Happy Birthday, to Hibiscus

Happy seventh birthday to my wonderful, beautiful daughter.

The sun is fading.  My birthday girl and her busy brother and outside, and the littlest one is in the most snug and cozy nap on my back (in Pavo Hearts, for those who are curious!).  It has been a full and wonderful day.  Hibiscus has the last of the kids' birthdays-in-a-row, and we only made it to America in time for this one.  It's the first birthday in her little life that she's actually gotten to celebrate, or that anyone has cared about at all.  Maybe she's an unusual child who will get to remember her first birthday party!

I hope it was a special day for her.  She and I went out to breakfast this morning, which was actually her very first chance at alone time with mama.  In Uganda, Buttercup had time with me while the big kids were in school, and Emerson got some occasional alone time when the girls had to be somewhere, but there was no logistical way to have Hibiscus with me when the other children were somewhere else.  Today, we selected a cake together, had waffles, and went to the grocery store to get ice cream and juice for the party.  We played Jenga while we waited for our food, and she quickly figured out how to test the blocks to see if they were loose, and control her extra movements to not knock the tower over, as well as waiting for her turn patiently, and discerning the pattern to which blocks could be safely moved.  After two rounds, she said "let's try something else" as she started to make shapes with the blocks.  She said she was making a fence for a horse, and I built a horse out of Jenga blocks inside her fence, which impressed her.  Then we built other kinds of towers.

We ate our waffles and ended up talking about school.  She described how one of the staff at her Ugandan school had pinched her and called her a "villager" because she was eating her eggs in the car, and we talked about how that made her feel.  Well, I talked about that, because she still doesn't really have feelings words yet.  Then I asked what happens at Waldorf school in America, and she described -- her tone is still reverent and shocked -- how when she can't do something at Waldorf school, the teachers HELP her figure it out.  I asked her which way works better, being made fun of or being helped, and she said it works much better when the teachers help her out.  I told her that it made me feel really good that I could send her to school at a place where I knew she was safe from being made fun of, and the teachers help her out, and I'm sorry that that happened to her before, but that was the best that anyone was able to do.


And that pretty much sums up my feelings about Hibiscus's birthday.  I am so intensely joyful for her presence in our family and in my life, and so intensely sorrowful about what I haven't been able to shield her from.  About the things that meant she was on the road to become part of our family.

Last night I went into a Hallmark store to pick out a card for her.  I wanted something sappy and sweet and beautiful, and I thought about the things I wanted to write inside.  I thought about some words that I would say to her, to give her some little message to hold onto about how precious she is to me.  So much of our relationship, so much of our lives, is full of frustration and trying to guide her into place, into control.  Self-control, hopefully; eventually.  I know this time is hard on her, but I have deep faith that eventually she will settle into something much stronger and more positive than if I just let her be crazy and do whatever she wanted to.  But these months have been so hard on me, too, and I have sometimes lost my own self-control.  If I can't model patience and fortitude, at least I try to model handling my anger in a non-destructive manner, and owning my mistakes and apologizing.  But I'm not a very demonstrative person, so I fear that the occasional outburst of anger overpowers my gentle demonstrations of love.  In her birthday card, I didn't want to bring up the difficult parts, but I wanted to tell her about how much I love her despite them.

I stood in front of the rack of "daughter" cards and actually started to cry, although it probably wasn't visible to an outside observer.  (I mentioned that I'm not demonstrative!)  I was so proud and happy to have a daughter, and have a daughter whom I could give a card to and was old enough to understand and care.  It was one of those moments when you can stop and think about your life, and I remembered that it wasn't very long ago that I didn't have any daughter at all, and now I have this amazing and lively girl who is turning seven, and that I'm the one who can teach her about love, and safety, and faith, and beauty, and being a woman.  That whole display of sweet pictures couldn't sum up how proud and happy I am to be a mother of a daughter, of my own daughter, my very special girl.

Then I opened up cards and started to read them, to pick one out.  First of all, it seemed like most of them were written to be given to an adult daughter, so some of them I had to put down because they described "now you've grown into," as though growing into being yourself is a process that is ever finished.  I kept skimming and reading.

They were all filled with phrases like "through the years," and "on the day of your birth," and "your birth made me a mother," and "I remember all your birthdays," and "every year since your birth," and so on and so forth.

And I still felt teary, but now they were suddenly angry tears, and I left the store without buying anything, and I didn't manage to give Hibiscus any kind of card at all.  Writing about love is probably more my way of showing affection than her way of receiving it anyways.


I wasn't there when she was born.  I didn't know I was a mother then, and in fact, I wasn't, because it wasn't my job to protect her and teach her about love, and safety, and everything else.  But then no one else did it either, and I wasn't there to step in and protect her, and make her world better.  I was far away and I didn't know anything about her, while she was learning about loneliness, and hunger, and that when the getting gets tough, no one is going to help you out.  And I haven't been with her through the years, and I haven't seen her change and grow through her birthdays.  A few days ago she was telling us about some scary things that happened in her old life, and then contemplating how she never had "a happy birthday" before, and she wonders why I didn't stop the bad stuff and help the happy stuff along.  And I say "I wish I could have been there, and I would have made the bad boys stop teasing you," and "I wish I could have been there, and I would have baked you a cake."  Solving the problems in fantasy helps her a little bit, and her sad face turns into a little smile, as she imagines me chasing those bad boys away.

My own heart pains with the desperation of that wish.  I know that it makes no logical sense, but how deeply and passionately I wish that I had been able to be there from the beginning.  That I could have put myself between her little baby self and the cruel world that assaulted her without cease.  That I could have picked her up every time she cried so she learned that trust is real.  That I could have fed her, and made silly faces with her, and taught her feelings words when she was a toddler.  I have some misty vision of myself, perhaps time-travelling, in her parents' shack when she was a newborn.  I would say something like, "she's going to be my daughter anyways, so why don't we just start right now," as I picked her up, and they already knew things were bad and had been in the middle of an argument about how they were going to take care of an extra person, a helpless girl, so they would have been just as relieved as they were almost seven years later in real life.  And it wouldn't have saved her all the pain of losing the family you are born to, but it would have saved her six and half years of pain.

But I can't give her that.  I can't give her all those cakes that she missed, getting to take the first bite, the chance to be the most important person of the day six more times.


So we did what we could for number seven.  She picked out a chocolate cake in the shape of a heart from the bakery, which also makes me a little sad, because I always make birthday cakes but I wasn't able to manage it in time for the party.  She did not get a balloon or a box of chocolate or a carton of orange juice in the store, because of course she suddenly wanted everything, but I was determined to keep the excitement of this day within the realm of what she could handle.  But she had some time when a mother paid attention just to her, and acted like she was valuable and reasonable.  And she had a party filled with people who love her, which was ourselves and two other families.  When we sang our blessing and I added a prayer of thanks, for her seventh year, and being finally back in America so we could celebrate it all together, the whole table resonated with agreement and thanks for being together.

And new clothes.  And a dollhouse.  I could give her all those things.

Some times all that seems so joyful.  And other times, it seems so paltry.


So today, very happy birthday to my daughter, my special daughter, the daughter who fills my house with laughter and with energy, my very own daughter.  This year, I will try and teach you about love, about safety, about faith, about beauty, about being a woman.  I will try and do the best I can, and I'm sorry that it's not enough; that I'm six years too late.  We will start with this day, and do what we can with tomorrow.  I love you so much.

Snow Snow Snow!!!

Snow days!!  Hibiscus couldn't wait to see snow, and has been praying about longing to go skiing for several months now.  ("Dear God, I want to get to America to see Daddy and Gramma and go skiing.")  We didn't expect that her wish would be granted so quickly!  Yesterday morning Emerson burst into our bedroom saying, "Daddy, I peeked out my window, and I saw the bush, and after the bush it was white!"  At first Daddy thought he was exaggerating, but a confirmation glance indeed found a dusting of snow.  The excitement reverberated off the walls.  Literally.  Mark keeps finding all the pictures askew!

There wasn't very much, so I thought it was a nice compromise: Hibiscus got to see her first snow, but school wouldn't be cancelled and I could have my regularly scheduled day.  Before I got up, Mark checked the school's status, and indeed, school was still scheduled.  Like any child, Hibiscus complained about this, but not much because she was too busy running outside and tasting the snow!

Emerson was right along with me hoping for school to be in session.  Hibiscus is in first grade all the mornings in the week (Waldorf first-graders don't have afternoon school), but Emerson is still enrolled in only three mornings of kindergarten.  We are planning on doing homeschool on the other two mornings, and this was the first Thursday and thus the first day of homeschool.  Emerson was super duper excited about starting homeschool, and was all ready to sit down at a desk and do some lessons.  Except we don't have a desk for him, so I was trying to convince him that he could do homeschool at the kitchen table, and he had finally agreed that he would get a desk for first grade.

While I was getting ready in the bathroom, Hibiscus was nearby, and in the distance we heard Daddy answer the phone.  I was asking why she wouldn't want to go to school, because then she got to see her friends, which did pique my little extravert's attention: but snow still won out.  Then Daddy came in to tell us that that was the phone tree, and school had actually been cancelled.

"Yay!" cried Hibiscus, jumping up and down with great delight.  "I'm glad there's no school, 'cause it's really important that I stay home all day so I can see the snow all day long, and see what it does."
"There's snow at school, too," I pointed out.  My little girl froze in shock, and then her little face fell.
"I wanna go to SCHOO-OOOL!" she wailed.  Snow AND friends was apparently an unbeatable combination!


It's been a snowy winter by Willamette Valley standards.  We usually get a dusting of snow a few times in a winter, but they had a big snow in December (which we missed while our Ugandan cold spell involved not kicking off the blanket at night), and then we have just had more snow.  Yesterday the dusting turned into flurries and accumulated some real snow, and it stayed all night and then kept snowing all day today.  By the end of the day we had about eight inches of powder, which definitely makes it into the top two or three snows I've seen in my ten years in Oregon!

This might be the time to point out that I grew up in Alaska.  I spent Halloweens with a snowsuit under my costume, and months with skis on my feet.  Oregonians love to complain about the cold weather, snow, and icy roads, but I just plain love it.  I love seasons, and I love anything that seems like genuine winter.  Whenever people mentioned that I was missing all the cold weather being over in Uganda, I think they thought that I had the lucky side, but as far as I was concerned, it was just rubbing salt in the wound!  The pictures of the December snowstorm made me at least as crazy with longing as they did for Hibiscus!


The first day of snow was just plain chaotic.  Hibiscus was so excited she didn't know what to do with herself, which has a way of making everyone else not know what to do with themselves, either.  We had a playdate scheduled, and my friend and her young children came over, which meant that eventually we had FIVE little awkward snowsuited bodies tumbling around and crying when they fell down.  That was kind of the way the whole day went.  The kids had a wonderful amount of fun as soon as they went out in the snow, and then everything turned horrible before we parents could even blink, and everyone was back inside again.

Part of the problem is that certain children have not yet figured out that warm clothes keep them warm.  This is not limited to snow, but it is exacerbated by it.  The day before, Emerson and Hibiscus had dived out the door into "outdoor play time," past my offers of rain pants and mittens.  "It's not very cold any more, Mama!" they yelled as they streaked by.  It was indeed warmer than it had been that morning, so I let them go.  Minutes later they were back inside and complaining that they were frozen, which had nothing to do with refusing to put their layers on!

Hibiscus apparently found that certain articles of clothing inhibited her pure enjoyment of the snow, so the morning play-time was taken up by trips to the back door to announce that she was shivering.
"Where is your hat?" I would ask.
"I don't know," she'd reply.  (Turns out it was frozen to a concrete block in the back yard.)
"Where are your mittens?" I would ask.
"Over dere, on da table."
"Why is your coat unzipped?"
Surprised look down at her coat, which was waving open in the breeze.
"Go get your mittens, shake them out and put them on, put on this hat, and --- here, your coat in zipped and --- here, your hood is up.  Now you won't be cold any more.  Go and play."

I think we had three outings into the backyard, none of which lasted more than twenty minutes at the most.  I happen to believe that children need to spend a decent portion of their lives outside, and nature (and a big backyard!) was one of the things I missed the most in Uganda.  It snows for months in Alaska, so we wear boots and snowsuits.  It rains for months in Oregon, so we wear slightly different boots and rain gear.  Five-minute playtimes because you don't dress properly do not fly very well with this mama!



I personally did not find that a very impressive way to spend one of the few days of snow in the entire year, but luckily we did better today.  Mark had finally finished getting chains on the van to try and drive through up the driveway and off to work, when he heard that there was so VERY much snow that everyone who had made it to work was heading home again.  In my mind, a snow day for the whole family is a whole different kettle of fish than one that just means that mama has extra children for more hours!

The children talked about skiing yesterday, and by the end of the day there was enough that little skis could probably have something to slide on in the field.  Big puffy flakes kept coming down all day, and by afternoon there was enough for a genuine ski outing.  I think this is the first time I have ever been able to go for a proper ski out my back door!


Mark pulled everyone's skis out of the garage.  Unfortunately, that meant "everyone who already had skis," since we had only arrived from an equatorial country eight days earlier and had not yet had a chance to go ski shopping.  Or even snowsuit shopping, for that matter, although rain pants had been at the top of the priority list, so everyone had some outdoor pants, and friends have sent plenty of warm jackets.  Emerson still fits into what he wore last year, since he has been growing at the rate of a crocodile.  (Did you know that crocodiles grow extremely slowly, since they have a very slow metabolism?  That's why they sit around sunning themselves all the time, too.  These are the things you learn while living in a non-skiing kind of climate.)  Buttercup can wear the things that Emerson used a couple years ago, and of course Mark and I have our own things.  This leave Hibiscus off by her lonely self with no exciting snow gear.  Of course she was very upset about that, but she kept very busy and happy in the snow anyways.

Getting everyone dressed took the first half of the afternoon.  I figured that if children kept taking off their outer warm bits of clothing, at least we could make them wear more things on the inside, which they couldn't access to remove and leave here and there across the field.  So we found non-cotton undershirts and long johns for everyone, and chased them up and down the house while they found other interesting things to do and declared that they weren't cold and didn't need them.  Well of course you don't; the heater is set to 68 degrees, because this is INSIDE the house.

By the time we got outside, I figured that we had better go somewhere, so that going right back in the door was not a viable option.  We headed out across our fields, through the neighbor's field, and onto the roads going to the nearby school, which has a playground, which I thought would make a good destination.  There was so much snow and so little traffic that the roads were like smooth-but-lightly-fluffy groomed ski trails.  I can't ever remember seeing the roads covered with snow in the afternoon!



I was so proud of my two little skiers!  We have made a point of taking Emerson skiing several times a winter since he was a toddler, believing that cross-country skiing is one of those skills best learned when you are too young to realize you are learning anything.  Every year he has been assimilating the feelings a little bit more, and even after the whole year passing, he soon found his cross-country legs again.  He got frustrated trying to get through the fields, with the puffy snow and the little slopes and tussocks of grass, but went much more quickly and happily on the road.  The way up was a gradual slope, and we went back down together.  I held his hand and kept him moving, and he kept his balance right along with me, even when the downhill got more distinct.  When we got back to the flatter part, he skied on his own again.  He had had so much fun going quickly that he tried to keep doing it, and managed to get some slide-and-glide into his steps.  If you have ever been an experienced skier along with little children, you know that they tend to just plod along on those potentially magical instruments, so a little bit of slide-and-glide was a wonderful development as far as I was concerned!


Buttercup was on skis for the first time, and in snow for the first time, and in a snow suit for the second time, and had only been in America for nine days altogether.  And she took it all in stride, and decided to learn to ski.  Buttercup has this amazing intent concentration that is just wonderful to watch.  (Especially after watching her older sister bounce from one thing to another for two days without cease!)  It took a very long time to get the first fifty yards or so, also involving problems with mittens and bindings, but then she started to figure out what was going on.  I kept reminding her to keep her toes going straight, or looking right at Daddy, or in the tracks, and she would intently try to find her ski-tips and put them somewhere.  Other than that, I tried to just let her figure out how her body worked in this new way.  For a while she was trying to pick up her feet and walk, but then she figured out how to push her feet along instead.  All plod and no glide, of course, but she was skiing!  She didn't want me to hold her hand or help her, but she wanted me to stay close, so I oozed along behind her through the fields.

She looked so tiny and so determined!  She seems so much smaller in the wide open, white expanse, than she had in Uganda.  Even in her puffy clothes.  That coat is only an 18-month size; she's just such a little bitty bit of a girl!  But so full of self-determination.  Emerson had certainly never skied for so long or so well when he was that age, a few toddlers would make it through the first rash of falls and snow down the coat, and decide to keep going.

At first, every time she would fall or something would happen, she would just wail and wail.  I would pick her up and brush her off and try to fix whatever might be bothering her, and try to convince her to use some words to tell me exactly what the problem was.  About the third time through, she told me "finger! finger cold!" and I immediately addressed the problem with her mitten.  And remarkably enough, she took the lesson completely to heart and switched to using words instead of crying.  As she got more tired, she would start to forget, but with a reminder she tried really hard to find the words, and barely needed to cry any more.  I was impressed, and I could see the amount of self-control it took to try and contain her sobs long enough to describe a problem in this new world she doesn't even understand yet.


As for Hibiscus, she didn't have any skis, but she seemed to have as many problems as either of the children who did!  She kept falling down and crying that she couldn't get up.  Now when you have skis stuck to your feet, they do tend to slip out from under you, and then they really get in the way when you try and get up again.  (Ski poles aren't for beginners, and they're not necessary if you know how to ski, so we don't use them.)  However, exactly how Hibiscus managed to keep falling off her feet and not being able to find them again, I am not sure.  But Mark and I stayed plenty busy skiing back and forth and pulling children up off the ground!  Hibiscus also alternated between wailing that she was cold, she was freezing, ah ah ah ah ah cold cold COLD, and then diving onto the ground and doing something like crawling through the snow while throwing large bundles of it up into the air.  So I don't think she was really too cold!  I think it was more that whenever she felt a dot of coldness, say if a mitten started to come off or a snowflake landed on her cheek, it was so surprising it was unbearable.  Actually, given her level of hysteria for those events, I think we kept her really pretty warm!


We didn't make it to the school yet before we decided that we needed to turn around.  We switched some mittens (I only have two pairs of good mittens, which is not sufficient), shook the snow off everyone, and put Buttercup in the wrap.  She didn't want to stop skiing, and she wanted to go "on da swing," but she was the only one who had the patience for skiing another few hundred yards!  In fact, she kept skiing on after we all had stopped, but then started to cry when I wasn't next to her, and turned around.  I had gotten myself a wonderful coming-home present of a coat that unzips and has a pouch for a little head to come out of, so I can wrap Buttercup and keep her under my coat.  That got her warm and toasty right away.  Hibiscus was another story, and she cried most of the way home... and then dived into the snow, and put Buttercup's skis on her hands, and crawled around in circles in the yard until we all got inside.


By the time we got in, the snow was suddenly turning kind of wet, and while we ate dinner it rained.  The moonlight is still glistening white, but I think that might have been the end of our Ugandan girls' first snow adventure!

Mid-January Update

It is the Tuesday of the middle week of January.  School finally started again yesterday, after an entire month's break, and Emerson and Hibiscus were on the bus at 7:40.  Somewhere around ten, I decided that maybe I didn't hate Uganda quite as much if I had a quiet house and the chance to get some exercise, and the thought of doing errands didn't make me feel like crying if I could just wear whatever child needed to go with me.  (Actually, I was just having the conversation with some other babywearing moms, that errands would be much better if we could logistically manage to wear the older ones, and just let the baby toddle around.  Babies can't get into nearly as much trouble as over-active school-aged children.)

Mid-morning, Buttercup and I went for a walk.  I decided that we didn't have to have a goal in mind, and we just went up and down the steep roads in our new neighborhood, seeing the scenery, looking out over Lake Victoria, and exploring whether or not the roads went through to the other roads that were directly in front of the road in question.  (In general, no; they all got to the wall of some compound or other and just stopped.)  We set off, and this is how our walk was going along:

Walk, walk, walk.  Look, look, look.
Buttercup: mm, mm.  Duck, hmm.
Walk, walk, walk.
Buttercup: Five little ducks... hm, hmm...
Mama: Would you like me to sing Five Little Ducks?
Buttercup: Yes!
Mama sings Five Little Ducks, once through, with Buttercup either listening or singing the same words, and the same music, at the same time.
Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk.
Buttercup: See da fow-ah, Mama?
Mama: Yes, I see a pretty red flower.
Buttercup: Petty red fow-ah.
Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk.
Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk.

Ah.  Happy introvert time!

After our walk, we had lunch, and got the downstairs of the house tidied and cleaned up.  Somehow, that has not happened in the entire month that we have lived in this house!  It is very refreshing.  Then the bus brought the kids home, and they all played outside while I finished ironing my wraps and blouses, which have been waiting around in wrinkly piles.  It was a wonderful day, even though the Embassy was supposed to call me with an appointment time and they didn't. Although it ended very tired, as my little band of monkeys got up to quite a bit of mama-exhausting-ness in their last few hours, and of course created a whole new big-issue problem to worry about.  I think I'm not bothering to worry about it yet, though.


Today, we had errands to do.  We actually went out with another adopting family whom we are getting to know, which meant that there were adult human beings to talk with me!  We stopped by the kids' school, which is in a new building, and got a tour and a lot of enthusiasm from our friend Derrick, who runs the school.  Then we all went to lunch together, and the company was exciting for both Buttercup and I.  For me, there was actual conversation, with people saying things and then not talking for a little while when someone else said something, and then basing their next comments on what they just heard the other person say.  Conversation is an amazing art.  Meanwhile, Buttercup was amazed to be the "big girl in town," with little one-year-old Sorrel watching her attentively and trying to bang on her arm.  She is used to being the baby and spending all her energy trying to keep up with bigger children, and being rebuffed half the time.  One could just see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to imagine getting to be in the other role!  I can't wait to get her home to America, where she can spend time with kids her own age, and do activities designed for little people.

We left our friends shopping there, and went into town to the lawyer's office and the post office.  It was by far my smoothest post office experience yet, except for the reason I was there: picking up a package that was mailed in SEPTEMBER.  I had given it up for lost when Miss B gave me the package slip a couple of days ago!

Then we got our friends, dropped them at home, picked the children up from school, checked on a horse-riding lesson, and went home, all with no calls from the Embassy.  But when I got home, I found an email.


Let me give a quick refresher course about what I expected; what the Embassy explained in their little class, which matched what the adoption agency told us, and the experience of other parents whom I have talked with.  You have the paperwork-intake appointment.  Then they give you the next appointment for a hearing, which is a specific time on Monday or Wednesday afternoons, and tell you who and what you need to bring with you, and any other details specific to your case.  Then you come with the children, any living birth parents, NO lawyers or adoption workers, and you go over your huge pile of paperwork and they acknowledge that the children are legal orphans, and two days later you get your exit paperwork.

And here is what happened.  They took the paperwork, didn't have any knowledge about my case in particular, said "we'll call you some time, like maybe Monday," and confirmed my phone number. They didn't call Monday.  They didn't call Tuesday.  They sent an email on Tuesday, telling us to be there Wednesday, but -- here comes the weird part -- it isn't an actual appointment for us, they are telling all the families to come at the same time on Wednesday afternoon, and they'll "get through as many as possible," but to be prepared for a long wait.  In other words, I need to collect my three crazy children, arrive at nap time and stay through The Witching Hour, sit around in a crowded room filled with other nervous parents and even more chaotic children, and possibly or possibly not have our hearing.  Meanwhile, we also need to collect the parents or possibly someone else, since we haven't heard details about whom or what we need to bring, who are at best sick and weak and tired, and at worse delirious or missing entirely, and they also need to sit around all afternoon and maybe we will have an appointment and maybe we won't.  Doesn't that sound wonderful?

It remains to hope that the last two phrases of the original description remain valid.  I will not complain about sitting around if we walk out with a promise of paperwork, so I shouldn't be complaining ahead of time.  But I can't actually believe that it is going to happen!  Especially now that the children are back at school, it seems like we are back in our cheerful little holding pattern, and will remain circling for an unidentified period.

So that's the update!  We'll see what I am able to write tomorrow!

Progress, the Next Day

Very Early Morning: There was a huge thunderclap in the night, and when the girls woke up it was still so dim out I told them to go back to sleep. Then I looked at the clock and it was well after 7 and time to get up. This morning, it is just plain raining -- usually it drizzles or it pours cats and dogs and then stops, but it has been raining for hours. At least I brought most of my laundry inside last night!  And at some point the kitten must have decided he missed his mother and gone back through the fence.  This will slow down our morning plans. Even if I am ambitious and get out in the rain, the people I need to find probably won't be.

Unfortunately, the only person who was NOT late this morning was the bus driver.  He is late whenever anything happens, such as a leaf dropping off a tree as he passes by, and has never yet been on time when it has been raining.  (Which provides a significant body of evidence.)  So for what I think is the very first time, me and my kids were not actually ready for the bus.  Hibiscus didn't get her juice, and for various reasons was crying.  She is frequently crying about something, so the exact reasoning escapes my mind by now.  Emerson was crying because he left his shoes out in the rain, and didn't want to wear wet shoes.  In this household, when you leave your shoes out in the rain, you wear them and hopefully remember to put them in the next time.  Besides, in this household, each person only has one pair of shoes that can possibly fit each purpose.  Emerson said I ought to buy him a second pair.  So Hibiscus stopped crying, because Emerson was throwing an even bigger fit and I was threatening to carry him down to the bus if he didn't put his shoes on (which I would, so he did).  And it always feels good to be the virtuous one who is doing what Mama asks. Personally, I would be willing to have two virtuous children at the same time...



Household chores, mid-morning: I have a very large pile of laundry that has made it in off the line and needs to be folded, and another very large pile of laundry that has made it through the washer but needs to go on the line, if and when it stops raining.

And I realized why laundry suddenly seems so much more difficult: at the previous apartment, we rigged a clothesline on the covered porch for rainy days. At this place, the porch is much nicer, but not at all clothesline shaped.



Lunchtime: Today I needed to start finding a new apartment and getting ID cards, which I have been diligently doing by sitting around responding to American correspondence and writing blog posts all morning. The apartment manager just dropped by, as I requested by text, thought about it, and realized he knew of a place around the corner we could move to.  He's meeting his cousin later, will speak to the other apartment manager, and drive us over this afternoon or tomorrow, and if that doesn't work out he'll speak to someone else.  Also, he will send the LC official to drop by, who would love to make us all ID cards, and he was obviously very pleased with me for wanting to register properly in the district.

The secret to getting things done in Uganda isn't industriousness, it's knowing the right people and waiting patiently.



Mid-afternoon:  I called the lawyer.  She reports that she had just contacted someone in the judge's office, and the judge was proofreading our guardianship order.  As in, it has already been written.  Hopefully the lawyer will be able to pick it up tomorrow, and with that in hand we can start the next thing!  However, the lawyer doesn't think that the LC officials will make ID cards for children.

Also, I put Buttercup up for a wrap-nap.  She managed to stay lively for a while, but then she faded on my back.  It has been cool all day, even though the rain has faded.  We wore our snuggly kapok wrap and put it in a snuggly carry, and it felt like a lovely snuggle in a lovely blanket with a lovely person.  While making phone calls and folding laundry.  Just one of those moments that is both quotidian, and then you realize how special the quotidian is.


Later in the mid-afternoon: The kids got home, and immediately opened negotiations with the children through the fence, which sounded something like "give us our cat back!"  They did.

The kids are chasing the kitten around, wanting it to climb in boxes, eat something, play with a ball, play with a clothespin, play with a string, come over to them, run behind, and on and on and one. Whenever the kitten does something (or doesn't do something) they jump and squeal and yell. I feel like all this energy would be much better suited to a canine companion.

We happen to have some canine companions with way too much energy, in fact, but they are not available to absorb the kid energy.  Which is really too bad, because they are getting into all kinds of trouble at home.  As in, the home back in Oregon.  Someone at the meeting yesterday asked, half-jokingly, if I was about ready to claim Uganda when people ask where I live.  I think it's about getting to that point, and I'm starting to think of it as "Oregon home" and not just plain old "home."


Dinner time: I am cooking tuna noodle casserole for six; another adopting father and his brother-in-law are coming to join us for dinner.  The children are practically upsidedown with excitement, except for Hibiscus, who actually is upsidedown.

Then our landlord comes back with the LC1 Chairman, who is very pleased to meet me and know that I want to register in the village.  I fill out paperwork for our family, and he shows me the ID cards that he will official-ize for us.  For all of us?  Yes, indeed, for everyone.  I write and occupations on the cards, and the older children hover around and then sign theirs.  I debated what to put for the girls' names, since I know everything has to match and have their Ugandan names.  But neither of them want to be called by their Ugandan names, and Hibiscus hates hers with a passion that would threaten to combust the ID card with the force of her gaze.  I put their American names in front of the Ugandan ones, and that is what Hibiscus signs.  She has completely forgotten how to write her Ugandan name, which I feel like is not a coincidence or a sign of not being able to hold things in her mind.  Now we just have to have ID photos taken, and bring some to the council official tomorrow, along with a fee for the paperwork filing.  I have a feeling that he loves putting the seal on and laminating the cards so they will not get spoiled by the rain, as he carefully describes every step, and how quickly he will get them to me.  That's okay; I'm pretty excited about ID cards too.  Especially with a nice official seal on them.

And the landlord will drive me over to the other place in the morning.



We eat dinner.  It is yummy.  I manage to keep Hibiscus from talking the entire time, and confidentially advise her that when adults are around, the children don't get to talk as much as usual.  Because "usual" means just one of me, and I am not nearly as garrulous as my children.  Either that, or I am more tired.  Anyway, tonight we have an actual conversation.

Also, my husband has worried whether I am sharing too much about the girls' life in these blogs, and that one day they would not want this information bandied about.  I am very cautious about what I write, but apparently I'm the only one.  Hibiscus says something about her birth family, notices that people are listening to her, and barrels like a freight train into all the most dramatic stories she can think of.  Luckily, the conversation moved on before she got too far, but I sense that if her future self wants any information withheld, it had better commune with her present self pretty much immediately.


After dinner Emerson and Hibiscus demonstrated for us the song, poem, and dances that they are practicing at school for their performance on Sunday.  As a performing arts teacher, I thoroughly condone having lots of mini-performances, so I allowed their little dramatic hearts to take center stage.  I am really impressed by how much they know, and that they are clearly being coached very carefully and specifically.  However, I think I will encourage Hibiscus to practice her poem every night from now on!

Then there was some general chaos, and I could speak quietly with the other dad for a few minutes.  Dinner with the rabble had not made him faint of heart, and he still is willing to stay with the girls while Emerson and I leave the country to get new visas.  So we solidified that into something a little bit closer to a plan, although we are both still waiting on all this nebulous paperwork, so the plan will stay vague until we know more.  The only clear plan I have at this point is the kids' school performance on Sunday.  It seems to me that they have been working a lot harder on that, than anything else has been working at all!


And I think the kitten went back home again.

Random Thoughts About Another Month or So

It is those miserable aunties, and the unspeakably miserable thief who drove us out of our home.  We could have made it home with normal administrative tangles, if we didn't have meanness tangles getting in our way.

Our original court date was the day after the main judge, who seems to be hearing almost all of the cases, came back from her leave.  At that point, her paperwork wouldn't have been backed up yet and she probably would have gotten the ruling out close to the original estimate of a week.  By the time our court finished up almost two weeks later, her estimation was a written ruling 2-3 weeks out.  Someone had their court date this morning, and their ruling was estimated for January 20th -- almost six weeks out.  I think it would have been under two weeks if we had been earlier.

Because there hadn't been any judges hearing cases in early November, the Embassy wouldn't have been backed up.  They said that 90% of families complete their paperwork with them within a week, but December and summer are the worst times for waiting.

We just need photo ID's for the girls to get the medical appointments.  The Embassy lady said that in 99% of the cases this meant the passports, but since we were foster parents we might have some other sort of ID which would work just as well.  Then we could do the passports and the IOM paperwork concurrently, both of take about a week.  Our Local Council in Ggaba was really into issuing ID's, and when we first talked with them about a letter of recommendation they needed to make ID's for Emerson and I before anything else.  I am just kicking myself that I never went back and asked them to make ID's for the girls, which they suggested but I didn't have foster care at the time.  And I had never heard about photo ID's for the medical appointment before this.  I can go work on getting ID's through our new district, but it will be more complicated than just getting them from the same place where we got ours.  (On a side note, my photo ID for my Ggaba residence has come in handy many times.  Emerson's, not as much, but it's cute.)

So basically, if our court date had finished when it started instead of being interrupted by crazy aunties, and I still lived where I knew people and was connected to the important people, it sounds like it actually was a very realistic estimate for getting home.

That's what really bugs me.  I get that the judges have a huge case load and are doing their best.  I get that the Embassy people have to jump through a lot of hoops.  I think that, really, most of the officials whom we have met so far have been doing their best under non-ideal circumstances.  But I am really peeved that we are held up by a few random people being just plain malicious.


So, now here is my to-do list.  I have to find a new place to live.  It looks like it will be a month or so, thus looking into another apartment and not just hotel or something.  I think we have to move out Monday or Tuesday or something (it's Tuesday night now).  I also have to figure out about getting the girls some photo ID, either by finding the LC officials for this district, or by going to the LC for their original district (the one who testified at court for us) and ask for his advice.  Of course, if I meet with the LC's of this district, then that will mean I need to find another apartment in the same district.  I want to be in the same area, but the LC districts are quite small.

I need to plan a trip out of the country so that Emerson and I can get new Ugandan visas.  They last till the end of the month, but it might make sense to plan something immediately.  Another adoptive father whom I have been in touch with offered to stay with the girls so I could make a quick trip with Emerson.  Emotionally, it will be awful for the girls for me to leave them.  But logistically, traveling to a DIFFERENT African country with three small children is....  It is insane.  It really is.  I have been known to do things that are insane before (like this entire thing!) but I do try and err on the side of when the benefits outweigh the potential disasters.  Leaving the girls with an experienced American parent seems like a pretty reasonable thing to do, and thus means that I need to get my trip figured out and completed before he has to go home for Christmas.  Because he actually has plans to leave, unlike some (insane) people that we could mention.

And as for Christmas?  Everyone keeps asking about Christmas or wanting to get home for Christmas or something.  I love the Christmas season, but this is not it.  I have kind of gotten over Christmas for this year.  Maybe this goes back to the Enneagram... we 9's like smooth sailing.  I like fun things too, but our ship has been flying under a hard wind and all that matters to me is keeping on an even tack.  I am not concerned about a holiday detour.  I think some people would prefer the distraction and something to look forward to, but to me it is really not worth the energy I would have to put out.

The kids probably do not feel exactly as I do.  They are having a big-deal Christmas production at school, and they've been rehearsing dances and songs and poems and a pageant and everything. The performance is Sunday.  That can be their big Christmas contemplation.  I think I can probably manage a coffeecake on Christmas morning or something, and probably someone will send us a gift.  Beyond that, we'll see.  Luckily, the girls don't know what to expect anyways, and I think the tropical weather has distracted Emerson as much as it has for me, and he hasn't even mentioned a tree or anything.  Hopefully all our other traditions can float by just as easily.  The one thing Emerson IS actually focused on is his birthday, although he seems to have forgotten that we usually celebrate it in January.  I can make a cake, and work on sweet-talking my way out of a Ugandan kid-party.  Probably two cakes will do it.

Unfortunately, the school calendar is not going to forget about the holiday, and the kids have two weeks off.  That's the one hassle that seems overwhelming right now.  I could keep on keeping on, but my two lively, wild, and now bored kids might sink the boat.  Well, we won't sink, but we could get pretty soggy and have to turn on the big water pump, which probably is angry-mama-voice.  We will have to figure out something to do over the break, which is hard because not only is there not much to do, it is crazy to just leave the house with all three children unless I can contain them in a car.  And we are NOT hiring the car every day.  There's not enough places to go in the car, anyways.  Mostly shopping, which is also a nightmare with all three kids.

Speaking of which, I should find a babysitter, so I can go out and procure food.  That would help my sanity, although the kids are so terrified of being left, I might decide that my sanity is better off finding someone to send grocery shopping.

Anyways, one thing at a time.  This morning I thought I got a lot done, but clearly it was somewhere between treading water and just swimming down the wrong stream.  Also, my laundry is piling up, although some of it is actually clean and dry.  And I gave the girls luke-warm cocoa in their sippy cups this morning, although I let Emerson have it straight up.

So basically, I could make it another month.  It's been many months; what's one more?  And I am not upset about missing a proper Christmas... at least not nearly as upset about other things.  Like my dogs.  I could really use some dogs tonight.  I am upset about:
- a trip to Kenya or Rwanda or some crazy place like that
- moving
- school vacation
- looking for a new apartment
- having to move into that new apartment

Which is what I have to start tomorrow.

Student Led Parent Conferences

Friday was the special day for conferences at The American Montessori School.  I was supposed to put them on the bus as usual, and show up around 11... and I was kind of confused about what that meant.  Apparently it meant it was Student Led Parent-Student Conferences -- how's that for a mouthful?

A little background: the school is very small, with only about 22 students from around 3 years old through first grade, in four classes.  Two of the teachers are a married couple who founded the school, and it is run in their house.  The school is only a few years old, and they are trying to expand to a much larger facility, but right now the small size is a major bonus for me as a parent.  I appreciate getting to interact with the teachers, fewer kids is much less overwhelming for my children, and they get lots of individual attention.  However, it's a striking example of Ugandan use of space vs. what American's would "need."  The whole school is run in one small front room, with bookcases that slightly divide it into two spaces that are each maybe 10 or 12 feet square, the larger front porch, a toilet room, bath-and-sink room, and kitchen.  They also use the yard, which has a natural divide of a small hill, and around the size of a typical suburban backyard.  The equipment comprises a handbuilt play structure with two swings and a climbing rope net, a sandbox, some painted tires half-sunk in the dirt, and a rusty old mini trampoline with three of its legs missing.

I didn't manage to get there until 11:30, and I was still almost the first parent to arrive... and the lead teacher wasn't even back with the materials!  He rented tables to make different stations, but the shop decided not to open very promptly on Friday morning, so he wasn't able to pick up the tables until the event was supposedly underway.  We're on Africa-time!  So Buttercup and I sat on the couches in the covered patio area, and watched the children line up and be a train around the grounds, and then play Mr. Lion, Mr. Lion on the lawn.  Buttercup was eager to join in, but I kept her near me, and we enjoyed watching how the children did.  They enjoyed playing the game, but I could see why Emerson is not excited about going to school by watching his tired face.  The teacher probably spent 10 or 15 minutes getting the children properly organized in a line to move, and then once they finally got going she allowed someone to change their mind about wearing shoes, which meant that half the kids suddenly had to run around and throw their shoes in a pile or move the pile.  The children who had lined up in the "train" properly from the beginning (including both of mine) just stood there looking bored, or started to get poked by their neighbors, which of course meant they had to get in arguments.

After Mr Lion, the children came back and all sat around the sandbox with their feet inside, where they sang songs and eventually the teacher passed out water.  Again, there was a lot of time spent scolding the children and reminding them how to sit and whether to spread out or squash together, while half the children sat there vacantly.  Perhaps they do better in smaller groups when all four teachers are working with the children, but this also had the air of a regular routine that everyone expected.

By that time, the tables were finally set up, and Hibiscus was called over to start my conference.  There were only about three parents there, and a couple more drifted in over the course of the day.  As far as I could tell, most students never had a parent come by to listen to their accomplishments.  It is a huge and striking difference from participating in American schools, where parents will miss work to attend special school events, and at the very worst send a grandparent or babysitter.  This is a special and expensive school attended only by the (upper) middle class, and yet it still seems like a steep uphill battle to get parents to actually be involved in any way!  The conference notes for the parents described the different stations, and had lots of scaffolding help for the parents, such as "use words like 'good try!' and 'nice work!'." I will note that one of the parents there was a father, and all of the parents who attended did seem to be trying hard to be positive and support their children, and genuinely proud of them.

There were three stations for each class: literacy, numeracy, and science.  You can see what is important in Ugandan schooling -- parents want to know their kids are mastering the basics!  There was no information whatsoever about how they were doing socially, or if they could follow directions or be creative.  I think the school does care about those things, and I often talk with the teacher at pick-up time about these issues, but it seemed like they didn't expect parents to be interested.  Since they couldn't even get most of the parents to show up, I can understand why!

Each station had a table set up, with some different activities.  For kindergarten literacy, Hibiscus was supposed to write her first and last name for me, then move on and write small and capital letters when I requested them in different orders, then sound out and read short words that were in cards in a box.  She wrote her American first name beautifully, and then started thinking about our family name, which she has only written a few times.  But my children are not really "sit still and do the activity as directed" kind of kids; they have to keep thinking of something more!  In this case, Hibiscus decided she needed to write "Hibiscus." As the next activity will prove, her spelling skills are way way below the level of a strange word like that, which she still pronounces "Kah-biscuits"!  She didn't want me to tell her, and we spent a few minutes stalling while I tried to convince her how beautiful she had already written the words, and maybe we didn't need to spend all day writing a nickname.  Finally we managed to move on.  When I selected words from the box, she proudly and successfully managed to sound out "at" but could not manage "hat."  She made all the sounds correctly, but struggled to blend them together.  When I compared it to the "at" she had just finished, that confused her; apparently they don't do much rhyming.  Eventually we moved on to writing letters.  At this activity she shone, and her handwriting has become very neat and nicely small.  I do not fail to forget that she has only had this name for a couple of months, and that he is only learning to speak English, let alone write it.

We moved on to numeracy.  She was supposed to point to numbers on a chart when I said a number, between 1 and 100.  She could manage 1-20 fine, but she still hasn't figured out that there is a system to the rest of them, and just counted from "1" to find whatever I named.  Then she was supposed to put marbles (called "glass balls") in my hand to demonstrate her understanding of number values, and she did a great job at this, although sometimes she rushed and slipped an extra ball in!  Then the children are working at addition by going backwards, when they solve a sentence like "6= __+___."  I think this is a great idea for really learning about how numbers fits together, and Hibiscus did a good job when we used the marbles.  She enjoyed making one column full of 4's, by always having a 4 be the second half of her number sentence.

The science table was simply a pile of their drawings, and Hibiscus was supposed to explain her drawing to me.  It sounds like they do a good job of exploratory, hands-on science, although I never would have deduced it by simply listening to Hibiscus's wandering explanation about zebras and apple trees!

And that was Hibiscus's conference!  I gave her praise and kisses, and she glowed.

I had tried to let Buttercup run around, but "around" became the operative word, as she tried to get into everything and pull all the displays down.  Writing with pencils kept her happy for a little while, but then she was needing too much supervision, and I decided to wrap her on my back again.  The older children get very little focused one-on-one parental attention at this point, and I really wanted to treat this like their own special day. So Buttercup went up, and bounced up and down and sang and grabbed everything within reach, and hit me in the head with books, and when I sat on the couch she got her legs under her and jumped around, which totally ruined the wrap job, but still kept herphysically  contained.  There was plenty for her to watch, and I could pretend to almost ignore her, enough at least for the conference-giver to feel listened to!

Then Hibiscus went back into the kitchen, where I guess they were singing songs, and Emerson came out for his conference.  Emerson notes seriously that he is "in two classes," since he goes to first grade for reading.  So we started with reading, and the first activity was to take full sentences of dictation.  The Montessorians maybe have eliminated most of the "copy work" that defines most Ugandan schools, but they still can't seem to get their minds off the stilted learning-to-read vocabulary, and the sentences were full of boys and girls with boxes and balls and trees -- none of which are very logical early phonics words!  However, I was amazed how excited Emerson was to be taking dictation, and how neatly and competently he wrote.  Fine motor and writing skills have always been his great weakness, and his whole life his writing/drawing skills have lagged far behind his comprehension -- until now, apparently!

He was also supposed to read three pages of a book for me.  Emerson is always worried about failure, and would rather not try than attempt something he doesn't feel confident about, so he sorted through the pile of books anxiously, looking for something he already "knew."  Then he read me a whole story.  Emerson has become an amazing reader in the last few weeks!  He reads through many of the children's books we have around, and starts in reading when he wants to know something.  Yesterday he read the entire "Madeline" compilation to Hibiscus -- all six books in a row!  So I was not surprised to hear him read, but it was nice to be able to sit next to him and really concentrate on what he was doing.  Poor kids, we don't get much concentration lately!

At the math table, Emerson breezed through the first activities, so for the addition sentences I added a digit and made the 7 into a 17.  He was fascinated figuring out how to create the bigger numbers, using our mutual fingers.  Then he told me to change the other numbers, too, to make the game more fun.  I saw the teacher giving us some weird looks; I don't know if he disapproved of me changing the activity or had no idea that Emerson could mentally play with double-digit numbers!  I just see no reason for kids to repeat doing things that are not an interesting challenge for them.

After science, Emerson wanted to keep going, so we went back and did more dictation, and then read a new books.  This time, a younger child was interested in one particular book, so Emerson decided to read that one although he didn't "know" it yet.  I was proud of how he allowed his desire to hear the story triumph over his fear of making a mistake!


After that, I was told that I could go home and pick the kids up at the regular time, but I didn't much care for the idea of walking home and then turning around to pick them up again!  So I was invited to eat lunch with the children, and that lunch was almost ready.... which probably involved sitting around very hungrily for half an hour or so!  But the children were obviously very excited and honored to have me eat with them.

Emerson became very distressed, because some of the parents were carrying bags with presents to congratulate their children, and I had not brought any presents.  Something later at home was not acceptable!  So on the way out, we stopped at a nearby little grocery stand, and I got each child a little treat.  They were talking about lollipops, but then Hibiscus wanted a chocolate coin instead, and I was on the verge of getting Buttercup a lollipop before I realized what a terrible idea a lollipop on my back would be! So she got some smartie-like things that needed to be eaten all at once and had no smearing potential whatsoever!  Of course, Emerson's lollipop was going strong long after the girls had finished their treats, and I could see the wheels turning in Hibiscus's head as she contemplated short-term vs long-term treat value!

Contemplating long-term (or rather, something besides immediate) value is really one of the skills I want Hibiscus to be working on, and I am not really that worried about math and blending letters and things.  I want her to learn to not leave her sweater out on the grass and scuff up her shoes, so they are not ruined for later.  So I'm glad that the teachers say things like "she still needs some more positive support in this area, " which is more pleasant than what *I* can manage when she ruins her things!  And I am pleased to arrive after school and see Hibiscus very focused on learning to ride a bike, and Emerson in the sandbox busily making plans with a couple of other boys, making positive friendships.

But I am proud of the skills that they are learning too, and I was proud of how happy they were to show them off to me!

Deal Breakers

Deal Breakers

I have always wanted to move my family to a foreign country for a while and imagined how that might happen.  Now it's turned out that we've kind of accidentally been in Uganda for a long time; long enough that it might be considered a temporary move, and I've thought about figuring out a way to move back again one day, perhaps when the kids are a little older and will be able to understand more and commit more to their long-term memories.  I think that's it's natural to romanticize being in a new place for the first few months, and then to become frustrated with it in the next few months, and eventually reach a greater acceptance of the true strengths and weaknesses.  So I recognize that I was idealistic about things this summer, and I'm currently in a grumpy funk that is probably more about me than about Uganda.

But emotional colors aside, I no longer have any ideals about moving back to Uganda while my children are young.

With better planning and a good project -- and children in a more stable stage of life -- I wouldn't need to be trapped in this feeling of isolation and being stuck that has made the last few months so difficult.  If I knew I were going to be here, and especially if I were involved in an organization, I could make connections and friendships that would be more fulfilling.  I've pretty much gotten over my frustration with cooking, between finding certain stores with certain ingredients and getting accustomed to the local fare.  (Although I would have to run a cheese-importing business!)  I've also gotten used to the transportation and how to get where I need to go, and if I didn't have a toddler who needs to nap, I would feel pretty flexible.  I'm getting used to the local manners and customs, and communicating and being friendly isn't nearly as stressful or tiring as it used to be. Some things are difficult, but I can make a decision to not let them bother me, or compensate in other areas of life -- being an introvert in a social society, lots of noise, different habits of friendship and expectations -- and life is never perfect anyways.

But the bottom line is, I wouldn't want to move back here because of my children.  There are too many expectations in this culture that I don't want my children to learn and internalize, and because the norm is so highly social, it is much harder to to present individual family values than it is in America.  As I see my primary goal at this point in life is giving my children a strong emotional, intellectual, and self-defining foundation, my perspective about living in a different culture is different than it would be for myself.

There's a lot that is positive about how children are treated here.  Children are very beloved, and we are praised (never censured) for being a "big family."   People don't mind kids acting like kids -- waitresses smile about the mess and other patrons laugh off my apologies for the noise.  I appreciate how babies are carried and nursed, and I like seeing daddies involved in caring for their kids, from babies in their arms to older children being lovingly taught the family jobs.  I appreciate the attitude of everyone helping out with the kids, and knowing when I am in my familiar environs, if my kids slip away from me, someone will step up and keep my kids from running out the door or wrecking disaster.  I appreciate that other adults will remind my children to listen to me, and to do their family duty -- often children listen better when hearing a new voice.  I like how easy it is for my children to make friends, and how many adults can engage children thoughtfully and lovingly; every National Forest guide has immediately directed their information at child-level, and even the dance shows have a focus for children.

On the other hand: the shaming, the lying, the threats, and the absolute expectation of conformity.  These negatives are so overwhelming that they are deal-breakers in terms of the foundation I want to give my children.

(I could also add in the beatings and physical punishment, which is highly prevalent here.  I don't include it as a top problem only because it is possible to avoid, as people seem to respect that a white woman doesn't want other people to beat her children.  We have also found a school which generally avoids physical punishment, which is rare.)

I work very hard to teach my children honesty, problem solving, personal responsibility, and kindness.  They receive dozens of examples every day of how to NOT do all these things, and I can't shield them from it.  They ask me questions that I have to answer my telling them that I think their teacher or anther respected adult is just plain wrong, which I hate doing. There is much to respect about these people, and I don't want to undermine their authority; I want my children to have role models.  But when they say "but Teacher said this; why did she lie to me?" what else can I do?  It gets to a point where the only true answer is "that is a lie, and I wish she hadn't said that."

To me, the worst is probably the shaming, because it is so prevalent.  Any kind of undesired behavior is quickly shamed, from jokingly to very publicly.  My children are probably each made fun of at least half a dozen times a day.  When Emerson wants to hold my hand and is afraid of leaving me to get on the bus in the morning, even if he is actually getting on the bus properly, if he shows any emotion about it, the bus driver says things like "you promised me you would be a good boy today," "why are you being so naughty this morning again," "big boys don't cry, are you a little baby?", while the children on the bus eagerly look out to see if they have a victim for their favorite taunts: "is Emerson crying again?", "look at little baby Emerson," "Emerson is being like a girl!" and so forth.  Meanwhile, little Buttercup gets told by the helpful cleaning lady, "you are a bad girl" when she drops something or makes a mess, or if she tries to climb up something and slips down, she is warned to not do it again.  At school, most of the formal discipline strategy is shaming: sitting on a high stool or having to eat with your back to the rest of the class, or otherwise being isolated in a very public way.  In this way, the children are naturally taught to shame each other and make this isolation painful.  It fits in very well with the natural meanness, selfishness, and fearfulness of childhood, and in every case I have seen, the children gleefully take the punishment several steps farther than the adults would have, which is silently condoned by the adult authority.

To my older children, the lying is the worst, probably because they are in a very literal phase of life.    The constant little betrayals and infinitely painful to them, and I see how they work back to make the shamings (and the beatings) more powerful.  Some lies are small and seem insignificant; for instance, for a while we happened to be leaving the school at the same time as the two junior teachers, and we followed the same route for part of the way.  The children were delighted at this special time with their teachers, and the teachers indulged them by holding their hands and admiring their little stories (see above, where I appreciate the natural attention that adults bestow on children).  The children invited their teachers home with them and the teachers agreed, but when our paths diverged they went their own way, to my children's shock and disappointment.  On succeeding days, they still insisted they would come home with us, and even when Hibiscus asked "for real? are you lying me?" they replied "I am not lying you! I visit you today!"  Why, why, why bother?  Why make such a big deal out of saying things that aren't true?

Adults also lie to children to get them to stop crying or calm down.  Apparently there is no cultural tolerance for crying here.  I guess that many Americans don't like to hear a child cry either, and maybe I have an unusual attitude towards it; I find that in most cases, a child whose tantrum is ignored will get over it more quickly than a child who gets a lot of fuss.  After I take normal measures to comfort the child, I leave them alone... but if anyone else is around, they will take over for my "lazy" parenting.  When Emerson was upset about not getting something that he couldn't have, our neighbor offered to take him out for ice cream, or go on a special ice cream outing the next day, and would go into details about the outing until he started to pay attention to her instead of his fuss.  When I took her aside and mentioned quietly that we had plans for the next day or something, she waved me off and said she hadn't the slightest intention of actually taking him to get ice cream.  The first day that the older children went to school, Buttercup became very distressed and wanted to put on her shoes and find them, and started to cry when I let her put on her shoes but said we weren't going to get them, and offered alternate activities.  She wasn't ready to think about doing something else, but as soon as I left her alone, the cleaning lady offered to take her for a walk to go get her baabas.  Buttercup quickly stopped crying and allowed Miss S to pick her up and carry her around.  Miss S took her around for a few minutes, distracting her with looking at pretty flowers and fruit, and then brought her back inside.  The distracting walk was a good idea, but in my opinion it didn't need to start with the several-times repeated promise to go to her baabas' school.

But lying takes a much more sinister turn, as well: lying threats are often used for punishment.  When Hibiscus was acting up around a family friend, he turned on her and said very seriously, "your mama may not beat you, but I will.  Stop that, or I will beat you."  I am quite sure he was bluffing and never would have beaten my child.  One day at school, Emerson had gotten seriously dirty in the sand box -- which I don't mind at all, but I sent him to wash hands at the tap before going home.  One of the teachers saw him, and told him if he got that dirty again, she would take off all his clothes and give him a shower in front of all the other children.  He told me after school the next day that he hadn't played in the sand, because he didn't want to be naked in front of the other children.  When children misbehave at school, they are told that they won't be allowed to come back, or that they will be sent home immediately, by themselves.  Once Emerson was taken outside of the school gates and they closed the gates and locked it on him, telling him that he had to go home by himself.  After he screamed and cried, they "forgave" him and let him back in.  It is apparently a common threat that a bogeyman is going to come get a naughty child and take her away, and parents will put a child outside and call the bogeyman.


All this is made worse, because absolute conformity is expected.  There are not alternate ways to do things; individual expression is not appreciated; emotional expression is not allowed.  Any deviation from the norm is immediately rewarding with shaming and threats.  Because the "rules" are so clear, even little children learn them and are quick to pounce on their peers -- even for behavior that they can't manage properly themselves.  Because everyone is unsuccessful at being perfect, they all have been shamed, and they are all quick to jump on the bandwagon to shame and punish someone else.  Little children might be able to reflect the face of God, but they also have an awful lot of intrinsic selfishness!  In my American society, we are generally of a consensus that children shouldn't hit each other, and we teach them this value very strongly in their first toddler playdates, so by school age it is only very out-of-control children who use violence.  But children naturally want to use their bodies to get what they want, so around here middle-sized children are constantly slapping and kicking the younger ones, and physical altercations are common in play.  They also use all kinds of insults, rude noises, and whatever they instinctively feel will get the biggest reaction.

Thus, crying is unacceptable.  Being clumsy is unacceptable.  Being loud is unacceptable.  Getting dirty is inappropriate.  Feeling shy is inappropriate.  Getting hurt and being upset about it is not allowed.  Disobedience is not allowed, nor is getting out of line or talking in class or dozens of other things.  I don't disagree with all these values -- I don't appreciate disobedience or talking in class, either.  But all the ways of being an object of shame also add up to not wanting to be different in any other way, and I can see that is difficult to be more-than-average smart or more-than-average creative, even those are actually values that are strongly appreciated in this society.



In America, pundits say we have "the mommy wars," with parents diverging strongly and sometimes negatively about issues such as stay-at-home-mothers, homeschooling, cry-it-out, co-sleeping, organic food... the list goes on and on.  Whatever you choose, you can find books and bloggers who argue that it's a terrible choice, and a community of mothers who thinks your way is the only reasonable option.  Here, there are no Mommy Wars.  It's more like Mommy Annihilation.  There is exactly one right way to parent, and if you are trying something else, you are either met with stone-cold silence... or of course the old tactics still work well, and the divergent mommy can be publicly shamed.

The school our children attend is trying to incorporate some more modern methods of teaching and ideas about child development into their curriculum and philosophy.  (I think defining "modern" as somewhere in the last hundred years or so... but when was Maria Montessori? it might be 150.)  So they have some elements of child-directed learning and exploration, the idea of children working at their own pace on what they need to know, and some, um, less painfully out-dated methods of discipline.  And they are trying to involve middle-class parents in their children's education, instead of the parents just turning the children over to nannies and television for the whole day.  I am constantly amazed at how most of the parents, who are paying a high price to send their children to this specialized school, and obviously dote on their children, totally ignore all their advice and outreach.  For instance, the teachers are hoping that the children will have some kind of educational toys as home, such as blocks or coloring books.  They were selling toys like this at the Family Day, to make it easier for parents to get them.  I overheard a teacher warmly and gently trying to convince a parent to get a coloring book along with a toy car she had selected, talking about how it is good for their future writing skills, and fine motor, and so forth.  The parents just shrugged and said their child didn't want to hold a crayon, so why have one in the house, and walked away.  Despite all the special activities and personal calls to become more involved, at the special Student-Led Parent Student Conferences yesterday, probably only a quarter of the children actually had a parent show up over the course of the day.

No one has gone to the trouble of paying me for my advice, so instead of just getting ignored, I am told how to behave properly -- told with varying degrees of overbearingness.  I need to put Buttercup in school.  I shouldn't carry Buttercup, she is old enough to walk.  I should beat Emerson when he runs too far, and I should beat Hibiscus when she throws a fit.  I should do everything for Buttercup if she finds it too hard on the first try.  I should feed them this and not that.  They don't need to go to bed that early.  There is no reason to make them nap or do chores if they don't want to.  Buttercup isn't uncomfortable because black children don't mind being squashed like that.

Sometimes I receive this unending stream of instruction in a polite undertone, such as "if it were mine, I would give that child a good beating" or "here in Uganda, we don't carry our children when they are that age."  These are usually delivered with the head respectfully turned away to avoid potentially negative eye contact, but with clear censure and no possibility of an alternate acceptable opinion.  Sometimes the active public shaming is called into play, such as the woman who followed me around the grocery store.  She declared that if a child could request an apple she was too old to walk, and I didn't immediately unwrap Buttercup; so she followed us around, loudly telling me to "put that child down" repeatedly, so even if I didn't obey, she brought an appropriate amount of attention to my poor parenting practices.  With smaller issues, other adults just "fix" the problems I am not addressing properly; they carry Buttercup over stairs I think she can learn to walk, they give the children the things they are fussing for, they threaten or bribe the children into better behavior, they shame them for getting dirty, they tell them what they can eat for dinner or a treat, they give them candy to silence them, they clean up their messes, they carry their backpacks or fix their shoes or give them extras.  The neighbors, strangers on the street, vendors and storekeepers, the children's teachers, the cleaning lady, family friends... unless we stayed in our house and locked the door, there is no way to avoid all the people who are eager and willing to do the "right" thing for my children, and hopefully teach me how to behave as well.

My practice of helping children to learn to be responsible for themselves in an age-appropriate manner, and take consequences for their actions, is totally unimaginable.  One morning I was sitting across the room from Buttercup, who was trying to put a "blanket" over her dolly because she had chosen a large wrap.  She was getting frustrated, so I showed her how to hold the wrap from the edge, but then gave it back to her and sat back down.  She started yelling at me to come do it, and I calmly told her that she could do it herself and reminded her how.  So she told Miss S to come do it for her, and Miss S promptly obliged.  I stopped her, and told her specifically how I thought Buttercup could learn to do this skill on her own, and I wanted her to be able to figure it out.  Miss S seemed to kind of understand, and she obeyed my direct instruction to not do it for Buttercup.  I would have to repeat this a hundred times a day to be allowed to make my own parenting choices -- except most adults anticipate the confrontation, and work behind my back.


With young children, it matters very little what you say, it matters what you do.  Children learn by imitation, and they are always watching.  So I can talk myself blue about being honest, but they see adults lying over and over again.  I can make an inarguable family policy of "no hurting," but as soon as they leave the house they see people hurting each other and getting their way.  I can read them books and tell stories about children being true to themselves and standing up for each other, but they come home and tell me definitely that boys don't get sad, everyone likes the same things, only babies get scared, and their friends deserved getting punished.  I can set it up so my children figure out what the consequences for their own choices are, but someone will come along and save them from getting cold or having to carry a heavy backpack.  Even the choices I am allowed to make -- like not putting Buttercup in school yet -- my children get to see me ridiculed and scolded for.


Every culture, including our own, has positives and negatives.  I wanted Emerson to get to learn about another culture and go to school with local children; I'm not going to put up a fuss that he is picking up values I don't condone as well as becoming less stuck in his American-thinking.  I wanted to know more about my adopted children's birth culture; I'm not going to be aghast that it's different from mine.  I didn't expect my parenting style to be mirrored or even respected while in a foreign country.  Nor do I think that everything about America is perfect -- far from it!  But Mommy Wars or not, at home I have a lot more freedom to parent my children in the way I think best.

And I think it's about time to be getting home.  And when we come back, it will be for a visit, not another stay of months and months... until my children are old enough to discern their own right from wrong, and stand strong in the face of criticism.

Or at least, not scream "you look like a mon-key!!" when they see a little boy crying.

Going to School

Thursday morning

We need to leave the house at 7:40, and the bus comes around 7:45.  We should meet it at the end of the driveway/little road leading up from our apartment building, but if we're not there the driver makes the extra step to come find us.

7:38 -- Children are eating their eggs, all dressed and washed.  Their backpacks are packed with every item they might need and set out neatly.  I lay out their shoes and put their extra toast in a paper towel.

7:39 -- Children standing up to put on shoes.  I put Buttercup in wrap.

7:39:16 -- Hibiscus realizes she doesn't have any juice.  There is no more juice in the house.  Emerson thinks he has a tummy ache and actually wants to stay home today.

7:40 -- Hibiscus is laying on the floor, screaming and kicking her feet.  Emerson is starting to cry, but putting on his shoes.  Buttercup is fully contained.

7:42 -- Hibiscus is violently going through every container in the fridge, trying to see if it has juice.  "Look, dis one for jwiss!!" she accuses me.  I try to convince her that, because the whole thing is bloated and the cap is stuck on and there's barely any sloshing, it has gone very bad.  I don't convince her, but she can't get the cap off anyways.

7:44 -- Emerson and I are at the top of the stairs leading out from our apartment.  Hibiscus is screaming at us to wait.  She then meticulously adjusts every aspects of her shoes in order to get her feet in, and apparently cannot move if it is not perfect.  While we wait, I ask Emerson to buckle my sandals, which I haven't even bothered to do yet.  Emerson starts to sob that he will be missing me too much.

7:45 -- Hibiscus still doing who-knows-what with shoes.  Emerson in full melt-down mode.

7:46 -- both children at top of stairs.  Emerson insists that if he had a clock to know when I would come, he could manage the day, but he needs a new paper for the clock that tells him when 3 o'clock gets here.  Still sobbing, but showing signs of being able to get in control.  Hibiscus, off-hand and superior: "me, I go for school.  I no for crying."

7:47 -- I hear a car in the driveway.  I tell the children to wait and run inside for the clock.  Emerson insists on sitting on the wall.  The security guard tries to get the children to go outside the gate so he doesn't have to open and close it for the car twice.  Emerson wails.

7:48 -- I grab our one and only clock and make the world's quickest drawing of 3:00 on a scrap of paper.  The car rolls in, driver taps his watch.

7:49 -- Emerson is screaming that he needs his clock.  The bus driver is trying to tell him to be a good boy.  Hibiscus is getting in the car, but then she stops and wants to open the clock and look at the paper.  NO!  It goes in the backpack.  Emerson calms enough to need carrying, but not shoving into the car.  Jumps out and cries that he needs two more hugs and three more kisses.  Cuddle.  Back in the car.  

7:51 -- Car drives away, children inside.  The driver cannot resist giving me a glare that says "why can't you have your children ready at 7:39, like all the other children are ready one minute BEFORE the bus comes?"

Hibiscus-isms

Hibiscus-isms

Because I need to start writing these down!

*Yesterday we were walking back to the orphanage towards evening, and we passed the place where Emerson often sees rabbits out near the road; apparently they get braver as it gets cooler or something.  Emerson pointed out the adorable little fluffy bunnies, as he always does, and Hibiscus took a moment to see it, but then got very excited.

"Is -- is RABBIT.  Is bunny rabbit," she said, working to find the words in her vocabulary.  Then she went on gleefully, "Is for Hibiscus.  Rabbit is for Hibiscus.  Is for EEEAT-TING!!!"

So much for adorable bunnies!

* We met her on the road coming home from school one day, and Emerson started explaining, with his usual verbosity, about his own school.  He can't wait until they both go to his school together.  I have gotten the impression that school is a luxury here and she is very proud of being a schoolgirl, so I have revised my original home-coming plan.  I was going to keep her home with me for at least a few weeks, to give her a chance to settle in, and Emerson some time in his own space, but from both of their feelings I think they will both go straight into school.  So Hibiscus was listening to this discussion, and from the words she understood, she formed an impression that surprised me.  "Hibiscus no go school!" she exclaimed.  But then she continued with her real motive -- "Hibiscus go America!"

We have since managed to persuade her that there is also school in America,  and shown her pictures, and she now is convinced.  In fact, she tells Miss B that she doesn't want to go to M--- Christian School here any more, because she is going to school in America.  As amusing as this all is (and she tends to say things with the air of exaggeration, knowing she is being amusing), I think it shows a genuine fear, that we might be leaving for America at any moment, and if she happens to be busy at school then she might get left behind.

* Speaking of things she says to Miss B, she has a great deal to report about her current and future situation.  She found a photo we had sent months ago with our house in it, and she gleefully pointed to the rooms where she would sleep, and where Buttercup would sleep, and also her friend Hosta, and maybe another friend....  It was amusing how quickly she was moving everyone in, but what was even more amusing was that the picture of the house was taken from the back, and all that showed was an attached shed, the garage, and one window of the kitchen. Just imagine, bringing back a whole host of African children, and then stowing them in the garage!!

After seeing a variety of pictures, which included various family members, she became much more relieved and excited about joining our family.  (If that's possible, which I'm not sure it is.  I think her primary focus is finding a mother who will actually mother her.)  She told Miss B "I'm getting a family with grannies and aunties and everything!"  (The Luganda word "jiajia," pronounced jya-jya, means grandmother or grandfather or in fact any relative the age of a grandparent.)  She always is particularly excited to see these photos of relatives.  I think maybe she thinks we're really a real family, if we can produce extended relatives!  

She especially likes pictures of my mother, although she has a hard time telling whether the picture is of Mama or of Jiajia, and of Emerson's great-grandmother.  She wanted to look at those pictures for a long time.  Again, I think our family increased in value to have someone of a truly honorable age involved!