12 Days of Blogging: Lessons in Kindness

I have this very clear memory from few years ago, right around the time Suki came home, where I was pulling into the driveway with the boys in the backseat when a sudden realization sent me into a mild panic, the kind where your breath is stolen away right as your heart starts to pound in your ears. All of the sudden it came to me that "Holy Sh*t! I am responsible for making sure my children know how to swim!"

Now I might have been a wee bit emotionally vulnerable given that I had just become a mother for the second time, and since teaching your children to swim is as easy as driving them to any of several qualified professionals in the immediate area, the panic may have been more about the overwhelming number of important, life-saving lessons we must teach our children than this one in particular.

Something that has been a priority for our family is teaching our boys how to be kind; to themselves and others. This has only been reinforced for me in the last few weeks as my family and I have been blessed with the kindness of family, friends and strangers.

My husband John is probably the kindest person I know, as his kindness is rooted in patience and commitment. He is also kind in the clears the snow from the neighbors' walks, volunteers with veterans, helps friends move with a smile kind of way.  My first two weeks after the surgery, I have had to keep my foot elevated 23 hours a day, so with basically no mobility, he has not only taken care of me, but our boys as well, and never complained. I know with such a wonderful role model, my boys will grow up to be kind men as well! I am so thankful for John's kindness!

My mom has always been one of my models for kindness. Her welcome embrace and forgiving heart extends to all people.  She has taken over as caregiver as John visits his family, driving me to the doctor, cooking me Grandma Lois's tacos (the ultimate comfort food!) and reminding me to ice, medicate and rest as needed. I am so thankful for my Mom's kindness!

My extended family has surrounded me with the kindness I need to heal and recover from my surgery. My brother Elliott has come to take care of me a couple of days while John is gone, bringing my nephew for the positive energy that comes from a happy, healthy toddler. My sister-in-law Katie provided healing touch to encourage my incision and body to heal. The many phone calls and text messages to check in or send love and prayers have been so appreciated. I am thankful for my family's kindness!

Today I am also thankful for the kindness of strangers. My brother Nick and his wife, along with his in-laws, were in a serious car accident a few days ago. We will forever be thankful that there were only minor injuries, as well as for the good Samaritans that stopped after the crash, taking action to help in many ways. I am thankful for the kindness of these brave strangers!

I want to teach my boys to be kind, and I have many role models for them to turn to for lessons on how to treat others, especially in times when it is needed most.  

12 Days of Blogging: Seven Super Years

Happy Birthday to my sweet boy Ian who is seven years old today! My big boy is kind, hard working, so funny and always ready to learn something new.  Here are a few highlights from the last year that I will cherish always.

The Lego invasion swept through one year ago today on Batman's motorcycle, scooped up Suki in the process, and is here to stay with the vehicles and characters of Lego City, Lego Chima and Ninjago. And while Legos rival sand in their ability to work their way into the carpet, shoes, and every crevice in between, I am always amazed at the complicated structures that appear in blue, yellow, red and green out of such a joyous imagination.

The story of the summer was this boy with his fishing pole, his trusty worm master (Suki) at his side, with Mom to unhook the fish with a ready supply of juice boxes. After a few lessons at Uncle Nick's "fishing camp" we hit the lakes for sunfish small, smaller and really small. Each catch was a new joy, each cast a new opportunity, and as my fisherman exclaimed during one summer sunset cast, "It's just so peaceful, Mom."

We started a new reading venture over the summer with Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, worked our way through several Series of Unfortunate Events, took a quest with Percy Jackson, and now find ourselves waiting for that special time each night where we snuggle in for the next chapter of the adventure. The Guardians of Ga'Hoole, along with a decent pile of birthday books, will keep us turning the pages well into year seven.

This has been the year of the yo-yo. After seeing a yo-yo master at school, Ian has taken it upon himself to learn the yo-yo well beyond the basics into several tricks that are complicated beyond my ability to process the steps on a youtube tutorial. But Ian is determined, and is making strides with moves that may or may not also be yoga poses. At this point, his expertise has advanced well beyond my own.

First grade has been all about the math this year! Ian works hard in school each and every day, enjoying his math and Chinese lessons, learning about Greek mythology in art (a big highlight!) and taking piano lessons. We are so proud to hear from the teachers and other parents that Ian is kind and generous to other students, making sure to include everyone. These days he goes to school with several rainbow loom bracelets that he gives away, coming home with a selection of new ones from other friends.

There are so many things I could write about what a special son Ian is and the wonderful experiences he has had this year, so I will end this post knowing that Ian's adventure is in progress and still being written with so many exciting days ahead!

12 Days of Blogging: Twas the Night Before Surgery

Twas the night before surgery and on the back of my foot

a pesky little bone spur had take root.

Tomorrow I am having a bone spur removed and a tendon reconfigured in a surgical procedure. I have daily pain in my foot from an injury that changes my gait, triggering the very painful arthritis in my back. The more my foot hurts, the more my back hurts. And since all the other therapies haven't stabilized the condition, the darn thing is coming out.

The actual procedure is a fairly routine, out patient venture (though it feels pretty significant to me right about now!). It's the recovery that looms large. For the next two weeks I need to elevate my foot above my heart 23 of 24 hours a day in an effort to reduce swelling and aide healing. My foot will be immobilized in a boot and I will not be allowed to put any weight on it for six weeks. Forced rest and relaxation wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the promise of that significant pain and boredom.

Tonight though I'm focusing on the many blessings I've come to realize about my situation. Yes, there are a few things I've learned as a frequent patient with chronic pain in the health care system these last eighteen months.

The first blessing is the support of my family and friends. I have a wonderful partner in my husband who takes very good care of me. I have family and friends that are coming to appointments, watching the boys, bringing meals, running errands, keeping company, sending prayers and even wrapping presents if needed. I have compassionate children who want mommy to feel better, which keeps me grounded and focused on recovering well.

 The second blessing is that I have a job that provides health insurance and benefits that allows for quality medical care for my family with providers of our choosing that will not bankrupt our household. I have some sick days that will combine with my scheduled holiday break to give me almost three weeks of rest and healing, without worrying if my job will be waiting for me.  We have not had to make the choice between our health and our home, job or other necessities.

The third blessing is how I have learned to advocate for myself as person with chronic pain. I knew to do it for my kids as instinct, but when it came to my own needs, I had to learn to ask for, and sometimes even demand, what I need to live a quality life. Rather than relying on pain medications, I perused exercise, meditation, massage, and other lifestyle changes to keep me healthy.

So send some more positive thoughts, blessings and prayers my way over the next couple of weeks. I'll be filling a little bit of that time with my seasonal blogging adventures of course, but I do believe that every positive effort will help!

12 Days of Blogging: Christmas is almost here!

A couple of days ago, after being asked for about the millionth time if Christmas was tomorrow, I sat my five year old down with some red and green construction paper, scissors, and a glue stick  to make a paper chain. With palpable enthusiasm (I seriously don't know if he has any other kind) Suki cut the strips in alternating colors, glued them into circling links, and created the art project to save my sanity this holiday season.  Each night he tears off one of the links in the chain that takes us closer to Christmas with an enthusiastic (seriously, it's his go to emotion these days) declaration that "Christmas in almost here, Mom!" It is a paper chain miracle.

This holiday season I am determined to win the fight against the insane pressure to spend money on presents, decorations, food, gift cards, that elf on a shelf thing, ugly sweaters that are now trendy, when all I want is the delight of having young children who still experience each holiday season with fresh eyes, and of course, unbridled enthusiasm (like a little bronco, I'm telling you).

So far we've been successful. Decorating the tree was rediscovering each ornament and its history with awe. Baking gingerbread men with raisin eyes and candy buttons only to gobble them right up. Listening to Christmas carols with the hope that the next song will be Jingle Bells, Batman Smells. Making paper chains decorated with a bright tree and shining star that reminds me that each day closer to Christmas is a day to cherish my kids and the innocence of the season and the enthusiasm that shines so bright (it's pretty much blinding, in the best way possible.)

12 Days of Blogging: Two Stories

This week I started teaching a course new to me, a college level multicultural lit course for seniors in high school. One of the objectives of the course is for the students to understand a text from multiple perspectives other than their own. This is a challenge for students who simply by nature of their development are quite focused on their own story. 

On the first day of the course I asked each student to share a story of a defining moment in their life. Each one was unique, though we were able to see a common thread; that defining some aspect of ourselves is almost always done in relationship with another person who opens our eyes to something new.

Here is one of my moments that I chose to share in class that day. It is much more personal than what I typically share, but if I am asking my students to open themselves to new experiences, I need to make myself vulnerable as well. This version is a little different from the story I told in class, certainly more personal I would say, because the nature of stories is that they change overtime, with reflection and perspective. Here is today's version.

When we travelled to Ethiopia to pick up our baby son, Ian, I was on the precipice of motherhood, without really understanding the changes to my identity that were about to take place. I was filled with such overwhelming excitement, joy and anticipation, for this was something I had waited for a very long time. For weeks I had carried a grainy photo of a sad-eyed baby who was now in my arms warm and wriggly and wonderful.

The day after we met Ian for the first time, we had the opportunity to travel to meet his parents. During the long, dusty trip I clutched a notebook full of questions to ask, my thoughts with my baby back at the care center. Pulling into the courtyard of our meeting, I immediately recognized the mother of my son, as he bears her features, most strikingly in his eyes, and before we knew it, we were all ushered into a tiny room with an interpreter to begin.

But what was so very clear is that this beginning for John and me, was an ending for this couple before us. Grief washed over them, filling the room, drowning our silly questions and splashing us with the realization that our joy was their heartbreak. So we decided that the most appropriate action was to simply grieve with them. Now, the rest of this story lies with our son, of private conversation that belongs to him.

When I left that room, I had a more complete understanding of what it meant to be Ian's mom. And when we finally arrived back in Addis, I broke some major protocol, and literally raced through the dusk toward the care center, a weepy, dusty mess, unwilling to be turned away at the gate until I held my child close, carrying the love and grief of two mothers in my heart for him always.

What my defining moment was about is really the collision of two stories. And how when I understood that my own story of adoption was incomplete without realizing, accepting and embracing my child's Ethiopian story, the love, tragedy and heartbreak.

Two stories, now three, incomplete without the others, forever intertwined, full of the tragic, complicated, all encompassing love that is my identity as a mom to my two precious sons.

The Twelve Days of Blogging: On the First Day...

I am embarking an a writing project for the month of December. Join me here for my Twelve Days of Blogging posts, scattered throughout the holiday season, and catch up on what is going on here in my world of teaching, parenting, cooking, surviving, thriving, and living life.

This week marked the first week of a new trimester at school. One of my opening activities is to talk to each student one-on-one. I have them share their name, interests, and then they have a choice of asking me a question or I will ask them a question, which ends up about 50-50 with the asking and answering. Most of our questions and answers run from an overview of our favorite things into the silliness of superpowers, animal hybrid fighting machines, and hypothetical match-ups.

One of my favorite questions I received this week though was "What do you love about school?"

That was an easy question! I have always loved the first day of school, and really the first day of a new quarter/trimester/semester, having done them all. I love the anticipation of staring with fresh with a set of new supplies, the notebook full of possibilities, the challenge of learning names, revisiting hallowed texts with the promise of new insights, and even the satisfying exhaustion of the seating chart, syllabus, and stubborn students.

Everyone needs a fresh start sometimes, another first day. Sometimes it feels like we need one every hour of every day. Sometimes its hard to ask for the forgiveness and open mindedness that is often needed to move forward. Sometimes that exhaustion is not so satisfying and comes with a tension headache that makes the blank page an impossibility.

But when the page is turned, the expanse of space is ripe to be filled with hope, creativity and joy.
So here is to 31 first days of school, and to a fresh start of a new writing project, in the spirit of the season.

Tembleque (Puerto Rico)

Recently, the scourge of lactose intolerance has hit home, literally in our house, and within my extended family. Certainly not an uncommon condition, nor a dangerous one, thank goodness, but still one that requires a change in our daily eating habits. The intolerant are forced to become tolerant of less than tasty alterna-soy substitutes and passing on dishes with buttery, creamy deliciousness that the very soul wants to gobble up.

Really though, changing and substituting some ingredients has not been that difficult. In fact, it has actually been fun to experiment with new recipes and products. That's how this recipe for Tembleque, coconut pudding, was chosen. I wanted to find a dairy-free dessert, and with its base of coconut milk, it fit the requirements.

And let me say, this recipe is a game changer. It is creamy, with a smooth coconut flavor that grows with each bite. Topped with only a bit of cinnamon, it is absolutely delectable, and that is not an understatement. This dessert is going to live a long and happy existence in the belly of our family. I want to find other dairy free dishes like this one that make me want to lick the bottom of the bowl until I am blissed out in a pudding-drunk stupor.

But...It's not ice cream. It's never going to be ice cream. And while some of us want to bathe in a coconutty tub of Tembleque for eternity because, seriously, it's that delicious, when one's favorite food is ice cream, and has been for a very long time, the reality of letting it go is so very difficult.

Because it's really about the loss of a shared experience. Spontaneous trips to Dairy Queen might not be the same when one person is left with a lame-o slushy type drink. Our favorite homemade mac and cheese can't be replicated with whatever faux cheese substitute exists to torture the intolerant.  Eating a meal together, sharing the flavor and texture of foods that comfort and delight us all, cannot be substituted if one person is left out. And as such, this requires a change in our eating habits, as a family.

That doesn't mean the rest don't ever get ice cream again. The intolerants our family knows and loves are gracious and forgiving even as they watch a scoop of ice cream get added next to the birthday cake or raspberry pie.  And they smile wide as we all eat our coleslaw made with veganaise. Which is a real thing. I swear.

A Prayer for My Son and Black Boys Everywhere

Thank you for my precious boy, who was created perfectly, in your image, with a sharp mind, a tender heart and cinnamon skin.

Since I first held him in my heart, and then my arms, I have prayed for wisdom and strength, with gratitude and joy, to be the mother he needs, now and always.

Now I pray for his life, his future, his sense of purpose in this world that breeds injustice and intolerance even as you have taught us to love first, always first, and love most and love best.

Please enter the classroom where my son will sit on the edge of a chasm between himself and his white classmates that is filled with lowered expectations, higher rates of suspension, suspicion of cheating even as he is so articulate.

Turn the pages of his book, lift his ballpoint pen, build the connections in his mind despite the depths of that chasm, so he can prove himself over and over and over.

Hold in your hands the inferno of his curiosity so the pervasiveness of institutional racism does not extinguish his light.

Please walk alongside him in the store while he clutches his allowance in search of the perfect reward for a dollar earned, all the while tailed by suspicious security, a concerned cashier, a secret shopper.

Help him not to lose the lessons we have imparted in the excitement of his purchase.

                 Never touch merchandise you do not intend to buy.

                                Never wander aimlessly in a store.

                                                Always ask for a bag and a receipt, no matter how small the purchase.

Hold in your hands his carefree spirit that he must leave at the entrance to be ever alert, on guard, in control, until he can resume a relaxed posture, perhaps in the privacy of his home at least, and always in the arms of his family.

Please sit in the passenger seat when my son is pulled over for a burned out taillight, not using his turn signal, drifting too close to the center line, driving while black.

Speak the words ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ through his lips, even while spread eagle and cuffed, without hesitation, as if his life depended on it, which it does.

Hold in your hands the hurt, the anger, the attitude, the humiliation, the questions, until he is among his own, who will be ready to hear it and bear it, every time it happened.

Please keep my son alive.

Please keep my son safe and healthy.

Please keep my son motivated, passionate, and loving…

                …even when he has every right not to be.

Please hold my son in your hands, along with every other black boy who sits in that classroom, walks into that store, and drives down that street.

 

 

 

Cinnamon, Caramel...and Pita Bread.

One of my favorite memories I have of my son Ian is from when he was about three years old. He and I were baking something in the kitchen which required cinnamon, and as he stirred the ingredients in the bowl my little guy broke into a spontaneous song, a joyous little ditty that went a little something like this:

My skin is brown
My skin is like cinnamon
I am brown
And I am strong

Ian sang these four lines with such gusto and certainty that tears sprang to my eyes.  Ian knew he was brown, like his favorite spice, and he felt powerful in his own skin. I will always remember that day, and my goal as his mother is to always help him maintain that joy of self discovery and confidence in his own skin.

Today as I put away groceries with the boys circling my legs, clamoring for snacks, I found a bag at the back of the cupboard with three caramels, one for each of us, a treat we decided to consume immediately. As we enthusiastically unwrapped our caramels, I held mine up to Suki's arm, noting that his skin was the exact brown of our caramels.

With many kisses and tickles, I said "I have a cinnamon son and a caramel son! I could eat you both up!" But Suki immediately asked, "Well, what are you?"

That took some brainstorming, and after discarding many types of wheat based products, Ian settled the matter with some determination, declaring that "Mom is pita bread."

These comparisons may seem simple, but in our family we do acknowledge that our skin is not the same. Yes, we are different from each other. God makes people in all shades of perfect, and on the inside we carry the same love of family in our hearts. Yes, we are a family, full of flavors and textures and colors and love, love, love.

Gibneh Beydah (Egypt)

This year I have a recipe of the month calendar, The World in Your Kitchen, and while in March I waited until the very last day of the month to make the recipe, when I turned to page to April, I wanted to dive into the recipe. And I did. One night last week the boys and I whipped up a batch of gibneh beydah, traditionally a goat cheese dip, though I made it with feta. It was easy and so, so yummy, as evidenced by the boys and I gobbling it down on pita chips in a matter of minutes.

And just like that, I was back in it. I've been pouring over my copy of Extending the Table, stopping by the Asian market, and plotting my meal plans for the days ahead. I sat  down with the cook book and planned my garden based on recipes I want to make this summer, and I've been thinking about upcoming events for which I can bring a new dish.

This blog has been slow for awhile now, which has been a reflection of where my mind has been these last months in terms of thinking about culture, race and adoption. It wasn't about the food, because I have been cooking up a storm during these long winter months. And it wasn't about my kids, because we still talk about those Big. Life. Issues. that we deal with as a family. There was just a point last year where I felt almost over saturated with books, discussions, blogs, classes, documentaries, fundraisers and more. So I checked out for awhile.

This month I've checked back in when I flipped the calendar.

I was invited to a book talk on The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander. So I purchased a copy and am reading about the new racial caste system that is the incarceration of African American men at an alarming rate in our society. And also my worst nightmare for my precious, intelligent son who will someday change the world. I don't want to think about the possibility of my son being snagged into a corrupt and racist system, but I don't have the choice to ignore this epidemic.

I began following NPR's new blog on code switching (http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch/). This online discussion on race, ethnicity and communication is fascinating, and the blog happened to go live the week in which my students read of Scout's exposure to this phenomenon in ch. 12 of To Kill a Mockingbird. In a few short days, this blog has already raised questions for me about how my children and I interact with the world around us and what my responsibilities are for providing my children the necessary tools to maneuver successfully in this society.

And finally, I've been reflecting on my own white privilege. The reality of my 'break' is that it was only possible because my skin is white, thus I am allowed to not think about race simply because I don't want to. If I am being honest, the break was good for me. I feel like I am able to explore these new resources before me with fresh eyes. But I also feel guilty. Because for all my work and reflection and investment in this journey, I still have work to do. Work that sometimes gets pushed to the end of the month, the back of the line, the bottom of the list. It would be my greatest regret to fail in this endeavor though...

So I check back in...

Bananas in Arrack (Sri Lanka)

Today, the last day of March, was cutting it close to make the recipe of the month, Banana in Arrack, from my recipes around the world calendar. I had been planning all month to make this dish. I had the simple ingredients, bananas, brandy, brown sugar, spices, but never quite the right time or temperament to make the dish. In fact, I was going to make a totally different dessert for today for a totally different dinner. But sometimes life doesn't go as planned.

Sometimes you hurt your back...badly.
Sometimes a dear family member is in the hospital.
Sometimes your run out of cream or tartar and the store is closed.
Sometimes your kid needs time and assistance to ease his way.
Sometimes the text for your spouse to bring home pizza for dinner doesn't get received.
Sometimes you forget that your kid has homework due tomorrow.
Sometimes  a stomach virus hits...at the airport.
Sometimes work piles on the desk and floor and table and computer.
Sometimes you still have one more email left to send.
Sometimes you are one visit short to the gym to get your $20 discount.
Sometimes you fall asleep only to wake an hour later with the world on your shoulders

And sometimes the Easter Bunny brings the cousins matching pajamas.
And sometimes you find a ham the night before Easter.
And sometimes you hear a story that warms the heart.
And sometimes you get a heartfelt apology.
And sometimes you go to the spa.
And sometimes your kids make you laugh until tears run.
And sometimes you can't put down that amazingly trashy novel.
And sometimes you walk for an extra ten minutes on the track.
And sometimes you just need a hot bath.
And sometimes you realize you have all the ingredients for something sweet, bananas that you light on fire, which warms a place inside you as you eat it at the table with some of the most important people in your life.

And it is good.

Gy Nam Daeng (Thailand) and Nasi Kuning (Indonesia)

A few weeks ago, the boys and I had school and work off for a long weekend. In an effort to give me a little more rest, John left the boys with a 'self serve' breakfast. Pre-poured milk in the fridge and leftover pancakes. The boys, seemingly focused on their rare opportunity to watch cartoons, waited until Dad was just out the door before exploring this novel approach to breakfast without realizing I was listening with the door to my room open.

It was not surprising that big brother Ian took charge. He made sure the pancakes and milk were served. It was no surprise then when Suki suggested that  perhaps they might have a few marshmallows along side the pancakes. Big brother shot that one down, but did offer a healthier alternative in the form of raisins. The compromise was accepted, and when the boys finished, they burst in to share the exciting experience of fending for themselves at meal time.

Meals are usually put together, or purchased and picked-up, by Mom and Dad. The boys show up when called away from projects, Legos, or cars, and with a quick wash of hands are ready to eat. Same with snacks. Of course, they ask if they want something, but we have been the keeper of the snacks, too. We keep it simple most of the time. Tonight at dinner it was Gy Nam Daeng, braised chicken in a spicy red sauce, and Nasi Kuning, coconut rice. It was a nice combination of spicy with the slightly sweet, creamy rice, with steamed broccoli on the side and fruit smoothies for dessert. But we would like the boys to become more involved and independent in meal times.

When Ian and I were in Scotland, my dad and stepmom provided us with delicious meals, and they also set out an assortment of snacks on a side table that were available for any time one was feeling a bit peckish. Simple items like oranges, veggies, oat cakes and corn chips. Ian and I would wander past a sample a cherry tomato or tangerine, which was an easy and healthy way to snack.

This past week, we decided to try something similar at home. We put together the "snack tray" as we've taken to calling it, and we set it up at the end of the counter, which we all pass by many times during the day. We've empty and refilled a few items, but the tray holds a little bowl of cutie tangerines, some grape tomatoes and baby carrots, raisins and other dried fruit, or a can of mixed nuts at any given time.

When we told the boys they could eat anything from the tray, anytime they wanted, I wasn't sure what to expect. They could have gorged themselves on raisins or simply ignored it, but it has actually worked out pretty much as we intended. It seems like a small step for independence, but we are a family that thrives on routine. Knowing what is for dinner and when exactly it will be served is comforting, especially at the end of a long day. That being said, we all have different needs and need to feel comfortable taking care of those needs. One raisin or cherry tomato at a time!

Keran Kook (Korea)

Last week my six year old and I had the same week off for spring break and passports itching to be used, so we flew to Glasgow, Scotland to visit with my dad and stepmother. We visited museums, played with walkie-talkies, walked and walked and walked, and (I) indulged in massages and spa treatments. It was a wonderful, relaxing trip, and upon arriving home to Dad and Little Brother, we chose to conquer the jet lag with a new take on takeout night.

In an effort to save money and calories, I made our 'takeout' food at home. We had (pre-cooked) egg rolls baked in the oven, Com Chien, a fried rice (which I've blogged about before), and Keran Kook, egg drop soup. Now I've had this soup many times over in restaurants or as takeout, but I never actually made it before.  It was so easy and so tasty though, which gave this simple appetizer a fresh new flavor. Even Ian, not a fan of soup, slurped it up!

This fresh take on an old favorite gave me the opportunity to reflect on our travels. Ian has traveled extensively in his short life,  but he doesn't really remember it much. Our last big trip was to Thailand two years ago, and while he has flashes of moments, this recent trip was truly a new adventure for him. And his enthusiasm and joy in that adventure was certainly contagious, bringing fresh perspective to the rigors and hassles of traveling.

Each stage of the trip itself brought many questions, about security, where the bags go, what all the vehicles around the plane were doing, etc. The magnitude of all the moving parts of traveling by plane can get lost in the hustle and lines and tedium of airports, but Ian had me stopping and thinking about how exciting it all can be.

While in Scotland, where Ian visited as a toddler but doesn't recall, he wondered over the many forms of transportation (including Granddad's missing car!) and explored a real castle and gobbled fish and chips. We even watched The Wizard of Oz, a favorite movie from my childhood, and this old favorite seemed somehow brighter and more marvelous than I remembered!

For me, one of the joys of being a parent is the new energy and perspective that little eyes and hearts and minds bring to both the mundane and miraculous moments, as well as everything in between. This is perhaps the first trip that Ian will remember clearly in the years ahead, and I hope that the magic of discovering new places and adventures carries him all over the world. And I may be right beside him part of the way!

Jiaozi (China)

Happy Chinese New Year!

This year our oldest started Kindergarten at a Chinese immersion school, and we are along for the ride as he learns about the language and culture of China. Today is actually the New Year, one of the most important dates of the Chinese culture, and we have been ushering in the Year of the Snake all weekend!

This is a new holiday for our family, but out six year old is fast on his way to becoming an expert, so we are committed to stay caught up as well on embracing some new traditions. This is an exciting process, mainly because the boys have been so excited. We are always open to new experiences, but because we have committed our childrens' K-8 education to a new language and culture, incorporating this holiday into our calendar comes with that commitment.

Early in the week, I asked Ian what he wanted to eat to celebrate the holiday. He immediately said, "Dumplings!" This is a dish I had never made, but I knew just the place to look. Extending the Table had just what I needed with a recipe for Jiaozi, pork filled dumplings. Over the course of the week I gathered the necessary ingredients for a weekend feast.

Friday evening we watched Ian's school give an amazing New Year's program that included singing, dancing, drama, martial arts, a fashion show, dragons, drums, and more. Ian perform a traditional song and dance with his classmates. He was singing, dancing, and playing an instrument with enthusiasm and grace. We were so proud:)

Saturday included impromptu guests in the form of my mom, step dad, brother and his family, and making the dinner was truly a family affair. For our celebration dinner not only did we have Jiaozi, but also Jiaozi Jer, which is the dipping sauce. We added sticky rice, noodles and almond cookies, all recipes from the same cookbook. We added an orange and apple salad on the side for good luck and health, too. Everyone took part in making the food, and as we ate we told funny stories about each other.

Learning about a new culutre only deepens the connections we have as a family. We hope our luck and prosperity for the coming year brings us ever closer and offers more opportunities for growth and celebration, such as this holiday. May yours bring you luck and prosperity as well.

Piri-piri (Mozambique)

Last week my son brought an art project home from school. He had traced his hand on green construction paper and drawn a picture of something he wished for in the palm. The tiny, detailed drawing was of him eating a watermelon. When I asked him about his wish, he said, "I just wish for a taste of summer!"

In this terrible cold snap of the last couple weeks we are hibernating as much as possible, but we got to thinking about all the tastes of summer. Fresh strawberries, grilled cheeseburgers, fruit smoothies, and smores around the campfire at the end of a day full of swimming, hiking, and exploring. It was mutually agreed upon by the entire family that we would make smores in the microwave for a little taste of summer. A wish granted!

Of course, we've kept the crockpot working overtime to beat the chill. Chicken and dumplings, split pea soup, black bean soup, chicken and noodle soup, and fresh rolls to accompany it all. Comfort foods to keep us warm, and healthy, these long, cold days.

I also tried a recipe from a new source to bring a spicy kick to the mid winter doldrums. My dad and stepmother sent us "The World in Your Kitchen Calendar 2013." Each month features a vegetarian recipe from Africa, Asia or Latin America. January's recipe was for Piri-piri, cashews roasted in a chili pepper coating. This has been a yummy snack or topping for salads this last week. A warm, fresh taste to melt away the weather for a few minutes.

Tonight the temp is supposed to drop to maybe 12 below with wind chills nearing 25 below zero. Just another typical Minnesota winter's day. But maybe not for us as we invite in the tastes of West Africa, if only for a moment.

Talking about Martin and Barack

My son Ian was just shy of two years old when Barack Obama was elected to his first term as President of the United States. We had indulged in a parental delight that fall by teaching him to chant "O-ba-ma!" in his little toddler voice, and I cried on the morning after the election when I pulled Ian from his crib and happily whispered into his sleepy ear that Obama had won. His victory was my son's victory, and we have often talked of our President these last four years.

This Monday, witnessing Obama's 2nd inauguration on Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday, Ian and I cuddled together and had an open discussion about the two men we were celebrating. At six years old, he is curious about these men that we uphold in our home as role models. We read a couple of picture books that I keep on the shelf for days like this one that really facilitated the discussion. I may have mentioned them before, but they are beautiful resources.

The first is The Beatitudes: From Slavery to Civil Rights by Carole Boston Weatherford. This interpretation of the Bible passage from Matthew traces God's presence with African Americans in the holds of the slave ships through the struggles and successes of emancipation and civil rights, up to the inuaguration of our first black President. I use this introduction to our nation's difficult history because God's presence on these pages through time remind my son that God also created him as a treasured child who will never be alone, never without God or his family, when he faces injustice or prejudice.

The other book is called Our Children Can Soar: A Celebration of Rosa, Barack and the Pioneers of Change by Michelle Cook. This book names the breakthroughs of African American heroes in civil rights, sports, politics, entertainment, and industry who built upon each other's changes to create a union in which Barack Obama becomes president. Ian's favorite page was about Thurgood Marshall, so we talked about justice. The idea of a world where everyone is treated fairly, where the rules are fair for all, resonates with a six year old.

Our discussion meandered from the books to God to Ethiopia to school to our family until we finally settled down to watch part of Martin Luther King's most famous speech. We spent a solid hour exploring these topics, and my favorite moment came when I started a mantra we repeat quite often, when I said, "You know how in our family our skins are different colors..." and he finished, "But in our hearts we are the same."

I want my son to be empowered by the journeys of Martin, Barack, Thurgood, Rosa. I know that he will do great things in the world. Not because of the color of his skin, but because of what lies in his precious heart.

Small Celebrations

Wednesdays are a busy day for us. At work, I usually have 2-3 extra meetings...my oldest has music lessons late after school...my husband stays at work until it's time to pick him up....it's double coupon day at the grocery...the list goes on. But a couple months ago, I carved out a little piece of Wednesday that I have come to cherish.

I take my youngest son, my "good helper", to the grocery store with me, and I make that time about being together. For us, attachment is an ongoing, but deepening, process, and Wednesdays at Rainbow it's just me and Suki.

Suki sits in the cart, and we are face to face the whole time. In the 45 minutes or so it takes us to wind through the aisles, we talk about our days, Suki points out all the new and interesting signage or products. Sometimes he asks me about the food or people we see. A lot of time he lets me know all the things he loves to eat. We might hold hands or tickle each other. That's it. Just a mom and her son, weaving tighter the bond that holds us close.

Today, as I focused on unloading and then bagging our goods, a woman behind us in line started to talk to Suki. You know the type. Chatty, a little pushy, probably doesn't have kids. She asked if he was helping me, if that was Spiderman on his pants, if he was holding the list. And he stared at her in silence until I intervened and told her he was following instructions not to talk to strangers. I told him how proud I was of him, and it was one of those "mom celebrations." We've worked hard to get to the point where mom, dad, and what we say and do matter most. That we are trusted, and strangers are not. WooHoo!

And then to top it all off, when we walked in the door out of Suki's mouth came, "Mom, can we have a talk about feelings?" Goodness, talk about a win! Of course, we could talk about feelings. A couple years ago we didn't even know what feelings were. And so we did, and because Suki trusts me to keep his feelings close and safe, I'll hold the rest of the celebration in my heart.

I've been busy these days...nothing exciting necessarily, but just in the thick of parenting, holidays, work, life. My blog has suffered, but I am determined not to give it up. It helps to keep track of the progress our family has made. I'm working not to be so sporadic, and I miss the recipes, but I'm still looking for ways to build cultural connections for our family. So keep checking in... and I will, too.