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!
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
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.
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.
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