'Tuning' In

December 18, 2009

I took my kids Christmas shopping with me, and their pre-planned reward for behaving was that they could each pick out a toy at Toys 'R Us (okay, so I'm desperate - but it worked!).

Lauren picked out a 'toy' guitar - she wants to be a rock star.  She doesn't need lessons because she is fully capable of teaching herself.  Hmmmm........  It was a sparkling pink six string guitar . . . with real strings . . . that needed to be tuned.  Now we are in trouble, I thought.  Ward and I are about as musically gifted as a Canada Goose at a Lune family sing-along.  Not to be deterred, I popped open my laptop and did a Google search on "guitar tuning" - there were over 6 million hits!  I chose one that had a video lesson on guitar tuning.  Here goes....
   "The easiest way to tune your guitar is with an electronic tuner..."  DUH!  If I had an electronic tuner, would I be on the internet at 10:30 at night with a pink guitar on my knee?  Moving on.... let's try, Standard Guitar Tuning.
   "You can get a tuning fork, this is an A tuning fork.  The way you can tell that it is an A tuning fork is that it has an A-440 on it.  440 happens to be the tuning frequency of the string and that's how you know it's an A tuning fork.  You can get these at any music store."  WOW - they must have been sold out at Toys 'R Us.

Fine tuning my search on Google, I tried guitar tuning for dummies.  Only 127,000 hits - not nearly as many dummies out there.  Proud to be one of them! This was more like it - Tune Your Guitar to Itself, how hard could that be?  I've paraphrased this method below.
To tune a guitar to itself, use the relative method - tune all the strings in relationship to each other. (Cool) Choose one string as the starting point — say, the 6th string (Is that from the top or the bottom?). Leave the pitch of that string as is; then tune all the other strings relative to that 6th string by using the fifth-fret method. (I am fretting all right!)

The fifth-fret method derives its name from the fact that you almost always play a string at the fifth fret and then compare the sound of that note to that of the next open string. You need to be careful, however, because the fourth fret (the fifth fret's jealous understudy) puts in a cameo appearance toward the end of the process. 

English please!! Clearly, these particular dummies are pretty smart.  I didn't have a hope.

I worked on that guitar for another hour or so..... and then went to bed.  It didn't sound half bad.

The next morning, Lauren was playing her guitar upstairs in the hallway outside her room.  I strolled by and noticed that she was turning all of the knobs that loosen and tighten the strings.  

I panicked, "Lauren, what are you doing?" I stammered.  

She didn't even look up, as she earnestly said, "I'm tuning it in to country."

What dis?

December 13^th, 2009

Overheard at Co-op this week.....

"Mawm, what dis..... diapers?!"

"NO, not diapers."

"Mawm...what?"

"Nothing Faven, please quiet...... oush!"

"What Mawm, YOU diapers........ ha ha ha ha ha ha"

What kind of mother takes her curious, loud, english language learning daughter grocery shopping - for pads?? Oh, that would be ME. Yup.

Ethiopian Moment

November 27, 2009

Faven and I had just finished an hour at an International Adoption Seminar - we were the panel, presenting our adoption experience. By the end of it, she was bored, tired and hungry. Once we settled in the van, I handed her her snack bag.

"No", not hungry", she whined. "Tired" she groaned, as if she was in pain.

"Okay, have a sleep" I muttered.

Several minutes later, as I was traveling down Crowchild Trail, I checked the rear view mirror to see how she was doing. I couldn't see her at all. I imagined she was slumped over asleep, but couldn't exactly turn around and check while doing 80 km/hr in traffic. I adjusted the mirror downwards, and her seat was empty - and so, it appeared, were all of the other seats. I stole a quick glance and saw Faven lying face down across the back seat, sound asleep.

"FAVEN!!........... WHAT are you doing?" I hastened.

"What Mom? Sleeping." she offered with a tone that said, Are you blind - or daft?

"Dangerous!" I stammered.

Maintaining my cruising speed, I inched over to the inside lane, looking around for somewhere to stop....... there wasn't anywhere. "Faven, seat belt." I managed, more calmly than I felt.

"Mawm, tired", she complained, starting to cry.

"Faven, Canada, seat belt, Ethiopia, no seat belt. Seat belt NOW!"

She sat up and put her seat belt on, then proceeded to lie back down again. I started to protest and then thought better of it. I had survived without seatbelts, she would be just fine.

Our first month

November 18, 2009

Our first month in Canada with Faven has passed. There have been some real ups and downs, and lots of learning about who we are and what our strengths and weaknesses are. Faven is extremely happy, delightful and adaptable; she is also strong-willed, confident, funny, energetic and athletic.

In the last week, we have finally been able to return to many of our favorite foods - Faven is happily eating most of what we make for supper. Breakfast and lunch are still a challenge, but she is a tremendous fruit eater, so that helps. We are still enjoying our share of Ethiopian food, as the Ethiopian community was able to find a woman who would come into our home two afternoons a week, to help out with everything Ethiopian from cooking, translation, grocery shopping - what Faven likes and doesn't like, and some child care, so that I can start to think about getting out on my own. Whew! Faven is enjoying the opportunity to easily speak to another person - the first day Bethlehem (Betty) was here, Faven did not stop talking for four hours!

Over the past week, Faven has moved out of Lauren's bedroom and into her own room, which has meant that Lauren has moved out of our closet! Our two girls are not well suited for sharing a room - Lauren, our ONLY introvert needs some space to call her own, where she can close the door and re-charge if she needs to. (I SO get that!) Faven is extremely happy to have 'things' to call her own, and has smoothly transitioned to her own space. Thankfully, we are all now sleeping fairly well.

Faven and I have started Grade 4 (very part time) at Edgemont School, where both Lauren and Yohannes are currently going. We have found an amazing grade four class that is small (20 kids), is culturally and ethnically diverse and has a teacher and a full time teacher’s aid (who is from Tanzania). We go to school every morning from 0900 - 1030, it is fun! Also, twice per week, Faven has a two hour 'tutoring' block, in our home, with a woman from Ethiopia, who continues teaching Faven reading and writing in Amharic, as well as teaching her ESL and music. Also, once a week both of our Ethiopian born children are attending "Ethiopian classes", which are organized and facilitated by the Ethiopian community - they are learning Amharic, history, cultural traditions and songs. Faven is a 'youth' volunteer in the program and loves it. I fill in the rest of her education, which is mostly about living in Calgary, Canada, what our community looks like, and basic literacy and numeracy - with alot of physical activity thrown in to keep us sane. Two weeks ago, I was able to get Faven registered for soccer, and she is showing her prowess in that area (just like her Mom!). It is such a joy to watch her play, and see how much she enjoys this sport and being with other girls.

For our part, as parents, we are confused and befuddled MOST of the time. All our 'at-home' kids are showing us many, many different behaviors, which challenge our patience and create chaos on a daily basis. However, it is only brief moments that are challenging; as a whole, everyone is handling the change and transition pretty well. We will over the next weeks and months start to build in time away from our crew, and that will go a long way to re-energizing and connecting.

Thank you for walking along with us. Wendy and Ward

The Game is Bond...

November 8, 2009

A wise parent to five children recently said to me, during one of my discouraging moments, “It is not your job to make your children like you.” Huh, I thought, If they don’t like me, how can the love me, respect me, abide by me - Oh, wait I am getting mixed up with my marriage vows.

What are we trying to accomplish as parents, I pondered?

Right now, I am engrossed in Bonding 101; Faven only arrived in Canada 28 days ago, the equivalent of only one menstrual cycle! And the days are about as predictable as my hormonal mood swings! At this point, my ‘like-ability’ is all I have; it is inherent in a parent-child bond, isn’t it?

Truth be told, in my 13 years as a parent, my ‘like-ability’ has been my greatest asset - or liability, depending on who you ask. I started parenting with Kristin and Fraser when I married their father. Without a single labour pain I was delivered into step parenting with only the skills of a complete ‘wanna-be’. In the beginning I counted on my fun spirit, my love of kids and my ‘like-ability’. Of course I tried hard to get them to like me, who wouldn’t? Thankfully, my efforts paid off in short order and I quickly became a member of their expanding family; they coined the name of ‘bonus parent’ for me, and they certainly became bonus kids in my life and my heart.

My next sojourn into parenting started at the beginning - a birds and bees kind of beginning with a little fertilizer thrown in! Getting pregnant was difficult, and I had already thought of what we might do if we were unable to expand our family in the traditional way. However, pregnancy came along in the summer of 2001, and we welcomed Lauren in March. Perhaps in the beginning, it didn’t matter if she liked me - what was not to like with those massive milk-producing mammary glands? We got along famously! Life was simpler then; now she has very strong ideas about what will happen during her day, who is in charge, and whether or not I am the best or worst mother she has ever had! I strive to be consistent, and that doesn’t always make my daughter happy - but I still want her to like me.

Next came Yohannes, a family addition through international adoption. He was almost 3 years old when he joined our family. Again, I relied on my ‘like-ability’ and to a lesser extent, my parenting experience. My skills as a parent and, it seemed as a human being, were inaccessible to me in those initial months. Regardless, Yohannes took to me like a monkey to bananas - which incidentally described our respective temperaments as well. Despite my personal struggles, he made me look like an adoptive parent aficionado.

My most recent bundle of joy is 10 years old, 61 pounds and, well, let’s just say her idle speed is much, much, faster than mine; she can go from 0 - 60 faster than Abby chasing a rabbit. (Faven definitely rivals Yohannes, energetically speaking!) There is a sign posted in our local coffee shop that reads: “If you leave your child unattended, we will give them an espresso and a puppy”; it describes my Ethiopian-born children to-a-tee. Both Yohannes and Faven wake each day with a zest for living and an excitement about that days ‘new puppy’. It is both exhilarating and exhausting.

Researchers believe that the first two steps in attachment are Senses and Sameness. In order to lay the ground work for a trusting and loving life-long relationship, my focus is on stimulating all of her senses by hugs, kisses, tickling, talking, reading books, styling her hair, massaging her shoulders and feet, and by trying to find things that we both enjoy, emphasizing our similarities. These would be very difficult to do with a child who did not at least like me. Right now, I can’t afford not to be liked. However, there is risk involved in this endeavor of mine. My ‘new baby’ is 10 years old, smarter than a newborn, and not adverse to grabbing the stick and running it for all it’s worth. Faven is testing me on a daily (hourly) basis. I don’t understand the emotions of a 10-year-old Ethiopian orphan, turned daughter, enough to know what is normal. She wants to wear her new shiny white shoes out in the snow; she doesn’t want to wear a jacket outside; she wants to wear her new indoor soccer shoes outside; she doesn’t want to eat macaroni/soup/sandwiches/oatmeal/toast/etc. for breakfast/lunch/supper; she doesn’t want to give her sister any time to herself; she wants to sprint right across the street, despite traffic; she wants to explore with wild abandon every time we go somewhere new; she wanders away from me and hides, and then she thinks it’s funny when I can’t find her; and she wants me to buy her $100 hair extensions - AND she wants them to be blond! (Oh, I could go on.... and on.....)

I know that this is normal child development stuff. But for us, it is so much more - she is cycling through all of this on a daily basis AND, when she does not get what she wants or doesn’t understand what exactly she is getting, the throttle gets stuck; she flails, she wails, she protests loudly and with vigor, in pure toddler-like fashion. It is reminiscent of (pre-motherhood) grocery store visits where I watched a toddler throw a tantrum that made the 2004 Tsunami look mild, telling myself with confidence THAT will NEVER happen to me! Faven is not at all intimidated by being out in public. Yes, go ahead and assume - embarrassing!! Thankfully, for the past two years I have been intentionally engaged in parenting workshops with an amazing facilitator, and I have some tools to handle most behaviors in a warm and firm way. It is still a challenge.

I am constantly doing battle within, questioning each and every move/decision/action and weighing it against my desire to build trust and ultimately create a lasting bond. Every decision I make seems to have attached to it a cost/benefit equation - but my ability to compute is hindered by the very anxiety that is created by this process.

But the jury is already in, Faven already engages in so many sensory activities with me - a testament to my ‘like-ability’! Who’da thunk?

Washing Machine

November 3, 2009

I gave the five-minute warning that we would be leaving the playground. Then, when I said, “Faven, time to go”, she dropped to the ground and started to writhe like a snake, while making toddler like protestations.

“Come on”, I said, “time to go”.

I proceeded to gather up our picnic supplies and get ready to go. As I wandered over to the far side of the playground, Faven crept across the gravel like a combat soldier. When she reached the edge, she reached her hand in the air towards me, as if I was needed to pull her out of quicksand. I chose not to respond to her silent plea, and walked on. She momentarily collapsed and then slowly rose from the gravel pit and followed. Her winter coat and jeans were covered in dirt. She seemed quite happy about it, pointing to her clothes and proclaiming, “Mawm, good?” “Hmmmm… “ was all I could manage.

We arrived home and Faven was now upset that her clothes were all dirty. She handed me her coat and whined emphatically, “Mawm, clean!” I paused (how could I tell my non-english speaking child that, a) I was not her personal servant and b) she made a choice to get dirty, and so she would need to clean it herself?).

“Faven, you got dirty – now you will wash it.”

“Mawm, what?” she questioned.

I took her coat, and kneaded it gently, and said, “Faven…wash, wash”.

“MAWM, NO”, she cried, clearly understanding my charade. She continued to rail and scream for the next several moments.

“Faven, nay (come)”, I took her over to the washing machine and dryer and proceeded to act out how we wash clothes in Canada. “Easy”, I said.

“Okay mom, now?”

“Okay”

I started to gather up a few things to put in the wash, and she said, “Mawm no, me do it”. Okay, this is more like it.

We got everything into the washer, she put in the soap, she closed the door, she pressed the start button – the water began to flow and she sat on the floor and watched. “Okay mom…… n’ext?” she queried.

“Wash, wash, wash, and then beep, beep, beep. Take out clothes, move to dryer.”

“Okay, now?”

“No, not now. Wait – coy,” I implored.

I went back to the task of cleaning out the van. I was only a few metres away from her perch in front of the washing machine, but two walls separated us. Within minutes I came back in to find Faven sweeping water on the floor in front of the washer, with the kitchen broom. At first, I thought that she had just decided to wash the floor while she waited. Then I saw the washing machine was off, and the dryer door was open. Without thinking, I bellowed, “NO”.

She immediately stopped, and in true Canadian fashion, apologized – “sorry mom”.

“Oh, Faven”, I moaned, noticing that she had taken the soaking wet clothes from the washer and placed them in the dryer. There was water in and around the floor of the washer, and about 2 inches of water inside the dryer with the sopping heap.

“No, no, no” I said, the words falling carelessly out of my mouth. I couldn’t figure out how this had happened. She cowered in front of me. “Ohhhhh…. it’s okay” I said and wrapped my arms around her.

I threw a towel on the floor; I moved the wet clothes back; I threw another towel in the dryer; and I went through the whole scenario again, adding the following, “No touch – atenkey – wait Mom/Dad”.

“Ishi” (okay) she quietly said.

I looked at her, my new daughter, and I did what mothers have done for eons, I picked myself up and carried on.

Crying

Saturday, Oct. 24th

She sat, at the table, sobbing, her head buried in her arms, her scrawny shoulders heaving. It was the kind of heart crushing sob you might hear after an unexpected loss, but then, there is no measure for her accumulative losses. For Faven, the losses are unspeakable, not because there are no words, but because there are not enough English words or Amharic listeners. Though we can share the language of love, excitement, fear, sadness, frustration and anger through sounds and body gestures, we cannot yet communicate our daily needs or understand the intricacies of living together in harmony.

Today, the sobs have been precipitated by me asking her to come for lunch and then placing a small spoonful of 'western' food on her plate, amidst the traditional Ethiopian injera and w'et. She sobbed, she paced, she yelled "Mawm, NO", and she threw herself face down on the couch while I faced off against my inner 'perfect-parent'. The one who thinks she has control over her children; the one who thinks children need to know who is in charge; the one who desperately wants to meet all the needs of her children all of the time and the one who sees the anguish and unhappiness of her children as some inadequacy in herself.

On this day, I placed my perfect-parent critic on the back shelf of my brain; I removed the offending food from her plate, and she happily sat down and ate with us and smiled and laughed the rest of the day. "What was that all about?", I later asked myself - "I can't even imagine", was all I could come up with. And the realization that I do not need to know the source of every emotion or solve every problem has saved me through the ensuing days.

Food

Food

October 18th, 2009

In Ethiopia, food is predominantly consumed without the aid of utensils. A sour flat bread called injera is used to "scoop" up the food and sauces, and popped into ones mouth, using the right hand. Though a lot of people have been exposed to utensils, it is still not the preferred method. So, feeding Faven this week has been . . . a challenge.

Today, for lunch, we had the most unique combinations of food. We had chips and salsa for a snack. Time got away from me, and we didn't even start to prepare until 1 pm. However, Faven wouldn't eat that because it had cheese on it, to which she said, "cheese, I no like," (the same thing she says about pasta, macaroni, and potatoes.) While we were snacking, I opened the fridge and Faven pulled out the corn on the cob. Okay, I thought, why not? Yohannes and Faven shucked the corn, all over the floor, so then we had a quick lesson in vacuuming (which is another story completely--and a delay in our lunch prep.) To 'round out' our meal we also had Shreddies, carrots and injera-with salsa, for Faven.

While the corn was boiling, I asked, "Is it done?" Incredulous, Faven looked at me, "Mawm, what? No! Mawm . . . dis," she said pointing to another burner on the stove.

I looked at the burner, and put my hands in the air, "What?" I wished that when God gifted this child to me, He would have also given me the skills to understand her!

She twisted her face, pointed to the corn again, pointed to the burner, and then started to make sizzling sounds accompanied by gestures, and said, "Next dis".

"Oh, okay," I exclaimed joyous that I understood her--not about her plan. Faven found a slotted pan that we use to roast vegetables on the BBQ, she put the corn into it, and roasted the corn over the gas burner to brown all of the kernels, which is the way they eat it in Ethiopia (well, except that they don't have the luxury of boiling it first, or gas stoves in their kitchens, or kitchens for that matter--I think you get the picture.)