Miss Manners Tackles Transracial Adoption

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This was in last week's Miss Manner's column:

Nosy people don't deserve reply

Sunday, January 25, 2009

By JUDITH MARTIN

Dear Miss Manners : We are a noticeable family, as our children are black and my husband and I are white. We draw an inordinate amount of attention.
While this was manageable when the girls were infants and couldn't really understand what was being said, now that they are getting older and are acquiring language, we are trying our best to learn how to field some of the questions that we get.
While we are happy with having formed our family through adoption and are always happy to discuss our experience, preferably out of the girls' earshot, what leaves us stammering are questions such as "Where'd you get them?" "How much did they cost?" "Are they real siblings?" "Is their family dead?" "What'd they die of, AIDS?" "Couldn't you have your own children?"

A slightly remonstrative "Excuse me?" doesn't work. The question is repeated even more loudly.
We want to equip our children with the tools to deal with these sorts of people, as they will be encountering them throughout their lives. And this is their story, their personal information being asked.

I would never think to ask someone with a newborn, "So, how much was the hospital bill?" or "Do they all have the same father?"

On the other side of the coin are the people who say, "God bless you for saving those children," or "They'll have such a better life now."

We merely wanted a family, we didn't adopt to "save" anyone, and I can't say that they will have a better life. There are things that we can provide that their family couldn't. But they also lost family, country, language and culture.

Their life will be different, but I can't say that it will be better, and I don't want to dismiss what they have lost.

I also never want them to feel indebted to us.

They owe us nothing, or, at least, no more than any other child owes a parent, and I think that these questions could easily make them feel as if they should be grateful or thankful for being adopted.

What is the gracious way to handle these questions so that we can model for our children the appropriate responses?

Gentle Reader: Nosy people have already proven themselves to be rude, so you should hardly expect them to make tactful remarks.

The important thing is to cut them off at the first question. The only explanation necessary is "That's personal."

But you must also teach your daughters not to fall for two common arguments: that curiosity is natural and that people who don't disclose personal information must be ashamed of it.

Dignified people value their privacy, and being curious is no excuse for demanding that it be satisfied.

Under such pressure, they should merely smile and repeat "That's personal" as often as necessary.

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New Purses!!

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I just got five more purses from Haiti. They are all the feedbag style. Several of you asked about these, because they were all sold on the first day last round. If you are interested, head on over to the Etsy store and snatch one up!

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Why sleep when you can read?

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India seems to inherited my tendency to read books while I should be sleeping. This is often the scene I find when I come to get her out of bed in the morning, or after her nap. At bedtime, she is the queen of stealth, and will tiptoe out of bed and systematically "read" every book on her shelf. It's cute, but one of these days I will need to explain to her that this habit will not serve her well once she has actual responsibilities in the morning. But for now, I'm letting it go.

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The Christian SEXperiment

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The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Ed Young

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Christian couples? Having sex!? How scandalous!!!!

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Jafta and the Amazing Monochromatic Dreamcoat

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It's been fun to watch Jafta emerge into a little man this year. He has truly matured so much, and I love this transition from 3 to 4. I have to admit, I am not one of those moms that relishes the toddler years. I am enjoying this stage where he is developing into a cool little person.

Jafta's birthday was last month, and he received a Target giftcard. He called it his "credit card". (Hmmm, no clue where he learned that concept . . .) He was so excited to go to the store and pay with his own card. I told him he could choose anything in the store: a toy, some superman clothes, whatever. He got in his mind that he wanted to buy a robe. Mark and I wear robes every night, and he wanted one, too. I thought it was so cute that he ignored a store full of toys to get a robe. He tried several on, and was very thoughtful about his decision. He was so proud to tell the checker that he would be paying for it himself.What a little man. He's been very serious about wearing it every night, too.

In early January, the tour of STOMP was at our local performing arts center. Jafta has a video of this show and really loves it. (What four-year-old boy doesn't love drums?) We thought he was old enough to see his first real show, so we had a big talk about expectations, keeping quiet, etc. The night of the show, Jafta and daddy went an hour early and got rush tickets in the orchestra. He was pretty quiet, but took it upon himself to loudly shush anyone who made the slightest noise. Jafta loved the show - for about 45 minutes. Since the show started at his bedtime, he was a bit tired, and for the last half of the show he took a very expensive nap despite a room full of percussionists banging away.

I LOVE THIS KID! He is loyal, kind, and just plain enthusiastic about life. He reminds me daily to stop taking things so seriously and just have fun.

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Universal Mommy Truth

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Universal Mommy Truth:

If you go to the park with the Razor, it will not be used. If you take the time and effort to pack it up and carry it from the car, it will assure that the Razor will be ignored for other park activites.

If, however, you leave the Razor at home, you will discover that every other child at the park has their Razor with them that day. It will be the only thing your child can think to do. They will gaze with envy and longing at the children whose mothers' brought the Razor. They will talk endlessly about their love of the Razor and misery over leaving it at home.

And next time, you will bring it, and it will bruise you in the shin as you try to walk with it from the car, and they will have no interest. Ad infinitum.

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Sweet Francaise

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India has this funny habit of adding in the prefix "a la" to certain words and phrases. Think ice cream a la mode, except that she uses it in contexts that make no sense. I think it's just a way for her to string words together that she can't fully pronounce, but the result is hilarious. It makes everything a little French and exotic. Some of my favorites:

I'm ready a la go

Winner a la Pooh

Thumbs up a la cheers (meaning we do "cheers" with our thumbs. also her idea)

Lightning a la Queen

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Why can't we all be white?

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The NAACP refuses to admit that racism is over. Stephen Colbert is here to help.

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

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um, oops

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Earlier this evening, a car alarm started going off on our street. This happens several times a week. For some reason, the multi-generational family across the street feels it necessary to protect their large fleet of mid-90's sedans with blaring sirens. 'Cause our suburb is so ghetto and all. I am ever annoyed by this and every time it happens, I feel like marching right over there and telling them to turn the alarm off already, NO ONE WANTS TO STEAL YOUR OLD BEAT-UP CAR.

So when the alarm started blaring tonight, of course I was seething. It seemed to be going on forever. My kids thought it was awesome. They were dancing to the rhythm and acting like they were at a rave or something. It just kept going and going. I'm getting more and more incensed. Why aren't they shutting it off?

Then I notice India is using my keys as a "noisemaker" in her dancing reverie. Wait, those don't look like my keys . . . my keys don't have a remote control . . . whose keys are those? Oh yeah, my inlaws left their car here.

Oh wait.

Crap.

I am the annoying neighbor who is failing to turn off the car alarm.

I walked outside and, I kid you not, half of the family across the street is standing outside glaring at me.

Um, oops?

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the murphy's law tally

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Daddy has been gone one day so far. Here is our status:

1 chipped tooth (Jafta)
2 weird pregnant fainting spells
2 insane diaper blow-outs (India)
1 flooded sink
1 babysitter crisis
1 professor nearly missing her class
1 broken toilet
4 meltdowns about daddy being gone
2 kids put to bed early
1 emotional mommy watching inauguration footage by herself

1 very missed daddy

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a new day

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It was fun to watch the inauguration this morning with the kids. India didn't pay much attention, but Jafta seemed excited about it. Needless to say, I am thrilled for him to see someone who looks like him, being sworn in as our elected president. Today is a historical day!

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livin' single

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It's 5am, and Mark just left the house to drive to the airport. He's flying to Oklahoma for the next three days to attend his Grandmother's funeral. She passed away a few days ago - fortunately Mark's dad had flown out a few days prior and got to say goodbye to her in person. It's a difficult time for their family.

I was trying my best to be supportive for Mark and what he needs to do. But now that he is gone, I'm having a hard time getting back to sleep, wondering how I will make it through the next few days. Mark has really stepped up his parenting efforts in the last few months. In the mornings, I wake up feeling sick and he feeds and dresses. In the evenings, I start getting Braxton Hicks contractions. I know these are normal, but mine get pretty bad and it really freaks me out. It comes like clockwork every night just before dinner and gets worse unless I lay down. So needless to say, Mark usually handles the entire bedtime routine.

I am a little scared about how I will do this by myself. I'm also nervous about how the kids will be with him gone. For a busy family, we really spend very little time apart in the evenings. Both the kids get really bummed when one of us isn't home at night. Jafta has an especially hard time when Mark is gone, and when we told him about the trip yesterday, he just crumpled into a sad ball on the floor.

I'm trying to just lower my expectations a bit. We may be eating microwaved food every night. The kids may watch a movie all evening. Jafta may miss school. They may go to bed without a bath. The house may get totally bombed. I need to fully embrace that this is okay for three days. That is hard for me.

I can't help but think about the women who do this all day, every day, by themselves. I have a friend from high school whose husband is deployed, who is pregnant and has two small children. How does she survive? My hat is off to her today.

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a dream deferred

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I've been looking forward to this week for a while now, when our country will usher in an African American president and change the landscape, widening the dreams for all children. I know tomorrow Mark and I will watch Martin Luther King historic speech , our yearly tradition, and reflect on the signficance of Dr. King's dreams being closer and closer to fulfilled.

But today I also have a dream, and some disappointment that makes this time bittersweet.

This week, Mark and I learned that a young boy a few months older than Jafta is still in need of an adoptive family. We've known him for a long time through our agency in East LA, and he is a sweet boy who I desperately want to see in an adoptive home. He has been passed through 4 foster families this year. When I heard he still didn't have a permanent home, I decided to call the social worker at the local agency we used. It's the biggest foster family agency in Orange County, and they only accept Christian couples. I thought surely a phone call could help identify a few potential families.

"I'm sorry", I'm told. "We have no famliies right now who are open to an African American child".

NO. FAMILIES.

I know adoption is not for everyone. I know transracial adoption is not for everyone. But in a large agency full of Christian couples ready to open their homes to a child . . .

not one couple checked "open to any race"???

I know I talk a lot about adoption, but this is not just an adoption issue. This is not something only transracially adoptive families should be bummed about. This should give all of us pause about the state of our nation, and the prejudices that still have a hold on us. Shouldn't we all be unsettled that "the least of these" are being rejected based on the color of their skin?

In the words of Martin Luther King:


"Now is the time to make justice a reality for ALL of God's children."

.

.

I have a dream: that Black children waiting for families will be accepted into a loving home, without fear or prejudice, because they deserve a family as much as any other child on earth.

I have a dream: that some day the troubling statistics about the number of minority children in foster care and group homes waiting for families, in comparison to the number of families waiting for Caucasian children, will become something we shudder at as a sad part of our nation's history.

A Dream Deferred
by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore-- And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

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Blogging and internet security with children

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Every mom is worried about keeping their kids safe. Rather than obscuring my kid's faces in the photos on my blog (too inconvenient), I've just decided to cover their faces with wig caps every time we go out. That way, I can keep posting pictures of them online for random strangers, but just have them look like total weirdos in my own community.

So far it's been very effective.

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got milf?

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I write for a mommy blog called Mama Manifesto, and one of the perks is that companies will sometimes send us products to try. I've been hoping to get some new maternity clothes, because I've made a commitment not to buy any more for the next three months, and my collection is getting old. So far, I've gotten three maternity message tees, none of which I will wear.

The first one says "Fertile Myrtle". This one is so completely inaccurate that I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry. But even if I was one of those fertile myrtles, there is no way I would wear a shirt that said so. Because I don't think the 20% of married women struggled with infertility or miscarriage want to see me walking around in a t-shirt that throws it in their face more than a pregnant belly already does.

The second one says "Counting Down the Days" and then has a picture of a martini glass. Now I have had some serious cravings for a mojito in the last few months, but if I'm counting down the days, I hope it's to see my baby daughter, and not to have a drink. Again, not a message I want to wear around.

But the last maternity tee is the real beauty. It simply says "MILF".

If your not sure what that stands for, I'm sorry to be the one to enligthen you, since it's a bit crude. Let's just say it means "Mom I'd Like to Fornicate". Sure.

I don't even know where to start on this one. First of all, self-appointing one's self as a MILF and then wearing a tee that says so is about the lamest thing ever. You either have to be really, really narcissistic or insanely insecure to need to broadcast that. Second of all, even if you were in that small percentage of women who actually look hot when pregnant, wouldn't you rather allow people to come to their own conclusions on your level of attractiveness? Because all a t-shirt like this is really doing is inviting people to look you up and down and say, "um, no, not really".

Living in Orange County, the nation's capital of self-obsession, of course I see moms wearing MILF tees, and the male version (I Heart MILF's) on a weekly basis. Let me just put it out there: if you are wearing this, I am judging you. I am judging you along with those Hummer drivers, and guys who walk like their arms are too muscular to hang straight, and people who wear their Bluetooth thingy in church, and middle-aged women whose lips look like this. I'm sorry to judge. Truly I am. But some things are so idiotic that I cannot help myself. And don't even get me started on the onesies I've seen that say "My Mom is a MILF". That is so creepily Oedipal that any mom who puts that on their kid should start a therapy fund a.s.a.p.

So I guess I will have to make my own maternity message tee. One that fits my own unique sitation. Maybe:

"I don't always have cankles"

or

"My other kid is in Haiti"

or

"If you don't know me, don't touch my tummy. And even if you do. . . back off already."

or

"No, I'm not about to pop. I actually have three more months to grow even more monstrously huge. But thanks for asking"

Any other ideas for me?

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form vs. function

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I read way to many design magazines for my own good. It goes against all my values of avoiding consumerism, eschewing materialism, and reducing, reusing, and recycling. I try. I do. But I am putty with a new Room & Board catalog in my hands. Design Sponge is my cocaine.

About a year ago, I spotted a bookshelf at DWR that I just had to have. It's a spine bookshelf - but almost a sculptural piece. Minimalistic, simple, seeming perfect. Look how cute it looks:

I had to have it. So I spent a stupid amount of money and ordered one, and it has since been the thorn in my side. Note to self: this thing does not look good with actual, real-life books in it. Sure, it's beautiful with a couple of well-placed, monochromatic art books, studio lighting, and a piece of pottery. But I have tried every combination of my own books on this thing, and no matter what it just looks like an eyesore ready to topple over. Now it has just become a catch-all accumulating whatever random books need a home. We've got some antique theology books on top, followed by some random Bibles, a Qur'an, some Shuttefly books, some old plays, and then some big art books that are not all one color like the suggested photos above. IT DOES NOT LOOK GOOD. Mark has mocked me for this purchase since it arrived, and I think it's time for our pretty spine bookshelf to make it's way to a new home via Craigslist. Before the whole thing falls on one of my children.

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Errands with children

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How is this done with four? Really?

I can barely do it with two. Notice my technique: both kids in the cart, food spilling out from underneath, bribing both kids with food and drink. I am all about containing the kids in the cart. I can't have them running around the store. But how will I manage four? They won't all fit in the cart.

Will I just buy those harnesses and strap two of them to the side of the cart? And get dirty looks and nasty comments for leashing my kids? Then again, you get dirty looks and nasty comments if the kids are running around, too. It seems like a lose-lose situation.

And I refuse to get a sitter or wait until Mark is home and suck up my downtime to do something like GROCERY SHOPPING. No, I must figure this out.

Two carts?

Human chain?

Daycare rope?

HOW??

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The filter is off

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So for those of you who leave comments, you may notice that as of last week, I took the "comment moderation" feature off. I put in on about a year ago, because I had gotten some nasty comments and felt like I needed to edit them. Most of the comments were from anonymous people and were negative about the fact that we are adopting transracially. There were comments like, "are you adopting Black children because it's trendy?", or statements about how Jafta would be better off with his African American birth family, etc etc etc.

I used to really have a hard time with those comments, and would ruminate over them and let it really get to me. So much so that I put the filter on my blog, which felt a little weird. But lately, I think I've just developed a thicker skin. Or maybe more confidence. Because the truth is, comments like that just don't bother me anymore. I've read it all by this point, if not on my blog, then on someone else's. And I realize that statements like that are just made of pure ignorance or resentment (and usually from people who are doing very little to actually solve the orphan problem). It just rolls right off my back. Like someone saying "Los Angeles is south of Orange County". Um, no, that's just not true. I can't argue with crazy.

I will not use specifics to defend myself on that stuff, because I refuse to throw my son's birth family under the bus to tell off a couple of strangers. If Jafta ever wants to tell the story of why he was removed from their care, it's his story to tell. But suffice it to say . . . he's better off. Is he going to struggle a bit with his racial identity being raised in a family that looks different from him? Yeah. Probably. And yet he's still better off than he would be in the situation he came from. Might Keanan lose some of his cultural identity leaving Haiti and coming to live with a family in the US? Yeah. For sure. I will do the best I can to help my kids grieve those losses, and I'm not blind to the fact that all the love in the world will not put a band-aid on that. But when we look at the hiearchy of needs for a child's development, things like safety, family, stability, love, attention, and care are more important than race. While there are still children growing up without family, all this talk of preserving cultural identity by leaving kids in foster care or a hostile environment or an orphanage, is kind of like offering a homeless person a pretty sofa when what they need is a house.

So the filter is off. And if some crazy folks want to start leaving comments, I will just ignore and delete. Because until we figure this thing out and every child has the basic human right to a loving parent, I don't want to hear about it.

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The Horrors of the Neti Pot

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I have enjoyed using my neti pot ever since Dr. Oz and Oprah told me I should be doing it. (Because I do whatever Oprah tells me I should do). I gotta tell you, though, if you haven't tried it, you should. It's amazingly refreshing. And did I mention OPRAH does it?

So anyway, I've been deaing with a nasty cold for weeks now, and yesterday I was looking forward to giving the system a little flush. Jafta was at preschool, and India was hanging out with me in the bathroom. I prepared my pot, tilted my head, and got a good little stream going, when suddenly India got a glimpse of what I was doing and started SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER.

It was horrific. No parent ever wants to think about what their child would look like if they were witness to an act of violence. And yet, that is exactly what India looked like. I might as well have been gauging my eyes out, the way she was screaming. She was also yelling "NO, MOMMY NO!!! DON'T DO IT!!!" through her screams. She was completely and totally traumatized. I had to spend the next half hour comforting her, calming her down, and assuring her that I was not hurt. And then she followed me around like a mother bear following her cub, making sure that I didn't try any of that funny business again.

So, lesson learned. In the future, my Neti Pot use will be behind closed doors.

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Buy a purse, support a woman in Haiti!!

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I am SO excited to be able to host an online "purse party" for an amazing group of women in Haiti. Heartline Haiti is a mission that runs a Sewing Program to provide women a means to support themselves. (It is also run by the amazing missionaries who are taking such good care of our son at Maranatha Orphanage). These purses have been handmade by women in the program located in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. They are made by hand of recycled fabric and burlap sugar sacks. Haiti is the poorest country in the western hemisphere, and poverty, famine, disease, and hurricanes have made it very difficult for the people there. This is a great opportunity to buy a cute, handmade bag that will help support a local woman living and working in Haiti. This is a real way to bring change to the nation of Haiti; one woman and one bag at a time. You are taking a personal interest in her and her life. These ladies are buying their own sewing machines, paying for their children to go to school and buying stoves with money still in their business accounts. It's a great example of the Chinese proverb: give a man a fish, he eats for a day; teach a man to fish, he eats for a lifetime. We love the micro-enterprise ideals that this mission is pursuing, and we are thrilled to be a part of providing an income for hard-working women in a difficult situation.

To purchase a bag, please visit our Esty shop or click on a bag below. To help spread the word, link this website to your blog, forward an email to friends, and post on your facebook account. Thanks!!

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and scene.

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In the last 72 hours, I have:

• unpacked our family from our trip
• finished sending off (late) Christmas cards
• cleaned the house from top to bottom
• threw a birthday party for Jafta with 16 of his friends
• photographed, catalogued, and listed 20 purses from Haiti
• opened an Etsy shop (more on that, soon)
• frantically tried to finish a book for book club
• halfway through, realized I was reading the was reading the wrong book, and frantically read half of the correct book for book club
• written a cirriculum
• led an intensive called Motherhood Inspired, despite feeling completely uninspired
• baked 24 cupcakes for Jafta's school birthday celebration
• participated in a lively discussion about our book club pick

This has been one of those crazy, way-too-many-things-going-on weekends. I can't remember being this tired, and I've barely had time to sit down since we got back from Florida.

I am done. I am so done.

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Censorship

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There is no freedom of speech in this house. My kids inherited a Winnie the Pooh book, and I felt it was a little too scary. The Heffalump threatened to eat Winnie. To "gobble him up", to be precise. The horrors! Way too scary for my kids. So I decided to cross that line out with a Sharpie. I am ever the over-protective mother.

My kids took immediate notice to the editing I did, and now every time they read it, they scold me for having "colored" in their book. And my husband mocks me for censoring an innocent Winnie the Pooh story.

I don't even know what I'll do when one of them wants to read Naked Lunch.

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The Gonad Game & The Viagra Tie

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For almost ten years now, a group of us have gotten together at the holidays for a white elephant gift exchange. Over the years, several gifts have made it through the rotation year after year, and never fail to get some laughs. But the gift that keeps on giving has always been The Gonad Game.


While I'd like to take credit for this game myself, I must admit that the original conception began circa 1993 in a dorm room at Cincinnati Bible College. My hubby and his roommate, "Kid Joe", had a plush rabbit his mom gave him for Easter that they called the Gonad Rabbit. The rule was simple: catch people off guard, and throw the rabbit at their 'nads.


Being the pinnacle of maturity that my husband is, he was determined to share the joys of the Gonad Game with those he met. It quickly caught on amongst his fellow youth ministry staffers when we moved to California. Then, one year, I decided to box a version of the game and give it to a friend at his birthday party. Hence, the Orange County version of the Gonad Game was born. We have spent many a party laughing our adolescent butts off as friends (most of them pastors, elders, and professionals) become absorbed in a competitive game of striking each other in the privates. Inappropriate? Yes. But I cannot tell you how funny it is.


This year, I had a feeling The Gonad Game that I gave my friend six years ago would make a resurgence at our gift exchange. I was right. The party quickly turned from a gift exchange into a "try to open that gift with a hand over your family jewels". But I also had a new holiday surprise up my sleeve - The Gonad Game 2.0 was our offering. That's right, an updated version, included a wearable "gonad guard". And of course, my sick sense of humor was fueled even more when our lead pastor choose the gift - the one guy in the room who is probably most uncomfortable with our childish antics. Mwahahahahaha.

There were some other great submissions this year. Mark nabbed a Viagra tie. I think it will really impress his clients. Shawn won a body-building book for women written by Arnold in the 1970's. There were two Jesus action figures that made the rounds. And the hottest item yet: a framed photo of Mark and I taking a bubble bath, that has also been in circulation for about five years (Moya is holding it on the right). Man, I love making people uncomfortable.

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