I’m blogging again.

A lot has happened in the past year or so since I last posted. I won’t rehash a bunch of stuff so I will just start in again.

Happy New Year. Or I should say Happy Nauryz.

Three years ago, we were in Aktau, Kazakhstan, visiting with a child that would soon become our daughter. One of the wonderful things we did while we were there was to celebrate the Kazakh new year, Nauryz. There was a party at the orphanage with a recital by the older children (4 & 5 yr olds), food and dancing. The Bear (kushke bear for short) fell asleep on my shoulder that day. Later in the day, we went to the city celebration of Nauryz. There were bands playing music in the park, food and drink readily available. There were yurtas set up in the parks by different groups including the local university, and local businesses. We were invited in as honored guests and offered food and drink. We were given soup, sliced meats, cheese, crackers, flat bread, and other wonderful foods including camels milk - tastes like yogurt.

That day is probably the most symbolic event that happened, other then court and gotcha day, that exemplifies our new experience. A new year, a new family was born, a new baby was received into our family. That baby is now a preschooler. She is a wonderful spark of life with energy to give away. She is a dear child who has grown into a wonderful little girl.

This time of year, spring, is celebratory time for our family. The celebrations start with Kazakh new year, the first day of spring, then comes Gotcha day, and ends with Malika's birthday. Our family day is celebrated on the day we took official custody of Malika. We will eat some foods in that we identify with Kazakhstan, such as pilaf, (plov) and shish-ka-bob, sliced meats and cheeses and flat breads. I won't however imbibe in the Aktau cognac or vodka.

My Idea of Fun

My youngest, the bear, was enthralled when we went to a pumpkin patch around Halloween. We went on a hayride and one of the sites was a “haunted barn” with an 8 foot spider, and a hanging skeleton. That was in October. She still talks about it. “Daddy? Uh uh punkin patch” “Daddy? Draw skeleton” “Daddy – draw silly skeleton.” Is this some sort of morbid obsession – at age 2?

Over the past weekend, we went to the Chicago Field museum to see the Pompeii exhibit. Ok, this is my idea of fun: a two year old, and a five year old, in a crowed dimly lit maze, trying desperately to A) figure out what I am looking at, B) trying to pay attention to the tiny little signs that explain what I am looking at, and C) trying to keep a two year old interested in something in a glass case that she cannot touch, while trying to find something else to do, including but not limited to flirting with other people, running around wild, and flopping on the floor in front of the one part of the exhibit where the most people are standing.

“Excuse me please, I need to retrieve the child you are about to step on.”

The exhibit contains some extraordinary castings of people who died, and were encased in lava during the eruption. The postures, emotions in their faces, are incredible. The Bear was enthralled by the castings. “Daddy – skeleton cwying” “Daddy, skeleton sleeping.”

My five year old, the Mouse, had a priceless comment towards the end of the exhibit. She did a fabulous job of being interested, behaving, and in general was a gem. Her comment? “Not another bunch of bracelets and rings.” Yes dear, this case shows the bracelet and rings of a slave. The previous one showed the bracelet and rings of a peasant. I think we made her day when after the Pompeii exhibit, we went to a dinosaur exhibit.

Later, after we got home, the Bear continued with the commentary. “I wuv buseum” “I wuv skeleton”

The war on Christmas revisited.

OK, I have some strong feelings on this whole war on Christmas thing. Politics aside. I think it is time to really fight the war on Christmas. I want Christmas to go away, now, run, hide. Lock me in a tiny cell by myself away from all the rest of humanity, don't talk to me until Presidents' day.

You see, when I was a kid, Christmas was a magical time. It would start on Christmas eve morning with cleaning the house, dragging in the tree and decorating it. At supper time, my mom would cook something wonderfully interesting like crabmeat quiche. Then we would light all the candles in the house (I remember several hundred at least), light the fire in the fireplace, and sing carols and eat Christmas cookies, fruit cake, and drink hot apple cider. We would go to midnight service at church, where they ended at midnight with a candle lit singing of Silent Night.

Christmas morning we would get up, since there were five of s kids, we had to wait until we were all ready, before going downstairs to open presents. My mom would bring in Stollen, hot tea and other treats while we were opening presents. For Christmas dinner my mom would cook a complete turkey dinner, with plum pudding for desert. It really was magical.

Now, oh man, now, it is terrible. First let me say, I love my in-laws, they are wonderful people, they really are.

For Christmas now, we go to my in-laws house. This year there were 6 adults, and 5 kids, 4 of which were under age 5, in a three bedroom house. When we arrived the pestilence had already started. My nephew, typhoid Justin was getting over the stomach flu.

Christmas eve was awful. We went to a mass, which was perfectly timed for dinner time, that had to detail all 42 generations of the genealogy of Christ, and was about 45 minutes to long, great for kids under 5. Then I went to the house with my two kids, to put them to bed and baby-sit while the others went to friends house to eat dinner. Christmas morning started with 3 of the kids under 5 waking up at 5:00 am, and declaring at the top of their wee little voices that it was time to get up. For some reason, I was the lucky one to actually get out of bed, and try to find something to distract the little raiders while we waited for the other 5 adults to get out of bed, which they finally did at about 7:30.

After the present opening frenzy, where the oldest nephew, age 12, essentially was a lump on the floor, and the youngest was essentially a, well, lump on the floor, and the middle three were absolute nuts, we ate some store bought sweet bread.

Then the frenzy started about dinner. Get out of the way to small kitchen, and stay out. The twelve year old insisted on playing with his remote control helicopter – in the only room with a TV and the only place we could go. Later friends arrived for dinner, well, one arrived, the other was sick with a sinus infection. Dinner was a smoked turkey with prepackaged gravy and prepackaged mashed potatoes, with the green bean casserole covered with those fake fried onions from a can, and a store bought pecan pie for desert. Kids were way to over stimulated to nap, and the house was way to noisy to nap, so all the kids were just extra special that day.

My oldest wondered into my bedroom the evening after Christmas to let me know she had to throw up. That continued for the next two days. I got a chest cold the next day, my dear wife got the stomach thing the day after that. My oldest developed the chest cold the day after that, and ended up with an ear infection. My youngest decided not to be left out and determined the best way to participate was to get pink eye. All this, while staying in a 3 bedroom house with 6 adults, and 5 kids six hours away from my own bed. And of course, we all get along just so well.

So, let’s end Christmas now. End it before it really gets out of control.

Sung to the tune of Ode to Joy (Beethoven's ninth)

Written and sung by my oldest, age 5, no really age 5, just turned in October. I didn't even know she knew the tune well enough to make up words to it.

It is Christmas time and
Santa’s coming in his tiny sleigh
I get presents and a stocking
We will op’n them Christmas day
Santa’s coming with his reindeer
Santa’s gonna bring me gifts
Now the tree is all lit up and
Christmas time is really neat.

I have been caught in the big lie.

My oldest is getting excited about Christmas. We have taken her to see Santa. We have tried to answer all the questions she has like: How does Santa know if I am good? How do Reindeer fly? How does Santa know what I want? Do the elves really make My Little Ponys? And the big one, how will Santa find me if we are at gramma’s house? Yes we have all of the pat explanations, and of course it seems to be working. “Be good or Santa won’t bring you what you want” She has been pretty good.

We have been caught. She was looking at a picture of her with Santa from last year. She recognized that the Santa from last year is different then Santa from this year.

“Daddy, how can Santa be different?"

Uh oh, now what?

I have had a hard time writing this post. I am don't think I am articulating what I want to say. Please comment.

One of the things I have been struggling with as a dad is to ensure my kids have a good perspective on life in general. I see so much damaging stuff in the world, and while I would love to insulate my kids from that, I know I can’t.

I want goodness for my kids. I want my kids to choose good things over bad. I want my kids to be good kids. I don’t mean things like don’t be criminals, even though I hope that is an end result. What I mean is much subtler then that. I mean avoid things that are damaging to your self, or other people. Avoid humor in mean things. Don’t find humor in bad things.

Things should make you happy. Not just giddy on the surface, but at a core. Things you see and do should add to your general well being. Stuff you see, do, and choose should add to your happiness.

How many times do we see things that are meant to be humorous but are really insulting? How many times do we find humor in others misfortune? Does this contribute to your deep down core happiness?

I work with someone is has the knack for finding the worst in something. She always has a off-putting wisecrack or negative comment around whatever announcement, project or whatever is going on. There is always a comment of how awful a project is, or how no one but her knows the reality of a situation. It gets tiring.

Why not talk of the good things in a project, or let whatever hassles and troubles slide away?

When I was in college, I sold buttons for some extra spending money. Most of the buttons I sold were political, cool pictures, or famous people. I had one that said “Study Naked.” I was showing off my buttons to a woman who was a Quaker and peace activist. I had a lot of respect for Peg. She was not only a talker, but also a doer. She went to El Salvador to walk with people who were in political danger – to essentially be a human shield at a time when people disappeared with no trace. When Peg saw the button, she told me “that is not a good thing, you shouldn’t sell it.”

This made an impression on me.

My mother had made similar comments during my growing up. When I came home with a new record album or t-shirt with a smart alec comment, She would ask me “is it good?” It took me a long time to figure out what she was asking. Not, is it cool, not is it high quality, not is it fun, but does it have a goodness about it. The opposite of is it crude, mean, or insulting. Is it peaceful, loving, generous, kind? I am also not talking about the warm and fuzzy feelings, this is just to trite. I mean the deep down contented happiness.

How far away?

Last night my oldest (age 5) asked if she could go see elephants. I asked her "where did elephants come from"? She answered "America?" I answered "no, elephants come from either Africa or Asia".

Would you like to go see an elephant where they live?

"Oh yes" she relied enthusiastically, "let's go to Africa, how far is it"?

"How far do you think it is"? I asked.

"two hours" came the questioning reply.

"No, I said, more like two days, and we would have to fly there."

Her response - "would it be bed time when we got there?"

Some conversations with my youngest – thoughts of a two year old.

Daddy?
Yes child?
Uh uh punkinpatch.

Daddy?
Yes child?
Uh uh pony wide

Daddy?
Yes child?
Punkin patch cwosed
No pony wide
Yes child, the pumpkin patch is closed, so we can’t go on a pony ride.

Daddy?
Yes child?
I sad
Why child?
Miss gwama.

Daddy?
Yes child?
Sit down daddy sit down,
Child, I need to get ready for work.
Help, daddy, help.
Child, you can eat by yourself.

Daddy?
Yes child?
Uh uh gimpa house
See uncle david.
Yes child we will go to grampa’s house and see uncle David later.
See josh?
Yes child, we will see Joshua.
See geema?
Yes child we will see Gramma

Daddy?
Yes child?
Uh uh Punkin.
Yes child, that is a pumpkin.
Halloween.
Yes child, we painted pumpkins at holloween.
Marta monster.
Yes child, our friend Marta was dressed as a troll.
Sarah,
Yes we saw Sarah.
Char
Yes we saw Charles.
Leena daddy
Yes we saw Leena’s daddy and mommy.
Twick an tweet
Yes we went trick or treating
Yike candy
Yes I know you like candy, but you may not have any now.
OK daddy.

Daddy?
Yes child
See doctor?
Yes child, I am going to the doctor, and you are going with me.
Get sticker.

Daddy?
Yes child?
Go eat?
Yes child, we are going out to eat.
No doctor?
No we are not going to the doctor.
Go eat?
Yes child we are going to eat.
Daddy?
Yes child?
Uh uh eat!


Wead daddy Wead,
Ok, we can read this book.
Daddy, see scarecwow
Yes, that is a scarecrow
Snowman
Yes, there is a snowman
Daddy?
Yes child?
Uh uh punkinpatch

Helping orphans

Another adoptive Dad, Kenny, has a post on why adoption, why help orphans. Worth a look. This story explains my feelings quite well, even though I don't have near the experience that Kenny does, or that Marina does.

Marina's Story

Memories of another time.

I have had an interesting experience recently.

I heard of a family going to the same town where my youngest daughter was from. Not to many people go there since it is a pretty small baby house and it is off the beaten path, even for Kazakhstan.

I asked them to take a letter back to the baby house with some pictures. What I did not anticipate is the flood of emotions that would come with putting the package together. Of course looking at the nearly thousand photos we took of the town, baby house, our bonding time was certainly a trip down memory lane. What caught me off guard, was a photo of some older kids that had put on a dance presentation while we were there.

A year and a half ago, we adopted a baby, at the time she was just under a year old. We took time to go in to the baby house early and play with the older kids - 3-5 years old. I remember it being a bittersweet time. I felt good that we were paying attention to the kids, and trying to give them quality time, it was fun. I also felt a deep sadness about what I think their long term life will be like. These were beautiful kids. They had that innocence that young kids have.

When I put together the photos and letter, all that sadness came flooding back. I wonder about the kids that were there that are now probably on to the older child house. I wonder about the little girl who had a hearing problem, I wonder about the little girl who the director was very adamant that she wanted to see her adopted, and not go to the older kid house. I wonder about the little boy who I taught how to fly a paper airplane. I think about these kids.
Like many other families, if we had the forethought, we would have had our paper work open to 2 kids. We easily would have come home with one of those kids.

I am grateful to the family taking the letter to the baby house. I hope it will help promote goodwill with the region and baby house.

I know that there are others who are doing things to help kids in Kazakhstan. Kenny and CCCP, the playground equipment projects and other things. Please keep doing this. For others, please support these efforts. Yes I know this seems to be a blatant call for supporting organizations, but in reality, this is a silent call to help me assuage my guilt at leaving some wonderful kids, my guilt that I can't do more, and my sadness that there are kids who will grow up in institutions.
Oh yes, I have a very wonderful daughter. Now two and a half. Talking up a storm, dancing to music, singing songs, running, jumping, trying hard to copy her older sister in reading, drawing and anything else she can try to do.

A coworker of mine forwarded this on to me from her husband who is in Iraq. I feel rather passionate about orphans. This is a real heart-wrencher.

We went to an orphanage today. This was different from the last one. This one is run by Caledonian sisters and is a school for girls. I came real close to packing one six year old in a box and shipping her home. Like most women in this society, the girls were generally restrained. This one was just the opposite; she grabbed me by the hand and wanted to show me things. We found a nerf football in a box and played catch (making the nuns very nervous in the sitting room).
We laid the grab on a pallet of Snickers bars. Before we went to the orphanage, we first loaded school supplies we had left into the trucks. Then, we stuffed every remaining space with cases of Snickers. Then, we filled the smallest spaces with 24 pack boxes of Snickers. We were in the sitting room with the nuns and the girls and they were sort of fidgeting nervously. I stood up and motioned for all the girls to follow me down to the basement garage where the cars were parked. I opened to doors and started loading them up with boxes of chocolate and they were thrilled. They had a lot of fun unloading the trucks. The candy will get passed on to other orphanages.
We had a guy go with us who I met at the palace. He’s an active duty guy LTC (the Army equivalent of me) who’s a former Special Forces who now does intel. He’s big in the Knights of Columbus and has been looking for an organization to support with cash the Knights have raised back home. He also has a six year old son who is crippled with cerebral palsy. He’s a big tough looking guy. He was playing catch with the kids and me. When we got back into the car, he was crying. He said it was the first time he had played with kids in eight months. He said it was the best day he had in eight months. He had a point.
We are starting another hair brained scheme. We are going to start asking people to send us toys for the kids for Christmas. Not big things, but small stuff like beanie babies and happy meal toys. We want to round up as many as we can before Christmas. We are going to start making a list and checking it twice…..

John Wesley Powell was an explorer who was among the first white men to traverse the Grand Canyon. After his exploring days were over, he became the director of the US Geological Survey, and the head of the Bureau of Ethnology. It was in this capacity that he visited many of the native American tribes. One tribes he visited was the Moqui. The Moqui indians had one request for Powell. They explained that the name Moqui was the name their enemies used for them. They wished to be called Hopi. Powell took that request and changed the official recognition of the tribe to Hopi.

It is with this type of thought that two opposing sides in an argument should approach each other when they try to talk. By taking this type of view, it removes a lot of the barriers to and finding common ground.

Pink, pink, pink

My wife and I are pretty idealistic. When we had our first child, we pretty much thought out how we would raise her. She would be well balanced, thoughtful, kind, generous. I would teach her about tools, and how to make things out of wood. We would balance things with life skills like being able to cook so when she is on her own, she can take care of herself. We would teach her about the environment, and to respect animals. We would teach her to be strong, articulate, and assertive. Not mean or nasty.

We would raise her without gender biased stuff. In our idealism, we expected her to play with all sorts of toys, creative playthings that teach rather then drain. We hoped to have her be able to play with boy things as well as girl things. We avoided the “girl” isle in the toy stores, we dressed her in yellow, green, purple, and red.

Where did we go wrong?

Where did all this PINK come from? Why does she want to dress as sleeping beauty - the most passive of all the princesses in the disney cartoon world? Why does she want to play with My Little Pony and not the cars and trains?

Heroes

My friend Kenny is on his way to Kazakhstan. In his blog, he mentions some heroes. I have often wondered why I have very few personal heroes. I suppose that people who go out to do something fantastic are just handily goal oriented. People who do great things often want the notoriety that goes with it.

In Kenny's story there are quite a few people mentioned who are doing small things that have a big impact. People donated air miles, offered to pay for a hotel room, etc. You can ask Kenny if he thinks he is a hero. I am sure to his kids, he is.

In my own story, there were the two women who invited us into the VIP lounge at the Almaty, KZ airport on our way out. It was 2:00 AM, we were tired, had a tired cranky baby, and we were sitting in the gate area waiting to get on the plane. These two women walked up to us from nowhere, and asked if we would be their guests in the VIP lounge. I remember sinking down on a couch and saying, this is the softest thing I have sat on the entire trip. These two women were heroes on our story.

These people who do small things that have big impact on normal folks are, in my mind, as great a hero as those who go out for the guts and glory.

Cheers

Small World? Big World?

Last night at dinner, we were listening to some children's music. The song "it's a small world" came on, and about half way through, my oldest asked me "is the world was big or small?" I responded as best I could to answer a five-year-old's question. I answered, it is small becuase when we were in Kazakhstan, we could call you and talk to you any time you wanted. But it is big because it takes nearly a full day to get to Kazakhstan.

Then she started explain to me that oceans are smaller then the world, and elephants are smaller then the world, and even she is smaller then the world. But that she grew while we were in Kazakhstan. Yes, I said, you did.

I know she does not have an understanding of how big the world is, and the more and more I think about it, niether do I. I have been half way around the world, and back. There is much I have yet to see. Yet I know that events on the far side of the world impact me greatly.

I often tink about a metaphor for this interconnectedness. I call it my spiderweb theory of life. We are all walking along a path, like a spider's silver thread. Sometimes others touch us, and touch our threads, other times, others just come near us, but do not actually touch. Sometimes threads become tightly intertwined.

Coworkers, friends, relatives come and go from our lives, and our threads touch, people we walk by, come close, but do not touch, and best freinds, and spouses, children become tightly intertwined. When something happens to some whose thread is tightly intertwined with our, it impacts us greatly. When something happens to someone whose thread touches ours, it impacts us less, when something happens to someone whose thread comes close, we may not even know it. Because this is all interconnected, something that happens to someone on the far side of the world will eventually resonate accross the web, and depending on how strong that vibration is, it can shake our world.

This is a blog by a blue-jeans-and-t-shirt guy in a suit-and-tie world.
This is my first post. I will most likely post about my kids, whom I dearly love, politics, of which I have strong opinions, religion of which my opinions are random and likely to change, and life observations from my side of the keyboard.