Chookooloonks

right before i beaned him with a christmas ornament

"I don't know...maybe we should have another child."

"Why -- you want to get pregnant?"

Silence.

"Well??"

"Marcus, just because I suggest something you don't want doesn't mean you have to get ridiculous."

"Well, it seems that your being pregnant would be far less stressful than what we went through before."

"Says you! You don't have to carry the baby!"

"SEE? That's half the stress gone already!"

alex's quilt

Back in September 2003, Marcus and I walked into an adoption agency for the first time in our lives, in order to attend an orientation session. The staff were warm, and friendly, and full of information. The group of prospective parents gathered was comprised of about eight white couples, one black couple, and Marcus and me.

At the end of the orientation, the director took some time to meet each of us, couple by couple, individually. When she got to us, she asked the standard sorts of questions you'd expect an adoption agency to ask.

"So," she concluded, "You're an interracial couple, looking to adopt a biracial baby. Do me a favour: go out and buy a car seat now. Because you can't take a baby home from the hospital without a car seat."

"Umm... what?" Marcus and I looked at each other. "You think it'll be that fast?"

"Well, you never know," she smiled. "Just go ahead and do it, okay?"

We took her advice to heart. We immediately bought a car seat ... but hey, we thought, why stop there? So we bought a crib, chest-of-drawers, changing table and rocking chair. Oh, and we moved all the furniture out of the small bedroom that served as our home office, and painted the walls, and the ceiling and put the new baby stuff in. In about a week.

(Incidentally, it bears mentioning that it took 4 more months before we were actually matched with Alex's birthmother, and another 2 months for her to be born. And while, in hindsight, I realize that six months is no time at all to wait for a baby, the truth is that by the time March rolled around, I felt like the Crazy Lady Down The Street With a Full-On Nursery But No Visible Signs of Pregnancy. I'm sure my pacing back and forth on our front porch, muttering madly to myself, "The baby's comin'. Any day now, the baby's comin'," didn't help matters any, either.

But I digress.)

So anyway, once we got all the furniture in the newly-painted room with the bare walls, I realized that we needed to decorate. Okay, obviously we didn't need to decorate, I mean of course the baby wasn't going to really care, but that's half the fun of having a baby, right? The decorating? Which, of course, further helped contribute to my neighbourhood reputation as the Crazy Lady, not to mention my ever-worsening muttering problem...

... where was I?

Oh yes, the decorating. Well, we didn't know if we were having a boy or a girl because we hadn't been matched yet, and our agency didn't allow us to specify gender. So I found myself on my computer, searching online for nursery decor that wasn't too gender specific (i.e., pink or blue) or too neutral (i.e., yellow or green). Hours of surfing led to nothing, until I finally spotted the quilt you see above.

See, both Marcus and I grew up in coastal villages, and as a result, have a strong affinity for the ocean. I think I loved this quilt instantly because it had elements of both the oceans we knew so well: the tropical fish of my Caribbean Sea, and the lighthouses which dot the English coastline where Marcus grew up. Plus, the quilt has an image of a scuba diver -- the only sport for which both Marcus and I share a passion.

I bought it instantly (I wish I could remember the name of the site, but I can't, I'm sorry), and it arrived within a week. I remember hanging it on the wall next to Alex's crib, and feeling overwhelmed at how much our old office now seemed perfect for a baby. Almost three years (and an international move) later, the quilt still hangs over Alex's bed, and Alex (who, you may have noticed, also adores the ocean), loves this quilt. She shares the new things she finds in the fabric almost weekly: "Mummy, LOOK! CORAL!" "Mummy, LOOK! A WHALE!" Right now, it hangs freely off a rod; however in the next year or two I'll probably have it framed behind glass, to protect it. Eventually, I'm sure Alex want it removed from her room ("Mo-o-m! That's for BABIES!"), but hopefully, when she's an adult and moves out, she'll have developed some nostalgia for it, and will want to keep it for her own home.

But for now, it reminds me of those wonderful emotions I felt when we first began anticipating her arrival.

You know, before the crazy set in.

__________

our navajo wedding vase

When Alex was exactly six months old, we all took our first family vacation together. At the time, we were living in Houston and Alex's adoption wasn't final (the hearing was scheduled for the following week), so instead of leaving the country as Marcus and I would've liked to do, we were required to remain in America. I did a little online research, and decided that we should go to Santa Fe -- a place neither Marcus nor I had ever visited.

It was, singularly, the best vacation I've had my whole life. Santa Fe is an incredibly spiritual place; you can feel it as soon as you enter the city limits. The weather was stunning, the scenery breathtaking. We walked through the square, we hiked through ancient Native American ruins, we visited tons of art galleries. Of course, I took lots of pictures. And since at the time, both Marcus and I worked outside of our home (and neither of our jobs allowed for paid maternity or paternity leave), it was the first time we were able to spend seven straight days together as a family, all day, every day. It was a time of intense bonding for the three of us, and by the end of the seven days we felt closer to each other than ever.

On our last full day in Santa Fe, we wandered into this kitschy souvenir shop, and the vase you see above caught my eye -- I couldn't help staring at its briliant blue colour. A salesperson walked over.

"That's a Navajo wedding vase. It's traditional, symbolizing union."

"Really?" I picked up the vase and ran my hand on its smooth bowl. The vase is small -- only about 6 inches high -- but to me, it was perfect.

"Really," he smiled. "Let me know if you need help." And he walked away.

I stood there, thinking of our great holiday, and how the following week, a judge was going to pronounce us a family. Sort of like we're all officially getting married to each other, I thought to myself.

I bought it on the spot.

So, this little blue vase is not only a reminder of a great Santa Fe holiday, but also of the time we officially became a family ...

... and not just because a judge said so, either.

__________

UPDATE: Collette, a Pueblo, has informed me in the comments that this vase is of a Pueblo design, not a Navajo. The bottom of this vase is actually etched by the artist with his name, the date and the word "Navajo," which resulted in my (and possibly the salesperson's) misidentifying the vase. I apologize for the error!

__________

on adoption and race

A couple of days ago, a commenter named Meera asked what I thought of this article. It is written by a Lisa Lerner, a Jewish-American woman who adopted transracially from India, and who, as it turns out, ended up having trouble handling the fact that her daughter was dark: "even Blacks and Indians in Vaishali's and my social circle are lighter than she," she says. She concludes, "We need darker friends."

Ignoring for a moment the ridiculousness of this last statement (what's she going to do, start making friends on the basis of skin colour? "Hi, I'm Lisa. My daughter's dark -- like you, actually. I was wondering: will you be our friend?"), the general content of her article, as you can imagine, unleashed a flood of comments. Some people praised her for her courage in admitting something that was clearly difficult to admit, others blatantly called her a racist, and still others wondered why the hell she would adopt internationally when "there were plenty of children needing a home in America." I'll admit upfront that I read very few of these responses, because frankly, they didn't jibe with my initial reaction. My first thought was, "this doesn't surprise me in the least."

See, I have a theory: as superficial as it sounds, I think all prospective parents have an idea of what they hope their child will look like. "I hope the baby has my wife's eyes," a man might think. "God help me if she has my mother-in-law's nose," an expectant mother may shudder. It's human nature to imagine what your family is going to look like -- and therefore no different for adoptive parents. For this reason, I think to state that "race shouldn't matter" when adopting is naive -- race does matter. When we were considering adoption, Marcus and I specifically wanted a multiracial child, because we're an interracial couple (although what races made up the "multiracial" were much less of an issue). Even when a couple chooses to adopt transracially, if they're smart, they will have considered whether or not they can handle all of the issues that can arise when their kids don't look like their parents do, and therefore the adoption is obvious on its face. Race matters, make no mistake.

The question, therefore, is not whether the baby looks like you expected her to, but whether you can handle it if she doesn't. And this, my friends, takes some serious soul-searching -- a flippant "of course I can, I'm not racist, I have friends of all colours" is not enough. It requires honestly looking at biases that you may have based on others' skin colour, or culture, or nationality, and really being frank with yourself as to where any discomfort you feel comes from. It requires, if you choose to adopt transracially or transculturally, exploring, on a deep level, why you feel drawn to one race (or culture or nationality) or another. And frankly, it behooves you to do this WAY AHEAD OF TIME -- when your child comes home to you is probably a bit late.

As you can imagine, for some this can be a very uncomfortable exercise, since it may involve uncovering some less-than-attractive traits. The good news, however, is you don't have to tell anyone. For once, it's really no one's business why you choose to adopt internationally, or transculturally or transracially -- or hell, why you don't -- and if anyone asks, you can just smile and say something vague like, "it's just what feels right." (That said, if you do uncover some biases based on stereotypes, for your own good, you probably want to work on that -- but that's a conversation for another time).

I guess my thoughts on this were cemented some time back: a few years ago, Marcus and I heard of a situation similar to Lerner's. In this case, a couple returned their infant baby to the placing adoption agency during the six-month period pending finalization of adoption, because their African-American child was "too dark." What made this story particularly startling was that the couple were themselves African-American. I remember first thinking how preposterous I thought their position was, but you know what? Ultimately, they did the right thing: if they weren't equipped to raise the baby to be proud of who s/he was, then thank God they gave another couple the chance to do so. As for Lerner, well -- I guess I wish her the best. It's too bad she didn't confront her preconceptions before little Vaishali came home, but whatever. Here's hoping she works through them now -- for both their sakes.

Anyway, that's my take on the matter - feel free to share your own thoughts in the comments (but remember, this is a place where we differ RESPECTFULLY in opinion -- love and light, okay?). Oh and one more thing:

No one said this adoption stuff was easy.

__________

so, you want to adopt

Alex and me at the Pan Pacific Hotel, Whistler, British Columbia, June 2006. Photo by Marcus.

When I started this website exactly 2-1/2 years ago, Marcus and I were waiting ...literally...for Alex to be born. For the first six months, I wrote about what it was like to have a child all of a sudden turn up in your home -- with no pregnancy to help your mind really wrap around what was about to happen -- as well as the way our threesome turned into a family, eventually made legal by a Texas judge. To be honest, every day since then, we sort of "forget" how Alex came home to us. It's not that we're don't talk about it -- Alex loves going through the pages of her life book, and we remain in touch with her birthmother -- but from day to day, it's just not something we think about. Alex is, in every sense of the word, our daughter, save for biology.

Every now and then, however, I get an e-mail from someone who's just at the start of their adoption process, asking for advice or our thoughts on the whole process, and I'm forced to remember: Oh yeah...Alex was adopted. And even though I know the waiting and the process was sometimes excruciating and painfully emotional, I find myself feeling not unlike how my mother describes the pains she felt giving birth to my sister and me: "Karen," she says, "labour is awful, but once they place that baby in your arms, you totally forget the pain."

So there you have it. Adoption is like labour.

Anyway, because I do get a few of those emails every couple of months or so, I thought I'd take a break from chronicling our normal day-to-day lives and share some of my thoughts on the adoption process -- sort of a "what I would do differently if I knew then what I know now." Keep in mind, however, that Marcus and I adopted in the United States, so the process may be very different if you live outside of America; however, I suspect some of the issues I raise here have variations on the same themes in your own country, so adjust your perspective as necessary.

So, without further ado:

1. I'd research like the dickens. We did research, but probably not nearly enough. All my research was done on the web, and while that's certainly a fine way to get information about adoption, I found that some of the priceless information we received were from friends who'd already adopted (albeit via a different process). In any event, if you're at the start of your process, here are three websites that I'd definitely go:

- The Adoption Forums: This site has bulletin boards for every type of adoption imaginable -- so if you're looking for "gay couples who live in New Hampshire looking to adopt transracially from Guatemala," you can find people discussing all the issues that may arise in that particular type of adoption. The beauty of the boards is that the people contributing are at every stage of adoption: just starting out, second time around, just finalized, whatever. A couple of caveats: (a) the site is pretty American-centric, so if you're not in the US, some of the issues raised may not resonate with you, and (b) take everything with a grain of salt. Don't take legal advice from the bulletin boards, and sometimes there's a bit of "herd mentality" that occurs -- the usual. Still, it's a great way to see how various people have dealt with issues which may arise with your adoption.

- Adoptive Families Magazine: Probably the premiere magazine for adoptive families -- it seems like every adoption agency has a copy of this magazine on their waiting room coffee table. It's a great source for book reviews, trends in adoption law (both in the US and internationally, although it is a primarily US-centric publication), and other information that can be invaluable. I actually didn't learn about this magazine until after Alex came home to us -- I think it would've been a great resource beforehand.

- Google, Technorati, etc.: I think probably one of the greatest resources out there -- probably more abundantly so than when we were going through our adoption -- are other adoption blogs. It's really nice to read personal accounts of people who've been through the process, and I think, generally, if someone's willing to blog about their experience, they're also willing to answer your e-mails if you have any questions. I'm not great about answering e-mails myself, but I try really hard to answer all the e-mails I receive from people going through the adoption process -- because I know what they're going through. Don't be afraid to contact adoption bloggers directly.

2. I'd think long and hard about who I would tell that we were adopting. This is actually a difficult one -- on one hand, you want to tell the world (it's the equivalent of, "Hey! We're pregnant!"), on the other hand, the world may not be ready to hear it. It was actually quite startling how many confused or negative responses we got ("Are you okay?" "Are you sure?" "Ooooh... I dunno, man ...adoption..."). On the other other hand, we also ended up discovering friends who were great resources and sounding boards while we were going through the waiting period ("You're adopting? You know, I was adopted...")...

Man, I don't know. I guess, when I think about it, just be prepared for anything when you share your news.

3. Be careful who you listen to. I realize this is pretty rich coming from me, since I'm boldly giving advice here, but seriously, be careful. The adoption world is full of (a) scary stories and (b) people who have no experience with adoption who love to retell scary stories. Just research, hold your cards close to the vest, and take everything you hear (or read) with a grain of salt. And trust your instincts. Generally, they won't lead you wrong.

Oh, and of course, after all the waiting, and the paper chase, and the travel (if applicable), and the dear birthmother books (if applicable), and the legal hurdles, and the anticipation...

...it's all worth it in the end:

Anyway, that's pretty much all I can think of for now. How about those of you who've been on the adoption journey already -- what else would you add?

my cyberally

My latest post at DotMoms is up -- please stop by and take a gander.

Oh, and Brat? This one's for you.

seething

Please read this piece in the Los Angeles Times, and then this article I wrote on Blogging Baby about it, and if you're as angry as I am, please voice your opinion by e-mailing [email protected], where you can lodge complaints about the "journalistic standards" of a writer, or sending a general letter to the LA Times editors at [email protected].

Thanks.

________________________

Update: You'll see that in a fit of anger, I've closed comments to this post. Now that I've had a night of sleep, I feel that I owe you an explanation.

My feelings about this article are best analogized by my feelings about racist jokes. In a nutshell, I can't stand racist jokes, regardless of the targeted race. The reason? Because I believe, at their core, every racist joke (no matter how clever, or nuanced, or "satirical"), perpetuates a stereotype, and most often the stereotype is a very unflattering, gross generalization. As a result, I don't entertain them. From anyone. It is one of the areas of my life where I feel no guilt about walking away from someone who persists on telling them.

I feel the same way about this article. If, in fact, the article is meant to be satirical (and I'm still not convinced it is), then, at its core, it perpetuates a stereotype about adoption. It doesn't matter if you're one of the clever people who "gets it," or understands its satirical nature -- many others don't get it, and are offended by it. And therefore, the nature of the article offends me.

All that said, I understand that many of you do not find offense in the article. And you know what? That's fine -- you're entitled to your opinion. But please remember, I'm entitled to mine. I wrote this original post to encourage people who were as disturbed by it as I was to voice their concerns, not to change the minds of those of you who were not angered by it. In return, I ask those of you who are not disturbed by this article to resist your temptation to email me to try to change my mind. Like many who have tried to change my mind about racist jokes, you won't succeed.

Thanks.

two cool things about adoption

Alex, after a nice long nap

There are many great things about adoption, but I shall highlight two. One of them was actually mentioned in the comments to my post yesterday, by the lovely Jenny:

"...the one lesson I learned from that experience is that I will encourage my children to be whatever they want to be, and let them find out for themselves whether they truly have the dedication and talent for a particular field. I actually think it will be a little easier to do that with an adopted child, since I don't feel I will have the same "genetic" expectations in that situation. (Do you find this to be true with Alex?)"

Why, yes, Jenny, I do. There's something quite freeing about being a parent to a child who was adopted -- you never have to look to see if your child inherited some special gift that you have, or an unusual talent that your partner has. Every unique, special and wonderful aspect of your child is revealed to you at the same time it is revealed to her, and it's as much of a surprise to you as it is to her. And so that's kind of cool.

The other thing that's really fantastic about adoption ... well, our adoption, anyway ... is the face you see above.

I love that face.

Have a great weekend.

identity...and obligation

Self-portrait taken Sunday, March 12, 2006, "down de islands"

So, a couple of things have happened over the last couple of months that make me feel like I need to say something here on Chookooloonks. It's something I've never said before in the presence of the World Wide Internet. But, apparently, based on several e-mails I've received, it's time to own up. You might want to sit down for this.

Ladies and gentlemen: Marcus and I are in an interracial marriage.

For some reason, the fact that Marcus and I have different racial backgrounds has become something of a curiosity lately. First, I received that rather ugly e-mail a few months ago (you know the one, no need to rehash it here). Then, as a result of that nasty little episode, one of you suggested (in the most wonderfully respectful way possible, I might add) that I discuss what it was like to be in the United States in an interracial marriage. And recently, I received an e-mail at Blogging Baby from a curious reader, asking if the fact that Marcus and I were an interracial couple made our adoption process more difficult. I'm starting to think that our muticulturality (is that a word?) is sort of the large elephant in the room that needs to be addressed.

To be honest with you, our interracial marriage has been something I've purposely not discussed here (or at Blogging Baby, for that matter). The reason? It's not an issue. Ever. Marcus and I are two people who fell in love and married. Period. The reason it's not an issue, I think, is because Marcus and I are each very comfortable in our own skins -- both figuratively and literally. We're also very comfortable with who the other person is, too, so there's no need to discuss anything from that perspective. Further, when we decided to adopt (and requested a multiracial child), luckily there was a waiting birthmother who wanted an interracial couple to parent her unborn baby, so there was no issue there. The only time it's ever been an issue, frankly, is when people we don't know perceive that their should be an issue, and ask questions or make comments. And, come to think of it, even that doesn't happen very often. And so, I've never seen any reason to make it an issue here.

Therefore, and I say this with as much love and respect as possible, please understand that if you do ask a question about our races and how they affect our marriage or us as a family, I will likely decline to answer. That said, I'm pretty open about our family life here on Chookooloonks -- so feel free to read the entries and look at the photographs, and make your own decisions or develop the answers to your questions as you see fit.

This subject, however, plays really nicely into what I mentioned I was going to blog about earlier: the "identity...and obligation" topic that the panel I'm on at BlogHer is supposed to discuss this summer. I was recently in a conversation with several other bloggers discussing how we choose what we reveal on our blogs, and whether, in so doing, we feel a responsibility to "represent" what we reveal. The discussion continued by sharing whether we feel we lose credibility wiht those of our readers who don't share the characteristic that we are choosing to display. Clearly the characteristics we choose to reveal or hide can be much more than race -- for some it might be gender, or nationality, or profession or even place of business. But in any event, the questions of representation and obligation remain.

For my part, I suppose, at some level I'm aware that many readers may not be familiar with Trinidad, or adoption, or, hell, interracial relationships, and I'm aware that my blog has the power to shape some of those preconceived perceptions. But do I feel a responsibility to represent Trinidad, adoptive families, or interracial relationships?

Well, yeah...maybe.

But I do know I don't feel any more of a responsibility to represent those aspects of myself than I do any other aspect. And I certainly do not compromise my honest feelings or emotions about any characteristic of myself or my circumstances when I write what I write here on Chookooloonks. The truth is, ultimately, what you see is what you get: I'm a black, multiracial woman in an interracial relationship with a biracial child in a multicultural country. I'm a lawyer who left behind a hard-hitting career to stay home with my kid, write and shoot pictures. Take me or leave me.

Anyway, enough of that. I'd be interested in reading your thoughts: when you blog (if you blog), how comfortable are you in revealing the characteristics that most shape your identity in the real world? And if you do you reveal those characteristics, do you feel obligated to represent them and those who possess them?

As always, feel free to remain anonymous as you like when you comment. Inquiring minds want to know.

And don't forget: when you comment, repeat after me -- "love and light, love and light..."

alex's life book

NOW what do I do?

Last week on Blogging Baby I wrote about my renewed interest to create a life book for Alex. For those who aren't familiar with these books, they're sort of a special kind of baby book for kids who were adopted. This book basically helps tell the story about how they come to be a part of their families.

I hadn't kept a life book for Alex for a couple of reasons: (a) I had Chookooloonks, and I figured I was chronicling her life by simply keeping this blog up, and (b) (warning: extreme laziness to follow) I was hoping that by now, someone who lived close to us would be pregnant, and I could explain how the baby was inside the mummy's tummy, and that she used to be inside her birthmummy's tummy, and the story of her adoption would naturally follow. Unfortunately, however, none of my female friends have been particularly obliging on this front, and seeing as the only person I know who is pregnant is my sister, and she lives thousands of miles away, my cunning plan is clearly a bust.

Thanks a lot, people.

Anyway, lately, I've been remembering a conversation I had with a friend of mine who adopted two of his children, and he said that the life books he and his wife created for them have been a real source of pride; his daughter often takes hers to show-and-tell at school. And Alex is at an age now where she's really beginning to understand and hold conversations with me, so I figure now's as good a time to start creating a life book for her as any.

Thing is, I have NO clue what to do. I mean, I know I can take a pretty decent photograph (and God knows I have THOUSANDS, literally, of Alex to choose from), but seriously, I'm no scrapbooker. Since we're here in Houston, I went to the art supply store to buy what I thought I needed, and as soon as I walked in, I was promptly overwhelmed. A kindly Texan woman with big, bleached hair, flaming red lips and dragon-lady nails, and a startling southern drawl noticed my distress.

"WAY-ell, HUUUUNNNNey? What see-eee-ms to be the TRUUBBBBBLE??" No one can add syllables to a word like a Texan.

"I.. um... I'm trying to create a life book for my daughter, and I have no idea what to do. I've never scrapbooked before."

"Oh SWEEEE-EEEE-TIE! It's just about the EASIEST thang a perrsson can DO! You jus' lay-et it flow! Here, come look at these PRAYESHUS STI-I-CKERS," and she led me to the most God-awful glittery things I've ever seen.

I'm not a glittery person.

For the next 20 minutes, this well-meaning woman wouldn't let me out of her sight, whisking me from flower-infused-papers to "scrapbook jewelry" (??) to specialty glues. By the time she realized I was a hopeless case, I was more overwhelmed than ever.

Still, I managed to purchase a few items (to the tune of way-too-many-dollars), and I now have a pile of stuff that is sitting here. Mocking me.

I still really have no idea where to start. Clearly, I'll use photographs. And one person gave me the idea of using some of the posts I've done here on Chookooloonks -- I'll probably handwrite a few of them (like the one where she came home), and include them in the book. But otherwise, I don't really know what else to do.

Any ideas?