Visit from Debbie

I haven't posted in a while, I know.  The thing is this:  Matthew is two.  I'm spending inordinate amounts of time setting the timer for timeouts and taking away his tricycle and toys.  Sadly, I have yet to discover his currency.  He has figured out that calling me names ("You're a poo poo!" and "You're not a big boy!" were his go-to taunts) just got him a longer time out, so now he shouts from time out, "You're a MOMMY!" in a tone that makes it clear that this is no compliment.  The one thing that keeps him out of trouble is to keep him constantly, endlessly active which is . . . well . . . sort of exhausting. 

Enter my best friend, Debbie. 

Debbie visited from New York City this past weekend and, it turns out, she has endless energy as well.  The boys LOVE her.

Our weekend together was fantastic and we're all missing her terribly. Debbie, Matthew wants you to know that he thinks you're DA BEST.  And me?  I'm Mommy.

Cameron Lets 'Em Down Easy

Cameron just relayed a story to me over dinner which apparently occured some months ago, but went unreported to me.

"Remember how I told you that Radhika broke my sunglasses?" he said casually.

"Uhhhh, yeah, I think I remember that," I replied.

"Well, she used to be my friend but then she started being mean to me.  It all started because she wanted me to be her boyfriend."

"Reeeaaallly," I said.

"Yeah, and I said, 'Well, I'm your friend but I'm not your boyfriend.  Plus, I think it is a little too young to be boyfriends and girlfriends.' And then she ripped my sunglasses off my face and threw them on the ground!"

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.

Big and Little

As the weather warmed up, we pulled out Cameron's old tricycle for Matthew to try.  Alas, he was still too short and was unable to reach the pedals.  "Oh well, maybe by the end of the summer," I said.  But Matthew would have none of it.  He is a Big Boy now, and he would find a way to ride the tricycle.  And, incredibly, he did.  He sits way forward, more on the bar then the seat, and leans back and forth as he pedals but the boy can MOVE!

With Cameron we have the opposite problem.  We pulled out his bike and he's way too big for it!  He's making due with a loaner from a friend at the moment.  Not only has he grown in height, but we discovered that last year's helmet didn't fit either!  He tried mine on and either he has a very large head or I have a very small one because it fit perfectly!

While most of our biking involves me chasing Matthew up and down the block, we have hit the bike trail once and I'm hoping we put on some miles this summer!

Fun with Friends and Fairies

After a weekend of visiting with our families in Michigan, we met up with some old college friends and their kids in Ann Arbor.  We were participating in our first Volkssporting event -- the 5K Fairywalk.  Five grown ups and six kids, on a mission to find the tiny fairy doors hidden throughout the city. 

The fairy doors were cool, but what was cooler for the boys was that they made some new friends.  Alex and Cameron walked together the entire time, chatting away about Legos.  No one complained about sore feet, no one whined that they couldn't go on, no one begged for snacks, no one even complained about the brief rain shower -- they were too busy comparing notes on the merits of Lego Aquaraider as compared to Lego Atlantis.

Matthew also found a companion in Jameson.  Matthew rode in the stroller for perhaps 1K and spent the rest of the time running, jumping and laughing with his funny new pal.

This meant that we grown-ups, between screaming "STOP!" and patching up various injuries, had time to catch up on what we've all been up to and how old we've gotten.

At one point, we herded all the children down an alley to take a group photo with the graffiti, which was really cool until Cameron said, "What does this say?, 'For a good ffff . . .' " and I shouted, "NOOOOO!  Don't read that!" to Cameron's shock.  I'm pretty sure it's the first time I've ever told him NOT to read something.

The walk was amazing and we are already planning to make it up to Ann Arbor for next year's event.  The best part though?  When the walk was done and we got in the car for the looooong drive home, Matthew was asleep in one block.

Developmentally Appropriate

Matthew has begun testing out some charming, developmentally appropriate (I keep repeating that phrase to myself over and over, "developmentally appropriate.") new tricks.  He'll take something that clearly belongs to Cameron -- his bear, Henri, for example -- and say, "Dis is MY bear.  Dis is my bear forever and ever and ever!"  Cameron, in the tradition of oldest siblings everywhere, then screams, "No!  Mommy!  Matthew says that Henri is his bear!  He's MY bear!"

Or one of us will say, "I love you Matthew!" and he'll reply with a sweet smile, "I don't love you."  Well, actually, he tried that a few times before I taught him that there are two acceptable responses to "I love you," and they are "I love you, too" or "Thank you."  So now he says, "I don't love you.  Oops!  I mean I DO love you."

Yesterday, Matthew tried out a new one.  At the lunch table he smiled and said, "Mama loves me." 

"Yes, I love you, Matthew," I answered.

"Daddy loves me," he continued.  "And Cameron?  Cameron does NOT love me."

Now, if there is one thing that Cameron is clear on it is that he loves Matthew, in his words, "more than my heart can hold."  So when Matthew declared that Cameron does not love him, Cameron looked devastated.  "Matthew," he said softly, "I DO love you.  I love you from the bottom of my heart.  You're my brother."

"Oh," said Matthew.  "OK!"

Gross is Good

We had a wonderful Easter weekend and are now enjoying spring break.  Yesterday, I took the boys to the museum to see the Grossology exhibit. 

I dressed them in matching t-shirts, figuring it would be easier to keep track of them that way.  Then I had this sudden vision of losing track of one of the boys and approaching a security guard.  "I've lost one of my kids," I'd say.  Then I'd point at the remaining boy, "He looks nothing like this one, but is wearing the same shirt."  Luckily, I did not lose either boy the whole day although I did at one point chase Matthew under a chain with a "CLOSED" sign and up a staircase.  Ah well, these things happen.  Right?

The whole museum was fantastic, but the Grossology exhibit, as expected, was a big hit.  The boys pretended to be sucked into a nostil.  "Hold on to the septum for dear life!"

They climbed into an open mouth, slid down the esophagus and rolled around in the stomach for a bit, digesting. 

 I expected it would be hours before I'd see them again -- those intestines are miles long, for goodness sake! -- but apparently the exhibit had had some radical surgery and the stomach emptied directly into the rectum.  Yes, I said rectum.  The boys gleefully climbed through the tunnel crowing, "Now we're poop!"

It didn't get any classier from there either.  But, boy, was it fun!