Chookooloonks

Callaloo

While we're packing up, I thought I'd go ahead and introduce you guys to a new blog I've started, called Callaloo. As I was looking around for really solid websites on Trinidad & Tobago in anticipation of our move, I found the internet sorely lacking. So I decided to create one of my own. I figured that by dedicating myself to writing about Trinidad, it would provide additional incentive to get out and learn more about modern-day Trinidad (given that the Trinidad I'm truly familiar with is the one of 20 years ago!).

The word "callaloo" refers to a traditional Trinidadian soup, made of a leaf called "dasheen," (shown in the picture, above) and okra -- sort of like a vegetarian gumbo, but often with whole crab floating in it. The word is also used to mean something like a "potpourri" -- and therefore, I named the blog "callaloo" to refer to the collection of thoughts and observations on Trinidad that it would contain.

Obviously, since our move has been delayed, my writing for Callaloo has been sporadic -- it's difficult to write about observations of Trinidad if I'm not there to observe anything. But, I promise, once there, I'll write more often, and you'll see lots of pictures of Trinidad, learn Trinidadian words and phrases, and generally become complete experts on my little island homeland.

But worry not: Chookooloonks will live on, so you can keep up with the life and times of Girlie-girl.

So, click here to see Callaloo (or on the "Callaloo" button to the lower right of this page), and bookmark the site. I hope you enjoy it. I promise to work really hard to make it worth your while.

We're still here, and Alexis R.

So you'll notice we're still here in Houston. I said that we were going to be in Trinidad by February 1st, but it's probably painfully obvious that we're not leaving yet. There's a reason for this. Because of some scheduling difficulties, The Company has moved Marcus' start date in Trinidad to March 1st.

Which, frankly, is a good thing. There was no way we were going to get our house sold, our cars sold, and our home packed and moved by February 1st. So let's all breathe a silent prayer of thanks to the Moving Gods.

The movers, however, are coming on Monday -- we figured we might as well get the goods on the water, and on their way. This, therefore, means I may be devoid of internet connection for a bit.

So while we wait for me to log on again, I present to you the percussive stylings of Alexis R.:

It could be just the proud mum in me talking, but I think the kid bears a striking resemblance to Sheila E.

I'm just sayin'.

Back to the Future

Wanna see something wild?

Me, at about 12 months old, and my mom

Alex, at about 11 months old, and me

God help me, there's now photographic evidence:

I'm turning into my mother.

Man, they'll let anybody in this country ...

Back in the olden days, when "9-1-1" just meant the number you dialed to call an ambulance, or a bright red shiny fire truck, or even your friendly neighbourhood policeman, the UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY was called the "Immigration and Naturalization Service," or "INS" for short. To me, "Immigration and Naturalization Service" was such a warm, friendly name -- sort of like: "Hi. We're here to help you with your immigration and naturalization needs. At your service." I used to envision a group of elderly public servants, standing at the borders of the U.S. with giant smiles on their faces -- kind of like the government's answer to WalMart Greeters, I guess.

However, it's a new age, baby. There are some scary people out there. The United States will still accept your tired, your poor and your huddled masses yearning to breathe free -- but only under very controlled circumstances. No need for the whole world to think that the U.S. is one giant welcome mat, right? Well, that's certainly what the U.S. government thought after September 11, and therefore decided to come up with a far more foreboding, intimidating name for INS. As such, the UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY was born. The name just sounds like it should be in all caps, doesn't it?

So anyway, this week Alex and I accompanied Marcus to the UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY for the final interview for his green card. The interview was short and sweet.

The good news: I present to you one of America's newest Resident Aliens and green card holders:

(Note: This is Marcus' imitation of a terrorist. Strikes fear in your heart, doesn't it? Needless to say, he didn't do this for the immigration officer.)

The bad news: When Marcus gets out of hand, I can no longer use the threat, "Boy, don't make me call the UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY!"

I'm going to have to think of something else.

Fast.

"MAH-mee, this is Alex. Come in, MAH-mee..."

The growing seems to have kicked into high gear, lately, particularly in the "baby-trying-her-damnedest-to-communicate" category. Alex is 10-1/2 months old, and is starting to get very chatty. Very little of it is intelligible, you understand, but don't think that stops her in the least. There are times when she'll talk to herself for minutes on end, raising certain inflection points in her voice: screaming at times, and at other times, barely whispering. Once in a while, during these little rants, Marcus and I will try to join in her little "conversation," but usually she'll just glance at us, turn away, and continue her soliloquy, all by herself.

Kid's got issues.

That said, there are a few words that we can definitely make out:

"Dada" -- her first word, at around 7 months. It's obvious that she really was trying to say "ma-ma," but her little mouth just couldn't form the sound.

I'm just sayin'.

"Mama" -- used only when she wants something.

"UH-oh!" -- usually signalling that something has fallen, but occasionally used as an indication that she's about to drop or throw something. Stinker.

"DOG!" -- usually said with squeals of delight. Alex loves dogs. There is no doubt that there will eventually be a dog in our household. Which suits me just fine, since I love dogs. (Marcus loves cats. Alex doesn't really care about cats. Therefore, Marcus pouts.)

Lately, however, there are a few new words that have elevated the communication thing to a whole new level. To wit:

"DAT!" -- She usually accompanies this exclamation with a finger-point, either toward a ceiling fan (she LOVES ceiling fans. I tell ya, the kid's got issues), or something new that she's never noticed before. Marcus and I have translated this to mean "what's that?", which we think is correct, because last night, she said, as clear as day...

... "What's dat?" -- Okay, I know what you're saying. You're saying to the computer screen, "Karen, PLEASE. The child is 10 months old. She did NOT say 'What's dat?' You're simply one of those overzealous moms. Get over yourself." And you know what? Normally, I'd say you're right.

Except I had a witness. My friend Marion was standing next to us when she said it, and she looked as incredulous as I was. I'm telling you, the kid said her first sentence.

And finally:

"MAH-mee." Alex has recently dropped the whole "Mama" thing in deference to "MAH-mee." And I will admit -- my heart melts every time she says it.

And, bless her little cotton socks, she says it a lot.

Okay, now for the gratuitous Alex picture. As you know, I try to post a recent picture of Alex with most of my entries -- except, I've been a bit remiss in my picture-taking. The most recent pictures of Alex that I currently have are her naked-baby pictures, and I couldn't possibly post another one of those. I mean, I'm mean, but I'm not that mean.

So, instead, I decided to use one of my earlier pictures of Alex. Here's one, previously unpublished, of Girlie-girl at 8 days old:

She's come a long way, baby.

Walk This Way

The following is a Quicktime video of some of Alex's first steps. This video is brought to you by Marcus' Canon ZR85 digital camcorder, my iMovie software, the indefatigable Aerosmith and those paragons of '80's rap, Run DMC. As is always the case, allow a minute to download, and longer if you have a slower connection.

Download walk_this_way.mov

Remember: Panic sells

I interrupt Chookooloonks for the following editorial:

Recently, several people have asked me my opinion about this story. Well, not so much "asked my opinion," as much as said something closer to: "DEAR GOD, DID YOU HEAR THAT STORY ABOUT A JUDGE WHO RIPPED THIS COUPLE'S CHILD FROM THEIR VERY ARMS, AND RETURNED THE CHILD TO THE BIRTHMOTHER? AREN'T YOU PETRIFIED?!?!? YOU COULD LOSE ALEX FOREVER!!!! And then they search my face for a reaction with their wide, panic-striken eyes.

For those of you who haven't read the story, it's a bit confusing. But basically, the facts appear to be as follows:

- BioMom gets pregnant.

- BioMom chooses Adoptive Parents to raise Kid.

- Adoptive Parents are present for Kid's birth, and take Kid home after 2 days.

- BioMom visits Adoptive Parents and Kid regularly.

- Right before the adoption is final (<-- Note: VERY important fact), BioDad pops up, contests the adoption and files claim for custody of Kid.

- The court finds that BioDad has the right to contest the adoption, and are about to award BioDad custody of Kid.

- Seeing BioDad about to get custody, BioMom goes "oh HELL, no," and files her OWN claim for custody of Kid.

- Hijinx ensue.

- Three-and-a-half years later, court awards BioMom custody of Kid.

Okay, I certainly see why this story is disturbing. I mean, here we have these poor adoptive parents who have bonded with this child for 3-1/2 years, only to be told that they're actually not mom & dad. I can't imagine their anguish.

That said, this story doesn't worry me about our adoption situation in the least. There are several reasons for this:

1) That was Florida, this is Texas. Adoption laws vary from state-to-state; and

2) At the time that BioDad contested the adoption, his rights were obviously not yet terminated. Alex's biodad's parental rights were terminated within 8 weeks of her birth; and finally

3) The adoption wasn't final. This is very important. Most people who relate this story to me seem to be under the impression that the judge reversed an adoption order -- this was not the case. The court simply refused to grant the adoption.

In our case, the adoption of Alex is oh-so-very final. What the Fort Bend County Court has decreed, let no man put asunder.

What does worry me about this story, however, is its effect on prospective adoptive parents. I worry that couples who may be considering adoption as their way to grow their family may be turned off by this story, believing that all (or a significant percentage of) adoptions fail, or are reversed, or are somehow "unofficial." I worry that waiting children may have to wait longer, because the press has chosen to sensationalize this particular story, making it appear to be the rule, rather than the exception. I worry that people will become anti- open adoptions, believing that all birthmothers are "stalkers" or "unable to let go."

So, as my public service announcement for today, let me state, unequivocally, to anyone contemplating adoption, the following:

1). The reason that you read about failed adoptions in the press is because failure sells. You don't hear about the successful, healthy adoptions because, let's face it, "successful" and "healthy" often aren't sexy. The truth is that a stunning majority of adoptions end happily, with well-adjusted adoptive parents parenting well-adjusted adopted kids.

2). That said, when entering into an adoptive relationship, remember that nothing can replace a good, knowledgeable adoption agency and/or attorney specializing in adoption. Adoption is tricky. Do NOT go this alone.

3) While all birthmothers certainly experience feelings of loss, they are NOT all "stalkers" or "unable to let go." With Alex's birthmother, I have never, EVER felt like she would stalk us, or contest the adoption, or do anything which threatened Alex or our relationship with Alex. And, remember, I say this in light of my January 16th post. Again, stories of stalker birthmoms sell. They are the exception, NOT the rule.

Don't get me wrong: adoption isn't easy. But it's not the nightmare the press likes to portray. And frankly, as happy as Marcus' life and my life have generally always been, adoption is the best thing that ever happened to us.

Period.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled Chookooloonks.

That's One Small Step for Alex...

Last night, Marcus and I were sitting on the couch in the lounge area of our kitchen, surfing the web and talking about our impending move.  Alex was standing across from us, using an armchair for support, babbling away.  She does that a lot, the babbling.  To the point where sometimes, I'll admit, Marcus and I sort of tune it out.  We ascribe to the philosphy that if she's not shrieking in pain, she's fine.

"We need to turn in a 'change of address' card to the post office," I said to Marcus.

"I wonder how much we'll get for our cars?"  he responded.

"Think we can get the movers to come ..." I started to answer back.  Then I looked over at Alex.

Alex was in the middle of the room, walking towards us, completely unsupported, babbling away.

"The hills are alive with the sound of ... OUCH!"  Marcus said, rubbing his arm where I hit him.  "What is your..."   And then he noticed Alex coming at us.

We both sat there, staring at her, with idiotic grins on our faces.  Alex stopped babbling, and looked at us as if we'd fallen out of tree.  "What?" she seemed to say, impatiently.

Then she finished walking to Marcus.

Marcus and I looked at each other, our eyes shining, our faces beaming.

Then, the magnitude of what just happened hit us.

NOW, we're in trouble.

Preparations to Go, and The Plight of Open Adoption

We're back from Trinidad, and now the preparations for our move begin in earnest. Riddle me this: why is it, no matter where you're moving, whether it's to a larger place, or a smaller place, you end up spending practically every last penny you have on "new things for the new home"? We're losing our minds with the spending, and the buying, and the spending.

One frugally-minded thing we did this weekend, though, was take our poor beaten-up adirondack chairs and refinish them, taking them from a worn, weathered beige to a bright, Caribbean-sky blue. I can't wait to put them on our new porch.

Our other major weekend activity was meeting Alex's birthmother for one last visit before we left. When we'd last met, we had promised each other we would see each other in March, around Alex's birthday. Obviously, it doesn't look like we're going to be here in March, so I'd called her to schedule some time for her to see Alex before leaving.

It did not go well.

We met her, her sons and some other family members at Joe's Crab Shack. Lunch was pleasant enough, although she spent a significant portion of the time crying. While our moving should not have been a shock to her (we'd told her before Alex's birth that the chances of our remaining in Houston were slim, given Marcus' job, our nationalities, etc.), I nevertheless did my best to comfort her, reminding her that we would be returning to Houston once a year, and therefore this move would not affect the annual visits we'd planned prior to placement.

My reasoning didn't seem to make much difference.

Finally, at the end of lunch, as she drove off in the passenger seat of her sister-in-law's car, we watched her melt down. She became hysterical: screaming, clawing at her face, pulling at her hair.

I know she'll be fine -- on more than one occasion, she's mentioned how thrilled she is with the parents Marcus and I have become, and the numerous opportunities she knows will be available to Alex. Besides, and I say this with all due respect and love, in unrelated circumstances she has been known to display quite the flair for the melodramatic. Judging from the unconcerned expression on her sister-in-law's face while they left, and while I'm sure that she's very sad to see us leave, I suspect some of her reaction was for theatrical value. So I know she'll be fine. Really.

As for me? Well, frankly, I'm still grappling with what I'm supposed to feel.

Dateline From Trinidad: The Bad News and The Good News

The Bad News: We're completely wiped from seeing house after house after house.

The Good News: We found a place.

The Bad News: We didn't get a house, we got an apartment.

The Good News: We love this apartment.

The Bad News: It's not on the beach.

The Good News: It's 10-15 minutes' drive away from one of Trinidad's best beaches. Marcus gets to surf again.

The Bad News: It's not in the trendy part of the city.

The Good News: It's in a quiet part of the city. In the hills. Where's there's mountain biking. Marcus gets to bike on actual hills again.

The Bad News: We don't have an ocean view from our patio.

The Good News: It's still a pretty view:

Okay, now I'm getting excited.