Back to School

My FB post pretty much sums it up: First day drop off was as smooth as butter. Hoping to cruise through this transition just as smoothly, but preparing myself for other outcomes. Summer's over. Bring on the highly scheduled chaos.

My finger accidentally brushed my phone and resulted
in this awesome outtake. 

Had to get one with the new shoes.

A friend snapped this one in the classroom after I
left. Looks like she settled right back in.

What my post doesn't explain is the lump I carried around in my throat for most of the morning. How do they grow so fast (and when did I become a lamenting parent)?

Last Chance Summer Camp Out

So Brent and I had promised to take the kids camping this summer and figured we'd actually go several times. But then we bought a house and got entrenched in our routine and it just didn't happen. (It doesn't help that where we live here in SoCal you have to reserve a campsite six months in advance for summer camping in any location remotely pleasant, temperature wise - we actually tried a few other times this summer but, literally, could not get a spot).

A few weeks ago I looked up at the calendar and realized we only had three weekends or so left before school started and of those three, only one wasn't already booked. I have made a vow not to be a parent that makes promises that never happen, so I got on the computer and found us a site at Lake Casitas Recreation Area. Granted its 30 minutes up the road from our house, sweltering hot, packed to the brim with campers that prefer their campsites to feature loud, amplified music of the Hip Hop y Mas variety, and on a lake that you aren't allowed to swim in, but it's camping nonetheless.

We headed up Friday afternoon, met our friends Brooke, Meadow, and Ami, and set up camp in the still sweltering heat. Fortunately we pre-purchased tickets to the camp's waterpark for Saturday, and the whole family had a great time floating laps around the lazy river. The best part of the whole weekend though was just watching the kids ease into and then completely capitalize on the freedom only a campsite can provide. Ashagre, literally, rode his bike down the steep hill adjacent to our campsite hundreds of times (many of them he rode sidesaddle). He learned how to relax when his bike skidded out in the dirt as he took it off-road, riding up little banks and slamming on his bakes into a skid on the looser dirt. Elsa had a blast running back and forth from our camp to Meadow's. All three kids played house in the tent for hours.

Sitting (far away due to the ambient air temperature) staring into the fire after putting the kids to bed Brent and I vowed to make camping an at least once a month adventure next summer. It is just too good for all of us not to make it happen more often. Shortly after that we vowed never to camp back at Lake Casitas as we tried to fall asleep to the tuba heavy rhythm of our neighbor's Norteno music.

Helping stake down the tent.

The little duded didn't wear a shirt the whole
weekend - the boy was in his element.

Rolling around giggling hysterically in the tent.

Finally settling in with the help of a little lemonade and vodka. Brent also
didn't wear his shirt most of the weekend and put a dent in his farmer's tan.

A classic shot. Three good friends with their glow stick lanterns.

Peeny Butter Fudge

The kids LOVE this book by Toni Morrison and have been asking to make Peeny Butter Fudge for many months. Brent finally remembered to add the ingredients to our shopping list and the kids and I whipped up a batch last Friday afternoon.

The fudge wasn't really all that fudgey and was grainy and tasted pretty bad, but the kids loved it. Nothing like a little pride in a job well done to make something taste great. Maybe I should have them start cooking their own dinner.

First Impressions

Last night's dinner was a hit and there wasn't enough to go around for everyone to have the seconds they wanted. Apparently I blew it by not buying a second bag of spinach. As Brent stood in the kitchen trying to make the last of our dinner stretch among four empty bowls, being the dad that is, he came up with an excellent solution.

"Hey guys. We don't have any more buffalo chicken salad, but I just talked to Mommy and she said we can go get ice cream instead!"

The kids raced to finish up the little bit of seconds they got and scurried to their room to find their birthday party favor gift cards for a chain ice cream shop that sells 31 ridiculously fake and heavily dyed flavors (so glad those gift cards are nearly empty). We piled in the car and headed up the street for some after dinner ice cream.

The kids chose their flavors, cup or cone, and toppings and settled in to one of the sticky tables to attempt to ingest more ice cream than they could smear all over their face and appendages (one kid was more successful at this than the other). Brent and I each found something to take us back to our childhoods (rainbow sherbet anyone?) and sat down next to them - keeping a good distance from the kid that was loosing the battle between ingesting and wearing her ice cream.

Shortly after we all got settled a teenage boy and his father walked in. Each had a shaved head and a detailed sleeve tattoo on their left arms. The father sized up our family with some intensity. Sensing the challenge, Brent stared back with confidence. Both of us instinctively and subconsciously scanned their tattoos for symbols indicating potential intolerance of our transracial family.

Just as quickly as this initial guarded, unspoken exchange occurred, the father's face softened into the sweetest grin, his eyes sparkling, as he waved at Elsa, who apparently, had noticed his stares and decided to wave. Hopping up to see if I could get some water to help Elsa remove some of the chocolate coating her mouth, cheeks, chin, nose, fingers and forearms (the ice cream was literally up her nose) I passed by the dad. He turned to me, and respectfully and quietly inquired, "Did you adopt them?"

The questions that followed were pretty routine for our family. "Where are they from?" "Are they siblings?" "Did they speak any English when they arrived in America?" "How has their adjustment been?" These questions can really get old, especially when it feels like the interrogator has forgotten that they're speaking about two kids who very well can hear and understand them and may not feel good about having their stories dissected by a stranger in an ice cream shop. However, with this man they were asked in a respectful and generally interested manner. He even answered his own question, "Are they siblings?" with my routine answer - they are now.

"Have you read Kisses From Katie? I just finished it. It's about this woman who travels to...to..oh I forgot. It's one of the bigger, more common African countries (as if a country can be more common than another). [I correctly guess Uganda]. She goes to teach, just for a year, and she's still there. And she's adopted 13 girls. 13! Girls only though. You should really read it. It really moved me and so does your family. It's just beautiful and your kids are amazing. Look at those smiles. I'm David, by the way."

After getting as much chocolate off of Elsa as possible with some very thin napkins and a cup of ice water we sauntered back out to our car. As the kids rattled on about something that happened at camp that day, Brent and I marveled at how we both, automatically and instinctively, suspected the worst from these two men, based solely on appearance and an initial gut feeling, only to be shown the opposite. We considered how parenting in a transracial family both routinely gives you the opportunity to challenge common perceptions and stereotypes while also forcing you to rely on them more heavily in an attempt to keep your family safe. On this night, we are reminded that what you see on the surface is often insignificant and its always better to test the waters with a friendly wave before drawing any concrete conclusions.

Good Morning! Time to Wake Up.

Buster is my best ally in combatting the morning grumpies when waking up Elsa. He takes his duties seriously and is on my heels the minute he realizes its time to wake up the kids. He's pretty smart too. He knows that his excited adoration and in-your-face snuggles would have the opposite affect on Ashagre first thing in the morning and leaves those duties to me.

Little Man Turns Seven and It's Epic

I need one more day in my weekend this week. Today we've officially been coming off the high from Ashagre's birthday week, and I'm plain worn out. This was the first birthday where Ashagre had American-sized expectations for his big day. He had been counting down the months and the days since at least last October after we wrapped up Elsa's birthday. He has had a detailed vision for what he wanted to do and what presents he expected to open. While his ideas changed from time to time, his enthusiasm never waned. Little Man's a lot like his Momma, and I loved sharing his excitement with him while remembering planning my own 7 year old birthday.

His requests were pretty straightforward. He wanted a party at our house with water on the trampoline. He wanted to invite everyone from his kindergarten class and a few other friends. He wanted a pinata. He wanted pizza for lunch, chocolate cake with strawberries and for us to sing him Happy Birthday. For presents he hoped for a skateboard, Heely's, and legos.

We were happy to deliver. The big bash was Saturday and it went off without a hitch. Anticipating 20+ kids and their parents we added to his vision of water on the trampoline with an 18 foot inflatable water slide in the front yard. After a short rainstorm in the morning (in August in southern California) the sun came out and the temperatures rose. By the time the kids started arriving the water at in the splash pool at the bottom of the slide had warmed up and the day was gorgeous.

Brent and I were a little nervous about hosting at our new house, especially 45 people, but it accommodated everyone really well (especially since Brent has made the garage into such a pleasant man-cave that we could use it as a shady space to hang out and keep all the food out of the sun). The water slide was fast and the kids LOVED it (as did Brent and Uncle Woosha Dog). There were squirt gun wars, scooters and cars zipping around everywhere, pinata smashing, some serious lego building in the playroom, plenty of bouncing on the trampoline, and lots of time for parents to reconnect after a few months of not seeing each other over the summer.

Ashagre, in his typical fashion, kept a pretty low profile, but always had a huge grin on his face. I'm not certain if it was everything he had dreamed it would be, but I would guess it was pretty close.

Unfortunately, we only have our phones to take pictures with these days and they don't capture active kids very well. Luckily Uncle Woosha Dog took on the photography duties for a while (thank you!).

My mom always made our pinatas growing up. I couldn't be outdone;
therefore, I had a daily date night with a pile of shredded newspaper and
 some flour and water paste every night of the week leading up to the party.

His special birthday hat made for him at camp the
day of his birthday.

The night of his actual birthday he chose dinner - sushi
(or Shoe-shi as he calls it) followed by ice cream - and
we let him open the presents that had arrived.

His one big present from us - in Ethiopian colors.

Of course, there were a few things here and there for Elsa.

We let him continue to open presents in the evening
as they arrived. Here's his second wish, Heely's shoes.
Thanks Grandma Wendy!

The morning of the big bash. Getting used to his new
board and already looking like a pro.

The "Volcano" was delivered early (before I had gotten out of my pj's) and
was set up in the mini rainstorm.

Ashagre sizes it up.

The shark pinata was completed not long before the guests were supposed
to arrive. Finishing touches were made with Sharpies and magic markers.

Kids started arriving and immediately tried out the slide. I, along with the first few parents there, had visions of broken arms. A few ground rules were set, namely, only two people down at one time. Elsa, of course, is one of the first ones down and, by far, got in the most slides over the course of the day.

This one looks painful, but she was LOVING it.

All lined up for the pinata, smallest to tallest. Notice Izaak, Ashagre, and
Elsa playing it cool in the back. They agreed to go last and use their baseball
skills to clean up.

Make a wish!

You know Uncle Woosha Dog couldn't resist the water slide.

Ashagre decided to give it a shot once some of the guests had gone home
and it wasn't quite so crazy.

He loved it as well.

She was so cold and tired.

But she couldn't resist, one more slide (or another, or another).

Eventually most of our friends said goodbye and we retreated to the playroom
so Ashagre could open his last presents. Thanks to Uncle Woosha Dog and
Aunty Laurie, my kids will know what vinyl is. Oh, and wish number three,
legos, was fulfilled and then some by his friends.

A Letter To My Son On His 7th Birthday

Dear Ashagre,

I can't believe it has been one whole year since your last birthday already (despite the fact that I've been helping you count down the days and calculate the months until your big day for the past twelve months). As I sit down to write you this letter, I notice that it is harder this year than last. It's something about our relationship; it seems to have grown into the realm of the indescribable. I am no longer learning how to be your mommy; I am your mommy. You are a part of every molecule of my being. Words cannot describe it. It just is.

A few weeks ago you and I sat down to watch some video from the first time we met in Ethiopia. I don't know who was more shocked - you or me. You have changed so much. You have morphed from a small, reserved and timid little boy to a strong, tall (the tallest in kindergarten last year) and confident bigger boy. Our little boy that shied away from soccer at the orphanage and couldn't climb a play structure at the playground when he came home is now one of the top baseball players on his team (despite being the second youngest player) and capable of swinging casually from the monkey bars for hours (or at least until the blister on your hand inevitably pops). Just today at tennis, after a two week break, you showed up and destroyed the lesson. It's obvious your tennis coach has his eye on you after just six or seven weeks.

Your transformation has not just been physical. Your confidence has also grown immensely. Just the way you carry yourself in the world is night and day different from last year. Last month you strolled ahead of Daddy and me on the beach. You had your new sunglasses with Ethiopian colored stripes and retro-California tank top on; your locs had recently been tightened, and your deep brown skin glistened in the bright sun. Your daddy summed it up best, "Man, what I wouldn't give to be that boy right now. Look at him. He owns this beach. He is going to have it so good."

Don't worry, I know that you can still be unsure of yourself and are a very sensitive boy too. You still need us to be your biggest cheerleaders and your softest critics. I am the first to recognize that you haven't settled into your new found confidence completely yet, and I am dedicated to helping you embrace it more completely as time moves forward.

You are newly confident, but you are not arrogant. You wear your open and loving heart on your sleeve. I can't tell you how many people have had a hard time expressing to me just how sweet you are. Fortunately, I'm your momma so I know exactly what they are trying to communicate. You are one of the most affectionate and snuggly boys I know, and I dread the day that you won't spontaneously and lovingly give me huge hugs and kisses no matter what public location we might happen to be in. You are a sensitive and thoughtful friend, gentle and encouraging to younger kids, but unafraid to play with the bigger kids too. Just today I found myself unable to pull away from the parking lot after I dropped you at summer camp because I was so enjoying watching your excitement as you struck up a game of kicking a ball against the wall with an older boy at your camp.

If I had to pick two words to describe you, I would choose balanced and joyful.  You have this uncanny ability to maintain a place of easy, go-with-the-flow energy at nearly all times. Your even and open being often reminds me to take a deep breath, relax, and smile - something we all know your momma could do more often. Sure, you get hyped up and have a lot of energy, but that's just your other predominant personality trait shining through. How can one not get hyped up when there is so much in the world to be joyful about - fast cars, a juicy piece of melon, the garbage truck picking up the trash on Tuesday mornings, movies, legos, a new whiffle ball to hit over the neighbor's fence, an evening bike ride before bed - all of these things delight you, and you wear your joy proudly unchecked in your huge grin and smiling eyes (highlighted by the occasional happy dance).

Your dad and I spend a lot of time dreaming about what you will become one day and delighting in the repeated opportunity to discover yet another one of your yet unknown to us talents - talents which we can take little credit for but are prideful of nonetheless. The possibilities for your future seem endless, but we know one thing: whatever it is, you will be great. On those evenings, those evenings when we sit around after tucking you cozily in your bed grinning from ear to ear with pride reserved only for the parents of such a special boy, I can't help but remember your first parents. I know they are just as proud as your daddy and me and love you just as much; I can feel it in my heart.

So here's to you little man. Your daddy and I feel so fortunate to be your parents and we can't wait to see what surprises and accomplishments this next year will bring. Happy 7th birthday Ashagre!

Love Mommy