle well will attest to this: he's a dreamy cuddly love bug, sweet as can be (sometimes excessively so!!!). The other morning, he snuggled into our bed, as usual. Bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, holding his Honey Bunny close, he looked into my eyes. Just staring at me, his big brown eyes peering into mine, his very first words of the day were, "Mommy, why did you pick me?" I was stunned. Because we have never talked about adoption in terms of "picking" someone. We have talked about how we "chose" to adopt, and we've talked about how K & O's birthmother "chose" for them to be adopted, but we have never implied that we "picked" Kyle and Owen nor told stories of other adoptions using that language. And the truth is that, unlike many Haitian adoptions, we did not "pick" K & O; we said we'd take any baby and then waited for a referral. We were matched with K & O by our agency and the director of the orphanage. So, lying in bed, half-asleep myself, my mind was quickly jump-started, and then spinning fast, with Kyle's question.
H: What do you mean?
K: When we were in Haiti with the birthmother. Why did you pick me?
H: Because we wanted you.
K: Oh.
H: Why did you pick me?
K: Because I wanted you.
I understood Kyle's question better a few days later. He was up on the kitchen counter trying to get something out of the cupboard. A photo on the side of the refrigerator caught his eye and he called me over to look at it with him. It is a photo sent to us three years ago by an American couple who went to K & O's orphanage to get their son. In the photo the couple are sitting on steps, surrounded by about 40 kids from the orphanage. K & O know what the photo is.
K: Look, mommy, there are lots of babies.
H: That's right.
K: But you just wanted us.
H: That's right.
K: Because you dreamed about us everyday.
H: That's right.
Recently, sitting on my lap after dinner, Kyle whispered in my ear, "When I was in my birthmother's belly I was just wishing and wishing and wishing you'd come get me." I responded the same way I always respond to these types of comments from my boys, "We came as quickly as we could," I said. "But I was waiting for you for so long." "Yes," I said, "and we came as quickly as we could." "Yes," said Ky Ky, "but it wasn't quick enough, we needed you and you weren't there."
Another day, before school, Kyle ran up to me and whispered in my ear, "I will live with you forever!!!" And then ran off to put on his boots.
A couple of days ago, playing in the playroom, out of nowhere, Kyle asked, point-blank: "Mommy, why did you adopt me?" We talked about it a bit and then he said, "Before I was born, when I was with God, I saw you and Papi, and I told God that I wanted you to be my parents." This is all very interesting, especially because we have never talked about God as playing a role in our adoption. Although many adoptive families do talk about it that way, we have not. We don't talk about it having been "God's plan" or about us being "chosen by God to be together" etc., etc., etc. We have always been very matter-of-fact about the adoption process as we see it, in a very simplistic, age-appropriate way. But Kyle continually puts God into the picture.
For the past month or so, Kyle has been saying basically the same prayer every single night at bedtime. Huddled together, I hear him say this: "Dear God, thank you that I can have this mommy and this papi. Thank you for giving me this house. I really appreciate it God. Amen."

For Owen, all of this plays out seemingly completely differently. They're twins but they never let us forget how very unique they each are. Owen, the little rascal, is such a riot and keeps us on our toes --and laughing-- all day every day. One of his latest strange-little-funny-twists is that he has taken to calling me and/or referring to me as "Birthmother" in reference to Meera. "You're her birthmom and her mom!!!" he regularly proclaims. He says it in an up-beat, cheery way. And it always cracks me up. The other day, for example, I stubbed my toe. "Ahhh!!!" I exclaimed, "I stubbed my toe!!!" Owen instantaneously ran over to Meera and said, "Sorry Meera, bad news! Your birthmother stubbed her toe!"

But for all his funnies, deep down inside Owen has a profoundly impacted adopted heart. He has lots of questions. Deep questions. Probing questions. Heartfelt questions. He wants answers. Real answers. Not sugar coated. He wants the truth. His stance is very different than Kyle's at this point in their lives. Over the past month or so he's received quite a lot of new information from us, because of the very real questioning he's been doing.

Owen's most recent questions revolve around his birthmother, and he is talking a lot about wanting to meet his birthmother. We tell him that someday we will go to visit Haiti (being careful about our wording here, after the "Send Me Back" exchange a while back), and we have assured him that when we do we will try to find his birthmother. Because of some circumstances surrounding our boys' early histories, we are quite unconfident that we'll ever be able to find her, but we have promised Owen that we will try. He has asked about when we'll be able to go. We've told him, simply, "when he's older." Notably, he does not question that or ask to go at any given time, so we believe he's comfortable with that answer, and we leave it at that. But he talks a lot about what will happen when (and he is confident it is when, not if) he does meet her. His thoughts about meeting her are always the same: "When I go visit my birthmother I will say, 'Birthmother, let me go back into your belly!' Then, if she was sitting down, I'd climb up right onto her lap." He sometimes adds, "And I will say, 'Birthmother hi! I love you Birthmother!'" And recently on a couple of occassions he's added, "And then I will say, 'Birthmother thank you for my mommy and my papi!'"

But the biggest challenge with Owen right now is trying to assure him that he won't be abandoned by Braydon and I. Owen has the classic textbook adoptee deep fear of abandonment. There is a hole in his heart that we continually to try to fill, but that seems --at least so far-- truly infinitely deep. "I was so worried," he said to Braydon and I one night, after getting in trouble at bedtime, "I was so, so, so worried that you would call the fire department and tell them to come and the fireman would come here in his firetruck and he would spray fire on this house and he would spray fire on my door and he would burn our whole big house down and I would be in it and I would not be able to get out and he would keep making the fire until our whole house was burned down and I would burn too and Papi and Mommy and Kyle and Meera would be standing outside and nobody would come and get me and I would be burned and dead forever and ever."

Another day he said to me, "Mommy, I had a dream -- actually, it wasn't a dream, but it was just in my imagination -- I had in my imagination that you put me in the road and a big car hit me and deaded me and I was dead forever and ever." And just yesterday, standing in the kitchen early in the morning, throwing away the wrapper to his cereal bar, he said, "See this trash Mommy?" "Yes," I said. "I was just thinking in my imagination that you and Papi could just put me in this trash. You could just put me in this trash! And then the big trash truck would come and take me away. I would be dumped! Dumped into the trash truck! I'd be taken away forever and ever!"

We tell him over and over and over and over and over that we'll never leave him; that we're a family forever; that we will never, ever do these things to him, etc., etc., etc. We hold him, we love him, we pour out our reassurance upon him in what we say and what we do. We respond and we act proactively. We do these things every day. But Owen's fears run deep. And a lifetime of reassurance still may never assure him; that we must know as adoptive parents. And yet we still must try to assure him. We must never stop trying. And so we keep going and he keeps questioning -- questioning with questions, questioning with his behavior, and questioning with his statements, daydreams, and dreams. He has nightmares regularly; he always has. And his nightmares now, as he articulates them, are so transparent -- his fear of abandonment; his fear of re-abandonment. And so, although it is earlier than I ever expected, we have been truthful with him in cold-hard-world terms. "Yes, Owen," I said to him one night sitting on his bed with Braydon, after another long and hard-fought bedtime battle, "yes, it is true, your birthmother left you. She left you. She did. But you know what baby? She could have put you in the road and let a car hit you. She could have just put you into the trash. She could have put you in a fire and let you burn. But she didn't. She didn't. She didn't do those things. She didn't do those things because she loved you. She loved you so much and she wanted you to have a good life. So she did the right thing. She put you in a place where you would be taken care of, and she chose for you to be adopted so that you could have a good life. She was a good, good birthmother. She did the right thing." The look on his face can only be described as peaceful relief. "You know, Owen, because we've told you many times Owen, that your birthmother could not take care of any child. And that's why she decided for you to be adopted. Because she loved you and Kyle so much and she wanted you to have a good life." Nodding he simply says, "I know." "And here's the thing, Owen, your Mommy and Papi, we can take care of children. We can take care of three children. And we will never, ever leave you. Never ever."

And that's all we can do. Express to him daily, through our words and our deeds, that we have the capacity to do this and that we're in this for the long haul. And still, he questions. And that is o.k. It is hard -- for us all -- but it is o.k. And we try to remember too, that although Kyle's vantage point on all this seems to be quite different, he needs the assurances just as much. And so we try to parent as best we can.

There are books about these things. I've read a bunch of them. I understand it all intellectually and emotionally. I think I 'get it' about as much as any non-adoptee probably can. But still, I am not an adoptee (and furthermore, as Kyle and Owen themselves prove, adoptees each experience adoption uniquely). Like Meera, I've been nurtured by my mom for my entire life. My boys know they are loved and valued... just as much as Meera is, or any other child is. But they also know that they had a life before us. And that we were not in it. And that other people were in it. We know that too.

As we get ready to celebrate four years together tomorrow, we can't help but think about everything that adoption has been, and is, for each of us.

Brief Notes on the Balancing Act

I've been back at work now for five weeks. While I was on maternity leave I never forgot for a single moment just how tough the whole balancing act is-- getting a break from it was so nice. But now, for better or for worse, I'm right back in the thick of it.

• I've been a Mother-With-A-Career for four years now and I still feel like I'm just barely getting by with this whole work-family balancing act. Balancing act?! I don't personally know anyone who is actually *balancing* it. And that (lack of models of it) is a big problem in and of itself. I have no clue how to do this well. And so it goes.
• I will say, though, that the past five weeks have been the best yet of the past four. And there is one reason why. One word: MARGIE. Oh. My. God. It is sooooo goooooood. Granted, we're surly still in some sort of honeymoon period -- and I have no illusions that it will last forever (flaws in the whole thing will surely be revealed down the road). But right now... Oh. My. God. She has single-handedly changed my life for the much, much better. In fact, I am sorta starting to think of it as life "Pre Margie" vs. life "With Margie." Dear Lord, please don't ever let her leave us. #1 all three kids are bonding with her so nicely and coming to love her so much, and vice versa. Meera has yet to cry when I leave her to go to work. And when Margie goes home at the end of the day Kyle and Owen hug and kiss her like they aren't going to see her ever again (even though she'll be back the next day). We do "high/low" at dinner each night (going around the table, every person has to say a 'high' and a 'low' of their day), and each day this week at least one of the boys have said that their 'high' was "When Margie was here" and their 'low' was "When Margie went home." #2 she holds the homestead together while we're away each day. And she holds it together much, much better than when/if we are actually home without her (i.e., the weekends)! We come home after work to a clean, happy, centered household. She has taken over our life. In a good way. And she runs the house like a finely tuned, well oiled, smoothly functioning machine (which is a lot more than I can say for my own house-running abilities). I cannot get over it. Seriously. Braydon and I both admitted to each other last night that we feel like we're going to cry if we think about it too much. It is a deep deep deep sense of relief. #3 somehow, miraculously I believe, we're on the same wavelength. She 'gets' what we're tying to do, and she's right on board. My only concern is that it just continues to send up red flags because it feel too good to be true. #4 Yet again, that old lesson has been re-learned by me, like it has been over and over and over again. I shoulda listened to my mother. She told me years ago, before we even brought the boys home, that we needed a Nanny (with a capital "N"). She knew we needed a Margie and she has brought it up with me repeatedly over the years. Did I listen? No. Bad girl I am. I should have listened. And now I have listened, and of course, MY MOTHER WAS RIGHT. #5 Still, though... I am glad to have had four years "Pre Margie" because it helps me to appreciate this now, and it helps me to know what other kinds of arrangements actually feel like. There are pro's and con's to them all. And I'm glad to know, first-hand, the in's and out's of some of them. Plus, wonderful people like Alex would not have been in the boys' life had we done the full blown Nanny route years ago.
• By far the hardest part of the whole equation continues to be getting dinner on the table at the end of the day. When I get home after work K & O are happy to see me. But M is thrilled to see me. She jumps, squeals, laughs, claps, smiles-smiles-smiles, rubs her face all over mine, and squeezes me tight. She wants to be held by me. And only me. Braydon will not do. She'll cry if I give her to him. She wants to be held by me. Understandably. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love it. There's nothing better in the world than coming home to that. And I want to hold her. But it is very hard to hold her and make dinner -- especially since dinner needs to be on the table in 30 minutes or less from the time I walk in the door. Getting dinner made, at all, is a major feat. But getting dinner made, while trying to hold a bouncing baby girl (literally, bouncing in delight), is nearly impossible. Somehow we're eating, but it is crazy-hard. That is the hardest part. And yet, I wouldn't change it for the world either... because there is nothing like coming home to that baby girl jumping to get into my arms. Thank heaven for this little girl.



• This morning, while we were all getting ready for work/school, I found Kyle sucking his thumb and staring out the window. I got down on my knees next to him and whispered, "What are you thinking Ky Ky?" He looked at me, and said, with his thumb still partially in his mouth, "I don't like Margie days." Trying to appear calm and relaxed (while my heart started to BLEED), I said, "Why not?" He said, "Because I just like Mommy days." O.k. then. 1,000 daggers through the heart would be preferable. Just go ahead and rip my heart right out of my chest. Heaven help me.
• Valentines Day. O.k., that is a whole other holiday when you've got young kids in school. It takes the romance right out of it, that's for sure. At least for a working mom. Let me tell you. This week, on top of everything else, I needed to somehow accomplish the whole V-Day thing. Which includes making valentines for all their classmates. Given that they are in separate classrooms, and teachers need valentines too, we're talking 34 valentines right there. Plus a few to put in the mail to their non-school friends (who they expressed a sincere need to send valentines to this year). And yes, we choose to send them to a Waldorf school. Yes, that is our choice. Yes. But... it means handmade valentines. Nothing less will do. So it goes. And then there's the note sent home on Monday: "Please remember that on Friday we'll be having our party, and each child should bring a treat to share." Again, yes, Waldorf is our choice. So, I shouldn't complain about the work involved. And I try not to. But that translates to: Mama Baking Goodies From Scratch. Store-bought cookies are not an option. Per Kyle's request (read: begging and pleading), I agreed to make muffins. So, I just took 4 dozen mini muffins out of the oven. Blueberry Muffins for Kyle's class. Chocolate Chip Muffins for Owen's class. From scratch made from ingredients even a Waldorf school will appreciate. Most importantly, though, K & O will appreciate it. Much more than most 4 year olds would. It is so worth it. And so... call me crazy... but, I do it. I will admit, though, that at the end of a long work day... it is just a lot.
• At the end of the day, I'm happy. And I'm also exhausted. EXHAUSTED.

Anyhoo... What's posted here is just the very tippity tip tip tip of the iceberg. But like all good working mothers, I don't have nearly enough time to do this subject justice. And that, my friends, is a big part of the problem-- those of us actually doing it (in particular, I believe, the career&mommy gig ~~ building-maintaining-strategizing-a-full-blown-long-term-career while also being a real-intimately-involved-emotionally-connected-truly-present Mom), well, those of us actually doing it simply don't have the time or energy to give this subject the time and energy it would require to convey its true complexities to others. And so it goes.

Open Book Answers PART IV (by B)

Q: Anonymous from Evansville Indiana What type of camera do you own? It takes such beautiful pictures!

A: Thank you - you're so sweet (I suppose we have to take some credit)! It’s a Nikon D40 with a 18-200MM lens. And yes that lens is awesome (thanks Jon for talking me into it). You can see my thoughts on it here.

Q: memphislis said...
Hi, I am a daily reader and total fan. I teach 6th grade science in Memphis, TN. I taught for 6 years in a predominantly black school (I'm white) and notice differences in movement, stance, etc between the white children and black, even knowing that a few are being raised by white parents. My question: Do you notice things about K and O that are "nature" and not "nurture"?

A: That’s a really interesting one. We are often told that Kyle and Owen are just like us, although we certainly don’t feel like we’re as crazy and active as they are! They both have distinct personalities, ones that seem to be what might be called very strong predispositions. Kyle is internally focused, thinking, sensing; Owen is externally focused, enacting, experiencing. These traits do really seem to be innate, but it’s hard to say, since we also foster it.

Q: Paige Mann
As another half-parent :) adopting from Haiti---seemingly a different adoption animal from any country out there---If you could sum your adoption of K&O up with a song, what would that song be?

A: Oh that is tough! I am not typically fond of Christian music (although Heather is), but I gotta say that Sara Groves “Less like scars” just about hits the nail on the head.



Q: riversnake said...
Hello J-M Clan! I haven't been a reader for very long (since April of this year) but I absolutely LOVE to read your blog! Thank you so much for sharing your experiences with everyone! My husband and I are adopting our first child domestically and then want to try to conceive naturally and eventually adopt from Haiti.

Okay, so my question is open ended but I was very curious so I thought I'd put it out there anyway in hopes that maybe one sentence could sum up your answer... What one piece of advice would you consider critical for parents planning on adopting from Haiti (or transracially in general)?

Thanks! Can't wait to read your responses to all the great questions that have been posted!
~Jill

A: Hi Jill – In terms of adopting Haiti, there is only this we believe: Hang in there and work to make it happen. You are this child’s parent and nobody on this earth is going to go to bat for them…you have to make it happen. Do whatever, whatever, whatever it takes and don’t wait, you are the only one who is going to rescue this child.

In terms of transracial adoption, I don’t think we really have the answer, but maybe it lies in not just empathizing but working to give them meaningful roots in their race and heritage; which is tough to do.

Good luck and rely on others to support you through it!


Q: Hello Heather and Braydon.

I'm a lurker and I love it. I don't even have a bona fide blogger name. Perhaps that's the next step. I found your blog through my sister Chandra and it brings me a lot of happiness when I read it.

I'm 29 years old and I'm in graduate school studying biochemistry. I am married to a wonderful man who enjoys computers on a level I have a hard time fully comprehending. I am one of 11 children and it enriches my life. They bring me happiness, peace, security, and lots of laughter.

Thanks for the smiles and keep up the great work.

My question is for Braydon. I often send your posts to my husband. You have no problem (seemingly) articulating your thoughts and feelings. Your posts are sweet, well written, and so loving (so are yours Heather).

My question is this....do you find it hard to be the same kind of man (big hearted blogger) around other men?

Thanks again for allowing me to see and read about your amazing family.

Keely

A: Hi Keely, thanks for the question to me, I feel so special! And it’s a good one that I am not really sure how to answer. I think that in general I don’t have difficulty being open with my feelings around other men. And frankly, men (and women) seem to open up to me and tell me things (that sometimes maybe they shouldn’t). BUT, I will say that I also don’t always hang my feelings out there. For me, it all depends on the context, the company and the conversation. Meaning, if I am having lunch with a friend at a comfortable restaurant, then it’s pretty likely I will lay it out there. But if I am at a ball game with a few guys having beers, it’s less likely that I will. And some people tend to quiet it in me, while others make me feel more comfortable.

Then again, I tend to just spit it out and people tend to just seem to take it from me for some unknown reason. I will also say, that I tend to embarrass myself quite a bit with what I have to say, for good or ill, even if people respond to it. In all cases, I am fairly comfortable with who I am, my attributes and my flaws and accept them about myself. But I still don’t take criticism well!


Q: Anonymous said...
My question is for Braydon! I have been a proud reader of the JMBlog since March '07! My x-girlfriend first got me hooked! Now she's gone but the blog remains! LOL!! I love it when Braydon posts. It is hard to find blogs with men who post on things that really matter. Thanks Braydon! And your photos and videos are awesome! My question is how do you make it work doing the big time career thing and the big time father thing? I hope to do it too some day and like the females who see H as an inspiration I see B as an inspiration. But there arent many guys out there who are doing it (at least not that I know). What are the tricks you've learned to make it work? What advice do you have? And most important (for me right now) how do you find a partner (female partner) that can really make it possible? If you guys ever come to Seattle I want to meet you ALL (dinner on me!)!!!!!!!!!!!
Jose in Seattle

A: Hey Jose – thanks for the question and compliment, that makes me feel so good! It’s great to have a like minded guy reading the blog – and we’ll take you up on dinner if we get out to Seattle! I have thought about this quite a bit. Ladies reading, this is really a guy to guy thing, so please please please don’t take offense:

I find that some women have a spark, but not all. A spark in their eye, a rebellious sensibility. Rebelliousness that transcends appearance. This rebelliousness is a deep seated anger at the world that is so strong because there is such deep love for the world. This spark is a true treasure. I don’t see it too often, and when I do it stands out and almost screams. I believe that lots and lots of women are born with this spark, but sadly over time its extinguished by their life experiences. By the time men like us are in a position to think about it, desire it and seek it, they are mostly gone; which is tragic. But I lucked out and found it. Now don’t get me wrong, when I met Heather at age 22, I was not thinking about it like this, I just thought she was a super hot ticket and I was really into that. My sense of it didn’t come until later.

One of the things I believe about women who have this spark is that it’s our obligation to defend it and keep it lit. Make sure it does not go out.

I don’t really know how to do that honestly, and sometimes I am the one who threatens it. But I always try to remember that the spark is the key to Heather, and one of the things I treasure most of all.

So when we fight, and we do get into some nasty ones, over balancing career, family, chores, social life, etc – we all know the pain points – even in the worst ones, if I realize that I am encroaching on the spark, I try to back off and ensure it doesn’t get crushed. Frankly, it’s been too close a few times, and those are some of my darkest memories.

That’s my big big tip. Keep the spark alive. You might get in awful fights, you might both think it’s over, but keep the spark alive, the rest you can work out. And look for the spark, but don’t be deceived by the appearance.



Q: Anonymous said...
Will you send your kids to a private or public school?

A: Hi – we actually already do send them to private pre-school. They are entering kindergarten at a Waldorf school this year. Last year they were in pre-school at the same place. Heather and I are both proudly public school kids, and had always thought we would send our kids to public school, but we have realized that Kyle and Owen are not suited for the schools around us (or more accurately the schools are not suited for them – read between the lines here please).



Q: My question is, as they getting older do they imaginary friend often comes on their talks? Just curious. God bless your family.
~Selly

A: Well, June still seems to be a regular contributor to their lives. Right now they both have “many Junes”. June also seems to have taken on some rather amazing super powers recently, although she can be quite disempowered from time to time too. June’s splash in the pool goes above the roof, but another June can’t have the treat jar because she had a time out….

Q: Erin
At this point in time, what do you think your children will "be" when they grow up?

A: Funny question! By “be” I think you mean career or profession, so here is the list as I see it at the moment (and Meera is not in the mix because she is just too young to show a predisposition to anything other than nursing right now).

Kyle: Author. Filmmaker. Composer. Golf star, Philosopher, Theologian, Governor
Owen: Doctor, Actor, Lead singer, Swimming star (watch out Cullen Jones and Michael Phelps!), Senator, Chef

***

Q: laurafingerson said...
Ooo ooo ooo! I have a late entry to your Open Book Challenge! (And here I never accept late assignments from my students....) What one summer Olympic sport can you imagine each of your children excelling in? Meera might get a waiver on this question until she is older....what about Kyle and Owen?

A: Hey Laura - how timely (so to speak)!

Owen: Swimming or diving, or gymnastics
Kyle: Pole vault, high dive, referee for beach volleyball (does that count?)
Meera: Sleeping through the cheering when her brothers win the gold.


Last thing I wanted to add, is that I read around 40 blogs daily - but almost all for work. If you're not using Google reader, you should try it! :)

In the Wake of the Earthquake

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."

"Philanthropy is commendable, but it must not cause the philanthropist to overlook the circumstances of economic injustice which make philanthropy necessary."

~~Martin Luther King, Jr.

When the boys crawled into bed with us early on Wednesday morning we told them about the earthquake. Braydon and I had been up practically the whole night, watching the television in disbelief. "There was a big earthquake in Haiti last night," I said. And then, gently, snuggled together, all four of us twisted up tight under the covers, "and lots of people died." Owen's first response came quick: "Is my birthmother o.k.?" It should go without saying how profound it is that this is what he first said. Generally speaking, in the raising of our children, we go by a rule of thumb passed on to me by my own mother: we answer their questions as honestly as possible, and we answer only what is specifically being asked (as hard as that is to do sometimes). "We don't know," I said, in answer to his question. And then, all cozied up in our big bed, he looked at me with his dark brown eyes and asked what I knew he wanted to know: "Did my birthmother die?" "I don't know," I said. "Do you have her phone number? Can you call her?" asked Owen. "No, baby, I can't call her, I don't have her phone number, and I really don't even know if she has a phone." "Why?" he asked, "Why doesn't she have a phone?" "I don't know for sure if she has a phone or not, but last we knew she didn't have a phone." He's five years old. He doesn't fully understand what it means that he was born in Cite Soleil to a beautiful woman in dire, desperate, destitute poverty. Nor should he understand. I wish he never had to understand. Lying in bed it all seemed surreal. We moved on to a whole series of questions and answers about earthquakes and what happens when buildings collapse. We turned on the t.v. for a few minutes, there in our bedroom, so that the boys could see the early footage of Port au Prince. And then Kyle and Owen were off to their typical kindergarten day. Margie arrived to take care of Meera. And Braydon and I were off to work. Later, after school and work and everything else, 24 hours after the initial earthquake hit, we watched a few minutes more of CNN. As we put the boys to bed that night we prayed for the people of Haiti, as we do every night. And we added extra prayers. Kyle prayed that the people could find food and water. Owen prayed that his birthmother was o.k. Braydon and I tucked them in and then ran downstairs as fast as we could to turn CNN back on. We watched for a bit before I announced to Braydon that we could no longer let our boys see any more of it. The news reports were starting to get more serious, the footage more raw, dead bodies everywhere, destruction of places so dear to us, mass graves, the whole city in shambles. They can't see this. Definitely not. Not now, not at age five.

Every night since 5:00 pm Tuesday, Braydon and I run to watch CNN as soon as we get the three kids in bed. We check Facebook and Twitter incessantly. We give money and try to send support in loving emails and notes and we pray and send out wishes and hopes. We see people we know being interviewed in news reports and featured in articles. We see famous news reporters filmed at Bresma in Port au Prince, the orphanage where Kyle and Owen were first brought as newborns, before they were moved to the orphanage where they'd spend their first eight months of life. We see images of places where we've been that look nothing like they did when we were there. We try to answer the boys' questions while at the same time buffering them from the magnitude of it. We're living a strange fuzzy warped existence right now. Constantly distracted by a deep anxiety seemingly coming from nowhere identifiable. The feelings of our waiting (the year that we waited, during the adoption, for Kyle and Owen) --feelings that we thought we had left way behind-- have bubbled right back up to the surface in a big way. The anxiety, frustration, sense of alienation, isolation -- the feeling that nobody really 'gets it' -- the sense of horrific injustice to the Nth degree -- the scope of it all -- the compulsion to act up against an overwhelmingly complicated structure of inequity -- life hanging in the balance -- innocent lives in shambles -- babies without formula -- children without food -- people without water -- thousands upon thousands without proper shelter from blaring sun and raging hurricanes -- how can this be happening? -- how can the whole world go on as if this doesn't exist?--------  It is all right there, at the surface again, reminding us that we never actually worked through it in the first place... because it is not something one can actually work through.

Friday was a long-planned dentist appointment for the boys. A regular check-up and cleaning. I picked the boys up from school early and they were in great spirits as we drove there. They love the dentist. Suddenly, out of the blue, in a totally normal matter-of-fact tone, Kyle, from the back seat, says, to no one in particular: "We're from Haiti, so that means we're poor." I practically drove off the road, stunned. 'Stay calm, don't over-react, steer straight,' I think to myself. "Why do you say that Kyle?" I ask, as even-keeled and up-beat as possible in my intonation. "Where did you hear that? Who said that?" "Nobody," he said. "Who said that at school?" I ask, pointedly, sure that it must have come from somewhere. "Nobody," he said, "I just thought that in my own mind." I pressed a bit more until I came to believe him-- he had come up with this on his own, piecing things together, inevitably, despite our best efforts. I pulled off and put the car in 'park' on the side of the road. I turned around to face him and his brother. The two of them so precious, so gorgeous, so beaming with life, there in the backseat. "You were born in Haiti, but we are NOT poor," I say firmly, "we are the opposite of poor." "Who is poor Mommy?" Kyle asks, genuinely wanting to know, his huge eyes peering straight into mine. "There are lots of poor people," I say, trying to think fast. "There are poor people here in the United States, and there are poor people in Haiti. Some people are poor. And some people are not." We talked about it a bit before I pulled back onto the road. Driving to the dentist we talked about a homeless man we met while we were in Washington D.C. for Thanksgiving, and about how we had given him money to buy breakfast one morning. The boys talked about wanting to bring food to Haiti -- to "give them food, like we gave Anthony [the homeless man] food." "Mommy, imagine if I was a pilot and I could just fly right to Haiti on a big airplane filled with food!" "What if I could take a huge boat and bring it full of water for everyone in Haiti?!!" "What if I was so strong I could hold up all the houses and even in an earthquake it wouldn't shake?!!!" Yes, what if. Just imagine.

We arrive at the dentist office. We enter the gorgeous, hyper-clean, modern waiting area. A huge flat-screen t.v. on the wall is set to CNN. Horrific images flood the screen-- crumbled buildings, bodies in the street, children's faces peering out of rubble. Dust and smoke and devastation. Immediately I ask at the front desk, as calmly as possible, for them to change the channel. They know Kyle and Owen, are aware that they are Haitian, understood the unspoken, and changed the channel quickly. Nickelodeon. Some crazy neon smiley bouncy "kids show" unlike anything the boys had ever witnessed (they don't see much t.v.). They were enthralled in the gloss of it. I was just glad it wasn't CNN. We watched until we were called in for the check-ups. Perfect teeth. No cavities. And big news, loose teeth for both boys! "Wiggle those baby teeth everyday!" the dentist orders the boys, "So that your big teeth can grow in!" They wiggled diligently all the way home. I let them watch 'Curious George,' and I made them their favorite dinner that night. Creamy pesto pasta. Trying to feed them love. Trying to make myself feel good. It always feels so good to watch them eat so much so eagerly. "Thank you Mama!!!" they squeal, as they devour their dinner.

Soon after I'm tucking them into bed. I turn off the lights and go to kiss them. Owen looks up at me with tears in his eyes. "I'm sad Mama," he says, "I'm really sad because someone I know died." I'm taken aback. We have purposely kept the earthquake on the sidelines this day, trying to protect them from it as the news becomes more intense. "Really?" I ask, skeptical, thinking that he's just trying to delay bedtime. But the watery eyes tell my gut that there is something to this. "Yes," he says, "someone I know died in the earthquake in Haiti, and I'm so sad about it." "Sweetie," I say to him, "all of the people that we know in Haiti are alive." "No," he says, "this is someone you don't know. This is someone I knew when I was a baby in Haiti. You don't know her because you weren't there." "Oh?," I say, "who is it?" "It is Jonie--" he says, pronouncing this name, a name unfamiliar to me, not the name of anyone we've ever known, with a slight accent -- I must admit, a slight French/Creole accent. He continues, "--her name is Jonie." I get slight chills and sit down on the side of his bed. In the glow of the nightlight I watch his face closely. He is completely serious. "I don't know anyone named Jonie in Haiti," I say, "we didn't meet anyone named Jonie when we were in Haiti." "Did you see someone wearing flip flops?" he asks. "Yes," I say. "Brown flip flops?" he asks. "Probably," I say. "Well Jonie wears brown flip flops and I knew her when I was a baby and she died in the earthquake and I'm so sad about it." I have no explanation or understanding or way to know exactly what is going on here. But I hug him and tell him how sorry I am that he is sad. I try to comfort him as best I can. "I hate earthquakes," he says. "Me too," I say.

They ask about buildings falling. Did it hurt when they died? How can we be sure that our house won't crumble in an earthquake? How can we be sure that hotels in which we might stay in the future won't fall down? Why can't we bring food to the people? Why can't we stop them from starving? Is our birthmother o.k.?

Kyle and Owen know that a lot of people died in Cite Soleil, where they were born. They know that a lot of people died in Port au Prince, where their orphanage was. They know that the Hotel Montana, where we stayed for our first week together as a family, was completely demolished. They know that Rock and Patrick, the orphanage directors who saved their lives when they were infants and made it possible for us to be a family, both survived. They know that the children at their orphanage all survived. They know that the Livesays survived. Kyle and Owen know that the need in Haiti is great, and that it has been great their whole lives long and longer.

I know that Haiti was in crisis before this. So, how can we wrap our minds around the state of things now? I'm mourning the loss of a dream--- a dream I had of bringing the boys back to the Hotel Montana sometime soon. We had thought, 'Maybe even this spring, if the boys seem ready enough for it.' The idea was that we'd go there for our first trip back to Haiti. It is (was) a beautiful hotel - an oasis in Port au Prince. We wanted to bring them back there, just for a couple of nights, when they were still very young, so that later in life -- as they learned more about Haiti -- their first actively memorable yet slightly subconscious association with their birthplace would be as positive as possible. I wanted that foundation to build upon. I know we can still find beauty in Haiti. I know we will find beauty. But I am so mournful that we will not be able to revisit the place where we first became a family. Where we gave our babies their first baths. Where we read them their first books. Where we soothed their deep diaper rashes until they weren't bloody, and fed their distended bellies good formula until they couldn't drink anymore, and held them all night long becoming their Mommy and Papi. That place is gone now. It will never be back for us to visit. When will we be able to bring Kyle and Owen to Haiti again? How will this ever be made right?

I rocked Meera to sleep tonight. She's just finished a 10-day round of antibiotics for double ear infections. The prescription cost $95; it is the most powerful antibiotic available. We were happy to pay it. Our insurance covered most of it. She's better-- I can tell-- not tugging at her ears, sleeping well at night, and back to her healthy appetite. I can't help but think it, silently in Meera's bedroom: 'Oh my God, what if I couldn't get her what she needed? What if I had no access to antibiotics? What if I couldn't keep her from dying a senseless death? What if I couldn't mother her the way I need to mother her?'  What if? Just imagine. As I held her bundled up in my arms, the humidifier in her room buzzing, my mind wandered. I remember holding Kyle that way when he was 19 months old just like Meera is now. I remember holding Owen that way too. Their hair felt so different than Meera's does, rubbing up against my chin. Their skin felt so different too, pressed against my neck. But they smelled just like her, as I rocked them to sleep. Clean diapers. Warm milk. The fabric softener we use in our laundry. The feelings flood me. I remember so much. It all comes back too quickly and it overtakes me. Bringing them home, helping them get healthy, teaching them to love-- that was all daunting, and the most challenging thing I've ever done with my life. But that was the easy part. The hard part is still before us. Their birth country was, and is now more than ever, in desperate crisis. Unwarranted death. Incomprehensible suffering. Injustice like I've never seen nor heard of. Their homeland, their roots, their people, our people. It is mind-numbing. I can't finish my soup at lunch. I feel sick to my stomach after eating dinner. It is hard to sleep. We put them to bed and kiss them goodnight and thank God they are here with us and plead with anyone who will listen to do something to help Haiti. We put on CNN and we see Port au Prince. How come we never saw Port au Prince on CNN before the earthquake? How come aid wasn't pouring in before the earthquake? How come relief wasn't "on the way" last Monday?

Braydon and I stopped at the grocery store on the way home from work today. We can buy milk and eggs and yogurt and organic all-natural cookies. We are so grateful for that. In the checkout line there is a small poster asking for money for Haitian Earthquake Relief. On the poster is a photo of a Haitian girl, wearing only tattered rags for clothes, her hair a mess, her huge brown eyes staring into the photographer's camera. Now she's staring at us. Her eyes look just like Owen's always have. Her hair looks just like Kyle's did when he first came home. She looks Haitian. Just like my sons. Gorgeous at the core, beautiful at the root, resilient in the soul. You can see it all over her face. The photo draws me in. I am distracted for a minute. That is my boy. No, it is a girl on a poster. And then I remember we have to bag the groceries. And get home to our kids.

Open Book Answers - Part 6 (By Braydon)

Here are some more Q&A from the open book challenge!

Siri said...
Hello Johnson-McCormick Family and greetings from a blast-from-your-past Colby classmate. Been a lurker for quite some time (am addicted to your blog) and figured it was time to step up. Two questions about adoption (although both related):1. What do you know now that you wish you knew when you started the adoption process?2. What is the one piece of advice you would give those considering adoption?Boring questions, I know. But ones of particular interest...Thanks for such an honest and inspiring blog. Your boys are absolutely precious (and hysterical).Siri

Hi Sirichka – really wonderful to hear from you – would love to connect offline and catch up! Here are the answers:

The one big thing I wish we knew when we started to adopt (some people will disagree with this, but it’s my opinion): The kids you adopt are your kids, they are not someone else’s kids. There's nobody going to go to bat for them – other than you. Go to bat for them, go early and hit hard. They need an advocate to get through the adoption and you are it. Do what ever it takes to bring them home as soon as possible. And that does not mean waiting for someone else to take care of things.

I guess that is also my advice, but the other thing I would recommend is connecting with people who are also adopting – from wherever you are adopting. People in the same shoes are an incredible resource and lift you up when you are low. Think of it in biological baby terms: you wouldn’t not go to the doctor or your mother(figure) for support, right? Don’t skip out on the adoption community – they are simply amazing.


Cindy from central NC said...
Question: Why do you think that we, as Working Moms (and esp as Working IA Moms who have most likely waited--and gone through hell and back waiting--for a family) get a decent amount of pressure from the "non-working-full-time" front? And it's not just SAHMs but just people in general. Maybe a better way to ask the question is why do we (as confident know-I-should-be-working-Moms) allow ourselves to feel defensive over it? What's up with that? How do you feel about that? And then...then...put that whole DayCare taboo blogging thing on top of it cause it's all related...

Hi Cindy: Clearly I am not a working mom, but I know, love and support one who struggles everyday. Any by struggles, I mean she constantly feels guilty, she constantly feels criticized, and she constantly stands up for her self (which is hard and tiring to do).

Without getting to philosophical/cultural/political, I firmly believe these things that she feels are external social pressures she has internalized. In a rather immediate and simple example, when you watch the Today show and the working women there (how ironic is that) are sending the message that women should stay home; and 15 million women are watching, absorbing and repeating that message, how can you not feel defensive? I mean – sheesh – you’ve got so much of the world telling you it’s wrong. I’m a pretty tough guy when it comes to believing in what I do, but frankly I am not sure I am tough as the working mothers out there who put up with the daily constant barrage of negative messages telling them to stay home.

As for daycare, there is definitely a taboo: "giving your child to someone else to raise" is one of those common phrases people use - the language is antagonistic around it, and people perceive it negatively. And that's really sad, because for people who work and don't have extended family to take care of their kids, it's a necessity. So - I would ask, instead of just creating additional angst for anyone relying on others to help care for their children, why not help us make it better?

Of course that begs the whole "work is a choice" thing - which by the way - as a man - not only is it not really a choice, nobody would ever say that to me ("Braydon - why don't you stay home with the kids?"). I am not going to get into work as a choice here - I just think that using that way of thinking as a means to keep women staying at home is ultimately derogatory to the work women do.

I currently have 8 women working for me and I at MetLife I work for an astounding woman. The work these women do is a tremendous contribution, As both an employer and an employee, I would have it no other way.

Quick note to stay at home mothers: I am sure you get messages of guilt that you should work and that staying home is bad. I am not commenting on that one way or the other, nor commenting on actually staying home and I am criticizing staying home. I just know what Heather goes through and the women I work with go through, and I firmly, unequivocally and resolutely support her and them, encourage and defend them as a working – and awesome – mothers.

So – in short – Heather feels it too. Everyday, every minute, every hour. She finds friends who are like minded and support her. In the face of intense pressure, she recommits everyday to being a strong, powerful, contributing working woman. You don't need me to tell you it's hard, but I definitely acknowledge it.

The Fry Family said... from Kristie--
What drew you to Haiti?

Hi Fry Family! We actually often say – as many people do – that Haiti chose us. As we looked for from which to adopt, we had some things we knew: we wanted to adopt black kids; we wanted to adopt internationally; we wanted to adopt from a place that had tremendous need. Of course there are many places that fit that bill – and we did look at Africa. But when there are 1.5 million orphans less than 1,000 miles from Disney World, the choice became obvious. And after Haiti picked us, it got under our skin. After getting out boys, it has stayed under our skin.

As far as I know – our experience is very similar to other people who are involved in Haiti in some way.


I have a bio daughter and we are still trying to decide how we are going to complete our family (choices: are we done? or where will we adopt from?) My question is: how do you decide what information is too personal to share? Do you keep everything that you know that happened before you adopted your kids just for O&K to know? We are having this conversation in our fanily right now.Of course, if the question is too personal, just delete! :) Thanks for a great blog, Alejandra

Hi Alejandra – glad you like the blog – it’s become a large part of our lives! Ok – here’s the answer:

Like any photo album, our blog is a story that we tell about our lives. It’s a construct, and it’s really only part of the story. While it often feels like it’s the whole story, there is soooooo much left out. We rarely talk about our work (other than that we do work and our schedules), we almost never talk politics (other than working/non-working and adoption), we never post about our families, we never talk about our personal history.

We decided early on that many things were not going on the blog and that some things were off limits in general. For the blog that list is longer than in person, but that’s the nature of a blog (and you can see some of that list above). In terms of what we don’t share at all, with anyone (other than the boys), here is it:

Information about the boys’ birth parents; many details about their life in the orphanage; some details about their adoption.

There is no general rule we follow, we take it on a case by case example. The only litmus test for a topic is – would this be something the boys would rather communicate than us.


Anonymous said...
You seem pretty experienced; pretty fun-loving; pretty capable. But...how would you handle the situation if you came home to find your 12 year old K & O on the computer...wearing only their underwear...playing poker???Guess Who

Hi Guess Who: This is a tough one. I would say that we have a certain friend who is a State Trooper who would love to deal with that one directly; since he claims to know about that kind of thing. ;)


Anonymous said...
I too have an "active" 3 year old boy. Not clinically hyperactive or ADHD, etc., but very very "active" just like yours. That's why I like to look at your blog. Honestly, I cant even imagine having two of them (the exact same age????!!!!!! OMG). My question is if you could do one of your top 10 lists on activities or ideas or TIPS for how to handle very active little boys. You seem to have a lot of ideas. I don't know how you come up with all of them. But what are your favorite tips up your sleeve???

Hi – Frankly Heather is a ton better than I am at coming up with stuff. But here is the biggest tip I can think of: Go outside as much as possible. Get them running around. Playgrounds are best. Rainy days are very hard. Jumping on the bed is good.

Heather has also implemented “Ten Deep Breaths”. Often the boys will get waaay revved up. To calm them down, we sit on the floor and do this funny yoga-esque (neither of us do yoga – so it’s really funny): Sit cross legged; put your arms out to the side; take a long deep breath and bring your hands together, palms together; breath out slowly and move your arms back out to the side. Do this ten times. 9/10 times this works like a charm to calm them down.

Plan things in advance and communicate with them the details of the plan. I know for us they do a lot better when they know the plan in detail. Even if it’s “we’re having breakfast, then we’re going outside to play. We will get the mail, then we will run around the house five times. Then we will come inside and play a game. Then we will have lunch, then we will go to the park. If you are very good and behave, then after the park we can get ice cream" [yes, to the chagrin of many, we’ve learned to bribe].


Anonymous said...
Have been reading for a long time. Love your blog. Our famiy is addicted to your blog. Read it every day. Our question is what does Braydon do for work? Also, can he post more videos? His videos are our favorite. thanks.From The Jacksons in Newbury California

Hi Jackson family! For work I am a technology executive. At the moment I run a technology team at MetLife that designs and controls how software development is done for the $300 million Institutional Technology software practice. I am also building an internet startup company that is making an online social networking and music service. You can check it out at http://www.rvibe.com/.

I’m working on the videos! I just got Adobe Premiere Elements. You can get it bundled with Adobe Photoshop Elements for $149. It’s not as full featured as premiere, but it’s really enough for me. Now that I have it, I can get back going on more videos, more quickly!


Anonymous said...
Hello. Our question is: do you ever feel famous? Because of your blog? Like- does anyone ever come up to you in public and recognize you, etc.? To us you are like celebrities!!! We'd be more excited to see you in an airport or restaurant than we would be to see Paris Hilton!! Does anyone ever recognize you? Thanks for the great blog, the Brown Family in North Dakota

Hi Brown family- thanks for reading! It’s funny you ask that – we wonder the same thing about the Livesays. No, we don’t feel famous, but I can see what you mean! And while I don’t think anyone recognizes us from our blog, our family is unusual enough looking that we certainly get many, many stares. And sometimes it feels like the paparazzi are all over us, when random strangers start blatantly taking our pictures. When that happens, Heather has taken to walking up to them, handing them her business card and asking them to send us the good shots. No body has sent anything yet.


Anonymous said...
Why did you adopt? Also, why did you want twins? Did you have a choice for boys or girls? If yes, why boys?

Hi – we always knew we would adopt. In fact we never actually tried to get pregnant, and don’t know if we could. We also always knew we wanted to adopt multiple kids – we just were NOT expecting twins. But then again, anyone with twins – do you ever?!?!? It was a total shock, and now we couldn’t be happier that it worked out that way (even if it’s challenging).

As for boys versus girls: we wanted the youngest children possible; period. Since there is typically greater demand for girls than boys, we figured that meant that we would get boys, but we did not specifically pick boys. We just got very lucky we got K & O.


Anonymous said...
HOW DID YOU CHOOSE THEIR NAMES TO BE KYLE AND OWEN?

Hi – When we chose their names our thinking went something like this:

1. Twin Haitian boys adopted by white US family
2. Over achieving, crazy active parents who do tons of stuff
3. Last name Johnson-McCormick (try growing up with that)
4. Black boys in the USA
5. First names need to be very simple, strong, and confident without being overbearing, confusing or strange.

Oh, and when we said “Kyle” and “Owen” out loud, the names just clicked, which probably had more to do with it than anything else.

Anticipation

I'm surprising even myself with how low-key I am feeling as we enter the 2-week-countdown-'till-due-date. I have moments of frantic stress, but generally I'm experiencing this period in our lives with surprising calm. I'm much more even-keeled than I'd have expected to be at this point. I'm much more laid back and relaxed about all that is on the horizon than I ever would have imagined I'd be. Part of it is that I feel the need to be as rock-solid as possible for K & O. There is so much going on in their little minds as they sense the approach of Baby Sister's arrival. Their anticipation is so thick you could cut it with a knife. They have been wanting a baby sibling for as long as they can remember. They have talked about it openly and asked for it explicitly since the time they started talking-- literally. And now, it is upon them. And they know it. Great expectations. And yet an intense sense of the unknown. It is a lot for two big little boys.
*
For the past 2-3 weeks or so we've been watching their emotions manifest in many different ways. They are much more cuddly and need a lot more physical attention (hugs, snuggles, cuddles) than usual. They talk about Baby Sister constantly (it is clearly at the surface of their minds). They get frustrated more easily and lash out more quickly. And they act up more than they normally do. At the same time, they are cool as cucumbers. When gifts arrive for Baby Sister (which they regularly do), K & O take it in stride and have never once expressed (in any way) any sort of jealousy or envy. When people focus their attention on me/my pregnancy and how I'm feeling, etc. (which they regularly do), K & O just go with the flow and have never once demanded the focus to shift to them. When they see me putting their old books and toys in the baby's room they act 100% unphased. As we've been 'nesting' like crazy and re-arranging our entire house, K & O have never once batted an eye. And yet their anxiety pops up in fits and starts-- the anticipation is palpable.
*
A couple of weeks ago we visited friends who have baby 8-month-old twins. Kyle and Owen were not themselves during the visit. They were acting up a lot, not listening, and were very revved up. During the visit they were not allowed to do much with the babies (the babies' parents were -- as to be expected -- very protective, and there were a lot of limits placed on how K & O could interact with the babies). The visit did not go as K & O had hoped (they had hoped to be able to hold the babies, touch the babies, maybe even feed the babies, etc.). In the car afterward we had a big conversation de-briefing about the visit. In an unbelievably articulate way, both K & O (initiated by K) explained their feelings-- They told us that they were feeling "mad" and "angry" and "frustrated" because they wanted their "own baby to be born" and they were "upset" that "Baby Sister was not coming out yet." This totally threw Braydon and I for a loop. We were shocked, actually. We had been upset by their behavior during the visit. We had been thinking they were tired or bored or maybe even jealous of all the attention the babies were getting. But we really had not put 2 & 2 together to realize that for K & O it was all about Baby Sister (of course, in retrospect it is obvious, but at the time it was not obvious to us at all-- it had never even occurred to us actually). We four had a big long talk about all of this in the car. This was one of a few similar experiences during which K & O have expressly articulated their own sense of anticipation, excitement, and frustration over this whole waiting-for-baby process.
*
This afternoon I picked the boys up from school. They played on the playground with their friends for awhile and all was o.k. But upon arriving home they were at each other and fighting non-stop. Bickering. Grabbing. Shoving. Snide comments. Bad behavior. I had to send Owen to his room at one point for purposefully slamming the door in Kyle's face (and accidentally jamming Kyle's fingers in the door). While he was up in his room I said to Kyle (who was by no means solely an innocent victim in all that had been going down), "Kyle, why do you think Owen is acting up so much today?" And here is what happened next~~
~~~
Kyle: I think because he's frustrated.
Heather: Oh?
K: That's why he's acting up. Because he's so frustrated. He's frustrated because Baby Sister is not coming out. That's why he's acting up.
H: Oh. Frustrated.
K: He's getting frustrated it isn't coming before our birthday. It's taking too long for her to come.
H: Oh. Are you frustrated too?
K: Yes. Because I want her to come. Before our birthday, not after. I want her to come Friday. Not waiting and waiting and waiting for her to come. Not waiting and waiting and waiting for her to get borned.
H: Do you think that's why you are acting up so much today too Kyle? Is that why?
K: Yes, I think so. I think so. I'm getting so tired of waiting for her to get borned.
*
Nothing about Baby Sister had been mentioned all afternoon. I had been thinking they were just having an 'off' day, or that they were unsettled because Braydon has been working such long hours the past couple of days (they have hardly seen him since Monday). So Kyle's explanation caught me off guard. A couple of minutes later I went upstairs to get Owen. Alone with him in his room I asked him, "Owen, why are you acting up so much today?"
O: Because I'm frustrated.
H: Oh?
O: I already told you that. I'm frustrated.
H: Kyle said that he thinks you're frustrated because Baby Sister isn't born yet. Is that right?
O: Yes, that's what I already told you.
H: Oh.
O: I am feeling so frustrated that she's not getting born yet. I want my baby to come out. I want my baby to come out in zero sleeps. My baby needs to come out of that belly. Why it is taking so long? Why?
H: Because she's just not ready yet. It will be after your birthday. A few days after your birthday.
O: I want it before my birthday now. I want to have the birthday so we can get that baby borned out.
H: It will be soon.
O: Not soon enough.

Starvation and Deep Destitute Poverty

Renald, age- 3.5 years old, weight- 13.5 pounds (photo taken in Haiti about two months ago)

The first time I saw true starvation and deep destitute poverty with my own eyes was when I did a semester abroad in Chile my junior year of college. During that time I spent some time living in the slums of Santiago and in the rural mountain villages of the Andes. There was desperation there and it changed me. I had seen what I had known as poverty before-- I had grown up in an area where rural poverty was not uncommon, and I had worked in urban day camps in the U.S. during summers as a teenager-- but what I saw in Chile shocked me. It was that "third world poverty" that you don't really understand until you actually are on the ground witnessing it with your entire soul. I thought I'd seen the worst of what it could be. And the truth is, that what I saw was extreme. But I was very naive about just how extreme it could really be. As I think the vast majority of us are. Throughout our twenties Braydon and I travelled quite a bit. We saw extreme poverty (especially in places like the Dominican Republic and Mexico and South Africa), and we saw extreme wealth (in our own country and everywhere else). The disparities always fascinated, and disturbed, us. During much of that time Braydon and I lived in a pretty hard core, predominantly Hispanic and African-American section of Jamaica Plain in Boston. We saw, and experienced, real heart-wrenching poverty right there in our own neighborhood. But nothing --absolutely nothing-- could have prepared us for our trip to Haiti to get our boys in January of 2005.

We were well-read on Haiti. We had watched documentaries. We had talked, in depth, with people who had traveled there. Yet still, we were shocked to the core. It was mind numbing and all we could think, over and over and over, was: "This is a humanitarian crisis to the greatest degree." What we saw, smelled, heard, tasted, and felt shifted our entire perspective on the world. It was altering. I have not met a person who has been to Haiti who didn't have a similar experience. There is something about it that is indescribable. It shakes you. The profound depths of the injustice, the merciless inhumanity, the atrocities... it goes beyond anything I had ever previously imagined.

Port au Prince, Haiti - taken from our hotel room in Haiti, January 2005

From our hotel room we could see some of Port au Prince. I vividly remember just staring out at it blankly, a baby boy in my arms, the filthy smoky air making me have to squint my eyes, just thinking, "Oh my God, how are we going to explain this to our children? How are we going to educate them about their roots? How can we possibly equip them to bring them back here someday?" Braydon and I spent hours talking about it in that hotel room in Haiti, and we have spent countless hours talking about it since coming home. What we could see from our hotel was miles and miles of shanty-like cinder-block houses, people starting fires at dawn to cook over, and people sweeping out their dirt floors. It was unbelievable to think that Kyle and Owen might have grown up living there. What was too unbelievable to even think was that they would have been lucky to have lived there--- that those areas that we could see were actually the nicer sections of Port au Prince--- and our boys were not from those places. In the relativity that is the deep destitute poverty of Haiti, our boys had been born about as low down as you could possibly get on the "Not Privileged" spectrum.

How do you bring a child out of that, and into the life that we have, and try to empower them with the information that they need to understand their own history?

Kyle in orphanage, 2004

Kyle, April 2009

In the orphanage our boys suffered. Kyle, especially, was sickly and weak. He rarely made a sound for his first eight months (we were told that they had never heard Kyle cry), and he moved very, very slowly. It is a testament to Kyle's inner strength that he survived. Kyle was the more malnourished of the two. But Owen was the more spirited. We heard stories of how Owen would scream, day and night, to demand bottles. This was not looked upon fondly by the nannies at the orphanage, and they treated him badly as a result (read between the lines there). When they ran out of water or formula (which happened often), they would give Owen an empty bottle to try to stop his screaming. He would suck on it, realize quickly that it was empty, and then throw it -- hard -- across the room, screaming wildly. They told us these stories to illustrate how "bad" Owen was. We heard these stories as testament to how amazing and astonishingly resilient Owen was.

Twins can be very different from one another. And to this day, the way our boys handle their early histories is a case in point. Kyle accepts it and seems to just bear it in his soul. Although he is deeply empathetic toward the people of Haiti, so far he expresses no mournfulness about his own past. Owen's spirited soul, on the other hand, still battles it. One of the many ways we see this is in the night. If Owen doesn't eat a dinner that completely fills his belly he will --always-- toss and turn in the night, his whole body writhing, every muscle flexed, until, finally, he wakes screaming in horror and terror with traumatizing nightmares. We have found that the only thing that calms him then is warm milk. And even now, with our five year old 50+ pound boy, we have learned to hold him "like a baby" (often per his own request), and feed him a sippy cup of warm milk. And he sucks and sucks and sucks like an eager hungry infant. And then he can sleep.

Owen in orphanage, 2004

Owen and Braydon, January 2009

Over time we have slowly been giving Kyle and Owen little pieces of information to gather up and process as they begin to piece together their own stories. We have given them much to celebrate about Haiti, and embedded in them a pride in being Haitian. But we began, just this past spring, showing them pictures of some of the more difficult aspects of Haiti. And with those pictures we began talking about what it all means. The first time we showed the boys a photo of Haitian slums Owen's immediate reaction was to ask, "Is that our place?" We knew what he meant, so we answered honestly, "Yes, it is." Our trip to Mexico in May was eye-opening for all of us. For the boys it was eye-opening to see, not in pictures, but first-hand, what deep destitute poverty looks like. It was a lot for them to take in and they had lots of questions. It was eye-opening for Braydon and I to be with them as they began the journey of a discovery that I wish they didn't need to ever know. It was gut-wrenching to see them begin to wrap their minds around some of it.

Progresso, Mexico - taken while on our vacation in May

For a long time now Kyle has wanted to go to Paris, France. He asks us regularly about when he'll be able to go there (how he got this into his head we're not really sure). When we were in the airport getting ready to fly home from Mexico Kyle was telling us how much he wants "our next big trip to be to Paris, France!!!" And then, suddenly, he stopped quick, tensed up, turned, and asked us, "In Paris are they dirt floor houses or real floor houses?" "They are real floor houses," we said. And with a visible sense of relief he exclaimed, "Oh good! Because I don't want to go to places with dirt floor houses. I really don't like dirt floor places. I only like real floor places." And in its perfect honest simplicity, it was clear what he meant: Like so many of us (most all of us?), he would prefer to just turn and look the other way. It is not comfortable to look something terrible in the eye. And like Braydon and I said to each other later, as we discussed Kyle's proclamation-- really now, as Haitian orphan adoptees, really, why on earth, if given the choice, would they ever want to be in "dirt floor places"??? We will always want for them to use the privilege that they have with responsibility; we will always want for them to do good work in the world; we will always want for them to have a heart for Haiti... and we will always understand their desire to be in "real floor places."

Recently at bedtime Owen said this prayer: "Dear God, Thank you that I have a mom and a dad. Thank you that I have this mommy and papi. I really love this mommy and papi. They are the best mommy and papi ever in my whole life. And I have them now, but I didn't have them when I was a baby. And thank you that they adopted me and my brother. Thank you that I have a house that is a strong house that water can't get in when it rains. And I really am sad for the people in Mexico and in Haiti who don't have such strong houses. Amen."

We had talked a bit about poverty, but for a long time I had still been waiting to introduce the concept of starvation to the boys in a real honest way. They knew what the word meant, but they didn't really have a handle on it. Then, one day, the photo at the top of this post appeared on the Livesay Haiti blog. I happened to see it right before I ended work for the day. I was working from home and at that moment Braydon was getting the kids ready to go out to dinner at the boys' favorite restaurant, Carraabas. I knew it was the right way and the right time to really dive into it with Kyle and Owen. I called them in to my office and we looked at the photo of Renald (click here for the original post). We talked about starvation and malnutrition, and we talked about Renald and how old he is and how much he weighed. The boys couldn't stop staring at the photo of Renald, and they got it. And we talked and talked about it. "I wish we could go and get him and take him to Carrabas," Kyle said. Owen said, "I wish I was a pilot and I could just fly a big airplane straight to Haiti and give him a lot of food." We have been talking about Renald, and about all the kids like him, often since.

Recently, over and over, Kyle and Owen ask us, "Did you know we were starving?" And they want (need) to hear us tell the story again and again: "Yes, we knew, and we went as quickly as we could to get you. We went right away, as fast as we possibly could." And we talk about how some starvation is worse than others-- and how they weren't starving as badly as Renald was/is. And we talk about how it is never o.k. (at least not in our family) for any of us to ever use the expression, "I'm starving!" when we really are actually just very hungry. And we talk and we talk and we talk, and we will continue to talk. And the conversations will surely get more sophisticated and more challenging as the years unfold.

And everpresent in our lives is the subject of starvation and deep destitute poverty. And everpresent is the question of "What can we do?"

I first starting reading about Ready-to-Use Therapeutic Food a couple of years ago (click here, for example, or just google it). Paul Farmer has been a huge advocate for this, and my thinking on it is that if he advocates for it, then it must be good. The more I learned about it, the more I became a believer that this is a tiny morsel of hope for the people of Haiti and other places like it. Please go here to learn more about it:

http://www.medsandfoodforkids.org

And if you possibly can spare 20 minutes of your time, I urge you to watch this series of three short videos:
Malnutrition in Haiti, Part 1: click here
Malnutrition in Haiti, Part 2: click here
Malnutrition in Haiti, Part 3: click here

On May 25th the Livesays posted for the first time about Medika Mamba (Haitian Creole for “peanut butter medicine”/Ready-to-Use Therapeutic Food) --click here. And on May 27, Licia from the Real Hope for Haiti Rescue Center wrote about it on her blog-- click here. Through the work of the people on the ground in Haiti, and through the use of Medika Mamba, we can see, viscerally, the power of this approach. Here is Renald, the same boy at the top of this post, after 20 days of being on Medika Mamba-- a full 5 pounds stronger (and 5 pounds is a lot on a 13 pound 3 year old):

Renald before, Renald after

For more about Renald click here. And if you're still not convinced that Medika Mamba works, then check out these posts from Real Hope for Haiti -- click here and click here. And if you still need more convincing, then check out these posts from the Livesays blog -- click here, and click here, and click here.

We are all on this planet together. And a lot of us, by sheer circumstance, will never be directly impacted by starvation and deep destitute poverty.

Meera in Mexico, May 2009

That is how it should be. However, a lot of us, right now, today, by sheer circumstance, are suffering from starvation and deep destitute poverty. That is not how it should be. A small donation of money toward work with Medika Mamba will not shift the huge structures that have led to these circumstances of extreme inequality. But... a small donation will make a difference. A difference that will be felt on the ground in Haiti.

Children at the Real Hope for Haiti Rescue Center, taken a couple of weeks ago.

And now, because I just feel in my heart that I must do this, I need to ask...

Each day there are about 600-700 people reading our blog. We know you are reading because we have a blog meter that tells us so. Some of you are total strangers all around the world who have found us. Others of you are friends, or aquantances, or friends of friends, or family members. Some of you are near, some of you are far. Some of you know us in real life, many of you don't. Some of you have let us know that you read here. Many of you have never let on that you do. All of you know that we give freely on this blog, and that we have never asked you for anything significant in return. You trust that we're not in the business of begging.

But I need to ask...

If you read our blog, will you please pay it forward by making a donation to the Medika Mamba program in Haiti?

There are two ways (at least) that you can do it:

1. You can support Tara Livesay's marathon fundraiser for Medika Mamba -- click here. Or...
2. You can donate directly to Meds & Food For Kids -- click here.

I am asking you, every single one of you readers of our blog, to:

1. Please donate, if even only the smallest of sums. And...
   
2. Leave a comment here to let us know you donated, and/or send me an email at hbj2(at)lehigh(dot)edu I have turned on anonymous comments so that anyone can now comment here.
   

In return, we will keep blogging. And... icing on the cake... to do their own part in this project, Kyle and Owen will be sending (via regular U.S. mail) a piece of their own ARTWORK (or scribbling as the case may be) to each person who comments and/or emails to let us know you donated (!!!!now that's something worth giving for!!!).

Please, will you do this?

We are hoping for all of our readers to give... and until they do... we are going on a peaceful blog strike. We will return to blogging once a lot of people have let us know they've given.

Owen in our yard, a little over a year after coming home.

"It is better to light one small candle than to curse the darkness."
~Eleanor Roosevelt

(photos of Renald - photo credit to Troy and Tara at The Livesay Haiti Weblog; photo of starving children - photo credit to Licia at Real Hope for Haiti Rescue Center)