Anatomy of a Family

Love This Boy

2011-12-20T22:03:00.000-05:00

I know, I know, it has been months since I've posted anything on this blog. So, here's my 5 second attempt at repentance: a mere snapshot of William. He has been a handful lately, throwing hard toys at his brother for no apparent reason, exhibiting defiance in ways that only a 4 1/2 year-old can. Still, I love this boy.

William 4.0: Who Are You?

2011-09-07T22:37:00.003-04:00

As Andrew matures, it has been fun to note the emergence of certain characteristics and to chalk them up to Craig's genetics or mine. Swap out the heads and a picture of Andrew with his serpentine figure could be a photo of Craig taken 30 years ago. "What's that you say about wanting to be a dancing doctor, Andrew?" Credit that to the genes on his maternal side; my family is chock-full of doctors and teachers with repressed artistic leanings.

While we've never met any members of William's biological family, we do have a few details about key individuals - some pictures and a few descriptions about their personality, health, and interests. Based upon the photos we have, it's easy to see from whom William derives his sweet chipmunk cheeks and toothy smile. When he announced the other day that boxing was his favorite sport second to basketball, I was only half-surprised; a significant member of his Taiwanese family is also a fan. [Feel free to groan as I insert the obligatory disclaimer: no, we don't let our 4 year-old watch boxing matches or condone his punching people at random.]

Those tidbits notwithstanding, we have nowhere near the wealth of information we have about Andrew and the possible origins of his traits. In light of adoptees whose histories involve abandonment, where little to no information is available, I feel greedy in wanting to know more. And yet I do. Just who are these two people whose genetics have combined to shape this beautiful firecracker of a child? Reviewing William's development over the past year, I'm all the more curious to know. It's like trying to solve a mystery in which all the detective has to work with is an evolving outcome and a handful of clues.

From whom does William get his happy, yet fiery personality? I can guess, but I can't say for sure. William may have just turned 4 years old in mid-July, but he's a jolly old soul trapped in a 40", 38 lb. body. He loves "knock-knock" jokes, slapstick humor, and silly turns on everyday words and situations. If we could bottle up his belly laugh at the line in a "Curious George" book where George writes the word, "BLIMLIMLIM," we could put the depression medicine industry out of business. He is clearly not a child with an inborn tendency toward sullenness.

William's good humor often makes up for his quick-flaring, intense temper. He registers emotions deeply and expresses them not only with an ever-developing vocabulary, but with copious amounts of stamping, hitting, growling, and frantic windshield wiper hand motions. Oh, those hands! Thankfully, time and grace are maturing him; he has logged significantly fewer visits to the time-out chair for angry outbursts than he did a year ago. Still, something tells me that this aspect of his personality, this passionate side, shall we call it, is an enduring part of who he is.

Speaking of hands, if there is a gene for compulsive nail biting, William has definitely inherited it. The oral fixation that was so much a part of his toddler years has taken on the shape of incessant finger and toe sucking. Whether sitting in the car listening to music or lying in bed trying to fall asleep, his digits often end up in his mouth. The problem became particularly worrisome when he sucked a cut into his big toe last winter and contracted MRSA. Thankfully, a regimen of antibiotics cured him, but after that, we were careful to dress him in footed pajamas. Even now, during the hot summer months, we still make him sleep with mittens on. Despite those measures, it has been over a year that I have had to trim his fingernails since he continues to nibble them down when I'm not looking.

When not lodged in his mouth, those same nubby-nailed fingers have been busy. William figured out how to write the alphabet imperfectly over the past year and can now write his name and spell out a few simple words on his own. His handwriting still resembles the aftermath of a fly swatter come down on a granddaddy long leg spider, but in that regard he's a typical 3-turned-4 year-old. We still can't tell which hand he favors when it comes to writing and eating; he functions equally well with both. (Personally, I'm curious to know if anyone in his family line is a leftie.)

Clearly, there are also some smarty-pants genes lurking in his biological pool. In preparing to adopt, parents are warned to expect a whole range of intellectual abilities in their child. If anything, they are cautioned to set their expectations low, to anticipate learning disabilities of one sort or another. However, William has definitely surprised us. Shortly before he turned 3 1/2 years old, he began sounding out simple consonant-vowel-consonant words. As I did when Andrew reached that milestone, I started the "Hooked on Phonics" reading program with him. He completed the Kindergarten level some time before his 4th birthday and is now well into the 1st grade curriculum. Earlier this spring, his teacher gave him a standardized test used for preschoolers who are a year older. He scored a 95% on that test and lost the remaining 5% to a simple misunderstanding of a question. We're thankful that he seems to be on a pace where the content of his future schoolwork will probably not be a struggle. Rather, the voluntary, gentle-natured completion of it could be the greater obstacle.

Among his other strengths, William may claim to like boxing and can throw a pretty good jab (just ask me: he lobbed one at my chest just yesterday when I went to unstrap him from his car seat). However, sports involving balls are where he truly shines. Granted, we only have Andrew to serve as a reference point. While not uncoordinated, our older son's talents appear to lie moreso in the arts and humanities. So, perhaps then, our awe at William's sinking basket after basket into his Little Tykes hoop set at 5+ feet tall is misplaced. Maybe it's just I and my lousy hand-eye coordination thinking that a 3 year-old shouldn't be able to connect a ping pong paddle with an oncoming ball as often as he does. Maybe it's just the proud parent in me that keeps replaying a certain memory of William at his weekly Little Gym sports class. Even now, I can see him soaring through the air in slow motion, arms outstretched, hands joined together as he does a perfect flying dig at a falling volleyball. (Can you hear the "Chariots of Fire" theme song playing in the distance? I can.)

Yet for all his interest in sports, he's not yet a team player. Over the last year, he participated on a 3-4 year-old basketball team and a soccer league at our local YMCA. We thought he'd go nuts with excitement, but instead, he wound up passing much of the hour-long sessions wandering the sidelines and climbing all over our laps. When we did manage to cajole him onto the field, he'd play for a few seconds, then wander back to us in a foul mood.

His newfound reticence also manifested in other ways over the past year. The boy who would cackle with glee if a tsunami came rolling his way in the swimming pool, the child who would launch himself down a 10-story sliding board at the playground without a second thought, grew increasingly apprehensive as he approached his 4th birthday. He now panics when I let go of him just a few feet away from the pool wall, nudging him forward to swim the short distance. A year ago, he'd make the same swim with an ear-to-ear grin. When challenged to slide down the 3-foot high firefighter's pole at the park jungle gym, he insists I hold him all the way down. If I encourage him to try it on his own, he works himself up to an angry, fretful state. Some degree of caution is a good thing in a young child, but I wonder if this is a sign of more tentativeness to come, perhaps an inherent personality quirk.

A few readers patient enough to get to this point of the post may wonder: do we feel as if we're missing out by not having a child with traits and features that mirror ours? After all, as adoption experts like to point out, an ability to self-identify in one's child is arguably one of the small joys of parenting. Adoptive parents are sometimes denied this perk.

No. All things considered, I can truly say that I don't regard William and his differences with any sense of loss. Maybe it's because I have a biological child with whom I've had the pleasure of drawing such comparisons. Maybe my emotional compass is askew and I just don't feel the things I'm "supposed to" as an adoptive parent. Whatever the reason, I don't find myself mourning the incongruities. William is his own special person, and I love him very much for it.

If I'm left feeling anything, it's a deep-seated longing for his biological parents to see for themselves what a talented, beautiful child they produced. They would be so, so proud of him. I'm also left with a sense of wonder at the genius of God and his ability to create countless variations of people, each unlike the next. Finally, I'm left with a profound feeling of gratitude that of, all the people in the world, our family has been entrusted with the care and upbringing of this unique and delightful child.

Happy belated 4th birthday, sweetie boy.

..And They're Off!

2011-09-06T22:40:00.003-04:00

Today, William and Andrew began Pre-K and 3rd grade respectively. To God be the glory for a start better than we could have ever imagined.

Rainy Day

2011-08-02T23:05:00.006-04:00

Here in the K. household, we're grateful for this week's on-again, off-again rain that has been watering our heatwave-scorched state. The other day, I stepped outside to snap a shot of a raincloud that William thought resembled the shape of the United States (freaky- it really did!). But by the time I made it outside with my camera, the cloud had done a Zan and Jana on me and taken on the form of an alligator. I tried to redeem the moment by snapping a few shots of William from the outside looking in. As usual, William had a grand old time playing hide-and-go-seek with me and my camera.

Speaking of uncooperative, over the last several months, Blogspot.com has turned enemy on me. Some gremlin in the system keeps adding swirly lines to my posts where unwanted and toying with my text boxes as you can see from the ugly spectacle at the bottom of this post and the one before. If anyone out there can clue me in as to what's going on, please do.

In the meantime, can you make out the last picture below? It's a shot of our young Manny Pacquaio, who just turned 4 recently. A birthday post will follow one day.

Re-Direct: A Shower of Reality... Sort of

2011-08-02T14:39:00.001-04:00

Just the other day, I ran across yet another well-intentioned person who told me William is "lucky" to have been adopted into our family. I wish I could have quoted the entire length of this brilliant post by Tonggu Momma on the subject (thanks, Sarah for the tip-off). Read it. It's good.

Super 8

2011-07-27T00:08:00.007-04:00

When I was 16, I spent a month at film camp learning how to make movies. Over the course of four weeks, I shot yard after yard of footage. My back grew sore from the late nights I spent in cramped editing rooms, hunched over workstations covered in fragments of Super 8 film. Each piece captured a series of images that, when finally spliced together, told a tale of questionable coherence.

As I reflect upon the highlights of Andrew's last year, I'm reminded of those bits of film. Strung through a projector bit by bit, the playback might look something like this:

A lanky, yet densely muscular 7 year old boy runs through his backyard. The autumn leaves fallen to the ground have long since surrendered their fiery red and golden hues for shades of brittle brown. The boy dodges his way around the tangle of tree roots protruding through the lawn. With practiced care, he hoists himself up on a swing dangling from a tree branch 25 feet above. "Mom, I need a big push!" he hollers across the yard.

This will be his last ride in the swing. Later that afternoon, his mother will unhook the swing, pack it in the back of their car, then drive it 15 minutes away where it will be stored in the garage of their new home. There it will remain on a dusty shelf for lack of any suitable trees in their new yard.

When he leaves school the next day, the boy will come home to the new house. The basketball hoop in the driveway, the bathroom that acts as a not-so-secret passageway between his room and his brother's, the open, finished basement all thrill him. Still, over the next several months, while pouring a cup of milk or climbing the stairs to turn in for the night, he will remark about the last home with sadness.

At one end of a dark room in the optometrist's office, the boy sits in an exam chair. On cue, he leans his forehead against a narrow cushion and peers through the two eyeholes. He looks like a character in a science fiction movie who has been time-warped into Victorian-era London, steampunk accoutrements and all.

"Does this word look clearer, or does that one? #1 or #2?" the optometrist asks, flipping a switch that obscures one image and reveals the other. "Again: #1 or #2?"

The optometrist directs the boy to read through line after line of a chart positioned across the room. From her seat in the shadows, the mother winces as the boy struggles to make out the letters. The doctor tells her what she has known since her son's birth: her child will need glasses. Her vision and that of her husband are equally appalling: so impaired are they that the size of the numbers on their alarm clocks could rival those on sports field scoreboards.

The optometrist turns the lights back on. Turning toward her, he proclaims that the boy's vision has plummeted from 20/20 to 125/150 over the course of the last year.

After the exam, the boy gets fitted for his first pair of glasses. It is a quick process; he chooses the second pair he tries on and can hardly be cajoled into trying on more. A week later, a foul ball flies toward his face during recess, shattering his new glasses beyond repair.

When his little brother is napping, the boy's parents summon him to join them on the couch. Past experience has lead him to believe that an announcement of something secret and good will follow - a one-on-one trip to the local ice cream parlor, a surprise viewing of a movie (with a scary scene!), popcorn. A knowing smile spreads across his face.

"Mommy and I have something important to tell you," his father announces.

His smile grows wider in anticipation.

"We've prayed very long and hard about this... and we've decided we're going to take you out of GloryHallelujah Christian School send you to Super-Dee-Duper Public School next year."

The boy's lower lip begins to quiver. His mouth slowly contorts to form a square shape and his face turns a deep shade of violet. Thick tears roll down his cheeks.

"No, no, no!!!" he protests. "This is a nightmare! I don't want to! I don't want to!"

The parents embrace their stiff-bodied son. They do their best to offer encouraging, sympathetic words while smearing away his tears that splatter down on their necks and their arms.

[This particular segment of film is a long one; the crying scene lasts 15 minutes as the boy despairs of leaving his good friends, riding on a school bus for the first time, and journeying into otherwise unknown territory.]

It is mid-June. The boy scans the hallways of Super-Dee-Duper Public School nervously. Without realizing it, he clutches his mother's hand. She uses her free hand to extract the back of his plain red t-shirt that has jammed itself awkwardly into his waistband. Over the past year, the boy has begun to eschew the clothing with skater-esque prints that she suggests for him in lieu of plain-colored, conservative wear - the very likeness of his father.

Pausing every three steps to reign in his curious 3 year-old brother, they locate the classroom where the boy will attend a remedial summer math class. The mother has heard stories of how the students at this school are doing math beyond what he has been taught and reasons that the extra practice and preview of the new building would do the boy good. He grumbles but assents to go. Such is his nature.

When the class is over, the mother asks him about his morning.

"It was okay," he says nonchalantly. "I made a new friend. His name is Max."

The boy groans again as he flips to his eighth page of math worksheets for the day. It is but one of the many sets that have landed his way since the late spring. Each pack contains 10 worksheets that he must complete six days a week as part of a tutoring program in which his parents have enrolled him. The father and mother wince at the extra workload it brings but concede that their son needs to build mastery in existing concepts while learning new ones to keep on track once school begins in September. Once a week, the boy joins the Changs and Parks, the Patels and Ramanurthys, the occasional Connolly or Rosenblatt. Together, they sit quietly in a room at the tutoring center completing more worksheets and taking diagnostic tests.

While cleaning up her younger son's mis-timed attempt to use the toilet, the mother alternates between worrying that she is turning her older son off to math for life and fretting that she has morphed into a caricature of an Asian mother. Is she, in stereotypical form, valuing academic achievement over inward character and spiritual development? As she continues to reflect on the matter, she acknowledges that she has begun teaching the boy piano and that the pair have briefly dabbled in a parent-child karate class together. The evidence does not stack in her favor.

As she rises from the floor and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she is startled to notice orange and black-striped fur sprouting from her face, two triangular ears protruding from the top of her head. She raises a hand to her mouth in horror only to see a paw with sharp claws covering two rows of predatory teeth. "Nooooooo!!!" she wails. But all that sounds forth is a deep growl.

Morphed back into human form, the mother crouches low again, grabbing at her foot in pain. She has stepped on a sharp object. The floor of the boy's bedroom is a minefield of scattered Lego and K'nex pieces. On every level surface of his room, countless variations of vehicles, weaponry, and tactical buildings vie for space. Hidden among them are a half-broken ferris wheel and a crown fashioned for the boy's beloved stuffed dog. Every day sees the creation of something new, fiercer, faster, bigger. Over the spring, the boy has launched a blog in celebration of his handiwork. The blog secretly serves as the mother's excuse to take pictures of something within her home that will neither run away nor turn around and waggle its rear end when confronted by her camera.

Twenty acts later, it is the finally the boy's turn to take to the front of the auditorium. He is the last to perform. The spotlight casts an orange glow on him as he seats himself at an electric piano. Of his own volition, he has signed up to play in his school's fine arts festival. All weary eyes are on him as he takes a deep breath, laces his fingers together, and stretches out his hands. He cracks his knuckles as if he has done this very thing many times before. The audience chuckles. The boy launches into a version of "Ode to Joy" that he has arranged himself based upon an 8-measure version in his piano lesson book. Despite his mother's urging to play the piece legato, he pounds out the song in the same unyielding fortissimo that he uses when banging out "Jingle Bells" one too many times a day at home.

He finishes the piece with a triumphant whole note, rises, then confidently bows.

"Mom, look at me!" the boy calls out as he cannonballs into the pool. The same confidence that he showed during the recital has propelled him to take up his mother's suggestion to jump off the diving board just minutes earlier. Gone is the terror-stricken expression he once wore when faced with the suggestion of swimming with his face underwater. There is no more panicked crying, no frenzied chase around the pool as his desperate mother tries to coax him back into the water.

As the boy's body hits the water, the mother turns her face away as a spray of water launches into her eyes. The boy still can't swim a decent freestyle, but how far he has come, she marvels. How very far.

She turns and shields her camera as another spray of water comes her way. Like a wartime photographer, she weaves, ducks, and snaps her way through the bursts of watergun-wielding boys who have come to celebrate her son's eighth birthday. The thermometer reads a blistering 95 degrees, but that is a small matter to the band of boys who dive in and out of the inflatable kiddie pool, refilling their guns with remarkable efficiency. Another group of boys launch themselves, penguin-style, down the dual concourse of a Slip-and-Slide. Nearby, others take turns spraying each other with the wide arc of a lawn sprinkler.

The mother looks through her viewfinder: F 1.8, ISO 100, shutter speed 1/600. The aperture is too wide for the image she aims to capture, and the shot won't eventually render as crisply as she'd prefer. But still, she likes what she sees through the lens: her eldest child, turned eight years old that very day, running about carefree. Weighted down with water, his brown hair and swim clothes adhere to his body, giving him a seal-like look. Surrounded by good friends, the past year is behind him, and he is laughing, laughing.

Little by Little: Baby B.

2011-06-05T00:00:00.005-04:00

Now that Andrew and William are almost 8 and 4 years-old respectively, I've forgotten how small they once were (yes, even hunker-chunker William, whom we first met at almost 8 months-old). Who are these Goliathan children who populate my home, whose footfalls in the room above seem to signal the advent of the Apocalypse, who mistakenly wear my sneakers when we go out to eat? It's an odd thing to regard yourself in a mirror holding your baby, only to note that that "baby" is about 2/3rds your size.

I recently had the privilege of photographing 2 week-old Baby B. Cradling this beautiful, delicate newborn made me realize how much my boys have grown in what often seems like a short time.

Of course, little B. won't be so little one day; in the few weeks since I took these pictures, she has no doubt grown significantly (isn't human growth, so invisible to the everyday eye, an amazing thing?). As she matures, some things are certain: she will be well-tended to, well-prayed for, and well-loved. After all, any mother who could sit through a photo shoot in an 85-degree house (I cranked up the heat to keep B. warm in her birthday suit), who could simultaneously wrangle a busy 2 year-old while sleep-deprived, and who could smile while getting peed on by her newborn must love profoundly.

As you grow in stature, may you also grow in grace, Baby B. Blessings to you.

Should Know Better

2011-05-27T23:09:00.152-04:00

The following is a re-post of a piece I wrote for the Taiwan R.O.C.K.s blog at the request of my friend, Tiffanie. As a co-chair of the team that is planning an upcoming reunion of Taiwanese adoptees, she asked if I'd consider authoring a post for the group's new blog. After muddling through half a year of writer's block and struggling one too many nights to sort out my own feelings on the subject at hand, I finally hit "send" on the following:

Consider this: a few years ago, a friend told me about a situation at his workplace involving one of his employees. She had come to him complaining about her salary, feeling she was owed more for the effort she had put forth. Eventually, she tendered her resignation, claiming she had been the victim of gender and racial discrimination. However, as my friend told it, her history of performance simply didn't rival that of her higher paid co-workers. Try as he did, he could not think of an instance in which he might have spoken to or treated her in a demeaning way. The employee herself failed to offer up any specific examples of bias on his part.

While I can’t assume to know what happened - after all, we’re all flawed individuals capable of anything and everything - I was upset when I heard the story. The idea that my friend might discriminate in such ways made me want to shake my head in disbelief. In the 15 years that I have known him, he has gone out of his way to treat women equitably and honorably. His circle of friends includes many people of different ethnicities. His family circle includes a child adopted from Asia. Of all the people to accuse of gender or racial discrimination, he would be the last person who’d come to mind.

My incredulity skyrocketed when my friend mentioned that the employee is Asian-American. That a person of Asian heritage would lodge such loaded charges and be guilty of lackluster performance, as my friend told it, stunned me. “She should know better!” I wanted to protest. True, faultless job execution and relentless work ethics aren’t virtues unique to Asians alone. However, they are qualities towards which many of them are raised to aspire. And it’s quite true that Asians can sometimes be the worst at speaking up for themselves when wronged, perhaps fearing they’ll rock the Confucian all-for-one, one-for-all boat. But to levy such loaded and (presumably) empty charges smacked of a degree of entitlement and a lack of self-awareness that I – and no doubt other Asians – would consider embarrassing to the race as a whole.

Then, my friend happened to mention something: the employee in question was trans-racially adopted. Suddenly, a light went off in my head. Aha! All made sense now. The woman didn't have traditional Asian parents to inculcate the ages-old lessons in her. Her non-Asian parents probably never smacked her across the mouth the one time she dared to talk back to them, didn’t guilt her with stories of how they shared a ball of rice between them each night to pay for her school tuition, didn’t raise her to cringe when she read stories like this because she knew that this would inevitably ensue.

Her adoptive status suddenly exonerated her from hypocritical expectations I didn't realize I had held of Asians up until that point. I suddenly became aware of a double standard at work in my heart. For many years I have bemoaned the fact that many non-Asians expect me to speak fluent Mandarin and read the language, to be an expert on Chinese and Taiwanese culture, to be a demure and passive female with bound feet, or to be a 10th degree black belt in karate with a sixth sense. And yet, despite my own list of grievances, I found myself demanding that this woman be “Asian” in ways that I had personally defined. Shame on me! If others’ stereotyped expectations bother me as much as they do, I should have had enough sense to recognize the same faulty thinking at work in myself. I should know firsthand the yearning to live a life free of the mantle of race and its concomitant associations, to simply be human. I should have known better.

Sadly, I’m aware that I’m not the only Asian person in the world guilty of this hypocrisy. My own self-deception makes me wonder how my two boys will fare as they face a lifetime of interactions with other Asians. Will some of those Asians be their harshest critics? Or have times truly changed? Perhaps today’s kids more accepting. Even if they are, I don’t for a moment pretend to think that my older, biological son is exempt from racial expectations since he is Eurasian. Being biracial can come with its own particular set of obstacles. But for my younger son, adopted from Taiwan, I foresee potential challenges already. The world is a hard enough place for adoptees, particularly internationally adopted ones who may feel out of place in both their adoptive countries and their native lands. They don’t need people of their own heritage, the same people who should be the most supportive of them, to offer further resistance, either inwardly felt or outwardly expressed.

The possibility of such adversity has been weighing on my mind as my husband and I consider schooling decisions for our two boys. Andrew, our 7 year-old son, now attends a small private Christian school with strong academics and a diverse student body. Minority students form the 60% majority of his grade. His friends are Latino, Caucasian, and African-American. Unfortunately, there are very few Asians in his school. It’s a regrettable statistic, but I’m not overly concerned. As an introvert who thrives in smaller crowds, whose life doesn’t revolved around athletics, and whose partial heritage is substantially represented by the school’s 40% Caucasian population, Andrew would probably be well-served by staying there.

But enter 3 year-old William. Social William. Athletic William. Bright William. Adopted William. So much of the school district to which we’ve recently moved seems to be a good fit for him. True, he would lose out on the quality Christian education and the diversity that attracted us to Andrew’s school. But the impact of the district’s almost 8% Asian student population (higher than the 4.8% Asian population in all of America according to the 2010 census) cannot be overlooked. I can’t help but wonder what being surrounded by other children of Asian descent might do for him.

Having been shuttled in and out of various public and private schools in which I and sometimes another student comprised the entire Asian population, I know firsthand the strain of being the odd one out. It’s speculative, of course, but perhaps my 13 year-old self might have been more at ease with the looks God saw fit to give me. Perhaps I wouldn’t have stood before the mirror pulling wide the ends of my eyes and tugging at the tip of my nose, wondering if I’d be more attractive if my features were more traditionally Western. For William, for whom the world suggests at every turn that he’s less valid, just not the same because he is adopted, looking like many of the kids around him could have a powerful effect.

Or, it might not.

Could it be possible that surrounding our kids with others who loosely resemble them actually do more harm than good?

“Don’t be silly!” many would retort. “There’s everything to gain and nothing to lose.”

I would like to believe that those people are right. However, my own experiences make me stop and ponder. If we do place our boys in the local public school, we would be putting adopted William in an environment in which he would be surrounded by Asian kids who are mostly children of immigrants, if not immigrants themselves. The same kids who might help him feel more comfortable with his ethnicity may also be the same ones who might give him the greatest grief about his heritage and how he might choose to express it.

In my 36 years, I have found that it is sometimes the 1st and 2nd generation Asian-Americans who hold the narrowest view of what Asians should or shouldn’t be. They can sometimes be quick to make their opinions known. On multiple occasions, I have been given a hard time about my sorry Mandarin (“How come you Chinese but you no speak Chinese?”), my Caucasian boyfriend-turned-husband (“Hey, Judy, do you know what a Twinkie is?”), or my choice to join Christian groups in college that weren’t Asian-specific (whatever happened to the apostle Paul’s declaration that “there is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus”?).

Don’t get me wrong: I’ve had countless positive interactions with Asians, too. Not all are back-biting, self-loathing critics. However, my less-than-pleasant encounters have given me cause to think about our differences and the friction that may ensue as far as my children are concerned. While William is technically a first generation American (or 1.5 generation as some may classify him), his upbringing will probably be more similar to that of a 3rd generation Asian-American. His experience won’t be marked by the rigid adherence to old-world mores and the cultural groping-about-in-the-dark that characterize many 1st generation Asian-Americans, particularly those who moved to America as adults. It will lack the one-foot-in-the-West, one-foot-in-the-East dichotomy that many 2nd generation Americans, myself included, feel. Rather, like many 3rd generation Asian-Americans, I imagine William’s outlook will be more traditionally Western, that he will feel less tormented about picking and choosing which cultural expressions he wishes to retain or forego.

As such, he could very well have a harder time relating to his 1st and 2nd generation Asian-American peers. Whether those kids recognize it or not, there is an invisible bond that joins them. They can laugh at jokes like this, understanding the humor on a surface level that would engage anyone, regardless of race. Yet, they can also appreciate the immigrant frugalista mentality that gives the picture an added layer of humor because they’ve likely experienced it firsthand in their own family. They can read something like this and roll their eyeballs with everyone else at the harshness of the father’s response. However, they’re less prone to charge the father with emotional abuse because they can probably relate to the uncanny mix of severity and love, of sacrifice and good intentions that prompted his words. And, chances are, lists of commonalities like this will have them wiping away tears from laughing so hard.

As the adopted child of a 2nd generation Taiwanese-American whose ways are more traditionally Western than Eastern, the deeper humor may well be lost on William. Sure, he’ll pick up a traditional mannerism or two from being around me, things that will naturally transmit with little effort on my part. For better or worse, he can already spot a sample cart at Costco from 100 feet away and maneuver his way toward it like a guided missile. As he gets older, nothing will thrill him like scoring a good bargain via multiple discounts and sad puppy-pleading for an additional price cut because the item is slightly stained. He will learn to honor his elders (though I won’t threaten to disown him if he puts me in a nursing home). He will learn from early on that he represents not only himself but every Asian because frankly, the world is watching, because there are enough ignorant people out there who’d sooner impute the crimes of a single Asian person upon the entire race. And whether it’s an Asian value or not, he will learn the value of a strong work ethic and not making excuses for himself (though if he breaks his arm, he will not force himself to operate on a patient the next day as my father did). Still, in the end, William’s cultural education will be one diluted by my own upbringing, filtered through my personal assessments of what did or didn’t work. As a result, he just might not be laughing as hard as his 1st and 2nd generation Asian peers.

Will a potential inability to relate innately to others of his heritage be just another thing he lost when he was placed for adoption? Only a fool would think he could return to Taiwan one day and be able to “disappear” among the native crowds. My own mother, who spent her first 20 years growing up there, can be easily spotted for a tourist when she returns to visit. Time and distance have an uncanny way of altering one’s mannerisms, style, and general outlook. Even here in the great melting pot of America, William could just as well have a hard time blending in with his non-adopted Asian peers. It would seem that the very act of adoption has wedged him between a rock and hard place when it comes to being fully accepted by people of his own heritage.

Perhaps it’s the worrier in me that fears this conundrum will one day be my son’s. For all I know, there are many international adoptees who go about their lives without wondering whether they’d fit in on either side of the ocean. Perhaps they live in communities that hold looser views of what people of their race “should” and “shouldn’t” be. Or, perhaps they experience antagonism but have the inner confidence to not be shaken by it. In William’s case, I’m hoping for the former scenario but will willingly accept the latter.

Like most parents, adoptive or not, I have resolved to do the best I can to raise my son to be happy and healthy, both inwardly and outwardly. I want so much to make William’s life one that is free of pain, but I know that this is just not possible on this side of heaven. Humans are imperfect beings capable of hurting one another deeply. Knowing that, what can I, as a concerned parent, do to prepare my son to deal with potential opposition from those of his own race? I could teach him to use chopsticks and speak Mandarin so he might “blend in” better with his Asian peers. (I’d argue that there is strong value in having our adopted Taiwanese and Chinese children learn these things.) But I also realize that such outward expressions can only go so far.

In the end, I know that it is the inward lessons that will have the greatest impact. Thus, I am endeavoring to teach my son how to forgive, to have a sense of humor in the face of adversity, and most of all, to place his self-worth in something far beyond his ethnicity and his ability to adhere to someone else’s notions of how to express it. For my husband and I, as Christian parents, this means teaching William that he is so precious that God himself would lay down his own life in order to live out eternity with him. Our child has worth because he is immeasurably worthwhile to his heavenly creator. To root his self-esteem in anything on earth, ephemeral as those things certainly are, would only lead to an endless cycle of disillusionment and bitterness. And isn’t there enough race-related anger in the world already?

These are not easy lessons to apprehend. As an adult, I find myself constantly struggling to learn and re-learn them. But if both William and I can have teachable hearts and learn that we have significance because of Who loves us and not because of the heritage into which we’ve been born, we might slowly but surely find ourselves knowing just a little better each day.

O, Happy Day!

2011-05-22T23:07:00.000-04:00

When it comes to holidays, it's easy to forget why we celebrate the occasion on hand. Easter, the most joyous day of the Christian calendar, the celebration of Jesus' triumph over death, is no exception. The significance of that pivotal miracle often gets lost in the mess of plastic grass in a basket with an impractically long handle, tear-stained attempts at pictures with a guy in a bunny suit (for only $14.99!), or the guilt of having snuck too many chocolate eggs out of that basket with the impractically long handle when the kids aren't looking. In the end, we sometimes find ourselves with little time and energy and far less stillness of heart needed to marvel at Christ.

This Easter, our family had the opportunity to study Christ's resurrection in a different way. We loaded the boys up in the Honda and drove 6 hours south to visit my parents in Virginia. Ahgon and Ahma regaled the kids with a trip to the Ringling Brothers' circus, an egg hunt, and lavish amounts of good food and loving attention.

The highlight of the weekend was attending my father's baptism at a local Chinese church. It was well worth wrangling wiggly William for an hour to hear my dad share how his battle with cancer ultimately led him to faith in Christ. While we are saddened that his recent radiation therapy has failed to check his cancer, we delight to know that out of something bitter has come something beautiful. In coming to terms with his powerlessness and relying instead on the ability of Christ, he has discovered a source of strength that will not fail him, an abiding joy that will fulfill him in a way that nothing on earth can, and a Savior who will be with him through eternity. He has discovered the kind of new, inner life made possible by Christ's resurrection on the very first Easter.

Welcome to the family, Dad.

Numbers

2011-04-30T20:47:00.006-04:00

Do you like numbers? I don't. In fact, I have an irrational fear of them.

Nonetheless, I thought it worthwhile to serve up the following random figures. I'll just deal with the digit-induced headaches later.

The 2010 U.S. Census numbers are in. The statistics on Asian-Americans are particularly fascinating. Over the last 10 years, the Asian-American race has become the fastest-growing population, increasing by 43% in just a decade. That being said, Asian-Americans, including those of mixed race, still represent just 5.6% of the country. Holla!
Of interest to our family, mixed white and Asian individuals like our older son, Andrew, comprise at least 1.6 million of the nation's population.
2010 was also the year of a strong grassroots push for Taiwanese-Americans to identify themselves as such, rather than lump themselves under the category of "Chinese-American." 3/4 of our household added our voices to the ranks of those that stood up for Taiwanese-America on the census. I'd show you the final stats if only I could make sense of how to use the not-so-user-friendly 2010 Census Fact Finder.
Speaking of Asian-Americans, do you ever wonder if it's true that we sometimes have a harder time getting admitted to top-tier colleges due to hidden quotas? If so, then this article, chock full of numbers, may be for you. Yikes. After reading it, I'm thinking Andrew might stand a better chance identifying himself as "white," while William might do well to play up his status as an international adoptee.
Now, 1/2 of our family's population have blogs. For some time now, Andrew has wanted his own website to showcase his creative undertakings. Last week's spring break gave us some time to finally start working on it. As much as Andrew complained about having to hunt and peck for the keys to type up the brief blog posts, he really enjoyed seeing his work online. And I? I was personally glad for an excuse to snap a few pictures of my now camera-antagonistic son. If you have a moment, click on over to Creations and K'nexions and leave him a comment. You'd really make a 7 year-old boy's day.
2. 2 years is how long our friends, the Fadelys, have initially committed to spend serving orphans in India. We first met this beautiful family of 6 online when we began our journeys to adopt from Taiwan. Their path eventually took them far south of Taiwan, to India, where they adopted their 3 year-old daughter, Dorothy. So haunted were they by the orphans they left behind that they've made the leap to abandon the comfortable life of the average American and work at an orphanage Ongole, India Please check out their blog and cheer them on.

Enough already. My head is now a-buzz with number pain. Before I run off into the sunset with my hands over my ears, I offer up to you a picture taken over Easter weekend:

A few decades from now, if we've successfully redirected William's quick temper and bossypants attitude, the boy might eventually transition from self-supposed CEO of the playground to CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

Happy New Year, Big Mouth

2011-03-14T22:31:00.012-04:00

Several weeks ago, we celebrated a mishmash of holidays: the Superbowl (a holiday in most Americans' books) and Chinese New Year. Craig's parents happened to be in town and joined his siblings and their kids at our home for a game-time feast.

In preparation for the event, the boys and I readied the house by adorning it with festive decorations. This year, I got my act together and ordered a box full of paper lanterns, dragons, and red envelopes, things that are near-impossible to find at the last minute in our local shops. If I were foolhardy enough, I could have braved the traffic into Philadelphia's Chinatown with two restless boys who would've been cooped up in the car for the hour's ride. But I'm not that unhinged.

I put the boys to work painting banners to hang around the doorway. Traditional banners often feature Chinese couplets celebrating the arrival of spring with its green shoots, lush flowers, and other allergens, but not ours. I failed to research in advance any pithy rhymes for the boys to trace over. My last-minute online search, complicated by 2 boys nagging me to show them a German prank video of people falling into a ditch, yielded nothing. So, I settled for pencilling "Xin Nian Kaui Le!" ("Happy New Year!") on large sheets of construction paper and letting Andrew paint over what I had written. I figured the characters might be too complex for 3 year-old William, so I let him trace over the two most basic characters I could think of: "Da" and "Ko," his favorite Chinese character. Put together, the words loosely read, "Big Mouth."

William made quick work of the project and wanted to do more, so I decided to let him try his hand at painting over a sheet on which I had written "Xin Nian Kuai Le" in a size too small for my liking. While he may have botched the stroke order, he surprised me by doing a capable job of the painting (see the bottom banner in the right-hand picture).

That Saturday, Andrew and his Chinese school classmates took to the stage for a brief Chinese New Year performance. If the obscured faces of the other children don't give him away in the picture below, surely the bright golden outfit he chose to buy online makes him easy to spot.

Unfortunately, I didn't get a picture of William in his Chinese outfit. My mother bought him a gorgeous silk suit on her last trip to Taiwan. He looked so handsome wearing it to a New Year's party our friends invited us to the day before and for our own CNY/Superbowl party the next night. I was so preoccupied with all the flipping, sauteeing, and frying that went into our big dinner that I forgot to take any pictures of him or the food.

The evening's menu included homemade pork dumplings (thanks, K. women for your dumpling stuffing prowess), egg rolls, noodles with vegetables and chicken, steamed vegetables, beef and peppers, mantou (steamed bread rolls), and zongzi (sticky rice wrapped in leaves). I really wish I had taken a picture of the nian gao, the sticky rice flour cake that my mom sent me. It was practically begging for its own photograph with the smiley face she put on it using dried cranberries.

While I was busy in the kitchen, Andrew, William, their cousin Isaac, and Craig made a homemade lion mask. Just before kick-off time, the two older boys paraded through the house. You can briefly see William providing back up accompaniment on pot lid cymbals. Thankfully, CNY is a once-a-year event. Pot lid clanging has an unfortunate way of resonating off of high ceilings and nesting in one's brain in unforgettable ways.

We closed the evening with the distribution of red envelopes. As the resident elders, we put Craig's parents to work handing out the hong bao to the kids. From the oldest child, Andrew to the youngest, 1 year-old Allie, all of the kids bowed to their grandparents before getting their money. I figured doing so was a better alternative to their reciting the bratty children's rhyme, "Gong xi fa cai, hong bao na lai!" ("Congratulations and may you prosper. Now gimme my loot.")
Apart from the missing pictures of the cute kids and a peculiarly soupy beef with peppers dish, the only thing that would have made it an A+ evening would've been a win on the Pittsburgh Steelers, our last home state team standing. Nonetheless, I suppose I should count my blessings. At least it wasn't the Philadelphia Eagles who played and lost. The DSM lacks a section detailing certain psychiatric disorders that manifest in the Philly area when the Eagles lose a game. But, hush! I digress and put myself in dangerous territory to even speak of such a thing.
Xin Nian Kuai Le, 2 months late!

Baby Blues

2011-01-09T15:39:00.004-05:00

Boom! Here come the babies!

Over the last month, it seems like everyone I know is giving birth (no, Mom, don't let this give you any funny ideas about my birthing a daughter). One of those bouncing bundles of joy I've been privileged to photograph is Baby N., now 3 weeks-old. She and two of her older siblings came by the other day and were patient enough to let me go click-crazy on them.

Since N. is still a newborn, her eye color is still coming into its own. However, one can already tell that hers are shaping up to be as mesmerizing as her little-big brother and big sister's. (And in case you're wondering, no, I didn't do anything in post-processing to turn their eyes that shade of blue. They really are that way!) Children's photographers everywhere - eat your hearts out.

Debunking the Skinny Myth

2011-01-05T22:24:00.007-05:00

If you're the parent of a daughter with Asian ancestry - or if you're a woman of Asian descent, here's a good read for you. Asian-American and publisher of Hyphen magazine, Lisa Lee, dishes on NPR about the pressure Asian women feel to be thin. Check it out for yourselves, then read her article in Hyphen on her personal struggle with body image.

"Sure," some may say, "so many women feel the pressure to be a size 0. This is nothing revelatory." However, many of those people also think that all Asians are naturally skinny, that there is some genetic magic at work among the race that allows them to eat whatever they want and not pack on a pound (not true, I can attest). They see waifish Asian actresses like Ziyi Zhang from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and launch the part-for-whole fallacy, assuming all Asian women must be like that because frankly, they just don't know that many Asian women. Yes, it's true that so many women feel the unfortunate compulsion to be thin. However, for Asian women, I suspect the pressure might be harder simply because the assumption exists that they are race of petite, wispy women. Few people want to be the exception to that false perception.

When we traveled to Taiwan in 2008, it was a comfort to see firsthand that the myth was not true. Thanks in large part to a healthier diet and a less sedentary lifestyle, there isn't the high level of obesity that we see in America. However, Taiwan also isn't an island populated by women who are forced to shop in the girl's department because a women's size 0 would fall off of them. My wider thighs and squarish butt were in good company.

Bravo to Ms. Lee for addressing a topic that has long gone unspoken. Her dialogue is an eye-opener for parents of girls of Asian ancestry who need to be aware of the insidious pressure she addresses. Armed with that knowledge, they can then empower their daughters to know from a young age that they have worth because God loves them thoroughly, not because their skinny jeans are loose on them.

Now, as as an encore, may I suggest that Ms. Lee debunk the myth that all Asians are kung fu masters? Hi-ya! Wa-chee!

The Cavewoman Chronicles

2010-12-28T23:42:00.003-05:00

Me Cavewoman. Me been busy and sick lately. Barely have time to write coherent sentence.

So, with all due apologies, I offer up the following series of posts in which sentence fragments and random photos form a modern-day equivalent of grunts, armpit scratches, and cave drawings. Arrrr!!!

Winter

2010-12-28T23:14:00.006-05:00

If every day should be Christmas, we didn't do too badly this year. We had three separate Christmas celebrations over the course of December. My oldest sister and her two young children joined us in the new house for the first week. It was joy to get to see my niece and nephew, whom I haven't seen in well over a year. As the week went on, we were joined by my parents, 2nd sister, and youngest sister and her husband. In mid-December, Craig's siblings came over for a joint birthday party for Craig's brother and a Christmas party. Finally, on Christmas day, the four of us - Craig, myself, and the boys - settled down for a quiet celebration that included a reading of the Christmas story from the Bible, the blowing out of candles on Christmas cupcakes for Jesus, and the opening gifts for one another.

As far as gift-recieving went, I clearly made out the best. As part of her Secret Santa gift to me, Craig's youngest sister, Kaity, volunteered to tend to Andrew and William for 4 days and 3 nights while Craig and I jet off to an island destination in late January. Ever a fan of a good surprise, I've made Craig promise to not tell me where we're going. Barring the week that we left Andrew to go pick up William in Taiwan, this will be the first time we've ever had more than a night away from the boys. Kaity, dear - I really owe you a kidney or two. Thank you, thank you!!

While he was in town, we were blessed to have my father accompany us on our yearly visit to a local Christmas tree farm. Following a hayride pulled by draft horses, he patiently endured our 45-minute deliberation over trees that, to him, probably all looked alike.

Speaking of my father, I would appreciate your continued prayers for him. While it appeared that his prostate cancer was successfully removed over a year ago, a recent scan indicated that a small portion went undetected and remains active. In early January, he will undergo several weeks of radiation therapy to treat it. We are prayerfully optimistic for a good outcome.

The day after Christmas, we, along with much of the East Coast, were visited by a minor blizzard that left a good 10 or so inches of snow in our town. The boys suited up and headed out for some frigid fun.

Andrew dug a tunnel through one of the snow banks.

I didn't get many good shots of William. Much of what I have is either ill-lit or features the poor guy with boogers running down his nose or his hat falling over his eyes. In the photo above, I was aiming for a shot of both boys smiling happily at me, but alas, it was not to be. Overcome by his twisty hat, cold snow on his face, and frozen appendages, William started crying miserably and had to be rushed indoors, stat.

Autumn

2010-12-13T08:37:00.010-05:00

The first day of school... (yeah, I'm going waaaay back in time.) So far, Andrew has had a great year in 2nd grade. After a few days of brief crying upon my departure, William has also settled in well. His teacher reports that he is a "joy to teach." Because the pre-K teacher resigned at the last minute, the nursery school decided to combine both the 3 and 4 year-olds in the same class. I was initially concerned about the large class size that might result. However, all has turned out well. While William is getting taught a pre-K curriculum (which he can handle well), he's also getting schooled in social skills appropriate to 3 year-olds, aided by the more mature influence of the 4 year-olds in the class.

Autumn at our old house. In mid-November, we moved far, far away. Like 15 minutes far. We had a good month and a half to schlep carload after carload of smaller belongings to the new home, so once moving day arrived, all that was left for the movers was an assortment of couches, an old grand piano, and other unwieldy possessions.

The boys still speak of missing the old house. At 7 years old, the change was bittersweet for Andrew. Even though the new home has many tangible advantages, there's a definite sense of loss when he speaks of our last home. It took 3 year-old William some time to understand that there was no going back, that we were never returning to the old house to eat or sleep anymore. After being in the new house for a good month now, I think he finally understands. Hopefully, this will be the last time he will have to move for the next 15 years of his life. 4 relocations in 3 years over 2 continents is too much for anyone.

Andrew finally regained his confidence in riding his bike. He was 5 years old when he took his first spin sans training wheels. However, lack of practice over the colder months and his personal insecurities got the better of him over the next year. Confidence restored, he had a lot of fun this summer and fall cruising the nearby roads and the backyard.

Our biggest score of the fall yard sale/consignment season: a new-in-box bubble blower. $2.00 bought as much entertainment as the accompanying bottle of bubble fluid would allow.

Giving new definition to washing one's mouth out with soap.

In October, William's 3 year-old nursery school took a class trip to a local farm. The children went on a hayride and ran through a corn maze. At the end of the trip, each child got to choose a small pumpkin to take home.

William has latched on well to Y., a fellow classmate. Y. kept wanting to get in on the picture action that morning. Interestingly, the children William often mentions as playmates mostly have some sort of Asian heritage.

More fun in the foliage at the old house. The house we bought is in a newer development, so most of the backyards are devoid of any mature trees. Our backyard has none at all. (By the way, I realize the lighting is terrible in this picture and in the one below. Still, I liked the look of wild abandon on William's face.)

Simultaneously drowning in leaves and excitement.

I could tell you 5 things that irk me about the photo above, but considering that it was the only one in which I was able to get both boys smiling simultaneously, it wound up on the front of our Christmas card.

Trying to track a sprinting kid while shooting in manual mode can often yield out-of-focus shots like this one. But again, I loved the excitement that was shone through in William's facial expression and posture. For all his willfullness and tantrums (which, thankfully, have reduced considerably), William is a happy child with a sunny disposition.

Andrew took a .01 second break from hurling leaves all over me to allow this shot. Over the past few months, it has been heartwarming to see the brothers starting to play together more. At almost 3 1/2 years old, William is beginning to better understand the explicit and implicit rules of play, making Andrew's day-to-day more enjoyable and making our jobs easier as parents.

Grief

2010-10-13T21:21:00.008-04:00

Right now, the boys are down to sleep (or pretending to be) and Craig is out of the house. It's a good thing because I am crying hot, ugly tears. If you know me, you know that I'm not usually the crying sort.

In shifting some furniture to prepare it for moving to our new house, I came across a dusty envelope of pictures of William's younger months at St. Lucy's Center. They were taken with the disposable camera that we had sent over in one of his care packages. It has been at least a year and a half since I've browsed through the set.

I'm crying because my heart breaks for the baby in those pictures. He looks nothing like the happy 3 year-old we know and love, but the child in those photos is undeniably William. The months he spent in an orphanage are an indelible part of his life story, of who he is - and I'm sad for that. Sometimes it's easy to forget that he ever had a past as an orphan because he's such a cheerful, funny little boy. But when I see these pictures, I'm reminded of all that he has lost in order to become a part of our family.

- holdup - dry the tears and put on a happy face; Andrew just came downstairs -

Yes, yes, I know, this is a story with a supposedly happy ending. We adopted William and brought him into a home full of love. I know that adoption is God's way of taking an ugly situation borne from a broken world and making some good of it. Still, I can't help but grieve every now and then.

Rule the World: C

2010-10-02T22:46:00.000-04:00

A few weekends ago, I had the opportunity to shoot some photos of C., a senior high student from our church. Her best friend, J. (the dark-haired beauty below), joined in on the picture action.

C. may just be 17 years old, but the girl is already my road racing hero. If you run 5ks, she's that girl, the one who's lounging near the finish line eating a banana and looking well-rested as you feebly throw yourself across the line, panting like a dog. She's the rare sort of creature who is gentically engineered by God to run 3.1 miles in 20 minutes. Oh, and did I mention she's also class president, recently home from a missions trip where she helped street children in Mexico, and is drop dead gorgeous (not that you couldn't figure it out for yourself in the pictures below)?

I don't know about you, but I'm thinking that, given her combination of gifts, this girl could rule the world in about 10 years. She already has my vote.

Roadtrip 2010

2010-09-06T14:48:00.004-04:00

In the midst of the craziness that has been our summer so far - the relentless staging of our house to look like a spread from a Pottery Barn catalog, sorting through and signing Kilimanjaro-high mounds of paperwork to buy and sell a home, packing and moving box upon box, getting the house show-ready at the drop of a hat - 2 weeks of vacation was as welcome as a 2 degree day in the middle of the marathon heatwave that occupied much of our summer.

We spent four of those 14 vacation days on the road for 6.5 hours each. Our travels took us up and down the mid-Atlantic from the mountains to the valleys to the oceans (which were indeed white with fooooooaaaaaaaammmmm!). First stop: Virginia Beach, where we spent 4 days. We then traveled 2 hours inland to spend a day and night at my parent's house. Afterwards, we returned to our mothership in the Delaware Valley region to regroup before striking out on the road again, this time to the Adirondack Mountains of New York State. There, we enjoyed 3 days with Craig's grandmother and parents at their cabin on the lake.

The high mileage had me concerned at first. In previous years when we took William on 6-hour car trips, he would let loose with head-splitting bouts of fussing, crying, and thrashing. However, God be praised for the miracle of maturity. This time around, William weathered each segment of travel like a pro, five potty stops on the first leg notwithstanding. (Lesson learned: never give a 3 year-old an 8 oz. fruit smoothie while driving on a highway with sporadic rest stops. His bladder is just not that big.)

But I digress. Below is the recap of What We Did on Our Summer Vacation. Cue the Muzak and roll film!

From the Mountains...

2010-09-06T14:46:00.011-04:00

When our tour of New York State Thruway toilets came to an end, we arrived at the same lake that four generations of Craig's family have come to every summer. Eagerly, the boys dashed into the house to greet their grandparents and great-grandmother. It wasn't long before the quiet cabin that the three spend all summer in was turned upside down with the sounds of youthful shouting and the pitter-patter of feet. Over the course of that night and the next rainy day, any extra space in the 800 square foot home was taken over by mismatched children's shoes, assorted library books, and Lego creations.

Day 3 brought clear weather. With Pa and Nana in tow, the boys let their pent-up energy loose at a nearby park. After lunch, Craig's dad indulged Andrew by taking him on a chilly jet ski ride across the lake. Once William woke from his nap, he took the rest of the family on a cruise in his boat. The boys took turns piloting the craft and spotting underlying fish on the boat's sonar device. After enjoying Nana's hot dog dinner that night, they messied themselves up with ice cream cones at a shop in town. All in all, it was a recipe for a classic American summertime.

The cold, rainy weather finally cleared the day before we were due to leave. The boys explored the beach that morning and had a blast chucking rocks into the lake.

Silly me to think I could put William in jeans and expect them to stay dry.

Significant rainfall had dislodged and submerged portions of the dock. However, Craig's dad MacGuyered much of it back together so that we could go out for a boat ride later that day.

"Warp speed ahead, Mr. Andrew!"

Life jackets were made for 3 year-old boys whose idea of fun is to walk non-stop back forth on the deck of a boat with low walls.

Cheeks ahoy! Don't let William's worried expression fool you: he really did have a great time.

Thanks, Grandma, Pa, and Nana for putting us up and putting up with us. See you in a few weeks!

...to the Valleys

2010-09-06T14:45:00.004-04:00

Sandwiched between our trips to Virginia Beach and the Adirondacks was a 2-day pitstop back home in the Philadelphia area. While Craig helped some friends move to their new home, I took the boys to see Australian children's super-group, the Wiggles, in concert at a local venue.

Much like his older brother was when he was 3, William is a big Wiggles fan. Having listened to their CDs ad nauseam in the car, he knows much of their exhaustive repertoire by heart. In light of that, I was excited to break news of the show to him. The day before the concert, I made the announcement with great gusto, fully expecting William to react with shrieks of joy and elated jumping.

His response was quite the opposite. His face froze with fear and his little body tensed up. "No! I don't want to see the Wiggles! I don't want to see the Wiggles!" he protested. His demeanor was similar to Andrew's 4 years earlier when we took him to see a Wiggles concert in New York City. His favorite Wiggle, the red-clad Murray, had come down the aisle and had reached out his hand to shake Andrew's. The poor child panicked and backed away. You'd think I'd know by now that there's a great disconnect between seeing images of favorite characters on t.v., listening to their music, and actually meeting them in person. The illusion often feels safer than the reality.

At any rate, concert day arrived, and William attended without resistance. Safely ensconced high up in the balcony, he took in the hour and half-long show with studied concentration. There were no smiles, no singing and dancing on his part, but considering he could have had a worse response, it's as much as I could have asked for.

You wouldn't know it from the picture above, but these guys really sweat for their millions. They engaged in non-stop dancing, acrobatics, and - gasp! - legitimate singing.

Sadly, our favorite Wiggle, the red-shirted (and rapidly aging) Murray had to return to Australia for a family commitment. An understudy filled his role. As one of the two Wiggles in their 50's (Jeff of the purple shirt is 57!), I wonder how he plans to announce his retirement one day. Telling his young fans, "Sorry, Murray is getting too old to hop around on stage anymore" probably wouldn't fly.

Wisely, the Wiggles warned their young audience that the lights would go out during the performance of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." William still talks about this moment - and not always with enthusiasm.

As kids' concerts go, it was a great show. I have to admit that I probably enjoyed it most. Of the three of us, I was the only one clapping and singing along. And doing the hand motions. And wiggling along in my seat. And shouting, "Wake up, Jeff!" Okay, okay, I'm just as much a fan of the Wiggles as William is. You got me.

...to the Oceans

2010-09-06T14:44:00.010-04:00

Last up on our reverse travel log: Virginia Beach, where we spent four nights and five days.

Having grown up 2 hours inland, the occasional daytrip my family took to the shore was a real treat. The approaching sight of the tall buildings lining the coast with nothing behind them but open, blue sky always made - and still does make - my heart beat just a little faster. Traveling home in sand-logged swimsuits and water-logged towels was a small price to pay for all the fun we had.

Andrew had been wanting to go to the beach for many months. Once on the road, he kept asking how long it would be before we arrived. We had barely set our bags down in the hotel room before he was ready to dash out to the water. Unfortunately, it was approaching dark by that point, so he had to curb his enthusiasm until the next morning. Breakfast in his belly, swimsuited and suncreened, he nearly broke the sound barrier as he barreled toward the waves.

On the third day, we bought Andrew a bodyboard. He couldn't get enough of wavesurfing.

However, reunited with his old nemeses, sand and waves, William's seldom-seen cautious side emerged. He picked hesitantly at the sand on the first day, then declared himself done with the stuff the next. He had no interest in dipping his feet in the lapping waves.

It was only on the very last day that he allowed us to carry him out into the water. Gradually, he permitted us to lower his legs in for a short intervals. From then on, it was only a matter of time before he stood in the shallow waves holding onto our hands. Just as we declared it time to pack up the operation, he decided he wanted to swim in the water.

My parents drove out to join us for a day and night at the beach. On the first day, we rented an unwieldy bicycle contraption and took it for a labored roll down the bike lane that runs along the shore. It's a good thing it had four sets of pedals; motoring that beast wasn't as easy as we thought it would be.

The next morning, my parents took the kids early so Craig and I could sleep in. [This is the point in the post where the angelic choirs burst out in song.] After breakfast at a pancake house, the four of them suited up and hit the hotel swimming pool. I couldn't help sneaking down to take a peek at them. I couldn't hear much through the glass wall, but the Kool-Aid man smiles on both boys' faces told the whole story. Later that morning, we said our goodbyes and promised to come visit them a few days later.

While in Virginia Beach, we took a daytrip to the local aquarium, an impressive facility with a wide array of marine life and an outdoor nature center. However, rather than oooh and aah over the sharks, the rays, and the nasty snakes, William was happy to spend his $15.00 admission fee slapping relentlessly at the buttons on the interactive displays. Andrew performed slightly better.

One of Craig's favorite things to do is to gaze at tropical fish. (Shh... don't tell him I wrote this or he'll never speak to me again.) Unfortunately, chasing two kids from exhibit to exhibit made for a gaze-less day.

"If you put your ear up to this shell, you can hear the sound of the ocean next to us."

My baby bird.

I think this shark might have been dead. It didn't move.

Boy in a bubble.

On day 5, we shook the sand from our belongings and gathered up our clumsy assortment of beach chairs, shovels and pails, and lumpy bags. We thought we had everything packed into the car, but 45 minutes into our trip, a sick feeling set in. Craig had no recollection of loading in Pillow Pet, one of William's favorite stuffed animals. Pillow Pet was the Chosen One, the toy William had selected to travel with him. I had left the prized dog with the bags that Craig was to bring to the car while Andrew and I made a quick trip to the beach to recycle some bottles. However, while Craig was loading the luggage dolly, William must have absconded with the dog and left it somewhere in the hotel room.

I called the hotel from the road to ask if the staff wouldn't mind mailing it to us on our dime, but two weeks later, nothing arrived. Thankfully, William was still able to function without it. Other stuffed animals filled in its role as best they could. Still, Pillow Pet's disappearance was felt. He inquired frequently about its whereabouts and even sent up a heartbreaking prayer on its behalf. We promised him that Pillow Pet would indeed show up in a box at the post office soon. Soon, however, turned into nearly three weeks.

Farewell, faithful friend.

Last week, a box did arrive. William eagerly pulled back its flaps and squealed at the sight of the mound of fur that emerged. "Pillow Pet! Pillow Pet! I love you!" he shrieked, squeezing the animal tightly. Lost in the joyous reunion, he failed to notice that Pillow Pet's fur was a little softer, its sheen a bit brighter, that the addresses on the box only read, "From: the Hotel. To: William."

But, I digress. We arrived at my parents' home in central Virginia later that day. Over the course of that night and the following morning, Andrew and William ran my parents ragged playing tennis and golf, going on multiple tractor rides, and calling out, "Ahma, Ahgon - look at me!" in stereo. Ever the good sports, my parents indulged them with admirable energy.

I couldn't resist asking Andrew to give me his best fierce face. The Rambo-esque grease marks on his cheeks demanded it.

...and a not-so-fierce face.

Speaking of fierce, one of William's many talents is the ability to play a mean air guitar.

William used his putting abilities to help my parents mow their front lawn.

You can't tell from this shot, but Andrew is at the helm of the John Deere, ripping down the driveway at a face-flattening 2 mph.

"I'm the king of the cowfield!"

I'm glad we had the opportunity to visit my parents' house, even if our stay was brief. They've listed their house for sale with the intent of retiring to another state. This may very well be the last chance we have to return to the home where my family finally put down roots after moving 4 times in a decade, where I spent a decade of my own life growing up, where Andrew recently said with a contented sigh, "I have good memories of this place." It's a good thing for him - and for us - that it's not the house that makes those memories but the people who dwell within it.

The Incredibles: The B. Family

2010-08-05T23:16:00.003-04:00

Every once in a while, I entertain the idea of packing up the boys and living abroad in Taiwan for part of each summer. Doing so would enable Andrew and William to learn about their heritage first-hand and to improve their Mandarin language skills 100-fold. I fantasize about throwing them head first into an age-appropriate class where they'd have no recourse but to hear and speak Mandarin all day long.

However, my flights of fancy are quickly shot down by three factors:

1) I couldn't imagine living apart from Craig for a few months. You should've seen me getting teary-eyed in the grocery store aisle the first time he spent a week working in London.

2) I loathe hot, humid weather. I've often thought that if given the choice between death by extreme heat or death by freezing, I'd choose the latter in a heartbeat. Taiwan's torrid, tropical summers are no joke.

3) - and the biggest reason - I fear for Andrew. Unlike his 3 year-old brother, he's at the age where it becomes more difficult to slip into un unfamiliar situation and to roll with the punches. He would have to work harder to learn the language. Only when William arrived did he start hearing me speak Mandarin on a regular and very flawed basis. My heart breaks to think of him fighting to understand his teachers and classmates, to imagine him feeling like an outsider among children who live every waking moment in Mandarin and dream at night in the same tongue. I know, I know, he's only 7, so time is still on his side. Plenty of older children are thrown into such situations and emerge successfully in the end. Still, I still can't get past worrying about his emotions. Unlike William, who would strike up a conversation with a lamp post if given the chance, Andrew is a sensitive child who sometimes approaches new situations with hesitation.

And, unlike his younger brother who is 100% Taiwanese, he can't slip seamlessly into the environment as far as appearances are concerned. As a mixed-race child, he'd be the subject of lots of double takes and finger-pointing. (Taiwanese people, on the whole, don't strike me as the most tactful people in this regard.) As far as I can tell, Andrew has yet to feel like an oddity because of his blended heritage here in the States. However, if we spent a summer in Taiwan, he'd likely send lots of heads a-turning and tongues a-wagging.

All of those considerations make me stand in awe of some friends of ours. A few years ago, they made the decision to uproot their family of five in order to work and live abroad. Once there, they became instant minorities on account of their race, culture, and ideology. They did what I lack the gumption to do: placed their children in the local school, forged relationships despite a significant language gap, and surrendered the cushy life of the average American. The sacrifices they made were pretty incredible. But then again, they're pretty incredible people.

While they were Stateside this summer, I had the opportunity to take some pictures of their family. I have to say that this has been my favorite shoot to date:

It’s a good thing that they are now 30,000 miles in the air, headed back to their overseas home. If they stuck around any longer, some of their incredible-ness might rub off on me, convincing me it's a good idea to relocate the kids to Taiwan one summer and sweat it out.

Thrilled

2010-07-28T23:15:00.005-04:00

The spirit of the King of Pop was alive, well, and raging silly at the doctor's office yesterday. Stripped down to their underwear, Andrew and William treated their pediatrician to non-stop booty shaking and Michael Jackson impersonations. I struggled to answer the standard 3 and 7 year-old checkup questions over the din of cackling boys and falsetto M.J. "hee-hee!"s. Even the good Dr. L. had a hard time keeping a straight face.

There were only two pieces of minor, minor-ly bad news: William still has a significant chunk of earwax in one ear canal, which makes spotting conditions like this past winter's first ear infection tough. Did I ever tell you about the $650 bill we received from the ENT's office for getting both boys' massive plugs of wax removed months ago? Yes, this was after our health insurance paid their share. Don't get me started.

Andrew, on the other hand, may be a possible candidate for glasses. We took him to the opthalmologist several months ago. His vision checked out fine then. However, during yesterday's vision test, he had trouble reading some of the letters on the chart that William breezed through during his exam. The nurse thought Andrew's vision might be about 20/50. The news doesn't take us by surprise since Craig and I both have equally appalling vision. In fact, if some sinister person wanted to disable our family, he or she need only to steal our glasses. Alas, poor Andrew never stood a chance.

"Wow, William! You may be 4 years younger than I, but your legs have the same circumference as mine!"

Otherwise, both Michael impersonators are as healthy as can be. Slim Jim Michael measured in at 4 feet and 1.5 inches and weighed 53.6 lbs. This places him roughly in the 75th percentile for height and 65th percentile for weight. Little linebacker Michael measured in at 3 feet and 1.5 inches and weighed in at 34.6 lbs. He lands in the 50th percentile for height and in the 75th percentile for weight. (The doctor didn't say as much, but I can tell you that half of William's weight is distributed in his plush cheeks. It's amazing he doesn't tip over when he walks.)

The best news of all is that both boys were excited about going to the doctor's office. Their enthusiasm didn't wane during the visit, not even during William's one innoculation. Ever the hardier one, I expected no less of him. However, I was thrilled by the change in attitude in Andrew, whose fear of getting checkups set in when he was 6 months old and grew progressively worse as he got older. Surprisingly, he fought William to be the first one to climb up on the exam table. He giggled his way through his exam and wanted to know when he could come back again.

Having steeled myself for the emotional roller coaster ride that doctor's visits often are, I left the office with a smile on my face. The changes I continue to see in my 7 year-old amaze me. The bravery of my 3 year-old is equally commendable. Yesterday's success was almost enough to make me dust off my sparkly glove, slap my knee, and do a crisp moonwalk. Altogether now: "Whooo! C'mon, girl! Tch!"

And because I just cannot resist letting loose with one more Michael Jackson-ism: "Sha-moah!"

"Hee-hee!"

!!!=3

2010-07-19T22:49:00.032-04:00

So long, 2 years-old. We've had our fun. You brought us new discoveries, daring adventures, and many exciting times. You've also delievered more than our fair share of the terribles, too. Yet, it is now with mixed emotions that I break the news to you: as of 12:50 a.m. today, William has moved on. Yup, our little buddy is now three years-old.

Family members gathered to celebrate William's birthday this past Saturday. It's bittersweet to think that this was the last birthday party we'd host in our current home.

However, before we close the book on Year 2, we might as well recount some of the highlights from it:

Hello, Potty! I'm thrilled to announce that William is now potty trained. In preparation, we stocked the house with M&Ms, cheap plastic potties from Ikea, and Clorox Wipes. The boys and I made a special trip to Target so that William could pick out his own underwear. I had assumed he'd go for a pack featuring any one of the many licensed characters he loves, but silly me. I should have known he'd lunge for the boxer briefs with the sports balls printed around the waistband.

While William already knew how to pee in his potty (but seldom wanted to), we never pushed the issue seriously. I waited until Andrew finished school in June so that we could be home for several days in a row. Horrible visions of driving down the highway with a toddler who reeeeallly had to go flashed before me. I was determined that they would not come true.

Thankfully, William got the #1 function down pretty quickly. In fact, the incentive of receiving an M&M for each pee was too appealing. At one point, he literally peed six times in 30 minutes just to earn the prize. Keeping an enthusiastic demeanor after attempt #3 was hard.

On the other hand, I had my concerns about his ability, moreso, his desire to poop in the potty. Each time I encouraged him to try, he'd run away screaming as if I had just asked him to sit on a ring of fire. Offers to read him books, yes, even humiliating attempts on my part to feign the act, complete with hovering and grunting (come on parents, you've done it, too!) failed.

Once again, silly me. I should've realized that I was potty training William. Will. I. Am. This is the boy who wants to do things his way. While I was busy in the kitchen on Day 2, he startled me by running into the room and screaming exultantly, "Mommy, I did poo poo!" I nearly cried for joy at the sight and at the sight of the following day's product. Childrearing is not supposed to be this easy.

Speaking of things that I don't take for granted, William now sleeps in a big bed. A few months ago, I tried to have him nap on the twin mattress in the corner of his room, but that effort resulted in his getting out repeatedly to sneak books back into his bed. When I suggested he try sleeping on the mattress again that night, he panicked. I decided to give him more time. My latent adoptive parent fears kicked in. Did I really want to risk taking away a source of security and comfort from him? Who knew what subconscious damage I might incur in him?

In late May, we ordered a bed frame for him. I botched the online order and wound up getting a bunkbed. It turned out just as well since we were able to use the top bed with rails along both sides. Perhaps the fence-like set-up made him feel secure. Perhaps he had finally matured to a point where he was ready to move on. Whatever the reason, William stayed in his bed that night and for most every night since. Even now, when I go to get him in the morning, he announces with pride, "Mommy, I stayed in my bed!" While I am grateful that these momentous toddler transitions have come so relatively easily, a part of me is still waiting for something to go awry. It just can't be this easy.

In other developments, William's verbal skills have really blossomed over the last year. He now uses verb tenses, pronouns, and figures of speech with greater accuracy (my favorite simile of his: "I am strong... like a tree!"). Much to my regret, he speaks in English about 90% of the time, though his receptive Mandarin skills remain strong. I need to start insisting that he speak back to me in Mandarin because the less he speaks the language, the more quickly he'll forget it. I am living proof of that sad phenomenon. Here's one word I do remember: wahhhh.... It requires no translation.

On the subject of foreign languages, William can now count, at minimum, up to the number 10 in English, Mandarin, Spanish, and Taiwanese. He especially likes to ask me how to say words in Spanish and to make up words in that language. It's just evidence of how, like the average toddler, his brain can absorb information at a dizzying rate.

That same sponge-brain has allowed him to start memorizing answers to the Children's Catechism that Andrew just finished learning over the last year. We got off to a late start teaching William (I still think of my former pastor's daughter, who had all 150 answers down pat when she was 2!). We've reached question #14 and continue to move ahead a bit more each day.

On the surface, learning catechism questions seems like a dry and pointless exercise for a young child, but our hope is that one day, the rich theology contained in it will inform our children's hearts and indeed, their lives, in very significant ways. After all, how we live is truly an indicator of what we believe inwardly. And for what it's worth, William enjoys the learning process, as you can in the video above.

Another thing William enjoys are Curious George books (thanks, B. family, for the new additions). Every day, he insists that we read our way through several stories. Part of what drives his enthusiasm is watching Curious George on PBS during his t.v. time with Andrew. It's one of the few shows that manages to hold both boys' interests, a tall order for two children who are four years apart in age.

If Curious George wins the William Award for favorite books and tv show, the awards for other favorites go to:

Favorite foods: corn on the cob, Rice Crispies, dumplings, watermelon, ice cream, string cheese, and Pirate's Booty

Favorite toys: anything round and bounceable, followed by Andrew's old Fisher Price Power Touch Learning System (thanks Uncle Bob and Aunt Bonnie)

Favorite music: anything by the Wiggles, preferably played 7 times in a row (thanks, Aiyi Jenny and Uncle Paul for the recent playlist recharge)

Favorite sleeping objects: four blankets, which must be placed facing upwards (Heather - your handmade quilt is one of them; Mom K., your waffle-knit blanket is another), three stuffed animals (Aiyi Sherry - your brown dog has stolen his heart), and one plush football.

Physically, William has made several advancements over the last year. He learned how to propel himself in a swimming pool with a flotation device strapped around his waist. You should have seen his face light up the day he realized that by trying to dance in the water, he could keep himself afloat. He now enjoys jumping into the water and is comfortable putting his head below the water (again, can it really be this easy?). A few weeks ago, he moved up to the swimming class that doesn't require parental involvement in the pool. I'm smiling about that very fact as I type.

William has also figured out how to ride a tricycle. It wasn't long before he was able to pedal a 12" bike with training wheels. He still gets stuck from time to time and needs a push to regain his momentum, but it has been fun to watch him pick up speed as his leg muscles strengthen with practice.

He's also making advancements in the area of fine motor skills. On our trips to the library, he enjoys playing toddler-oriented computer games while I browse for books nearby. William has figured out how to work a standard mouse, something I was a bit concerned about since all signs point to his being left-handed. Yet, it wasn't long before he learned how to maneuver it with his right hand. The sight of such a little person pointing and clicking away still strikes me as a bit eery.

Finally, any report on William's past year would be incomplete without a mention of his personality. William is a sociable child who likes to engage strangers in random conversation: "Hey, what are you doing?" "We went to Gui-Target" (yes, that's "Target" to the rest of us) "You have pretty earrings." "Is your hair windy?" Their response is always the same: big smiles and lots of chuckling. He's a happy kid who loves to laugh to make others laugh. At 3 years-old, I detect a charisma in him that will likely carry well into his adulthood.

But it's not all smiley faces. The boy has a quick temper and a strong will and often gets into trouble for them. On a good day, he sits in the timeout chair 2-3 times. On an average day, he's there 4-6 times. On a bad day, the number only goes upwards. Typical infractions include breaking Andrew's Lego structures, refusing to obey a request, or hitting a member of the family in his frustration or excitement. Very, very slowly, we're starting to see progress in his self-control, but it's obvious that he still has his work cut out for him.

Lately, William has developed an intense possessive quality that borders on paranoia. When we pass by similarly aged children in public places, he often points an angry finger at them and charges, "You can't have my snack!" (oftentimes, he doesn't have a snack in hand) or "You can't have my ______!" (fill in the name of whatever object he doesn't have). He has an unforgiving memory when it comes to children with whom he might have had past sharing struggles. Poor Ruth's Ryan got treated to a legendary freakout session when they invited us over for dinner a couple of months ago. Sorry, Ryan.

The many volunteers in his church class almost always have the same words when we go to pick him up: "Oh, yes, William... he's a character!" Translation: over the past hour and a half, William has alternately turned on the charm and the harm. Teachers sometimes report that he has trouble staying in circle time, getting up to knock down towers that other kids have built or wreaking havoc in some other way. We're trying to target the specific behaviors and to remind him frequently of his need to respect his peers, but like many of his shortcomings, I sense this is going to be a point of growth for years to come. Starting nursery school two mornings a week this fall should help.

Difficulties aside, William remains a unique little boy. On this first day of his third year of life, I reflect back on the curious and quiet boy we were handed at St. Lucy's Center in Taiwan and wonder what became of him. How very different he is now! How much he has changed and grown! There are no more traces of the bewildered baby boy we adopted almost 2 and a half years ago.

I'd like to think that time and familiarity have brought out the real William, the child we see now and the child we have always loved. William, version 3.0, was just hiding under several layers of babyhood and caution and not a small amount of chub (I lament the disappearance of his squishy legs; as he grows, it's getting harder and harder to squeeze the Charmin).

But look at him now. If the boy were a punctuation mark, he'd be an exclamation point. Or two. Or three. If he were a musical notation, he'd be fff con brio, as loud as possible, with vigor. Here is a child whose personality is larger than the three foot-something frame that feebly attempts to contain it. As a guest in our home once noted, "He should have his own t.v. show."

Efforts to curb his mischievous side will likely meet with eventual success. Patient parenting and the grace of God will refine him over time. However, nothing can suppress the exuberance, the joyful spirit, the... the shazam! that is so much a part of who he is.

Run for cover, Year 3: William has arrived and he's coming at you with full force.

Dear Andrew

2010-07-09T23:55:00.002-04:00

Dear Andrew,

7 years ago, at 8:21 p.m., you entered my life like a lightning bolt. For the next two and a half years, you proved yourself to be a difficult baby to care for and an equally challenging toddler. I could enumerate all the ways in which you wore me down, but the recall would literally cause my nerves to tense up and prompt my heart rate to accelerate. Even now as I type these words, it feels as if a jumbo pair of forceps is squeezing my head.

Without meaning to, you pressed me to the limits of what I could bear externally and internally. Each day found me depleted just a bit more. On a few occasions, well-intentioned individuals suggested that I examine myself for post-partum depression because it seemed to them a feasible explanation for the degree of emotional deterioriation they saw in me. (Blessedly, I could not relate to the symptoms of PPD.) Even now, people sometimes ask if you were the reason we decided to bring home your younger brother. Were we trying to bypass the tough newborn months by adopting an older baby? I can tell my inquirers are only half joking.

But if someone had told me what a treasure lay beneath all the layers of dust and detritus, what 7 years of continued refinement by our Master Creator could bring about, I wouldn't have believed it. I am a pessimist by nature. Who knew what a beautiful soul and gentle spirit would emerge from behind the camouflage of colic and sensitivity and (wait! stop! the giant forceps are coming closer!)? The once-difficult baby has given way to a delightful young boy that I am humbled to call my eldest son.

Not everyone has the privilege of seeing the sides of you that your father and I see. To some, you are the boy with the annoying level of energy, the kid who can be clingy in certain social situations, the one whose facility with manners is still not fully attained. Believe me, I'm not one of those mothers who is so blinded by adoration that I can't see your faults and understand why certain people may feel the way they do. After all, your heart, like everyone else's, is still a work in progress. The sin nature that pollutes all of humanity is present in you, too.

Yet, I rejoice in knowing that Christ also dwells in you. You asked him to be your Savior when you were 4 years old and since then, it has been a thing of wonder to see the ways in which he is growing you to be more like him.

The boy who someone once called "hyper" consistently scores the highest marks on his report card for good behavior, consideration of his classmates, and demonstrations of good character. According to your teachers, you are a joy to teach. They consistently note how attuned you are to the emotions of your peers.

Speaking of your classmates, you enjoy telling me stories about their accomplishments. I now know that Nathan is the fastest runner, that Trevor has an incomparable sense of humor, that Christian could read entire chapter books like nobody's business in Pre-K. I marvel as I listen to you speak of them. There is no hint of jealousy or competition in your voice. At 7 years old, you just might know what I am still struggling to learn at 35: that you are a worthwhile not because of what you can or cannot do but because you are loved by God.

As your teacher wrote in your year-end report card, you have a tender heart. I see it in the way you constantly tell me, "Mommy, you're the best mom ever!" or in the way you ask after me the 20 times a day I bruise, cut, or otherwise injure myself. You buy me what you call "beautiful" jewelry every year at your school's Christmas Secret Store sale. You're so excited to give it to me. (That turquoise, faux-velvet, swan-shaped jewelry box is going into my memory box for posterity.) You like to give me "hairstyles" by awkwardly attempting to braid my hair and clipping barrettes in it. You're physically affectionate and can be often caught trying to hug or kiss me many times throughout the day.

Your dad likes to tell of how helpful you are. When he's working in the yard, you often stop what you're doing, dash out, and volunteer to help. Your ability to adhere to hard physical work is improving.

Your patience with William is remarkable for a 7 year-old who daily endures a toddler with all the determination of the Little Engine that Could and the grace of Godzilla. Sure, you have your moments, but you are often a model to me of how gracious longsuffering should look like. Your kindness towards your brother manifests in endearing ways. It's not surprising to find you reading a book to him or showing him how to play with a toy. The other day at the store, you felt badly that I wouldn't spare the change to let William ride on a coin-operated dinosaur. You promised to give him money out of your allowance so he could ride it for his birthday.

While I deem your character growth to be your most significant development over the last year, there are several other milestones worth remembering:

Over the past year, you:

- lost 4 teeth, the latest one falling out this past Wednesday. It wasn't long before you figured out that there was no such thing as the, um, Woman with Wings and a Big Wallet Who Likes to Collect Pearly Whites.

- grew bold enough to immerse your eyes in a swimming pool and the shower, albeit briefly.

You love drawing monsters, battle scenes, and weaponry. This is one of your recent sketches of a somewhat gentler nature. You described it as a fight scene between a mermaid king and an opposing merman, both with Egyptian-inspired headware. I got a good, quiet chuckle out of the man-bra on the figure to the left.

- went skiing for the first time this past winter with Daddy. You had a blast.

- won Super Reader and Super Speller Awards in school. Your abilities in those disciplines tested well above grade level. Your teacher has recommended that you be placed in your grade's accelerated learning group next year.

- continued to show an aptitude for foreign languages. You are one of the few kids who consistently gets top marks in Spanish. Your Mandarin is also improving. You won 2nd place in the Chinese school character recognition contest despite having to play catch up with the other kids who had been in the program for a few years already.

- finished memorizing all 150 answers to the children's abbreviated version of the Westminster Shorter Catechism. However, a good review is in order since you've forgotten many of the answers to the earlier questions. Blame Mom and Dad for a lack of consistent review.

- have discovered a passion for watching Scooby Doo and The Smurfs.

- have built some pretty awesome structures out of Legos and K'Nex.

- developed a rich imagination and - in my proud momma estimation - are demonstrating increasingly good artistic skill with which to render it.

- have continued to develop a deeper knowledge of the Bible and an understanding of the concepts found in it. At 7, you know far more about its contents than I did at 17. Undoubtedly, you are all the richer for it.

Only the God of that Bible, the same one who created the world, parted the seas, and raised the dead, could have given me the strength to endure your tough early years and to emerge from them intact. Only that same God could have taken the raw, frightened, and sensitive child that you were then and fashioned in you the gentle and beautiful heart I see now. If this is what he has done in 7 years time, the pessimist in me can't help but give way to great optimism when I consider his work and ponder what he might just do in 7 more years time

Happy birthday, dear Andrew. I love you very much.

The Post- Post

2010-07-07T14:40:00.006-04:00

"Judy-Doobee-Doooo? Where are yooooouuuuu???!"

Psst! Over here. I've been in hiding for a while. I know, I know, it has been a long time since my last entry on April 1st. The intention has been there, yet the motivation to write has been lacking. I've begun a few posts only to abandon them mid-sentence. Ever since wrapping up my church lecture and running the half marathon a few weeks ago, I've been enjoying having my evenings relatively free. I'm relishing not having to spend every spare minute reading Bible commentaries and typing out my speech. Surely Craig has been happy to have his fellow couch-warmer back from the clutches of the basement treadmill. Of course, there's other stuff I still have to do, but few of those things have come with as heavy an obligation or pressing a deadline.

Take #2:

I started typing what you read above several weeks ago. Since abandoning that draft, life has picked up speed again. A season to rest has given way to a season to work. Here's a brief glimpse of some of the things that have been putting us through the paces:

Take #3:

I wrote the paragraph above several weeks ago only to walk away from it. Maybe this time around I'll get a chance to tell you about some of the things that have been going on in our lives.

Take #4:

Mm-hmm. Right... I'm back again a few weeks later. So. As I was saying, I ran the half marathon in early March. Thanks so much to those who supported me through World Vision. Through the largesse of many people like you, the organization managed to raise many thousands of dollars to help with Haitian rebuilding efforts and to dig wells in Africa.

April 3rd was a gorgeous morning for running alongisde many friends from our former church in New Jersey. It was surreal to trot through Flushing Meadows Park (yeah, I know, you're thinking of Homer Simpson and the crab juice episode) as airplanes from LaGuardia airport zoomed overhead. I managed to finish with a time of 2:06:36. It wasn't the pace I was shooting for, but all things considered, I'm content.

Photo by Soo-Jin Lee

Somewhere during mile 2 of the race, a dull pain began to develop in my left knee. I decided to keep running the remaining 11 miles because, hey, how often do you get to run a half marathon with 3,000 other people in one of the greatest cities in the world? In so doing, I brought a nasty case of patellar tendonitis upon myself. Hours after the race, I was hobbling along the sidewalks of New York City, unable to bend my knee. Days after, I still couldn't descend stairs without howling in pain. Weeks after, I couldn't sit through a sermon in church and not wince when standing up. Three months after, I am in week five of physical therapy to repair the damage and hopefully start running again. It has been hard to watch so many people out on the roads for their daily jogs, to see signs up for local races, and to have to sit on the sidelines. However, I am making progress. The other day, I made it up to a very slow four miles. Yet, a few days later, I could barely run a mile without pain. Recovery has been a story of two steps forward, one step backwards, but little by little I'm getting there.

It is said that people who run half marathons usually progress to running full marathons, but considering the risk of further damage that I might incur, I think I'll just have to content myself with shorter distances and aim for a more modest 5K this fall. But, man. I really wanted to slap one of those "26.2" bumper stickers on the back of my car. (Yes, it is all about the sticker.)

Take #5:

Hello. My name is Judy and I am a sorry excuse for a blogger.

What else? Oh, yes. The big time sucker. Craig and I are still shaking our heads and asking ourselves, "What were we thinking?" In an uncharacteristically sudden move (well, uncharacteristic for calculated Craig, at least), we put a bid on a house in a neighboring town and are in contract to take possession of it in late August. We've been hobbling our way towards getting our current house market-ready and are hoping against the odds that it will sell quickly in this iffy economy.

We're sad to give up much about this house - the large, wooded backyard, the 25 foot-high tree swing, the bucolic surroundings. Yet, there's much that we stand to gain: greater proximity to community via church and Andrew's school, a street that actually has children living on it, a town with a strong concentration of Asian people (a big plus for William's self-esteem as an adoptee), and an easy walk to a great park with playgrounds, sports fields, and a running trail.

Take #6:

See? I wasn't kidding you.

In other news, I admit it: I'm a quitter. I've given up on my Flickr Project 365 goal of taking one picture for every day of the year. (Cue The Price Is Right loser music: "bwa bwa bwa bwaaaaaa....") With everything else going on right now, something had to go. However, don't think I haven't been going picture-crazy. In fact, one of the things that has been consuming my evenings is the shooting and editing process for pictures I've taken for friends and their families. I've put in at least 20 hours per family and have a right hand that alternates between twitching and stiffening with carpel tunnel syndrome to show for it. If you click on any of the abbreviated slideshows scattered around this post, you can see what I've been up to.

Take #7:

Mother's Day came and went. Speaking of pictures, my three men gave me a mini photo album containing the lone few pictures that exist of me, along with a small selection of the 10,000 photos of the kids. Kudos to Craig, who stayed up late the night before hunting down all those pictures. Later that day, he tended to the boys so I could get away for an afternoon. I spent much of that time standing in the return line of Home Goods. Sans enfants, the experience was blissful.

On the subject of Mother's Day, Andrew came home with a fill-in-the-blank page from school that read:

"My mom is the most wonderful mom in the world! Her name is Judy. She's as pretty as a flower. She is 35 years old. She has 2 eyes and a lot of hair. [Well, no, much has fallen out and what's left has turned white.] She weighs 109 pounds and is 70 inches tall. [Smart kid -he has learned to underestimate a woman's weight and to overestimate her height.] Her favorite food is broccoli. [At least he didn't say M&Ms by the fistful.] I think Mom is funny when she falls over. [Thanks, kid.] But I know she's really angry when William hits me. [It's true.] I wouldn't trade my Mom for a thousand pieces of gold. [But how about for 1,001?] I love my Mom because she loves me. [You bet I do, Monkey.]"

A month later, we celebrated Father's Day by serving Craig breakfast in bed. He chugged down his daily gallon of coffee from a mug that Andrew hand-painted at a make-your-own-pottery store. William doesn't realize it, but he renewed his father's subscription to Car and Driver magazine. And I? I tended to the flock while Craig went out for a long and solo Sunday drive. It was a good occasion for him to decompress after weeks and weeks of brutal work hours and high stress.

Take #8:

Much has been happening with the boys over the past several months. I've decided to save those details for their upcoming birthday posts. In a couple of days, birthday season swings into full gear with Andrew's 7th birthday on July 9th, followed by William's 3rd birthday on July 19th. Family and friends will soon descend from all over the country to celebrate the occasions with us. It's always a fun, yet intense few weeks. Somewhere in between all of that, Craig and I will try to squeeze in a 12th anniverary celebration on July 11th.

Take #9:

I'm realizing it's too dangerouus to let myself keep editing this entry. My odds of re-abandoning my post are alarmingly high. So, before I get a chance to hit "Save Now" and to click the little red "X" in the upper right hand corner of my screen, I'm going to raise my hand, mouse over to the orange button, and hit "Publish Post." I'll see you in cyberspace.

Game On

2010-04-01T10:12:00.001-04:00

Over the last year, Andrew has been diligently saving up. Allowance funds, birthday, Christmas, and Chinese New Year's money have been faithfully squirreled away into a purple plastic box from Ikea. With a final $5.00 he gained for participating in a word recognition contest at Chinese school, he was able to cash in on his goal: a Nintendo DS. That last bit of money came just in time since that Saturday was the last day the item was on sale at Target.

We're proud of Andrew for exercising the self-control to save up for so long. I'm just as delighted with the fact that he exercises just as much self-control in playing with it. Through some happy and rare blessing, he always asks me before he plays with it and doesn't seem to be addicted to it (yet). I made sure to discuss with him how toys, especially video games, can become idols of the heart and can interfere with life's more important priorities. Having recently watched a documentary on video game addicts (there was nothing better to watch while running on the treadmill that night), I thought it wise to warn him. Seeing young lives be consumed with 18 hours a day of non-stop gaming was a bit horrifying to say the least.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with some pictures I took of our Monkey yesterday. He had constructed a cow mask out of K'nex and was eager to model it for me.

See Judy Run

2010-03-25T09:45:00.001-04:00

If, three and a half years ago, someone had told me that I was going to run a half marathon, I would have told him to lay off the funny juice. Running - indeed, exercise of any manner - was not for me. After a long day with a superactive 2 year-old, I could barely muster the energy to raise my right arm to reach the remote control. It took my last ounce of strength to maneuver my fingers to change the channel and to lift my arm to feed potato chip after potato chip into my mouth. Run 13.1 miles? Ha. Ha. And ha.

But strange things called miracles happen, and I am living proof. On April 3rd, I'll be running the World Vision Half Marathon through Flushing Meadows Park (think of the U.S. Open, that humongous globe statue...). My league of extraordinary gentlemen will be in tow to cheer me on.

I realize that most of you can't be there to watch the miracle unfold yourself, but one way you can cheer me on is to support me with a donation. Together, with a team from our last church in New Jersey, we're soliciting donations to assist with the post-earthquake recovery efforts in Haiti. Now that the tragedy is a few months past, it's easy to forget that the needs are still very pressing. However, they are. Every dollar donated to World Vision on behalf of our team could make a substantial difference in the life of someone whose life has been altered by the earthquake. Simply click on this link and you'll be taken to a page that allows you to make an online contribution.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

One a Day

2010-03-08T18:22:00.004-05:00

One of the things I've happily stumbled upon over the last year is the worldwide photo sharing site, Flickr.com. The website allows shutterbugs from all over the world to post their work and to comment on each other's pictures. It also plays host to thousands of groups focused on the usual subjects - pets, flowers, black and white photography, and the like. Groups also form around subjects I would never have considered: pictures of children upside down, nose hairs, the bond between a photographer and his/her toothbrush, and sexy kitchen appliances (I'm not kidding!).

One of the groups I've joined is "Project 365." Participants endeavor to take one photo for each day of the year and to post it to the group. I've gotten off to a late start, joining in late January of this year. And, if I may confess, I've let a couple of days go by when I was just too busy to pull out my camera.

Photo #43.1: dried hydrangeas I came across

on a walk with William earlier today.

My pictures aren't always stellar. After all, it stands to reason that the odds of capturing the shot day after day are low. Still, the time I've invested toward taking my daily picture has been well spent. I'm becoming a better photographer for the practice. It's much easier to learn by shooting a pear or a piano; unlike my children, they don't pull funny faces or run in and out of the frame 99% of the time. I can take my time metering. I can observe the differences in depth of focus when I change the aperture. I can pay more attention to composition and lighting - that is, until Thing One or Thing Two get tired of playing second fiddle to my camera and make their discontent known.

Wanna see what I've been up to? Here's my photostream. If you have a second, please stop by and leave me some feedback. And if you're a Flickr member yourself, let me know. I'd love to see just what in God's great creation has captured your fancy lately.

About a Boy

2010-03-03T23:13:00.004-05:00

If you peeked into William's life at 924 days old, here's what you might find:

- He has a screech that can rip a wide hole through the sound barrier. Whether tantrumming, embellishing a song, or simply excited, William likes to hit the high notes - and hit them hard and often.

- He's fond of going sans when it comes to socks and shoes. Our house is littered with little castoff socks. I got hit in the face with one the other day when driving down the highway. I'm just thankful it was a sock and not a size 8.5 Stride Rite.

- William's vocabulary continues to develop at a rapid rate. The more words he learns, the better insight we gain into his two year-old mind. The other day while eating a snack, he noted the skylight several feet above our kitchen table.

"It's very high," I remarked in Mandarin. "We can't reach it."

"Mommy, you stand on a chair on the table and I stand on your shoulder[s]," he replied matter-of-factly.

Oh. Of course. Why didn't I think of that?

- His passion for balls rages on. He gets excited at the mere sight of basketball hoops in the driveways of strangers' homes. An army of millions couldn't hold him back from dashing into ball games with grown men and trying to get in on the play action.

For his third birthday coming up in July, I'm planning on enrolling him in a preschooler sports class. After attending his first class, I'm sure he'll think he has died and gone to heaven.

- He. might. just. be. starting. to. lose. his. daily. nap. There. I've just written the words I've been afraid to acknowlege to myself. Whereas William was fairly reliable about napping from about 12:45 p.m. to 2:15 every day, he now spends the time humming, thumping his chubby legs, and - surprise! - screeching. Sometimes he'll take a brief nap in his crib and/or conk out in the car on the way to pick Andrew up from school. Other days, he'll goes napless. Phooey. I was hoping he'd be one of those rare kids that keeps napping every day until he's 6. Someone should tell him that one day, when he's a 35 year-old parent of young children, opportunities to sleep won't be handed to him on a silver platter.

- He shows a strong preference for speaking English. Oh, he understands me and my wannabe Mandarin just fine. It's not unusual for him to speak in Chinglish. But English seems to be his preferred language. Interestingly enough, he can understand the concept of switching languages, even at such a young age. Several months ago, a friend asked him to translate an English word into Chinese. He did so without missing a beat. Since then, I've asked him to tell me certain words in one language or the other, and most of the times, he has risen to the challenge.

- He's still not potty trained. Perhaps it's because we have not been making a consistent push to do so. We're not leading him to the bathroom every hour or attempting any hardcore, by-the-books method. Instead, we're taking a more relaxed approach this time, trying to follow his cue. Some days, he'll sit on his potty and tinkle a bit. But most days, he prefers to let the diaper do the dirty work. We've got 6 months to train him because...

- William will likely be starting in a 3 year-old class this September. According to school policies, all 3 year-old students must be fully potty trained. With Andrew, I practically camped outside his school before the day enrollment began; I couldn't have been more desperate for the break it promised me as a stay-home mom on the verge of a nervous breakdown. However, I've had a much easier time tending to William. He's an easier child on the whole, making deciding whether to send him to school that much harder. Either way, I've got to figure out soon since enrollment for the program has already begun.

- For Halloween 2010, William has decided that he wants to dress up as a submarine and wear his brother's goggles.

- And, as of today, he has been a part of our family for two years. Earlier today, we watched the long version of the video featuring our first encounter on March 3, 2008. I was struck not only by how babyish William looked at the time, but by his bewildered expression, the cautious yet curious look in his eyes as he surveyed all the new faces.

Two years later, any hesitations he might have had have been overcome by time and familiarity. A casual onlooker observing a day in our lives would never know William were adopted. He's just like any other two and a half year-old, zipping through the house with relentless energy, then falling asleep in the car minutes before we're due to arrive at church. He'll gobble down a whole container of strawberries one day, then throw a tantrum when offered them the next. Slapstick humor sends him into hysterical laughter. He has a remarkable talent for breaking things. And like any other toddler, he's winsome, funny, and downright adorable. Cliche as it is, it's hard to imagine our family without him.

Creating Culture

2010-02-15T22:52:00.002-05:00

How many holidays can one jam into one day? We found out yesterday as we squeezed in simultaneous celebrations of Chinese New Year's and Valentine's Day.

We were originally scheduled to meet my family in New York City's Chinatown for lunch and a parade viewing the next day, but recent snowstorms hijacked our plans. Instead, we played hooky from Chinese school and took the boys to Great Wolf Lodge, an indoor water park in the Pocono Mountains. When we came home that evening, Craig's brother, Kevin (a.k.a. SuperFantasticMegaAwesomeUncleExtraordinaire), tended to our little lambs while we dashed out for a Valentine's dinner. Thanks, Kevin!

The next day, we spent a quiet Chinese New Year's at home. The boys were excited to get dressed in traditional Chinese outfits, which we picked up in Philadelphia's Chinatown several months ago. I did my best to take photos of the children, who were dashing, quite literally, for much of the time. Despite flat-out bribery, the two barely sat still long enough for me to remove the lens cap. Seconds later, they were off performing their usual high-energy hijinks. They quickly learned that the slick fabric of their outfits made for improved aerodynamics in the centuries-old sport of butt-sliding down the stairs. (Part luge, part moguls, look out, Winter Olympics 2014!)

Post photo-op, we made pork and vegetable dumplings that, for some reason, didn't turn out as well as the ones my mother makes. Andrew decided he only wanted to eat the wrappers. Didi, on the other hand, gobbled down 9 1/2 sweijou. We finished off the evening with a homemade Valentine's cake and the handing out of hong bao (red envelopes). Andrew was delighted to receive his, as the contents moved him that much closer to buying the Nintendo DS for which he has been saving up for almost a year. William, on the other hand, was underwhelmed at the sight of the green and white paper.

With each passing year, I'm getting the hang of celebrating Chinese New Year's, or at least our self-defined version of it. We're still a long way from the clean-the-entire-house, get-new-haircuts, hang-red-and-gold-banners-everywhere, two-week-long event that I undertand takes place in parts of Asia. But coming from someone who never really celebrated the holiday until a few years ago, it's a step forward.

I imagine that my parents, who emigrated from Taiwan to the American South several decades ago, had to improvise when it came to incorporating their native culture into their new family's lives. They had to pick and choose which aspects they wanted to preserve or lose in the context of their new environment. Since area residents weren't exactly falling over themselves to organize a Chinese New Year parade beginning at The Waffle House and ending at the local Food Lion, celebrating the holiday landed on the chopping block. My sisters and I were none the wiser for it.

As they no doubt found out, having children changes everything. And as Craig and I have discovered, having a child adopted from a foreign country changes things all the more. I feel a strong responsibility to raise William in particular with some familiarity of his Taiwanese heritage. Among the things he has lost as an international adoptee, a first-hand cultural knowledge ranks high. Our celebration yesterday might have appeared watered down to someone in Asia. Still, it was a meaningful effort that we all enjoyed, and it was an earnest homage to William's birth culture. At the end of the day, that's what matters.

Maybe one day when the boys are older and can better handle a 16-hour flight, we'll visit Taiwan over Chinese New Year's and experience an authentic celebration. But until then, I'm becoming increasingly content to settle for our patchwork version. Xin nian kuai le, y'all.

Tradition

2010-02-10T22:52:00.002-05:00

A little over three years ago, a bright light went out in the world. Craig's maternal grandfather, Grandpa M., passed away at the age of 88 from heart complications. He was the sort of individual you couldn't help but admire: a World War II bomber pilot with colorful stories about his days as a prisoner of war, a faithful citizen who was unafraid of speaking his mind and questioning authority, a Christian of genuine faith and a generous heart, a man of diverse talents and great charisma. Without a doubt, he is sorely missed by many.

Our second major snowstorm in one week provided a good occasion to brush off the tea set that Craig's grandmother passed on to us. Grandpa M.'s mother used to serve him hot chocolate in the same cups when he was a young child. I thought it would be special to continue the tradition with our boys.

At first, I was nervous about entrusting a 100 year-old porcelain cup and saucer to a 2 year-old with an uncanny track record of breaking things, but after a strong word of caution to both children, I decided to take the risk. William rose to the challenge, handling his teacup with as much delicatesse as any toddler could muster. He finished his hot chocolate in record time, then requested more.

Perhaps he realized that he stands to inherit the tea set when he becomes an adult. Just as Grandpa M. passed on to Andrew the Bible he was given as a child, I thought it would be meaningful for William to also have his own "Grandpa M. treasure." For that reason, I was delighted to receive the set from Grandma M. several months ago. One day, it will make the perfect gift for William when he is old enough to understand its significance.

Of course, I realize William has his own biological ancestors whose histories and heritages are just as important. (I wonder if his Taiwanese forebears and mine ever came into contact?) However, I realize, too, that the moment we adopted William, our family became his. He was immediately grafted into our collective family tree whose branches span not only Taiwan and China, but reach far and wide across eastern and western Europe.

I will always regret that Grandpa M. and William never had the chance to meet. Though they hail from different parts of the world, there's so much they share in common: cheerful, outgoing dispositions, strong opinions, fearless hearts, a twinkle in their eyes. And now, thanks to the thoughtful preservation of Grandma M. (a very happy birthday to you, by the way), they have enjoyed hot chocolate from the same cups on a snowy winter day.

Picture, Picture

2010-02-02T10:00:00.002-05:00

One of the things we're privileged to have is a set of pictures featuring William, his Taiwanese mother, and a few of their relatives. Considering that many international adoptees don't even know who their biological parents are, having these photos is like holding several lotto tickets worth millions each. It's a blessing to be able to note their resemblances and to have something concrete to show him one day if he ever wonders about his past.

I took what I considered to be the best picture of William and his Taiwanese mother and framed it. The image now sits atop a bookshelf in his bedroom next to a photo of William with some of his St. Lucy's Center roommates and caregivers. In the months shortly after he came home, I refrained from showing him The Picture. I knew he had just undergone a difficult time, living in an orphanage one day, then being whisked away by unfamiliar faces to a foreign country the next. Leaving his biological family must have been traumatic enough. I didn't want to cause him further pain by showing him his mother's photo and reminding him afresh of all that he had lost. 7 months-old as he was at the time, I don't doubt that he was capable of registering the hurt of separation deeply.

Several months later, I came to regret my decision. I realized that the longer William went without seeing images of his Taiwanese mother, the more likely he was to forget her face. Not wanting to perpetuate that forgetfulness, I put The Picture on his shelf where he could see it across the room from his crib. We sometimes pass by the photo and take the occasion to "speak" to her. "TaiwanMama, how are you? We're going to go change my diaper now." "TaiwanMama, what pretty hair you have."

Like most adoptive parents, I can be fiercely protective about my child's adoptive history. After all, that information belongs to William and is his to share when he's ready. He doesn't need people surprising him with details he didn't know or making unwanted pitying remarks towards him.

That same guardedness applies to sharing the pictures of his Taiwanese family with others. When I am thinking two steps ahead and anticipate having company who will for one reason or another wander through his bedroom, I make a point to hide The Picture. However, I don't always think ahead. It would not surprise me to learn that others have seen it in their travels upstairs.

Not too long ago, we had visitors. While I was downstairs feeding William a snack, they decided to tour our second floor. They were up there for much longer than they needed to see the girly-girl hand-me-down furniture in Andrew's bedroom, the mirror in the bathroom crying out for Windex, the cheap folding tray tables that serve as nightstands in our master bedroom (which, by the way, are an upgrade from the cardboard boxes we used a year ago). It occurred to me that at some point, they had probably looked long and hard at The Picture, sating their personal senses of curiosity about William's biological family. I don't half blame them; it's only natural to wonder. Plus, how could I reasonably expect them to understand the significance of what they saw?

Still, the very thought of it made me fume. I was tempted to leave William downstairs, nibbling away, while I sprinted upstairs to hide The Picture. However, I had visions of him choking on his grapes while out of my sight. I also didn't want to put on a freak show as I swiped The Picture off the shelf, fire blazing out of my eyes and smoke heaving full-force from my nostrils.

Instead, I remained downstairs and did a Chris Farley, mentally slapping myself for leaving The Picture out where it could be seen by curious eyes. William continued to snack away, oblivious to how I had failed him.

Am I being over-dramatic? Yes. And no. The future of any child, biological or adopted, is so full of unknowns. Who knows how William will one day react to the reality of his adoption. What will those pictures mean to him, if anything? How much, if at all, will he smart from his adoptive losses? Because none of us knows yet, the safe road seems the best road to take. When I signed the mountain of paperwork to become his other mother, I committed to protect and nurture my little boy in whatever way necessary. A little paranoia just may come with the job description.

Exactly

2010-01-19T22:57:00.002-05:00

I don't know when it happens exactly, but at some point, parents lose the social right to speak of their children's ages in terms of months. You simply can't introduce your 2 years and 8 months-old child as as your "32 months-old." People would silently mock you, filing you away as the obsessive type. If you referred to your 8 years and 11 month-old child as your "107 months-old," you'd get a lot of puzzled looks as people tried to crunch the numbers in their heads. Parents are left with no recourse but to speak of their children's ages in vague terms: "Oh, Darling is almost 10." "Junior will be 2 in April."

That's why I love mid-January. On January 9th and 19th, I can say in no uncertain terms that my boys are 6 1/2 and 2 1/2 years-old respectively. If only for those two days, there are no vagueries, no approximations, no somewhats. For someone who is precision-averse, that exactness gives me an unusual sense of satisfaction. Of course, I also love January 9th and 19th because of certain family traditions involving donuts and ice cream. Witness below:

Happy half-birthdays, boys. We love you so much and couldn't be prouder to be your parents.

Seasons

2010-01-09T23:55:00.009-05:00

I'm sure you've noticed that my last few months of posts have been heavy on pictures and light on writing. If you're not a fan of long-winded ramblings on family, faith, race, and adoption, then you're probably breathing a sigh of relief. If, for whatever reason, you miss the good ol' days of texty posts, I'm sorry to say that the next three months might leave you wanting.

You've likely noticed that your own life undergoes seasons in which certain commitments and interests dominate, only to be displaced in time by other things. For me, photography has claimed much of my free time over the last several months, edging out writing. Remember that novel I was working on? I advanced a measly 8 pages in November and haven't touched the draft since. The book remains at 2/3rds completion at an awkward 332 pages. (Don't worry; I'm not planning on re-writing Ulysses; at least 1/3rd of the draft will wind up in the recycle bin.)

As someone who appreciates closure, having so many projects unfinished feels like living my life with a league of wasps constantly buzzing round my ear. I want to roll up whatever publication is nearest to my grasp (the Crate and Barrel catalogue is exempt) and whack at the little critters one by one until the ground is littered with their motionless bodies. (Okay, now the metaphor has grown uncomfortably cruel. The clicking sound you hear would be readers collapsing my blog and moving on to the next blog in their RSS feeds.) Still, I think you get the idea. I don't like unfinished business.

But I'm learning to live with it. I'm learning to accept that I can't always see things to completion when I want, especially hobbies that should take a back seat to my everyday duties. I have two kids and a husband and toilets that threaten to sprout legs and walk out on me if I don't scrub them on a routine basis. Equally, I'm coming to grips with the fact that I can't do everything well at the same time. No one appreciates a sub-par effort. I don't, and I know that God, who is glorified by excellence, certainly doesn't.

So, will the next couple of months of AoF be solely visual? Probably not. I'm tinkering with the idea of keeping this blog running and opening up a separate photo blog. At the same time, I can tell you that the next three months may be quiet ones as far as any blogging goes. I've recently joined the question writing team for my church's women's Bible study, a commitment that involves late night meetings, reading Biblical commentaries, and reviewing and writing thought-provoking questions for distribution. In a temporary fit of insanity, I've also agreed to prepare and deliver a thirty minute lecture in March on a mere 7 verses from the second epistle of Peter. Photography and writing will likely take a backseat until I've delivered that lecture.

But until I screw together my courage and unseal the manila envelope of Biblical commentaries I was handed, I'll leave you with some pictures taken a few days ago. They feature some friends of ours, a genuine and genuinely wonderful family of five, whom we met through church. They returned to the area last Saturday for a 6-day visit. We were blessed with the opportunity to host them for that time and are already looking forward to their next visit out this way.

Mother Superior. If I ever become half as good a mom and wife as Lise, then I can die in peace.

Quick Trick Block Stack. Boaz, Andrew's like-minded, Lego-loving friend.

Oh, Susanna! Sorry. I couldn't restrain myself from belting out in small-font song.

William and Mary. Dork that I am, I had to take a picture of the two kids together just so I could caption it as such.

Surprise!

2010-01-03T09:50:00.003-05:00

Craig's parents flew back home to New Mexico yesterday. They stayed with us off and on over the last two weeks. During that time, we had the opportunity to celebrate his mother's 60th birthday on three occasions.

One of those occasions was a surprise party ably coordinated by Craig's younger sister, Kaity. The party was supposed to happen a week before, but the snowstorm that hit Philadelphia stranded his parents in Texas for two days, causing them to miss their own party. But never fear: the event was rescheduled and yours truly went shutterbug crazy throughout the afternoon. You didn't really expect me to sit by idly, did you? Come on. You know me better than that by now.

Post O' Plenty: The K. Family

2009-12-24T10:50:00.003-05:00

It was death by chocolate this past week. White chocolate. Melted chocolate. Dark chocolate. I went into a baking frenzy preparing gift boxes for Andrew's different teachers. Big Bro. and I also baked up a truckload of decorated Christmas cookies for his class party. To top it off, I made a ton of white peppermint chocolate bark for a holiday cookie exchange (no, chocolate bark isn't cookies, but when the craving strikes, I bend the rules). I never want to see any more melted chocolate again. Well, not until tomorrow.

I've been working on an update letter for William's Taiwanese family and the staff at St. Lucy's Center in Tainan. Each time this year, our adoption agency collects letters and pictures to be sent to Taiwan. And as always, there's so much to say. Weeks after hitting "send," I always kick myself for forgetting to leave out an important detail about William's development, a funny anecdote, or a cute picture I took a few days too late. I know how much the brief orphanage reports we received about William meant to us. We clung to the sparse statistics about his height and weight and savored the brief insights into his personality ("he loves to interact with others, loves to smile"). If that is how I felt being his adoptive-mother-to-be of just a few months, I can't imagine what our 3-page update letter would mean to his Taiwanese family. I want so much to get everything right, to capture every detail for them. That's not too much to ask, is it?

It looks like we're in for a white Christmas tomorrow. We've still got several inches of snow left over from last Saturday's storm, which dumped a good fourteen inches on our town. Andrew had a blast playing in the winter wonderland. William, though eager to suit up and get outside, was wary of getting the white stuff on his mittens. We've noticed that he has an aversion towards getting his hands soiled, whether it be from dirt, food, or sand. Snow may be cleaner stuff, but he makes no exemption for it.

Oh, Costco tree, oh Costco tree! We set up our Christmas tree a few weeks ago. In past years, we've traveled to a local farm to harvest our own tree. However, since William was beset by bronchiolitis for a week (hello, nebulizer!) and because the weather was so cold and rainy, I sent Craig and Andrew out to Costco to buy a live tree. Ah, Costco.... what can you not find there? Now that I think about it, I should have taken advantage of their liberal return policy and brought the tree back. Though fairly jumbo sized, the one we purchased didn't come in triplicate and packaged in a plastic shell like everything else sold there.

Speaking of Christmas trimmings, we've really enjoyed opening our post office box every day to find so many wonderful Christmas cards from friends and family. The boys and I have gotten a kick out of hanging the cards around the door frames in our kitchen. Thanks to all of you who have blessed us with your holiday greetings, letters, and precious pictures.

I don't want to speak too soon, but we may just be on our way to something beautiful with William. Over the last few weeks, he has taken the initiative to use the potty a few times a day. We've been rewarding him with a chocolate chip every time he produces. This has sometimes led to his sitting down to squeeze out less than a 1/16th of a teaspoon of pee to get chocolate. Other times, his quest to satiate his sweet tooth yields nothing. Still, it's progress. (By the way, I'd show you the picture I took of his first pee in his little potty, but I suspect you'd rather view option B below.)

Craig took the whole week off of work this week. Earlier today, we went to the Adventure Aquarium in Camden, New Jersey. Animal lover that he is, I thought William would've gone nuts over the tanks teeming with aquatic life. However, apart from the swimming hippopotomus, the only thing that seemed to catch his fancy were the interactive displays with buttons. He was happy to smack away at them all morning. Andrew, on the other hand, had a fun time attempting to pet miniature rays, walking through a tunnel full of small sharks, and feasting his eyes on all manner of predatory creatures. (What is it about young boys and the concept of danger?)

After our trip to the aquarium, we drove into Philadelphia's Center City to visit my younger sister, Jenny. The boys enjoyed petting and feeding Auntie Jenny's lion-sized kitties and chowing on some tasty Chinese food.

Jenny wanted me to take a "Mommy/Daughter shot" of her and her cat, Emma. Given the affection she has for her felines, I don't think she'd be offended if I noted the resemblance between "mother" and "child." Looking at the pair, I see it's quite true what they say about pets looking like their owners. Or is the other way around?

"Meow!"

That's cat-speak for "Merry Christmas Eve" to you all. May your hearts be filled with joy as you celebrate Christ's birth.

Analyze This: The In-Laws

2009-12-17T13:43:00.004-05:00

This past weekend's models are quite familiar to our family. Craig's sister, Christine, her husband Dave, and two children, Isaac and Allie, agreed to go in front of the lens for me on Saturday. I had planned to photograph them at their house in the morning when daylight was more plentiful, but my sudden sinus infection had other plans for me. So, we seized the day (or what was left of it in the waning afternoon) and set up studio in the spare bedroom of my house.

Look at those angelic faces! The melt-your-heart smiles! Those squeezable cheeks! (Sorry, Chris and Dave; I'm referring to your kids, though you are laudable in many other ways.) Isaac had the sort of patience uncharacteristic of most 3 year-olds, and little Allie rocked the Santa hat like no other 7 month-old. Working with their family was like playing with silly putty; I could have told them to hang upside down from the chandelier and they would've, flashing 10,000 megawatt smiles the whole time.

With each family I've had the privilege of photographing, I've learned gobs and gobs. Here are some of my "a-ha!" post-shoot reflections:

- I need not be afraid of going for a wider shot when I have room to spare. I can always crop in the post-processing phase. I cannot, however, add extra room to a picture that wasn't there to begin with. I'm still kicking myself for not having done so on many of the close ups.

- On the other hand, a wide angle lens would be oh-so-nice. When there's no room for me to back up, such as in the shot where Dave is tossing Isaac up in the air, a lens allowing me a wider shot would be handy. Please, Santa Craig, make a very irresponsible move and gift me with a ridiculously priced 16-35 mm 2.8 lens. As girls go, I've been a fairly good one this year. Please? Pretty please?

- With each shoot I've done, I've sprouted a new pair of eyes that keep watch for sources of unwanted shadows on faces, distracting background objects, and wardrobe malfunctions on my models. However, I still need a bajillion pairs more. I look at some of the shots and rue the lamp peeking out awkwardly in the background, the crown molding jutting in at a critical corner of a shot, the tree branches rising from behind a subject's head like a massive pair of antlers.

- Slooooow down. Before each shoot, I have so many ideas of fun shots I'd like to do with my models. However, in the rush to meter perfectly, to take the shot before the kids lose focus, and to maximize the environment, I forget about most of those ideas. I'm sure that with more practice, I'll get it under control. One day, I may even be able to carry on a running conversation with my subjects at the same time.

- I'm figuring myself out, too. I'm learning that I'm not a literalist as far as pictures are concerned. Some photographers are content to keep the colors in their photos as close to real-life as possible, to do a minimal amount of touch-ups. However, I prefer a more interpretative approach. I love to saturate my colors and to render my images with an edgy, yet dreamy treatment. I'm finding the creativity of the post-processing phase to be just as fulfilling as the actual photography session. The Photoshop class I was enrolled to take was cancelled a few months ago, but I'm still making it a goal to learn the program since I know doing so will fling wide the doors of what I'm really able to do with my images.

So, there we have it. Thanks to all the families who agreed to sit still and say "cheese" for me over the last couple of weeks. You've advanced my ability by leaps and bounds and I thank you for it. By the way, for anyone else who's interested in being my newest muse, 2010 is just around the corner. My camera is locked and loaded and I'm prepared to shoot.

Testing, Testing: The B. Family

2009-12-06T21:25:00.004-05:00

Vel-come back to my la-bo-ra-to-reeeee...

For last Saturday's experiment, I took one willing family, added one historic farmstead, threw in a bucketful of novice photographic ambition and - kaboom! I created a monster, I tell ya! Well, no, I didn't quite, but here's what did spring forth:

Our friends, Nate, Katie, and Baby James were so much fun to work with. They're social workers, so how could you not like them? I constantly marvel at how laid back they seem for parents of a new child. They make me look psychotic by comparison. He's a diehard Ramones fan with humongous tattoos, she's a soft-spoken vegetarian, and between the two of them and through the magic of an amazing God, they've produced a beautiful baby boy with the most hypnotic blue eyes.

Katie gave me one directive: she didn't want a traditional family portrait. I was more than happy to comply. In the end, there are no shots of anyone wearing matching polo shirts and jeans while posed on a beach with a yellow labrador sprinting off into the sunset. Okay, okay, there are a few shots of the three of them walking off into the approaching dusk. I couldn't help myself. But those two pictures aside, what hopefully remains are images of a young couple in love with one another and in love with their little boy. After all, that's what I saw that day. I'm just shooting it like it is.

Get Your Click On: The C. Family

2009-12-01T10:51:00.004-05:00

I've been a very good girl lately. Notice I haven't uploaded any new pictures of my family over the last few weeks? (The one of William in the post below was shot a month ago.) Last Saturday, we even took the boys to The Crayola Factory to celebrate Andrew's good first report card scores. In an act of extraordinary self-control, I left my camera at home and denied myself a myriad of photographic possibilities (oh, the colors there!)

But that doesn't mean I haven't been getting my shutterbug fix elsewhere. I've had a couple of local families express an interest in serving as my new models while I try to learn my way around my camera. Below are pictures taken of one of those families, the Cs.

I couldn't have asked for a better family with whom to work. The Cs were a gracious and very photogenic bunch. Don't hate their mom, Daisy, who should be a hair model. N., their son, was born to live in front of a camera. I've never met a kid like him who could stand so patiently and smile so winningly on cue time and time again. E., their eldest daughter, was similarly forebearing and lovely, despite being chilled to the bone. Even K., their 2 year-old, managed to turn on the charm once she got over being wakened from her nap (you did better than I would've under those circumstances, sweetie).

Thanks, C. Family, for being such wonderful guinea people.

O, Happy Day!

2009-11-21T18:26:00.001-05:00

Happy National Adoption Day!

William Szu-Chuan: adopted into our hearts and home on March 3, 2008.

I Told You So

2009-11-16T12:50:00.000-05:00

Lest you were tempted to doubt that William is a genius, here's further proof:

Full-ride scholarship to Harvard, here we come.

The War Within

2009-11-13T13:56:00.006-05:00

Don't you worry: I haven't forgotten about spending time alone with Andrew. While Senor Didi napped last Sunday, my only-born and I attended a Revolutionary War re-enactment at a local 18th century homestead. For the second year in a row, we arrived too late for the mock skirmish. Poor combat-enamored Andrew. Next year, his mother will get her act together and figure out the schedule in advance.

In an attempt to redeem the afternoon, we wandered around the property, toured the inside of the mansion, and quizzed different soldiers about their weaponry. Andrew was especially impressed by the recreated bayonets and the authentic cannon (so much smaller in real life!).

The grounds themselves were teeming with photograhic possibilities. Unfortunately, Andrew was not feeling like being the top model he normally is. I couldn't scoot around quickly enough to get wider angles on many of my shots before he abandoned position to wander elsewhere. Seldom was I fortunate to harness the winning combination of ideal lighting, an expression from my subject that didn't qualify as a grimace or the back of his head, and a suitable background. Good children's photography, I'm finding, is not only the ability to achieve those conditions simultaneously, but to scurry about and work the camera's meter at lightning speed. Looking back at what I shot, I still have a ways to go.

Imperfect pictures aside, the afternoon's experience prompted me to think more about something I've been considering. When going on outings with the kids, I often engage in a minor war with myself: should I or should I not bring my camera? On the one hand, I want to capture any special moments for posterity. I want my kids to be able to look at the pictures and remember the day. After all, before they know it, they will become like me: a 35 year-old amnesiac.

Just as compelling a reason to lug along my camera is the world around me. Ever since I spent a summer learning how to make Super 8 movies when I was 16, I see pictures everywhere I turn. They call out to me in the leading lines of a city street, in the subtle tilt of a child's head, in the vibrant hues of the autumn leaves. So much beauty still remains in God's fallen creation. I may not be able to translate that beauty into pictures that do its Creator justice, but my limitations don't stop the world around me from screaming out to be photographed.

On the other hand, I recognize that I can go sometimes overboard in taking pictures. It's a fault of mine. I'm capable of dousing the fun on an outing because I'm constantly asking the kids to stop and smile and bear with me while I wrestle with my camera settings. All they want to do is explore and have a good time.

I, too, can lose out. While hidden behind my lens, I might have just missed out on the magic of the moment. I've surrendered the full opportunity to enjoy the kids enjoying themselves. And isn't that what makes family outings pleasurable for the parent at the end of the day?

I recognize that some action is in order. So as to annoy my family just a teensy bit less, I'm going to force myself to leave my camera at home every once in a while. I'll go through shutterbug withdrawal, no doubt, but I've got to keep first things first. This means that I'll need some new subjects on whom to practice. If anyone is local and wants to be my new picture-taking guinea pigs, let me know. After all, it's almost time to start sending out those Christmas cards. Wouldn't you like to have a picture of your family in which you are not trying to work the self-timer, dash into the frame, and tell the kids to stop picking their noses and smile? Yours truly has camera, costs nothing, and will travel. I can't promise you Annie Leibovitz-quality work, but I'll do the best I can. So, if you're interested, let's work something out. Just have your people call mine.

Sunny Day

2009-11-11T13:38:00.002-05:00

Continuing on in our pursuit of one-on-one time, I took William to Sesame Place last weekend for Cookie Monster's birthday party. As soon as he entered the dining room and saw Zoe, one of the Sesame Street characters, he broke away from me, cut in front of the children waiting for a turn to meet her, and hurled himself at her.

In the end, the success of the event boiled down to a simple equation:

Colorful, furry characters

+ a buffet full of junk food and nary a piece of fruit or a vegetable in sight

+ an afternoon in which naptime was negotiable

= two year-old bliss.

Free William

2009-11-07T22:40:00.005-05:00

Back in the long, lost days when Andrew was an only child, we had time on our side and still more time to spare. We spent as long as we wanted combing through books in the library. At the park, Andrew had free reign over what he chose to climb, where he wanted to run (within safe bounds, of course), and how long he wanted to swing (he once set a personal record for swinging for an hour). We went to children's museums, concerts, indoor playgrounds, and countless family-friendly events.

Alas for poor second child William. He seldom has the opportunity to enjoy these things to their fullest extent. It's not his fault: the excitement of going to kid-friendly places is lost on his mom, who has been there, done that already. While older brother is in school, she crams in errands, appointments, and other commitments. When he does go to the park, she has one eye on her watch because in fifteen minutes, he has to be home for an early lunch and an early nap so that they can pick up Andrew from school. On outings, Didi often remains on lockdown in his stroller because his mom can't multiply herself to chase after two kids headed in separate directions.

Earlier this week, I decided to put an end to the inequity. While Andrew was in school, I took William to the local zoo. You'd never know it from the first and last pictures in the set below, but for much of the time, I let him roam where he wanted. Oh, joy! What freedom! He could gaze as long as he wanted at the nasty-looking boa constrictor, run alongside the buffalo cage and trip on the pavement, romp full force at the playground until Mommy dragged him away for throwing pebbles too close to another child. He had fun doing what he wanted to do for a change. And Mommy? She got a workout playing sherpa on the run, chasing after him with his stroller laden with assorted toddler gear.

Obviously, there are times and places when and where letting an active and curious 2 year-old roam free range is neither wise nor practical. However, on that day it had its merits. While I had the delicious and uninterrupted privilege of savoring William's enjoyment, son #2 had the chance to feel like #1 for the morning.

The Good Guys Always Win

2009-11-01T15:40:00.005-05:00

The streets were ours for the taking last Halloween night. Between the light rain and World Series Game #3 in which the hometown Phillies were vetted against my birthtown Yankees, turnout for trick or treating was low. Candy by the fistfuls was ours for the asking.

In true 6 year-old form, Andrew decided that he wanted to be a Star Wars character. Since we have a rule in our family that Halloween costumes must depict redemptive characters, his choices were limited to "good guys" only. He picked an Obi-Wan Kenobe costume, complete with a creepy middle-aged man mask. Following his cue, I dressed William as Yoda (blissfully, he's still too young to voice an opinion on what he wants to be). The Star Wars theme gave me a good excuse to indulge a dream and dress up as Queen Amidala, funky makeup, ram horn hair, and all. And Craig? Craig deserves the MVP award for shedding his conservative, tucked-in ways and getting his inner Jedi on.

Since our neighborhood is unconducive to trick-or-treating, we traveled to a nearby town in search of candy. We teamed up Craig's little sister, Kaity (she's rocking the Little Goth Riding Hood outfit in the pictures below), and his brother, Kevin, dressed up as... Uncle Kevin.

Twenty years from now, William may not remember that I sacrificed my dress to wipe his runny nose. Andrew has no idea that Craig wiped down the walls from his projectile poops at 3 a.m., though we have pictures to prove it. The passage of time will cause many of the things we did out of love to be forgotten. Still, I'm betting they'll remember their mom's giant Halloween mask that kept blowing in her face all night long. They'll recall that their dad wore a rat tail braided out of twine and didn't once protest. These are the things of which happy childhoods memories are made.

Finally, in case anyone asks whom I'm cheering for in the World Series, let's just say I was uncertain until I watched my first game earlier this week. Seeing the two teams matched against one another, there was no question of where my allegiances lay. Truth be told, I'm not a sports aficionado. I'm also not a fool. In a town known for its rabid, ahem, passionate sports fans, I value my life enough not to write my choice aloud. I'll just leave you with a truism: the good guys always win.

Punkin' Face

2009-10-30T22:41:00.002-04:00

What is it about pumpkins that make them so appealing to young children? I imagine God considering the matter before he set about creating the world. His thought process might have been something along the lines of, "What's the most outrageous-looking vegetable I can make? It has to be something that would make toddlers squeal with delight, something they just can't resist slapping at and trying to lift in vain. The bigger, the better. Just for fun, I'll make it in a really loud color."

Et voila! On the third day, God made pumpkins.

Our local grocery store had a buy-one, get-one-free deal, so I heaved two into our shopping cart. The boys and I got to work on them earlier this week.

On the back of one pumpkin, I carved a traditional triangle face. On the other, I carved a cat.

When it came to designing the fronts, I set my sights on something different, something a little closer to home and closer to my heart.

In case you haven't figured it out, I'll give you a clue:

My two pumpkin faces.

I Like It

2009-10-29T13:12:00.003-04:00

As William continues to grow and become more verbally expressive, he has learned how to tell us about the things he likes. It's a welcome change from the "NO!"s that seemed to dominate his speech just months ago.

Out of the blue, while eating dinner, driving to Andrew's school, or going for a walk, he will share with us the things that have won over his little heart. His sentences usually begin with "I like it" and end with the following:

... muffin
... dan gao (cake)
... carwash
... qiao ke li (chocolate)
... Pirate's Booty
... butterfly bing gan (cookie)
... "Fire Burning" (a popular dance song by Sean Kingston)
... Sesame Place (oh, really?)
... t.v.
... bing (ice cream)
... qiao ke li
... peanut butter
... elevator
... cupcake
... qiao ke li
... qiao ke lide dan gao
... candy [pause]... in a bucket (that's my boy!)

Whuh-what? Who's that at the door? Oh, that must be CPS, who has read this post and is coming to question me about William's self-professed sugar-laden diet. Right behind them are the photo police, here to scold me for not getting a wider angle on the picture above. Note William's lopped-off head and truncated hands. Quick! Hit "Delete Post!" There's nothing to see here, people, nothing to see. Move on.

Their Lives in Pictures

2009-10-24T23:42:00.003-04:00

Halfway around the world in India, my friend, Tisra, and her husband, Eric, have been joined with their beautiful daughter, Dorothy. Like most newly-minted adoptive parents, their time and energy are consumed by the child who has just entered their lives. Fortunately, they've brought along their friend and professional photographer, Jess, to chronicle their journey so that the rest of us can get a sneak peek into their life-changing last three days. Jess has done a gorgeous job of capturing the emotional smorgasbord - the anticipation, the exhaustion, the fear, and the joy - that is international adoption.

Warm up your facial muscles in advance; you'll be smiling a lot.

Free

2009-10-16T18:26:00.005-04:00

Thanks to the prayers of many people and to the mercy of our great God, I'm happy to report that my father appears to be cancer-free, at least for now. The cancer didn't metasticize to his bladder, and his first PSA readings came back with a reading of zero.

He received the news on October 13th, my birthday. I couldn't have asked for a better present.

We are thankful for the opportunity to have many more good times together.

35

2009-10-13T21:28:00.003-04:00

Today, I turn 35.

Today is the day that I am supposed to stop wearing skirts that come above my knee. Prude that I am, I don't really do that anyway. My sisters bought me a conservative nightgown for my wedding night and joked about it missing a turtleneck collar.

Today is the day that I am supposed to get a Mom haircut. You know, that shoulder-length bob with the curled-up edges? After all, how many women over 35 have you seen with long hair? After 35, it seems like 99% of women sign a secret pact to hack off their hair, if it isn't cropped already.

This is another trend that I'm going to buck. I can't deal with short hair constantly flying into my eyes. It's just one of those sensory pet peeves that makes me want to squeal in terror, flap my hands as if swatting at a horde of infectious mosquitoes, and jog in place a la Jennifer Beals in Flashdance.

Finally, today is the day when people who know my age will stop asking me if I plan to have more children. After all, word has it that my biological clock will start going haywire at 10:42 p.m., the second I turn 35. At that point, it just wouldn't be tactful for anyone to ask if trying for more kids were on our to-do list. They know that, were I to get pregnant today, I'd be subject to all sorts of nerve-wracking medical tests and that the baby would be at increased danger for genetical issues.

As things would have it, this is one rule I plan to obey. It's less that I fear birthing a child who might be at risk, or that I worry that my energy reserves wouldn't last through a third toddlerhood. After raising two active boys, I am stretched, but I still have some fight left in me.

At the end of the day, Craig and I have to be realistic about what we can handle. First and foremost, we are not large family-types, even though we both come from families with four children. Craig leaves for work early, gets home late, and sees relatively little of the kids during the weekdays. His job is more stressful than most. Me? I am, and never have been, a motherly-mother type. I would fight you to the death for my kids, whom I love dearly. Still, I have to work harder at parenting than those women whom I believe are especially gifted with the nurturing heart it takes to raise children well. Bringing up kids is hard work for anyone, but for some people like myself, it doesn't come as naturally.

To complicate matters, neither Craig nor I have parents nearby whom we can stick with the task of watching our kids while we go to the dentist, bring the car in for state inspection, or simply come up for air when needed. Hiring a babysitter so we can catch dinner and a movie costs an obscene amount. Our neighborhood is heavy on retirees and light on young children. Our church and Andrew's school are almost half an hour away. As a result, playdates and relationships with other young parents, two things that make raising children easier, don't happen as organically.

We want to do the best we can with what we've been given. Yet, a warning goes off in my heart when I consider trying for #3. With two kids, I often go to bed feeling guilty for not having played enough with them, for having lost my patience, or for not having handled a situation as best as I could. I can only imagine how much guiltier I'd feel with three or more kids. I want to be able to teach my children to read, to know what they're doing online, to bake cookies, to shape lumpy Play-Doh sculptures with three arms and one eye. I want to take them to the park and to know where each one is, to load them into the car and to not forget a child, as I witnessed the other day with a large family. I fear that with the addition of another child, I wouldn't be able to do all these things to a level that I could call satisfactory.

Now please don't get me wrong: I'm not equating having more children with doing an exponentially poor job of parenting. I've seen large families succeed. Those children are obviously well-loved, well-attended to, and are thriving in every way. However, I know that what it takes for us to raise 3+ kids well is something Craig and I both lack. And knowing that, we're calling it quits on expanding our family.

Someone out there will invariably ask, "What about adopting another child?" This is an equally valid option. After raising both a biological child and an adopted child, I can honestly say that both experiences have been just as fulfilling. If a third child were something we both wanted, I wouldn't rule out adopting again. However, I am turning 35 today, a matter which puts biology on today's docket.

Ultimately, we have to come to grips with the truth that our fertility is not within our control. Our ability to conceive has always rested in God's hands, not ours. That I have been able to have a biological child is not something that I can take for granted. Even if I were to give in to my mother's wishes and try to conceive a daughter, nothing is guaranteed. We can make all the plans we want, but in the end, the final decision rests in God's hands. Knowing that, I might as well hit "delete" and cause this irrelevant post to combust. But I'm not ready to do that yet.

It could be that God has other plans for us that include adding more children to our family. If that is the case, we'll just have to trust that his strength is sufficient for us - and sufficient for the children who would have to endure us as parents.

But enough heavy talk. It's my birthday. My parents just arrived from out of state, I have a new camera lens to play with, courtesy of Craig, and there is a chocolate cake whose Siren song beckons to me through the seals of the refrigerator door. I could use something sweet to take the sting off of Andrew's earlier comment:

"You're turning 35?! Mom, you're... old!!!"

Tally-Ho!

2009-10-07T18:01:00.001-04:00

For anyone who cares to count, feverish William has thrown up three times in a 14-hour span of time. That includes one upchuck in the seat of a shopping cart. As grace would have it, it was one of the few times I decided to use his quilted shopping cart seat cover.

O.K., carry on.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

2009-10-01T18:28:00.002-04:00

Here are some photos from an afternoon of fingerpainting. I was surprised that William chose to participate. Lately, he has shown a dislike for getting his hands dirty. He often fusses when he falls down outside and gets a smidgeon of dirt on his palms. I know it's just a matter of time before he comes running to me, soiled hands upraised, insisting that I clean them.

Still, who can resist fingerpaint?

One Word, Four Ways

2009-09-29T01:35:00.003-04:00

Lately, William has developed the gift of the gab. He has begun stringing words together in 4-5 word sentences and surprising us with new phrases. This morning, I did a double take when he ran into his brother's room and inquired, "What are you doing, Andrews?" (Yes, he likes to pluralize Andrew's name.) For a child who spent much of his first year in an orphanage with few opportunities for one-on-one spoken interaction, he's doing remarkably well.

As is typical for his age, many of William's words are intelligble only to us. Case in point: "Bi-min." This multi-functional word can mean either "vitamin," "fireman," "violin," or "Spiderman." The other day while driving around, I mistakenly thought he was demanding his favorite gummy vitamins when all he wanted was a Spiderman action figure that was out of reach.

Above is a picture of William rendered in two ways via Adobe Lightroom. In the past, I've tinkered with post-processing using Flickr.com (super-sloooooow) and the pre-sets that came with my Kodak camera software (super-limiting). In the three days that I've test-driven it, I've found Lightroom to be user-friendly and much fuller-featured. I still have much to learn with it. In a few weeks, I'm also going to begin a basic Photoshop class in an attempt to master the program that has hitherto chewed me up and spit me out.

There's a small part of me that feels guilty for post-processing my pictures. After all, shouldn't a good photo be able to stand on its own merit? Re-touching sort of feels like the current trend of processing popular singers' voices through Auto-tune. The overused effect can transform mediocre vocals into something catchy and in-tune (think of Kanye West on "Heartless.") But then again, when I see how much punch a few digital modifications can lend to an ordinary picture, I don't feel half as guilty, guilty, guilty, tee, tee, tee...

(Just in case you're wondering, I typed that last sentence through Auto-tune with a bit of delay thrown in just for flair, flair, fl, fl, fl, fl, flair.)

Brown Andrew

2009-09-27T21:10:00.004-04:00

If you can't tell, I haven't been motivated to blog much lately. Hopefully, the urge to write will return soon because I'm hoping to finish the first draft of my novel by the end of November. (For those of you who are wondering, that means at least another 100-150 pages. Ouch.)

In the meantime, I've been spending more time behind my camera. I'm in Week 4 of an online photography class that has been challenging to say the least. While I can envision the perfect shot in my head, harnessing the knobs, buttons, and meters on my camera to render that image has been frustrating. I just don't do well with numbers and technology. I nearly failed out of Pre-Calculus in 12th grade. A howling windstorm rages through my head whenever Craig attempts to talk to me about taxes, financial products, or even how to program numbers into my cell phone. I'm a lousy excuse for an Asian. Shoot, I can't even play tennis.

But slowly, I think I'm starting to make sense of my camera. Here's a portrait of Andrew I took yesterday. I like how it captures Andrew's "brownness." I sometimes call him "Brown Andrew," a play on Brown Doggie, the well-loved stuffed dog he still sleeps with at night. Of course, the name also takes a cue from his hair and eye color.

Be warned: over the next several weeks, more pictures and fewer words will be coming your way. When capturing these images, the photographer may occasionally experience panic attacks, acute ringing sounds at the sight of numbers and dials, and severe confusion. She should consult her doctor if, when capturing said pictures, she feels a deep sense of hopelessness against her delusions of grandeur. This process is not intended to replace her interactions with significant others and her execution of important duties. However, by agreeing to participate in said photographic endeavor, she understands that she may at times be subject to warm, fuzzy feelings.

Toothless Wonder

2009-09-10T22:25:00.012-04:00

I don't know what it is about a child's losing his or her first tooth that is so special. Tonight, when Andrew exclaimed from the other room, "My tooth fell out!" my emotions ran from skeptical to elated when I beheld the hard, rice-sized tooth in his hand and the gap that it left upon exit.

My baby lost his first tooth!

If you think about it, our bodies are constantly losing things on a routine basis - fingernails, skin, hair. We don't celebrate their loss with such excitement. (If anything, I am constantly bemoaning my abundant loss of hair.) Yet listen carefully to 5 and 6 year-olds speaking of peers who have lost teeth and you can detect faint notes of jealousy and admiration. That child has crossed over into a realm of sophistication and exclusivity.

With the bite of cannolli that dislodged his first tooth, Andrew also crossed into that other world. Clearly he took a bit of conceit with him as he exclaimed, "I lost my tooth! I'm so proud of myself!"

In just a few moments, I'll head up to his room to do my Tooth Fairy-ly duty. As I contemplate my strategy, I can't help but think of my sister, Sherry. The morning after she lost a tooth, she reported having seen the Tooth Fairy at night.

"What did she look like?" my mother asked her slyly.

With the cruel humor of a 6 year-old, Sherry didn't hesitate to reply.

"She was old and ugly."

I'm sure it took my mother all her strength to keep her mouth shut and to not re-possess the quarter she had left under my sister's pillow.

As I sneak into Andrew's room tonight to exchange a $5.00 bill for his first lost tooth, I am contemplating:

a) Rummaging through his costume drawer and cobbling together a truly memorable costume. Pirate hat + Batman mask + Batman cape facing forward = menacing specter played by F. Murray Abraham in Amadeus. Old and ugly. Hmph.

b) Swapping out the Ziploc bag that contains Andrew's tooth for money, giving him a kiss on his forehead, and shaking my head at how time has flown. The next morning, I'll exercise some self-control of my own. Tempting as it is, I won't ask him if he saw the Tooth Fairy. I certainly won't ask what she looked like.

Reader's Digest

2009-09-06T23:15:00.007-04:00

If I blogged for a living, I would be out on the streets by now. As my husband pointed out, it has been a month since my last post. So, while you read the following digest of our last 30 days, I will go hide my blogging head in shame.

Citizen K: It's official: William is an American citizen. We filed for his Certificate of Citizenship more than two months ago and received notice that his application was processed and approved. According to the letter we received from the U.S. government, "Your Application for Certificate of Citizenship (Form N-600) has been approved and you are now a citizen of the United States of America."

But wait: I was under the strong impression that William was already an American by virtue of being adopted by American citizens. Am I missing something here? Is this just another example of confusing government regulations? If someone knows the correct answer, please clue me in.

Now that we have the Certificate of Citizenship under William's adoptive name, we can proceed with filing for his local birth certificate, his permanent social security number, and U.S. passport. However, after all the pre-and post-adoptive paperwork we've had to complete, I'd rather drink Drano than set pen to paper again.

The Hosts with the Most: Well, maybe not, but we have seen a lot of company come and go lately. Over the last three weeks, we've had several families visit. One of them, long-lost friends from our New York City days, just moved to the area. They lived with us for 12 days while waiting for their new home to become available. While Andrew got along swimmingly with their 8 year-old son, William and their 2 year-old daughter nabbed, pushed, and screamed their way through the two weeks. Apart from a few times when the toddlers tried to sit on him, their 5 month-old baby boy managed to stay out of the ongoing fracas.

Our hosting days don't end yet: on Tuesday, we fluff up the pillows, set out fresh towels, and throw open the doors as Craig's parents come to stay with us for four nights and five days. We are looking forward to seeing them.

When Sharing Isn't Caring: About a week ago, William came down with a low-grade fever, followed by a random summer cold. Unfortunately, the cold peaked on the Wednesday morning we were due to travel to Virginia to join my dad for his surgery. We didn't want to put him at risk for infection, so we unpacked our bags and stayed home. Good thing it was, since on Thursday evening, Andrew came down with a fever of his own. I left the boys with my valiant husband over Labor Day weekend and went down to Virginia by myself.

Who needs a prostate anyway? Especially a cancerous one. My father had his prostate removed this past Thursday. I'm happy to report that he is recovering well. He returns to the doctor's office on Tuesday to find out if radiation therapy will be necessary to zap what could be some stubborn cancerous cells clinging to the top of his bladder. In the meantime, thanks for all of your prayers. Your petitions helped my dad avert a few potentially dangerous hospital flub-ups. Please keep praying for a full recovery.

Coming and going: Just as I was headed down to Virginia, adoptive friends Cindy and Dave left the state on their way to meet their baby boy at St. Lucy's Center in Taiwan. Follow along as the remarkably well-equipped couple welcome their third child. Congratulations in advance to new family of five!

Open Sesame! All summer long, I've been promising Andrew a visit to Sesame Place, a local amusement park dedicated to all things Sesame Street. However, our plans were constantly thwarted. Seizing upon William's glorious and rare 8:30 a.m. wakeup one morning, I packed our gear in a hurry and whisked the boys off to Elmoland. (Funny how it is: in my past life as a mom of one child, the thought of a solo trip to a theme park would have terrified me.)

William pointed and squealed at the sight of so many familiar furry characters on the park signs. However, once inside, he morphed into Mr. Serious. The rides were just a bit too fast, the water too cold, and the crowds too overwhelming. He didn't smile again until he saw an Edward Scissorhands-like bush sculpture of Elmo on the way out. Andrew, who claims he's too cool for Sesame Street, had a blast in the meantime. He continues to study the park map, making plans for a return trip.

(By the way, Sara/Sofa - thanks for the discount coupon to Sesame Place. Wouldn't you know it? I brought it with me and lost it just as it was my turn to purchase our tickets.)

Sheng Ri Kuai Le! We celebrated William's Taiwanese mother's birthday one night over the last month. We debated whether to do so. On one hand, she is a very significant part of his life, even if she is so many miles away. On the other hand, we don't want to cram his adoptive status down his throat, to dictate how he must and mustn't feel about his biological family. Perhaps one day he will want to know more about her, to explore a deeper relationship. Alternately, he may be more comfortable with leaving the relationship as-is. However, until he can make the choice for himself, we felt it appropriate to do something in her honor.

I baked a carrot cake. Fool that I am, I topped it with the traditional white cream cheese frosting. The cake was all white, which, instead of looking festive or elegant, might be suggestive of death in the Taiwanese culture. (I found this out the hard way when, undergoing a Goth phase as a teenager, I draped my room with white bedsheets and adorned it with the candlelabra from the living room. This provoked a freakout episode from my mother, complete with flapping arms, flying spittle, and furious eyes.)

Clueless of my gaffe, William really enjoyed singing "Happy Birthday" and blowing out the candles on behalf of the woman in the picture next to the cake. Perhaps next year, he'll be old enough to have a faint idea as to what and whom we're celebrating.

The birthday celebration must have provoked something deeper in my subconscious. This past month, I have logged a record number of dreams about about William and his Taiwanese mother. My dreams have ranged from a panicky nightmare in which she was a terrifying alien to an awkward but sweet reverie in which we were all together, celebrating. Analyze that.

Opening Day: It's hard to believe that my oldest baby is now headed to first grade. Tuesday marks the opening day of school for Andrew. He was selected to be an ambassador buddy to a new student based upon his repuation for being a good friend. I've been consistently surprised by the number of parents who approach me to say that Andrew is their child's first choice for a playdate, the one they name as their best friend. Even the ill-behaved children whom Andrew tends to shy away from make the same claim. We're so proud of our Monkey for being such a good pal.

Admiration aside, I need to go into serious prayer mode: the beginning of school with all its changes and new routines can sometimes throw sensitive Andrew for a loop. The start of school also heralds truncated naps for William, who has started going down for his daily nap much later. Hey, no one said being the second child would be easy!

Invisible Cats, Cumulus Clouds, and T-Rexes, Oh My!

2009-08-06T21:15:00.001-04:00

- Big Brown did not disappoint. I'm happy to report that the crib tent arrived on Tuesday, just in time for bedtime. William pointed at the picture on the accompanying box and called the tent a "bubble." Pointing to the other picture on the box in which a Siamese cat sits on top of the crib tent, unable to enter, we told him that The Bubble would prevent cats from scratching him as he slept. He looked a bit confused since the last time he checked, we didn't have a cat. Hey, we're just trying to keep the focus positive. There's no need to tell him that The Bubble is really a jail to prevent him from climbing out at night and demanding my popcorn while I watch the season finale of So You Think You Can Dance.

We were concerned that William might not take so well to having a giant netted arch over his crib, so we let him play inside of it for a while before zipping him in. Once secured inside, he whined a bit but eventually fell asleep. I'm thrilled to announce that over the last two nights he has not cried in his sleep and has slept for nearly 12 hours straight. Why didn't we get one of these things sooner? The score so far: Sleep Troll: 11; Family K: 2.

- We had the honor of hosting fellow Taiwanese adoptive parents, Cindy and Dave, at our home just before we left for the Adirondacks. They were visiting family in our area and dropped by for dinner with their delightful children. The couple will be traveling to Taiwan in just a matter of weeks to bring home their son, who now lives in William's old home, St. Lucy's Center in Tainan. We've been privleged to get a sneak peek at pictures of their little boy and hoo-whee! Is he cute! Squeezable cheeks, thighs like cumulus clouds, lovable pudge galore... Hmm. Sound familiar?

- 75th percentile seems to be all the rage around here. We took Andrew and William in for their 2 year-old and 6 year-old well visits recently. Both boys measured in at the 75th percentiles for height and weight. William weighed in at 29.9 lbs. and measured 35.5 inches in length. Andrew weighed 48.4 lb.s and measured 46.5 inches. Andrew's weight surprised us since our little Mr. Slim Jim has consistently hovered around the 40th percentile for weight for the past two years. I shouldn't be surprised since lately, he has turned into a human trash can, putting away food at an astonishing rate. If this is how he can eat at 6, we're doomed when he's 16.

- Speaking of Andrew, congratulations to him! A few weeks ago, he finished reading his way through his first chapter book, Dinosaurs Before Dark, #1 of Mary Pope Osbourne's Magic Treehouse series. You should have seen his face light up with pride after he finished the last word. We called Craig at work just to tell him the good news.

I sense that Andrew has had the capacity to read as much for many months now, but he has lacked the desire. He had a momentary change of heart that afternoon afternoon and blew his way through the entire book with very little assistance from me. Despite his accomplishment, he's now back to a not-wanting-to-read stage. As an eager reader myself, I'm baffled. We continue to read with him every day, to take him to the library and to let him choose books that interest him. I don't want to be pushy and turn reading into an unpleasant experience. Still, I know he's missing out on a lot of fun. If you've BTDT with your child, please do share your thoughts and suggestions.

- It's all set. My dad goes in to have his prostate removed the first week of September. I will be driving down to Viriginia with the kids and my sister, Sherry, to visit him for a few days. My other two sisters will also be arriving to join the cheering squad. So far, early tests seem to show that the cancer has not metasticized. I'm optimistic that, pending a successful surgery, this whole cancer thing should be a thing of the past. Thanks to everyone for your prayers and concern in the meantime.

- Finally, tonight is your last chance to make off like a bandit with some ab-fab baby gear. Go to Tami's blog and enter for a chance to win a great prize package. In so doing, you'll move Tami just a bit closer towards bringing her son, Jeremiah, home from St. Lucy's. Jeremiah has cerebral palsy and other medical conditions that demand immediate therapy and nurturing, so your contributions WILL make a significant difference. Click here and be a part of this important work.

Sleep Troll: 11, Family K: 0

2009-08-04T18:44:00.003-04:00

Gotcha!

That mean ol', downright nasty, good-for-nothing varmint, that low-down, dirty scoundrel, that Sleep Troll has found us. Eleven days ago, he tracked us down in the Adirondack Mountains of New York State where we stayed for one week with Craig's parents and maternal grandmother. Upon ferreting us out, he proceeded to wreak havoc upon our entire family's sleep. We have not yet recovered.

Craig had just finished putting wailing William down for the night in a crib when suddenly, from where we sat below, we heard a loud "THUMP!" It was followed by a lesser "boom, boom, boom, boom!" We looked at each other in incredulity. While we knew this day might come, we had lived in denial of it happening so soon. Craig dashed upstairs to find William standing at the door sobbing. He was frantically trying to turn the doorknob to get it to open. After some comforting words, Craig returned William to the crib and shut the door. More crying ensued, then the familiar "THUMP! Boom, boom, boom!" William had thrown himself out again. Craig popped him back in the crib, then waited outside the door. The pattern repeated once more until Craig decided to lie down on the bed next to the crib to wait for William to fall asleep.

That night and for every night afterwards, William awoke crying about six times. That in itself didn't surprise us since William's crying in his sleep is the unfortunate norm. However, this time he wouldn't go back to sleep by himself. We needed to talk to him, to pat his back, and do whatever it took to get him back down.

During his nap on day two, I stood outside the cracked bedroom door and dashed back in with a firm reprimand during each of the 10+ times that I witnessed William trying to climb out. It looked like a scene from a video on perpetual repeat. He finally tired himself out and cried throughout his nap. During that nap and for every episode of sleep thereafter, I sat outside the door to reassure him that I hadn't left him and to prevent him from launching himself out of the crib and hurting himself. It took him so long to fall asleep each time that I managed to read my way through two long books in four days.

You would think that after we returned home, we would've have learned our lesson and dealt the Sleep Troll a preemptive strike by not going on any more vacations. But noooooo.... not this time around; we are two-time parents. We don't let sleep problems get in the way of our family's plans! Sleep, schmeep! Fools that we are, a day and a half after coming home, we threw ourselves headlong into another mini-vacation, this time spending two nights in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. On night one, William didn't try to climb out of his Pack and Play, but, oh! the crying. Between 12 a.m. and 4 p.m., he awoke every twenty minutes crying. Poor Andrew, who was sharing the living room with him, got a jagged night's sleep. We then moved the playpen next to our bed, where William only cried 4 more times before waking up at a glorious 8:45 a.m. (See? There is a merciful God.) William remained next to our bed on night 2 and woke us repeatedly with more crying.

As I type, I am sweating bullets hoping that the crib tent that we put on rush order will come today. I am loathe to transition William to a big kid's bed just yet. I haven't yet gotten over the trauma of moving climbing Andrew when he was 20 months old. His process involved almost 4 months of hard and long crying at nap and bedtime. Despite consistent attempts to put him down, he refused to remain on his mattress. We resorted to installing a gate at his bedroom door, which, in his terror-fueled adrenaline rush, he still managed to scale. Considering our prior experience and because I'm due to take the boys down to my parents' house in a few weeks for my dad's prostate surgery, a crib tent should do just fine, thank you.

But enough blogtime devoted to the Sleep Troll's hijinks. Here is the requisite vacation slideshow. If you're intrepid enough to sit through the whole thing (in other words, if you're a family member), you'll see a few shots taken during Andrew and Craig's four days of Father/Son camp at the place where Craig himself went as a boy. There are also pictures taken by the lake near Grandma's cabin and some photos taken at a local zoo. (Daytrips, long walks, and the gravel in Grandma's driveway were lifesavers since William was still too scared of the sand next to the lake to venture toward the water to play.) For all the damage done by the Sleep Troll, the boys still managed to have fun visiting their relatives, who themselves were left grasping for sleep after entertaining Thing One and Thing Two for a week.

While you're watching the slideshow, I will excuse myself to go stand at the door to await the UPS delivery guy. Come on, Big Brown, don't let us down.

Long Time Coming

2009-08-01T14:25:00.000-04:00

We just returned from a week away from home, so the following post is long overdue. That being said, please give a big round of applause to our local friends, Paul and Heather. They have just become the proud parents to little Hsin-Hua. In a sweet turn of events, they met their daughter on her first birthday. You can check out pictures of William's prom date-to-be by clicking here. Warning: head-turningly beautiful baby ahead.

While perusing their blog, please send up a prayer for the new parents who are having a rough go of things. Heather has fallen ill and can't keep food down her stomach (forget Weight Watchers; the couple has lost a combined total of nearly 20 lbs. while in Taiwan!). To complicate matters, Hsin-Hua is giving her mom and dad a run for their money in the sleep and temperament departments.

It's not exactly a Gerber-commercial start to parenthood, but if I know Paul and Heather, they'll pull through this difficult time with strength and style. After all, waiting three years to become parents isn't for the weak of heart.

Congratulations, guys. You're almost home.

All Good

2009-07-26T14:00:00.002-04:00

It has been Party City at the K. household lately. Two Sundays ago, we hosted nine 5-7 year olds and were crazy enough to arm each one with a water gun upon arrival. Napping William had no idea what manner of craziness was happening outside his window as Andrew and his band of water gun-wielding kamikazes took over the backyard.

Is that... could it be... water in Andrew's eyes?

Somehow, Darth Vader is not so imposing when placed next to a birthday candle as tall as he and dwarfed by a mammoth sheet cake from Costco (where else?) Take him now, Luke.

On Saturday, we revved up the party machine again and hosted several family members for a joint fete for both boys. The celebration was weighted more toward William since Andrew already had his own party the weekend before. Knowing the interest William has taken toward Thomas the Tank Engine lately, Andrew was eager to throw him a Thomas-themed party. His enthusiasm for his little brother was so touching that I couldn't help but honor the request.

This is the first year that William has begun to wrap his mind around the idea of a birthday celebration. Weeks before, we began singing the "Happy Birthday" song to him. When the song finished, he would purse his lips together and blow out imaginary candles. When party day rolled around, he was already in fighting form, blowing out his two candles like a champ with a little help from Craig.

With two birthdays and an anniversary all packed into ten days, the first half of July is always intense. However, it's a time full of celebrations of life and love, shared with good friends and family. So, despite all the busyness, the last minute run to Target to buy a replacement kiddie pool, the dawn to dusk preparation of enough food to last us through Armageddon (thanks go out to the great crew of 2 mothers, a grandmother, and 2 sisters who truly made it a group effort), and a failed attempt to set up an inflatable, water-spraying shark head on our lawn, in the end, it was all good.

Baobei

2009-07-20T09:57:00.004-04:00

In celebration of William's turning two years old yesterday, I've cobbled together a short montage of pictures taken over the last year and a half. I did my best to insert some video, but the program was being ornery and forced me to work with only still images. Some of the pictures and rhythms in the song also came un-synched when I uploaded the slideshow to Youtube. Those snafus and recycled pictures aside, the background song, "Baobei" ("Baby") is still worth a listen.

Zhang Xuan, the artist who performs the piece, is a Taiwanese indie singer/songwriter who has gained mainstream popularity in Taiwan over the past few years. I first heard her song, "Baobei," on a CD that Andrew's Chinese school teacher made for her students. It has since become William's most requested song. When the track ends, I know it's just a matter of time before he calls out "More Baobei!" from the back seat. The other day, I had to put my foot down after hitting the repeat button five times. I think it's high time that I invested in some of Zhang Xuan's other music.

You can see a video of Zhang Xuan performing "Baobei" by clicking here. Someone out there in cyberspace was also kind enough to post a translation of the song lyrics here. Note that the translation has an ESL influence (for instance, a better rendering of xiao gui might be "my little rascal," instead of "my little evil.") Either way, Xiao Gui is an apt moniker for the two year old who burst into our lives 16 months ago and ran away with our hearts. Happy birthday, you little rascal.

Worth the Wait

2009-07-11T09:26:00.001-04:00

Eleven years ago, Craig and I were married in New York City. Looking back, it's amazing how the details of the day have grown fuzzier and fuzzier in my mind. The things I thought I'd always remember, such as the succession of events prior to the wedding, what food was served to the guests at the reception, have fallen victim to the forgetfulness that comes with time. Those things I'd rather forget - the near-rotting roses someone stuffed all over our cake, how difficult it was to use the bathroom while wrangling a wedding gown - still remain fresh in my mind.

Another memory that remains clear is that of our first kiss. Early on in our dating relationship, Craig and I made a decision to not kiss each other on the lips until the day we married, a promise we honored through three and a half years of courtship. Don't get me wrong: we held hands and would peck each other on the cheek, but we drew the line at locking lips. Preserving the integrity of the marriage bed was something we valued highly. We knew that if we didn't draw strict enough boundaries, we could easily disappoint ourselves and rob our future relationship of the intimacy best supported in a committed marriage. As hormonal, young twenty-somethings, desperate times called for desperate measures.

So on July 11, 1998, as 125 guests looked on, we took a deep breath, squeezed our eyes shut, and went for our first kiss. Was it worth the wait? Mm-hm.

We Interrupt This Post

2009-07-09T22:45:00.002-04:00

I started writing a longer post to celebrate Andrew's turning 6 years old today. However, with preparations for his party on Sunday afternoon (think along the lines of 10 boys in our backyard armed with water guns and amped up with sugar), I got sidetracked. That post will have to wait just a bit longer. This afternoon as I was feeding the boys their snacks, I received news from my sister that my father has been diagnosed with prostate cancer.

Wow.

Cancer is one of those things that hitherto has left my immediate family alone. It has touched distant relatives and even a good friend of ours. But now its long reach has extended much closer to home. I'm grieved for the worry, shock, and possible fear that my father and mother might be facing. I'm saddened for my father when I consider the endlesss barrage of medical tests and hospital visits that he'll surely have to endure. However, I'm very optimistic for the outcome. His cancer was detected fairly early on. And thankfully, prostate cancer has a kinder overall prognosis. I'm hopeful that this is but a mere hiccup in the grander picture of my father's life.

Having spoken with them earlier today, my parents seem to be in good spirits. My dad goes in for some more testing over the next few days and is scheduled to have his prostate removed in August. May I be so bold as to ask you to pause and to pray for him, for his peace of heart, for success of treatment, and for the glory of God to be made manifest? I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Andrew, v. 6.0

2009-07-09T22:09:00.003-04:00

Happy 6th birthday, sweet Monkey of our love.

I Heart New York

2009-07-08T23:30:00.003-04:00

I heart New York City. It's a place that holds so many memories for me. I was born in its Morningside Heights neighborhood and moved out when I was two. I returned for college, met and married my charming husband there, and signed on for my first salaried job as a public school teacher. I survived 9/11, Y2K, a cockroach-infested apartment, and an upstairs neighbor who was a professional timpani drummer. (I still get a headache whenever I think of him.) In New York City, I witnessed some of the best and worst of what humanity has to offer.

I always imagined I'd remain in Manhattan and raise a family there, but God had other plans. It has been eight years since Craig and I moved away and during that time, I have - gasp! - acclimated to suburban life quite well. However, when the chance recently came up to visit, you better believe I jumped on it. Craig, who often commutes to the city for work, was scheduled for a four-day conference there. I decided it'd be a good opportunity to give the boys a taste of the Big Apple (in this case, William's first). Thus, Andrew, William, and I holed up in Craig's hotel room on Monday night and lived it up like the tourists we had now become.

En route to Manhattan, we made a detour in Burbville, New Jersey, where we moved after the noisy city finally got the better of Craig. I couldn't resist peeking at our old house and seeing our street one more time. Much has changed, yet much has remained the same. I then took the boys to a local park Andrew and I used to frequent. The park has a zoo with a train ride and a carousel. William threw a fit when I tried to pull him off the latter. Tantrum subdued, we ate lunch at our favorite blue and yellow Swedish megastore and did some shopping. Afterwards, we packed up and drove over the George Washington Bridge. As usual, the sight of the approaching city made my heart skip a beat.

After checking into the hotel, we made our first stop: Times Square. We entered the M&Ms Superstore, where the sight of walls full of M&Ms in every imaginable color caused me to throw my diet out the window. If William couldn't recognize the color green before, he certainly can now. It looks like he just ate out of trashcan in the pictures below, but it's really just the green dye from his chocolate M&Ms. I know someone out there will flame me for letting my 1 year-old son stuff his face with candy, but I make no apologies for the occasional excess while on vacation.

The dietary abandon further continued when we came across the famed Magnolia bakery. Once inside, you can't help but inhale the scent of baking cupcakes and sugary frosting and vow to forfeit your last penny for just one bite. Are you kidding me? Of course we bought a few to go.

While Craig and I once considered ourselves fairly well-versed at navigating the city, having children changes everything, particularly our dining choices. We now limit our search criteria to facilities that turn a blind eye to fussy children, serve milk in plastic cups with bendy straws, and that deliver meals to our table in 9.5 seconds or less. Considering those things, Patsy's Pizzeria, our favorite brick-oven pizza joint, fit the bill. The four of us cabbed it there and had as pleasant a meal as you can have with a toddler who is still "restaurant training."

The next morning, the boys and I hit Central Park. We were up early enough to have most of the playground to ourselves. After haunting suburban parks for six years, it was surreal to see the imposing lines of the skyscrapers rising up from beyond the treelined park perimeter. Andrew had a particularly fun time scaling the giant rocks. I know I wouldn't be the first parent to look on nervously, anticipating a bloodcurdling scream as he tumbled down. Thankfully, no such thing happened.

We then headed back to the hotel, packed up, and drove to the East Village to meet my sister, Sherry. Sherry was gracious enough to prepare a kid-friendly lunch for the boys. To show his appreciation, William left fingerprints and a trail of carrot drool all over her polished surfaces. It's a good thing she's family.

We parted ways with Auntie Sherry so I could feed the parking meter. The boys and I then headed to J. Bacynski's butcher shop to purchase some of the world's best kielbasa. Afterwards, we strolled over to Veniero's Italian bakery, where Andrew and William went agog when they saw the mile-long case of moutwatering pastries. Did we hold back? Not a chance. (I marvel at how New Yorkers can, on the whole, stay so slim. The city truly is a gastronome's delight.) Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures of our Village outing. After a day of pushing a stroller through crowds with a 6 year old in tow and a heavy camera pulling on my neck, I decided to be kind to myself.

Seven stops in three states in twenty-four hours. Normally the thought of so much travel and busyness would appall me, but when compelled by a fondness for the past and an appetite for the familiar, it was hard to say no. I always tell my kids that New York City is the best place in the world - and I truly believe it. Perhaps after their whirlwind one-day tour, they're a little closer on their way to believing it themselves.

However

2009-06-27T23:43:00.005-04:00

Yes, it's true that William has been a handful with his toddler antics lately. And yes, it's true, the terrible pre-twos have run us a bit ragged.

However, despite the tantrums, the willfulness, and the debris left behind in his defiant wake, there are a lot of wonderful developments taking place.

- William is starting to get the hang of using manners. He's nowhere near 100% perfect yet, but we've been pleasantly surprised to hear him sometimes take the lead on saying "please," "thank you," "sorry," and even "bless you" when someone sneezes. Of course, he doesn't always get it right. At dinner this evening, he belched and followed it up with "bless you" and a maniacal cackle.

- Both his fine and gross motor skills have really come a long way over the last 3-4 months. He loves doing puzzles, playing with his shape sorter, and scribbling with crayons and markers, as my furniture might attest if it weren't for the invention of washable markers. He has learned to jump, all 30 pounds of him landing with an earth-shaking thud. He can run much faster and can ascend and descend stairs. This past month, thanks to Andrew, he has discovered the joy of sliding down the carpeted stairs on his rear end.

- He has learned his ABCs. Sometimes he still confuses his 'M's with 'W's and his 'N's with 'Z's, but those reversals aside, he can identify the letters of the English upper case. Here's a short video we took of him a couple of weeks ago:

Now we just have to teach him to feign an exaggerated announcer's voice and say, "Mega Trucks, trucks, trucks, trucks... feel the power, power, power, power...!"

- This summer, I've begun teaching Andrew the Chinese "alphabet" or Zhuyin Fuhao. Apparently, he's not the only one learning. Today, William surprised me by being able to identify the first character, ㄅ, or bo.

- When he's focused, he can count to ten in both English and Chinese.

- The jury is still out on whether he knows his colors in Chinese, but according to Craig, he can identify a few colors in English. It must be a Daddy thing; the few times I've tried asking him in English, he has showed no interest in Mommy's dull game.

- While Andrew and William have sometimes been the cause of each others' misery this summer, they've also brought each other a lot of joy. It has been a delight to watch them play together more and to hear them laughing over a shared experience.

- It seems William adds a new word or phrase to his burgeoning vocabulary every day. He is stringing words together into short phrases and sentences. He enjoys greeting strangers in stores with "Hi! How 'you?" The other day while eating chicken noodle soup, he was digging about the noodles for chunks of meat. Upon finding one, he announced gleefully, "Chicken, I see you!"

- We're relieved to report that the bonding is still going strong. Case in point: Craig's two cousins and sister came to visit this afternoon. The cousins had never met William and wanted to see him before they left. Since he was napping, we figured we could sneak them into his room for a quick peek. However, when we entered, we were surprised to find him standing up in his crib, frightened by the strangers filing into his room. He searched the faces and upon finding mine, stretched out his arms and said, "Go [to] Mommy!" Thereupon, he wrapped his arms around me and burrowed his head into my shoulder. It's comforting to know that despite all the reprimanding and correction we've had to do lately, we're still the ones he runs to at the end of the day. When it's good, it's really good.

Time and Patience

2009-06-25T14:30:00.007-04:00

One of the things that surprised me about becoming a mother of two kids is how much easier it was than I had imagined. Paradoxically, I was also startled by how quickly I ran short on patience.

Recently, I've been very aware of the latter truth. It seems William has been on a destructive rampage lately. It's not atypical for a child with a strong will. (For those who will inevitably wonder, I don't think it's a sign of a maladjusted adoptee surfacing early.) But, come on! Over the past couple of days, he's been in rare form. In the midst of a temper tantrum, he took our childs' size guitar and smashed it apart. The next day, while I was playing the piano, I refused to let him on my lap for the umpteenth time only to have him scamper off seconds later. Upset, he pulled off two of the ivory overlays on the keys. Granted, it's an older piano, but they showed no sign of being loose! He has broken a toy construction truck, ripped apart a book, and de-bearded our Chinese lion marionette. It seems every time I step away to wash the dishes, I'm interrupted by Andrew crying out, "Uh-ohhhhhh...... Mommy, William broke the ____________!"

And the tantrums! Just when we thought they had reached their pinnacle, William continues to surprise us with even more intensity. The boy knows what he wants and will not be derailed in his pursuit of it. He flies into fits when we tell him "no," stomping, screeching, slapping at us. Mealtime has become a headache for all of us. We do our best to follow the principles laid out in Ellyn Satter's illuminating book, Child of Mine: Feeding with Love and Good Sense. We try to provide our kids with healthy choices at the table and not make a big deal if all they want to eat is a mouthful of air. But William usually finishes well before the rest of us and kicks up an noisy storm in his highchair until let out. He then procedes to wander from person to person, whining when we refuse to let him up on our laps, reaching up to the table to make a mess of the food, and disrupting the peace.

Exhibit A: We have a Pete Townshend wannabe on our hands.

Exhibit B: 36 black keys, 50 white, and now, 2 buck naked.

I know, I know, it's merely a phase. Such behavior is not uncommon for toddlers. I'm sure the increase in chaos partly stems from Andrew's being home from school. A kid can get into only so worked up by himself, but throw another child into the mix and the drama escalates. Screaming ensues over knocked down block towers, crashed forts, snatched food, water splashed in the eyes during bathtime, you name it. All of this is taking a toll on me. I'm embarrassed to admit some of the words I've spoken when refereeing conflicts: "Yes, William, I know Gege sounds really annoying when he's rolling on the floor and carrying on longer than he should for just stubbing his toe, but that's no reason for you to try to hit him."

On our hairier days, I have to remind myself that not only has God given me what I can handle in both Andrew and William, but he has given me what I need to grow in Christ-like character. The Lord definitely has his work cut out in the three of us. For my part, I've decided it's time to help out with that sometimes-painful process and beef up my parental arsenal. I am eagerly awaiting a package in the mail. Its contents? Summer reading consisting of books whose titles include the words "parents," "strong-willed child," and "magic."

Watch and Wonder

2009-06-15T16:00:00.000-04:00

I never tire of hearing stories of how God can redeem a broken situation and make something beautiful. Case in point: today, my friend Sara/Sofa meets her new daughter, Milana, at St. Lucy's Center in Tainan. After jumping through every flaming hoop adoptive parents could encounter over the last year, she and her husband will finally hold the 2 year-old for whom they've waited for so long. Milana will join three other siblings back home in the States. Congratulations to them all!

I Am Andrew. Hear Me Roar.

2009-06-13T20:58:00.006-04:00

Two weekends ago, Andrew's Chinese school class performed a short play at an Asian-American heritage celebration in Philadelphia. We packed our bags, drove almost an hour in, and paid through the nose for parking, all for him to deliver one line: "Roar, roar, roar! Wo shi xiao xiong!" ("I'm a little bear!")

Upon arriving at the park where the festival was held, Andrew took note of everyone walking around in everyday street wear. "I look funny," he said, glancing down at his traditional Chinese costume I forced him to wear. He felt especially out of sorts when he saw that he was the only one among his classmates dressed in non-Western clothes. (Blame it on his mom, who misunderstood the teacher's directions.)

Showtime came and went and not a single child spoke their lines on cue. Thankfully, the teacher was clever enough to pre-record all the children reciting their parts and to play the track over the loudspeakers.

Because he participated in the show, the festival organizers gave Andrew a trophy, a certificate, a lunch voucher, and a coupon for a free ride on the park carousel.

After riding the carousel, we headed over to the adjacent playground. There, Andrew really enjoyed the rotating monkey bars...

...and the see-saw, along with Auntie Jenny, who joined us for the morning.

We then traded in his lunch ticket for some artery clogging lo-mein and an eggroll. We found some seats, ate our food, and took in some of the performances featuring dancers representing a variety of Asian nations.

Andrew watched the dancers with interest. I could see him trying to pick up a few moves to add to his own wild and crazy repertoire.

Afterwards, the three of us walked to nearby Chinatown and spent too much money on Chinese/English children's books, DVDs, and more traditional Chinese outfits. We then parted ways with Auntie Jenny. Andrew and I stopped into a Chinese bakery and bought a variety of flavored fruit and nut rolls to bring home to napping William, Craig, and his parents, who were in town for the weekend. Walking back to the car, we heard the sound of banging drums and clashing cymbals. We turned around to see a Chinese lion procession making its way down the street. Andrew couldn't take his eyes off the spectacle. It was the perfect way to end a day that surely ranked high for a fun-loving five year-old.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I remember my fourth grade teacher asking my fellow students and me to draw pie graphs representing our origins. Everyone got busy dividing their circles into different fragments - Irish, Swedish, English, Italian, etc. I drew my circle and put my pencil down. Done already. Looking about the classroom, my young heart grew jealous of the other students and their diverse backgrounds.

While I'm much less envious now, I'd like to hope that my eldest son would someday be proud of his Taiwanese, Polish, French, Scottish, German, Dutch, Russian, and who-knows-what-else mix. God has woven together a delightfully rich tapestry of cultures in our little boy. However, the world can be a cruel place. One day someone may make a remark about his dark eyes that taper off at the edges and how they look funny with his brown hair. He may grow weary of the curious stares we sometimes get when our interracial family is out and about. He may tire of hearing the same remark I often get when people learn my last name: "Huh? You don't look Polish."

As reluctant as I was to go through all the hassle for Andrew to have his .18 seconds of fame in Philly, I'm glad I did. Hopefully, fond memories like the ones we forged that morning that will empower him to remember he is, as the Bible puts it, "fearfully and wonderfully made."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As we walked hand in hand toward the parking lot to go home, Andrew and I recounted the exciting events of the day.

"Isn't being Asian fun?" I asked him, tongue in cheek.

"Yeah!" he replied enthusiastically.

He didn't get the joke. And I have to admit: I'm glad for it.

Just So You Know

2009-06-10T09:26:00.002-04:00

In case there has been any confusion, I want to clarify that Mei-Ling #2, Mei-Ling Hopgood, and Mei-Ling #3, Taiwanese-Canadian adoptee Mei-Ling, are not the same person. Apparently, a few people have contacted the latter about having written a certain book entitled Lucky Girl: A Memoir. Not so. Hopgood is the author. Certainly both women are Taiwanese adoptees who have experienced reunions, but beyond that, their experiences are quite different and should be acknowledged as such.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming...

Mei-Ling #4: Dumpling Queen

2009-06-07T21:35:00.005-04:00

In my last post about food, I yakked on about breaking my addiction to edible things. For my next post, please fasten your seatbelts and strap on your helmets. You're in for a severe case of bloggy whiplash as I sing the praises of jiaozi, or Chinese dumplings.

Real Chinese/Taiwanese food is hard to learn to cook. You have to stand next to a capable chef and watch like a hawk as s/he throws in a pinch of this, a dash of that, and ta-da! Culinary brilliance that makes your tastebuds sing for joy. Recipes are seldom written down. The ones I've looked up with the intention to cook are often Westernized (sorry, but Campbell's soup does not belong in any recipe claiming to be authentically Chinese/Taiwanese.) Since my parents happened to be in town recently, I seized the opportunity to shadow my mother, Mei-Ling, as she made some of her famous jiaozi, or Taiwanese dumplings.

Let it be known that my mother makes a mean dumpling. In fact, in a jiaozi-making contest, my mother could out-cook your mother. You could blindfold my mom and tie one of her arms behind her back and she'd still produce a rocking dumpling. No sweat. You could sit a pina colada-drinking elephant holding a parasol on top of her head and make her walk a tight rope all while stuffing jiaozi and she'd still make your mother's dumplings look like something you'd pick out of a public sandbox wearing thick rubber gloves. My mother could... alright, alright, enough.

Because making jiaozi can be rather time-intensive, my mom didn't make them very often when I was growing up. However, the occasions when she did were fun times of gathering together whomever happened to be in the house. Crouched over the kitchen table, we'd line row upon row with flour-dusted dumplings. Sometimes my sisters and I would compete to see who could fold and seal our jiaozi in the most creative way. My attempts to get minimalist usually ended with my dumplings exploding open as they cooked.

But enough chatter. I know what you want and I'll deliver. Below is my mom's special recipe (or at least what I managed to scribble down). But now that you know it, I might just have to - ahem. I'm a nice Christian girl, right?

Be warned: the recipe is good. I used it to make a batch tonight. William liked the dumplings so much that he set a personal record and downed 9 of them. Whoa, Nellie!

Mei-Ling's Dumplings

Ingredients:

1. 1 package of dumpling wrappers (if you can't find these at an Asian grocery store, you may be able to find them in your grocery store's produce section near the tofu and veggie hot dogs).

2. 1 egg

3. 2/3 of a head of Napa cabbage, finely diced with the liquid squeezed out as much as possible

4. 1 Tsp of salt

5. 2 cups of Chinese chives (aka in Mandarin as jio tsai), diced. If you can't find Chinese chives, you can substitute diced scallions or finely chopped zucchini.

6. 1 large carrot, finely shredded

7. 2 scallions, diced

8. 1 lb. of ground pork

9. 2 Tsp. of sesame oil

10. 1/2 tsp. ground ginger

11. 2 Tsp. of vegetable or canola oil

Directions:

1. Mix the egg in a small bowl. Set it aside.

2. Mix ingredients #3-10 together in a large bowl to make the dumpling filling.

3. Drop a tablespoon full of the filling onto the center of a wrapper.

4. Using your fingers or a pastry brush, brush the mixed egg from step 1 around the edges of the wrapper. Fold one end of the wrapper up, forming a semicircle. Fold and crimp the outer edges of the semicircle until the drumpling wrapper is tightly sealed. Repeat.

5. Heat the vegetable or canola oil in a large nonstick frying pan. When the oil begins to sizzle, place the dumplings in to fry. Turn them over to brown each side. If the dumplings stick to the pan, you can gradually add a 1/4 cup of water to loosen them from the pan.

6. Serve with the dipping sauce (see below).

If you prefer a healthier alternative, you can boil the dumplings. Heat a large pot full of boiling water or chicken broth. Drop in the dumplings. When they rise to the top and look puffy, they're ready to be removed.

Dipping Sauce:

1 Tsp. sesame oil

1/3 cup of soy sauce

1 tsp. of diced scallions for garnish

Directions:

Mix all three ingredients together and serve over the cooked dumplings.

Enjoy!

Mei-Ling #3: Everything Changes

2009-06-02T14:05:00.001-04:00

Speaking of reunions, here's another one that may catch your interest. Mei-Ling #3 is a college-aged woman whose blog I came across about a year ago. She was born in Taiwan and adopted by a family in Canada when she was a baby. In just a few days, life as she knows it will change dramatically as she re-unites with her Taiwanese family. My thoughts are with her as she experiences what could be one of the most exhilarating and downright frightening summers of her life.

You can catch up on her story by checking out her blog, The Original Heping. Be warned that her posts may make some readers uncomfortable. However, if you've done your adoptive parent homework and have read up on the possible manifestations of adoption grief and loss, the rawness of her emotions and the sentiments she expresses shouldn't take you by surprise.

If I had a big shiny medal, I'd award it to Mei-Ling for fueling my desire to teach William Mandarin. When we first met him a little over a year ago, I did my best to speak to him in my anemic Chinese because a) I thought it would make me less scary to him, and b) he didn't understand English. I had no game plan for what to speak after our first few, transitional months together. However, after reading about Mei-Ling's agony over communicating with her Taiwanese family via online voice chats, I realized this was a plight that could be William's. After all, unlike Chinese adoptees who have little to no contact information with which to reunite with their families, William's Taiwanese family is likely accessible. A reunion could actually happen.

Under my shaky tutelage and armed with some Chinese school, I realize he'll probably never be fully fluent. To get to that level, he'd have to spend a considerable amount of his life growing up in Taiwan, soaking in the cultural nuances and lingual undertones. Still, I can hopefully give him a leg up when it comes to speaking his first nervous "Hello" - if that day ever comes.

If the possibility of reunion isn't enough reason to learn Mandarin, being Taiwanese is. Mei-Ling and I have come to the same realization: just because we look Asian, many people expect us to "act Asian" - to speak the lanugage flawlessly and to converse knowledegeably about all aspects of the culture. Of course it's an unfair expectation. But because it exists and because the pressure of it can be so immense (especially from 0 to 1st generation Asians who have mastered these faculties), I need to do my best to equip William. Maybe one day he'll want nothing to do with his birth culture and will eschew any attempts to learn Chinese. That's his choice to make. I've come to the firm belief that he - and I for that matter - aren't any less "Asian" for what we do or don't know. Still, he will have the foundations of the language and some familiarity with the culture with which to do what he pleases.

So, Mei-Ling, if you happen to stumble upon this post, Godspeed to you as you begin this new chapter of your life. I wish you smooth travels, as pain-free an immersion into Mandarin as possible, the courage to face the unknown, lots of laughter and good memories, and finally closure. In the meantime, I am mentally addressing an envelope to you. Enclosed therein is your big shiny medal.

Mei-Ling #2: There and Back Again

2009-05-29T20:52:00.004-04:00

In 2008, William was one of 267 children adopted into the United States from Taiwan. That number may seem puny compared to the couple of thousands hailing from countries like China or Guatemala. However, for an island with an estimated population of only 23 million, it's a significant number that is steadily increasing year by year. (Consider that in 2005, there were only 141 adoptions by American families).

Decades ago, there were no such things as agencies facilitating Taiwanese adoptions. The handful of international adoptions that occurred were arranged independently. Not surprisingly, it's rare to stumble upon stories of adoptees who are now old enough to share their tales with the mass public.

Recently, I learned that one such adoptee had published a book about her reunion with her Taiwanese family. My adoptive parent antennae immediately shot up. Could her tale be similar to the one William might one day tell? Could her recounting offer some first-hand insight as to what his future might hold?

The author, Mei-Ling Hopgood, was adopted from Taiwan in 1974 at eight months old and placed with a family in Michigan. Without intending to, she found herself re-connecting with her biological family. Over the years, she traveled to Taiwan several times and unearthed the good, the bad, and the shockingly ugly about the family she had never known. Hopgood chronicles her findings in her book, Lucky Girl: A Memoir. You can view a video about the book by clicking here.

From now until June 7th, I'll be co-moderating a discussion on Lucky Girl along with my friend, Sarah, of Journey to Hannah Claire. Head on over and check it out. Even if you haven't read the book, you'll still be able to get in on the chats and offer your input. In a few weeks, Hopgood herself will join us for a question and answer session. If your life or that of someone you know has been touched by adoption, these are conversations - and this is a book - you won't want to miss.

Mei-Ling #1: Twenty Years to World Domination

2009-05-27T23:00:00.002-04:00

This is the first of four posts featuring various Mei-Lings.

Over Memorial Day weekend, Craig held down the fort and tended to the boys. Meanwhile, I flew up to New England to visit my oldest sister, Diane, and her family. Saturday marked not only the baptism of her second child, 5 month-old Justin, but the birthday party of her first child, Mei-Ling.

Mei-Ling recently turned two and celebrated the occasion with family from both sides, loads of little friends, and a birthday cake that was as beautiful as it was delicious ("Diet? Huh? What diet?")

At two years old, she is already doing her share to hold up the brainiac Asian stereotype: she can recognize all the letters in the alphabet, knows their sounds, is bi-lingual in English and Mandarin, and is as sharp a thinker as they come. With her combination of beauty and smarts, Mei-Ling is well-poised to the rule the world twenty years from now. Consider yourselves forewarned.

Unscripted Afternoon

2009-05-15T23:15:00.003-04:00

The typical script:

Me: "Andrew! Smile for the camera!"

Andrew: (sighs deeply then concedes to force the corners of his mouth upwards for a split second)

This afternoon, we trashed the script when humid temperatures in the 80s prompted an impromptu sprinkler session. There was no forcing of smiles out of Andrew; his ear-to-ear Kool-Aid man grins were non-stop. You'd never even recognize him as the boy who dislikes getting his eyes wet.

While Thing One went dashing through the sprinkler, Thing Two kept a cautious distance in the swing we rigged to a high branch of an oak tree. The boy who doesn't mind getting his eyes wet and who loves splashing in swimming pools was surprisingly afraid of the spray. All I managed to capture of him were a handful of blurry shots in which he pouted every time. At least it made for one less kid from whom to have to peel a wet swim suit.

AllieKat World Exclusive!

2009-05-13T14:08:00.005-04:00

While the world turned several hundred times over the last couple of months, something was a-brew in my sister-in-law, Christine's, womb. We showed you a picture of the wee one back in November when she and her husband first broke the good news to us. And now, I am delighted to introduce to you AllieKat (okay, okay, her real name is Alleyne Katherine, but I like the sound of AllieKat better).

Alleyne surprised her parents by arriving at 6:15 this morning, three weeks ahead of her due date. She pushed her way out into the world in just two minutes. Little Miss weighed in at 6 lbs., 1 oz. and measured 19 inches long. She and her mother are both doing well.

"Meow!" (that's feline for "congratulations!")

Savoring the Nanosecond

2009-05-11T23:30:00.006-04:00

I hate to admit it, but I often walk through my days with amnesia. I forget what a blessing it is to be a mother - and to two such wonderful boys! Mother's Day may be a holiday generated by greeting card companies, but it is a functional one. It serves as a much needed "thank you" for the hard work of parenting and a reminder to moms of what a privilege it is to do what we do.

I have to give it to my three guys for delivering a spectacular Mother's Day. I got to sleep in late and came downstairs to a delicious breakfast of crepes with Swiss cheese and ham. There were fresh flowers on the counter and a card from each person. Later in the day, Craig tended to the children so I could have an afternoon off. I seized the chance to head to Barnes and Noble to resume work on my book draft, which I haven't touched since the end of NaNoWriMo. (Incidentally, who knew that our local B&N cafe is THE Sunday afternoon hangout for Asians of all ages?) Later, we went t0 a kid-friendly restaurant for an early dinner.

As I was putting Andrew to sleep for the night, I was inspired to give him a long, tight embrace. Hugging my eldest son is getting trickier each year not because he is physically resistant, but because he is growing so quickly. At almost 6 years old, he is all lanky limbs. When I brought him close, it was like trying to gather a flamingo and fold it onto my lap.

Still, it occurred to me as we cuddled that I would never again hold him in the same state. The next day, he'd awake just a little bigger than the night before - imperceptibly bigger, yes, but larger nonetheless. The way life goes, in the midst of a busy moment a year from now, I'll look up from what I'm doing and be startled by the sight of the same boy standing before me inches taller, stronger, and hopefully a little wiser.

I blinked once and look what happened! (Andrew at 4 mos. and later at 5 years and 22 months)

The same can be said of our "baby," William. I experienced one of those startling moments yesterday when I turned around to look at him in his carseat on the way to church. Wasn't it just the other day when we brought him home from the Philadelphia airport? He was still small enough to fit into a rear-facing infant carrier. Sitting in the backseat next to him, I watched him take in his new surroundings - the vehicles on the highway whizzing by in a blur, the sounds of conversation in foreign tones, the face of the woman he had begun to recognize over the past week, her expressions alternating between concern, exhaustion, and fondness. There must have been a time warp because that baby disappeared. In his place sat a hulking child with a lazy grin.

"Doh! I looked away and it happened again!" (William at 7 months and again at 22 months)

So, the moral of the story is this: if you're a parent, stop what you're doing and hug your children tightly. Savor the nanosecond you're in and send up a "thank you" for the good thing you've been given. Life goes by too quickly.

Death to Self, One Bite at a Time

2009-05-06T13:57:00.002-04:00

March 1st, 2009 was a date I dreaded. As February drew to a close, I grew tense just thinking about the day and all it portended. Many months ago, I made a vow to myself that on that day, I would put myself on a diet. This wasn't going to be any come-and-go diet rooted more in whim than true resolution. I was committing big time.

Now I know that I don't need to diet. I am well within my healthy BMI range for someone my height. Being short and broad-hipped is the way that the women in my family (with the exception of my sister, Sherry, who is a size 0 genetic fluke) are built. However, I'm also not so clueless as to miss my "euphemisms": the teacher's arm, the muffin top, the bedonka-donk butt. I can surely pinch an inch and more. It wouldn't hurt me to lose a couple of pounds.

But looking like a Hollywood A-lister is not the point. Over the last several years, I've come to realize that I love to eat and I love it to the point where it is slowly wringing the life out of my relationship with God. As a Christian, my priority should be to love God with all my heart, soul, mind, and being. This is not to say that a fondness for created things is verboten - not at all. In the same way we smile to see our children savoring their first bite of cake or reeling over a new toy, the God who designed all these things delights when we enjoy the things he has made. Still, our call is to worship him first and not to make substitute gods of people and objects. God's creation simply isn't built to sustain the weight of our worship and can't fulfill our souls the way that he does.

We Americans have a way of condemning addictions that are clearly destructive: alcoholism, drug addiction, gambling and the like. But when it comes to food addiction, we tend to giggle and write it off as cute. After all, everyone has overindulged at one point or another, right? "I'm okay, you're okay." But for a Christian who desires to experience the fullness of life that God holds out to me, to depend on him as my sole sufficiency, and to walk in obedience to him, it's not okay. When I am stressed and weighed down with worry, why do I run to the bag of peanut M&Ms and not send up a prayer for comfort and guidance? When I am feeling restless, why do I meander over to the refrigerator and peruse its contents? When I am sitting at the table feeding my boys a snack, why do I, though not hungry, keep one hand in the box of Goldfish crackers? I know why and the answer is not pretty.

While I'd like to think my cure would be as simple as praying for strength to overcome my sin, I know myself well enough. I function best when challenged with guidelines, deadlines, and a degree of extremity. Enter Weight Watchers' online diet program. In addition to spiritual change, the idea of going on a structured diet had its fringe benefits: I could a) force myself to re-set my eating habits and think consciously about my dietary patterns and motivations, b) evaluate my intake quantity and quality, c) get healthier overall. If I shed some pounds in the process, fantastic. I tried to think about the endeavor less in terms of going on a diet and instead, going on an extended, modified fast. The point of it, after all, was to learn to submit my love of food to God.

Limiting my food intake, the part I imagined would be the hardest, came easier than I thought. What I didn't expect was how all-consuming the plan would be. Counting points for every bite of food that went into my mouth. Tracking points for time spent exercising. Worrying about whether one brand of bread in the grocery aisle would be a bigger violator than another. Committing to cooking new recipes I had never tried. Battling to keep my focus off the number on the scale and on my spiritual progress instead. Many days, it felt like I had replaced one idol of the heart with another. But then again, death to self seldom comes without a struggle.

Two months later, I can't say that I've fully tamed my food addiction. I made a tasty loaf of homemade bread to complement dinner last night. I regret to report that I went nuts on it even though I knew I was full. Still, I'm closer to taming the beast than I was on March 1st. There have been several times when I have successfully checked my desire to eat for eating's sake. I've become more conscious of what I am eating, how much I am eating, and most importantly, for Whom I am eating.

I toyed with the idea of posting a "before" and "after" picture of me (for those who are curious, fellower dieter, Craig, and I have lost the equivalent of 6 bags of potatoes and just as many chins). My clothes definitely hang a little looser nowadays. But - ah, there's the struggle again! That's not the point.

The better picture to post would be one of the inside of my heart. When viewed, hopefully it would reveal a heart under renovation. On its way out would be the altar with the heaping portion of pasta and the bottomless bag of Doritos flanked by frosted cupcakes dancing in unison. Gradually inching in on it would be the big, shiny throne whereupon my heavenly King sits and rules.

Smile, heart, and say "cheese!"

(Actually, make that "fat-free cheese.")

Serendipity

2009-04-25T21:50:00.001-04:00

This morning, we took advantage of my parent's presence, Andrew's lack of Chinese school, and the unseasonably warm weather to visit a local arboretum we've overlooked for far too long.

The Ones They Left Behind

2009-04-21T23:00:00.005-04:00

On Friday, Andrew's school celebrated Grandparents' Day. The annual event invites grandparents to join the kids for a morning of performances, classroom visits, and the opportunity to be praised for the important role they play in the children's lives.

Because our region boasts good schools, viable jobs, and reasonable housing costs, people don't tend to move far away from their extended families. Unfortunately, as transplants, we don't have that benefit. My parents are 6 hours away by car and happened to be out of the country that day. Craig's parents are 33 hours away in New Mexico. Since we didn't want Andrew to be one of the few kids without a grandparent, we imported the boys' Great-Grandmother M. from New York State to fill in. Thanks, Grandma!

Later that day, Craig's siblings (who oddly enough wound up moving to the same area) joined us for dinner. It's wonderful to know that our boys will grow up with a network of aunts and uncles within reach. And while they don't see their grandparents on a frequent basis, it's reassuring to know that they'll at least have contact with them a couple of times a year.

"Sure, Great-Grandma, you may have chased after three kids...

"... and run after five grandchildren..."

"... but I still know how to give you the scare of your life."

I'm especially thankful that William will grow up with access to so many adoptive relatives, all of whom make excellent role models. At the same time, I think about the family he left behind in Taiwan. Certainly, there are his Taiwanese parents. Their role in his life can't be downplayed. But what about his biological grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins?

I imagine that most, if not all of them, know about his existence. I'm sure they wonder about his whereabouts and well-being. When I see the delight William's adoptive relatives take in him, I know that halfway around the world, there are blood relatives who are missing out on the same joy. What must it be like to be a grandmother and not be able to hold your grandson? To have a nephew you'll never play with? When they see a little boy in Taiwan with a long face and chubby cheeks, do they wonder if that's what William looks like now? When they see a child toddling about in public areas, does the sight cause them to wonder what might have been?

My parents left the majority of their family behind in Taiwan when they immigrated to America. As a result, I have no memories of any grandparents, save for my maternal grandfather whom I've met a handful of times. I'd be wrong if I tried to guess the names and number of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. Having never had a tight-knit relationship with any of them, I don't really know what I'm missing out on. Maybe it will be the same way for William.

Still, there exists the possibility that I could visit them or vice versa, that we could initiate a closer relationship should we ever desire. And it's true: reunion with William's Taiwanese family could still happen. But for now, there's only wondering on my part and the shadow of a little boy to follow two families somewhere in Taiwan.