I Am a Parent in a Culture of School Violence

I am a parent to two very special boys who love art projects,  throwing snowballs, and going to Grandma's. I am a parent who hosted my son's birthday party today, with eight other 5, 6, and 7 year olds who laughed and shrieked and ate blue frosted cupcakes. I am a parent who buys my children Batman legos and Angry Bird pajamas. I am a parent who read Goodnight Moon to my sleepyheads, just an hour ago.

I am also a parent in a culture of school violence...

And I am shocked. All weekend my thoughts have swirled in a storm of feelings around the school shooting that took place in Connecticut. It helps for me to write them down, as my children sleep safely down the hall, because the culture of gun and school violence is knocking at the door to my heart, threatening the ones I hold most dear.

And I am terrified. There was one moment on Friday afternoon where it took every ounce of strength inside me not to bolt to my son's school and yank him into the safety of my arms as I tried to process the horrific crime that taken place in a classroom, much like his, earlier that day at Sandy Hook Elementary.

And I am sad. Just three days prior Ian had mentioned that he had practiced a 'lock-up' drill that day in school. As he continued to regale me with the day's tales, I mourned that piece of his innocence chipped away by the realities of living in a gun culture. My child's education  includes how to try and stay safe in the face of gun wielding monsters.

And I am vulnerable. This is the first school shooting to occur since my son started Kindergarten, and though it hurts me to put it into writing, it will probably not be the last, which petrifies me beyond belief. Sandy Hook Elementary is Yinghua Academy is Marcy Open School is Pilsbury Elementary is Every Elementary in this nation, where I trust a bevy of others with my most precious children.

And I am angry.  Another day, another shooting, another...another...another...When is it enough? Is 20 babies enough for us as a nation to face the crisis? Is 27 a high enough number for the call to action?

And I am weary. Tomorrow begins another week of school lunches, homework and music lessons, but my heart is heavy. What comes next? How will we cope? What is my call to action? Can I make a difference for my children, before it is too late? Too many questions, not enough answers.

I am a parent who cannot ignore the pain of parents facing empty beds and silent stories this evening.

I am a parent ready for a change.

Focaccia (Italy)

Today our church celebrated World Communion Sunday, which if you are familiar with the Christian calendar, was actually the 1st Sunday in October. Our church, Parkway UCC, is a bustling, busy place though, so for practical reasons, it was delayed until today. John helped serve communion, which included bread from Mexico, Italy, Germany, USA, and Ethiopia! I baked Ambesha yesterday to contribute, my favorite recipe from Extending the Table, but actually took the Italian focaccia during the service, and felt moved to make my own loaves for our meal tonight. It is inspiring to worship in a place that believes the global community begins within its very walls.

So was I moved during the service to also consider my many responsibilities as a member of the global community, including those in this upcoming election. I have very strong feelings about candidates and issues, some of which I have shared in this blog, but in order to be true to my faith and my God, I must cast my votes for those candidates and issues that act and uphold the work God wants us to do in the world.

This is what it means to me to be a spiritual voter.

First and foremost, I must vote November 6th. God gave me a brain and the resources to educate myself in the face of propaganda, fear and deceit, and no amount of ignorance, busyness, apathy or anger should ever be excuse to stay home on election day.

I must vote to serve the needs of the poor, the marginalized, the sick, the wounded, the weak, the many who suffer in the shadows of greed, ambition, and the bottom line. God's work is not clean or comfortable. It is risky, dirty, exhausting, expensive work that doesn't stop until human suffering is erased from the earth.

I must vote to preserve rights for all people, not to take them away. God created a diverse and robust humanity, but didn't grant certain people privilege over others. That is a human construct born of twisted words to justify our prejudices and status over those who were created differently than we were.

I must vote for social justice, education and equality, for all people. God didn't send a politician, lawyer or corporate big-wig as a model for how to live. He sent a teacher who modeled what true compassion looks like. It is easy for those of us with privilege to take for granted that which we have always had, but it takes courage and faith to keep inching forward in the face of complacency.

Finally, because it bears repeating, I must vote. As you all must vote.

Pad Thai (Thailand)

"Is it your wish to form and maintain the relationship of mother and son with this child, Sukris John?"
This was the questions posed to me this morning during our family's fifteen minute slot at district juvenile court. What a privilege it was for me to answer through tears in a shaky, yet resounding voice,"Yes!"

The question itself actually took me off guard. The judge had been asking basic things like our names, birth dates, and address. Even as she asked these questions, I was straightening Suki's sweater, redirecting his little hands from the microphone and surreptitiously sliding a copy of The Hungry Caterpillar into his reach. The relationship was in motion right before her eyes. But when she asked THE question, the reality of a million choices in a million moments over the last three years settled into place, and I felt such honor to accept what so many may take for granted.

And then it was done. After years of forms, letters, notorizations, background check after bank check after double check, there is now a birth certificate, a name change and citizenship. With only a few final loose ends (and undoubtedly, more bank checks), we were back to business as usual by 10:23 with day care, story time, Halloween treats, and laundry.

Of course we celebrated tonight with Thai food, Pad Thai, Mango Pad, Chicken Satay and more, ordered in from a local restaurant, eaten at the kitchen counter as we recounted the day, wiped up spills, and thought about what to pack for lunches tomorrow because parenting is every moment of the day, making a million choices to keep moving forward to meet the needs of your kids with love.

When we started our journey to become parents through adoption over six years ago, I never in my naivete imagined the depths of joy, tragedy, love, and grief that I would encounter along the way. If I were to be asked if I would do it all again, it would be a privilege for me to answer, maybe through tears or in a shaky, yet always resounding voice, "Yes!" 

Perkedel (Indonesia)

It's meat and potatoes this week for us! After meatloaf and mash potatoes last night, I took our left over spuds and made Perkedel, crisp potato balls mixed with beef and onions, then fried. I had been wanting to try this recipe for awhile, stepping up a typical meal into something special, but the execution of the dish literally fell apart. My yummy mounds of potatoes dissolved into the oil at the slightest touch. So we did our best to eat crumbly potato balls with our spoons and made the most of a still delicious meal.

This summer I also set about tackling a task I'd been thinking about for some time: running a half marathon! The opportunity arose last spring to run as a fundraiser for clean water in Ethiopia through Team World Vision and Ethiopian Kids Community. I was given a 'recipe' for success in the form of training schedule and fundraising plan. The miles flew by and money started to trickle in, but then...things just fell apart on the execution.

See, the half marathon is a trail run. And I started training on the trails. Until I injured my achilles tendon, which led to tendonitis in my achilles and my knee, which takes about 6-8 weeks to heal with no running and physical therapy. Honestly, I was pretty devestated. I was so excited, ready to run, enjoying the process, and here I was stuck on the couch with the prospect of a chronic condition if I kept going. It took some reflecting for me to stop feeling sorry for myself and find a way to make the best of the situation.

I realized that I could still run, just not as far or over such rough terrain. This is not a option for young children in Ethiopia, often responsible for traveling several miles over rocky ground for the day's water.

I used my health insurance to visit the doctor, the orthopedic specialist, and the physical therapist for aide in my healing. This is not an option for many families without any medical resources or services, as they suffer from illness caused by unclean water.

I am not running the half marathon, but I AM running a 5K this with as much commitment in my heart as when I started. My goal is about bring awareness to others about an organization doing good work in the world, to those tireless women and children trudging to the well who can have an improved life.

As of now, I've raised enough money to bring clean water for life to 13 people in Ethiopia, a majestic country so special to our family. I hope to raise a little more. If you would like to contribute please check out my World Vision website to join in my effort to bring the life saving resources of water to this place I love and to people who so deserve it!
http://support.worldvision.org/site/TR/TeamWorldVision/General?px=1230591&pg=personal&fr_id=1780

Toriniku to Sayaendo no Itame (Japan)

The last two weeks have brought big changes and milestones to the household, what with me going back to work and Ian starting Kindergarten, so as a family we have been working on shoring up the new routine for the school year. We have our morning schedule for getting ready and eating, pick-up and drop-off routines for daycare, and the nightly activities of packing lunches and ending the day. All of four of us thrive in this system of known rituals which will soon become well-oiled.

There is comfort in these knowns. There is sanity when exhaustion might otherwise rule, and for my children, who carry the scars of the traumatic unknowns from their early lives, there is the consistency of family.

This is especially so for our youngest, who often uses the routine to work through his anxieties. For Suki, he still needs daily reassurance that he is safe, loved, and home. The first sign that Suki is feeling anxious or upset are the questions. Are we putting on socks today? Brushing teeth? Having breakfast? Who is dropping him off? Picking him up? Where will Ian be? If answering the questions isn't enough, next comes sensory seeking behavior like walking on tip toes or jumping up and down. After that might com the tears, over tiny changes to the process. If Ian gets his socks first or if Dad wakes him up instead of Mom, we can see anything from the sniffles to full blown tantrums. The anxiety overwhelms and takes over.

Having a routine allows John and I the time to attend to Suki needs in a manageable way. When we don't have to think about what comes next or make decisions about the minutia of daily living, we can focus on providing that attention he needs. Now, we are not saints. A constant barrage of questions from a child, often ones that have been answered several times over tests the nerves. But often times a quiet word of assurance, a pat on the back or quick hug, can keep things in check. It has become as much a part of the routine as using the potty before eating breakfast.

Sometimes I hear little comments about our routine, mostly from others who don't understand the complexities of adoptive families. That it is typical for children to respond well to routines, that every child gets crabby or out-of-sorts when there is change. Yeah, but most children don't question their place in their family or wonder if they will still have a family by the end of the day.

When I made Toriniku to Sayaendo no Itame, chicken and snow peas, I thought about the security of my own childhood. My mom used to make stir fry with snow peas, a favorite for our family. I don't have memories of overwhelming anxiety from my formative years. I carry the memories of being loved and secure and happy, always. Those sweet peas tasted of love, even all these years later.

After almost 16 months home, things are improving for our little guy. The questions are far fewer, the tears are more sporadic. But imagining my little boy torn up on the inside over small inconsistencies is heartbreaking. So for now, I sing the wake up song, John pours the milk, Suki uses the potty first, and Ian packs his snack and water bottle into his backpack. Simple, but necessary, security in a complex family.

Jikuai Feng Tiao Liang Cai (China)

Today we were driving through the neighborhood when Ian remarked that he could tell that a woman on the corner was a runner. I asked him how he knew that. He replied, "She is wearing awesome shoes, and her shorts are super short, and her hair is in a pony." Indeed, once the light changed, the woman took off on the next leg of her run, while we turned toward home.

We learn at such a young age, in our infancy really, to begin making assumptions and judgements about the world around us, to understand, to keep us safe, to categorize, etc. Malcolm Gladwell wrote a fascinating book on this titled, Blink. These often split second impressions are ones we can carry for life, but also can be challenges we face as we meet new people or explore new cultures.

This week I had faced my own assumptions on Kindergarten Open House night. Yes, Ian started Kindergarten this week, and I prepared Jikuai Feng Tiao Liang Cai, a cold Chinese chicken noodle salad, for us all to eat at the school picnic. But first we visited his room and teachers.

As we entered Ian's classroom, my teacher eyes and my mom eyes were taking it all in. My teacher eyes noticed the bright decorations and furniture in primary colors. Cheerful without being busy or overwhelming, the space was organized and clean. Each student's name was on the door, written precisely on funky little owls in rainbow colors. The teacher had prepared a room that was both functional and fun. As we moved farther into the room, my mom's heart warmed as a young woman's face lit up as she spread her arms wide, exclaiming, "Ian!" This person was so excited to see him back after his Kindergarten camp experience this summer.

This delightfully exuberant woman was so, so young to my eyes. She was wearing a cute peasant blouse over leggings, and was so fresh faced I swept my eyes around looking for the lead teacher. The other woman in the room was older, maybe closer to my age, and wearing a dress and cardigan that was one apple decal away from a cliche. So of course I moved to her to introduce myself to her who had to be the one in charge. Wrong! The delightful young person chattering away to my son as I tripped over my own assumptions was indeed the teacher I sought. This rash assumption threw me, and I've been thinking about this experience all week.

I am so excited for my son to start school. His enthusiasm for learning is so fresh and full of wonder. And as I move through this educational adventure along side him, in a new role for me who is used to standing in front of the classroom, I can't wait to be challenged and educated myself. Even as I want him to soak up the world around him, I can be reminded that I still have things to learn, too.

Belizean Potato Salad (Belize)

It's Transition Time! Yes, I am writing this on the eve of my very last day of a summer vacation well spent, which means tomorrow I will wake up three hours earlier than usual, pack lunches, pack backpacks, and pack myself into the car for a commute I haven't taken in two months. It's not just me transitioning this year either. Ian starts Kindergarten at the end of the week, and Suki starts preschool after Labor Day! These are not milestones that happen without some preparation though. Change has been in the air for more than a few days now.

There was the summer-long hunt for uniform bargains that had me dragging the boys into thrift stores and to back corner clearance racks. There was the epic morning of school supply shopping, in which I agonized over decisions, like whether I could substitute two pink erasers for the two white ones that were requested, all while managing the octopus hands that seemed to grow on my children in the
presence of so many shiny, colorful art supplies.

Then there was the cooking. Over three days I turned thirteen pounds of hamburger into five meat loafs, four batches of sloppy joe filling, and four quarts of Cincinnati chili that are frozen and waiting to conveniently be heated on tired nights in the months ahead. Today alone I cut veggies and whipped up a crab salad for the week's lunches, baked chicken for two recipes on this week's calendar, and now have a Chinese noodle salad to finish for tomorrow's open house picnic at Ian's school.

We even made time last night to hold a "family meeting" on the double twin beds in the boys' room. We talked about how our daily routines would change. That we might be tired or anxious in the days ahead, but that we can help each other when we are feeling this way. 

I did manage to fit in one last quintessential summer meal. Tonight we had grilled cheeseburgers, sweet corn and potato salad, Belizean Potato Salad, with enough of the essential ingredients to taste like summer, but with a few additions that subtly change the dish into a something more.

The end of summer is always bittersweet. I love the first days of school. So even as the days of reading on the patio or at the park or by the pool with the delightful soundtrack of laughing boys in my ears are winding down, I embrace the adage that change is good. The days ahead are about the world opening in new ways to students everywhere. And I am so excited to watch my boys experience this everlasting change.

Inspired Continuations: Ambesha (Ethiopia)

Last week I met a dear friend of mine for dinner in the suburban neighborhood where I spent my teen years. We became acquainted when we were sixteen years old and are now pushing almost two decades of friendship. To meet back where we spent so many hours building the foundation of a lifelong friendship was fun, if surreal in that way in which memory superimposes itself on streets that aren't quite as wide and trees that are much taller than remembered. Over Pad Thai and Lo Mein, we didn't so much reminisce as we did consider how we got from one place to another.

I considered the question of what would have happened if I had stayed in the old neighborhood instead of moving to first another suburb, then another city in another state, before making my way to the home I love now? What would a safe life have been like versus this one where I have leaped forward so many times to land with the two most beautiful children in my arms forever?

And that is what it comes down to for me. If my life hadn't twisted or turned the way it did, would I be writing this blog with Optimus Prime at my elbow, crayons at my feet, or legos on counter display as my boys take their afternoon rest in my kitchen full of light? It doesn't matter. Life twisted, I turned and here I am. One year after I started this blog, full of Ambesha from lunch, soon off to a play date with Thai pals, I continue to consider the blessings in my life, the lessons I can learn, the joys in small things, one recipe at a time.

Zucchinisuppe (Germany)

I'm a bit of a planner. I have a feeling if I looked over the last year of blog posts, that same sentence would appear more than once as a theme in my life. This weekend, we went camping to Blue Mounds State Park in south western MN, a 4+ hour drive from our home, in our quest to visit all of the fabulous parks in the state. I enjoy camping, and it is an activity where the best of my planning skills are put to use in gathering supplies necessary for living out of a tent around a camp fire all while accounting for the wild weather of our state. A planner's dream.

But about 90 miles into the trip, I realized I forgot to bring along our state passport kit, which gets stamped at all of the parks. And the chocolate bars for smores. And my medication. And a can opener. And my husband realized that he hadn't packed the boys' sleeping bags. Or his shower shoes. Or any newspaper to light the fire. Or our camp chairs. As we realized the failures in our planning over the course of that four hour drive, we floated from disappointed, frustrated, angry and irritated at ourselves until with each realization we finally just started giggling at the whole lot of it.

And then we embraced the adventure of it all. What did we actually need? (Sleeping bags!) What could we do without? (Shower shoes!) Where could we be creative? (Coloring book pages to light the fire!) And it freed us to step away from all the gear and layer of clothing and prepackaged food to simply enjoy being outside, with our kids, in a beautiful prairie with cliffs and bison and trails. The weekend turned into one of the most relaxing I've had all summer.

And I am determined to live in this relaxed state as long as I can! Tonight with no plan for dinner, went out amidst the wild sweet potato vines and towering zucchini plants and came back with peppers, cucumbers, sweet potatoes, and a cabbage to join the zucchini and cantaloupe already waiting on my kitchen counter. One loaf of Italian herb bread later and the end result was Zucchinisuppe, a thick and tangy zucchini soup, bread for dipping, sliced cucumbers and diced cantaloupe.We lingered well past the time we normally clean up, relaxed, full, content to just be together.

Salsa di Melanzane per Spahetti (Italy)

The eggplant is a pretty divisive vegetable. For all the richness of its lushly purple skin, some can't get past the slimy texture. I happen to be pro-eggplant. I haven't had a lot of it my life, but the Crescent Moon Bakery, an Afgani restaurant in my neighborhood, has a Chef's Special pizza with eggplant as its primary topping that won me over. So I planted an eggplant in the garden this year, and this morning harvested the first beautiful veggie.

Tonight I made Salsa di Melanzane per Spahetti, a thick pasta sauce with the eggplant, zucchini and tomatoes, all from my garden. The description in Extending the Table declares this recipe as "a good way to introduce eggplants to skeptics" (194). There were no skeptics at our table tonight though, as we all dug into our penne, sauce and mozzarella.

I like the idea of certain eaters as skeptics. It's not a bad thing to question what we eat or how it might taste. It is especially important to question where our food comes from and how it gets to our table. I even think we should be skeptical about what we consider food. Just one page prior to this recipe, there is an anecdote that explains that North Americans tend to believe that anything one can eat is indeed food, while Ugandans only label those very necessary staples of the diet as food (192).

The reasons why I garden are many. It's fun. The produce just tastes better. It costs less to produce our own foods, which we eat all year. And there is an ethical reason as well lurking in the leaves. When we blindly grab a box from the shelf or a bushel from the produce aisle, without questioning ingredients or origins, we risk perpetuating unhealthy and destructive practices across the globe, ones that disregard fair trade practices, environmental health, and the humane treatment of animals.

Before I get all Michael Pollan here, I am not a perfect eater. But I am willing to indulge my inner skeptic if means an occasional eggplant or two.

Torta de Zapallitos (Argentina) vs. Kima Curry (Kenya)

This last week has been about back to basics for us. Our summer has been a joyfully busy affair with family, camping, celebrations, getaways and more. Our pace has slowed in (very) recent days though and it has been about gardening, bug catching, sand-box exploration and soccer against Mom in the backyard. And a couple days ago, I made Torta de Zapallitos, a green squash bake, with zucchini from the garden. Fresh zucchini is delicious, but this dish was...not good. What looked like a delight of bubbly cheese and egg on the surface was a runny, undercooked mess beneath.

That wasn't far from the truth for the family either. For all the fun of our summer days, those days have also been about whining, tattling, bickering and the occasional shove or two. So, back to basics...

The number one rule in our family is to Be Kind. Be kind to each other in how we play, how we ask, how we resolve conflict, and how we handle property. And we've needed some reminders of this lately, as do most people on occasion. Swinging a bucket at your brother's head: not kind. Using words to express your frustration: kind (when they are not screamed in each other's faces;).

Regardless of however many reminders we may need, I am extremely proud of how my boys take their understanding of kindness out into the world. Just today at the gas station, Ian asked me to pull up to another vehicle so we could tell the man pumping gas that he had dropped something under his car. Simple kindness. As we continue to talk as a family about the orange signs around town urging us all to VOTE NO against the proposed marriage amendment signs, Ian has also summed up the issue for his brother in the wise words of a child, "Voting No is kind, Suki. Voting yes is not kind."

When I served up the mushy, runny egg and zucchini disaster to my family, they didn't complain. They ate the bits they could and accepted my offering of crackers, cheese and humus with grace. They were kind even as I was beating myself up about the failure. Tonight, I redeemed myself for the sake of my own pride with Kima Curry, a ground beef curry with ginger and cinnamon. They were just as kind with a dish they happily devoured, declaring it "Super yummy!"

Even mom needs a little kindness sometimes. Oh, how proud I am of those boys.

EKC Mehaber 2012

Today I took the boys the to pool. It has been hot and muggy, and the free wading pool a couple blocks away is one of our favorite spots to cool down. I also love this park because more often than not, I am the only visible white person. My kids are just two in a swirling blend of beautiful brown skin splashing and kicking through the water.

But kids being curious little sponges ask questions. Questions like,' is that your mom' or 'is he your brother'. My guys take it stride with a quick 'yeah,' though the 'duh, who else would she/he be' is implied;) Most kids leave it at that and onward they swim.

It's little moments like this that make a day like yesterday was one of my favorite days of the year. I have quite a few favorite days to be sure, but this July 14th was special as it marked the Ethiopian Kids Community's summer Mehaber, an event that draws families from across not only the Twin Cities, but from across the country to the State Fair grounds to celebrate Ethiopia and the Ethiopians that we love.

What makes this event so unique and special is that all the families there are similar to ours! No one asks questions about who belongs to whom because everyone belongs in this community where love and commitment and culture matter the most. One of my favorite moments of the day was wandering past the stage where traditional Ethiopian music was playing and a sea of kids, some brothers and sisters, some friends from this continent or another, some tiny, some big, just dancing to a rhythm connecting them all.

The adoption process can be very lonely and isolating at times. Being a parent to kids who were adopted brings with it challenges that other parents don't always understand or even recognize. But adoption is also a joy that I don't know how to describe. I guess you'd just have to be there.

Pineapple Daiquiri (Cuba)

This week I have thoroughly thrown myself into the joy of summer living as we visit with my father and stepmother during their stay. My stepmother, Lindsay, brought me a new fair trade cook book called Desserts and Drinks from Around the World as a gift, and we got right to making and enjoying Pineapple Daiquiris, as well as some other variations of the recipe of our own design. It has been all about catching up on the back patio with a cool drink and the sound of little boys laughing.

My brothers and their families have been over as well, and today we enjoyed time as one big extended family with brats, pasta salads, and raspberry daiquiris for the grown-ups, lemonade for the kids, and formula for the baby cousin. Our boys ran and played among their uncles, aunties, grandparents and their baby cousin with laughter and confidence because they are surrounded with the love and affection of our very close, wonderfully funny family.

Before we all gathered though, John and I took the boys with their grandparent downtown to watch the Gay Pride Parade. It was Suki's first parade, and both the boys gathered heaps of candy, stickers and other prizes with each group that passed in front of us. The parade was a loud and colorful celebration of the scope of humanity as the GLBTQ community and we their allies joined together on Hennepin Ave. The overwhelming message of the many groups, organizations, businesses and politicians was to VOTE NO this November against the marriage amendment on the Minnesota ballot. 

My older son has asked what it means to VOTE NO. This is a continuing conversation that started with the appearance of our MN United VOTE NO stickers on the cars and the Northeast VOTES NO pin on my purse, as well as our preparation for attending the parade. It's hard to explain intolerance and discrimination to a child so sweet and special, so I have instead focused on simplest aspect of this very political issue: love.

When two people love each other and want to be a family and may want to celebrate and share their love and commitment with children, they should be able to do so.  And all families that are formed in the same way should share in that celebration because love is the essence of our humanity, and as one poster in the parade so succinctly put it: Every Family Matters. If a child can understand it, so should an adult.

We are a family that formed through barriers of heartbreak, trauma, and loss. We fought to be parents despite physical, financial and legal difficulties. We did this with the overwhelming gift of support from our families and friends. What binds our family is not DNA, gender, culture or region, but love. Love. Love. Love forever.

And we stand with any other family, gay or straight, who fights on for their right to love each other.

VOTE NO in November!

Miser Salatta (Ethiopia)

Currently our family is anxiously awaiting the arrival of my dad and stepmother, Grandad and Grandma Lindsay to the boys, from their home in Scotland for an extended visit in Minnesota. It has been almost two years since our last face to face, and this will mark their meeting of Suki in person. we are just so excited! Their plane lands late tonight, and they plan to come see us first thing in the morning. I've spent a good part of the day cleaning, organizing, and of course, planning the menu for the days ahead, which included making Miser Salatta, a marinated lentil salad, all in an effort to keep busy so the waiting doesn't get to me. And I'm pretty worn out now from it all, which means I should sleep well tonight.

We know a lot about waiting. Just a little over five years ago, John and I were waiting for the news that would change our lives forever, that we had been matched with a tiny three month old boy from Ethiopia who would make us parents. From the time we submitted our adoption paper work to the time we first saw his little face on a computer screen was about four months, but is was the most agonizing four months of my life, a culmination of several years. I constantly wondered if the baby was born yet, if so, was it healthy, scared, alone, loved. And I wondered about and prayed for the family grieving as they made an agonizing decision that would change all of our lives forever.

Most parents who choose the traditional route to building a family have markers for their wait. The trimesters, the growing belly, the kicks and flutters, the classes, all the functions of a pregnancy. My wait for Ian was lonely, a study in managing expectations both unrealistic and unknown with no markers for guidance but for a vague timeline with no guarantees.  I had never felt so helpless as I did during that wait. I felt like I was crawling inside my skin, jumpy and out of sorts. And just exhausted, even as the end of our long journey to being parents was finally coming to fruition.

But then there was "the call" that changed everything. A call and an email with a picture and an excitement that replaced the agony with something that felt like hope and was overflowing with love. Some adoptive parents say that once they get the call, the wait to be united with their child is the hardest. Not so for me. I had a baby, with a tiny baby mohawk in a blue butterfly onesie that I could channel all my love and emotion towards. I had a set of Ethiopian parents, with names and a story so sad, yet so loving, that I could hold in my heart.  And the weeks flew by until we first held him in our arms.

This weekend we celebrated Ian's Family Day. We have  been a family for five years! Every day is a blessing with this hilarious and energetic and compassionate little boy. There are amazing things that he will do for the world with his energy and spirit. He was so worth the wait.

Jugo de Zanahorria y Naranja (Honduras)

A couple months ago my son came home from school with a chart to keep track of the fruits and vegetables he ate each day for a week. At the end of the week, he gave it back to the teacher, and if he had eaten all his fruits and veggies, he got a prize. This assignment was repeated for four weeks, and at the end of those four weeks, Ian received three little notebooks in the shapes of various fruits as his reward for healthy eating. I'm not sure which week we fell short, but I thought three outta four ain't bad!

This was really an assignment for us the parents. I pride myself on providing healthy meals and snacks for the family, and as my parents did for my brothers and me, there is always a veg and fruit on the table at dinner each night. There is a menagerie of fruits out on the counter for breakfast and snacks, and when I make lunch it usually comes with a side of carrots or cucumbers. But I will be honest, the recommended six servings of fruits and veggies a day maxed out my culinary creativity, especially when I am not always the one to provide the meals to my children, whether they are at school or daycare.

So today when I mixed together a pitcher of Jugo de Zanahorria y Naranja, carrot orange juice, I felt somewhat vindicated for all the days when the fifth and sixth selection eluded me. This recipe was pretty simple and perfect for a hot summer day. The main components are blended carrots and orange juice. The carrots themselves are supposed to be juiced, but I steamed and pureed them with water before mixing in the OJ, which resulted in an extra thick and yummy juice that counted for not one, but two servings for the day.

To say there are a lot of demands and pressures on parents is an understatement given that they are pretty endless, and providing a healthy diet is one of the main pressures. I actually do okay in the "mother's guilt" department, mainly because my children are healthy and well-adjusted and that doesn't just happen on its own. I know, because I see those kids who grew up surviving on their own stumbling through my classroom. My husband and I do our best, consider our parenting choices, and try not to beat ourselves up when we need to recalculate. And we do remember to give ourselves the occasional high-five when we see our boys happily slurping down a cool glass of Jugo de Zanahorria y Naranja.

Xingren Dangang (China)

So I am finally back to blogging after a two week hiatus! After a lovely weekend of hiking, mulching the gardens (or watching my husband do so from my lawn chair), clearing some space on the DVR, and reading most of a fluffy, paranormal-romance novel, I managed to throw together a batch of Xingren Dangang, almond cookies rolled, refrigerated, and topped with a butter toffee almond.

Most of the prep work happened earlier in the day as the boys played outside before lunch. The actual baking happened at what ended up being a very busy time for our household. We were transitioning into our evening routine. The boys were coming inside from a marathon afternoon of bikes, hula hoops, and trucks. I was popping trays of cookies in and out of the oven in between dinner prep and showering off two very sandy, sticky children. Not one cookie suffered though, and we all managed to enjoy a few before the transition to bedtime.

We spend a lot of time in our house managing transitions. Anyone with small children knows the challenge of transitions for little ones, and our household is no exception, especially as we maneuver these changes with the scars of trauma ever present in our daily routines. Then as a teacher, my career seems to be one long transition of several classroom activities over the course of five period days within three trimesters throughout the nine month school year surrounded by 3,000 teenagers. And that doesn't account for those curve balls that life sends our way occasionally, be they a struggle or a new joy to behold. No wonder I am so dang tired all the time!

But one of my favorite transitions is upon me. The shift from the school year into summer vacation. This week ahead marks my last of the year with students. The final project gets presented, the grades are entered, a little curriculum gets written, and I get to drive away from work for an extended break that is a necessary restorative for a demanding career. I am looking forward to the adventures of summer, sleeping in past 5:30 am, camping with my boys, witnessing the garden bloom, drinking margaritas on the back patio, and all the other activities that demand nothing more than my relaxed presence and joyful spirit.

Rhubarb Galore!

I've had plenty of culinary delights to blog about this last week, but honestly, I've been floating on a wave of rhubarb deliciousness, too blissed out and full to do any significant writing. Rhubarb muffins, rhubarb crumble, rhubarb cake, and even a recipe for rhubarb bread for the bread machine. It's the first garden fruit (or is it a veggie?) to harvest from my garden each spring, and it's juicy tartness is a tangy reminder of the gardening season ahead.

This week I also put in the first half of my garden, a hodge-podge of veggies I've collected from local sales and fundraisers. Tomatoes from the adapted sports team at school. Broccoli and cauliflower from the Kiwanis of Red Wing, and much more from the East Side Co-op plant sale. In addition, on Mother's Day, my guys gave me a lovely self-pollinating plum tree and a red grape vine to add to our urban backyard gardening experiment. I'm also eagerly awaiting an explosion of raspberries that are starting to bloom along the shed, hopefully soon enough to throw together a rhubarb-raspberry pie!

Much of my summer inspiration for recipes will come from the little seedlings I've planted this week. Oh, I have plenty of recipes from the cook book to keep me busy until then, as well as the daily adventures we live, so keep checking back for more:)

Glooay Booat Chee (Thailand)

Today was a gorgeous sunny Saturday that was spent in equal parts running the usual errands and soaking in the sun in the backyard with Frisbee, a million helicopter seeds, and a good book. We topped the night with grilled cheese burgers, and I made Glooay Booat Chee, bananas in coconut sauce, that we poured over chocolate chip ice cream. As Suki put it, "It's not yucky!"

As one boy  came close to falling asleep in his coconut sauce and the other shoveled it down, we all settled down for the night feeling pretty full from our day. Our oldest was exhausted to the point of being unable to lift the bites of ice cream to his mouth. Our youngest felt a little too full, unfortunately, after overindulging in cheese burgers and bananas, and threw up all over his clean pajamas. He immediately felt better, and always a resilient one, marveled at the many facets of vomiting as I held his head over the toilet as a precautionary measure, as his brother used his last strength to turn a few pages of his comic book under the covers.

I think back to my post last weekend about the warnings in my life that I had overdone it on many fronts. This week I took some time to rest. I set some limits to my schedule for the foreseeable future. I took a little time off from work. I took a nap. I read a book. I worked to create a better balance for me and for my family.

My boys are still learning how to regulate the basics of life. How much do I eat? How much do I rest? But they are children, and they need guidence for not just the physical basics, but the emotional ones as well. I adjusted things in my life to be healthier on many levels, including how I model to my guys that sometimes a break, a run, a quiet space is necessary to restore the strength to meet the everyday challenges we face.

Happy Family Day, Suki!

Every year we celebrate the day we became a family with each child on the anniversary of the day we spent our first night in our home together. If the day is a free summer or weekend day, we plan a simple outing to a park or maybe the zoo to spend time together, but the celebration really ramps up for dinner. We go out and have a meal at a Ethiopian or Thai restaurant, invite extended family, and of course, have a dessert. Today, for Suki's first Family Day, it was cupcakes with pink frosting and sprinkles, with a bonus chocolate treat from Grandma Sally.

Tonight we had a Thai meal at a local restaurant, Sen Yai, Sen Lek, with Grandma and Grandpa, to celebrate our one year anniversary as a family. This culinary tradition is a reminder of our connectedness to our children's cultures, a reminder of the commitment we made to join our lives to these beautiful children, a reminder of the rich flavors and joys that have permeated our lives with each passing moment to make us into the family we are today.

One year ago today our family became complete as we stepped off a plane with our youngest son, Sukris John, and thus began the most complex and complicated relationship of my life. The last year has held a roller coaster of emotion and experience, but here we are a year later, and I know this for sure:

Twelve months ago an apprehensive little toddler followed me up onto the back of an elephant with the spirit of adventure in his eyes and in his heart, as if he was acknowledging, 'So this is what life is going to be like with my new mom.' He has gamely been along for the ride ever since, sometimes with me urging him forward, but sometimes he has been the one to reach out his little hands to pull me close.

It's been bumpy and messy, but we've held on tight because in the end I love this boy and he loves me back, as he loudly declared his evening for the world to hear in a public restroom. Sukris surprises me, and one of the most wonderful surprises of all has been uncovering all the layers of his little personality that I have fallen in love with one silly moment or spontaneous hug at a time.

I've been very honest in my blogging about the challenges of this last year, and tonight my mom asked me what Suki might think of them someday. I hope that he sees that I didn't just bare my soul for all the Internet to see, but I bared my soul for him. Because I want to be the best parent I can be for him, and I am committed to working through any challenge we face, not just survive as a family, but to thrive together in mutual love and respect.

Yan Rou (China)

So lately I have been neglecting my inner introvert. I know this because I have been trying to make this recipe, Yan Rou, a very simple stir-fry with marinade, for about ten days now. First, I kept forgetting to take the meat out of the freezer. Then I couldn't find time to actually marinate it, and the meal only made it to the table tonight because leaving the pork in the refrigerator for another day would have been pretty risky behavior.

There are some other significant signs that said inner introvert is in crisis in the face of triple-booked evenings, writing deadlines, and grading overload. Here are a few:

1. This week we ate three meals wrapped in a flour tortilla.

2.  I only ran 2 miles this week instead of my usual 10.

3. Today I fell asleep on the couch, in the middle of the afternoon, with the TV blaring, one child playing a noisy computer game, the other pounding blocks on every solid surface he could find, and my husband periodically shushing/yelling at them in turn, all within ten feet of me.

4. In the last month I've read one book, when my average is usually one a week.

5.  I asked my husband to make the cupcake treats for day care tomorrow, (though I did lay out the cake mix, frosting, cupcake tins, and decorative sprinkles for him. Oh, and preheated the oven).

6. The thought of attending social engagements on the calendar three weeks from now brings tears to my eyes.

7. Each night I spend a moment trying to rationalize that yoga pants can indeed be acceptable work attire.

8. I haven't been to the grocery store in ten days.

9. Driving more than a mile, for any reason, is exhausting.

10. Today I found a container with three bites of coleslaw in it at the back of the refrigerator. I cannot remember when we last ate coleslaw, and I didn't take the container out of the fridge.

So as I look over this list, I think, good god, I need a day off at the very least, maybe a prescription of some sort, though I'd settle for a vacation...on a beach...with my Kindle...a steady stream of cocktails delivered to me...without my children...husband optional;)

But I can admit all this in good spirits because underneath the Yan Rou recipe in Extending the Table was this six line dinner prayer from Thailand, which we recited as a family before we ate our stir-fry. It was a prayer of thanks for food, the beauty of nature, safety, and happiness.

My life is overflowing with good family, good friends, good food, good health, good home, good kids, good partner, good employment, good creative outlets, good humor, good opportunities, good community, and good perspective. That is a lot of good. Do I need to take time for myself more often? Absolutely! Because I have a lot of good things in my life that I need to enjoy.

Chipa Guazu' (Paraguay)

When something happens in my life that really burns me up I have a few go to coping techniques. I might run a few miles. I cook, usually something with lots of butter and sugar. Or I write, as you know if you follow the blog. So when we had a nasty incident at the library yesterday I posted on Facebook and received an overwhelmingly supportive response, and today I wrote the letter posted below. There was an apology in my in my inbox within an hour from the manager of the library, so I burned off the rest of my ire with a batch of Chipa Guazu', scalloped corn.

I advocate for my kids as best I can, in words they understand, because I want them to know that Mom has their back. Someday, I won't be with them, and I want them to advocate for themselves, maybe with the words I gave them in the library next to the check out desk and a stack of Super Man comics.

THE LETTER
My family and I are regular patrons of the Northeast library. We come every week to check out books, sometimes twice, and spend time reading as a family. One of the reasons we love this library is because it is one of the most diverse places in all of Minneapolis, which is important to us given our children are Ethiopian and Thai.

Last night during our routine visit I was absolutely shocked and angered by the actions of one of the staff members of the Northeast library, and even as I write this I am in tears. At the help desk, the employee helping to check out our books sternly rebuked my five year old son, in my presence, for looking at books on a cart. These happened to be books we had just returned (that were checked in upon my request so we didn’t go over our limit) and my son wanted to tell the librarian about what he had read. I told the man that my son was fine and not causing any trouble, but he again told my son to stop and to move away from the cart. I again told the man that my son was just fine, but he continued to berate both of us. A second employee, a woman, actually asked this man to stop speaking to us this way, but he did not.

Yes, this employee of the Hennepin County Libraries told my well behaved, highly inquisitive, supervised, book loving child NOT to touch superhero books available for check out. This type of behavior by a staff member needs to be dealt with immediately. I chose to remove my son from this man’s presence, but went back and firmly and directly told him that my son did not do anything wrong, that his remarks were inappropriate in that I would not let someone like him change my son’s love of the library and reading. He again claimed my son should not have been looking at the books, and I finally turned to the man working at the reference desk, witnessing the exchange, who kindly apologized for the man’s behavior.

I cannot help but wonder if this man’s actions were a racially motivated, and it causes me to wonder how he speaks to and treats other children of color who find the public library a safe and magical place to explore their own love of reading. Luckily, my son had his parent to advocate for him, but many children come to the library on their own and may have their understanding of how the library works damaged by this man’s inappropriate words and actions.

I would like to know how the library plans to address this situation with the employee. I look forward to hearing a reply.

Ragaliki (Russia)

Today I am writing this post after a 'good' parenting day, not yesterday when I actually made the recipe for sweet bread twists, Ragaliki, a Russian bread fried in oil and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Oh we enjoyed these yummy twists of fried dough for breakfast, but things soon devolved. Yesterday became a 'hard' parenting day, which ended with me slumping numbly on the couch rather than writing anything at all. See, we have a three year old, which is a challenging age for sure, but when you add in adoption issues and behaviors, things get crazy.

Suki is funny and charming and resilient and absolutely lovable. He plays Robin to his brother's Batman, gobbles chocolate ice cream like a pro, and asks for Jingle Bells as his lullaby in April. Today I played rousing games of soccer and Frisbee with him and his brother, followed by Thai food with extended family, before reading his favorite Elmo bedtime story. Overall a lovely, lovely night.

One of the realities of adoption that often gets overlooked though is that there are many days that are hard, exhausting, and overwhelming. There are layers of trauma, health issues, attachment, emotional disregulation, and  power struggles that can cloud each developmental stage, each moment of the day it sometimes seems. Even the most simple parenting decision can twist you up inside, wondering did you handle it the right way, did you become too rigid, too indulgent, too whatever. And sometimes you use all the resources at your disposal and still fall short.

Our family is fast approaching our year anniversary of coming home from Thailand with our youngest son. The adoption of our Suki will always be a joy for us, always. I love him deeply and forever. With this anniversary, we celebrate the completeness of our family, even as we acknowledge that the road ahead may twist and turn. Some days are hard, but we will always have each other.

Songkran Celebration (Thailand)

Almost a year ago, our three year old joined the family just the day after Easter. There was an Easter basket with his name on it, the usual pastel candies, some socks, and a pair of pajamas that matched his brother's waiting for him as we brought him back to our hotel. This last year each holiday has been an adventure in explanation and rationale with a language-limited newbie to our western, Christian ways.  At a recent egg dyeing event at Grandma's, Suki made his way through Happy Birthday, Happy Halloween and Merry Christmas before we could settle him on shouting Happy Easter:)

Tonight we added a new holiday to our family repertoire, Songkran, the Thai new year. We ate dinner with items meant to bring prosperity in the coming year at a local restaurant that entertained us with four (of 300!) regional Thai dances, a water blessing, and a Thai boxing demonstration. We learned that Songkran is a water festival because this is the hottest time of the year in Thailand, a fact we sweatily remember from our trip last May. Water is also a symbol of cleansing and purity. We ate our spicy noodles and swayed along to the music for an enjoyable night.

Another occasion that we will soon be celebrating for the first time this year is Suki's Family Day. This is the anniversary of the day we spent our first night as a family in our home, May 7th. This will be our first with Suki, but family day has been around awhile. Ian has his family day in June, and we have built some special traditions. We usually eat out for a traditional (ET or, now, Thai) meal with whatever extended family members are available with dessert at home (cupcakes have been a popular choice thus far). We talk about the day we became a family, the day we met, the time we spent getting to know each other and our memories and knowledge of first family. And of course we take pictures!

We are still making our way as a family with a mixture of traditions and celebrations, as well as a family of varied personalities and temperaments. We are stretching and growing, a process not without its pains and scars, but we are nonetheless open to creating the space for love and trust and respect one day, and holiday, at a time. It always helps when there is delicious food involved;)

Issue with Comments

FYI- I am having a problem getting the comments you make to post. I am NOT ignoring you. For a while I thought no one was responding at all, but after hearing from those of you who try, but never see them, there is some setting issue that I haven't figured out that is blocking you when you comment. I will figure it out eventually and let you know to start sending comments again. Sorry!!

Paska (Ukraine) and Cheesecake (Israel)

For today's Easter holiday, I found a recipe for Paska, a Ukrainian Easter bread, so of course I had to make it! Knowing I had all the ingredients, I decided to make the bread a day ahead so that I could just relax and enjoy the holiday, going to church in the morning and hosting my brother and his family in the afternoon. I am SO glad I planned ahead because this recipe required FIVE hours for the bread to rise. That and a last minute trip, mid-mixing, to the store made for quite the epic preparations. Throw in the cheesecake, a common Sabbath dessert in Israel, and it was a long afternoon in the kitchen.

If you've been following my culinary adventures here, you may have picked up on the fact that I am a bit of a planner. Some of my planning is just about being organized, like with our weekly meal plan, so when we are tired or stressed we don't pile on, and so we aren't wasting precious time on the daily minutia that we could be spending playing outside or snuggling with books. I knew I was going to make this bread recipe, so I planned the time in advance.

Some of our planning is more serious. Our family thinks about the issues we have to face as a transracial family. The looks, rude comments, insensitive questions. We plan for the issues our children absolutely face as boys of color in America. The racial profiling, suspicion, and education gaps. This isn't the kind of planning that fills us with joy. It is heartbreaking and sits in the pit of my stomach. We know we have to face these situations, so we plan our responses and our strategies in advance.

When I consider the message of this holiday season though, I must remember that this is not a lonely journey. We are a family of faith, which sustains us in hard times. We have a family that learns with us and supports our efforts, even as they join with their own. We have an adoption community that provides a dialogue and shared experience that we can reach to for information and resources. We try to surround ourselves with others we trust and respect.

There are going to be unexpected moments in any given recipe. We don't know what the future holds for our children, but we try to prepare them, and ourselves as best we can. Our little family is strong in that regard.

Habichuelas al Estilo Cubano (Puerto Rico, for real:)

Last night, I inadvertently opened a can of black beans that was not on the menu, which changed out meal plan for tonight to...something with black beans. This unexpected turn in culinary events led me to Habichuelas al Estilo Cubano, Cuban-style black beans, a recipe originating in Cuba, but much loved in Puerto Rico. This ended up being a delightful surprise of a dish with a dash of oregano and more than a splash of vinegar. I used up some of the last of my frozen peppers from last year's garden as well, and my palate felt truely satisfied.

There have been a lot of unexpected moments in our life. I think they call that parenting;) But even our journey to building our family, becoming parents, was full of surprises. We assumed that our children would come to us biologically. When this was not the case, our minds and hearts were open to the alternatives before us, and adoption led us to the delightful unions with our boys. We would not change one moment of the journey that led us to these precious children that so delight us with their bright smiles, vivid imaginations and endless sense of adventure. We are a family that embraces the deep well of uniqueness and joy that comes from adoption, even as we work through the challenges it brings.

So imagine my shock to read that the Archdiocese of Minnesota recently announced to a group of teenagers that adopted children are "sociologically unstable" (whatever that even means). Some of those students were adopted themselves. There were also other inaccurate, ignorant and offensive statements made about families with single mothers or two parents of the same sex. It doesn't matter the source, a stranger, a coworker, a religious organization, or an elected official. Attacking families built on love, respect, affection and joy as something wrong, unstable or immoral is what really erodes the fabric of family systems in America. Not me loving my children or you loving yours.

I have the family I never thought to imagine and am fulfilled in ways I never thought possible. I only wish that those who would judge my choices and my children could know a fraction of this truth, because it could just change the world. It certainly changed mine.

Rempeyek Udang (Indonesia)

The dinner conversation at out house the last two nights has centered around the garden. Yes, spring is upon us, and it is time to start planning for which veggies and fruits we're going to put into the backyard plot. We're developing our vegetable wish list, thinking about what we could can, freeze and eat off the vine. We're adding fruit trees and vines to our slice of urban agriculture, thinking of the jams, pies and juice in days ahead.

Admittedly, it is still very, very early for planning given that we shouldn't plant anything until at least May 15th in our growing zone, and the rule of 'green' thumb seems to be to wait until after Memorial Day. But the weather has us planting the seeds of our imagined garden, even if we must wait to dig our hands into the dirt.

Our garden is certainly a family project. At this stage, we are all envisioning fresh lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers in a few short months, while imagining the possibilities of adding perhaps sweet potatoes or asparagus to the plot. I take on the role of garden manager, planting, weeding and maintaining the plants. John is the heavy lifter and is always up for a run to Home Depot or a quick round of weeding. And the boys are my best little pickers, enthusiastically monitoring the growth of the plants until they are perfectly ripe and ready for the table.

Right now spring is invigorating our family. The fresh air is spurring us on to sneak in bike rides, afternoon walks, and quick runs to the daily routine. We're planning our backyard life of gardening, sandbox adventures, and sidewalk chalk of the months ahead. The fresh air spurred me on to look past the leftovers tonight and make a batch of Rempeyek Udang, giving me a little burst of energy to fry shrimp cakes with celery, onion and a bit a red pepper.

More importantly, we're breathing in the possibilities of new experiences, new recipes and new life even as reinforce the bonds of our family by working together on a garden the reflects the shared joy we have in refrigerator pickles, rhubarb cake, and garden salsa.

Kik and Tibs (Ethiopia)

I have this little habit. Every time I have a conversation with someone about Ethiopian food, I have to then go out and eat some, soon, or I am overwhelmed with a craving for injera and wat. The problem is that I have conversations about Ethiopian food all the time. And as much as I would like to eat several meals a month (or week) at my fav ET restaurant, Fasika, in St. Paul, the budget doesn't support that. So I've had to learn how to make it myself.

Just a few days ago, I was at an Ethiopian Kids Community (EKC) meeting to plan this year's Mehaber, our annual picnic of adoptive families who love Ethiopia. It's gotten so big that for the last few years, we've held it at the State Fair grounds. This is my third year on the committee and my first year serving on the EKC board. We started our meeting with introducing ourselves and sharing about our favorite Ethiopian food. My two favorites are Kik, mild yellow lentils, and Beef Tibs, cubed beef in berbere sauce.

Today, three days later, I made them, and while the recipes I used didn't come from Extending the Table, the dishes turned out quite delicious. What I actually did was go online, look up a couple recipes, and merge them together into my own version of the dish. Butter, onions, ginger, garlic, and peppers make a flavorful base for both dishes, which are scooped up with bits of injera. I admit to just buying the injera at a local shop. Lentils and beef I can handle. Fermented teff, not so much.

Tonight we had an Ethiopian meal, but it lead to listening to a ET cd, doing our family version of shoulder dancing, and discussing over our meal what various words in Amharic mean.  We took pieces of the culture and made them our own in way that is authentic for our family. And the more that we have these moments, the easier it is to realize that we crave the rich, unique flavors of Ethiopian culture in our lives always.

Thinking About Trayvon

Every time I've heard the name Trayvon Martin over the last several days my eyes have filled with tears. And I've really struggled with how to put into words my reaction and response to the tragic death of this young man, so I've avoided posting, writing or even talking about the situation. But it has weighed heavily on my heart.

In an alternate life, it would be easy to turn off the news, avoid the newspapers, tune out the debacle playing out in Florida. But that will never be a luxury that I can indulge. Not as a parent raising a young, black man in America. It should not be an option for any person to ignore what happened to Trayvon. In the United States of America. In 2012.

Today President Obama said that if he had a son, that son would look like Trayvon Martin.

I do have a son, and he does look like Trayvon Martin.

My beautiful, brown son, Ian Tariku, makes the world a better place for being in it. He loves super heroes and dancing and Hot Wheels. Today we read comic books curled in a chair together, played a rousing game of hide and seek, and discussed his need to eat five servings of fruits and vegetables every day. This week he practiced the letter D and the number 8 at school, and I signed his field trip form for the petting zoo. He's getting his hair cut tomorrow, just like Levi, another brown boy from school.

Ian's favorite person in the world is his little brother, with whom he builds elaborate traps for alligators. Just a few days ago he told me that he doesn't care about his birthday this year, just July, when he gets to go visit his Grandma Susie again. He's taking swimming lessons, and recently proved to be a switch hitter in tee ball. Tonight he cracked me up by making one of his bad guy figurines dance a swivel hipped combo and revealing the villain's super power to be the ability to pass noxious gas from his rear end, sound effects and all.

My son is so smart and funny and tender and loving. When he came into our lives as a tiny little survivor, we promised to keep him healthy and educated and safe with the same love and devotion of his first family. It should be unthinkable that such ignorance and injustice exists in the same bright world as Ian that would threaten the promise of his future. His and Levi's and Trayvon's and any other brown child who happens to cross paths with the wrong combination of suspicion and  arrogance and weaponry.

I'm sad to live in a world without Trayvon Martin. It is incomprehensible to consider a world without Ian. The world is a better place because he is in it. I hope the world can learn from the tragedy of Trayvon and become a better place in his memory. But what's more, I hope that we as concerned and terrified parents, friends, and citizens will refuse to let the world forget that until injustice is erased for good, no one is safe, especially our most precious children.

That is my fervent hope. For my son. And yours.

Huasheng Rouding (China)

Usually I write about my cultural journey with my family in this blog, but today I am going to write about the literal journey that my family just took, which explains in part my recent absence from posting. This was a big deal for us, given it would be the first time we spent a night, let alone five, away from home since our youngest came home. We've worked so hard in the last ten months to become the family we are today, but are still in the process of working through trauma, bonding, and emotional well-being. This trip was a test for us, and we did very well.

As with most adventures, getting there is half the battle. We left town for five nights to drive to Cincinnati and visit John's family and introduce them to Suki. The drive itself is about 13 hours one way. We stopped half way there to spend the night, but drove straight home in one day coming back.  Here are the highlights, insights, and little know trivia about the family from that drive:

• My children are amazing travelers! They spent 12 hours in the car on our drive to Cincinnati (and 12 hours back), and never complained, whined, or even asked when we would get there.

• One should never realize that their driver's license is three weeks expired as they are pulling our of the driveway. If this occurs, one's wife (me), will advise not to get caught because said wife is still not going to drive.

•  When travelling for the first time with a child who has lived three quarters of his life in survival mode, he will find a way to protect his new found happiness, even if he is relatively secure in and excited about the trip. Thus, every time I turned around, did I find Suki with a toy that he had secreted away, just in case. The treasures he chose to bring: an Incredible Hulk mask, a toy cell phone, Mistletoe the stuffed Christmas cat, and a recent art project.

• Suki now measures all yucky things in the world against a peanut he tried to touch on the floor of a public men's restroom, yelling things like "PU Peanut!" when he now encounters something gross, like a stinky skunk roadkill smell as it permeates the car. His father's reaction to his reach was what cemented that into place.

• Every time we enter the state of Illinois we boo because due to some unfortunate and now rather hysterical reasons, my husband, the kindest, most just, most law abiding man I know, may not drive in the state. In Wisconsin, Indiana, and Ohio, he's still good.

• It is never a good thing to mistake a 2 tsp dose of cough syrup for 2 TBSP. One will spend all of Indiana and most of Illinois incredibly ill and out of it, though the coughing will stop.

• Oreo cookies, Matchbox cars, Superhero Squad books, and The Avengers cartoon series will keep children occupied for a ridiculously long time.

• Twelve hours is totally worth it for the memories of cousins riding bikes, playing house, making art projects, and giggling uncontrollably over lunch around Grandma's table. 

Oh, and if you made it this far I made a recipe tonight, Huasheng Rouding, diced pork with peanuts. It was delicious;)

Grasmere Ginger Bars (England)

It's Leap Day! I'm not sure if one is supposed to wish a happy day for this day, but it certainly deserves an exclamation mark at the very least. Today is the day that brings balance to the calendars by acknowledging those pesky extra hours that hang out there in our solar system. Or something like that;)

Today certainly brought some balance to my own life in the form of a very rare occurrence, rarer than even every four years. A SNOW DAY! Yes, the district I work for called off school for all students and staff. That never happens! Last year it snowed 20 inches on a Saturday night, and I was back to work Monday morning as if nothing happened. This is a treat. And what is even more spectacular, the district we live in did NOT call a snow day, so I sent my family off to work/school/daycare and have been finding some personal balance by resting and restoring a bit of myself in the blessed quiet of my own home.

This is easily the craziest time of year for me with work and coaching demands on top of parenting and family demands on top of life's general chaos. It's the end of the trimester. It's doctors' appointments. It's planning a spring break trip. It's tournament time. But today I could take a breath, relax, slow down, lounge a bit, and just have some time to myself.

 Even the way I spent my day was a balancing act of sorts. For the first few hours I lay in bed reading a guilty pleasure novel in my jammies with coffee. No music, no noise, just quiet. I eventually roused myself to get dressed for the day. I worked on my writing project, which hasn't even taken a back seat lately, but was left at the curb at some unknown location to gather dust. It felt good to jot down several hundred words. I sat for a solid hour, with soft music and hot tea, and jumped right back into the dystopia I've had so much fun bringing to life on the page.

And of course, I had to throw in a recipe for today. I paged through the book and back, considered something complicated with my extra time. That idea was squashed pretty quickly. Instead I made some simple Grasmere Ginger Bars, a bar that balances the health of whole wheat flour and the decadence of lots and lots of flour. Just a bit crispier and thinner than traditional gingerbread, these are yummy.

I'm hoping I don't have to wait four years for another opportunity like this!!!

Shepherd's Pie (United Kingdom)

Shepherd's Pie is one of those dishes I love, but usually reserve for the occasional meal at a restaurant or for when I visit with my dad and stepmother, who live overseas. Whenever we visit, here or there, we meal plan with them, and they graciously cook for us. The pie is one of our 'requests,' one of those comforting recipes that needs my dad's (or stepmother Lindsay's) magic touch.  This along with mac & cheese with sausage,  banana bread, and homemade pizza among many others.

Shortly after my father had moved overseas, he gave my brothers and I a cookbook he had made of all the recipes he had made for us growing up. It has a picture of him on the front and is titled Dad's Comfort Food Recipes. My favorite is the chicken soup. The book includes some 'keys' to cooking as well, including a nugget of wisdom connected to the spaghetti recipe that some recipes are labor intensive, but more satisfying in the end. The Shepherd Pie fell into that intensive category, but was so worth it!

In my last post I wrote about how tired I was over a recent spate of intense racial moments during the week. I was going to take the weekend off, wall myself away from it all, but it didn't quite work that way. Insensitive and racist remarks about Jeremy Lin, as well as racist images connected to a campaign in our state to isolate the disenfranchised with voter id  requirements, made the news and I chose not to change the channel, chose not to look away.

There is no break from the onslaught of ignorance and bigotry and hate in the world. I've taken my head out of the sand of white privilege and it is intense. But I learn so much by staring it down, writing the letters, reporting the nonsense, and even just sharing the story. It is work. There is a process. There are messes to clean up, some of which I make myself. Sometimes it doesn't turn out the way I thought, hoped, prayed.  But I have the comfort of my family, near and far, and the lessons I've learned that I wish to instill in my boys.

Kuy Tew Cha (Cambodia)

I like the simple things in life. Like this week's recipe Kuy Tew Cha, noodles with broccoli and meat from Cambodia. The recipe is in the name, with a little soy sauce, garlic and sugar. Hot and delicious, it filled us up and made for tasty leftovers.

Simple is rare these days, especially when it comes to matters of equity and diversity. This week I found myself inundated with ignorance, racial profiling, stereotypes and dismissiveness. And it really sucked. The details get messy and are many, but by mid-week I found myself drained, vulnerable and crabby. Why can't it be easier? Why can't people be more open minded? Why do retailers think the world wants drivel? Why? Why? Why?

Okay, so I've indulged in my little tantrum. Now I have to remind myself that not everyone is on the same journey as I am. As I put it to my colleagues, some people are still in bed asleep to the fact that there is a journey to be taken. That there is world out there beyond our own backyards that is rich and vibrant and life affirming. What matters is that I have many more fabulous people in my life who "get it" and travel along with me. My family, my friends in work or parenting or history who champion me and teach me in equal parts.

This weekend I'll be cocooning a bit, healing, recovering, but then I'll get back on the road. Take a few simple steps to get me started again. The journey is too important to delay for long.

Banana Oatmeal Cookies (Jamaica)

Another lazy Sunday for the family today. Ian requested early on that we stay in our pajamas all day, a request easy enough to fulfill:) It was a day that called for cookies, so this morning the boys and I made a batch of Banana Oatmeal Cookies from Jamaica. Cooking with my boys was fun and took a long time and was a little messy and at the end we all had cookies to enjoy.

Something we worked on as the recipe came together were the basics of sharing;  inhabiting the same space, taking turns, reaching out to others.  The boys took turns adding the ingredients, mashing the bananas, and stirring the batter. They even shared the same stool in the primo location next to the baking cupboard. After the cookies were made, I told them I would be taking some to share at work, and Ian wished he could take some to share at school. No one complained or whined or pouted about working together. It was a nice reminder for how to maintain the life-long practice of sharing.

Just hours later I made a trip to the grocery store, and tried to live the lessons I teach the boys. I grabbed a few items for the food shelf, and when it came time to check out, offered my spot in an open lane to another woman, older and frail, who was struggling with her cart. She was with another woman who had her hands full of soup cups and couldn't really help her with the cart As I moved into the line in the next lane, giving her my spot, a young guy cut her off with his cart, rushing to get her spot. I was so appalled! My mouth hung open at the back of the line in the other lane. I had a little moment of eye contact with the cashier where we shook our heads, but otherwise the guy paid for his groceries and left.

I'm pretty sure that guy was not rushing off to perform brain surgery, so why make the choice to disregard a moment to share a little time and space? I never want my boys to behave like that guy. I want them to be kind and compassionate and aware of the needs of others, including the anonymous lady at the grocery store. I know that they aren't perfect, and I certainly am not either, but being selfish is easy. Sharing sometimes takes a little sacrifice, but it can be really fun, too, and end with delicious banana cookies.

Frijoles Volteados (Guatemala)

Usually when I write a post about a recipe, I include the name of the recipe in its language of origin, and then I include the English translation. For example, tonight I made Frijoles Volteados, refried beans. Extending the Table includes both of these names along with a phonetic pronunciation. When I make a recipe for my family, I give them both names, and usually the boys have fun working out how to say these wonderful new words.

Language is important. Names are important. My own children have four names. They have retained the names given to them at birth combined with a name John and I have chosen for them (though that combo differs in order from boy to boy), and we all share a last name. The names of our children are full of hope and promise and belonging, gifts from all the family that loves them so dearly.

I've been thinking about names this week. I recently went to a speech tournament where the names of the participants were not fully honored. They were mispronounced, skipped over, and singled out for attention. This is a edited portion of the letter I wrote to the coach in charge of the event:

"I did want to mention something I have been struggling with about the awards ceremony. I noticed that for many of the students with names that were difficult to pronounce, a lot of attention was brought to that fact as you and your assistant called them forward. There were several comments like “I’m never gonna get this one right,” “This is a really hard one to say” and “I’m not even gonna try this one.” Usually these statements were accompanied by laughter on your part.

Unfortunately, one of my students was one of those students. When she was called up to receive her recognition, you said “—I’m not gonna even try this one.” So not only was she not fully recognized a competitor who did exceedingly well, the moment became about the announcer rather than her. This was extremely hurtful and took away from the celebration of her showing. It was also embarrassing for her.

One of the aspects of speech that I love is the diversity of the students that participate in the competition. Each one brings unique talents and perspectives to the pieces. Often what they put into a piece is a reflection of their own interests and experiences. This diversity is something that can be embraced in all aspects of a tournament, including the awards.

I hope that by bringing this to your attention and offering feedback, it gives you the opportunity to reflect on the situation and maybe consider some alternatives for your next event. All of our students deserve the recognition they receive as the wonderful, unique individuals they are!"

 

I felt for the coach who was in a difficult position. But I also felt for all those students who couldn't advocate for themselves in a very public moment. Yet I received a very gracious response from the coach, who apologized and acknowledged the opportunity to make a positive change. She pointed out the irony of the situation, in good humor, that even as speech coaches, we need to remember the power of words.

Menotse Inhino (United States)

So today, Superbowl Sunday, is the second biggest eating day of the year in the United States after Thanksgiving Day. The average American will eat over 1200 calories in just snack food before getting to the pizza, chili or other main dish. Over the years we have done our fair share of eating at Superbowl parties, but today we kept it simple. Oh, we indulged in some pizza, but that was more out of convenience than anything else. It just gets harder to justify gorging ourselves on junk food and empty calories for a game we don't really care about in a world in which others, our neighbors far and wide, go without.

What I did make tonight was simple food to the extreme. A wild fruit pudding, Menotse Inhino, is a recipe from the Cheyenne people of America. It is simply dried fruits; I chose apples, prunes, apricots and berries, which are simmered in water, then thickened with a little cornstarch. The recipe gave sugar as an option, but I left it out, preferring the pure sweetness of the fruit. We all ate a warm spoonful tonight, and in the morning will stir the pudding into our oatmeal for a hearty breakfast.

Sometimes the food we eat can be a cleansing experience. I'd like to think this recipe will cleanse my soul of a little of the consumerism that takes over my nation for a football game. I'd like the warm fruit melting into spiced oats to remind me that while advertisers spent 3.5 million dollars for 30 seconds of airtime during the game, a family down my city street street, in the suburbs, on the reservation, went hungry and I have to work harder. To reach out one more time, to offer one more meal or hour or dollar towards fighting world hunger. That tomorrow is a new day, but the mission doesn't change.

Now you can be reminded, too.

Nsoso ya Muamba (Zaire)

Last Monday, a week ago, seven days gone, I made Nsoso ya Muamba, chicken with peanut sauce, from Zaire, and it was pretty good. I burned the sauce a little, but managed to salvage the dish. Even though it came from my Extending the Table book, I didn't really have anything else to say about the dish beyond that. I didn't feel very extended or excited.That's not to say that I am burned out by this blog project. I'm committed. But not all of my cultural connections can be made with a tomato-peanut sauce over chicken and couscous.

Something that has been inspiring me recently though are my new favorite cds from Playing for Change, a nonprofit organization that promotes music education and peace around the globe. All of the songs are collaborations by musicians across continents. Check out some of their videos on youtube. They are so great. As the video shifts from one musician to the next, the boys love to know what country the musician is from. The music unites the players and singers, but also the listener in a new form of global community. Plus, it pretty sweet to hear my boys singing along to One Love.  

Another series that our family embraces are the cds from Putumayo. They are a world collection of songs grouped by genre or region pulled from popular local artists. One cd may contain a playlist from India, France, South Africa, Brazil and more. They have adult collections as well as some for children. One of our favorites in African Playground, especially the song Hoye Hoye from Ethiopia. Ian dances his little heart out whenever it comes on, dances to the beat of his people with enthusiasm and joy.

Music plays in the background of our meals, games, art projects and recipes. It fuels our dance parties. It soothes and comforts at the end of a long day. It connects us to the heart of the places in the world that we hold so dear.

Blueberry Wild Rice (Canada)

My great state of Minnesota has a lot to love, something I often have to remind myself in these cold, cold months. Just the other day I left the house cursing when it was many degrees below zero. Just a few hours later I noted how much nicer it felt...at 2 above zero. That's the mark of a true Minnesotan. So is making warm, comforting food on a freezing winter's night, which is what I chose for this week,

Usually the recipes I make for this blog are ones that come from far away places that I hope to see one day or want to know more about. This week I made a recipe from our close neighbor when I chose Blueberry Wild Rice, an Ojibway recipe from Canada. Of course, many bands of the Ojibwe people also call Minnesota home, and the wild rice is a staple of their culture.

What intrigued me about this recipe, beyond the pairing of the rice and berries, was the name. The Ojibway word for wild rice is 'Manomin' and the word for blueberries is 'Miinan.' Yet, the book only gave the English name, with the note that the Ojibway name for the dish was an entire sentence detailing the preparation. I tried to find the full name online, but haven't come across it yet.

What I did find was many variations of this dish, depending on the region and band associated with the recipe. Even the name Ojibway had many variations to the spelling. I've used two just within this post, depending on which region I referenced, though I mainly used the spelling from the cook book. Many of the recipes I came across in my search called for dried berries, though I used frozen. We ate this dish as a dessert, though it can also be eaten as a side dish, with a dollop of cream whipped with cinnamon. It was not a sweet dish necessarily, but the tart flavors combined with the cream quickly grew on us.

There are many rich cultures to explore within the borders of my own great state and beyond to our neighbors. The world community starts here. For us it started with two little boys, it continues with warm recipes on cold nights, and will hopefully be a journey that sustains us for years to come.

Cream Puffs (My Mom)

See what happens when I go back to work? Over ten days since I cooked anything of merit and worth writing about! After my wonderful vacation and the flurry of recipes I made, it had been quick and easy meals for two weeks. Tonight I broke the slump though and made something really tasty. Cream puffs!

This is a dessert I remember fondly from my childhood. My mother made them quite often for dinner parties or church events. This dessert falls into the comfort food category for sure. A fluffy pastry shell filled with sweet vanilla cream and topped with powdered sugar. Yet I had gone my entire adult life having never made nary a puff until today.

Tonight John and I went to a party and were asked to bring something to share. The party was hosted by good friends who had been served several of the appetizers and desserts from my canon of recipes, so I was looking for something new. Not only that, but this party marked the first night that we hired a babysitter to watch the boys since Suki came home. Oh we've had my family watch them plenty of times, but this was a big step for us to introduce a new caretaker to our youngest, which was a little scary and also a reason to celebrate as we've come a long way in our bonding process.

And the cream puffs were delicious. I gave a few to the boys, who all but inhaled them, and then ate two myself before I even got dressed for the party. I put them on a fancy glass dish and carefully held them steady on the drive to our friend's house. Upon arrival, our puffs were added to the sweets table, and I watched them get devoured throughout the night with delight. More than a couple people commented about how much they liked cream puffs, and I beamed just a little.

For me, cooking for my family is supremely satisfying, and now that we have re-entered the world at large after our extended cocooning, sharing with good friends and making new acquaintances over a sweet treat is just what I needed to re-energize my quest to reach out into the world.

Sopa de Cebada (Colombia)

Tonight I'm writing with just hours left of my lovely winter break, having to return to work tomorrow morning. This was a nice vacation, spent at home and with family. I've made the most of the last couple of days by staying in out of the cold, in my comfiest pajamas, reading, spending time with my three favorite guys, and cooking, of course. Simple joys for the introverted soul!

And I am a true introvert in every sense of the word, something I do not apologize for, as it in the fiber of my being. For me this means I relax, and restore my energy, with inward pursuits rather than outward. My favorite place to be is home. My favorite activities are quiet ones, though no less creative. Reading, writing, cooking in my own space is not just nice, but necessary for my own sense of health and well-being. Two of my three guys tend toward introversion. The third most certainly does not. So we work to find a balance in our home, giving each other the space and attention we all need.

This is sometimes a challenge. My work as a teacher is most certainly an extroverted activity. While it is fulfilling and worthwhile, it does have a tendency to be draining as well. This break I had the opportunity to devote quite a bit of time to my writing projects, and this is my dream life. Someone pays me to write books and essays and maybe not this blog, but articles and novels and such.

So tonight's recipe reflected the simplicity of my day, and the dream on which I am working, with a little flash, as I made Sopa de Cebada, a barely soup. The ingredients were so basic. Meat, onion, veggies, but a little dash of vinegar brought it all together into a tasty, comforting soup. The kind of soup meant to be eaten with quiet conversation and laughter, in the heart of one's home, with family. The kind of soup meant to energize a person to pursue their dreams, or at least keep writing.

Pan de Coco (Belize)

Happy New Year! New year, another new recipe, of course. Today I made Pan de Coco, coconut bread, as I contemplated the year left behind and the next ahead. Bread is the essence of many a meal across the globe, so it was easy to contemplate what the essence of life will be in the coming months. I also thought about making bread, which is hard work. Our family makes all our bread fresh with the help of our very handy bread maker. We put in the ingredients, push a button, and three hours later a piping hot loaf emerges smelling oh so delicious.

This bread was different. The Pan de Coco called for 1 whole coconut, grated into hot water, which was so not going to happen. Even if I could track down a fresh coconut in January, on a holiday, in Minnesota, I wouldn't have the first clue as to how to open it or peel it or whatever it is one does with coconuts. Instead, I followed the variation note in the margin of Extending the Table that suggested using canned coconut milk, of which I always have in my pantry, and water. One obstacle down. The ingredients went in smoothly, but then came the kneading. EIGHT minutes of kneading! Which I did, watching the clock carefully, switching between arms, using the weight of my body rather than my arms. Whew! Another step done. Then the rising, which isn't so much work, but remembering to check on the rising dough between making lunches and watching matchbox car races and monitoring an epic toy clean-up, is another. The bread, slightly sweet and very moist, got made. Three small loaves and a pan of rolls all total.

Making goals for the new year is easy, like pouring ingredients into a machine. Unfortunately there is no machine that takes off the holiday weight or refinishes the basement with simply the push of a button. It takes ingenuity, hard work, and commitment to reach ones goals. So I am going to list my first initial goals for the new year here, as a recipe of sorts, maybe not the most glamorous recipe, but one made for sustaining and enriching the day to day of our busy family in 2012. I'll let you know how it goes:)

1. Finish my book by the end of summer. Then sell it!

2. Teach the boys to swim.

3. Hike, bike, and camp outdoors as often as we can.

4. Put in a new fence for the backyard. Re-tile the bathroom.

5. Explore Thai cultural opportunities in our area.