As of two weeks ago, M isn't afraid to be left alone. I mean, not alone at home with no adult--I mean left to play while I, say, visit the bathroom. He and K have even wanted to remain playing outside while Peter or I duck into the house for a minute.
I am relieved by this change. I hadn't been terribly worried; after all, I've been his third mom for only 2 years and 4 months. But I had been starting to wonder when he'd start to "get it" that, when Peter or I go away, we come back. He continues to discuss his feelings with us, confide his dreams and wishes, give us presents, seek us out for hugs and kisses; so we know that, whatever the change is, it's good.
What prompted this change? We're not exactly sure. We did stay in a hotel overnight a few weekends ago, with the two kids in their own room adjoining ours. Peter got up to comfort M during the night when he was scared. Did that matter? The following night, Peter and both kids stayed over at Peter's parents' house with Peter's brothers and their kids. Again, did that matter? We don't know, but it appears that something good has happened to M's confidence in us.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
The Slide
Yesterday, Peter tells me, M took his pants off in the back yard and slid down the slide. He left on his underpants. But he still yelled "Owie! Owie! Ow!" all the way down. Peter suspects he won't try it again.
Reminds me: One day last summer, both kids were playing in the back yard in the sprinkler, running through it and dragging it around by the hose. I was busy picking up the carcasses of used water balloons and therefore wasn't watching every minute, so I missed it when they took off their bathing suits. I watched them for a little while, trying to keep a straight face, then turned back to picking up dead balloons.
After a little while, they asked to come inside to grab their beach towels. I ushered them in and showed them where we keep the towels. Then I got back to work.
When I looked again, they were telling each other, "Emergency! Grab on and I'll help you!" and hauling each other up the slide by their towels. Yes, naked.
Reminds me: One day last summer, both kids were playing in the back yard in the sprinkler, running through it and dragging it around by the hose. I was busy picking up the carcasses of used water balloons and therefore wasn't watching every minute, so I missed it when they took off their bathing suits. I watched them for a little while, trying to keep a straight face, then turned back to picking up dead balloons.
After a little while, they asked to come inside to grab their beach towels. I ushered them in and showed them where we keep the towels. Then I got back to work.
When I looked again, they were telling each other, "Emergency! Grab on and I'll help you!" and hauling each other up the slide by their towels. Yes, naked.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Reading
K is reading! Amazing! When we brought her home in 12/2006, she was fluent in Russian with an unusually large vocabulary. (I even brought her to the doctor once because she used a word for "pain" that I didn't know.) Well, she's been practicing writing her letters for about a year and working hard in kindergarten, and an hour ago she completely sounded out her first word, "carrot." (She almost got "matzoh" the other day but mistook the "h" for an "n.")
K is a rather physical little girl. She has a good throwing arm; she runs fast and straight as an arrow; she needs to try a gymnastics skill once or twice before doing it perfectly. She says--and we agree--that she needs to move around in order to think. (She's like Peter that way, who has two desks in his pig-sty of an office and prefers to work on the floor.) She has always shown a good amount of pragmatic intelligence, for instance figuring out how to modify an adult task so that she can perform it herself. But I have always been prepared for a lack of success in school because of her complete switch in languages and her physical nature.
Research has shown that kids adopted from one language environment into another often do fine academically until about 7th grade, when tasks become more verbally based and assume tacit knowledge of syntactic structures. (See here for current research.) Research for which I don't have a reference (sorry; I recall it from my 1980's study of child cognitive psych) indicates that physical learners generally have a hard time in later grades because they're not built to sit down and listen. So I am thrilled that K is reading now, when she can revel in her success. Maybe she'll come to love it so much that she'll keep at it in later years, even if the going gets tough. We'll fuss over her as much as we can.
K is a rather physical little girl. She has a good throwing arm; she runs fast and straight as an arrow; she needs to try a gymnastics skill once or twice before doing it perfectly. She says--and we agree--that she needs to move around in order to think. (She's like Peter that way, who has two desks in his pig-sty of an office and prefers to work on the floor.) She has always shown a good amount of pragmatic intelligence, for instance figuring out how to modify an adult task so that she can perform it herself. But I have always been prepared for a lack of success in school because of her complete switch in languages and her physical nature.
Research has shown that kids adopted from one language environment into another often do fine academically until about 7th grade, when tasks become more verbally based and assume tacit knowledge of syntactic structures. (See here for current research.) Research for which I don't have a reference (sorry; I recall it from my 1980's study of child cognitive psych) indicates that physical learners generally have a hard time in later grades because they're not built to sit down and listen. So I am thrilled that K is reading now, when she can revel in her success. Maybe she'll come to love it so much that she'll keep at it in later years, even if the going gets tough. We'll fuss over her as much as we can.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Naming
It was beautiful. We were squeezed into a Shabbat morning service during which twin boys had their bar mitzvah. Peter and I both chanted from the Torah with K and M standing on chairs next to us so they could see the scroll. While I read, K stood up and waved to the congregation. Peter had to read with M's head between his and the scroll, 'cause M wanted to be up close staring at the words.
After we chanted, we gave a short explanation of the kids' names. We told the story of how M and K had been given Russian names by their birthparents and their American and Hebrew names by us. Then people in the congregation stood up to offer blessings. It was a beautiful moment.
After the service, we had somewhere between sixty and eighty people over to celebrate.
The only day I recall being happier was my wedding day.
After we chanted, we gave a short explanation of the kids' names. We told the story of how M and K had been given Russian names by their birthparents and their American and Hebrew names by us. Then people in the congregation stood up to offer blessings. It was a beautiful moment.
After the service, we had somewhere between sixty and eighty people over to celebrate.
The only day I recall being happier was my wedding day.
Monday, April 06, 2009
"A Special Baff Wif Bwessings"
This is what M said when his preschool teacher asked, "What special thing did you do last Friday?" This is his own description.
Both kids were absent from school a couple Fridays ago so our whole family could go to a local liberal mikvah for the ritual of mikvah.
The volunteer who scheduled us over the phone advised us to bring the kids beforehand for a tour "because some children are afraid of the water," but I assured her that the only difficulty we'd have would be getting our kids out of it.
Mikvah is Judaism's immersion ritual to mark life changes. We did it to mark the beginning of our children's "trial period" of conversion to Judaism. The trial ends in their teens, if and when they choose to become b'nai mitzvot; that is, to have their bar and bat mitzvah. If our kids had been born to us, we wouldn't have had to do a mikvah; but, unless an adopted child is known to have had a Jewish birthmother, it is assumed that the child was not born Jewish and should therefore be allowed a choice. Many adoptive parents do it soon after adoption, but we waited for several reasons. First, because because we needed time to wrestle with whether to circumcise M--a necessary precursor for the rabbis we consulted. Second, because we wanted to make sure the kids were comfortable in water. And third, because we wanted them to understand the ritual as much as possible so that their consent might have meaning. (Again, their mikvah and naming mark only the beginning of their conversion; they may choose later not to complete it.)
We arrived at the facility a few minutes after our beit din (rabbinic court) of three officiants. It took a few minutes to get the kids inside the unassuming little house because they wanted to look at the sprouts in the flower garden. K and M hugged our synagogue's rabbi and cantor--officiants one and two--and shyly said hello to officiant number three, the rabbi who performed our wedding. We hung our coats in the closet as the kids explored the rooms, all open, under the affectionate eyes of the guide. They exclaimed over the stone floors and vases of fresh flowers as Peter and I admired the artwork on the walls.
The first step of mikvah is getting clean enough that the water can touch you everywhere. Peter and I each took a kid into a shower room and helped them prepare spiritually and physically. (K yelled from inside the shower, "I'm usin' the scrubbie brush, Mom! I'm gettin' shiny!") K, who had told me she'd be embarrassed to be seen naked by anyone but me, dashed out of the room dripping anyway. I followed in my bathing suit and wrapped a towel around her.
All three officiants, Peter, and the guide stood by the small, round tiled pool sunk into the floor. K pointed out the tiny pink lights decorating the circumference. She waited by the side of the pool while M got in. Both kids had elected this order in advance. Yes, for the first time since we'd known them, M chose to embark on an adventure before K. We're not sure why. Possibly because he loves water just a little more than she does. Possibly because he hasn't yet grown uncomfortable with being seen naked. Possibly because he was emotionally readier for the ritual, having discussed his circumcision for months.
Peter and I entered the pool in our bathing suits as M splashed down the seven steps marveling at the warmth of the water. He and Peter opened the underwater valve that connects the pool to its natural source--"so that the two waters can kiss," explained the guide, letting the indoor water receive the holiness of the outdoor water. Then M was instructed to dunk under the water and pull his feet off the bottom. He floated about a foot under the water on his belly for quite some time. He likes to hold his breath under water for so long that I warn his swimming teachers. I came up for air before he did and told the officiants he was okay. When M finally poked his head above the water grinning, we said the first blessing. He went down for the second dunk, followed by the second blessing. Then we asked him to swim over to the side to make room for K. She splashed delightedly in the water, yelling, then submerged herself twice as everyone cheered for and blessed her. Finally, all four of us joined hands and dunked together. We sang a celebratory song, and Peter and I got out. It took some doing to get the kids out--I think the only reason they got out was that we'd agreed to have lunch at a restaurant afterwards.
Peter took M and I took K back to our changing rooms. K and I heard M talking and yelling happily as he dressed with his dad.
"He's so happy," reported K, standing on the toilet lid to comb her hair in the mirror.
"Are you?"
"Yeah!" She smiled at me in the mirror, then leaned over and gave me a big, wet hug.
We paraded out into the lobby, where our rabbi read some blessings over us and we sang some more. The mikvah guide gave each kid a stick of honey to celebrate the sweetness of the experience, and the kids gave dozens of hugs all around.
As I finish this entry, over two weeks later, the kids are asking me whether we can do it again.
Both kids were absent from school a couple Fridays ago so our whole family could go to a local liberal mikvah for the ritual of mikvah.
The volunteer who scheduled us over the phone advised us to bring the kids beforehand for a tour "because some children are afraid of the water," but I assured her that the only difficulty we'd have would be getting our kids out of it.
Mikvah is Judaism's immersion ritual to mark life changes. We did it to mark the beginning of our children's "trial period" of conversion to Judaism. The trial ends in their teens, if and when they choose to become b'nai mitzvot; that is, to have their bar and bat mitzvah. If our kids had been born to us, we wouldn't have had to do a mikvah; but, unless an adopted child is known to have had a Jewish birthmother, it is assumed that the child was not born Jewish and should therefore be allowed a choice. Many adoptive parents do it soon after adoption, but we waited for several reasons. First, because because we needed time to wrestle with whether to circumcise M--a necessary precursor for the rabbis we consulted. Second, because we wanted to make sure the kids were comfortable in water. And third, because we wanted them to understand the ritual as much as possible so that their consent might have meaning. (Again, their mikvah and naming mark only the beginning of their conversion; they may choose later not to complete it.)
We arrived at the facility a few minutes after our beit din (rabbinic court) of three officiants. It took a few minutes to get the kids inside the unassuming little house because they wanted to look at the sprouts in the flower garden. K and M hugged our synagogue's rabbi and cantor--officiants one and two--and shyly said hello to officiant number three, the rabbi who performed our wedding. We hung our coats in the closet as the kids explored the rooms, all open, under the affectionate eyes of the guide. They exclaimed over the stone floors and vases of fresh flowers as Peter and I admired the artwork on the walls.
The first step of mikvah is getting clean enough that the water can touch you everywhere. Peter and I each took a kid into a shower room and helped them prepare spiritually and physically. (K yelled from inside the shower, "I'm usin' the scrubbie brush, Mom! I'm gettin' shiny!") K, who had told me she'd be embarrassed to be seen naked by anyone but me, dashed out of the room dripping anyway. I followed in my bathing suit and wrapped a towel around her.
All three officiants, Peter, and the guide stood by the small, round tiled pool sunk into the floor. K pointed out the tiny pink lights decorating the circumference. She waited by the side of the pool while M got in. Both kids had elected this order in advance. Yes, for the first time since we'd known them, M chose to embark on an adventure before K. We're not sure why. Possibly because he loves water just a little more than she does. Possibly because he hasn't yet grown uncomfortable with being seen naked. Possibly because he was emotionally readier for the ritual, having discussed his circumcision for months.
Peter and I entered the pool in our bathing suits as M splashed down the seven steps marveling at the warmth of the water. He and Peter opened the underwater valve that connects the pool to its natural source--"so that the two waters can kiss," explained the guide, letting the indoor water receive the holiness of the outdoor water. Then M was instructed to dunk under the water and pull his feet off the bottom. He floated about a foot under the water on his belly for quite some time. He likes to hold his breath under water for so long that I warn his swimming teachers. I came up for air before he did and told the officiants he was okay. When M finally poked his head above the water grinning, we said the first blessing. He went down for the second dunk, followed by the second blessing. Then we asked him to swim over to the side to make room for K. She splashed delightedly in the water, yelling, then submerged herself twice as everyone cheered for and blessed her. Finally, all four of us joined hands and dunked together. We sang a celebratory song, and Peter and I got out. It took some doing to get the kids out--I think the only reason they got out was that we'd agreed to have lunch at a restaurant afterwards.
Peter took M and I took K back to our changing rooms. K and I heard M talking and yelling happily as he dressed with his dad.
"He's so happy," reported K, standing on the toilet lid to comb her hair in the mirror.
"Are you?"
"Yeah!" She smiled at me in the mirror, then leaned over and gave me a big, wet hug.
We paraded out into the lobby, where our rabbi read some blessings over us and we sang some more. The mikvah guide gave each kid a stick of honey to celebrate the sweetness of the experience, and the kids gave dozens of hugs all around.
As I finish this entry, over two weeks later, the kids are asking me whether we can do it again.
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