I

The other day, Cameron and I were driving to school, just the two of us.  "You know what?"  Cameron said from the backseat.  "When I was in preprimary, everyone knew Matthew was my brother.  But in elementary, some of the kids haven't seen Matthew before.  Lots of times, when they do see him, they say, 'Who's that kid?'"
"What do you say to them?" I asked. 

"I say, 'That's my little brother, Matthew.'  And then they usually say, 'How is he your brother?' I think because Matthew's black and I'm white."

"I think you're right," I said.  "Lots of kids aren't used to seeing brothers that have different skin colors.  What do you say when kids say that?"

"Well," said Cameron, "I just tell them!  He's my brother because I adopted him!"

The Beginning, revisited

Last week, we had an amazing experience.  We took Matthew back to the hospital he was born at, so he could see where he was before he came home with us.  He's seen the photos and he always has questions -- where's that room?  where's that tiny bottle?  who took care of me? 

So I contacted a social worker at the hospital and told her what I wanted to do.  She came through in a BIG way!  Matthew was able to see the very room where we took our first family photo, the very nursery where Cameron first saw him, the very rocking chair that we first held him in.  The nurse who had taken care of him remembered him and wrote him a beautiful letter.  The social worker gave him a tiny baby bottle and a knit hat like the one he came home in.  Matthew was fascinated by it all and it brought back so many happy memories for the rest of our family.  And as soon as we got home, Matthew stretched the little hat over his great big head, filled the tiny bottle with water and requested that I rock and feed him like a tiny baby.  Which I did, but I will resist the urge to post the photo here, lest he be embarassed by it when he's a teenager!

All mixed up

Recently, we went to a large farmer's market -- we bought some fresh produce, enjoyed a cup of coffee and frantically searched for the bathroom since Matthew thinks that it is unnecessary to visit one except when you urgently, urgently need to. Thankfully, we located it in time. 

At one point, David and Matthew were walking a few paces ahead of Cameron and me.  Matthew's pants were on backwards, with the ties hanging behind him like a tail.  (What?  Like you've never gone out with your pants on backwards?  His shoes were on the right feet, which is pretty much never the case.)

As Cameron and I walked along, two women next to us pointed.  "Look!" said one. "His PANTS are on backwards!"

And, for a moment, I forgot that these women would probably never have guessed that the white woman walking next to them was the mother of the little black boy with the backwards pants.  For that moment, I don't know why, I just thought that they were talking to me and I answered with a laugh, "I know! He dresses himself in the mornings and he's so proud, I don't point out the backwards pants!"

It was only when I saw the stunned embarassment on their faces that I realized the misunderstanding.  So I smiled and Cameron and I went on to join my boy in his backwards pants!

Brothers at the Park

The boys and I hit the park today, where we ran into one of Cameron's school friends.  I'll refer to him as Takashi.  Takashi has met Matthew many times but today, after greeting both boys enthusiastically, he stared at Matthew quizzically.  Then he turned to me and said, "Is Matthew . . . is Matthew . . ."  English is Takashi's second language so I waited as he searched for the right words.  "Is Matthew . . . a REAL brother for Cameron?"

"Yes," I said.  "Cameron and Matthew are real brothers.  I think you are asking why Cameron and Matthew look different.  They are real brothers but they look different because we adopted Matthew.  Do you know what adoption is?"

"Noooo," answered Takashi.

"That means that Matthew didn't grow in my belly," I started.

But before I could finish Matthew jumped in.  "I grew in J's belly," he said authoritatively.

"Matthew grew in another mommy's belly," I agreed.  "Her name is J.  And Matthew looks a lot like her.  And after Matthew was born, he came home with us to be a part of our family."

"Oh!" said Takashi, still looked a bit bewildered.  But Matthew was grinning ear to ear.

A while later another mom said to me, "How old is he?"

"He's 2 1/2," I responded.

"Wow!" she said.  "He's so coordinated!  I've been watching him and he can do everything the big kids do!"  Then she pointed to Cameron.  "Is that his big brother?"

"Yes," I said.

"That must be it.  Big brothers always teach little brothers how to do stuff!"

At this, Matthew marched forward and pointed towards Cameron.  "THAT'S my big brother.  His name is Cameron," he said.

"Oh, his name is Cameron?" said the woman kindly.  "I could tell he's your brother.  You look just like brothers, the way you were chasing each other around and playing together."

I thought it was a lovely way for her to acknowledge that Cameron and Matthew are real brothers in so many important ways.

Transracial Adoption Playgroup and Bookclub

I'm going to depart from my usual format briefly.  I read a lot of adoption-related blogs and recently saw a blogger mention that she was considering starting a transracial adoption support group.  I left a comment but wanted to blog about it myself, too.  I don't know how many adoptive parents read my blog, but in case you're out there, I wanted to write about a group that a friend and I started last fall. 

When I met this friend, whom I'll refer to as "Janice," we immediately bonded.  She was the first real friend I made who had also adopted an African American child.  It was such a relief to be able to talk openly about our families, to understand each other's stories, hopes and worries without all of the explanation that usually is required!  Before too long, we had each met a few other moms like us and Janice and I started talking about how much fun it would be to get all the kids together.  But if you've ever been a part of a playgroup, you know that conversations go something like this:  "Hey, Janice, did you watch . . . Matthew!  Matthew, no! . . . just a minute . . . Don't put that in your mouth!  Eww, yucky!" and by the time you try to finish your conversation with Janice, you've forgotten what you were talking about and she's busy redirecting her child away from that one toy that every kid has decided they want to play with.  At the same time. It's not exactly a social opportunity for the parents.  So, we started thinking that we needed a group for the grown ups, too.

As a result, we started a transracial adoption playgroup and bookclub.  I think I speak for all of the families involved when I say it has been wonderful in more ways than I could ever have imagined.  Here's how ours works.

We meet once a month with the kids for a playdate -- a park in nice weather, one of our homes during the colder months.  We also meet once a month, grown ups only, for a bookclub.  We choose the books together and they are typically about transracial adoption or race or parenting.  Thus far, it has always been the moms who meet and those women have grown to be my good friends.  We discuss our book, but we also share our triumphs and challenges, adoption-related and just general life kind of stuff. 

Here's some of the things we did that I think have contributed to our success:

• We kept the group small enough -- 6 families with 11 kids -- that we all have gotten to know each other.
• We all have the same "kind" of adoption -- domestic adoptions of African American children.
• Our kids are all fairly close in range -- lots of preschoolers, with a few babies and slightly older kids.
• We're all super awesome.

Aside from the last item, I think you could have a really successful group that looked totally different than ours -- a large group with kids of all ages, or a group with different kinds of adoptions for example.  The awesomeness is crucial, however.

It's been such a fulfilling experience to get to know these other women, and it's been so much fun to see our kids play together.  I love to imagine them all, years from now -- our kids growing up knowing each other, knowing that they aren't the only black kid with a white family, being able to talk to each other about their unique challenges.  I feel so lucky to be a part of this group and just wanted to encourage anyone out there who is considering starting a similar group to do it!

Oh, and one more cool thing about playgroup?   The chance to play with other people's toys.

Open Adoption Roundtable #12

Call them resolutions, commitments, changes, or choices--how will you be proactive in the area of open adoption in 2010?


Our adoption didn't start off open.  In fact, it started off completely, totally, solidly closed.  This had not been our plan.  Through my graduate thesis on adoption and genetics, through tons of reading and tons of talking, David and I had concluded that open adoption would be in the best interest of our child.  We never really considered that we'd end up in anything other than an open adoption -- after all, in our profile we had made clear that we wanted an open adoption and we were told that most expectant mothers who were considering adoption wanted openness. 
 
When we adopted Matthew and were told that his first mom did not want any openness, we were surprised and saddened.  We struggled to adjust our imagined adoption to our real-life adoption.  And we decided that while we couldn't, by ourselves, create an open adoption, we could create an attitude of openness.  So, from the start, we talked openly with Cameron and with Matthew (even when he was too little to be aware), about adoption.  We talked about J. and the little we knew of her from the adoption agency.  We spoke of her with respect and love.  And we decided that we would always reach out to J. in any way that we could;  if there was any chance that J. wanted more openness, she would know that we wanted that, too. 
 
We began by writing letters to J and sending photos.  We didn't know if J. would ever choose to receive the letters and photos.  At least, I thought to myself, we can tell Matthew that we wanted J. to know about him.   Then, we learned that J. had decided to accept our updates.  At least, I thought, we can show him these updates and tell him that J. has read these stories, seen these pictures. We began to send monthly letters, stuffed with photos and funny stories.  In every single letter, I told J. how important she was to us and how much we wanted to hear from her.  "Matthew has such beautiful eyes," I'd write.  "I would love to be able to tell him who he looks like, who he got these big dark eyes from . . . " And after many letters to J., we received a letter back.  At least, I thought, Matthew will have this.  I wrote to J., telling her how much we cherished that letter, and how much we felt it would mean to Matthew in the future.  And I kept writing, and I kept sending photos.  And I told J. how much we would love to get more letters from her, or a photo, or an e-mail.  And sometimes I felt like I was asking for too much -- I mean, we weren't get any response and what did that mean? -- and then we received photos from her.  At least, I thought, Matthew will be able to see these, to know what she looks like. 
 
So now, after 2 years, we have moved from a closed to a semi-open adoption.  We're in contact with J. and we are encouraged that her biggest concern is the same as ours -- doing the right thing for Matthew.
 
So, for this year, my goals for our moving-towards-open adoption:
 
-- No matter what, I will maintain an attitude of openness.  I will welcome Matthew's questions, I will accept his feelings, and I will continue to tell him not just his adoption story but what I know of his birth story.
 
-- I will continue to try to grow our relationship with J.  I will continue to tell her how important she is to us and to Matthew.  I will keep on telling her why we want her to be a part of Matthew's life.  I will thank her for the openness she has offered, I will ask and hope for more openness but I will respect her timetable in getting there.
 
And I will hope that someday there are no At leasts left.  That someday, when Matthew has a question about J., he can ask her.  That someday, instead of showing him photos of J., he will know her.  And when people ask me why I would want her to be a part of our lives, I tell them:  Because Matthew is a part of our family.  And so is she.

Who's Dat?

Matthew is still fascinated by his "Family Book."  We stopped by the adoption agency the other day and he had it with him.  I chatted with a social worker briefly, handed off some stuff for J. and started gathering the boys to leave.  "I have dis," announced Matthew, holding his book out to the social worker. 

"Oh," she said kindly, "how nice!"  We flipped through a few pages, and pointed out photos of interest. 

I pointed to a photo of J.  "Who's this?" I said to Matthew.  He peered up at the social worker through his eyelashes, smiling shyly.  We waited a few seconds, then said our goodbyes. 

As we walked out, Matthew turned and shouted, with a big smile on his face, "That's J!"

The only person Matthew appears to have any difficulty in recognizing in the book is . . . me!  As we looked through the book a few days ago, he pointed out the people in this photo:

"Dat's Maffew," he said.  "And dat's Didi kissing Maffew.  And dat's . . . Grandma Linda!"

"No, Matthew," I said, "that's mama!"

He looked at me suspiciously and then replied slowly, "Nooooo.  Dat's Grandma Linda."

A few pages later we reached this photo, from the finalization in court.  "Der's Maffew with Daddy!" he cried, pointing.  "And dat's the judge!  And Didi!  Oh, and Auntie Stephanie is dere, too!"

Oh well, it's close enough.

Matthew's Favorite Book

For two years now, I've been planning to make Matthew a book of his adoption story.  I delayed and delayed, searching for just the right words, just the right pictures.  And then, a couple of weeks ago, I just decided to do it.  And I did.  All of a sudden, I knew what I wanted the book to say and I wrote it and ordered it! 

Yesterday, the finished product arrived in the mail.  Matthew and I sat down together on the couch to read it and he was fascinated.  He pointed to each picture, asking "Who's dat?" and delighting when the answer was "Baby Matthew!" 

When Cameron got home from school, Matthew hurried to get the book and show it to him.  "Family book," he explained.  "It about baby Matthew.  And it about J."  And it is -- it is the story of Matthew's birth, his adoption and his families. 

At bedtime, Matthew asked me to read "the J. book" and, when I finished, asked me to read it again. 

This morning, Matthew got the book down off the shelf, called for Cameron, and then both boys sat on my lap while I read the book.  This time, Matthew imitated himself in each photo.  "I looking at Daddy like this," he said, dropping his mouth open and staring up just like baby Matthew was doing in the photo.  "I sleeping, like this," he said, closing his eyes just like baby Matthew did. 

Cameron was also interested, excitedly saying, "I remember that!" as he looked at the photos of meeting Matthew at the hospital, bringing him home and going to court.  We read the book three times in a row. And I can't wait to read it again tonight!

The First Question

I don't write directly about adoption here very frequently.  Although it is a constant in our lives, much of our daily life has nothing to do with adoption.  Drinking aftershave, shoving raisins up your nose, getting cr8ive with the markers. . . that's kid stuff, not adoption stuff!  Plus, we consider alot of our "adoption stuff" private stuff, so we don't share it here. 

But, it also occurs to me that many of my readers (Three regulars -- hi mom! -- and at least two Google searches gone wrong a day! Go me!) don't know much about adoption.  Like this:  I am Matthew's mom.  Matthew also has another mom.  I am totally okay with this.  I want Matthew to know and love his other mom, too.  So we try, reaaaallllyyyy hard, to show that to Matthew.  We talk openly about his adoption and about his first family, we answer questions from Cameron and other inquisitive preschoolers, we wait for the questions from Matthew. We have lots of role models and co-conspirators, from our real-life friends in our transracial adoption group to open adoption bloggers like Dawn.



For quite a while now, Matthew has been able to tell you whose belly he grew in -- J's.  And he's been able to say that J. is his birth mama.  But that's about it.  No questions.  After all, he's two!
Then, a few weeks ago, I was rushing around the house.  "Matthew," I said, "we need to hurry!  Let's get your shoes on!  If we leave right now, we can drop off a letter for J. before we pick Cameron up from school!"  We hurried into the car and drove to the adoption agency.  Our adoption is currently semi-open, and we send letters and photos to Matthew's birth mom, J., through the adoption agency.  We pulled into the parking lot and I unbuckled Matthew.  "Look Matthew!  Here's the letter for J.!  Let's go drop it off!" I said.

We went inside, chatted briefly with the staff and then hustled back to the car to go get Cameron.  As we drove off, Matthew's voice came from the backseat.  "Where's the other mama?" he said.

"What?"

"Where's the OTHER mama?" he repeated.

"Ohhh!  You mean your other mama, J.?" I asked.  Slowly, I realized that when I was saying we were going to drop off a letter for J., Matthew must have been imagining that we'd be handing the letter directly to J.  It was the first time that I actually thought that Matthew understood that J. is a real person, not just a story we tell.

"Yeah, the other mama.  I want the other mama."

"I know, Matthew.  I know you want the other mama.  I'm sorry that you didn't get to see J.  She doesn't live here.  But J. is going to get our letter. She likes to hear about you, Matthew.  And she likes to see pictures of you.  Because she loves you so much."

"Yeah.  I want the other mama.  Oh!  And I want the Didi.  Go get Didi?"

"Yep.  Let's go get Didi."

So, Matthew's first question about adoption ends as quickly as it begins.  And we keep on talking.  And we keep on answering the questions as they come.  And, in the midst of it, we keep on being a family.  And blogging about raisins and aftershave.

Open Adoption Roundtable #8

So, there are a lot of people who blog about adoption.  And in particular, there are a bunch of open adoption bloggers who participate in a roundtable -- each blogging in response to a specific question.  I've wanted to participate for a long time, but each time the question is sent out it seems that I don't find the time or I don't really know how to answer the question.  You see, our adoption is not as open as many of the other bloggers, and not as open as I would like it to be.  So, sometimes, I don't feel like our semi-open adoption has given me the experience or insight needed to respond to the roundtable questions. But this time, when I read the question, I knew my answer immediately. "Write about a blogger (or bloggers) who influenced your real-life open adoption, and how."

When we first adopted Matthew, I think I had this idea in my head that other families who had chosen to adopt transracially would automatically have a lot in common with us.  I couldn't wait to meet other families like ours, and I assumed that those families would be like ours in more ways than just being a transracial adoptive family.  It was a bit of a surprise, then, to start to realize that there are lots and lots and lots of different kinds of people who adopt transracially and that some of them feel very differently than I do about issues involving race and adoption. 

Slowly, over time, I've built up a wonderful group of friends who have also adopted transracially.  I love to talk with these women, to listen to their stories, to learn from their experience and I love to see our kids playing together!  But before I found them, I found Dawn.  What first attracted me to Dawn's blog was that, like me, she has an older, biological child and a younger child who joined their family through transracial domestic adoption.  But the more I read of Dawn's blog, the more reassured I was that there were other families out there that were really like ours -- families who want their child's first family to be a part of their life, parents who think it is important to talk about race and fight against racism, parents who acknowledge that adoption involves grief and loss, parents who think critically about the ethics of adoption.  And Dawn made me think even more deeply about these things.  You see, Dawn's youngest daughter is several years older than Matthew.  When I read about her questions, when I see Dawn's responses to her, it helps me think not just about what we're doing now for Matthew, but what's coming.  Through Dawn, I've come to realize that I've made mistakes and I'll probably keep making them -- every parent does.  But by being open and honest and by acknowledging when I don't handle things the right way, I hope that Matthew and I can have the kind of relationship that I see between Dawn and her daughter. 

Dawn was like a support group for me before I built up my own real-life support group -- although I don't think she's aware that she is or ever was my support group!  I so appreciate that there are bloggers like Dawn, who are willing to share their experiences and to challenge me to be an even better parent.

Observation

A few nights ago, during dinner, Matthew held up his arm and observed it.  "Brown," he announced. "My skin is brown."  He looked over to me and asked, "Your skin is brown?"

And so it begins.  We read Matthew lots of books about adoption, about family and about skin color.  We tell him his adoption story and talk about his first family and how much they love him. But I'm pretty sure this is the first time that he's broached the topic himself. 

"Yes, Matthew, your skin is brown.  My skin is not brown, my skin is peachy.  Do you know who else has beautiful brown skin like yours?"

"Who?"

"J.  Do you know who J. is?"  (Note:  Matthew's story is his own, so I'm not going to be sharing his first family's names or details of his story here.)

Matthew thought for a moment, studying his arm, then smiled.  "J. is birf mama!"

"That's right!" I reply.  "J. is your birth mama!  And her skin is a beautiful chocolate brown color, just like yours is!" 

It's a pretty easy conversation to have right now -- pretty simple question, pretty simple answer.  But each time I tell Matthew his story or each time Cameron asks a question about adoption (typically a more challenging question!) or each time a curious preschooler wonders why Matthew doesn't look like me is training for the more in-depth questions and conversations to come.

A Short Note

As I think about my own wonderful family and the lovely weekend we just had, I am wishing for happiness for the many women who find Mother's Day painful -- women who have lost their mother, women who have lost a child, women who want more than anything to be a mother, women who are waiting to adopt. Most of all, I am wishing happiness and peace for Matthew's first mom and all the other mothers who have placed children for adoption.

It's confusing

Today, Matthew and I were out walking when a little girl spotted us. She was across the street, playing in her driveway and I saw her watching us. She was probably about five years old. "Hey!" she yelled. "Is that your black baby?"

This actually did not bother me in the least. Questions from children rarely do. They are refreshingly candid compared to adults, who ask far more invasive and offensive questions. Many children have asked me why Matthew doesn't look like me. Never once has a child asked me why we chose to adopt or why his first mom made an adoption plan or how much he "cost."

Plus, kids just ask, they don't attempt to pretty it up. The little girl didn't start out by shouting, "I've always thought of adopting . . . " or "Oh, he's adorable! I'm just curious . . . " She cut to the chase.

"Yes," I replied. "This is my baby."

A puzzled frown crossed her face. "Why's he so brown and you're so . . . light?" she asked.

I answered as I usually do with young children. "He's adopted. That means that he grew in another mommy's belly. She has brown skin just like he does."

"Wait. Are you his mommy?"

"Yes, I'm his mommy. But he has another mommy, too. The mommy whose belly he grew in before he was born."

This little girl was confused, but bound and determined to figure this out. "So HIS mommy is YOUR mommy, too?" she asked.

"No . . . "

"Wait, so where IS his other mommy?"

This was a complicated question to answer, as there are many possible answers. "Well, she's not here. She doesn't live with us."

"So, where does YOUR mommy live?"

"Uh, my mommy lives in Michigan."

"Not on this street?"

"No," I said.

She pointed at Matthew. "So, does his other mommy live on this street?"

"No."

"OK. Wait. So . . . why is his skin so brown and yours isn't?"

At this point, all those years of graduate school kicked in and I had to resist the urge to start talking about melanin and inheritance of quantitative traits. Finally, I settled on something a bit simpler. "We were just born that way," I said.

"Oh. OK!" she smiled and went back to playing.

Now to come up with a simple line for the curious grown-ups.

A Cryptic Discussion about Adoption

Today, Cameron decided that he and Matthew would be puppies and I would be a little girl who wanted a puppy. He turned over some laundry basket (Empty! Because I am caught up on laundry! I am awed by myself.) to use as puppy cages/beds/play areas. "Woof, woof," he said.

Matthew quickly got in on the act. "Woof, woof," he cried in a much higher pitch.

"Oooooh, look at these cute puppies!" I played along. "I want to bring a puppy home with me! I want a puppy that is cuddly." Cameron quickly crawled across the room to snuggle up to me. Matthew followed.

"And I want a puppy that is playful!" Cameron scampered around the room, woofing and crawling in a laundry basket. Matthew, apparently a dog who knows a few tricks, stood up and ran around the room on two legs. Former circus dog perhaps?

"Oh, this little puppy is so sweet! I love his shiny yellow fur," I said, patting Cameron on the head. "But this little puppy is very cute, too. I love his curly black fur," I continued, giving Matthew a pat on the head. "I don't know which puppy to bring home!"

Cameron crawled over to Matthew, hugged him, and whined. "What is this puppy's name?" I wondered.

"Albert. Woof, woof," said Cameron.

"And what is this puppy's name?"

"Way-chee-yo!" squealed Matthew.

"Well, Albert and Waycheeyo seem to love each other very much. They must be good friends."

"Woof, woof," said Cameron. "Brothers!"

Now, occasionally I will attempt to elicit from Cameron what it is like for him to have a brother that is not immediately identifiable as his brother. Cameron hears all of the comments we hear, and gets plenty of questions from curious preschoolers when Matthew and I come to school. But my attempts at discussion are usually fruitless, so I have found imaginary play to be useful.

"Brothers! But you can't be brothers! You don't look anything alike!" I protested.

Cameron put a paw around Matthew's shoulder, pointed at Matthew and then himself and replied, "Woof, woof! Brothers! Adopted!"

Well, I was sold. Both puppies came home with me, although Albert subsequently received a time-out for whining for his dinner and Waycheeyo had an accident on the floor. I think we're headed for puppy boot camp.

On a serious note

As I've mentioned before, this blog is listed as one of Adoptive Families magazine's "Adoption Blogs We Love!" And, in the latest issue, they've included this post I wrote about Cameron's awareness of being a multiracial family. After a few moments of heady self-congratulation, it suddenly occurred to me that people might actually come to my blog. And, in all likelihood, they’d be expecting it to be about adoption and, well, it's usually not. Which got me thinking about why it's not.

Some people blog about their adoption process. I didn't . . . it was too personal, I guess. The decisions you are making during the adoption process are big and I didn't want them clouded by outside opinions or pressure.

Some people blog about the need for adoption reform, the ethics of adoption, adoption policy. I love reading these blogs and always learn something. But I'm still learning and forming opinions about those topics. Plus, there are way more eloquent and thoughtful people out there writing those blogs -- I defer to them.

I mainly started blogging to write about my family – simply to share the fun and the frustrating moments of motherhood. And writing about my family will sometimes mean writing about adoption and sometimes not. Because, paradoxically, I am thinking about adoption both all the time and almost never.

Here's the adoption stuff that is "all the time." I think about Matthew's birth mom every single day. Each day, I tell Matthew how much he is loved by mommy, by daddy, by Cameron, by grandma and grandpa and by his birth mom. I tell Matthew his adoption story and I think of how that story will someday become a conversation and how that conversation will grow over time. I think nearly constantly about how to be the best mom I can be to both of my boys, and in our family that will always include how we talk about adoption and race. I think about how to teach others about adoption and multiracial families, how to answer people’s questions, how to kindly correct their missteps, how to advocate for Matthew. So, in many ways, adoption is always on my mind – it isn’t just how Matthew joined our family, it’s changed our family in so many ways and it will always be a part of our daily life.

Here's the "almost never" stuff. I don't look at Matthew and think "adopted." I did at first in a "Wow, can you believe it?" kind of way. And, of course, every time we went out in public for a long time I was hyperaware that we were now a family that attracted a lot of attention. But now, I see Matthew and I think about how adorable his giggle is and how tough it is to keep him out of trouble and a million things other than how he came to be our son. These days, I sometimes even forget that other people see us any differently until, inevitably, someone asks, "Is he adopted?" or "Where's he from?" I think when people first meet us, and often for a very long time afterward, the main way they think of our family is “the white family with the adopted black baby.” And that, I can tell you, is “never” stuff for me. As much as adoption is a part of our daily life, it doesn’t define our family.

So, if you came to this blog to read about adoption, you sometimes will. Most of the time, what you'll see are stories about a happy family with two beautiful boys who are funny, smart, challenging and always giving me writing material! A family that, by they way, was built through adoption.

Fame & Fortune, Here I Come!

Recently, Adoptive Families magazine let me know that my blog is listed as one of their "Adoption Blogs We Love!" So, thanks Adoptive Families and hello to the readers who found their way here through AF!

One Wonderful Year

Today is the one year anniversary of Matthew's homecoming! On the one hand, I can hardly remember life without him. On the other, it seems impossible that a year has passed. Matthew has brought so much joy to our lives. We feel so lucky and blessed to be his parents! Here are a few shots that show Matthew as he really is:

Full of laughter,

constantly exploring,

and always, always on the go!

Today Cameron said, "Matthew's first mommy probably thinks about him alot. I bet she misses him." I don't write much about Matthew's first family, but I think of them every day and I think Cameron is right. Matthew's birthmom must have loved him a whole lot to make the decision she did and I hope that when she thinks of him she is comforted to know how loved he is.

Uh, yeah.

This weekend, I took the boys to a park and later to the pool with a friend and her two boys. After hearing the same question repeatedly throughout the day, the friend said, "I can't believe how many people have asked you if Matthew is adopted!" Yes, it's true -- each and every day someone says one of the following:

"Your baby is beautiful! Is he adopted?"
"Your baby is beautiful! Is she adopted?"
"Did you adopt him?"
"Did you adopt her?"

or, the always classy,

"Is that a little adopted child?"

In case you have forgotten, I'll just remind you of what we all look like:


Typically, I smile and say, "Yes, he's ours through adoption!" Depending on the tone of the question and my mood, however, I do sometimes fantasize about other retorts including a puzzled, "Why?" or a glance to each child followed by, "Which one?" Can you imagine their faces? (No, I've never done it. I'm far too polite.)

In general, I don't mind the question too much, unless it is followed with prying ("Did his mom have other kids?"), platitudes ("Isn't he lucky!") or stereotypes ("Was his mom really young?") I'm still on the search for a nice way to say, "None of your business."

Sometimes, the question is asked by someone who, it turns out, is in the midst of the adoption process. I love these questions because it is always nice to talk about adoption with someone who is actually looking for answers, not just satisfying their curiosity. At the pool, I was approached by a potential adopter. She swam up, a little sunburned face and wet red hair, and gave the customary introduction, "Did you adopt him?"

"Yes," I replied. (Yep, went for the simplest answer.)

"I'm going to adopt someday," she said. But then, this, "Maybe even a black kid. I like black kids."

I couldn't get too bent out of shape -- she was about eight years old. It actually reminded me of my sister, Stephanie, throwing a tantrum when we went to visit my mom and new baby brother in the hospital. This was back in the day of shared rooms and my mom's roommate happened to be African American. "I want the black baby, I want the black baby!" Stephanie screamed. And, no, we didn't get to take the black baby home. We got stuck with Zack.

Oh, well. He's not too bad.

Cutie curls

LOOK how cute Matthew's hair is! So, here's something you may not have thought about: When you adopt transracially, you don't know how to take care of your own child's hair. We have experimented for 11 months with different hair products. Today, a friend who has also adopted an African American child let us try out her hair products on Matthew. And they worked! Look at those gorgeous little corkscrew curls! So, do you want to know how many products it takes to maintain this look? FIVE. That's right, five hair products for one little boy! I don't think I've EVER owned five hair products at the same time for my hair!

A mystery

Recently, a classmate of Cameron's approached us, pointed to Matthew and said, "He's adopted!" Later, I asked Cameron, "How do you think she knew that Matthew was adopted?" Cameron looked at me, wide-eyed, and responded, "I have NO idea! Maybe I told her one time?"