I did drink too much ...

but the day was fun once it was over.  By the time I dragged myself down the street to our neighbor's house yesterday at 5:30, I was exhausted and had logged many hours in the car.  As predicted, my presence at Finn's picnic went largely unnoticed, but it was still good to see him in his element with all his buddies playing and having fun.  We had a great time at Gus' picnic, where Ruby discovered a new passion - the slide.  The rest of the afternoon was a bit of a haze of driving and making food for the party, but we made it to everything relatively on-time, and I was rewarded for all my hard work with a very strong cocktail that involved gin, blackberries and muddling.  In full disclosure, I did do some yelling during the day, and Ruby did not get a nap all day except when I carried her on my shoulder as we rushed through a grocery store to buy the shish kebobs I was supposed to have made for the party.  But hey, learning to be flexible is all part of the adventure, right?

Here's all the evidence of the fun:

Finn (in green shorts) celebrates a good beach volleyball move.

The thrill of the slide!

Going back for more ...

And more!

Happy cake face!

End of School Daze

Just a few more days until school will be a thing of the past, at least for three months.  Finn will be a second grader, and Gus will be moving up to Jr Kindergarten at Finn's school, which he is very excited about.  I think he thinks that he will be in class with Finn, and I can't seem to make him understand what will actually be going down.  Anyway, even though I am excited about summer in some ways, I am also a little sad that this Spring is winding down.  It's been so full of changes and I've had so much time to just be with Ruby, getting to know her and watching her open up to me.  When the boys are around, she really only has eyes for them, so our dynamic will be a little different.  But good too, since my ultimate goal is to get them all raised up and out the door one day with a sense that they can always call their brother or sister at 4 am if they need to.  As long as they're not calling me.

So, the end of the school year is always full of school events, and today it seems they are all happening at once.  I have been going to a weekly playgroup for Ruby every Thursday, which has been really fun for her, and today is the last one for a while, so we will go to that at 9:30.  But then we'll leave early to drive about 30 minutes to Finn's end of school picnic, where we will stay for about an hour (even though the event lasts several hours, and Finn will probably be annoyed that I am leaving early, even though I am sure that my presence will go largely unnoticed while I am there).  Then Ruby and I will drive 30 minutes back into town to pick up Gus from school and take him to his end of the year picnic at a different park.  When that is over, we'll head over to pick Finn up from school and drive carpool home.  Once home, we will dust off and turn around to take Finn to a birthday party and then back home to get ready for a dinner with neighbors to say good-bye as they head off for the whole summer.  By this point, I will undoubtedly be annoyed with everyone, so any good-parent points I earned by attending all of these events for my children will be erased when I send them all to their rooms for driving me crazy.

And what will anyone even remember of this relatively ordinary, busy day?  Not too much, probably.  Will the boys appreciate all of my crazy driving and scheduling?  Definitely not.  If anything, they might later reflect that I was always rushing around in a bad mood.  But hopefully, when we all fall into bed tonight, we will be tired and will sleep well.  And hopefully the kids will have lots of tiny moments tucked into brain folds - many to fade away forever into the abyss of childhood, but maybe one or two to savor later on.  And I will too - maybe some I'd like to forget (since at 8 am I can already tell I'll be a crazy ogre at some point today), but some really good ones as well.  I'll let you know though - there's potential for total meltdown ...

Ruby, the Kissing Bandito

Well, hopefully not so much anymore.  Today marks three months since we arrived home with her, and, of course, we have had so many adventures and changes and things to learn about each other in a short amount of time.  To be sure, we are far from finished, but I guess you never are, so I'm feeling pretty happy and zen with things at the moment (at least, this very, tiny moment when Ruby is napping, Finn is at school, Gus is watching cartoons and I am in a room where I can't see any dirty diapers, laundry or dishes).

But something funny happened today that made me think about something that Ruby did for the first few days that we were home, and I'm now realizing that my interpretation at the time was way off base.  So, when we got on the plane to fly home with Ruby, I had a few magazines in my bag in case I had a few minutes to zone out on the airplane.  Needless to say, I did not, but I was glad I had them because I pulled them out and let Ruby look at the pictures and rip up the pages for entertainment on the trip.  During the flight, I noticed that she loved to look at pictures of faces - particularly all the ads with close-ups of models and the like.  And, of course, most of these beautiful ladies were white.  She would look at the page for a few minutes and then start madly kissing the picture, which I of course thought was adorable.  Even after we were home, she would find discarded magazines in the trash and take them out to kiss the faces in them.

At the time, I attributed this behavior to her being a girl.  Having raised two boys who never once glanced at pictures of real people, but rather preferred books with pictures of lizards and dinosaurs and tractors, I thought this to be a sign that girls and boys really are different.  Girls, being so relational, would naturally be drawn to the human face.  Boys, not so much.  I rejoiced, happy to know that I really would have someone to talk to about the important stuff of life in a few years.  After a few weeks maybe, I never saw Ruby do that again, but I didn't think much of it since I was so busy noticing all of her other cute little habits and developments.

So today, I was sitting here at the computer checking my email, and Ruby came over from whatever little mess she was making and started madly kissing my leg.  She is really affectionate, and loves to come over for a little kissing session from time to time, so it wasn't so strange or anything, but it just made me remember how she used to do that with the magazines and realize that she doesn't do it anymore.  So, naturally, I can't just let something like that pass by totally unanalyzed, or what kind of obsessive-compulsive person would I be?  I have come up with two possible theories, although maybe it was something totally different that I haven't thought of yet.  One thought I had was that we had sent a little photo album over with a traveling family for Ruby to start looking at us and getting used to our faces.  I could imagine the caregivers over there showing her the pictures and teaching her to kiss our pictures, as they were generally the most demonstrative people I've ever met.  And then, since she was used to kissing the pictures, even though she now had us in the flesh, the pictures of random white ladies in a magazine probably seemed more familiar to her than our tired-looking mugs in person.  (Also, I look alot like a model, so clearly I can see why she was so confused!).

So that theory kind of makes sense, and it makes me laugh that maybe she really couldn't tell the difference.  But then I was thinking about how babies engage in all sorts of attachment-promoting behavior such as being cute, crying, and, as they get older, hugging and kissing.  Babies are no dummies - they know where their next meal is coming from, and they know they need to keep our attention to get it.  So then what about a child who has not had one particular person there for them to develop that give and take with?  When a baby has had lots and lots of different people coming and going in her life ever since she was born, would she perhaps be a little confused about where she needed to direct her love in order to make her way in the world?  I'm not sure (although I am sure there are probably books dedicated to this subject that I could read, but I most likely won't do that), and it doesn't really matter, since now she's all about kissing my leg while I'm writing emails, so I think she sorted it out.  Ruby's a smart cookie, and those girls may be pretty and all, but I haven't seen any of them at our house cutting up bananas or making their famous spaghetti a la Ragu.  Now, if they do start coming around, I'm definitely putting them on diaper duty.

 

Every rose has its thorns ...

Since we've been home from Ethiopia for three months, I figured it was time to share a side of our time together that has not been so pleasant.  I didn't want to mention it before because, well, it's pretty gross and I don't want anyone to think of sweet little Ruby as a germy kid.  But I've decided that it's just another part of the whole experience, so I'll just give you a peek at the dark side ... or, as I think of it, the diaper side.  (And then after you read this horrifying tale, be sure to check out the cute pics of our day at the park below!)

***************

Ah, the joys of having a child in diapers.  I know, I know, we signed on for this, but I have to say that it's really no fun at all.  The boys have been out of diapers for years, so I had sort of blocked out the whole experience.  But I figured that at least Ruby would be old enough where there wouldn't be so many diapers every day, and maybe, I hoped, she would be close to being ready to be potty trained.  And, I will admit, I'm pretty old school when it comes to potty training.  In most other areas, I'm pretty laid back, but when it came to potty training the boys, I was like a drill sergeant.  My mother-in-law happened to be visiting around the time I decided that Gus was ready to leave diapers in his past, and I think she is still traumatized by the experience.  Gus, on the other hand, seems fine, but we'll probably hear more about this when he grows up and robs a convenience store and blames it on unresolved control issues.  Sorry about that, Gus.  I just couldn't take the diapers anymore.


Anyway, back to my current problem.  Not only is Ruby nowhere near ready to be potty trained (she is only 19 months, after all), but she arrived home three months ago with a lovely companion, giardia.  For anyone who is unfamiliar with this disgusting parasite, it causes diarrhea, gas, and stomach pain, among other things.  In Ethiopia, I think pretty much everyone has it and just lives with the symptoms that can flare up and then go away from time to time.  Some people don't have severe symptoms, and they can pass the parasite out without knowing they have had it.  Before we tested Ruby, I didn't really connect the dots, and I figured that any of her bowel issues were probably just her getting used to American food and the like.  I think I even made an early reference to a mysterious stomach pain that was making Ruby scream and writhe around, and we eventually discovered that it was the bug.  And while the illness is not pleasant, the treatment for it is pretty rough as well.  The medicine kills (or at least tries to kill) the parasite, but at the same time it kills everything else in your intestines, so it's hard to digest anything.  


Anyway, poor Ruby has been through three rounds of treatment and it looks like the big G still has the upper hand.  Lots of diarrhea (4-6 times) every day, gas, and stomach pain that gives her little fits.  I have to say that overall she's doing really well - she's happy, eats great, sleeps well, plays and gets into everything like she is supposed to be doing, so I don't want to give the impression that she's huddled in a corner holding her tummy all day.  But after three months, I think we're both getting really, really sick of it.  Of course, I hate to complain (you know what a mature and patient person I am), but I feel almost as sorry for myself as I do for Ruby.  Not only do Ruby's diapers smell like something that died two weeks ago, but they are messy and she hates (with great passion) having them changed, so she kicks and screams while I'm doing it, thereby causing alot of collateral damage to the changing pad, Ruby's clothes and, often, my clothes.  And since I've already said too much about laundry elsewhere in my blog, I'll just say that I'm doing many loads a day on the sanitary setting.  And I really don't want to make you feel too sorry for me, so I won't go into detail about the sanitizing and lysol-ing I engage in to prevent anyone else in the house from catching it.  So far so good on that score, so maybe I'm a better housecleaner than I had suspected (doubtful, as I can see the evidence to the contrary from where I'm sitting typing this).  


Anyway, I know you're all busted up crying your eyes out for me at this point, and I really appreciate that, because I'm trying to be strong, but it's really hard.  I mean, of all of the "issues" an orphan from Ethiopia could have had, is this really so bad?  No.  I know that.  However, it has not been great, but I feel like I have not wanted to talk about this particular issue with anyone because I worried that they wouldn't want to be around us (even though you really can't catch it unless, as previously stated, you actually get poop into your mouth somehow*), or they would have a negative feeling about adopting children from Ethiopia.  In fact, I think that in general I have that urge to paint a really positive picture of the whole experience, especially to non-adoption people, for that reason.  Friends and sometimes strangers ask how it's all going, and I only discuss all of the great things about Ruby and Ethiopia - and there are plenty to discuss, so it's not like I don't have anything to say.  But when Finn and Gus were little, pretty much all I ever talked about were things like sleep issues, eating issues, aggressive behavior, doubts, concerns, petty annoyances.  Because as much as I might complain about my biological children, it's not going to deter a person from having a child if they want to do that to hear that there are (many) times when I want to lock them both in a room with a bag of Cheetos and come back a few hours later.  


But adoption is different.  People are curious and they may have heard stories about adopted kids that were difficult or dangerous or never fit in with the family.  Those kinds of stories circulate around as fast as giardia in a mountain stream.  I couldn't even count the number of times someone has relayed a story to me about a person they know who adopted a child and there were "problems."  People rarely suggest that a non-adopted person's bad behavior might stem from him being kept in the family.  Like, maybe if this idiot lacrosse player who murdered his girlfriend at UVA recently had been put up for adoption, he would have turned out much better.  Or maybe not, but my point is that people ascribe things to "adoption issues" when a child is adopted because it's easy to point to that and say, well that must be what is wrong with him.  Obviously, every child and every situation is totally different, and I'm not trying to make some larger statement about adoption vs. anything.  I wouldn't even call myself an advocate for adoption, because it's so complicated and it's not the right thing for every family, but I hate that there might be people who would consider adopting and then get scared off by the stories they hear from friends or in the media.   


But back to me (of course!), I think that because I have a child who is adopted, I seem to want to make it seem like Ruby doesn't have any issues.  "See, this adopted child is perfect, so all of those stories you have heard are totally untrue."  Truthfully, she is perfect.  No, but she is awesome and funny and smart and loving, so that's about as close as you get.  But are there times when she, like my other children, drives me nuts?  Yes.  Will there be other problems on the road ahead of us, some perhaps stemming from the fact that she is adopted?  Yes.  Will Ruby ever be cured of giardia so that I can stop having to use lysol spray on every surface in our house, thereby risking future cancer vs. immediate threat of diarrhea? Ask me in a few months.  

*You get it from drinking water that has been contaminated by feces, which evidently all of the water in Ethiopia has been.  In the US, people (myself not included) who enjoy hiking and camping know better than to drink water out of streams and rivers due to the risk of contracting giardia from the water (since animals can carry it and, naturally, don't use toilets).  You can also get it if you inadvertently touch something that has been contaminated and then put your hands in your mouth - what a lovely thought!    

Loving Every Child

This is a post that I meant to write around the time of Mother's Day, but I got busy and never did it.  I know I usually write silly things about my kids or the strange things that go through my head, and in general I to keep things light.  And I promise I won't write about things that make my cry very much, but I feel like this is worth it.  

A few years ago, I read about a man named Janusz Korczak, and I think about him from time to time, and every time I do, I literally burst into tears thinking of his beautiful life.  And I'm not really a burst into tears kind of person most of the time.  So I always wonder why more people don't know about him, and I wish there were more people in the world like him.  I wanted to summarize the little bit I know about his life because it is inspiring to me and moves me every time I think of it.  Some of his writings on children are collected in a small book called Loving Every Child: Wisdom for Parents, and I highly recommend it as a gift to new parents, old parents, adoptive parents and anyone else.  There are so many pearls of wisdom and just plain parenting advice in this tiny book that I keep it by my bed and read a page or two whenever I feel like a day didn't go the way I had hoped, or I worry that I'm screwing up my kids, or I just need to remember what I'm doing all this (driving, laundry, yelling, cooking, counseling, etc, etc, etc) for.  


Korczak was a Polish Jew born in 1878 who became famous in Europe as a pediatrician and author of several books about children.  He became the director of a Jewish orphanage in Warsaw, and spent his life living in the orphanage and caring for the children in a way that was revolutionary at the time.  He believed that children deserved to be listened to, respected and encouraged to express themselves.  His orphanage was a place of happiness and light, where children without families were not considered worthless, but rather encouraged to learn and grow and be someone in the world.  In his books, he writes eloquently of the lessons he learns from watching them, playing with them, and listening to them.


Reading his observations reminds me of the best parent I hope to be, although in the midst of busy days I often fall short.  One of my favorite quotes is this:  "As a parent, you say: 'The child cries very little, she sleeps through the night.'  She is good-natured; she is a good child.  A bad one is one who makes a fuss and a lot of noise and one who, for no apparent reason, evokes more unpleasant than pleasant emotions in her parents.  One must be careful not to confuse a good child with an easy one."


After the Germans invaded Poland in 1939, Korczak and the children of the orphanage were ordered to move to the Jewish ghetto in Warsaw, where disease and starvation were the norm.  There he started the Orphans' Refuge for dying children, trying to give these children dignity where there was none.  Because of his fame and connections, Korczak had various opportunities to leave the children and escape Poland, but he refused to do so.  He wrote to a friend who urged him to leave, "You wouldn't abandon your own child in sickness, misfortune, or danger, would you?  So how can I leave two hundred children now!"


In 1942, Korczak and his two hundred orphans were marched through the streets of Warsaw to the train station.  They walked quietly through the silent streets, four by four, behind the orphanage flag, with each child carrying a special toy or book.  That train carried Korczak and the children to the gas chambers in the death camp at Treblinka.


That's all I know.  I haven't read any histories of Korczak's life, just the few pages at the end of the collection of his writing.  But it says so much.  Here was a person who did not have to care for these children.  They were not his own, and no one would have blamed him for saving his own life.  But I imagine that he knew that they would need him.  He knew that the train ride would be hard, that the children would be scared.  He would have known where they were going, but he would not have wanted the children to know, so he would have made it into an adventure for them.  He had written that "If a child has a life where cruelty has become the norm, what a powerful effect would be the memory of that person - perhaps the only one - who showed kindness, understanding, and respect.  The child's future life and sense of his self could take a different course, knowing that there was one person who would not fail him."  For those two hundred children, he was that one person.  I just find myself in awe of his bravery and his capacity to stand up for those two hundred children, even at the cost of his own life.  

Celebrity Blog Post!!

I am so lucky!  I have a very famous neighbor, Paige, who voluntarily wrote up this blog for my and emailed it to me to post here on my blog!  (Actually, don't tell her this, but she isn't really famous, but she really wanted me to call this a "celebrity" post rather than just a "guest" post, so I will humor her and make her rainy Monday a little more exciting!)

She actually sent me this last week, and I didn't know whether to post it, due to the fact that she had a big paragraph about how cool Matt and I are, and even though I know that having a blog is pretty self-absorbed in the first place, I didn't want to come off as a total head case.  "Here's my blog, all my ideas, pictures of my kids, and, oh, by the way, here's how awesome my friends think I am!"  However, after a little tactful editing, I really wanted to share it, because it was interesting for me to read this from her perspective.

I could go on and on about how awesome Paige and her husband are and how much they impact the world for good.  She is an awesome mom, a camp director, and one of the most positive people I know, and she is always setting little goals for herself to be even more so (but not in an annoying, goody-two-shoes kind of way).  They were both so supportive of us during the whole adoption process, and they love on Ruby all the time, but I never knew that they had considered adoption as a possibility.  And maybe still do.  At the time we started the adoption process, we were a little nervous about doing something so outside of our experience, and we didn't have any close friends who had adopted from Africa (although, happily, now we know lots of wonderful people who have!).  I remember thinking that, of all the people I knew, Paige and Andy might actually be able to be convinced to do it with us.  I jokingly suggested it to her, even while at the same time realizing that you don't just adopt a baby to have a fun adventure with a friend.  And I really never thought about it after that, so it was funny to read that she chewed on it for a while.  Two years and one baby later, I selfishly am happy that they don't have a new baby and therefore can shower Ruby with as much love and attention as her highness deserves.  We really are lucky, and that's no joke!

That's Paige, surrounded by good-looking men, as always!

*************

It's hard to believe that it's nearly been two years since Matt and Claire shared their big news with us. We were standing around the kitchen at a little "summer's ending" get together, and I was talking about my idea for starting a "Happiness Club*", when Claire announced in an excited but "oh by the way"-casual way "we're adopting a baby from Ethiopia" and then she added "you should do it with us" as if she had just said "Hey, I'm going to go get my nails done. Let's get yours done too." Part of me (the part that had already had a little wine) was ready to just jump in with equal enthusiasm. After all, I never want to miss a good party, and getting a baby from Ethiopia sounded like fun. Of course, a bigger part of me thought better of it. I have two kids who are finally in elementary school and are becoming more and more independent each day. I'm just getting used to being able to be somewhat independent again myself.

So, obviously I didn't rush out and file adoption papers,but the thing is, from time to time I really considered it. I looked at adoption websites and casually asked Matt and Claire probing questions about the process and expected outcome. I thought seriously about how adopting would change my life and how adoption would change someone else's. We all want to make a positive impact on the world, and as I told my husband Andy, we're pretty good parents. Maybe adopting was something we could do to help. But not now.

I know from talking to Claire and from reading her blog that she doesn't believe or buy into the idea of adopting just to save a poor starving child. I know that she and Matt understand the magnitude of what they've done and how they've helped Ruby, but they see it as an equally reciprocal relationship. They really wanted something out of the deal too, and it wasn't just to feel like they'd helped someone or made a positive impact on the world. They wanted a daughter. They wanted another cuddly babe (which she REALLY is), and they wanted to move closer to what felt like completing their family. I also think that they wanted to take a risk and have an adventure (a much bigger one than opening an ice house or putting condos on top of Wal-Mart "Wal-dos").

I'm starting to ramble on a little, so let me see if I can circle back and bring this altogether. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I haven't really known Claire and Matt for very long. I don't think that it's even been three years since they moved into my neighborhood and Matt diagnosed me with Cat Scratch Fever. But in many ways I feel I've known them forever. 

Andy and I are no closer to adopting a baby than we were back in September of 2008, but thanks to Matt and Claire and Finn and Gus and Ruby, I am a lot closer to starting the Happiness Club.

* Anyone can be a part of the Happiness Club. All you have to do is laugh with a friend, smile, take a friend (or stranger) an unexpected gift, let your heart feel joy and PASS IT ON!

Update: Not Done ...

I wrote that post last night all tucked into bed and cosy.  At this moment (8:30 am), I am ready to scream at someone after spending 20 minutes tying a million little ties to reattach the crib bumper to Ruby's crib after I had to wash it (over a month ago) when she pooped in the crib and smeared it all over everything.  What is the deal with crib bumpers!!?  Why so many ties?  Can't they apply velcro technology to this product?  Does this make anyone else want to pull every hair on their head out?  So much for finding peace ...

Also, I head this author being interviewed on Fresh Air on NPR yesterday, and thought it would be interesting for the adoption crowd ...

Rose in Brooklyn

Also, this is Gus at the end of his Spring Music performance at preschool being mobbed by all of his girlfriends.  Crazy cute!

Not Done:

So, my experiment with a pared-down to do list worked really well.  By the end of the day, I felt really happy with all that I had accomplished, as I had gone beyond my list to make a nice dinner for my family, fold at least 5 loads of laundry, and get in a quick run.  I totally killed it that day.  However.  The problem with making a To Do list that makes you feel good but fails to capture the volume of things that you in fact need to do is that two days later you realize that those things you didn't write down didn't just magically disappear.  They still need to be done.

Well, as it turns out, I can't just start with a clean slate, clear of obligations and duties, even if I really feel like it.  And so many of the things that creep onto my To Do lists turn out to be things that keep me tied to my friends, my family and the life I want our family to lead.  Sure, a trip to Target to buy a birthday present is certainly not high on my list of fun ways to spend time.  And sorting though baskets of toys that have become jumbled beyond recognition makes me want a beer almost immediately, but those are just the little pieces of a big puzzle of our lives that include lots of birthday parties with friends big and small, a house where I can send my kids to play in the basement and figure they can find something to do that will buy me a few minutes of peace and quiet, and good meals together, kids who are happily involved in sports and activities they enjoy, a place to lie down at night that doesn't make our skin itch in the morning.  So, yes, laundry must be done, snacks for the soccer team purchased, calls returned, invitations extended, bills paid, closets occasionally addressed.  And if I can't get a warm feeling at the end of the day from checking off every single thing on my list, so be it.  There's always red wine and sweaty hugs from little people.

To Do:

I once read that a good way to make yourself feel better about yourself is to make a To Do list everyday that only has things on it that you absolutely know you will be able to accomplish that day.  You should never put things on a To Do list like "clean out closets," "lose five pounds," "finish writing thank you notes," because the failure to get through these tasks will just make you feel worse about yourself.  Those are "Goals," and should properly be relegated to another list.  Of course, it would also be sad to have a list of goals with those things on it, as one would ideally have slightly higher and more exciting goals, but the point is just to keep things off the To Do list that you have any chance of not doing.  If, at the end of the day, you can reflect with satisfaction that you have done everything you set out to do that day - and perhaps even more (!) - you will feel like a big fat winner.  Does this little self-deception really work?  I'm not sure, but it can't hurt.

So today I think my To Do list would look like this:
Get out of bed.  Check
Make and drink coffee.  Check
Short blog.  Check
Deliver children to school.
Change diapers as needed.
Shower.  I had to strike that, because there have been days when that is an unattainable goal.
Feed children and self, inform Matt of sandwich fixings if he requires sustenance.
Watch Lost.

See, I didn't even include crazy things like exercise, stimulating activities for the children, reading, cleaning, catching up on email, paying bills, dealing with this one corner of the room I'm in right now where there are several weeks worth of papers and bills and general things I need to deal with piled up before Ruby completely destroys everything in it.  And I certainly didn't include anything like try to be a better mother, don't spend money on non-essentials, fold the laundry, organize pictures of the children from the past 7 years, and drink less coffee, diet coke and wine.

So, I'm looking forward to an awesome day of reaching for the stars and actually getting there.  I'll let you know how it works and you might want to try it yourself ...

Update at 4 pm:
I'm adding the following to my List, since I've already done them & therefore can feel even better with a longer list:
Fold significant amount of laundry & get most of it put away before Ruby woke up from morning nap, whereupon she unfolded the remainder.  Check
Exercise and shower (including shave legs).  Check, although this was done unsafely, as I instructed Gus to watch Ruby and come get me if "anything" happened while I was in the shower, but at least I did it.
Help Gus overcome 3 days of constipation by spending a long time with him in the bathroom.  Check

Update at 4:44 pm:
Clean up horrifying accident Gus had on the stairs.  Check (Apparently, I should not have congratulated myself previously, as I was punished when he called up the stairs to tell me that he had pooped and peed in his pants and it had "fallen out."  Yes, indeed, it had.)

Attachment is ... the Texas Two-Step?

It's circular, sweaty, requires alcohol.

Before I say anything about further about my "attachment theory," let me just share a story with you that will tell you something about me, so that it won't seem like I'm trying to share some kind of wonderful parenting theory as if I know anything about anything.  So, I am always coming up with ideas - some good, some bad - for various products or ads or marketing plans for McDonald's, let's say, but since I don't really have a job or an outlet for turning my ideas into reality, I plague everyone I know by talking about them.  About 6 years ago, I was visiting my old boss with Finn, and we were driving to go eat lunch, and I shared this really revolutionary idea with him.  I felt like it was one of my best ideas ever, and I had really put some time into thinking about it and why it would be such an advantageous product.  The idea, my friends, was the magnetic bumper sticker.  Without saying anything, my boss pulled into a parking lot, parked, got out of the car and went over to another car and lifted one of those Support Our Troops ribbon stickers off of that car and just held it up.  I was a little crestfallen that someone had already come up with my idea, but at least it was a really good idea, as evidenced by the demise of the bumper "sticker" market.  Another time, about a year ago, I was called a friend of mine to share another revolutionary idea, but it turned out that my idea was already in existence:  PayPal.  I had not come up with a catchy name yet.  Anyway, just letting you know that I realize I'm pretty out of it, and I don't keep up with things, so anything I "come to realize" has probably already been written about a million times, using better grammar and vocabulary.  Perhaps if I would actually read parenting material, instead of perezhilton.com, I would not have to learn all of these lessons the hard way.

Okay, so, attachment.  WTF?  Was this even a term 35 years ago?  I am pretty sure that my mother did not analyze her relative attachment to me and my brother as she waived goodbye to us with her tennis racquet and left us with the Spanish-speaking housekeeper.  However, as with so many other things that my mother seems to think that I have made up just to vex her and make her feel that she was a bad mother, such as putting babies to sleep on their backs, not giving them rice cereal when they are 2 weeks old, baby-proofing (not necessary back then due to the approved use of the play pen), we seem to be stuck with it.  Not to say that I don't get it or agree that it is desirable in the parent-child relationship.  I totally do.  It's just that I feel like it is yet another example of a very vague, yet lofty goal that we (I'm talking women) feel we need to reach before we could think of ourselves as "good mothers."  It's like a holy grail, especially with adopted children, that you might one day reach - the heavens open, lights dim ... Secure Attachment has been reached.

People lately have been asking me how the bonding or attachment "is going."  Well, I guess it's going great.  But then again, maybe it's not.  Because is there some kind of a test?  Can I get an outside opinion on whether this particular child is "securely attached" to me, to our family?  What would such a test look like?  Who would administer it?  The thing is, I'm starting to realize that attachment is a moving target, and what it looks like changes from day to day, sometimes minute to minute.  And I'm not just talking about with Ruby.  Finn, who just turned 7, is constantly testing our attachment.  He asked me when we were in Ethiopia if we would even have to take him to an orphanage if we couldn't take care of him.  When he gets extremely mad at me for punishing him for something, he says that he will stay in his bed forever, even if we move and a new family comes to live here.  And this is a child who was treated to the Cadillac version of attachment parenting as a firstborn whose parents dutifully read and followed all of Dr. Sears' A+ advice.  No "crying it out" for Baby Finn.  Never a moment when the breast was not available to the little angel.  He in fact did not sleep in his crib until he was two, so happy was he to nestle between mommy and daddy.  And yet he tests us, all the time.

Does this make me feel really crappy?  Yes.  Do I wonder how I will survive the teen years without excessive drinking (on my part)?  Yes.  However, it also reminds me that attachment is not a destination.  If I am still working on attachment issues with Finn, and can anticipate doing so for the rest of my life, can't Ruby and I have a little room to breathe?  I love her, and I know she loves us.  Some days I feel like she's been a part of our family forever, and other days I feel strange with her, like it's not real yet.  It's definitely a bumpy road for me, and I know it is for her too.  She had been going to bed so happily a week or so ago, just lying down and closing her eyes to sleep, and now the last several nights she shrieks and cries hysterically if we leave her in her room before she is asleep.  So we step back in our little dance.  Sometimes I watch her watching the boys with me, and I feel like she's learning how to act in our family.  If Gus comes and jumps on my lap to cuddle, she thinks she better do that too.  And we cuddle and tickle and love on each other and all feel happy and lovey.  But then we go out to dinner, and Ruby reaches out to be held by someone she has just met, and I feel a little sad.  It's just a crazy ride we get on when we have children, and they are ours forever.  That is such a long time, and there are so many little turns and stops along the way.  You might look back one day and remember a moment you didn't even pay attention to at the time and think, "that was really the best time."

So my theory turns out not to have much substance, much like my idea that Wal-Mart should build apartments on top of their stores and allow people to order things via a computer/dumb-waiter conveyance.  I don't have any research or practical advice, or really even a case study.  We've known Ruby for less than three months, so whatever I would say about attachment can be dismissed due to inexperience.  But, I am trying to turn off the thing where I am always keeping track, taking stock of the gains and losses as we move forward as a family.  I'm hoping that we will not end up on the parenting version of failblog.org (one of the best ways to kill time, by the way), and since there still is not a Nobel Prize in Mothering, I don't even have to worry about how I'm stacking up against anyone else in the field.  I'm just here, duct taping my children to me to keep us all attached and hoping for the best.      

Random Things, Part V: Waste Not, Still Want A Lot ...

I don't have too much to add to this title, which is why it has not made it as a free-standing blog post.  I considered trying to connect it with another problem I have, which is that there are days that my house is so messy and disorganized that I just wish I could crawl into a Pottery Barn catalog and live there for a few days.  Or I could go live in the sets of movies that are supposed to be about "normal" families, but we have to suspend our disbelief as we watch a teacher and his social worker wife relaxing on their $7000 Crate and Barrel couch.

I think back to our pre-kid days, when we just spent our money on things we wanted, like going out to eat, clothes, whatever.  And I know I'm stating the obvious when I observe that life with three kids is crazily more expensive than it was before we had them.  I remember before I got pregnant with Finn, Matt questioning whether we were financially ready to start a family.  How casually I dismissed that idea - I think I said something like "babies aren't that expensive - it's just diapers and clothes.  I'll breast feed, so we don't even have to worry about formula.  What else could there be?"

What else indeed?  Let's just say that once the must-have bases are covered, there's not a whole lot left over for those things that I used to buy without even thinking twice.  And I know, hello, I just went to Africa and saw people happily living with next to nothing, so I really should count my blessings instead of the number of new barstools I want, or the years before we will be able to go on some luxurious vacation without rationing how many orders of milk the children have (but seriously, how annoying is it that some restaurants charge like $2.50 for milk and my kids drink so damn much of it!?).  And believe me, I do count my blessings, and they are many, but somehow reflecting on everything wonderful in my life doesn't have the effect I would like it to, which would be making me not even notice that there is a big dent in the side of my perfectly functional car every time I get into it until I decide that I really deserve a new one.  And there's that funny word, "deserve."  It's a good thing for me that you don't get things based on how much you "deserve" them, because I think I'd be way at the back of the line, behind people who never gossip, or people who actually keep their houses clean, not just for company, or people who have never thrown spoons across the kitchen in a fit of anger.  Deserving is a concept that is way too big for me to unravel, so I won't even try, but I'll just say that there are many things in this world that I want, but only a very few that I need, and I'm working on remembering the difference.  I'll let you know if I got there in 2060.

Update #2:  Pics from Finn's party!

Amazing cake made by our neighbor Cindi - it was so tasty too!

Birthday boy.

The light saber battle begins.

Thankfully, the Jedis won!

Random Things, Part IV: Get with the (ladies) program, Home Depot!

Is This 2010 or 1960?  Why is there not lawn equipment made for women?  Why do lawnmowers have to be so hard to start with handles that reach up to my chin?  I mean, there are plenty of single women who own homes, married women who enjoy yard work, and even teenaged girls who might like to mow yards for pocket money.  I would like a push-button start and a slightly smaller mower, a weed whacker with a shorter handle, and a hedge trimmer that isn't so heavy that I can't lift my arms the day after I do the bushes.  So, Toro, if you're listening, get on that please.


I really enjoy gardening, and I don't mind doing maintenance yard work like weeding, edging, mowing, etc, but I admit that the equipment wears me out.  Lugging around a hedge trimmer, a heavy extension cord, trying (usually unsuccessfully) to start our old lawnmower, leveraging the weight of the weed whacker with my arms - it's just too much.  And I'm not a tiny person, but it's so annoying to see how easily Matt can tote all of that stuff around while I struggle with just the set-up portion.  I just feel that this is one major area in our society where the products have not caught up with the times.  Partner with Susan G. Komen, build some lighter, cuter, pink mowers and whatnot, and I'll be first in line.


Update:  Star Wars Birthday Party


It was great.  The kids were awesome, so well-behaved even while running wild in the yard shooting water guns at each other, and no one got hurt.  That was pretty much my only goal for the party, so I can call the whole event a success.  And Finn had fun too.

May the Force Be With You.

No time to blog today as I am in a frenzy getting ready for Finn's 7th birthday party, a Star Wars themed party here at our house.  Not sure what I was thinking when we invited 16 kids over here and the only activity I planned was light saber fighting.  I wasn't too stressed until Matt started listing off all of the things that could go wrong, many of which involved someone having to be rushed to the hospital.  So, I'm just hoping that the force is with us and we have any major accidents.  Matt can be such a wet blanket!  I can't believe that my tiny baby, born three weeks early at 6 lbs, is now a huge seven year old!!
I will update with a report on the party - wish us luck.

Finn at two weeks old - so tiny!

GUEST BLOG!!!!! Family Planning

YAY!  I have finally succeeded in twisting my friend Tara's arm to write a guest blog for me!  We have been BFFs since 5th grade - so many memories I could write a whole blog about that!  She is a supermom to 3.5 year old Gage and 10 month old Calla - both adorable, sweet kids who I frequently despair that I don't see more often.  Tara and her family live in Austin, so we try to get together whenever we are in Texas, which turns out to be quite often.  As any mom knows, one of the best things about motherhood is having great colleagues, and we have had so much fun on the journey together.  Many of my own posts come from conversations I have with Tara, and with other friends, and we talk so much about the highs and lows of all the day to day stuff of life with kids.  So lucky to have a friend like that!  

So, without further ado, here is Tara's blog:

Family Planning 

I’m Tara, the friend in Austin, who is a married, stay at home mommy to 2 and half kids. The half would be a very needy Jack Russell Terrier who demands a surprising amount of my time.

I think back fondly to the days of starting a family and planning out the rest of my days. All the questions I answered with such unwavering confidence: “How many kids are you planning on having?” 2, of course. Maybe 3 if we’re feeling cheeky. “Are you planning on having an epidural?” Yes, just as soon as I’m at exactly an 8, I’ll have an epidural and the rest will be cake. “What are your plans for after the baby’s born—will you be a stay at home mom?” Yes, and I’m gonna be so good at it. Please. Even the term “birth plan” makes me chuckle. That was the beginning of my life becoming unplanned, just as soon as Baby Gage showed up. 

Nothing in my life can be planned. I “planned” (ha-ha) a much-anticipated weekend away with Baby Calla in Houston to see Claire at her parents’ house and another friend. I’ve been hearing and reading about Ruby for several months now, along with the rest of you, and really wanted to meet this amazing little chickadee in person! I expended all sorts of mental energy preparing for this trip. All plans were A Go: I was packed a few days ahead of time (requiring that I somehow not wear any of my 3 rotating outfits I live in), gotten Calla bathed and groomed, cut those sharp little talons that seem to regenerate overnight on tiny babies, filled up the gas tank, managed to shave my legs and pluck the unruly eyebrows, went to the grocery store to stock the fridge for the boys while we would be gone, etc, etc, etc. I’d even remembered the tiny little travel toothpaste that usually never makes it into my bathroom kit.
 
Bam!!! The day before we were scheduled to drive to Houston, she wakes up at 5am with a fever. I’ve learned that when I just want to sit down and cry and feel so sorry for myself, as happens from time to time, I need to just keep moving forward…so I packed Calla up that morning and took her and the four-legged half-child out for a morning stroll to plan my strategy. Here’s the conversation in my head: “Hmmm…Surely I couldn’t risk getting Ruby and my other friend’s child sick, I needed to cancel the trip. Maybe I could super-impose on my husband and he could watch both kids all weekend?? Maybe this is just that old ear infection rearing its ugly head again, maybe I’ll take her to the doctor and get it checked out. Maybe she won’t sleep both nights in Houston and keep our hosts awake. Maybe I’ll never take another trip again?? Why couldn’t this all have gone according to plan??” Letting go of a well-laid plan can be exhausting. It’s like a mental roller coaster. 

3 hours later and $80 in the hole: co-pay plus antibiotics for my son, who just rode along with us but happened to have an ear infection of his own (yup, now he definitely needs tubes), I found out from the doc that she would probably be just fine in Houston. Whew, all that what-iffing makes my head spin and wears me out. But I sort of have to smile at the feeling of sweet remembrance of making plans that I was so confident in. I have slight working-friend envy when I think of other women who can plan a 2:00 team meeting in their office and know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that they will most definitely be able to show up for the meeting. I’m also slightly bitter that they’ll be sitting down the entire time. 
I’ve come to realize two very important points: Nothing can be fully planned when you have young ones at home, and always have all the kids’ ears checked each and every time you go to the doctor’s office.
So anyway, Ruby is really such a doll. Those big brown eyes could melt butter.


So glad I braved the drama and decided to go to Houston anyway. Claire and I are planning another get-together in June. Good luck to us…

Random Things, Part III: Do I have food in my teeth? Maybe something funny going on with my hair? Toilet paper stuck to my shoe?

Then why are you looking at me?!

I think you can guess what this is about.  When we first got home from Africa with Ruby, I felt eyes on me everywhere I went.  Two months later, I don't notice whether people are looking at me too much, I just focus on my own thing when we're out in public.  But I do find it funny to observe the ways that different people try to look at you without getting caught doing it.  There's the double-take, the open stare (most often I get this from African Americans), the kind smile (meant to indicate approval, I suppose), and then the slow glance around the room as if you're just looking around for no particular reason.  It's okay, I look at other people like that too.  I mostly employ the slow glance method, but sometimes I get caught doing a double take (like when the sales clerk at a store I was in happened to be  a midget).  It's just something out of the ordinary, and it's almost impossible not to give yourself a second to put it all together.  It just gets a little tiring, eventually, even when I know that people are (mostly) genuinely kind and interested in Ruby and her story.  But it means I can't really leave the house without brushing my hair.  Okay, I still do that sometimes, but I feel bad about it.  

(As a little background, we live in Winston-Salem, NC, and it's still very much The South here.  We have lived all over, including Texas, New York City, DC and Portland, OR, and I'm absolutely not trying to imply that people more are racist here at all, but it's just a little more out of the ordinary to see white families with black children than it would be in bigger cities.  I'd love to hear what people who live in other places think about this topic ...)  

The thing is, I felt prepared for being looked at in public.  My dad has had Parkinson's for 30 years, and I can tell you that when you are in public with a person who is lurching and falling all over the place, you attract a little attention.  Lest I sound cold-hearted, we have begged my dad to use a walker or even a cane, but he is very stubborn and likes to wing it, so we're constantly scraping him off of the floor of restaurants and other public places.  In his case, people most often give my mom and me looks of confusion and concern.  If you think about it, it's really not all that often that you see a grown man completely fall over just walking around town.  It's not a small event, not just a stumble or a trip.  He goes down hard, sometimes face first, sometime flat on his back.  Strangers are ready to call 911 because they think he is maybe having a heart attack.  Or they think he is a drunk, and they are trying to use their eyes to convey that they would be happy to help me get away from him.  When my mom and I are nonchalant as he hits the ground and we waive off help, I know folks are very confused by our lack of concern for this poor man who is now bleeding and trying to catch up with us as we continue on our way.  At some point, a long time ago, I got over the feeling that I somehow owed an explanation to any of these kind strangers.  There is too much to explain, too much history, and no one would understand who doesn't A) know my father and B) have ALOT of experience with a person with Parkinson's.  And even then, I'm not so sure.    

So anyway, now that I've gone into way more explanation than was necessary, I'll just say that I pretty much feel the same way with respect to strangers who seem to want to examine me and Ruby and try to figure us out.  A friend recently asked me if I wish I could wear a t-shirt around explaining that Ruby is my adopted daughter from Ethiopia so that people would understand what was going on.  After thinking about it, I realized that I really don't.  I don't not want people to know the story, and I'm happy to discuss it with anybody, more or less, but I also don't really care whether some person in Target thinks it's great that I saved a starving orphan or thinks white people have no business raising black children or knows someone who adopted a child from China of thinks I'm a super-star Christian or a million other things that might come to mind when someone sees a white lady toting around a black baby.  

Okay, fine, I don't care.  We made this choice and are happy and that's all that really matters, but ...  But, I am going to care if my child feels uncomfortable or self-conscious as she gets older.  I realize that falls into the category of borrowing trouble, and we have at least a few years before Ruby knows what's what, but I do feel that urge to protect her somehow, to let her feel normal even if her situation isn't the same as everyone else's.  Yet another issue to tie up in 2060, when we can hear Ruby's perspective on the matter ...

Just looked over to see Ruby up-ending my wine glass to get the few drops I left behind, so while I sit here pondering the "big issues" of parenting, I'm failing to prevent her from drinking wine at the ripe age of 18 months.  Nice job.  

Bye for now.

My Dad and Ruby in Texas - quite a pair!

Random Things, Part II: "What I Know for Sure ..."

Not much.  Oprah, (if you are reading this) you know I have your back about almost everything (except when you were so mean to James Frey), but I don't really think it makes sense to talk about knowing anything "for sure."  The older I get, the more I realize that if I think about anything long enough, there are so many different angles and knotty issues that I can't just issue an absolute judgment on anything.  

Having children has made this especially clear, as it seems that all of the things I "knew" I would do or let my kids do or not do have proven to be a lot more "flexible" than I planned.  There have been times I have felt smug, or looked at another person's child and thought "never," only to find myself eating my words and thoughts in short order.  I seem to have to keep learning the lesson that being judgmental is not a good game plan, because I still find myself doing it all the time.  Recently, for obvious reasons, I have also been thinking about adoption and what I thought I knew about that before we went through this process.  I have found that even the most basic presumptions that I thought I "knew" - "adoption is a good thing," for instance, have been challenged in different and difficult ways.  That's not to say that there can't be things that hold true for individuals, and adoption has been a good thing for us, so I don't want to leave the impression that I regret adopting Ruby, but I have certainly had to rethink alot of things.  

There is so much - too much to get into now or even in 2060, that it turns out I was wrong about, that I think I can safely say that the one thing I know for sure is that I don't really know anything for sure.  (Actually, I am sure that it's really tacky to wear high heels with short-shorts - even if you have really good legs, and there might be one or two other things like that I can think of ...)

Random Things I Think About

Now that I have started this blog, I find myself thinking about things to write from time to time.  Most of them fizzle, either because I realize I don't have that much to say about them, or because life moves so fast that by the time I have a skinny minute to sit down and write, the idea has vanished from my mind all together.  So then I was thinking, I should just make a list of things I'd eventually like to write about, and then when my kids are all grown up and have moved away, I'll have something to do.  I see it now - I'll be 85, living with all of the cats that seem to keep being born under our guest house, shaking my head at all the fast ways of the modern world, writing about a bygone era when we had to "switch the laundry" and we all thought that George Clooney was quite the fox.

Anyway, this week I am going to write the teasers - I am going to try to do one a day, but you'll have to wait till 2060 for the full posts.

A Long Day ...
Why is it so hard to find a balance between "not busy" and "too busy?"  I know I am a pretty restless person, so I don't like to have too much down time, but on the other hand, I hate rushing from one thing to the next, feeling like chores and problems are piling up in my wake.  Yesterday - a Saturday, we had one of those days where we all left the house at 9 am for Gus' soccer game, and we didn't return to the house until 6 pm.  We were going from one thing to the next, switching cars, driving, eating out of bags, celebrating 7th birthdays, consoling a child whose hands only touched the ball one time in his flag football game, changing diapers in the back of the car, and on and on and on.  And in a way, it was great, but by the time I got home, I was exhausted and irritable.  I want my kids to be able to be on sports teams if they want to, and go to friends' birthday parties, and support our neighborhood by attending street festivals, I just wish I could figure out a way to do it all without running everyone into the ground.  So hopefully sometime between now and 2060 I can figure out a way to make this happen.



And now for some pictures:

Gus as goalie, Finn as goal-coach

Ruby wants the camera!

Almost there ...

Gus has been refusing to "take a haircut" for several months now.

"When will the football game be over??"

Terror of the Skies

Ruby and I are back from Texas and back into the craziness that always comes along with going out of town for any amount of time.  Since the Matt, Finn and Gus were also out of town on a boys' camping trip, it seems like everything in our house is turned upside down.  I did a mathematical calculation when Finn was little and we travelled a lot more, that no matter the length of your actual trip, when you travel with kids, you need a week to get ready and then another week when you get home to settle back in.  Therefore, one should never travel with children for less than two weeks, or else you are spending more time "working" on the trip than actually taking it.  However, two week trips being expensive and difficult to work out, it seems like two days in Texas is the best we can do.

I think I can now say that it was worth going, since we did have a good time and got to see lots of people, but I have to say that when I arrived in Houston Hobby airport, I was deeply, seriously traumatized.  To say that the flight was the worst I have ever been on doesn't even do it justice, and the only silver lining was that at least I was landing in Texas, where I could get a decent margarita within 20 feet of deplaning.  So here's what happened.  Basically, little angelic Ruby turned into a horrible demon-child on the airplane. We had to fly from Charlotte to Dallas on a regular plane, then from Dallas to Houston on a plane clearly designed for midgets - no disrespect intended.  On the first flight, Ruby seemed pretty anxious, but I was able to calm her down with snacks and toys for a while.  After the snacks ran out about 45 minutes into the flight, all hell broke loose.  The child threw a tantrum that put other tantrums to shame.  She was screaming, kicking, arching her back to get away from me, hitting her head against things and generally being the worst-behaved child ever.  This went on for close to an hour, and nothing I did would calm her down.  At one point, I just put her down on the ground at the back of the plane and let her carry on, since she clearly wanted nothing to do with me.  I just really wanted to open the back door and jump out.  Finally, I guess she wore herself out and decided I was good enough to hold her again, and she took it down a notch, but she did not totally calm down until we got off the plane in Dallas.  I only wish I knew what was going through everyone's mind on that plane.  Some people were looking at us with sympathy, others with horror, and others with concern, but everyone was looking.

In the Dallas airport, I felt things were beginning to look up for us.  We strolled through the airport, got a much-needed latte, and changed Ruby's diaper.  We boarded the next flight for Houston, and I comforted myself with the thought that, no matter how bad it was, it would be over in an hour.  I have always found that to be a useful mantra on an airplane with children, very zen ... this too shall pass.  Anyway, all was well, Ruby was making cute faces at fellow passengers and they were exclaiming over how sweet and adorable she was.  I sort of mumbled that she was cute, but she could be a little crazy on airplanes, but I didn't want to turn them against me before we even took off.  The first bad omen was that the horrible Ogre-woman seated in front of me who turned around and asked if I would please stop kicking her seat because it was so annoying.  Obviously, I was not kicking her seatback, but Ruby was, and she would not stop.  And then the plane started moving.  Not taking off, not actually flying, just backing out of the gate.  Once more, Ruby began screaming at the absolute top of her lungs, crying and thrashing about furiously.  The Ogre turned around once again to suggest (or rather, yell over top of Ruby's screaming) that probably her ears were hurting and I should give her as pacifier.  When people suggest something like that to a parent who is holding a screaming baby, what are they thinking?  Do they think that you have not thought of every possible way to make it stop?  "Pacifier?  Never heard of one.  What magic device are you talking about?"  Anyway, mercifully Ruby completely passed out in a sort of narcoleptic episode about fifteen minutes into the flight, and I was able to recover a little of my composure, if not my dignity.  The man seated next to me never once looked at me the whole flight.  He just sat there with his noise-canceling earphones.  Not that I blame him, it was awkward.  As a final hurrah, Ruby woke up when the captain announced that we would be landing in twelve minutes, and those were the longest twelve minutes of my life.  Actually, when you could the taxiing and waiting to deplane, it was more like a half hour of more yelling and kicking.  And once again, I could feel the waves of annoyance and anger from every single passenger on the tiny plane.  As we deplaned, several kind people asked me if I was alright, even though I clearly was not by that point.  Other, however, were not so kind.  The man walking behind me up the ramp stage-whispered "Jesus F*** Christ, my ears hurt."  Thanks for that, anonymous jerk.

As I mentioned, I was able to recover physically from the nightmare rather quickly with large amounts of lime juice and tequila, guacamole and chips.  Mentally, on the other hand, I think I'm still a little shaken.  In those hours trapped on the airplane and forced to deal with this situation, I really had some low moments.  I found myself feeling angry with Ruby, and so frustrated that we can't communicate better yet.  And it's such an odd dynamic on a plane where you are forced to be so physically close to people you don't know and will never see again, but you're all in it together, sharing something, for the duration of the flight.  I had moments of wanting to make an announcement to the plane to explain that I had only had Ruby for two month, that I have flown with my other two children successfully many times, that I was not abusing her or stealing her from her actual parents.  And then I was irrationally mad at all of those people for just sitting there, yet I felt terrible that my child was causing everyone so much annoyance.  And I also felt judged, and then angry at myself for even caring what a plane full of strangers thinks about me and my parenting skills.

Of course, the whole weekend I kept replaying it and trying to figure out where our train went off the rails, to use a transportation metaphor.  Was it anxiety, physical pain, just a normal temper tantrum, or something else?  Hearing the story, Matt thought maybe she had some connection with the flight from Ethiopia, and that was upsetting to her in some way.  Maybe I was stressed out over traveling alone with her, and she picked up on that.  I really have no idea, and on the flight home, she was a complete dream.  I had made a preemptive apology to people seated around me, and then she played, she walked the aisles, she slept, she smiled at everyone.  I will say that on the way home I had a whole bag of rice crackers, and she kept one in her hand at all times.  My wise friend Tara has suggested that maybe Ruby's compulsion with food is just her way of handling anxiety over everything that is in upheaval in her life, and that makes total sense.  The poor kid has not really had any constant in her life, so no wonder she wants something to hold onto in case things get a little rocky.

Anyway, that's how it went down.  The rest of the weekend was great - a flurry of visits and eating and fun.  Ruby was adorable, and no one really believed me about the flight, but I have the bite marks to prove it.