We too often love things and use people when we should love people and use things. 

I cannot believe I am going to tell this story, but it’s been on my mind lately because my favorite summer pleasure this year is our new hammock which is actually a hammock that we’ve had for seven years and finally just put up this year.  I like to read on it when baby’s napping (although I really can only manage to do that on a weekend afternoon when my work work is done, and it is not too stifling hot.  So it’s happened twice so far.  But I really like the idea of it, okay?) and it will soon have a nestled spot in the family garden.  But that’s not the story.  Here’s the story: 

Back when BF and I got married, we were especially on a tight budget.  It was the 2002 recession; BF was in a commission based sales job and nothing was selling so we lived on my college administrator salary (which is to say nothing).  True story:  we would pool our change together until we had enough to go buy 2 McDonald’s ice cream cones.  That happened about twice a month and that was our big treat, driving home the long way after we stopped at the McDonald’s, enjoying our splurge.  I guess that story is our “we walked 7 miles to school uphill each way in the snow” tale that baby will hate hearing when he is 15 and we’re invoking a “be grateful” air.  Especially when I say that this one time (for real, I swear), we found that last dime we needed for our cones in the couch cushions and both cheered up and down over the excitement of it. 

Alright, back to the story at hand.  We were on an especially tight budget and yet would come home in those weeks after the wedding to gifts on the front porch that had arrived in that day’s mail.  Sometimes there were pots and pans; sometimes there were towels; and this one day there was a hammock box. 

I was thrilled to receive a hammock.  I grew up with one in our backyard and read in it for hours.  I had lived in Brazil a couple summers before and our hammocks were our beds– even (or especially) when we lived on a boat for a week in very tight quarters (we hung our hammocks like bunk beds– one high and one low and then alternated who was in the high one the next night because we were on the open deck of the boat on the Amazon in the middle of the rainforest and it would monsoon on us each night).  So hammocks are nostalgic for me, too.  I promptly wrote a very grateful thank you note for the hammock and asked BF when we could hang it.  He wasn’t as excited about the hammock as I was and so it went on a shelf in the garage, unopened.  A few days later, a couple more hammocks from the same company arrived. Seriously, three different people gave us the same hammock?  I went to write thank you notes for those hammocks but found that they came without notes.  As we were assessing where to store wedding gifts, etc, we came upon the three boxes of hammocks.  Hmm, maybe we should return one for a refund, we thought, since we were so tight on money.  And maybe we should give this second one to friends who were just getting married (tacky,  yes, but we were broke, and it was nicer than the $20 fork we could afford).  Done.  Two boxes headed out the door and the third unopened hammock stayed on our garage shelf.  Eventually, that hammock moved with us to the little cottage that could.  And stayed in the box in the garage.  Until this summer when I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I needed my hammock.  The evolving garden was the perfect spot for it, and so I asked BF to help me put together the hammock and its stand.  BF relented and told me he would unpack all the supplies and then come get me to help put the stand together. 

A few minutes later, BF walked in the house. 

“I don’t know what to tell you.  There’s only a hammock in that box.”

And then, slowly, as we both stood out in the back yard staring at the solitary little hammock without a frame, it occurred to us what happened. 

Those three boxes weren’t three different hammocks.  They were the different parts of the whole set up.  It seems that we gave someone half a hammock stand for their wedding gift. 

The worst part?  BF and I cannot for our lives remember who we gave this gift to which must signify that this mystery couple is no longer in our lives.  Could it be because we gave them 1/2 a hammock stand for their wedding?

So not to freak you me out or anything, but we had a little surprise tonight.  We had just gotten home from a day spent out and about (seeing cousins (for baby), old high school friends (for me)) and were unloading the groceries my parents insist on buying us before each time they see us (isn’t that cute?) into the house with baby waiting at the door, clapping each time we approached. 

Sweet, right?  Almost picture book.

And then our eyes darted over to the bush just to the left of the above picture, just off that little side porch.  And look who was there.

Yep, that darn space invading snake, Slither, was hanging out, probably looking to make his way back into baby’s room when we weren’t looking (is there any question now that he really did make his way into our house through that door that BF left open that weekend?  BF has to be the only one left doubting that possibility).  Eventually, our staring at him with mouths gaping open freaked him out enough to move along into our front yard– where I think he resides in our large oak tree- but not before we slammed that door shut and stared out the window like we were watching to make sure that the traveling salesman was heading on.  At one point, BF said, “Should I go out there and kill it?”  But he was just white knuckled enough for me to know that he didn’t really mean it which was just fine because while I don’t want Slither living IN our house and I don’t want him surprising me by coming up through the front porch floor slats when I am reading on the swing (yes, he has done that and it’s a wonder I didn’t go into coronary arrest), I don’t mind sharing space with him outside.  He’s good for my little garden, I think, and I happen to like giving animals their own room (I mean that figuratively and not literally a room in my house as Slither once thought).  So for now, Slither’s outside, the people are inside.  And we’re each probably going to bed with one eye out for the other. 

Heading for home (his, not ours)

Life keeps handing you the lesson you need to learn until you learn it.

Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away.

It will only amplify the volume of the lesson.

So I mentioned the other day that there have been nights where baby has only woken up 1, 2 or 3 times.  To be precise, there has only been one time where baby only woke up once, and it came after a marathon day on the beach of eating sand, chasing waves, and playing with his buds.  We’d been at the beach a few days by that point and the exhaustion and heat must have soaked in good and strong by then.  We bundled him up at 8 pm and laid him down for dreamland, each of us knowing that we had 2.5 hours before baby boy would wake up yelling.  Sure enough, we heard our little one hollering at 10:30, and I went in to offer him some more bottle, tell him he was okay and that we were right here, and rub his belly.  A few mintues later, he was back in dreamland.

Then, at 3 am, both BF and I shot up in bed at the same time. 

“Have you been with baby since 10:30?”  I asked.

“No, have you?” 

“No,” I answered.  “It must be coming any second.” 

BF went and peeked in baby’s room.  “He’s breathing.”

“Any second now,” I repeated.  BF nodded. 

We laid back down in bed, arms stiffly at our side, waiting to hear the siren call from our baby boy.

3:07 passed on the clock.  3:17.  3:27.

“You still awake,” I asked BF.

“Wide.”  He answered.

3:37, 3:47, 3:57. 

“I can’t sleep,” I whispered.

“Me neither; he’s going to wake up any minute.” 

“I know!”  I agreed.

4:07, 4:17, 4:27.

“When do you think it’s going to happen?”  BF asked.

“In the next ten minutes,” I answered.

4:37, 4:47, 4:57

Finally, around 5:07,  our exhaustion got the best of us, and we drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened by the happy good morning chirps of a baby who had almost slept plumb through the night at 6:27. 

“Go figure,” I groaned, “the night he doesn’t wake up after 11 pm is the night we keep ourselves awake for two hours discussing it.”

So, I’ve had the satisfying good fortune of three good reads in a row (which reminds me that I need to update my Good Reads account!).  I thought I’d share the three here in case you are looking for a few good books this summer: 

Daughter’s Keeper by Ayelet Waldman

My friend Jen brought this one to me and I am so glad she did it.  I read it when we were at the beach a few weeks ago and I wept on the beach for the last fifty pages of the book. 

Here’s the blurb from Publisher’s Weekly:   

Waldman (tells) the story of a young woman who battles the American legal system’s inflexible drug laws. Olivia Goodman, a rebellious 22-year-old, dropped out of college as a sophomore and headed for Mexico. After she moved back to her hometown of Oakland, Calif., she was followed by Jorge Luis Rodriguez Hernandez, with whom she had a brief affair in Mexico. Jorge crossed the border illegally and is unable to find work, and Olivia feels obligated to support him. Desperate for money, Jorge is persuaded to participate in a drug deal, and Olivia’s vague complicity sweeps her into an intense legal battle when she is arrested with Jorge. To make matters worse, Olivia discovers she’s pregnant with Jorge’s baby. As Olivia fights for her freedom, her mother, Elaine Goodman, is doubly tormented. Elaine raised Olivia on her own, but never felt she could love her enough. Now, when she has finally found happiness with a man, she is forced to choose between helping her daughter and holding on to her fiance. Waldman takes a somewhat didactic approach-U.S. drug laws are discussed at length, and the story of Elaine and Olivia’s relationship can read like a case history-but Waldman’s passion and affection for her characters shines through.

Digging to America by Anne Tyler 

A wonderful woman in one of my workshops in the spring recommended this book to me and I am so glad she did.  I also read this at the beach and achieved my dorkiest moment at the beach when I walked back to the house to go to the bathroom (about a ten minute walk) with my nose in the book all the way because I was so close to the end and could not put it down. 

What the book cover says:

Anne Tyler’s richest, most deeply searching novel–a story about what it is to be an American, and about Iranian-born Maryam Yazdan, who, after 35 years in this country, must finally come to terms with her “outsiderness.”

Two families, who would otherwise never have come together, meet by chance at the Baltimore airport – the Donaldsons, a very American couple, and the Yazdans, Maryam’s fully assimilated son and his attractive Iranian wife. Each couple is awaiting the arrival of an adopted infant daughter from Korea. After the instant babies from distant Asia are delivered, Bitsy Donaldson impulsively invites the Yazdans to celebrate: an “arrival party” that from then on is repeated every year as the two families become more and more deeply intertwined. Even Maryam is drawn in – up to a point. When she finds herself being courted by Bitsy Donaldson’s recently widowed father, all the values she cherishes – her traditions, her privacy, her otherness–are suddenly threatened.

A luminous novel brimming with subtle, funny, and tender observations that immerse us in the challenges of both sides of the American story.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett

The one is set in Jackson, Mississippi in the 1960s and takes a close look at how blacks, especially “the household help”, were treated.  I read this book while in Mississippi for my dear friend’s mother’s funeral and I felt like I was doing something elicit.  A riveting read, I stayed up way too late trying to get to the end.

From Publisher’s Weekly:

What perfect timing for this optimistic, uplifting debut novel (and maiden publication of Amy Einhorn’s new imprint) set during the nascent civil rights movement in Jackson, Miss., where black women were trusted to raise white children but not to polish the household silver. Eugenia Skeeter Phelan is just home from college in 1962, and, anxious to become a writer, is advised to hone her chops by writing about what disturbs you. The budding social activist begins to collect the stories of the black women on whom the country club sets relies and mistrusts enlisting the help of Aibileen, a maid who’s raised 17 children, and Aibileen’s best friend Minny, who’s found herself unemployed more than a few times after mouthing off to her white employers. The book Skeeter puts together based on their stories is scathing and shocking, bringing pride and hope to the black community, while giving Skeeter the courage to break down her personal boundaries and pursue her dreams. Assured and layered, full of heart and history, this one has bestseller written all over it.

Two of these books came recommended to me, and I am always on the look out for good reads.  Got any to suggest?  Let me know!

Some of the Circle de Luz girls give yoga a try.

What a great day!  Today, we kicked off a week-long Wellness Day Camp for the Circle de Luz girls.  This week, they will try yoga, Pilates, Zumba, and circuit training.  They will learn about why it is important to have a positive self image and how they can boost their self-esteem and body image, the keys to healthy eating, and general health matters.  They will take an intensive photography workshop and work together to turn the children’s book, Clorinda, into a play that they will perform this Saturday at Barnes and Noble (in Huntersville at 11:30 am if you are local) for local children.  They will start each morning with yoga and journaling and end each day with quiet reading time.  They have a new reading library to enjoy this week at camp and afterwards (A Wrinkle in Time, Three Cups of Tea- the young reader version, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The House on Mango Street).  They’ll take home yoga mats and a Yoga for Teens deck of cards that guides them through their own yoga practice.  More reflection later but thought I’d check in to tell you that I am serving as a 30 something camp counselor this week and loving life! 

The girls work on some of the exercises during the body image workshop.

Baby found the bat cave.

Attachment.  Prospective adoptive parents learn this word quickly.  What is attachment?  Put simply, it’s the relationship formed between a child and his or her parent(s) that allows him/her to have a secure base from which to explore from and appropriately develop and/or flourish emotionally, socially, and physiologically.   A newborn infant begins to form those attachment bonds from birth but infants, toddlers, and children who are adopted have had their relationship with their central caregiver disrupted at least once (when the child goes from biological parent to adoptive parent) and often times more than just once (from biological caregive to caretaker in a carehouse to adoptive parents or a couple stops at carehouse or foster homes along the way).  So, the first thing you learn as an adoptive parent is that the cornerstone to building a thriving relationship with your child, and hence a thriving child, is to nurture and create attachment. 

You might remember that our adoption medicine specialist laid out very specific instructions for building attachment after adoption.  They were instructions that were based on the best possible practices in building attachment, and they were instructions that placed me and BF as the center of baby’s world.  That happens a lot when families come home from the hospital with their newborn–  mom and dad and baby nest and get to know each other.  But because our baby was older and because he had nested and attached to others before, we were going to need to be really deliberate about building his confidence in us and his sense of our permanence in his life.  This meant that we were to be baby’s only caretakers for likely up to six months and possibly even more depending on his needs.  

As all parents do, BF and I rearranged our lives to meet baby’s needs.  We even adjusted our work schedules and work loads so that we could each care for baby 1/2 of each workday.  For the first month at home, we barely worked– concentrating on helping our baby boy be as sure about us as he could.  When people learn you are adopting an infant, you often hear in response, “Oh, good, so you’ll be the only parents he ever knows.”  But that’s not a true statement.  When our baby is seven years old, we will be the only parents he remembers, sure.  But I can tell you from the moment that baby’s nanny placed him in my arms, he knew the difference between her and me.  And I know that he knew the difference between his biological mother and his nanny when he was first placed in his nanny’s arms.  He may be little, he may be young, but he is not without memory, without muscle recall, without sensation or scent or all those other things that tell you who a person is before you when your eyes are closed or your ears plugged.  If anything, caretaker turnover had happened often enough in his short life to know that it might come again. 

We stayed home for the first week with baby– none of us going anywhere and no one coming by.  And then after the one week mark, we had our families come over in groups of two to meet him for just a little bit.  Everyone’s observation about baby was the same:  he was so friendly, so warm, so charming.  His personality was adored, but, amongst ourselves, we wondered if that charming, always on, you will love me personality was really true for baby or if it was a survival mechanism– an understanding within that his caretakers could change at any second and it would serve him best to make sure that the person right in front of him right this minute found him charming and irresistible.  While people fell in love with him, our hearts broke a little bit with what we thought might be going on.  We kept our world intentionally small during this time, not going out much, and just continuing to nest although we did make the special occassions our families were marking during this time.   

From the beginning, baby had a hard time sleeping.  For almost seven weeks, our nightly wakeups averaged 15.  Sometimes there were more– especially after a social event like a family gathering– sometimes there were one or two less, but we could count on the fact that we would be up at least once every hour between 7 pm and 7 am and sometimes more than that.  We tried the things that parents try when they face sleep challenges with their infants and very little worked or worked over time.  During the day, baby could be counted on to take two solid two hour naps so we knew he had it in him to sleep more than forty-five minutes to an hour at a time and he never woke during the day in the panic he exhibited when he woke up at night.  We kept trying every solution possible– the swaddle, elevating one end of his crib to reduce reflux, having him sleep with us in our room, having me sleep with him in his room, but still he woke.  Meanwhile, as time passed, we saw that baby always slept worse after social interactions with people other than us or social situations.  If he spent a day with just the two of us, maybe he’d wake up 5-7 times.  If we did something with someone else, his wake ups shot up to over 15.  Overstimulation, we thought.    

In early May, I did what every doctor dreads.  I googled.  It was 4 am and we were somewhere between 15 and 20 wake ups.  Pulling up the search engine, I wondered for just one second what to type in and then I pounded out SLEEP DISORDERS IN INFANTS.  The first item was exactly what I needed–  it was a link to a study done at Boston University that looked at infants who had had caregiver turnover and the effect that had on their sleep.  As it turns out, some infants are particularly sensitive to caregiver turnover and it can present in a couple different ways.  For our baby boy, who became increasingly worried after social events that one of those people might be his new caregiver, it presented with the multitude of wake ups all night long.  As it turns out, our baby was blocking himself from being able to descend into REM sleep at night so that he could continually check-in with us all night long and make sure his caregivers hadn’t changed yet again.  How much does that break your heart?  I read this study to BF one night while we were both lying in bed, having just put baby down.  We were broken-hearted that we had accidentally riled baby’s confidence by attending birthday parties here and there.  Other people wanted to engage with and love baby, and we had allowed it, unfortunately, to his detriment.  Those moments, we now know, just put baby on alert that something else could change soon since he saw that those people were interacting with him just as we do.    

Lying in bed, we remembered a piece of advice that we had read and heard a few times pre-adoption without much explanation behind it:  don’t let anyone else hold or kiss the infant you are adopting for at least two months.   BF and I didn’t really consider that option– we employed all the other things on the list our adoption medicine specialist gave us and felt like we were being beyond pro-active.  But, all of a sudden, we both understood the 2 month rule clearly.  With infants, you don’t really have a language between you where you can explain what family is, what permanence is, what love is.  All you can do is physically show it. You show it by meeting needs like feeding and diaper changing, by hugging, by kissing, by rocking a baby before bedtime, by holding each other close.  And while BF and I were doing all of baby’s care, there were other people using part of our love language with baby, too.  And that was confusing to our baby who happened to be particularly sensitive to those things.  That night, we talked about what made sense moving forward.  Should we be the only two people to hold baby for a bit to see if it made a difference and then, if it did, let our loved ones– family and friends– know that we would be doing that moving forward for at least two months?  We, of course, dreaded the idea of disappointing our loved ones, but we dreaded the idea of letting baby down, confusing him for one more second even more.  And so for a week, quietly, we experimented.  The first day, his wake ups dropped to 6.  After that, they dropped to 4.  So we ultimately broke the news to our loved ones and have been the only ones holding baby for the past two months.  It wasn’t without its social heartache or awkwardness (especially because some people will just grab a baby without asking first if he or she can hold them and then we had to extricate baby from their arms while explaining what was going on.  Always easier when someone asks first!  That said, sometimes a person will just look back at us when we explain as if we are those crazy overprotective parents you read about in magazines.  We know that not every one understands that parenting through the lens of adoption has some unique nuances that have to be accounted for so we don’t take that judgment personally).   Now, if its a normal day, the most wake ups we’ll have is 4 and we’ve even had some 3, 2, and 1 wake up nights.  And there are other signs that this effort has built his security.  Baby, finally, does not feel the need to please every single person in front of him– the check out girl at Target, the person that stops us on the street, etc– which means that he is no longer vigilant about being ready for the next set of parents that come his way.  He also wakes up from his naps much crankier– indicating that he is getting into some deeper sleep finally.  And he is relaxing into us and cuddling in a way that he didn’t before.  Social situations are still a sensitive spot for him and on those nights, his wake ups eek back up which we’ve learned make the next day hard for him, too so we’re as careful as we can be without completely surrendering. 

Knowing that we ultimately hold the key to building baby’s confidence has been illuminating– it has made each of us even more intentional and it has made us realize that things don’t magically change at the 4 month or 6 month mark just because it has been four months or six months.  Our little guy probably isn’t the one who can spend a whole day or night without one of the two of us and not have it affect him yet.  And because he is the baby boy we were meant to guide and we are the ones he was meant to soften and wisen, this is the journey we were joyfully meant to take.

My Smallest Fan

When I was little, my dad always referred to me as an accident looking for a place to happen.  It was true; I was a bit of a clutz and I always had hysterical accidental things happen to me.  There was the time I attempted to leap onto a stack of chairs in the school cafeteria, and my momentum didn’t stop and I just kept going, landing on the other side of the stack of chairs with the chairs coming tumbling down onto me.  My ex-boyfriend was five feet away.  There was the time that I mudwrestled in front of the entire school and later realized that my singlet wasn’t covering everything that it should have been covering.  And there was the time that I tried out for cheerleading in 6th grade to help a friend out (she wanted to try out but wouldn’t do it by herself) and crashed into the judges’ table as I completed my tumbling sequence (obviously I didn’t make call backs although the crash was the least of my worries).  You get the picture, right? 

Lately, my ‘accidents’ have been less of a physical nature and more of a just mucking up life nature.  On Monday, I pulled on a brand new shirt.  At lunch, I dribble minestrone soup on it.  Not wanting it to stain, I threw it in the wash and then the dryer on permanent press.  I pulled it out after it dried only to discover it no longer fit.  Drat! 

Then, I ordered books for the Circle de Luz girls to have some fun summer reading (Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The House on Mango Street) and some food from Omaha Steaks to be delivered to a friend who needs a break from cooking for a bit.  Today, when I opened my wallet, my credit card was MIA.  Can’t find it anywhere, so I had to cancel it. 

But the biggest my bad of late wasn’t really my bad at all (I promise!).  A company booked me to be their diversity speaker this year and asked that I bring books to sell.  Well, I bought a bunch of books to bring (a little behind the scenes book business stuff: an author gets a set number of free books right when the book comes out.  It’s not usually a lot– maybe 20 or so copies so I am way past having extra books lying around the house  and totally had to buy some to sell).   And then five days before I was scheduled to speak, they cancelled the event as they are cutting back on extras so as to preserve manpower.  Meanwhile, every day, boxes arrive with part of the 60 books I ordered to sell.  I am drowning in Hijas books!  Actually, baby’s closet is drowning in Hijas books. 

And what does a girl do when she’s drowning in her own books?  She puts a call out on her blog to let people know that if they would like an autographed copy of Hijas Americanas, I have the hook up.  $20 will cover the book and shipping to you, just shoot me an email at hijasamericanas@gmail.com with Autographed Copy in the memo line and we’ll work out the details. 

Here’s to ending the week without mishaps!

With the economy suffering, non-profits and our communities are feeling the impact in significant ways.  We may not have extra dollars to donate outright but there are other ways to give.  Here are just a few options if you are finding that, especially during this time, you have an incredible desire to connect.     

Team in Training 2005

Participate in the Team in Training program, an Avon Breast Cancer Walk, or an MS bike ride.   There are athletic endurance events that are tied to fundraisers that allow you to raise money for a cause while receiving coaching or support to complete the event.   In 2005, I did two century rides with Team in Training which raises money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  It was a conrete way for me to support my dad’s fight against cancer while raising money for a cause that was dear to all of us– cancer research and care. 

Join a Board of Directors for a local non-profit.  I have served on three boards over the years and have found the experience to be so rewarding.  Non-profits need a greate deal of human capital to run smoothly and, as a board member, you contribute meaningfully to an issue and program that is important to you.  Interested in serving as a board member?  Call up a non-profit that interests you and ask to meet with the Executive Director over the phone or in person.  When you meet, learn more and offer your skills.   

Donate to Locks of Love.  Locks of Love provides hair pieces to children who suffer medical hair loss.  If your hair grows fairly quickly, this is a great thing to do.  Some salons even offer free haircuts with your Locks of Love donation.   

Give an Alternative Gift.  So what’s an alternative gift?  It’s the perfect thing for you to get for the person who you have a hard time finding the perfect gift.  An alternative gift is a donation that you make to a non-profit in someone’s name.  The great thing is that you can pick something that perfeclty captures your loved one’s spirit.  Heifer International is one of the most popular options but just about any non-profit will work with you to make your alternative gift possible. You can also use your birthday or your child’s birthday as an opportunity to ask for alternative gifts. 

Working at an orphange in Puerto Rico

Engage in your community.  I have been during regular, weekly volunteer work since I was 18.  Unless I’ve been on vacation, a week hasn’t gone by in 17 years where I didn’t volunteer in some way.  It’s how I understand how to be in community and it is how I keep my lens from just focusing on me, me, me.  Over the years, I have done whatever needed to be done for a non-profit that I cared about as well as offered my unique skills– like teaching writing classes in an afterschool program.   For example, are you a hair dresser?  Contact Dress for Success to offer job interview hair styling classes to their clients.  Are you an artist?  Donate some of your work to a non-profit’s silent auction.  Have a certain day/time to spare, check on the Hands on Network or Volunteer Match to explore some options in your area.