Tonight, without actually giving it too much thought, I called our good friend that runs the Indian restaurant down the street from our house to make sure they were open. Elsa, Ashagre, Brent and I sat down, the only patrons, at Maharaja Cuisine of India for a serendipitous, subtle celebration of our own.
You see, when we joined the Mannings for Indian food in Addis Ababa exactly one year ago, not only were we coming together united in the shared strange feeling of paradox of spending Thanksgiving in an African country half way around the world from our cozy and familiar American lives, but we were also coming together to celebrate the growth of our two families. One year ago today Brent and I learned that the Ethiopian court had made us the legal guardians of Elsa and Ashagre. Kimberly and Charles also learned that they were one important step closer to becoming the parents of their three beautiful Ethiopian children.
One year has passed and neither the Coranski household nor the Manning household is the same. Within the last year both families have morphed from the ease and comfort of a routine shared by childless couples to the hustle and bustle of lives centered around busy kids.
It is almost hard for me to imagine now what I was feeling that night, besides, of course, delight in the warm energy created by new friends who we suddenly had so much in common with. I am sure there was hope and excitement and an idealistic vision of the future that was starting to unfold before us.
That vision, although much less idealistic and a bit more gritty, has become reality. As I write, Elsa and Ashagre play at my feet reading If You Give a Pig a Pancake to each other and playing memory. Their school work spills out onto the coffee table. Ashagre has created a Thanksgiving card. On the outside, in neat, well-proportioned handwriting with small circles to dot the i's it reads Happy Thanksgiving. There is a small acorn sticker pasted centrally below, upside down. On the inside the card reads I am happy for my mom and dad. Ashagre. Elsa has created a Thankful Book. On the first page, she shares that In nature I am thankful for trees. On the second page she is thankful for her mom in her family and on the third her Franny (her teacher's name) in school. Each page is illustrated, the portrait of me features long, blonde hair.
Tonight I am thankful for motherhood. Not the fairy-tail version of motherhood I suspect was floating around in my head one year ago in Addis. No, tonight I am thankful motherhood as it is right now in our cozy bungalow. Motherhood that wakes me up early in the morning in worry. Motherhood that causes me to doubt my capabilities. Motherhood that causes me to second-guess nearly every decision that I make. Motherhood that rips my heart open just as often as it swells that same heart with greater joy than I have ever known. Motherhood that is challenging me to face some of my short-comings and make myself stronger so my kids can grow stronger. Motherhood that doles out three kisses (one on each cheek, followed by the forehead) and a high five every night before turning the lights out. Motherhood that is teaching me, reluctant student that I may be, to slow down and soak up life's daily blessings.
Prologue: We may just continue our new tradition of Indian food for Thanksgiving in the years to come, but for those of you that might be worried that Ashagre and Elsa did not get to experience a traditional American Thanksgiving, fear not. Last Sunday our home was warmed by the laughter and love of some of our closest friends before they departed town to join their own families in other areas. Brent cooked up the turkey (perfectly of course) and stuffing, and I whipped out homemade cranberries and sweet potatoes. Friends brought the rest. Of course, we wrapped up the evening with a Michael Franti dance party (after pie and Ethiopian coffee with kahlua).
 |
| Sizing up his 19 pound bird. |
 |
| Beautiful baby Ollie. |
 |
| Perfection. |
 |
| Hamming it up at the kids' table (we were expecting a few more kids to join them). |
 |
| The big kids (and baby) table. |
 |
| Elsa never can get enough of her Uncle Woosha Dog. |
No comments:
Post a Comment