Time

13 months ago. The first picture we ever saw of our girl.

4 months ago. When I first held her and knew I'd never have to let go. Ever again.

One month ago. On our first family vacation.

One week ago. Celebrating Ethiopian New Year. With friends. Real, beautiful friends.

Taken Away

During the past year, I've heard many versions of "well all people go through things" and "all children have special circumstances."
Yes. People do.

But.

But, just imagine.

Imagine not having a primary language*.
Imagine not being able to express your thoughts into words- even to yourself.

Imagine if all the food you really like was taken away. Even familiar foods are different. Not in great ways.
I often imagine it to be similar to the time a restaurant in Barcelona put honey in my burrito. Inedible. To me.

Imagine if people laughed and you didn't know why. You bellowed out a good one to join in and people looked at you strange.

People walked at an impossibly fast pace. Spoke at an impossibly fast rate. Ate at an impossibly fast pace. Hurried you along constantly.

Imagine if you were scared. More scared than you've ever been. People wanted from you. Hugs, smiles, laughs. Usually you were unsure of what or how.

All games were different. You got yelled at for things like simply getting in line.

Imagine if this came after you were hurt. A few times. Abandoned. Left. Given away. Stressed.
Imagine if this affected you, your brain**, so severely that intense emotions were triggered quickly.
Sometimes the emotions were so intense they shut you down. Completely.

Imagine if you didn't know where you were going next or when. To the store, to a new school, to a new mom, to a new home or to a new country.

Maybe it would be easier, if you weren't trapped in your brain without words. In any language. Because the language of the family, friends and strangers around you kept changing as the family, friends and strangers kept changing. As soon as you've started to get a loose grasp of one language, the people and the language change. So do the rules. Maybe it would be easier if you had the same mommy to hold and cuddle you during it. Maybe it would be easier if you could just eat your favorite food, prepared the way you like it. Maybe it would be easier if...everything and everyone you ever knew wasn't taken away from you including many of your thoughts. Maybe it would be easier if you weren't so scared. So emotional. So lost.

But,

All people go through things. All children have different challenges.

*Older adopted children spoke more English than L1 within 6 months of adoption (Masters, 2000). Expressive L1 is mostly gone after 3-6 months, comprehension by 1 year (Gindis, 1999), yet after only 3-6 months a new language is very basic. Aster is a genius and is quite creative in expressing herself in English- but, her thoughts are WAY more sophisticated than her words are in any language. She is very frustrated that she can't translate because she can't "hear" her old languages. She also dreams in English, a language she's been exposed to for only 4 months.
**Hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) Stress Axis, abnormal HPA regulation = poor cognitive abilities, emotional functioning, memory (specifically targeting hippocampus- short to long term storage), growth stunting (Mason & Narad, 2005). A difficult time regulating hyper responsive stress hormone system is similar to post traumatic stress (Glennen, 2009). Length of time spent in orphanages correlated with abnormal HPA response 6 years after adoption (Gunnar, et al 2001).

First Day Photos

First Day of School

Highs:
Catching Aster take an extra peek of herself in the mirror; seeing her eyes twinkle with happiness at how she looked in her uniform.
Seeing my eyes fill with tears during the drive to school and discussing how they were going to make me feel better,
"I'm going to draw you a beautiful picture to make you feel better mommy" and
"I'm going to tell you about all the good food I eat for lunch to make you happy" (Yes, I do realize that them comforting ME is a pathetic parenting low- but, I'm still proud of how sweet they are).
Aster's prideful posture as she walked into her classroom.
Aster's eyes when she saw her name on her desk.
Aster telling me "Mommy, I have to tell you something" followed by a whispered, "I'm going to miss you today"
Judah running to hug his sister one last time and following it up with a big, exaggerated kiss on her cheek (not a high of the day for Aster).
Catching Aster doing an over her shoulder last look, followed by a recommitment to the proud posture.
Judah telling his teacher, "I've already given my parents hugs and kisses. I'm ready to play."
In response to my, "Have fun today!" Judah shrugging with confidence and saying matter-of-factly, "Of course I will."
Spying Judah run full speed onto the playground and hearing his bigger than life laugh/cheer/hoot boom.
Knowing that Judah would be ok.
Low:
My sweet girl getting her heart hurt, "I KNEW how to play mom. I knew the game. They didn't want to high five me. They were being bad. So sad I tell teacher, 'I don't feel better' so I can stop playing and just look."

Mammoth

We go to Mammoth every summer. It was Aster's first vacation. Judah and Aster loved fishing and hiking and playing. I feel so lucky to have both of my babies. Home. Safe. Happy.
Looking back at our transition (knowing very well that we're just at the beginning of it), I realize that Judah has had a much tougher time than I ever anticipated. My sparkling boy, the one that can entertain any room with his laugh. That one. Had a very, very hard time. He's so sensitive. I should have known.

Watching their relationship with each other evolve and change and mature, has been so beautiful. Although it's been tough stuff, I'm very grateful that they have each other.

My babies are such magical, sweet-hearted people. I know I've said it a billion times, but I'm lucky. During most of our vacation, I was just in awe. Here's a little look at some random moments during our vacation.



Such a different little girl than what the pictures showed almost exactly a year ago. It's been a year since we first saw that face...

Arnold/Yosemite/Mammoth

My brave girl

People often ask how my girl is doing. In my opinion, what she has gone through, is so extraordinary, that unless you've experienced something similar, it's impossible to comprehend. I know I can't, and in many ways, I feel closer to her than anyone else on earth.

I know that there is a very playful, happy, generous and brave soul- that was/is scared. Very, very scared. Parenting a scared child is hard. Fear manifests in all different ways. Sometimes it tries to control. Sometimes it freezes. Sometimes it cries. Sometimes it hugs. Sometimes it's angry. Sometimes it's sad, but too scared to admit it for fear of rejection. Sometimes it fakes being happy. Two months ago, in Ethiopia, the fear was so thick, so completely overwhelming, that it completely paralyzed her at times. For hours.

I recently watched the video of when she first walked through the doors of her new home. When I experienced it, I thought it was a relatively good moment. It was. For me.
Now I look at the terrified little girl and my heart breaks. It just breaks as I watch the high-pitched-little-fear-squeal that was meant to fool us into believing she was happy. My heart breaks as I watch her eyes shift quickly and fearfully around. It just breaks as I watch her stiff body posture. Her fearful jump when the stuffed elephant trumpeted followed by the high pitched squeal.

Aster loves people and is quite social. More than anything she wants lots and lots of friends. Balancing the fear with her social wants is a daily game.

Now that she's been home for over two months, I am starting to see the layers of the girl I love. The fear, still strong, seems to be starting to break away in small chunks (not melting, because there is nothing even about the process), I get to see that my giggly girl is also a comedian. Similar to how one may learn about an infant, I've learned the smiles, which mean very different things. I've learned the cries, which mean very different things.
I've learned whether the look straight into my eyes is going to be followed with a crossing of her arms and a huff or a secretly lipped "I love you mama." Whether the huff is a plea for playful attention or a broken heart because I somehow made her feel badly.
It was hard to not know. To not even have a small clue.

It's been so important these last few months to have some friends that know. That know my Aster's heart. Friends that have helped to chip away a little bit of that fear. More about our friends, the friends that know, later...

Conversation, Highs and Lows

Judah, "I like red trucks. Red is my favorite color."

Aster, do you have a favorite color?

Aster, "Yes. The color of Bob Marley. Bob Marley is chocolate like me. Chocolate my favorite."

Judah, "Hey! I'm chocolate too. Aster's chocolate, I'm chocolate. Mommy's vanilla. Daddy's vanilla. Everyone else is vanilla."

Shovel

I love watching Aster play.
She is slow, gentle and strong. She goes across the monkey bars so gracefully. She moves carefully. So thin you can see every muscle in her back. She's beautiful. Aster likes the slide. She slowly climbs up and carefully sits as she's told. Feet first. I think the best is watching her swing. It's when she just seems free. No rules to follow.

There was only one other family at the park. A mom and three kids. And a billion sand toys. All huddled together.

Aster walked slowly over, careful as always. She sat down next to one of the kids. Barely louder than a whisper she said, "I'm going to make injera" and picked up one of the many shovels laying about.

Before I could even start to tell her about asking to borrow, the mother screamed, "Tell her to put it down or give it back!"
In shock from the urgency and horrid delivery, I paused.
She repeated her request.
I told Aster to please give the shovel to a child (not even knowing which one, because all of them had their hands full of toys and none seemed interested in what Aster had).
The mom instructed one of the children to take the shovel as my daughter sadly reached her arm out offering the shovel to whoever would take it.
Her children ignored her.
Again, she instructed and one of the children finally looked up and took the shovel.

Aster slowly walked back to the slide. I met her and tried my best to make the park fun as the strange lady and her kids stared at us.

My children felt it.
Judah whispered, "I want to go home."
Aster heard Judah and quickly joined in, "Me, too."

Once we were in the car Aster had an idea, "Tomorrow let's bring my sand toys I got from birthday party. I will share with any kids. I'm nice."

Yes, you are baby. Yes. You. Are.

It can easily be argued that the mother could have screamed over my child touching her children's toys if my child was white. That's the thing about racism, it's never completely clear. It's a feeling deep down in the gut. It's in the eyes. It's too easily dismissed. If you ask my children what happened today, they'd tell you they met "a mommy that was not good at sharing."
If they could express it, I think they may also tell you there was something way worse about it than just being shovel-selfish.

Bob

We knew Aster loved Bob Marley.

She says, "I want Bob Marley" (and "I like fish") at least 39584 times a day.

Every single time she gets in the car her Bob Marley music request is heard.
She asks to look at his picture on the computer.
She says she wants hair like Bob Marley.
She sings versus to his songs constantly.

buufloooo solder
stand up stand up, stand up for your righ
I sho the sheeeri

She told us that her bad dreams would stop if she had a picture of Bob Marley in her room. He would help her.

Yesterday she found out that he was no longer living.

We didn't expect for her reaction to be, well, just SO sad.
We were all heart broken for her. She said she just wanted to go home and cry. She silent cried during the hour drive home.

She had her first crush. On Bob Marley. Now he's dead. My poor girl. Why can't even that just be easy.

Aster still wants the poster in her room.
She says she still wants to kiss his picture. He's still her boyfriend.
I hope she's right. I hope he takes away those dreams.