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.