As Time Goes By

Robbie - stylin' at 4 years old


Empo - sporting vintage at 3 years old

Oops!

I was just telling Robbie last night that I must have alienated everyone because I hadn't received a single comment on any of my posts since switching to a new format. Then I went looking for an old post this morning and realized that there WERE comments on my posts - I just hadn't been moderating them because my settings were automatically switched when I moved.

I've restored my old comment settings, so things should be back to normal now. And I apologize for ignoring any of you. I should have known something was amiss when my mom asked me what potty training advice I had given Kelly after my post about Emerson being potty trained. Whoops!

An Elegy for Adoption

Ever since I can remember, I have been drawn to the idea of adoption. When I imagined having children (during the periods when I wasn't convinced four dogs would be a better option), adoption was always part of the plan.

On my first "date" with Robbie, we stayed up all night talking and shyly holding hands. I only remember two specific things about those conversations: one had to do with Scooby Doo and the other had to do with adoption. When he told me he wanted to adopt someday, I checked off yet another box in the mental checklist entitled: Attributes of My Future Husband.

When we started to have children a couple of years later, we had to field the usual questions about how many we wanted. My answer was always, "Two biological and then probably adopt a third child." After I found out I was having a second son, my answer became more specific - "Two biological and then adopt a girl." The perfect way to complete our family.

Now that the dust has settled after the storm I lovingly refer to as "the birth of my second child," adoption has once again become a prominent theme. When I learned that the recent health care bill increased the adoption tax credit to about $13,000 and made it refundable, that sealed the deal.(You would think a normal person would enjoy the relative calm for a while before jumping back into the fray. But I'm obviously not normal. A fact that my husband reminds me of daily.)

Once an idea takes hold in my mind, it can only be satiated by relentless research and fact-finding. Luckily, I had a jumpstart since I had been researching adoption on and off for years.

I had already spent - and would continue to spend - countless hours learning about the numerous issues that adoptive parents face. I struggled with the idea of transracial adoption because it is the area of greatest need and our area of greatest interest...but it's also fraught with controversy on all sides. I struggled with the uncertainty and risk associated with a domestic adoption and the allegations of corruption and "baby-selling" associated with international adoption. I agonized over open adoption vs. closed adoption, agency vs. independent, accept special needs vs. don't accept special needs, infant vs. toddler. I read up on attachment disorders and adoption fraud and tips on how to advertise to birth parents. I spent hours poring over people's adoption stories on blogs and I leafed through the informational packets of every adoption agency in town (and some out of town).

I felt I had faced everything and had prepared myself in every way I knew how. I thought we were more than ready to take the next step. But the devil, as they say, is in the details. In the end, we were undone by indelicate logistics like money and time.

I want to share specifics, as boring as they might be, because when I bring up the fact that I'm researching adoption, many friends and family tell me they're interested in it too. I promised many of them I would share what I had learned, so here goes:

(This is by no means meant to dissuade anyone from adoption - and in fact, I will later list the factors that make it possible for many people to do it.)

Time and time again, I would find a program - whether domestic or international - that was desperately searching for qualified adoptive parents. I would talk to an eager agency representative who would tell me that not only were we qualified, but this was one of the "most affordable programs available." They would pause dramatically, and so would my heart.

"It's only $20,000!"

We are not poor people by any means, but coming up with that kind of money on top of the money needed to raise three kids, finish renovating our house, and put me through grad school, well...it just wasn't going to happen.

There was one program in Detroit that we could afford, but there were so many adoptive parents applying that further applications were closed. We had the option of trying to do an independent domestic adoption and searching for the birth mother ourselves, but again we found a long list of adoptive parents and the reality that we could be taking an opportunity away from a couple facing infertility.

We found that independent adoption in Rwanda is within our budget, the need for parents is very high, and corruption is low if present at all. However, the reason the program is so great is because the government oversees each adoption themselves. Since they don't have the resources available to create a government entity solely devoted to processing adoptions, the process is long and uncertain. At best it would take 18 months from start to finish, but more than likely 2+ years. And then we would run the risk of missing the December 2011 deadline when the adoption tax credit is set to expire.

(On a sidenote, be wary of believing everything you read on international adoption agencies' websites. They often paint a very optimistic picture of the process, but the actual experiences of adoptive parents can be very different. Programs that have been established for a long time, like China and Russia, are the exceptions.)

Many agencies redirected us to the US foster care system, which is also affordable and in some cases adoptions can be practically free. However, the children available for immediate adoption are older (which would disrupt the birth order) and often suffer from severe mental or emotional difficulties. We could foster a baby or toddler and hope that we could adopt someday. But many people have told me that the emotional roller coaster of falling in love with a child and then facing an uncertain future is hard enough for adults, much less for the biological children already living in the house. Frankly, my kids have enough crap in life to deal with.

Again, I don't say all of this to be discouraging or damning. There are some employers who offer their employees amazing contributions to go toward adoption costs. There are many adoption grants available to Christian parents and/or couples facing infertility. There are many churches who consider adoption to be part of outreach or mission work, so they not only encourage couples to adopt, they also organize fundraisers for them. There are many options out there - they just don't apply to us.

The reality that adoption is not going to happen - at least not in the foreseeable future - has slowly set in over the past few weeks. It's painful to let go of a dream, but it's even more painful to realize that my long-lived convictions and ideals had limits. It turns out I can be practical, even if being practical in this case just plain sucks.

Part of me is holding out hope that someday the perfect adoption situation will magically appear. In the meantime, there's a different adventure ahead of us. I just have to figure out what it is.

A Post Worth Reading

Fionn's hair - before brushing


I just wanted to share this post written by another mother of a child with albinism. We don't necessarily take the same approach to the word "albino" as their family does, but she has great points and interesting links. Her discussion of how people equate people with albinism to animals with albinism really struck home for me. When Emerson was first diagnosed, friends and family were constantly emailing me chain emails with pictures of white squirrels or deer. I really appreciated it because they sent it out of love for what we were going through and it was a reminder of how beautiful and diverse the natural world is.

Over time, though, these kinds of emails started bothering me. When sent by someone close to us, I appreciated their intention, but the fact remained that they had received this chain because this animal was a "freak" to be gawked at. The hundreds of people who had passed the email along before it got to me most likely did not pass it along because they knew someone with albinism and understood what it meant. They hit "forward" because it was a digital freak show - just like the "People of Walmart."

Just this morning I was at Trader Joe's having one of those outings where everyone in the building decides to invade our personal space. One woman stopped and started stroking Fionn's hair repeatedly, several stopped and stared point blank. Then one man came running up and got right into Fionn's face, saying, "Is he albino?!!" I said politely, "No, he has albinism." The man didn't seem to hear me and, speaking in the loudest voice possible to attract the two or three people in the store who weren't already staring, proceeded to run the entire list of hackneyed expressions about the color of his eyes and hair. The only new one was, "He's a million dollar baby! A million dollar baby." As he ran his fingers through Fionn's already manhandled hair. (Thank goodness the one with apparently irresistible curls is also the social one. If Emerson was in Fionn's position, I'd be breaking a lot of arms.)

As if this wasn't enough, the man then yelled, "Wait, I have to go get my wife so she can see him!" I tried to make an exit, but apparently said wife was very close. As we repeated this entire scene again, at full voice, another parent with a boy Fionn's age shot me a very sympathetic look. He and I had exchanged pleasantries several times during the shopping trip and our boys had taken an interest in each other. His look said a lot. And I appreciated it.

A Television Apologist

Three days after Emerson was born, I was informed I had to brave the frigid December temperatures and compose my exhausted, milk-soaked body for a trip to our pediatrician's office across town. The baby needed his first check up - and the only time slot allotted for newborns was some ungodly hour first thing in the morning. We did as we were told, but for the first time we realized why the baby books warn you to pick a pediatrician ahead of time and research their office policies.

After a frustrating breastfeeding encounter in the waiting room, we were shuffled into a room with a woman who was not the main pediatrician, but apparently the only doctor available for newborns. She gave him a look over (was the hundredth person in a row who failed to notice our child had NO pigment) and then started firing questions at us. One was about our sleep situation, so I responded that he was sleeping in a bassinet next to our bed and it seemed to be going well.

She narrowed her eyes menacingly, "In a few months, you're going to regret that. Move him into a crib in his own room."

If someone treated me like that now, I would just say "I don't remember asking your opinion, nor do I value it." And then walk out. Instead, we were both so stunned and overwhelmed with new parenthood, we said nothing. A few days later, we moved him directly into our bed.

We stayed with that office since the main pediatrician was a wonderful woman, but we couldn't always see her. Our bad encounters with the other doctors eventually pushed us away and we went on the pediatrician hunt. Through word of mouth, we found a small, natural, hippy dippy practice much closer to our house.

During our very first appointment with the new doctor, he took one look at my pregnant belly and said, "Make sure to call my office after the baby is born so we can schedule his first visit."

"We're having the baby at home," I said hesitantly.

He didn't even flinch. "OK, I'll do a house call."

The new doctor was warm, open-minded, and asked a lot of questions to make sure the family was doing well - not just physically, but emotionally as well. The first time he asked me how much television Emerson was watching, I took this as yet another good sign. I didn't believe in letting children watch a lot of TV, if any at all. I fell into that smug, "people shouldn't use television as a babysitter" camp. Most of our friends in Ann Arbor felt the same, and even if they didn't, they were too ashamed to admit it.

The anti-TV mentality applies to adults as well as children. I've heard many conversations that go something like this:

Person 1: "Did you see that show last night?"

Person 2: "Oh, no. We don't watch that much TV."

Person 1: "You're really good. We try not to watch too much - just this one show."

Person 3: "Yeah, we don't even own a television."

Person 1 and 2: "Oh...wow."

Robbie and I watch television - not as much as some people, but certainly a lot more than our hard-core friends. We vowed we wouldn't use our TV as a babysitter, though, and for a long time we could confidently brag to our doctor and friends that Emerson didn't watch TV. This wasn't because we were strict parents, it was simply because he showed no interest in it, even when we were watching. The only thing that ever caught his attention was the theme song to Northern Exposure, and for a brief period, he'd watch a few minutes of the Daily Show or the Colbert Report. We had the best of all worlds - we got to be self-righteous without any of the actual work.

Then that all changed. He started noticing TV more and more, grandparents started turning on cartoons for him, our non-Ann Arbor friends who do watch TV would turn on a kids' movie during a playdate. He started sitting through short shows. Over Christmas we bought him the Curious George movie and he quickly learned to sit through an entire movie. Then he wanted to watch multiple times in a row. Grandma and Grandpa came to visit and introduced him to PBS On Demand and it was at that point we realized we were totally screwed.

Now we do have to monitor and restrict. Gone are the days of easy bragging. And yet....I'm finding myself grateful for the transition. When he first started watching, I realized I could talk with him about what was going on and get him interested in things he wouldn't normally be interested in.

For example, back then, we would go on a walk and if we passed a duck in the pond, I would say, "Look Emerson, a duck!!" He would slump down further in the stroller and scream, "No!!" It was as if he wanted to shut the world out all the time and only explore small bits - on his own terms. He wouldn't look at a duck, but he would open and close a door a hundred times, or explore a set of stairs over and over again. To say I was beginning to despair was an understatement.

Now, however, I say, "Emerson, look at that duck! Remember when Elmo went to the duck pond?" And suddenly he's eagerly looking, making duck noises and jabbering away. If an episode of Calliou is about making pizzas, I'll have Emerson help me make pizzas later that week, and he's actually enthusiastic. I don't pretend that TV is solely responsible for these changes, but I've been able to use it as an aid. The world that seemed too big and scary and hard to see is now right in front of his nose on TV - bigger than life and under his control. (And yes, like most kids with albinism, he stands RIGHT in front of the TV in order to see it.)

A few months ago, I was watching a series of videos made by a woman with albinism. She talks frankly about her experiences and mentioned that social skills can be hard to learn when you can't see the subtle facial expressions and body movements that people use when interacting. She said her best tool for overcoming this was watching TV. On TV, she could see up close how people interact - how they make eye contact and the facial expressions they make. I felt a flood of relief. Not only was I not going to win Worst Mother of the Year Award for letting him watch TV, I also had another tool to help me with his struggling social skills.

Of course I recognize that TV is full of consumerist messages and as he gets older we'll have to be diligent about teaching him media literacy. We'll always have to monitor and set time limits. But our hardcore friends will continue to "tsk tsk" whenever Emerson asks to watch a show while they're over or whenever he plays with a TV brand toy in front of them (although I find it interesting how many of them don't think twice about watching hours of YouTube or Hulu). Our doctor will continue to lecture us about the evils of exposing young children to TV whenever we go in for a visit. And sooner or later I'll have the energy to express why I've changed my opinion.

In the meantime, I'm doing what I think is best and that's all that matters.

Speaking of which, I'd better stop here. It's 11am and we're still sitting in our pjs in front of the TV.

Don't hate.

Working Girl

You know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach on the first day of a new job? It happens when some (hopefully) competent boss or colleague shows you around the office, gives a few tips here and there, overwhelms you with details about the job duties, and then leaves you feeling bewildered and drowning in a pile of HR paperwork. At least for me, that feeling is the sickening realization that despite all the training and preparation in the world, this is a new environment with new people...and I don't know crap.

There's a flip side to this feeling, of course. It's that moment, maybe months later, when another new person comes through the door. Only this time you're the one who's doing the training/orientation. You show them where to get good coffee, you know just how to punch the copier to get it unjammed, you warn them about the flatulent man in accounting. And then suddenly it dawns on you...you know what the hell you're doing! You've been through the fire and you've come out the other side a pro! Ok, maybe no one is ever truly a pro at any job, but competent still feels great.

Right after the births of both boys, I felt that sickening pit in my stomach. A nausea that reminded me that no matter how many classes I had taken and how many books I had read, this was the real deal and I didn't know crap. I thought the second time would be easier, but I had deluded myself into thinking a second baby instinctively knew it needed to be easier. Maybe I was right, but Fionn certainly didn't get the memo. And simultaneously moving into our first house that needed extensive renovating in the middle of Christmas time...well that was just downright insanity on our part.

Lately, though, I've started to recognize a new feeling. Maybe it's just the stages they are in, or maybe it's due in large part to the fact that Emerson is out of my hair for 4 hours a day 4 days a week, but I feel like I've finally gotten my sea legs. For sweet, albeit brief periods, I think "Maybe I AM competent!" I went through the hell fires that were the first year of babyhood - twice - and somehow we all survived.

Emerson is now fully potty-trained, which I consider to be our most monumental parenting accomplishment yet. Fionn is Mr. Independent, which means a lot of battling and screaming, but on the up-side he's learning new skills at high speed. Now that we've got a list of places to let them run around like crazy and have given up on trying to grocery shop with them, things are calmer.

This is not to say things are easy. An outing to the playground means literally running non-stop between doing "underdogs" on the swing for Emerson and keeping Fionn from hurtling himself head-first down the biggest slide. The noise level in our house is astronomical (as anyone who calls us can attest), the sibling squabbling is constant, and we still have nothing that resembles a schedule. The only thing that's certain is that sometime in the afternoon, I will have to get us all out of the house or risk mutiny.

It's nice to be the kind of mom friend that can finally swap battle stories and once in a while even offer sound advice. Although I have to say, after two such totally different kids, I'm surprised at how many parenting dilemmas I still can't answer. I'm now the one giving extremely frustrating sound bites to new parents - things like "sometimes you have to wait it out," or "all kids are different, so there's no right answer." Sorry.

I've worked many office jobs - all in non-profits - but the lay of the land was different in each one. Every first day left me feeling off-balance and I wasn't sure I'd ever feel like a pro. But it passed.

This job certainly hasn't come with any real training and the lay of the land is completely different with each child. I wasn't sure I would ever feel capable of getting through the day much less another 18 years. But slowly, it's passing.

Now if I could just figure out how to get more paid time off and sickleave....


In a poignant parenting moment, Fionn crawled into the dog bed one night and fell asleep. We left him there so we could watch a movie.

Albinism in Pop Culture

(This doesn't count as my Friday post, but I still had to share)


Another villain who looks like a person with albinism. How....original.


Wesley MacInnes as "Iceman" in Smallville

Honestly, my first thought when I saw this was, "Smallville is still on? And people actually watch it?"