Will I Ever?

Feel normal, that is?

OK that sounds dramatic.

I mean normal in parenting situations.

Let me explain.

We recently went to a birthday party of a classmate of our kids (have I mentioned they adore Montessori preschool?). In my head I thought this would be an excellent opportunity to meet other parents of their classmates, but, as per usual, my head was wrong.

Duh. The kid invited everyone in the class, sure, but that didn't mean anyone else was necessarily going. So basically the birthday party consisted of twenty other couples with their kids that were the primary friends of the birthday kid and then us, the MTLs.

It was a big party. That's a lot of kids for a two year old party in my humble opinion. It was overdone. It was over the top. But that's a whole other blog post.

Was it surprising we were the only transracial family? Not really.

But it seemed to isolate us.

Granted, we were the outsiders from the get-go being that everyone else was close friends and family.
I get that, really I do.

But we hardly talked with anyone. I felt at odds with everyone else. There were pregnant bellies EVERYWHERE because this was a two year old birthday party and naturally the second babies were all on their way.

I immediately assumed I was surrounded by fertiles. It's true I didn't know anyone's particular story but that was how it felt. Me= the odd-Mom out.

We cut our losses and headed out of there after one hour of a two hour party, using the excuse that our kids were ready to nap early because they had been up since 5:05 am. (Sadly, this part was 100% true. Why don't my kids like to sleep teeny tiny bit late, ever?)
On the drive home my DH and I compared notes on how different we felt from every other person/couple there. How it shouldn't mean anything much how we built our family but somehow it can feel like it means everything.

I'm still infertile y'all. Five failed IVFs are proof of that, right? I just have two kids now.

Are You Tribal? (with pictures!)

Parenting can be isolating.
It's true.
You want something so badly and then you get it and you think you're finally 'just like everyone else' and you feel incredibly isolated and it's kind of like "whoa, that wasn't expected."

However misguided, in our early months we didn't have anyone over. I didn't have one meal delivered to our home. Instead, I cooked like mad before they came home and stored up as much stuff as I could and then we ate it all and what happened after that is actually a blur. I know we both lost a lot of weight but that was mostly because of stress and running (literally) everywhere but maybe it was because we didn't eat much. I joke that the best weight loss plan ever was to suddenly parent two kids at once.

I was so anxious as a new parent. I know that's normal. But I think mine was a little bit beyond normal. The truth was, I felt so out of my element I didn't want anyone observing me as a parent--especially another parent. I remember having one good friend over while the kids were napping and then basically shooing her out when they started to wake up--because I guess I was too afraid I'd do something stupid while parenting them in front her (the experienced Mom).

So we holed up, holed in, roomed in, stayed in, and besides a family visit or two here and there really didn't have any help or visitors. Some of that was good for bonding and attachment but most of it was just plain crazy now that I look back on it. We needed help. We needed a tribe.

We still feel--for the most part--alone. We don't have a tribe of close by folks who are parenting young kids as well, where we can zip in and out of each others' homes and lives and trade tips and borrow sugar and swap babysitting favors for each other.

I never knew how important that would be. Or at least in theory it should/could be--since I don't have it I realize I can only fantasize about how nice that would be.

When I was growing up there were four other sets of sisters on our street, all about our ages. We went between the collective five houses and yards all day every day. Everyone's parents watched out for everyone else's kids. I don't really remember the parents necessarily hanging out together but they were friends. And yes, I realize it was a different time, when your kids could run (wild) around the neighborhood, up to the park, down to the corner store, etc. etc. etc.

I recently read a tip on a parenting blog and it just said simply: find your people. Specifically, she advised "Find those who can take your kids at a moment’s notice, or whisk you away for an evening out, or who will squeeze themselves into a too small table in order to share a meal, no matter what food is being served."

That sounds so, so very luxurious and nice.

I've told you many times how much I used to love thirtysomething. I wanted THAT (and now I'm upperthirtysomething so I need to figure it out fast!). The fact that everyone was always in each others' homes, tending each others kids, eating things out of each others fridge, laying around on each others' couches..it all looked so normal and plain and nice (of course, I'm first to admit that I would probably be the overly anxious one, always worried what people were thinking of my floors, my food, my parenting, my everything. Damn.)

I don't have that. I don't have a tribe.

The very simple truth is: I don't want to create a new tribe, necessarily. I have people in my life that I love very dearly, but they are far flung. None of my friends live near me. My sister is nearly two hours away. Our neighborhood is somewhat devoid of other parents. I want all my people to magically appear within a one mile radius of ME. Geez, how egocentric is that? Sigh. Oh, and while I'm ordering up exactly what I want I do want a few new tribe members--those who were infertile and then adopted twiblings from Ethiopia. Or at least some transracial adoptive families in the mix.

My question is: do you have a tribe?

On a different note, my what a difference two years makes huh? Of course, I'm still in a Momsuit in all photos :)

PS RunningMama--what happened to your blog? I lost everything in googlereader because I am an idiot.

I don't really know what to say.

I feel like I've been away so long it might not even be worth coming back.

But I miss blogging.

I know, same song, twentieth verse. I keep saying that, and then disappearing for a while.

Today I teared up while holding my little boy so tightly.

I looked at my DH and asked him how we can live in this country and try to raise two African American kids? When do I start teaching them about the horrors of racism? Right now we just talk about the beauty of their skin and hair--because believe me, it is beyond beautiful--but I know, I KNOW, others don't see it that way. And to deny that is just stupid.

I still get looks and weird questions when we're out and about. I try to assume people ask questions out of ignorance and not malice but you know what? Maybe I'll just quit making that assumption. Why do I need to give anyone else the benefit of the doubt?

I shouldn't blog angry. I know that. But here I am.

I am going to try to blog more. I have--as always--a million topics about which I want to write. But then I just never seem to make the time. Some of them involve race. Many of them involve our ongoing conflict of where to live, what to do with our lives. How to balance the love of a career with the love of a family. How to balance everything, all the time. Maybe a few posts about baking (hooray!). And some topics are just me needing to reach out and find out if anyone else has any tips for some of the tribulations of parenting two preschoolers (but yet...I so didn't want to be a Mommy blogger).

My next post will most definitely about having-or not having-- a tribe. Which means it will be mommyish with a sprinkle of infertility pain and a whole lot of other stuff. Wow, what a teaser.

But right now, I'm just going to hold my son (and my daughter too) a little closer and shake my head at the world in which we are living.

I want to, but I can't seem to.

Write, that is.

Here, in this space that for so long had been so comfortable and so necessary.

I have so, so many things that I want to say but then I find myself pulling back and wondering why? Why do I need to say it here, in public? I'm not sure anymore.

I have been processing grief, over losing my father. He is dead and while I know this, some days I still cannot quite get my brain around it. And yet most people--everyone--assumes I'm over it, and because he suffered for so long that it was a very good thing that he passed. And yes, it was a very good thing that he is no longer suffering but I'm still sad. I had breakfast with a friend in NYC (yes, we took a trip!) who had recently lost her mother. We were suddenly in that Fun song, talking and talking about how our parents will die (except they already died) and I didn't feel so alone, or weird.

NYC, ahhh how we had missed thee. It was grand. We happened to be there for the big blizzard, which was lovely. We took long runs in Central Park while the snow fell. Heaven on earth for this runner, who loves a very cold run but doesn't get many. We stayed at the same hotel where we received our adoption referrals December 2010 and it was surreal to be back in that space, to remember those moments where everything changed. We thoroughly enjoyed our trip. We ate (Indian food on Curry Row is just divine, and has anyone discovered Otarian? OMG--why is there not one where I live?) We shopped. We slept late. We ran.

Did I mention our children were not with us? Two two-year olds in NYC a vacation would not make.

Below I talk about some of the angst of motherhood. I apologize to those who are still the trenches and woud like nothing more than to have this angst.



I am reading a book called Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety.

It's really interesting.

I mean really interesting.

The author talks about how many of today's mothers don't really seem happy, as they worry endlessly about the possibility of not having the perfect child, panicking as each developmental benchmark approaches. She asks why are so many moms so stressed out and so out of balance.

This sentence in a review by the New Yorker sums it up (if you're interested):
Warner argues that the gains of feminism are no match for the frenzied perfectionism of American parenting. In the absence of any meaningful health, child-care, or educational provisions, martyrdom appears to be the only feasible model for successful maternity—with destructive consequences for both mothers and children.

I think there's a whole other layer if you are parenting after infertility, because let's face it--if you waited a very very long time to become a mother you might not be as forgiving of yourself if you're not perfect. And no one is perfect. And there are endless ways to feel like a failure. And I completely agree that for some people, martyrdom seems to be the only way some people know how to parent, and that's a little much wouldn't you say?

Anyone? Anyone?

It's been a crazy two weeks lately--our refrigerator broke, our car broke, our nanny gave notice, we chose a Montessori, our car broke again (only this time, after three hours on the road and while we were being re-routed around a massive wreck that had shut down the freeway--good times, let me tell you!), our internet went kaput but through it all we just kept saying "first world problems, first world problems."

If you're still out there, let me know what you think. About anything. About nothing. About Perfect Madness, if you've read it, or about the ideas it bring ups.

I miss this space.

To Anonymous--Yes! Exactly! (edited)

Ok so there were several anonymous comments but a couple of them were particularly spot on.

I should have chosen different words when I say biology isn't better.

Yes, in terms of adoption, biology is better. And I realize that sentence makes no sense at face value.

No one should ever have to be adopted. Adoption starts with loss. I get that completely. Not in the sense that I have been through it, but I understand the concept.

Please, please, please refer to my previous post where I talked about how the mister and I are the fourth choice for parenting our children. Biological parents are always the choice if that is possible.

But that "if" is a great big IF.

Second choice is other family members, again, IF that is possible.

Third choice is domestic adoption in ones own country and culture.

And then there's the fourth choice: us.

We get it that we weren't first, or second, or even third. But damnit we're doing the best we can and working every day to educate ourselves more on the ways we can help our children cope with their enormous, ENORMOUS losses.

I am not an adoptee so obviously I cannot speak from that position. All I can say--with great, great confidence--is that I know the opposite of losing your genetic past because I lost my genetic future.

I will never share details of my childrens' stories here but suffice it to say that they were in an orphanage and their options were to be adopted or to grow up in an orphanage, and then as tender teenagers, be on their own.

Then there was the anonymous commenter who talked about the guilt argument.

OK.

I suffer tremendously. Maybe it's just my personality but here's what swirls through my heart and head on many--most--days.

When you know better, you do better.

I have seen some horrors up close and personal. Horrors that no child should endure. Horrors that exist all the time all around us and it is so, so easy to simply just not think about them.

All of us--fertiles and infertiles alike--as human beings shouldn't tolerate the inequities that abound. But we do.

Because I have seen firsthand children suffering, going hungry, desperate to be held and loved, with little hope of a chance at a family--I can't help but contrast that to my own quest for a family.

It's like Schindler's List, at the end, when he kept thinking about how many more people he could have spared...I think about the money spent on fertility treatments. Yes, it's natural to desire a biological child. But--and let me say very clearly here that I speak only for myself and from my own heart--why did I think I had to have one so badly? There are lots of things I'd like that I don't get, simply because I'm not capable of them. I wish I could have accepted my fate sooner and simply moved on. And I don't get all squishy touchy feely and think that it is because H&H were the only children meant for me. While I cannot imagine any other children because they are the children I am entrusted to raise, I could have parented other children as well.

But really, if there was a way to have given that money and it would have somehow prevented H&H from needing to be adopted I would have, in a heartbeat. Which means I wouldn't have been able to be a parent, which then means I would still have been sad.

But maybe I just should have resolved to be childfree and moved on.

I don't know.

It's all complicated.

But reading the anonymous commenters from adoptees just breaks my heart, because I know how much my children will suffer and I can't spare them that. I know that love is not enough.

EDITED TO ADD: I almost hate having to add something BUT, let me be clear that I'm not condemning IVF, or anyone doing IVF. My God, I did it five times! I'm just saying that in perfect 20/20 hindsight I wish I hadn't done it so much. Everyone has their own path, but for what feels right to me, in my heart, now that I know what I know, I feel differently than I used to. Which is fairly normal for lots and lots of people and processes so it's not really surprising at all. OK, done.

The One Where I Get Angry

And actually, I'm writing this many, many days after the initial insult, so I've cooled off quite a bit.

Even though I have less time than ever before, I do still find myself reading blogs. I'm just too connected to too many people via the interweb to stop.

And I read something recently that was insulting. I doubt the author meant it as insulting but that's the thing, this whole concept is sneaky. And subversive. It's a feeling that I think I am picking up on, time and time again, in many different ways.

Hell, someone could have thought I felt this way when I was pursuing so much damn treatment.

It's the idea that biology is better.

(a side note: anyone who knows me from way back when knows we always said we would 'have one adopt one' because we had this idea that if we adopted first and then had the biological child our adopted child would feel they weren't enough. And then for years we got sidetracked on the having one side of things.)

The sentence in a post that wrankled me...it jumped off the screen and made my adoptive momma heart just ache a bit. Not for myself, but for my kids. For adopted kids everywhere.

I've mentioned before that of all my blogging buddies, of all my infertile peeps, there aren't too many that crossed over to adoption.

And while I get that--as it took me a long time to decide the 'having one' just wasn't going to happen for us--I still feel alone. I still feel like no one else is doing it because they might think it inferior in some way. The things we will put ourselves through to have a pregnancy, or a biological connection...it's mind blowing, even from the inside. Remember: I am an insider. I know the drill. I know how damn hard all of it is. And I put myself through a lot. And to a previous post commenter about my shame, of course I know it's all a process. But I also know that sometimes we can get so overfocused on a goal (pregnancy, biological baby, etc) that we stop thinking about living, and all that it means to be alive, and that we're all part of a bigger picture than just our own pursuits.

But that sentence, it really got to me. It was from someone I've followed for a long time. I've supported through lots and lots. But there it was and it felt like I was overhearing someone talking behind my back.

I have a feeling it's like what being the victim of racism feels like. It's subtle and many would never say it to your face, but it's still there, the attitude.

Sigh.

So I was angry angry angry for a while. Hot under the collar, hoppin' mad. All those things and maybe even more.

Now I'm just sad.

Biology isn't better and you'll never convince me otherwise. Most of the people I love most in my life don't share a single gene with me and I love them with my heart and soul and would do anything for them.

I realize I'll probably make some people angry when they read this post. That's certainly not the point. The point is that we should all check ourselves sometimes and examine what is in our true hearts. I guess if you really think biology is better in your true heart of hearts then that's your right. But just know that is hurts some of us, and that your attitude--no matter how well concealed you may think it is--is bound to crop up here and there in ways that others notice.

OK I'm done.
Writing makes it all better, huh?

Our Adoption Video...only seventeen months later :)

I've been thinking a lot lately about the concept of 'before' and 'after.'

Especially when dealing with bad news.

I will never forget the few moments before I got the call about my Dad suffering his stroke. I was happily packing up my stuff and getting ready to walk out the door to go to work. DH was walking up the street returning from a run.

The phone rang and it was my sister. We often talked on our respective drives into work so I hastily grabbed it and said--without saying hello--"I'm not in the car yet I'll call you right back."

No, she managed to say before I hung up.

Dad had a stroke.

And then--after.

That was the dividing line between his life and our life before and after. Nothing was the same after and it was never, ever better, only worse, slowly, slowly worse. And now he is gone.

I think about those dividing lines so often that I create them in my imagination. Example: the other day I had just finished speaking with my sister on the phone and it was only about an hour later and she was calling again. I was just stepping into the shower so I didn't answer. But the entire shower I wondered if she was calling over and over and I couldn't hear and what it if was another one of those calls diving time into before and after?

(note: she just wanted to ask me about something related to Target. Whew.)

Most of the time the big traumas of our lives are sudden and there is a before and after.

But not with infertility (in most cases).

Infertility chips away at you slowly, until you are just a pile of wood chips.
And by you, I mean me.

Somehow I found myself flying halfway across the country, twice, spending obscene amounts of money. Somehow I found myself going through five full in vitro cycles when I swore I would never even do one. Somehow I found myself lying in a dark room full of needles in my ears and scalp and stomach and toes. Somehow I found myself choking down disgusting herbs. Somehow I found myself obsessively researching and reading and researching and reading and emailing doctors and wanting to try different crazy protocols and injecting and injecting and injecting hormones hormones hormones into my sad, tired belly.

Somehow.

Because I could not see the forest for the trees.

Oh the forest--becoming a mother!--she was gone to me. All I could see were those damned trees.

I speak for myself only here, but there is a lot of shame in all that I did.

I wanted to be a mother.
There are many ways to become a mother.
None are necessarily easy, and no doubt none are better than any other.
Because all that matters in the end--all that ever, ever, ever should matter--is the love you can give to a child.

My forest, my beautiful forest, you were right there the whole time weren't you?

You Ask? I Deliver.

Photos? Did someone say photos, please?

Here you go.

 

 

In their traditional Ethiopian outfits.

My Ethiopian beauty!

 

Brotherly and sisterly love...

Sorry to interrupt the cuteness with sweat, but here I am completing loop one.
I have a weird expression, but what can you do?

And finishing the 31 miles with DH. See the look of relief on our faces?
And yes, I am in different clothes. I was THAT sweaty that I required an outfit change to avoid...
chafing.
The glamour of long-distance running in the humidity.

And to finish, fall cakeballs.
Spicecake.
Carrot cake.
Cream cheese frosting.

Yum.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

 



I'm Here.

I am alive.
I am around.
I am trying to comment and read and follow when I can. I don't know if anyone is still around this space but I promised to never just disappear into the ether so here I am.

I am still sad. While trying to straighten up a neverending pile of papers that looked innocuous enough I came across the notes I had made for the obituary I wrote for my Dad and it nearly took me to my knees.

I ran my 50K race this past weekend. I placed 10th out of 38 females. I wore my Dad's hat pre-race but it was too too hot and humid to wear it while running. I hurt--miles 26-30 were excruciating and no matter how much I wanted to run effortlessly in honor of my father my quadriceps didn't necessarily see things the same way. I sobbed for a minute when I saw the finish line and I could picture my Dad there, cheering for me. God he wanted me to be a runner so much and I know he would have been thrilled to see me run 31 miles.

My Mom met me at the finish line and wrapped me in a towel, probably the same thing she used to do for my Dad when he crossed all of his finish lines. She's doing OK, but I worry about her.

My children are beautiful, but you didn't need me to tell you that. I can't take credit for their beauty so I am allowed to brag incessantly, right? They are almost two years old and I can't keep up with their language and growth. It is an amazing thing to witness.

I have had so many complex emotions lately...I guess we all do...I'm not claiming or pretending to be different from anyone else. I just don't always know how to sort them out. Some days I hurt so much for all the hurt in the world it threatens to take me right under. When does it end? Other days I just go about my day complaining about my ridiculous first world problems and then buy a new chevron striped blanket at Target.

I guess all I can do is shake my head and wonder how the hell I got so, so lucky.

How are you doing?

Grief...It's What's for Dinner

I know the blog post title might sound tacky, but I don't know...my emotions are all over the place.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your kind words on my last post. Thank you.

I am doing OK.

Mostly I have been doing better than OK, bolstered by the knowledge that my Dad is free from the constraints of his mind and body.

I held his hand while he took his last breath.

I never imagined I could feel so honored while doing so.

But the grief, it hits in unexpected places.

Today in church, I noticed ahead of time that the last hymn to be sung was the same one sung at my Dad's funeral. I was prepared. I was ready.

Until I wasn't.

Minutes before the song was to be sung, I found myself whispering desperately to DH that I had to get out, to escape, because I just couldn't hear it.

I stumbled down the aisle, tears streaming down my face, and then sobbed in the bathroom, where the sound was piped in.

When I got a birthday card from my Mom, well, it was the first one that said "Love Mom" and there was nothing from Dad. He always wrote in my cards and I cherished his words (still have all the cards!), and the first year after the stroke he dictated to Mom what he couldn't physically write, but his words were 100% him. The last two years my Mom signed his name when he could no longer contribute anything.

"Love Mom" was all she could write this year.

I miss him.
And yes, I am so extremely grateful to still have my mother in my life.

I spent three years trying to forget my Dad as a physically active man who loved to talk finance, religion, and do crossword puzzles for hours (the hard ones, sometimes in ink). It was too hard to remember that Dad while adjusting to the new post-stroke Dad.

But now, now those memories are pouring in, and they are happy-sad. I guess that's what all the memories of those who have passed are--happy sad.

At any rate, we're all surviving. I'm another year older and hey, no big whoop, right?

I just wanted to check in.

I have so many emotions swirling around about genetics that are coming from a place I thought was long since gone, but losing your father will do that to you. It has nothing to do with my beautiful babies who couldn't be more perfect in my eyes, but I'm still sad to know my Dad isn't carrying forward in my family in a genetic way. It's silly, but it's still there. Sigh. And I'm just gutted with grief over what they've lost in terms of their genetic past. Gutted.

So yes, I'm running. Long meditative runs. They aren't any easier, but in that space I can talk to my Dad, process some of these emotions, and get my body ready for my upcoming race.

Thank you again, sorry for the all over the place post. My next one will be about baking, and kiddos, and happy and light stuff. It has to be.

He is gone from my sight.

Thank you to everyone who commented on my last post...my tribute to my Dad as a runner. It means a lot.

I got a call yesterday morning at work that my Dad was not doing well.

I scrambled around packing, securing child care, finishing up at work as best I could through a teary haze and started the long drive to my hometown.

When I got there I laid my head on his chest to hear that runner's heart again. I told him how much I loved him and thanked him for everything he did for me.

My Dad took his last breath only minutes after my sister and I got there.

Goodbye sweet Dad. Thank you for everything. I'm so sorry my children will not know their Pumpa.

Thank you for waiting until we could get there to say goodbye.

My Dad, the runner.

I've been asked a few times lately about my semi-sudden interest in running, particularly long distance running.

The thing is, I don't really remember a time when I didn't run in some form or fashion. I've been running fairly regularly since I was a kid, pre-teen, teenager, young adult, adult, to now, middle aged adult. Sometimes I would pepper my exercise regimen with other workouts--who can forget step aerobics, the Stairmaster, Tae-bo, impact kickboxing, and I must admit--I actually had one of those slide things to mimic speed skating. Whoa boy. And I've mountain biked, hiked, roller bladed, ran stairs, and even tried swimming.

But running has been the constant. After all, I grew up around a running father.

Have I ever really enjoyed running?

Not really. I ran cross country in the hopes that I would make my Dad happy.

He was pleased, as pleased as he showed me in those days. He came to all my practices because he had to drive me there. He became the self-appointed assistant coach which embarrassed me to no end. I wasn't very good as speed has not ever been my gift. So who knows if I ended up embarrassing him as much as he was embarrassing me. I wish I could ask him.

This past weekend I was in my hometown for the dreaded reunion--dreaded only in the sense that it marked time in a very real way. It was actually lovely to see so many of my friends, all of us twenty years older.

While in my hometown I drove around familiar spaces and thought about all the running I did on some of those streets. Runs with one of my best running buddies Phoebe in high school--and after meandering around her neighborhood streets for an hour or so we'd get in her little red VW Bug and drive the route to see our mileage. No RunKeeper or Garmin's back then. I was astonished to drive on the hilly feeder roads that hardly have a shoulder as I recalled running a six mile loop on them as a youth...I have to think my parents didn't really know I was out there doing that and I am frankly amazed I wasn't mowed down by a car.

That was a damn hard route, run in the midst of my eating-and-exercise disordered haze.

I ran in college with the hubs, again, strictly as part of a way to burn calories and hope to get thinner and thinner.

Running is just what I knew. Everyone is supposed to exercise. Running is good exercise. Ergo, I ran.

My Dad started running in 1978. He also started writing in running journals. Clear as a bell in my mind's eye I can see him standing at our kitchen bar, leaning over his running journal, every.single.day recording his distance and time, and little anecdotes about the run.

"You'll want to read these one day after I'm gone."

Sure Dad, we'd say, and roll our eyes. I could never imagine wanting to read about his runs one day.

Just as clearly I can see him sitting on our back porch in a lawn chair, sweat pooling underneath him, leaning forward, shirtless, tanned, sweatband around his head and maybe on his wrists, as he cooled off from his midday runs. In Texas. In the summer. He loved running in the heat, the hotter the better.

"Walk on my back," he'd say when we were small. My Dad had had several back surgeries and was actually told he'd never run again after the fact but proved everyone wrong, ad nauseum. We'd walk up and down his back to help work out the kinks. I myself have only recently discovered the glorious feeling of little tiny feet under the weight of a thirty-pound body walking up and down my back when it's sore.

I have my Dad's running journals now. From 1978 to 2000 he wrote an entry nearly every single day. And I'm reading through them, and loving and cherishing every single word.

Although he is not gone, his running self is gone. That body has left us. Most of that mind has left us. And so his words are as beautiful as they are mundane, because I have this sense of him. Of how he loved running. Of how important it was to him, to go out and feel the pavement under his feet, to feel the sweat pour off his body, to feel his strong heart beating harder and faster.

It made him feel alive.

I'm sorry I didn't start enjoying running until so recently. Now I would love to talk to him more about it. To tell him that I get it, this addiction he had. That we're not running away from anything but running towards everything. Towards peace. Towards health. Towards happiness. And that running long distances feels good and it has nothing to do with calories burned or pounds shed.

This weekend when I saw him I told him some of this. It doesn't matter what he understands. I told him I am reading his journals and loving every word of them. I told him I have his old running t-shirts, and his marathon medals, and the wool hat he wore when he crossed his first marathon finish line in a winter race. Maybe I'll wear it when I run the 50K I plan on running in the cold this November.

I rubbed his leg, and felt the muscle that has withered and faded so much he is mostly bones.

I heard his heart beat, still slow and strong--a runner's heart. He'll always have a runner's heart.

I showed his picture to Phoebe, my running buddy, who only knew my Dad as a strong runner. She teared up and squeezed my hand, so sorry to see the way he has slipped into this weakened state.

And I went running. Through the trails near the land where he grew up as a kid. I saw the sunlight shining through the trees and I felt happy. I had the hubs take a quick picture so I could try to hold onto the feeling.

Here is a shot of one of his earliest journals, from 1978. I focused in on the words "I am addicted to running" which was written at the end of a week he was injured and couldn't run and frankly felt miserable.

I get it Dad.

Thanks for teaching me about running.

The post I have needed to write...

Warning: this post is very sad, about my dog. That is all I can say.

It has been a little over a year since we brought our babies home from Ethiopia.
And so it has been a little over a year since we said goodbye to our original boy, our dog Pablo.

Pablo was ill when we left. Two years prior he had been given only months to live but miraculously had hung on and remained fairly healthy.

We even left our dear pet sitter and vet instructions on what to do should he take a turn for the worse while we were on the other side of the world. This is the same lovely pet sitter who emailed us photos twice daily of our sweet Pabbies while we were on our long CCRM vacations. She was ecstatic that we were finally going to become parents when we left for Ethiopia.

We were not prepared for what we found when we came home.

Pabbies. Emaciated. Sick. Nearly gone, but hanging on.

We saw him right after crossing the threshold of our new lives with our babies in our arms. After laying our babies down for their first night in their new beautiful nursery we just held him and sobbed. We knew what we had to do.

I decided it needed to be me. The next day, still sleep deprived and shaky and terrified and overwhelmed and elated at being home, I called our vet. They booked us--me and Pabbies--into the last appointment of the day so we could have some privacy.

Somehow I left the mister with the two babies, who were still feeding nearly constantly, who were crying quite at bit at their new unfamiliar surroundings, ripped apart from every single thing they had ever known, and put Pabs in the car with me. I took a bunch of his favorite treats and sobbed on the twenty five minute ride to the vet, feeding him treats and petting him the whole way.

When I got there I was a basket case. I could barely take him out of the car.

And things only got worse.

They couldn't get a vein. They couldn't start an IV. He was crying, howling in pain.

All those treats I thought he was happily gobbling up on the way there were just sitting in his mouth. He was too weak and sick to swallow.

I had done nothing to ease his pain.

The vet had to make a decision to inject him in the stomach.

It was horrific. I could barely stand to hold him, to have me see my face associated with this horrible pain we were causing him, all while trying to end his life in a pain free way.

The vet was young and inexperienced and not our usual vet. She was crying too. The tech was crying. I was shaking and sobbing.

Pabs did not go quickly.
He did not go peacefully.
Every single thing that could have gone wrong did.
And I held his sweet body until he took his last breath.

We buried him with his favorite toys under a tree in our yard, and I look at that spot nearly every single day and wish I could have done more for his last moments in this life. I have never--will never--forgive myself for failing him in his final moments.

Oh Sweet Pabs. It's been just over a year since you were gone. You waited until your brother and sister got here and then you asked us, with those beautiful but old and sick eyes, to take you out of your misery.

I will never forget.

And it is shaping the way I think of things..so many things which I will have to write about here soon...about the way we treat animals in this world.

But I have needed to write this for a long time, to get it off my heart. Thank you, for letting me share it here.

Bullets (I know...) but packed with stuff....

It's not really true that I only have time for a bullet point post.

However, it is the most efficient way of articulating a few of the things swirling around in my brain or documenting some of the things we've been up to. Every time I think I will just stop blogging altogether I remember that aside from all the great things I love about blogging this will at least serve as little snapshots in time of our lives.

Here goes, in no particular order:

• I've been baking/cooking/trying new recipes plus cooking some old favorites which I had forgotten about. All of this brings me great pleasure, I only wished I weren't so rushed when doing it (I still cook ahead for the following week so evenings run a little smoother). Some items include: avacado nutella muffins (yes, yes, and YES), Indian samosa pie, homemade vegetable pot pie (not really a summer food but it still hit the spot), Bakerella's key lime layer cake, quinoa broccoli casserole, Mexican vegan eggrolls, chocolate mint brownies, and these little peanut butter pretzel chocolatey things that just made my heart go pitter-patter.
• I am running more than ever.
• I am severely anemic. Hmph. Trying to get to the bottom of this currently and it involves more testing, which is annoying. I suspect my useless uterus is the culprit but am not allowed an ablation because of my higher cancer risk given my sordid uterine history. Hopefully I will know more in the next few weeks but I'd really like to avoid surgery. 
• I am contemplating running an ultra marathon. On trails in my hometown. My Dad ran a shortened version of it fifteen years ago with my DH so that one feels like a good one to try.
• We keep talking about moving to Ethiopia for a year or two. Seriously.
• Of course we also still want to move to NYC--Brooklyn?--but Ethiopia is in our hearts.
• But yet we both love our jobs. OK DH might not love his but I seriously love mine. Love it. I feel so lucky to work there, with incredible colleagues. One of my sweetest and most favorite coworkers asked me the other day how I felt the parttime thing was working out. I immediately said "Perfect. On Sunday night I am so ready to be back at work and on Wednesday afternoon after I close my last chart I am so ready to be home again." I know how lucky I am, and I think the tod-bots benefit tremendously from this balance. I think they'd be sick of me seven days in a row, week in and week out :)
• I am trying/hoping to write an article to be published in a medical journal about this incredibly complex patient I have been seeing. The thing is, none of us can figure out what genetic issue he is plaqued with...and I've got the top lipid genetics guys working on it. I never thought I'd just pick up the phone and start calling journal authors to get help but that's what I did and now I've got several intrigued brilliant minds trying to help this guy out. All I'll say here is he's a skinny young guy with a total cholesterol over 700 and it was coming out in his skin. It's hard to write an article when so far all you can say is "dude, we really don't know what's wrong with you."
• I am hoping my running will improve when my anemia improves but alas the doctor told me yesterday that a whole month's worth of iron therapy will be gone with one measly AF. Another doctor told me I need iron infusions but I seriously do not have time for that.
• I have been contemplating going vegan. I am happily vegetarian but feel a strong pull to go to the next level. I have a whole post in my head about this and might just write it out one day, but it will be one of those that will likely offend a whole host of folks so maybe it's better to keep it in my head? At the very least we are going to start buying our dairy locally from a cruelty free dairy farm. And yes, I know chocolate is not vegan. And I know vegan baking is tough.
• I am so happy to be raising vegetarian kids. So happy. We do allow them to eat some of the soy meat substitutes (yes, I know these would be out the window with veganism) and I need to quit saying things like "here is your chicken!" when at the same time I am telling them we do not believe in eating animals.
• The toddlers are thriving. They are talking up a storm--a few two or three word sentences every now and again. Our son is especially interested in learning his letters right now. I get what people meant when they said this was a super fun age. The learning explosion is crazy to witness.
• I am now running in minimus type shoes. I don't think I can go Luna Sandals or Vibram Five Fingers only, but I do feel like this is a much, much better way to run. I am really trying to work on technique, too, but some days it's just enough to get out there and cover some miles.
• Yes, I still get up at 3:45 am to go running. I just keep saying my day is shifted. I'm in bed by 8:45 at the latest but it works for now so why change?
• I am still drinking Diet Coke. Maybe if someone told me an animal was harmed during the production of my chemically syrup I could give it up no problemo....?
• My Dad is the same overall but sometimes takes pretty bad turns, and I think "this is it." My mom is suffering the most, I think. It's hard to know what will happen next.  
• My twentieth high school reunion is next month. Ugh is all that comes to mind.

I feel simultaneously old and young at the same time. Better/more running makes me feel young but my approaching twentieth high school reunion makes me feel O-L-D. Having toddlers makes me feel young and old at the same damn time...young because they are so delightful and it is so much fun to delight in their happiness but old because my God do they demand a lot of energy.

Sigh.

What have you been up to?

One year home.

I cannot believe I am typing those words as a post heading.
But it's true. One year ago today, we landed in the United States, after a 16 hour flight that is still traumatizing to think about, but at least I'm maturing to know that it was far more traumatizing for my babies than it ever could be for me. A good friend asked me if we could laugh about the flight yet and I have to admit...not yet. Not quite.

One year ago we came home, as a family of four. Presto magic we went from two to four. Of course I kid using the term 'presto magic'--you all know it wasn't like that at all. And you will never hear me say (see me write?) the words "gotcha day" because those make my stomach turn.

But here we are.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes.

How do you measure a year in a life?

Of course, as a Rent lover this song resonates with me on multiple levels.
And yes, we could measure it in sunsets, and midnights, in laughter and in strife.

We could also measure it in diapers (hey that's actually in the B lyrics!), and sweet little slobbery kisses, in sleep deprived nights and days, in tantrums, in high chair meals (it seems we are forever getting in and out of high chairs!), and Brown Bear, Brown Bear readings.

The days can be long, but the year has been short but I am trying--always trying!-- to measure my life in love.

While 'Seasons of Love' is probably the most popular song from the play, my favorite is 'Without You, Finale'.

These words have been in my head since the first time I heard them.

There's only us
There's only this
Forget regret or
Life is yours to miss
There's only now
There's only here
Give in to love
Or live in fear
No other path
No other way
No day but today.

And today, is one year home.

But because I don't ever like ending all drama-esque, I'm going to publish a photo that is sure to make you smile. I don't think I ever put it in the blog before, and if I did, forgive me for the re-share. This photo was taken after we'd been home about three days. We were out walking the babies because most of the time we didn't know what to do with them and strollering was one of our many ways to 'change the environment' when said babies started getting cranky. We were both so tired we were literally stumbling.

Oh bless their hearts. They didn't know what they were getting themselves into when they got us as their second parents, did they?

What we've been up to lately, mostly in photos again...

OK it's been so long since I've blogged I don't recognize the new posting template/format. Whoops.

Thanks for the encouraging words on the last post. I do enjoy writing but I'm finding that--while I write some great posts in my head (I mean, everything sounds great in your own brain, right?) by the time I get a few seconds to spare I've completely forgotten what I wanted to write. So today I will do best to recap the past few weeks with pictures and some brief descriptions.

We took a trip to my hometown and went to a duck park I frequented as a kid. The ducks were a hit. No one fell in (like I did once when I was little--totally traumatizing!).

I baked!

OK I didn't actually bake, as these are no bake. They are from Bakerella (naturally) and they are chocolate chip cookie dough bites, dipped to look like cookies. It's edible dough that is safe and super tasty. Yum.

We had a little staycation. Truly. My sister kept my babies for two nights. TWO NIGHTS. They slept away from home for the first time. They did great. We did great. We ran, we ate, we went to the candy store where I got chocolate covered cherry sours!! we watched Breaking Bad in marathon format, we went to the pool and the hot tub. Ahhhhhhhhh....it was very strange being in our house without them here, but it was also mighty nice :)

OK this was the sampler fake dessert tray, I really didn't eat this much. Close though. Hence all the running.

We are so lucky to have this pool/spa less than half a mile from our house. We debated joining for a while but once we did we haven't regretted it. We even went on the water slide sans kiddos! Ha.

The lake is low but what can you do? The view is still quite nice.

Of course when we got home we had to have some dance party time. Now, I post this because I think my daughter is adorable dancing in her sun hat. Nevermind me, freakishly dancing as well. And nevermind my son who started crying (you can't see him, but you can surely hear him!)

And to anonymous--YES! I did receive a Diet Coke t-shirt in the mail. The funny thing is, I had bought one sort of similar several months before as a part of a Diet Coke promotion at Target and when I got the new one in the mail I thought "How did they know I'd already worn the other one out." Ha. So yes, I wear it and thank you.

Conflicted...but keeping my promise.

I'm conflicted...again...about this blog. What to do? I'm not sure who is still reading, I'm not sure if the story has come to its natural end (and..............scene.) I mean, I know that the story continues but really? Maybe I am done sharing. I know we are in the midst of some complicated stuff though.

But I like to keep my promises and at the end of my last angst ridden post I did say the next blog post would be full of pictures and so without further ramblings...I give you the past few weeks in photos, with little captions, too, because I can't really ever just shut.up.

Cupcake bites...

My little piece of heaven-turnaround point on a long trail run (I'm uber sweaty!)

Second piece of heaven...lounging by the river at a friend's river house. Ahhhhhh.....

A trip back in time...recently acquired pic of the night at the airport...after twenty-four hours of travel and very little sleep....

Those same little babies (much bigger!) goofing off in their cribs.

At the pool--I made them wear ridiculously bulky swimsuits with flotation devices sewn in....

Lounging by the pool sans bulky swimsuits....!

At the park in the tunnel...so fun!

Coloring with Dad in the playroom!

Dogpiling Dad on the floor--a common activity around here :)

And finally....what powers me along (I know it's a weird pic and it looks like I'm more into the goldfish but I promise you, I am not).

Do you see the giant Diet Coke? I am willing it into my mouth...and if anyone knows how to get this display from Target I want it.



And on that note, peeps, I am out.

Split Self...Again.

I have so many half written posts.
So many.

I finally figured out why.

I feel like I am straddling two worlds right now, that I've split into two selves again. (note: not in a literal sense, no worries that I'm becoming Sybill).

World one: the one I posted about last time. I'm keeping it together. I'm baking again. I'm running. I'm parenting. I'm lucky lucky lucky lucky lucky. I have two amazing toddlers who challenge me and light up my world in new ways each and every day. I have Mother's Day to celebrate as a mother, not a 'wanting to be a mother' not a 'kind of a mother but my kids are not with me they are on the other side of the world' mother like last year, but an actual in the trenches day to day mother. I am lucky. I am happy. We hang out, we play, we read, we swim, the hubs and I get to go to the river, we go trail running, we go to work, I see patients, I earn money, I come home to a home I love, we eat delicious food, I live my life. I love my life.

World two: The agony of so much of the world. The poverty. The death. The starvation. Sickness. Things I cannot write about here because I will protect my children's privacy but suffice it to say we are in the midst of some deep, deep stuff. And let me tell you that mothering as an adoptive mother, more specifically as a transracial international adoptive mother is just like any other mothering except it isn't. Not in the least. It never will be.

Each day I love them more. And more. And more. And each day I hurt for them more deeply than the day before.

Split self.

But tomorrow is Mother's Day. I will be happy, of course. I promise you that I fought too hard to get here to not be happy.

But I will also be sad. We infertiles know all too well how we can be both happy and sad all in the same breath. It's just who we are.

Because I am my children's second mother. We are their second family. And I will be celebrating their first mothers tomorrow and also grieving for them.

And to all of those still in the trenches, my heart aches for you too. You deserve nothing more than happiness and light in your lives. The women I have met along this journey are some of the most beautiful women I know and although I'm not around here much anymore, you are never far from my thoughts and my heart. I do remember.

I promise you this: my next post will be chock full of photos. And happiness. And goodness. Because there is all of that, and more. I promise.

The post where I'm all over the place

First of all, thank you for your kind words on my last post. I should clarify that the discontinued meds were in no way life-sustaining, just deemed no longer necessary. It just felt so concrete, to discontinue those meds.

I will now commence with using bullets to give you some random updates from my life recently, some noteable notes, if you will:

• I guest lectured at my alma mater the other week. It was strange walking those halls again, being the supposed expert, answering the questions about my career. The faculty that introduced me told the class about the adoption at the end and that ended up being the thing they were most interested in...go figure!
• I ran a half marathon the other morning, on a whim. It wasn't an official race, mind you, I just kept running and running until I hit 13.1 miles and then I stopped. I did the whole thing in the dark. I texted the mister at mile 12 just to make sure he was fine with the kiddos (they are early risers!) and he said to keep on going. So I did. Now I wish I had just run until I couldn't go anymore vs. stopping at the 13.1..you know, just to see how far I could've gone. Maybe 13.2? Ha.
• We sort of got back to volunteering at the shelter. I say "sort of" because our nanny got sick after she started and after we were already almost there, so the hubs had to go back home and I stayed behind. It turns out that one person can serve 100 homeless men if the situation demands it--but I'm sure I was quite a sight racing back and forth between the entree, the salad, the sides, and getting the hot trays back from the dishwasher. I did have some help from one of the homeless guys who has permission to work in the kitchen and he was quite a character. We're going to make another attempt soon.
• We found a new babysitter--a local high schooler that is a lot cheaper more economical than our nanny for nights out. She basically sits there on our sofa while the babies sleep. We are endeavouring to go out more at times when they are asleep so as not to take away from family time. I am very excited about this endeavour. We need to get out more. If only I didn't have such an early curfew :)
• I am reading three books right now:
• The Center Cannot Hold: riveting.
• BossyPants by Tina Fey: hilarious.
• Left to Tell: ok I haven't actually started it yet but it looks intense.
• OK by 'reading' I mean every night I crawl into bed at 8:30 (!) and read for max thirty minutes before I'm out like a light until my iPhone wakes me to run at 3:45.
• We saw a movie! An actual movie! Yes, it was "The Hunger Games." I gave it an 8.
• The toddlers (I can't call them babies anymore) continue to thrive. I need to dedicate an entire post to their updates, but suffice it to say they run everywhere and chatter up a storm and mostly sleep like a dream. I say mostly because right.this.very.second as I type I can see them on the monitor, rolling around, kicking, talking, etc. and they have been in their cribs for 45 minutes. Very unusual as they usually conk right out at night. No se.
• We went to Ethiopian Culture Day with them and it was amazing to be surrounded by beautiful Ethiopian people. It is good to be in the minority every now and again and see your children in the majority.
• Our cat is going back on Prozac. Um, yeah. That's all I'll say about that. OK I'll add: does anyone want a cat?
• I decided to make Hello Kitty cakeballs the other day. We were going to a three year old's Hello Kitty birthday party and I realized how much I miss baking and creating and voila! Here you go:

And that about sums up the past couple of weeks around Casa de MTL. What's new with you?

Gone From My Sight

Today they took my Dad off of most of his medications.
He doesn't need them anymore.
Comfort care only.

I understand, I really do.
I want nothing more than for my Dad to be released from this existence; while he's not in acute pain, he's suffering.  Anyone who disagrees with me please don't comment here. If you saw him and had any idea, I don't think you could be a compassionate human being and disagree.

He doesn't know me. He doesn't know my babies. He only sometimes knows my Mom. He barely talks, he sleeps away most of his days. He's eating less.

Signs, all of them, but we really never know.


Soon, he will be gone from my sight. I do know this.

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!"
"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear the load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!" There are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: "Here she comes!"
And that is dying.

Thank you, Henry Van Dyke.