Did I ever tell you that Mrs. McCave
Had twenty-three sons and she named them all Dave?
Well, she did. And that wasn't a smart thing to do.
You see, when she wants one and calls out, "Yoo-Hoo!
Come into the house, Dave!" she doesn't get one.
All twenty-three Daves of hers come on the run!
This makes things quite difficult at the McCaves'
As you can imagine, with so many Daves.
And often she wishes that, when they were born,
She had named one of them Bodkin Van Horn
And one of them Hoos-Foos. And one of them Snimm.
And one of them Hot-Shot. And one Sunny Jim.
And one of them Shadrack. And one of them Blinkey.
And one of them Stuffy. And one of them Stinkey.
Another one Putt-Putt. Another one Moon Face.
Another one Marvin O'Gravel Balloon Face.
And one of them Ziggy. And one Soggy Muff.
One Buffalo Bill. And one Biffalo Buff.
And one of them Sneepy. And one Weepy Weed.
And one Paris Garters. And one Harris Tweed.
And one of them Sir Michael Carmichael Zutt
And one of them Oliver Boliver Butt
And one of them Zanzibar Buck-Buck McFate ...
But she didn't do it. And now it's too late.
-Theodor Geisel
Monday, April 18, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Two too many Kevins
Our two Ethiopian daughters came with indeterminate birthdates. Their birth mother did not even make a guess at their ages, leaving the choice of dates and ages up to the social worker who did the initial orphanage intake interview. The girls' birthdates were chosen with some thought, and then also some randomness. Unable to ask the mother if she remembered even what season they were born in - Ethiopia's tourist slogan is "Thirteen months of sunshine," and every day does seem like the one before - the social worker presumably picked a month and day out of a hat. Amazingly, he chose a date already on my calendar as my fourth daughter's birthday for G's big day. A just missed our third daughter's birthday by two days. With 365 days to choose from, does that seem a bit odd?
The girls also came home with us saddled with strange names - not their first, given Ethiopian names, but their middle names. The adoption process in Addis Ababa dictates that all adopted children are given their father's first name as their middle name. So we have two little girls named A and G Kevin Horner-Richardson. We had never planned on changing our daughters' first names: they were chosen by their Ethiopian mother and both have beautiful meanings, but we found ourselves forced into choosing new middle names (unless we wanted them to go through life with the middle name Kevin). We did not realize at first that we had to choose their new names within 30 days of arriving home. Fortunately I finally read the fine print in our Welcome Home Instructions 26 days after we arrived back.
Feeling like we did when it was time to leave the hospital when we had not yet settled on a name, we tried our several in quick succession. We wondered if the girls had a preference - they certainly have strong opinions about most other aspects of life, we reasoned. "G," we said, "do you like Rachel or Rebekah?"
"What?" she asked, screwing up her face, twisting her neck and peering at us through the lower left corner of her eye like she sometimes does. I think she thought we were asking her about what she wanted for dinner, or which outfit she wanted to wear but she didn't recognize any of the choices.
"Names" we said brightly, wondering how to mime the concept, "Your American names." We ran through each of our own names, pouncing on the MIDDLE name each time, to try to make the point that in America we all have THREE names, but she thought we wanted to hear her Ethiopian last name, the one name we were not considering. We tried asking again what she thought of several possible names, but she just shook her head and began to look disinterested. At one point she laughed, and we wondered how we would know if a name we innocently chose might sound like something offensive in Amharic - which we never figured out.
So, we filled out the paperwork at the last minute with the names G Rachel and A Lily, followed by the ponderous Horner-Richardson. We don't know when, if ever, the girls will use those names. We wanted to give them the option of a name, should they ever want one, that does not make their softball coach ask what gender they are. (That happened this week.) They may never choose to be known by any name but the one they were christened with at the church in Woliso, Ethiopia, but this naming seems to be one more step in the adoption dance which we are clumsily trying to learn.
The girls also came home with us saddled with strange names - not their first, given Ethiopian names, but their middle names. The adoption process in Addis Ababa dictates that all adopted children are given their father's first name as their middle name. So we have two little girls named A and G Kevin Horner-Richardson. We had never planned on changing our daughters' first names: they were chosen by their Ethiopian mother and both have beautiful meanings, but we found ourselves forced into choosing new middle names (unless we wanted them to go through life with the middle name Kevin). We did not realize at first that we had to choose their new names within 30 days of arriving home. Fortunately I finally read the fine print in our Welcome Home Instructions 26 days after we arrived back.
Feeling like we did when it was time to leave the hospital when we had not yet settled on a name, we tried our several in quick succession. We wondered if the girls had a preference - they certainly have strong opinions about most other aspects of life, we reasoned. "G," we said, "do you like Rachel or Rebekah?"
"What?" she asked, screwing up her face, twisting her neck and peering at us through the lower left corner of her eye like she sometimes does. I think she thought we were asking her about what she wanted for dinner, or which outfit she wanted to wear but she didn't recognize any of the choices.
"Names" we said brightly, wondering how to mime the concept, "Your American names." We ran through each of our own names, pouncing on the MIDDLE name each time, to try to make the point that in America we all have THREE names, but she thought we wanted to hear her Ethiopian last name, the one name we were not considering. We tried asking again what she thought of several possible names, but she just shook her head and began to look disinterested. At one point she laughed, and we wondered how we would know if a name we innocently chose might sound like something offensive in Amharic - which we never figured out.
So, we filled out the paperwork at the last minute with the names G Rachel and A Lily, followed by the ponderous Horner-Richardson. We don't know when, if ever, the girls will use those names. We wanted to give them the option of a name, should they ever want one, that does not make their softball coach ask what gender they are. (That happened this week.) They may never choose to be known by any name but the one they were christened with at the church in Woliso, Ethiopia, but this naming seems to be one more step in the adoption dance which we are clumsily trying to learn.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Are we having fun yet?
I was a melancholy baby from day one, I bet. I've never asked my mom what my infant temperament was like, and I'm smiling in the old Olan Mills studio prints still hanging on some wall somewhere, but as far back as I can remember I've been looking at a half-empty glass and wishing it were half-full. I've always been singing the blues in my heart of hearts. And I know most of my writing reflects that.
So I'm happy to report that in spite of my perpetual angst, there is a lot of giggling going on in my house these days. Although my newest daughters are around 5 and 7 years old, they are babes in the woods - the New England woods - when it comes to American life. It's so much fun to see so many firsts again - the kind of events I remember from my older children's toddler days. So far I have witnessed the first bubble bath, the first king-sized bed (which is not, unfortunately, in my bedroom), the first escalator, the first plane ride, the first leotard, the first tights, the first snow and the first trampoline. Not to mention the first pizza, the first yogurt, the first Ritz crackers and the first cheerios. There have been so many first foods that the first question our youngest asks about anything she's never seen before is "Eating??" A rubber ball, a cupcake liner, a die from a game, a tube of face cream - "Eating, Mum? Eating?" she asks with an inquisitive look.
Another word we hear often is "mechina," car. These girls love nothing more than to ride in the car. Anytime anyone reaches for the car keys or mentions the word "car" they are rushing for their coats and shoes. I never thought anyone would love the car more than our poodle, but I was wrong. With their limited English, and my limited Amharic, (we both know food and potty words in each others' language), our conversations often consist of strings of single words. Bedtime conversation often runs like this: "Mum, sleep, good morning, eat, clothes, brush teeth, mechina, anh?" To which I reply, "Sleep, good morning, eat, clothes, brush teeth, play, lunch, THEN mechina." So we understand each other.
Of course, I hear the word "no" frequently - though probably not nearly as often as they hear it! Abonesh has a very serious little face and she usually accompanies her earnest "no" with a finger shaking back and forth. She will indicate the food, the toy, the activity I've proposed and very seriously shake her finger in my face saying "Abonesh, no." Gudinesh has more language at her disposal, and is likely to offer an animated diatribe in Amharic before she emphatically states, "This, Gudinesh, no."
They are as fierce as any revolutionary when it comes to equality. Everything must be measured and counted. If Abonesh has found a pair of socks in her drawer which have not yet been worn, Gudinesh calls them to my attention immediately, and demands a new pair, too. If Abonesh has had two hard-boiled eggs and Gudinesh is still eating her first I must NOT offer a third to Abonesh - no matter how many more eggs are left. I have to count out the Ritz crackers and measure the peanuts, tea mugs must be identical or there will be hell to pay. I'm getting the hang of the Bobbsey Twins routine, however, and don't make nearly as many faux pas as I did the first weeks.
They love to sing. The Ethiopian national anthem, the names of their sisters and brothers, Frere Jacques with unintelligible words, "America the Beautiful" which they've probably heard once, they sing them all. Any time they are happy or content they begin singing whatever comes to mind. One will start a repetitive little tune, and soon the other will join in. We drove two hours last weekend to visit their older brother and sister; for at least half the trip Abonesh was happily singing, "Ransom, Casey, Anna" to a little tune she'd made up. Gudinesh joined in as well. More music in the house (or the car) is definitely a good thing.
I even think it's a good sign that they now feel free to beg for things in the store. The first weeks home they never asked for anything, but now they beg for frozen pizza, chocolate milk, shoes, hair ornaments, books they cannot read, jewlery and balloons. Gudinesh shamelessly hugs me and says, "Mommy I love you," when she especially wants something. How gullible does she think I am?? The frozen food case makes them squeal when they open the door, they still get a kick out of the electric eye doors at the grocery store. Even though Gudinesh feels too old for many things, she loves riding in the grocery cart. Her legs are so long we couldn't figure out how to get her out the first time, but now we've got a method.
I still ask myself several times a day, "Am I glad we did this?" "Am I so tired because I'm just too old for this?" "Will this ever feel normal?" So I'm especially grateful for the moments when we all just laugh together and marvel at how amazing it is that we should be here together at all.
So I'm happy to report that in spite of my perpetual angst, there is a lot of giggling going on in my house these days. Although my newest daughters are around 5 and 7 years old, they are babes in the woods - the New England woods - when it comes to American life. It's so much fun to see so many firsts again - the kind of events I remember from my older children's toddler days. So far I have witnessed the first bubble bath, the first king-sized bed (which is not, unfortunately, in my bedroom), the first escalator, the first plane ride, the first leotard, the first tights, the first snow and the first trampoline. Not to mention the first pizza, the first yogurt, the first Ritz crackers and the first cheerios. There have been so many first foods that the first question our youngest asks about anything she's never seen before is "Eating??" A rubber ball, a cupcake liner, a die from a game, a tube of face cream - "Eating, Mum? Eating?" she asks with an inquisitive look.
Another word we hear often is "mechina," car. These girls love nothing more than to ride in the car. Anytime anyone reaches for the car keys or mentions the word "car" they are rushing for their coats and shoes. I never thought anyone would love the car more than our poodle, but I was wrong. With their limited English, and my limited Amharic, (we both know food and potty words in each others' language), our conversations often consist of strings of single words. Bedtime conversation often runs like this: "Mum, sleep, good morning, eat, clothes, brush teeth, mechina, anh?" To which I reply, "Sleep, good morning, eat, clothes, brush teeth, play, lunch, THEN mechina." So we understand each other.
Of course, I hear the word "no" frequently - though probably not nearly as often as they hear it! Abonesh has a very serious little face and she usually accompanies her earnest "no" with a finger shaking back and forth. She will indicate the food, the toy, the activity I've proposed and very seriously shake her finger in my face saying "Abonesh, no." Gudinesh has more language at her disposal, and is likely to offer an animated diatribe in Amharic before she emphatically states, "This, Gudinesh, no."
They are as fierce as any revolutionary when it comes to equality. Everything must be measured and counted. If Abonesh has found a pair of socks in her drawer which have not yet been worn, Gudinesh calls them to my attention immediately, and demands a new pair, too. If Abonesh has had two hard-boiled eggs and Gudinesh is still eating her first I must NOT offer a third to Abonesh - no matter how many more eggs are left. I have to count out the Ritz crackers and measure the peanuts, tea mugs must be identical or there will be hell to pay. I'm getting the hang of the Bobbsey Twins routine, however, and don't make nearly as many faux pas as I did the first weeks.
They love to sing. The Ethiopian national anthem, the names of their sisters and brothers, Frere Jacques with unintelligible words, "America the Beautiful" which they've probably heard once, they sing them all. Any time they are happy or content they begin singing whatever comes to mind. One will start a repetitive little tune, and soon the other will join in. We drove two hours last weekend to visit their older brother and sister; for at least half the trip Abonesh was happily singing, "Ransom, Casey, Anna" to a little tune she'd made up. Gudinesh joined in as well. More music in the house (or the car) is definitely a good thing.
I even think it's a good sign that they now feel free to beg for things in the store. The first weeks home they never asked for anything, but now they beg for frozen pizza, chocolate milk, shoes, hair ornaments, books they cannot read, jewlery and balloons. Gudinesh shamelessly hugs me and says, "Mommy I love you," when she especially wants something. How gullible does she think I am?? The frozen food case makes them squeal when they open the door, they still get a kick out of the electric eye doors at the grocery store. Even though Gudinesh feels too old for many things, she loves riding in the grocery cart. Her legs are so long we couldn't figure out how to get her out the first time, but now we've got a method.
I still ask myself several times a day, "Am I glad we did this?" "Am I so tired because I'm just too old for this?" "Will this ever feel normal?" So I'm especially grateful for the moments when we all just laugh together and marvel at how amazing it is that we should be here together at all.
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