...I thought I'd let you know that ever since the episode which occurred the other night, every time I put Alex to bed -- whether for her nap, or to sleep at night -- she immediately pops up to sitting position, and declares:
"I'm afraid of dinosaurs. Sing me Bob Marley."
It bears noting that while she waits for my response, her expression is not unlike the one you see in this photograph.
So, you know, I think she's fine.
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A couple of days ago, Alex walked into my room.
"Mummy? I need to get dressed."
"What? Alex, you are dressed."
"I need to get dressed for the snow. I'll be right back. Okay? All right."
And she ran off.
I have no idea how she knows anything about snow, or how one would dress for it, but whatever.
After a few minutes she returned, dressed in this:
Marcus calls this her "granny gnome" look. Me, I just call it crazy.
I will, however, draw your attention to the COMPLETELY ADORABLE new Birkenstocks on her feet, which, despite the ridiculous price, clearly had to be bought. And is it silly that I was rather flattered that she chose them to complete her look? It just made my heart so full.
Full, that is, after I got over all the crazy.
Have a joyful weekend, everyone.
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A couple of weeks ago, Marcus was showing Alex how to draw faces. Since then, Alex can't stop drawing them.
Today, Alex came into my room excitedly. "Mummy! Come look!" She dragged me out of my chair, and out to the loggia, where she has a small blackboard.
She pointed proudly. "See? That's YOU!"
Frankly, I think the child shows signs of prodigious genius; the resemblance is striking. However, for those of you who may be unfamiliar with the fine arts, I thought I'd post an annotated version of her work of art, to help you identify salient features:
Galleries interested in showing her work should contact me via e-mail.
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.... March 3rd, 2004 (just over a minute old) =
... October 5th, 2006 (just over 2-1/2 years old, a mere 31 months later) =
... mind = boggled.
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Click here to hear Alex's message to you-ou-ou.
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Because I was out of town the first part of this week, I missed Alex's very first day of preschool. Ever.
Yes, I know. I feel guilty enough.
In my absence, Marcus did the honours, reading the school handbook, figuring out what Alex was required to bring to school with her, dropping her off, and meeting all of her teachers. Because her preschool is located on the same campus as her day school, the surroundings were very familiar to her, and she bounded off, I'm told, without a second look back.
Even though I knew Alex would do fine at preschool, this didn't stop me from grilling Marcus as soon as I got into the car at the airport. "What did the teacher say? Did you like the teacher? Do you like the school? Do they like her? TALK TO ME, MAN!"
"It's very nice," said Marcus, in his usual measured way. "And yes, I think the teachers liked her. When I picked her up, the director said to me, 'WOW. She's full of life, isn't she?"
"Full of life?" I thought for a bit. "What the hell does that mean?"
"I don't know," admitted Marcus. "But I think it's good. They did say they were really surprised that she was so eager to be in the school, and that she didn't cry. Apparently the kids all cry on the first day."
I made up my mind that "full of life" means something good.
So yesterday morning, it was my turn to take Alex to the school. Off she bounded, again eager to join the other children. I noticed the director.
"Hi, Director," I said.
"Hi!" she smiled back warmly, though distractedly. Then she caught herself. "Well, Alex is certainly full of energy!"
Full of energy, now?
"Umm... yes, she is. Did she behave okay?"
"Oh, well... she's fine. She's fine! The important thing is that she enjoys school. And that's huge."
I started to worry. I mean, in general, Alex is a really well-behaved kid -- not disruptive, she's kind to other children, doesn't throw tantrums, and generally listens well. I couldn't imagine what the director was clearly not telling me. "Did something happen?" I asked, concerned.
"No. NO!" Director assured me quickly. "Nothing happened. She's just full of energy. She'll learn soon enough. She's fine. And she really loves school. Really. She loves it."
I have NO idea what this means. It is true that Alex seems to love school: she was clearly so excited to tell me everything she'd done when I picked her up a few hours later. As far as the "she'll learn soon enough" comment -- it is a Montessori school, and I do know that Montessori like things Just So, so perhaps it took Alex a while to catch on to the rules. In any case, Alex is thrilled about the fact she gets to go back today, and Suzy did give me a smile and a wave when she saw me pick her up yesterday. A smile and a wave is good, right? No bad news is good news, right?
And why do I feel like this whole worrying-about-school thing is only just beginning?
P.S. I'm happy to report that Potty Training Boot Camp, instigated in anticipation of the first day of preschool, appears to have been a success. As a result, the Puddle Threat Level has been downgraded from "High" to "Elevated," with a possible further reduction to "Guarded" by the end of the weekend. I'll keep you posted.
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One of the biggest parenting mistakes I've made thus far is purchasing the movie The Wizard of Oz. I wasn't thinking, really -- I saw the Special Edition DVD on the store shelf, and lost all reason. "We have to buy this," I said to Marcus, my eyes dancing. "One of my favourite memories as a child is watching The Wizard of Oz every year when it came on television. Alex will love this."
Dude.
Alex doesn't just love it, she's obsessed. Every day lately she wakes up, grins, and her first sing-song words are, "It's Ooozzzzz time!" The Munchkins, without fail, catapult her into a state of unbridled euphoria. Countless times a day, Alex begs me to sing the entire chorus of "We're Off to See the Wizard," as we -- get this -- skip between the TV room and her bedroom. And nothing -- NOTHING! -- makes you feel every bit of your 39+ years than skipping and singing "We're off to See the Wizard" over and over and over. Trust me on this.
The best, however, was when one night after she went to bed, Marcus and I decided to watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Just as we got to the part where King Arthur is fighting the knight and cutting off the Knight's limbs ("it's just a flesh wound!"), we noticed Alex had woken up and blearily wandered into the TV room with us. She stared sleepily at the screen, watching blood spurt out of the wounded knight's stump, while Marcus scrambled for the remote control, and I searched frantically through the phone book for the number of a reputable child psychologist, certain that we'd scarred our daughter for life. Suddenly, Alex's eyes widened, and she turned to us with much excitement:
"The TIN MAN!" she shouted gleefully.
Yeesh.
It's not all bad, though. Two nights ago, after I'd said prayers with Alex, I tucked her into bed and kissed her goodnight, as I usually do. Before I could stand up, she suddenly and without warning wrapped her arms tightly aroud my neck, closed her eyes and smiled.
"There's no place like home," she sighed contentedly.
Indeed.
A couple of days ago, a commenter named Meera asked what I thought of this article. It is written by a Lisa Lerner, a Jewish-American woman who adopted transracially from India, and who, as it turns out, ended up having trouble handling the fact that her daughter was dark: "even Blacks and Indians in Vaishali's and my social circle are lighter than she," she says. She concludes, "We need darker friends."
Ignoring for a moment the ridiculousness of this last statement (what's she going to do, start making friends on the basis of skin colour? "Hi, I'm Lisa. My daughter's dark -- like you, actually. I was wondering: will you be our friend?"), the general content of her article, as you can imagine, unleashed a flood of comments. Some people praised her for her courage in admitting something that was clearly difficult to admit, others blatantly called her a racist, and still others wondered why the hell she would adopt internationally when "there were plenty of children needing a home in America." I'll admit upfront that I read very few of these responses, because frankly, they didn't jibe with my initial reaction. My first thought was, "this doesn't surprise me in the least."
See, I have a theory: as superficial as it sounds, I think all prospective parents have an idea of what they hope their child will look like. "I hope the baby has my wife's eyes," a man might think. "God help me if she has my mother-in-law's nose," an expectant mother may shudder. It's human nature to imagine what your family is going to look like -- and therefore no different for adoptive parents. For this reason, I think to state that "race shouldn't matter" when adopting is naive -- race does matter. When we were considering adoption, Marcus and I specifically wanted a multiracial child, because we're an interracial couple (although what races made up the "multiracial" were much less of an issue). Even when a couple chooses to adopt transracially, if they're smart, they will have considered whether or not they can handle all of the issues that can arise when their kids don't look like their parents do, and therefore the adoption is obvious on its face. Race matters, make no mistake.
The question, therefore, is not whether the baby looks like you expected her to, but whether you can handle it if she doesn't. And this, my friends, takes some serious soul-searching -- a flippant "of course I can, I'm not racist, I have friends of all colours" is not enough. It requires honestly looking at biases that you may have based on others' skin colour, or culture, or nationality, and really being frank with yourself as to where any discomfort you feel comes from. It requires, if you choose to adopt transracially or transculturally, exploring, on a deep level, why you feel drawn to one race (or culture or nationality) or another. And frankly, it behooves you to do this WAY AHEAD OF TIME -- when your child comes home to you is probably a bit late.
As you can imagine, for some this can be a very uncomfortable exercise, since it may involve uncovering some less-than-attractive traits. The good news, however, is you don't have to tell anyone. For once, it's really no one's business why you choose to adopt internationally, or transculturally or transracially -- or hell, why you don't -- and if anyone asks, you can just smile and say something vague like, "it's just what feels right." (That said, if you do uncover some biases based on stereotypes, for your own good, you probably want to work on that -- but that's a conversation for another time).
I guess my thoughts on this were cemented some time back: a few years ago, Marcus and I heard of a situation similar to Lerner's. In this case, a couple returned their infant baby to the placing adoption agency during the six-month period pending finalization of adoption, because their African-American child was "too dark." What made this story particularly startling was that the couple were themselves African-American. I remember first thinking how preposterous I thought their position was, but you know what? Ultimately, they did the right thing: if they weren't equipped to raise the baby to be proud of who s/he was, then thank God they gave another couple the chance to do so. As for Lerner, well -- I guess I wish her the best. It's too bad she didn't confront her preconceptions before little Vaishali came home, but whatever. Here's hoping she works through them now -- for both their sakes.
Anyway, that's my take on the matter - feel free to share your own thoughts in the comments (but remember, this is a place where we differ RESPECTFULLY in opinion -- love and light, okay?). Oh and one more thing:
No one said this adoption stuff was easy.
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The astoundingly regal profile of Princess Alex of Plumeria.
WOW!!! Thanks to all of you so much for participating in Love Thursday yesterday -- what fantastic photos and stories you all had! I tried to get around to see all of the entries, but I don't think I made it -- you were so great at spreading the word, I'm sure there are some I've missed. If you didn't manage to participate this week, never fear: given the popularity yesterday, I think we can certainly try to make this a weekly thing (so start looking for more love!). And for those of you who did participate, I took the liberty of starting a Love Thursday Flickr Pool -- if you have a moment, please upload your pictures to the pool, because (1) it'd be great to have one central place where we can see all these beautiful shots, and (2) I figure sometime between Thursdays you're going to need a pick-me-up, and what could possibly pick one up more than scrolling through picture after picture of all different shades of love?
Nothing, I say.
And, in other really completely unrelated news, Alex has fallen in love with the sound of her recorded voice. Here, in no particular order, are her renditions of Row, Row, Row Your Boat ("gently down the street"), Mary Had A Little Lamb, and The Alphabet Song.
Download Row, Row, Row Your Boat
Download Mary Had a Little Lamb
Enjoy. And continue to love and be loved.
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...in a vain attempt to get a considerably un-tired Alex to take her nap:
Go to SLEEP. Got to sleep, child, GO. TO. SLEEP. SLEEP. SLEEP. GO TO SLEEP.
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