Words We Share
mama
more
look
up
No
wow
oowweee
uh oh
tah dah
nye-nye and
bye.
Words that will be yours alone:
donor
who helped create me
biological mother
who chose to make me
this brown skin
lighter than
an older brother
to watch over me
Words that will be his alone:
birth mother
who relinquished
adoptive mother
who claimed
my black skin
as dark as the man
who I don’t know and
a younger brother
who adores me
Words that you will never know
no black man
will ever be
elected president
Words that we will share
family
love
together
because
Words that I look forward to
Yes
Please
I love you too
I do
Remember at your graduation when
It doesn’t snow here
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
ER visits and Hockey Sticks
You would think the two are related. Actually they happened simultaneously. While Marcel and I were in the ER waiting for the parade of doctors to poke, pry, alarm, confuse, and confer with us, Sam and Uncle were buying a hockey stick. I sanctioned the latter, in a weaker moment this morning after a kind stranger named Ed lent Sam his stick to play with on "the pond". Sam grew five inches as he sent random ice pucks soaring from one end of the outdoor "rink" to the other. Ed was there trying to learn how to skate and play hockey to keep up with his kids. Instead of seeing to his own, he hoodwinked mine into believing he was "professional" and "skilled" and a born ice hockey phenom. Gee thanks. By the time we arrived home, Marcel asleep in my arms for the third time in as many hours, I gave in to the 50th request to go buy a hockey stick, if Sam agreed to nap, eat lunch, and be a great listener for the rest of his life. I think he agreed to at least one of those. He must have, because now he has a stick.
Marcel meanwhile was succumbing to some pernicious little virus that was sucking the vitality out of him, and leaving in it's stead no appetite, 104 degree fever, and a clingy lump who would not be put down. Since he had just finished a 10 day course of antibiotics Thursday, the triage nurse on the phone urged us to the ER in case of pneumonia, or persistent ear infection. Thankfully neither were the cause, although we don't know where the infection is coming from, nor might we ever know. Best guess is viral, and I'll put money on him waking feeling at least 60% better. He is a resilient little dude. Best line was from the visit was the nurse who thanked me for "remembering to bring the refreshments" when Marcel started nursing.
I also had fun educating the very warm, and gentle good doctor who was having a hard time with the "adopted brother, biological baby, no father involved (his words)" correction. I said, there is no father to be involved. He looked at me with that; "Oh no here comes too much information" look.
"I am just reminding you doctor that families come in all different shapes and sizes. I am a single mother by choice not by circumstance." His voice cracked as he said; "Yes, yes that is fine." And, indeed it is, and we are, and he well, he'll be fine too when he goes home, and asks his wife what I was going on about.
Marcel meanwhile was succumbing to some pernicious little virus that was sucking the vitality out of him, and leaving in it's stead no appetite, 104 degree fever, and a clingy lump who would not be put down. Since he had just finished a 10 day course of antibiotics Thursday, the triage nurse on the phone urged us to the ER in case of pneumonia, or persistent ear infection. Thankfully neither were the cause, although we don't know where the infection is coming from, nor might we ever know. Best guess is viral, and I'll put money on him waking feeling at least 60% better. He is a resilient little dude. Best line was from the visit was the nurse who thanked me for "remembering to bring the refreshments" when Marcel started nursing.
I also had fun educating the very warm, and gentle good doctor who was having a hard time with the "adopted brother, biological baby, no father involved (his words)" correction. I said, there is no father to be involved. He looked at me with that; "Oh no here comes too much information" look.
"I am just reminding you doctor that families come in all different shapes and sizes. I am a single mother by choice not by circumstance." His voice cracked as he said; "Yes, yes that is fine." And, indeed it is, and we are, and he well, he'll be fine too when he goes home, and asks his wife what I was going on about.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
January 20, 2009
On my lap in the eighth grade tech ed room, Sam watched Obama become president. We were surrounded by students of every color and background, all as focused and awed by the moment they were witnessing. Sam kept saying Obama's name quietly to himself, it is soothing somehow.
I kept my tears to a minimum, but I screamed louder than anyone in the room when it was official! Sam was antsy during the speech, and not captivated by the poet (nor was I, but I'll be spending more time with her poem over the next few days to see if I can find my way in) but couldn't take his eyes off the screen during the benediction. The minister's shaky, deep, wise voice had a music to it that Sam's body was moved by, even when the words were hard to discern.
An hour later in the hallway looking into one of the classrooms he says; "Obama is in his house now, and he should eat cake." Everyone agreed.
I kept my tears to a minimum, but I screamed louder than anyone in the room when it was official! Sam was antsy during the speech, and not captivated by the poet (nor was I, but I'll be spending more time with her poem over the next few days to see if I can find my way in) but couldn't take his eyes off the screen during the benediction. The minister's shaky, deep, wise voice had a music to it that Sam's body was moved by, even when the words were hard to discern.
An hour later in the hallway looking into one of the classrooms he says; "Obama is in his house now, and he should eat cake." Everyone agreed.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Rashes, Crashes, Flashes and Splashes
Marcel's diaper rash covered uncharted territory. I fancy myself an expert on few things, but I certainly thought I had this one tied up, so to speak. Wrong. In my defense, he is on Augmentin, know in pediatric circles as poopmentin. (To treat last week's pink eye and ear infection combo platter.) After finally getting that sorted out, to the point where he can wear clothing again, (with lotrimin, yes the athletes foot antifungal cream) Marcel changed courses dramatically when he tripped over a round block, and took a chunk out of the window sill. With blood drizzling down his chin like a new snow melting spring stream he looked at me in complete panic. Or was that me panicking? Happy to report that I didn't. Panic. As Sam slept through the entire event less than four feet away in front of the heater on the kitchen floor (the desire to get "up" before Marcel is creating strange habits over here) I applied pressure with a dish cloth and watched in awe as the tooth, which was almost a 90 degree angle to Marcel's face righted itself magically before my eyes. Sam awoke to Marcel bloody face and neck asleep in my arms. Seeing my blood splattered robe and neck Sam rightly inquires; "Mom what are you doing?"
Several hours later after attending Rohan Henry (The Perfect Gift) and Charlotte Agell's (Dancing Feet, I Wear Long Green Hair in the Summer)Martin Luther King Day Childrens Event and reading on the Bowdoin Campus, we explored. Grampy went to college here, I explained, and one day you might too. I realized the power of those words. Soon, I will be sitting in the audience watching him cross the stage of one graduation ceremony and another, until finally this one. The lion(s) in winter, is in front of the Bowdoin Art Museum.
Splashes you ask--didn't I miss one? Sam and I watching a You Tube video montage of Dr. King, and Obama, and many others allowed me a moment to let some of this in. And out. I cried a few little tears, but then like Marcel's gums, sucked it in back in. Not yet. How about tomorrow when Sam is on my lap at school surrounded by my students, and colleagues watching as Obama says; "I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States." How about we all just wait and see what that collective moment of exhultation brings out of us. Amen.
Several hours later after attending Rohan Henry (The Perfect Gift) and Charlotte Agell's (Dancing Feet, I Wear Long Green Hair in the Summer)Martin Luther King Day Childrens Event and reading on the Bowdoin Campus, we explored. Grampy went to college here, I explained, and one day you might too. I realized the power of those words. Soon, I will be sitting in the audience watching him cross the stage of one graduation ceremony and another, until finally this one. The lion(s) in winter, is in front of the Bowdoin Art Museum.
Splashes you ask--didn't I miss one? Sam and I watching a You Tube video montage of Dr. King, and Obama, and many others allowed me a moment to let some of this in. And out. I cried a few little tears, but then like Marcel's gums, sucked it in back in. Not yet. How about tomorrow when Sam is on my lap at school surrounded by my students, and colleagues watching as Obama says; "I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States." How about we all just wait and see what that collective moment of exhultation brings out of us. Amen.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Reflections on a legacy
Recently being the mother of children of color has ushered in thoughts that have nothing to do with freedom, and everything to do with creating it from scratch on a good day. Like when I was slathering Sam’s skin with lotion after bath, and crumbled internally as I had an image of him, or his great, great, great, great, great grandfather being slathered with a salve to help him heal. Heal from the sores bore into him by the chains he wore across the Atlantic ocean, before being auctioned off above ground the next day. My chains are made from little strips of paper, glued in a circle, while being linked to the next piece, handed to me by my mother, and her mother, and her mother's mother. A chain begun one day under the shade of a banana tree in the West Indes. When she ran out of paper, her servant was asked to bring her more.
Shoving books in Sam's daycare teachers arms with a smile and a need that could fill the basement of that church five times over; “It’s about a little (black) boy who (looks just like Sam and who) saves the world from being taken over by urban sprawl... the kids will love it,” I add with such certainty. And, and, and for at least the few minutes while you are reading the story Sam won’t be the only person of color in this entire building, except for the slightly worn out looking graphic of Dr. King that is posted on the wall behind us as we talk. But they listen, and accept, and include, and they read the book.
Four and half years ago I had freedom from the constant hum of race. I had freedom to feel comfort in the margins of my own racial awareness. Is this a new kind of freedom? Freedom to accept how far I have to go, how daunted, not afraid, I am most days of the work I have to do. Does that in itself bring me a little closer to picking at (if not up) those words by Dr. King and holding them in my curious, if semi sheltered lily white hands; "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Shoving books in Sam's daycare teachers arms with a smile and a need that could fill the basement of that church five times over; “It’s about a little (black) boy who (looks just like Sam and who) saves the world from being taken over by urban sprawl... the kids will love it,” I add with such certainty. And, and, and for at least the few minutes while you are reading the story Sam won’t be the only person of color in this entire building, except for the slightly worn out looking graphic of Dr. King that is posted on the wall behind us as we talk. But they listen, and accept, and include, and they read the book.
Four and half years ago I had freedom from the constant hum of race. I had freedom to feel comfort in the margins of my own racial awareness. Is this a new kind of freedom? Freedom to accept how far I have to go, how daunted, not afraid, I am most days of the work I have to do. Does that in itself bring me a little closer to picking at (if not up) those words by Dr. King and holding them in my curious, if semi sheltered lily white hands; "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Friday, January 16, 2009
Tattoo
(This is a piece I wrote in response to a "quick write" assignment in the kickin' online writing class that I am taking under the tutelage of one of my all time favorite editors and writers Aerial Gore. I am working on getting the first six or seven chapters of my Mama C Single Mother/Adoption/Conception memoir mapped out during this course. So far the writing is going exceptionally well, and the feedback has been wildly encouraging. Stay tuned...)
It is the shape of Africa smoothed over one too many times by a rolling pin. It is not a tattoo, but a birthmark on Sam's right temple. He doesn't see it, but the world does. If I have anything to do with it, he'll incorporate into his identity as a source of pride, and not a undesirable splotch of pigment. It is from his birthmother, and for that I imagine he will feel grateful and proud if I continue to do my adoptive mother job right. The herniated belly button that was the result of shoddy workmanship on the part of the delivery doc, most likely noting the medicaid arm band on his birth mother, and the color of the child's skin as reason not to worry, to hurry through this one. His pediatrician now tells me we can fix it, so it doesn't stick out so much if kids start to tease Sam about it looking like that. I figure he'll be picked on for being black, when I'm not, and fatherless, and adopted, but not for that belly button. He'll just turn the other cheek, let his African tattoo catch his would be tormentor's eye and close his gym locker door with a little more power than usual this time.
It is the shape of Africa smoothed over one too many times by a rolling pin. It is not a tattoo, but a birthmark on Sam's right temple. He doesn't see it, but the world does. If I have anything to do with it, he'll incorporate into his identity as a source of pride, and not a undesirable splotch of pigment. It is from his birthmother, and for that I imagine he will feel grateful and proud if I continue to do my adoptive mother job right. The herniated belly button that was the result of shoddy workmanship on the part of the delivery doc, most likely noting the medicaid arm band on his birth mother, and the color of the child's skin as reason not to worry, to hurry through this one. His pediatrician now tells me we can fix it, so it doesn't stick out so much if kids start to tease Sam about it looking like that. I figure he'll be picked on for being black, when I'm not, and fatherless, and adopted, but not for that belly button. He'll just turn the other cheek, let his African tattoo catch his would be tormentor's eye and close his gym locker door with a little more power than usual this time.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Anticipation
Zooming through the grocery store for the essentials; ice cream sandwich incentives (more for me then them) milk, bananas the fruit little fingers can feel in control of, and a cheater chicken I am stopped in my track by the poster box. There right in front of the check out madness is Obama smiling with one arm up waving away, and that "what don't I have to smile about" look on his face. The title in red on the top says "Destiny". Underneath is his quote; "Destiny is not chosen for you, you choose your destiny," or something to that effect. The box is almost empty. Obama is sitting right smack in the middle of the impulse buy territory and he is being snatched up. I want to buy one for the house, my classroom, the car! I pause when I realize that had it been another president a few years back I would have found the mere presence of that box an irritant in my shoppping flow--an old shoe in the middle of the stream I was trying to cross.
The boys' daycare announced they are going to figure out a way to broadcast the inauguration. Sam informed them that he has plans to see it with mommy at her school, because "Obama won and he looks like us." He is right on all counts. He is going to watch with me and the eighth grade house. His fan club, the basketball boys are competing already for who gets to sit next to him. I wonder which part of it he'll remember more? My currwent fascination is Obama's inaugural poet Elizabeth Alexander. I have read everything by her I can get my hands on, and find it infinitely satisfying to read her over and over again making my way into a line or stanza. Emancipation is the title that I read with my students, if I had more time I'd post it here. Her web site it easy to find.
The morning parade has to begin here in a minute on five degree morning. I'm back to work with Marcel's ear infection and conjunctivitis miraculously under control in less than 24 hours. How did a single mother keep a job without antibiotics?
It isn't a dream is it?
The boys' daycare announced they are going to figure out a way to broadcast the inauguration. Sam informed them that he has plans to see it with mommy at her school, because "Obama won and he looks like us." He is right on all counts. He is going to watch with me and the eighth grade house. His fan club, the basketball boys are competing already for who gets to sit next to him. I wonder which part of it he'll remember more? My currwent fascination is Obama's inaugural poet Elizabeth Alexander. I have read everything by her I can get my hands on, and find it infinitely satisfying to read her over and over again making my way into a line or stanza. Emancipation is the title that I read with my students, if I had more time I'd post it here. Her web site it easy to find.
The morning parade has to begin here in a minute on five degree morning. I'm back to work with Marcel's ear infection and conjunctivitis miraculously under control in less than 24 hours. How did a single mother keep a job without antibiotics?
It isn't a dream is it?
Saturday, January 10, 2009
The Call
At 1:15 the little cell phone rang--which is unusual mostly because I never have the ringer on. And the good Mama would like to say I had it on intentionally, but that would have been a lie. It was my brother calling to let me know that "We're not going to make it," he said with a little flabbergast around the edges, "Sam is inconsolable. I'm bringing him home." Before I have time to fully wake into what time it is, and what this must have meant for both of them over the last 45 minutes or so, I am saying, "OK OK" and hanging up the phone.
In seconds all of the implications are jumping up and down on the mama brain screaming for attention; Are they taking a cab, or walking home in the 17 degree icy air? Should I call and say leave Sam's suitcase (he has to pack the bright pink camouflage thing for every overnight adventure but don't forget the blankie!!!!!) and carry Sam. Did he try to cuddle him? Rough housing doesn't work at 1:00am... Did Sam want him too, or did he just need to come home. What could I have done to prepare them both better for such a meltdown? Anything? Probably not. Should I not have packed the picture of me, really as a joke, but did it backfire and make him feel farther away then just up the street? How awful for Marc to have to bring him back now--he has a cold and he must feel like he wished he could have come up with the magic phrase to soothe Sam back to sleep. Shame. How do I tend to Sam's shame at not being able to stay and applaud his courage in telling Uncle I just have to go home. Minutes later, Sam in his PJ's and day clothes, boots and spaceship silver winter jacket sits on the little trampoline crumbled up. Marc unzips the suitcase to find his blankie without anyone asking, he loves Sam so much, he wanted this to work more than Sam or even I did I realize instantly.
"Mama can I go in your bed? "Sam asked half asleep, and clearly uncertain of his world for the moment.
"Of course of course. Go. I'll be right there. Quietly baby. Don't wake your brother..." I answer trying not to smother, wanting to smother.
I thank Marc, quickly, words are not in order now. We'll talk about it when we can find a moment without Sam, maybe online, maybe in code while they throw a football in the living room as I do dishes and Marcel pulls books off the shelf.
The baby wakes up the minute I have Sam in my arms whispering; "I love you, Sam." There isn't time for everything else, but I know he needs to hear it, because his eyes are WIDE open as he stares at the space right over my shoulder.
By the time I come back from soothing Marcel back to sleep, Sam is snoring safely snug back in his comfort zone for the moment. I don't have anyone to admit this to, but I'll sleep better now too. Moments before I drift away I have this awful realization that phones call at 1:15 am will not always be so easy.
In seconds all of the implications are jumping up and down on the mama brain screaming for attention; Are they taking a cab, or walking home in the 17 degree icy air? Should I call and say leave Sam's suitcase (he has to pack the bright pink camouflage thing for every overnight adventure but don't forget the blankie!!!!!) and carry Sam. Did he try to cuddle him? Rough housing doesn't work at 1:00am... Did Sam want him too, or did he just need to come home. What could I have done to prepare them both better for such a meltdown? Anything? Probably not. Should I not have packed the picture of me, really as a joke, but did it backfire and make him feel farther away then just up the street? How awful for Marc to have to bring him back now--he has a cold and he must feel like he wished he could have come up with the magic phrase to soothe Sam back to sleep. Shame. How do I tend to Sam's shame at not being able to stay and applaud his courage in telling Uncle I just have to go home. Minutes later, Sam in his PJ's and day clothes, boots and spaceship silver winter jacket sits on the little trampoline crumbled up. Marc unzips the suitcase to find his blankie without anyone asking, he loves Sam so much, he wanted this to work more than Sam or even I did I realize instantly.
"Mama can I go in your bed? "Sam asked half asleep, and clearly uncertain of his world for the moment.
"Of course of course. Go. I'll be right there. Quietly baby. Don't wake your brother..." I answer trying not to smother, wanting to smother.
I thank Marc, quickly, words are not in order now. We'll talk about it when we can find a moment without Sam, maybe online, maybe in code while they throw a football in the living room as I do dishes and Marcel pulls books off the shelf.
The baby wakes up the minute I have Sam in my arms whispering; "I love you, Sam." There isn't time for everything else, but I know he needs to hear it, because his eyes are WIDE open as he stares at the space right over my shoulder.
By the time I come back from soothing Marcel back to sleep, Sam is snoring safely snug back in his comfort zone for the moment. I don't have anyone to admit this to, but I'll sleep better now too. Moments before I drift away I have this awful realization that phones call at 1:15 am will not always be so easy.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
What 2008 brought us...
1. The first time I can easily buy a calendar with a joyful black man on the front for our kitchen.
2. Two thriving, beautiful, fanatical children who grow more in love with each other daily, and who seem to be figuring out how to put up with me as well.
3. Several times my name in print. Magazines this year, and hopefully more of the same, if not something even juicier in the years to come.
4. My brother established and staying put in Maine. (At least as far as I know..) A growing relationship with him for me and the boys. This is something I have always wanted since he moved away over ten years ago.
5. A new address for the crack dealers next door. It took four years, but finally I feel breathing room and a much larger safety net around our home.
6. A new appreciation for my students, the work we all do together and my capabilities as a teacher. A grant that I wrote that was just funded for my classroom, and a new mentee to help me in the spring.
7. A farewell to a friend Linda "We can do this" Mansfield, a colleague Scott Pease, my students' brother James Angelo, Eddie's Uncle in Haiti, a legend Paul Newman, and my dog Lily (who is enjoying another life in New Hampshire).
8. My 40th birthday. And, I must say that I love this decade so far. I feel easier on myself. Things are less pressing, less complicated.
9. New connections. FB and my online writer's group that is beginning, and one of my single mama list serves are the moments of "ambient awareness" (thank you Kerry) that deliver me from the confines of a single family household in Maine with humor and embrace over and over again.
10. My inner chef! I cooked some kick-in cuisine this year. By the time my boys actually eat what is on their plate they will have something to be happy to eat!
11. much closer to believing something called a relationship might come into my life one day. Before the year ends that relational status category's going to be popping up with a little red heart for me too. It didn't happen this year, but it will.
12. Friendships that have carried me and knuckle one and two to this moment in time with so much help and support. A special shout out to our Eddie who is moving out of her role as nanny, and into her role as our Eddie who lives in a warm place now... From before the baby entered the stratosphere until now she has been our savior and our sister.
13. The belief that alignment is possible. 2009 is for allowing it to happen.
2. Two thriving, beautiful, fanatical children who grow more in love with each other daily, and who seem to be figuring out how to put up with me as well.
3. Several times my name in print. Magazines this year, and hopefully more of the same, if not something even juicier in the years to come.
4. My brother established and staying put in Maine. (At least as far as I know..) A growing relationship with him for me and the boys. This is something I have always wanted since he moved away over ten years ago.
5. A new address for the crack dealers next door. It took four years, but finally I feel breathing room and a much larger safety net around our home.
6. A new appreciation for my students, the work we all do together and my capabilities as a teacher. A grant that I wrote that was just funded for my classroom, and a new mentee to help me in the spring.
7. A farewell to a friend Linda "We can do this" Mansfield, a colleague Scott Pease, my students' brother James Angelo, Eddie's Uncle in Haiti, a legend Paul Newman, and my dog Lily (who is enjoying another life in New Hampshire).
8. My 40th birthday. And, I must say that I love this decade so far. I feel easier on myself. Things are less pressing, less complicated.
9. New connections. FB and my online writer's group that is beginning, and one of my single mama list serves are the moments of "ambient awareness" (thank you Kerry) that deliver me from the confines of a single family household in Maine with humor and embrace over and over again.
10. My inner chef! I cooked some kick-in cuisine this year. By the time my boys actually eat what is on their plate they will have something to be happy to eat!
11. much closer to believing something called a relationship might come into my life one day. Before the year ends that relational status category's going to be popping up with a little red heart for me too. It didn't happen this year, but it will.
12. Friendships that have carried me and knuckle one and two to this moment in time with so much help and support. A special shout out to our Eddie who is moving out of her role as nanny, and into her role as our Eddie who lives in a warm place now... From before the baby entered the stratosphere until now she has been our savior and our sister.
13. The belief that alignment is possible. 2009 is for allowing it to happen.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Under the tree
I am the first one up. I think that has been the case since I was three. The boys are both sound asleep in my bed, a common place eventuality over here. Nana is here, arrived safely from Virginia and is as I had suspected she would be, sufficiently dazzled by the dynamic duo I am raising well. I rarely give myself the chance to acknowledge this fact, this feat. My friends ask me all the time "How do you do it?" or even better, "You are doing an incredible job with them, they are terrific kids, and full of joy and life, and..." They tell me, because they know that I do it because they help me in so many ways. And yet, I also do DO IT alone in other ways at the end of each day. So as a Christmas present to myself, on the day where another mother is often celebrated peripherally (she had that manger looking tidy and welcoming before those kings arrived even id she had just given birth I bet you), I want to put it out there, that though I am not always as patient as I would like to be; "Sam PUT HIM DOWN NOW!" and though I should spend less time cleaning the house, and more time messing it up with them-I'm a fine mom. Look at that tree--oh not that one--why it scans in all blue is beyond me--the one in the other room. It is ripe with expectation and possibility. My economy (to borrow a line I read on another post somewhere) is thriving with possibility. I manage the money I have well, and my time just well enough. I am for today anyway, navigating the waters of situational poverty with grace and style. My children have their needs met--emotionally, physically, intellectually, and presents under-the-tree-ally.
Marcel is scrunching and twisting--his signature pre-waking bell. Sam will this morning, uncharacteristically wake easily when reminded what day it is... Nana is up well rested and ready to participate in the frenzy. Time to boil the water for the instant coffee, and text the big brother to get himself here as soon as he is able. He's bringing the stuffed bird, and the cranberry sauce. Mom and I made the pies. (We're having the Thanksgiving meal we missed while he was at sea--promises to surpass the turkey burgers and supermarket pie I pulled off instead.) Our blessings to all. Merry Christmas.
Marcel is scrunching and twisting--his signature pre-waking bell. Sam will this morning, uncharacteristically wake easily when reminded what day it is... Nana is up well rested and ready to participate in the frenzy. Time to boil the water for the instant coffee, and text the big brother to get himself here as soon as he is able. He's bringing the stuffed bird, and the cranberry sauce. Mom and I made the pies. (We're having the Thanksgiving meal we missed while he was at sea--promises to surpass the turkey burgers and supermarket pie I pulled off instead.) Our blessings to all. Merry Christmas.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Needless to say..
Our family is still riding on Obama Victory fumes. Since last week it has been easy to smile at all the world has to offer as we are looking through a new lens of possibility. Sammy watched Obama's acceptance speech for a good 35 seconds before he fell asleep. Every milestone is announced; "Sam look here is Obama in the Oval Office.." and discussed. He knows what an oval is after all!
I wake up giddy. I feel as if I am in love. I search my brain for clarification; "This feeling of lightness and hope is associated with unmitigated glee. Did I begin a new relationship and forget the person's name? Oh right I am in love with the Obamas." I have new pride that I can't point to or explain. But, it is fun telling people how presidential my family feels now...(Obama's mom and I share the same nose, relationship status, and what did little Barry have that Sammy doesn't?) I imagine the girls picking one of forty rooms to play in and I just want to giggle. I see them as a model on so many levels. I find myself praying for their well being, and time together as a family.
The light is crisp. The leaves are dried. The cupboard recently made room for cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie filling. Baseballs are being replaced by basketballs which will soon step aside for the ice skates and snowball making mittens. Weatherstripping, and caulk on the list, as the drafts announce themselves earlier each evening. Marcel can say Moo, more, and Mama. Sammy reminds me that once Marcel was a baby, and now he is big. A friend told me of a playwriter's group that meets every other week not far from here. I admit that is a fine goal, but first I have to find out how to get running again.
Needless to say, my joy is strecthing again. For this I am so thankful.
I wake up giddy. I feel as if I am in love. I search my brain for clarification; "This feeling of lightness and hope is associated with unmitigated glee. Did I begin a new relationship and forget the person's name? Oh right I am in love with the Obamas." I have new pride that I can't point to or explain. But, it is fun telling people how presidential my family feels now...(Obama's mom and I share the same nose, relationship status, and what did little Barry have that Sammy doesn't?) I imagine the girls picking one of forty rooms to play in and I just want to giggle. I see them as a model on so many levels. I find myself praying for their well being, and time together as a family.
The light is crisp. The leaves are dried. The cupboard recently made room for cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie filling. Baseballs are being replaced by basketballs which will soon step aside for the ice skates and snowball making mittens. Weatherstripping, and caulk on the list, as the drafts announce themselves earlier each evening. Marcel can say Moo, more, and Mama. Sammy reminds me that once Marcel was a baby, and now he is big. A friend told me of a playwriter's group that meets every other week not far from here. I admit that is a fine goal, but first I have to find out how to get running again.
Needless to say, my joy is strecthing again. For this I am so thankful.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Plumbers, pudding, and leaf picking
As Sammy's hand pressed the iron down on to the wax paper my hand gently guided the iron towards the far corner. My own childhood anticipation of what the outcome would be as my mom and I created the same leaf collage thirty-five years ago fuses with Sammy's between the wax paper of our own mother-child collage. We add gold sparkles, crayon shavings, and my status as a single mother, along with his status as an adopted child of color to make the outcome not better, just slightly more colorful...
A success to report: when the agitator apparatus in my clothes washer came out with Sammy's pajamas, not only did I not panic but I took the unit apart, researched the item online, and ordered a cam replacement kit from my local appliance store within an hour. I praise the internet. With out it, I would be waiting for the plumber and his labor charges, and return visits with the exact same part in hand instead of writing this. I will invite Sam to watch me fix the agitator with the new cam, dogs and spacer for him to have a memory to blog about later...
As the boys were napping I made chocolate pudding from scratch. Watching it change from milky white to creamy cocoa and thicken under the bubbling surface I breathe in a new peace around my parenting that I can't explain. I do know that I only that find time to realize these things when I give myself half a pudding stirring chance to meditate and feel the success we are sharing in all of these milestone and simple moments.
Happy Birthday to Nana Banana my mom today. Clearly the love she folded into her mothering is at play in my heart today.
A success to report: when the agitator apparatus in my clothes washer came out with Sammy's pajamas, not only did I not panic but I took the unit apart, researched the item online, and ordered a cam replacement kit from my local appliance store within an hour. I praise the internet. With out it, I would be waiting for the plumber and his labor charges, and return visits with the exact same part in hand instead of writing this. I will invite Sam to watch me fix the agitator with the new cam, dogs and spacer for him to have a memory to blog about later...
As the boys were napping I made chocolate pudding from scratch. Watching it change from milky white to creamy cocoa and thicken under the bubbling surface I breathe in a new peace around my parenting that I can't explain. I do know that I only that find time to realize these things when I give myself half a pudding stirring chance to meditate and feel the success we are sharing in all of these milestone and simple moments.
Happy Birthday to Nana Banana my mom today. Clearly the love she folded into her mothering is at play in my heart today.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Autumnal Update
We're walking. We're vocalizing. We're transitioning, to new schools, and new routines. We're getting used to each other all over again it seems, as Marcel approaches one, and takes up so much more space in the world! Negotiating everything from calling that piece of plastic a water squirter and not something else....to what foods you're able to eat on your own, and what is a good reason to wake mom up at night; "No, really I don't care that you took off your pajamas, or found your brother's sock under your pillow. No, I don't know where that spider went that was in your room last month!!! Yes , I want to cuddle, but not at 2:35 am..." We're so hopeful our insides ache when we think that O'bama will be the one to accept the presidency( four years after I dropped off my "dear birth mother" letter at the adoption agency while wearing my "I voted today" sticker as the picture in my scrap book reveals). We're still riding bikes, taking swimming lessons, hitting fastballs in the parks, and now we're looking forward to basketball "practice" (little hoopsters it's called) in October and ice skating class in December. We're drumming (it's in the basement, but it is still plenty loud we discovered) and dancing to big brother's beats. We're writing memoirs sporadically, but gathering more material all the time....
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Departure
Marcel can crawl, and Sam can ride his two wheeler without training wheels. Both these events happened within 24 hours of each other. My proud mama elation mixed with a little sadness, watching them go off in their own directions barely looking back.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Laughing Bangles
Mother's Day 2008.
Highlights include Sammy slapping four dollars on the counter at Wendy's while exclaiming; "I'm buying my mommy lunch. " Sammy looking at the silver and copper colored bangle we bought together at the jewelry counter at Sears and telling me that the copper one is for Marcel, because he looks like it, and the other one is bright like a star so it is for him. When I jingle them together he says, "listen Mom they are laughing like us." Highlight's include copying down the following inscription for Sam's birth mother's mother's day card; "Thank you for letting me be in your tummy, and staying in your tummy for a long time. Thank you for getting me into the world. Thank you for letting me into your heart. I love you, Sammy." I have done something well, I tell myself. Sammy knows his birth story, and for today it is a story that he feels gratitude for it, in his own 3.5 year old way.
Highlights include Sammy slapping four dollars on the counter at Wendy's while exclaiming; "I'm buying my mommy lunch. " Sammy looking at the silver and copper colored bangle we bought together at the jewelry counter at Sears and telling me that the copper one is for Marcel, because he looks like it, and the other one is bright like a star so it is for him. When I jingle them together he says, "listen Mom they are laughing like us." Highlight's include copying down the following inscription for Sam's birth mother's mother's day card; "Thank you for letting me be in your tummy, and staying in your tummy for a long time. Thank you for getting me into the world. Thank you for letting me into your heart. I love you, Sammy." I have done something well, I tell myself. Sammy knows his birth story, and for today it is a story that he feels gratitude for it, in his own 3.5 year old way.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Shreds
It wasn't even 6:30 am when Sam's screams from the living room woke Marcel and I from our nursing reverie; "MOM! You're not going to believe it!!! The Easter Bunny came to our house! And Mom....he made a MESS!" (Instant fraternity there...)The shredded lettuce in the foyer was my crowning moment for the day. That, I actually lost sleep wondering how to effectively cut out rabbit teeth from the note he left for said magical hare was not so noteworthy. (Rest came when I remembered that I could just grab it when he went to sleep, and fling it in the notebook of scrunched up artifacts he'll be getting on his 18th birthday.) The best line from the note; "And, I spell lettuce with an S." Of course he does. He spells everything he can with an S. Only he doesn't spell. Uncle Marc keeps trying to get him to do advanced math because of an NPR story he heard recently about a 3 year old adding and subtracting in Massachusetts.
Marcel ate applesauce for the first time. We rode the Easter Bunny Express and although Sam found him magical, I wish they would dry clean that tired costume at least once every other year. Dinner at Uncle Marc's was scrumptious albeit trying when the fire alarm was set off by the grill, tripping the entire building. I sat in the stairway chewing my kebab, hoping Sam didn't ask me what kind of meat it was, since he was clutching his new black lamb toy the Easter Bunny brought him. His fat lip from his brand new scooter ride home presented a band aid conundrum. He settled for his chin. Marcel's sleep training, commenced 7 days ago has culminated in yet another Mama C's School of Sleep Success Stories. He fell asleep on his own in 4 minutes tonight. There is hope.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Buy Paper Plates
When the slipper hits me squarely in the jaw I am not considering how
seeing me with the baby might subconsciously be bringing up Samuel's
anger at his birthmother. He is weeks shy of his third birthday, and
instead of a bicycle I bring him a baby brother. It is not lovingly
occurring to me at this moment, with my cheek stinging, that he might
be processing his abdonment with the one safe person who could handle
it- in the form of flying blue terrycloth and rubber. No, all I can
think about is how to get him into his time out without interrupting
nursing or bursting a blood vessel because I feel so angry.
I breathe. I remind myself that we have made it this far, and this is
the first slipper incident. I don't want to let in the feeling that I
hate him right now. That I hate how hard this is for him, and me.
(Later my brother will applaud Sam's choice. He will tell me that Sam
had an entire selection of winter boots to choose from in the foyer.
I will not find this as funny as he does. Instead I will contemplate
hiding the boots.) Calmly, I inform Sam that he needs to go into his
room for quite time, and that I will come get him when I am ready. I
use the scary-low register-if I was a Daddy- calm slow voice. Then my
eyes bead and persuade Sam that going into his room without further
encouragement is the best option. I am stunned that this worked
actually. I exhale, and try not to cry.
I reassure myself that I am doing something right, and that we will be
OK. His baby brother, Marcel nursing furtively is oblivious and happy.
After two, maybe three minutes the squeaky door to Sam's room
announces his return. "Mom, I'm ready now" his tone asks more than
asserts. I pause, deciding if I am ready. "I'm ready to not hit you
with slippers now." My smile gives him the permission he needs to
climb up on the oversized chair and cuddle next to me. We are all
being held together by something larger than us, keeping that cuddle
perfectly balanced on the chair.
***
Marcel was delivered by Cesarian after a twenty-eight hours of
laboring. His cord was around his neck, and this was compromising his
heart rate severely. In signature SMC style, a catheter and major
surgery wasn't going to keep me in bed one second longer than
necessary. I was walking the halls several hours later, holding this
little beauty to my chest as I shuffled down the hall with my IV pole.
Finally one of the amazing nurses who was there during my delivery
the day before, took the baby, put a big sign on my door saying DO NOT
DISTURB and ordered me to rest. I hadn't slept in almost four days.
It was time.
***
I ached to see Sammy. We had never been apart for more than a night,
and I had already been in the hospital for three days. My longing
for him was so intense, that I knew something else was at play. One
of my birthpartners, Sage is an adoptee. With her help, I uncovered a
deeper understanding for Sammy's loss of his birthmother thirty six
hours after his birth. I wept for her loss, and for his. I looked at
baby Marcel and tried to imagine letting him go into the arms of
another woman for longer than five minutes, for the rest of his life
and I sobbed. In birthing my own son I touched a new layer of the
loss of adoption. I felt it inside my skin. I wanted to hold Sam,
but really I wanted to have birthed him, too I wanted to take away
all of his loss, and hers.
I finished Sam's Lifebook three weeks after I got home. It is only
eight pages long, and very simple and to the point. We have read it
at least seventy-five times. He loves the pictures of me holding him
on the plane, and of his birthfather who he is certain is a basketball
player like him. He skips over the pictures of his birthmother in the
hospital holding him for now. I can only begin to imagine what that
brings up. He always wants to feel the raised letters of his name on
the picture of his hospital bracelet.
***
I was changing Marcel's diaper when I said; There you go Stinkey-
Patinkey a nonsense phrase I made up somewhere along the line. Sam
heard this from the other room, and came in screaming; "He is not
Stinkey Pahtinkey, I am Stinkey Pahtinkey!" I assured him that I
would do my best to come up with an original post diaper moniker for
Marcel. Of course it is not about the words, but I don't know how to
reassure him any more than I have that Marcel will never ever replace
him.
I tell Sam how I miss it only being the two of us sometimes. It helps
to tell him that. I mean, it helps me. Otherwise it is like carrying
a dark secret inside, alone. I miss the feeling of knowing that Sam
and I are just that. The two of us. Having a third seems to dilute
the intensity of our bond, but time will absorb that. Eventually it
will be the intensity of the three of us. I have had glimmers of that,
and know it is true. But Marcel needs to have a personality first.
All he does now is blow bubbles, and get fat.
***
People ask me how I do it. I tell them that I buy paper plates. If
they looked confused I say, I've gotten good at it--like playing
soccer when I was in elementary school. When I finally found something
I was unequivocally good at it was so easy to practice all the time,
because I was already successful. I am really good at the work of
mothering, in fact I take pride in it. I use paper plates so I have
time to give Sam a bath while the baby is nursing, and then he sleeps
while I read Sam his story. This leaves no time for dishes. Instead
of birthday presents that we don't need I give my family a deposit
slip for the 529 plan. I keep a stash of favorite things in the car,
so Sam always has something he is jazzed about for show and tell
Wednesdays. I have friends who stay the night on a regular basis, so
I can have company after bed time, or gym time in the morning. I eat
healthy. I praise myself out loud; "Your mom is an excellent parallel
parker Sam, did you know that?" I tell my friends how lonely I can
get, and how sometimes I envy their relational status. They tell me
how annoyed and frustrated they can get with their relational status,
and how sometimes they envy my choice to go it alone. I tell them to
buy paper plates. I make time to write, so that I have someone other
than me to convince that being an SMC twice over is not only doable
but absolutely doable.
***
Marcel is transitioning to daycare this week. That word tastes like
rust under my tongue. On the first day he cried himself to sleep, and
wouldn't take the bottle. Today I left with him arching his back,
screaming. I was crying too. I went home to tie up loose ends, like
sterilizing breast pump tubing, washing bottles, unearthing "work
clothes" from the dark corners of my closet, returning two week old
phone calls; scheduling doctors appointments for everyone, and
finally remembering to put the now mostly evaporated but well aerated
water in the goldfish bowl. On the radio the DJ played a song from
the twenties. I found myself gently pulled into the marginal static
of the old record's edges. I was floating in that space, weightless
and lost. When I snapped back I felt the tingling of my skin from
crying so hard. Leaving Marcel at daycare feels like a rupture and a
betrayal to him, to me. I let myself feel it. I let myself hate this
uncivilized country that disallows mothers and children to remain
together for the first year. I feel shame about being an SMC
temporarily. I resent not being able to rely on someone else's income
while I stay home. I have never wanted to be a stay at home mom until
this week. "It's your hormones" my mom says. "It'll be OK in a few
weeks" my mommy friends reassure me. But when one of Marcel's
teacher's tells me that "it's OK to have my feelings" I want to deck
her. It's not my feelings that are the issue here. My son won't take
a bottle, and he has no idea where I am. Several hours later they
call to tell me Marcel came up with a very odd position, but it worked
for him, and he drank 2.5 ounces. That's my boy.
***
Sammy just came out into the kitchen to tell me that his nails need
trimming. It hurts him he said. Because it was too long. I forgot to
cut them he says. It is 9:45pm. He has been laying in bed for
probably half an hour coming up with what he thought would be a
viable excuse for leaving his bed. Did I say his bed? His egg crate
mattress on the floor of my room. It was an agreement we reached when
the "family bed" was driving me crazy. Sam sleeps like the hands of a
clock. I am impressed with the originality of his request, and tell
him so as I put him back in his bed for the fourth time. Since he
hates having his nails cut, I empathize with how desperately he wants
me to stop writing, and go to sleep. Minutes later the baby is asleep
on my bed and Sammy is asleep next to it. I am Catherine and Sons
now. I picture that stenciled on the back of the slick red pick up I
fantasize of owning one day. Instead of plumbers we are a roving
family of writers, musicians and scientists.
*first published in SMC Quarterly Spring 2008
seeing me with the baby might subconsciously be bringing up Samuel's
anger at his birthmother. He is weeks shy of his third birthday, and
instead of a bicycle I bring him a baby brother. It is not lovingly
occurring to me at this moment, with my cheek stinging, that he might
be processing his abdonment with the one safe person who could handle
it- in the form of flying blue terrycloth and rubber. No, all I can
think about is how to get him into his time out without interrupting
nursing or bursting a blood vessel because I feel so angry.
I breathe. I remind myself that we have made it this far, and this is
the first slipper incident. I don't want to let in the feeling that I
hate him right now. That I hate how hard this is for him, and me.
(Later my brother will applaud Sam's choice. He will tell me that Sam
had an entire selection of winter boots to choose from in the foyer.
I will not find this as funny as he does. Instead I will contemplate
hiding the boots.) Calmly, I inform Sam that he needs to go into his
room for quite time, and that I will come get him when I am ready. I
use the scary-low register-if I was a Daddy- calm slow voice. Then my
eyes bead and persuade Sam that going into his room without further
encouragement is the best option. I am stunned that this worked
actually. I exhale, and try not to cry.
I reassure myself that I am doing something right, and that we will be
OK. His baby brother, Marcel nursing furtively is oblivious and happy.
After two, maybe three minutes the squeaky door to Sam's room
announces his return. "Mom, I'm ready now" his tone asks more than
asserts. I pause, deciding if I am ready. "I'm ready to not hit you
with slippers now." My smile gives him the permission he needs to
climb up on the oversized chair and cuddle next to me. We are all
being held together by something larger than us, keeping that cuddle
perfectly balanced on the chair.
***
Marcel was delivered by Cesarian after a twenty-eight hours of
laboring. His cord was around his neck, and this was compromising his
heart rate severely. In signature SMC style, a catheter and major
surgery wasn't going to keep me in bed one second longer than
necessary. I was walking the halls several hours later, holding this
little beauty to my chest as I shuffled down the hall with my IV pole.
Finally one of the amazing nurses who was there during my delivery
the day before, took the baby, put a big sign on my door saying DO NOT
DISTURB and ordered me to rest. I hadn't slept in almost four days.
It was time.
***
I ached to see Sammy. We had never been apart for more than a night,
and I had already been in the hospital for three days. My longing
for him was so intense, that I knew something else was at play. One
of my birthpartners, Sage is an adoptee. With her help, I uncovered a
deeper understanding for Sammy's loss of his birthmother thirty six
hours after his birth. I wept for her loss, and for his. I looked at
baby Marcel and tried to imagine letting him go into the arms of
another woman for longer than five minutes, for the rest of his life
and I sobbed. In birthing my own son I touched a new layer of the
loss of adoption. I felt it inside my skin. I wanted to hold Sam,
but really I wanted to have birthed him, too I wanted to take away
all of his loss, and hers.
I finished Sam's Lifebook three weeks after I got home. It is only
eight pages long, and very simple and to the point. We have read it
at least seventy-five times. He loves the pictures of me holding him
on the plane, and of his birthfather who he is certain is a basketball
player like him. He skips over the pictures of his birthmother in the
hospital holding him for now. I can only begin to imagine what that
brings up. He always wants to feel the raised letters of his name on
the picture of his hospital bracelet.
***
I was changing Marcel's diaper when I said; There you go Stinkey-
Patinkey a nonsense phrase I made up somewhere along the line. Sam
heard this from the other room, and came in screaming; "He is not
Stinkey Pahtinkey, I am Stinkey Pahtinkey!" I assured him that I
would do my best to come up with an original post diaper moniker for
Marcel. Of course it is not about the words, but I don't know how to
reassure him any more than I have that Marcel will never ever replace
him.
I tell Sam how I miss it only being the two of us sometimes. It helps
to tell him that. I mean, it helps me. Otherwise it is like carrying
a dark secret inside, alone. I miss the feeling of knowing that Sam
and I are just that. The two of us. Having a third seems to dilute
the intensity of our bond, but time will absorb that. Eventually it
will be the intensity of the three of us. I have had glimmers of that,
and know it is true. But Marcel needs to have a personality first.
All he does now is blow bubbles, and get fat.
***
People ask me how I do it. I tell them that I buy paper plates. If
they looked confused I say, I've gotten good at it--like playing
soccer when I was in elementary school. When I finally found something
I was unequivocally good at it was so easy to practice all the time,
because I was already successful. I am really good at the work of
mothering, in fact I take pride in it. I use paper plates so I have
time to give Sam a bath while the baby is nursing, and then he sleeps
while I read Sam his story. This leaves no time for dishes. Instead
of birthday presents that we don't need I give my family a deposit
slip for the 529 plan. I keep a stash of favorite things in the car,
so Sam always has something he is jazzed about for show and tell
Wednesdays. I have friends who stay the night on a regular basis, so
I can have company after bed time, or gym time in the morning. I eat
healthy. I praise myself out loud; "Your mom is an excellent parallel
parker Sam, did you know that?" I tell my friends how lonely I can
get, and how sometimes I envy their relational status. They tell me
how annoyed and frustrated they can get with their relational status,
and how sometimes they envy my choice to go it alone. I tell them to
buy paper plates. I make time to write, so that I have someone other
than me to convince that being an SMC twice over is not only doable
but absolutely doable.
***
Marcel is transitioning to daycare this week. That word tastes like
rust under my tongue. On the first day he cried himself to sleep, and
wouldn't take the bottle. Today I left with him arching his back,
screaming. I was crying too. I went home to tie up loose ends, like
sterilizing breast pump tubing, washing bottles, unearthing "work
clothes" from the dark corners of my closet, returning two week old
phone calls; scheduling doctors appointments for everyone, and
finally remembering to put the now mostly evaporated but well aerated
water in the goldfish bowl. On the radio the DJ played a song from
the twenties. I found myself gently pulled into the marginal static
of the old record's edges. I was floating in that space, weightless
and lost. When I snapped back I felt the tingling of my skin from
crying so hard. Leaving Marcel at daycare feels like a rupture and a
betrayal to him, to me. I let myself feel it. I let myself hate this
uncivilized country that disallows mothers and children to remain
together for the first year. I feel shame about being an SMC
temporarily. I resent not being able to rely on someone else's income
while I stay home. I have never wanted to be a stay at home mom until
this week. "It's your hormones" my mom says. "It'll be OK in a few
weeks" my mommy friends reassure me. But when one of Marcel's
teacher's tells me that "it's OK to have my feelings" I want to deck
her. It's not my feelings that are the issue here. My son won't take
a bottle, and he has no idea where I am. Several hours later they
call to tell me Marcel came up with a very odd position, but it worked
for him, and he drank 2.5 ounces. That's my boy.
***
Sammy just came out into the kitchen to tell me that his nails need
trimming. It hurts him he said. Because it was too long. I forgot to
cut them he says. It is 9:45pm. He has been laying in bed for
probably half an hour coming up with what he thought would be a
viable excuse for leaving his bed. Did I say his bed? His egg crate
mattress on the floor of my room. It was an agreement we reached when
the "family bed" was driving me crazy. Sam sleeps like the hands of a
clock. I am impressed with the originality of his request, and tell
him so as I put him back in his bed for the fourth time. Since he
hates having his nails cut, I empathize with how desperately he wants
me to stop writing, and go to sleep. Minutes later the baby is asleep
on my bed and Sammy is asleep next to it. I am Catherine and Sons
now. I picture that stenciled on the back of the slick red pick up I
fantasize of owning one day. Instead of plumbers we are a roving
family of writers, musicians and scientists.
*first published in SMC Quarterly Spring 2008
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