Five Or More Things That I Like About Daddy, by Meazi and Melese...

  

Five Or More Things That I Like About Daddy, by Meazi and Melese.

Meazi:

I like that he is brave.

 I like how alike Melese and Daddy are. (Melese pipes in “Because our birthdays are so close.”)

 I like that we have fart contests. (No one claimed we were highbrow over here and thankfully for you, no picture).

I like when Daddy’s work is over because then I get to see him.

I like how scientific he is.

  I like how artistic he is.

 I like how he teaches me crocheting and knitting. (Or Beekeeping).

Melese:

I like that he is shy.

He loves me.

 Because I love him and he gives me presents and stuff. 

I love when I jump into daddy’s arms. 

I love him because I kiss him.

 I like how he tricks me when he comes home like he says, “What are you having for breakfast?”when it is dinnertime.

 I like that he loves me, again. 

Introducing Meazi to the ocean.

Each year on his birthday, Steven makes a cake for Melese's birthday which is the following day. That was a really confusing sentence. The point is, he spends his whole birthday (Steven) preparing for Melese's.

She still looks at him this way.

How many men can feed the baby without putting their drink down? Remarkable.

Trash Truck Cake- Melese's 2nd Birthday.

Parenting Books.

Firetruck cake that LIT UP- Melese's 3rd Birthday.

Pumpkin Dremel-ling.

Helping M&m make their oath for citizenship.

Explaining the plight of the Jews to a three year-old.

Spending additional hair hours because Melese would like to look exactly like his big sister.

 Happy Father's Day to an incredible father.

Dear Meazi,

Dear Meazi,

In case I don't get a chance to write you a proper letter on your last day of school like I did last year

here is how your best friend describes you:

An Honest Child.

A Loyal Kid.

A Smart Girl.

A Bee-Charmer.

An Extremely Funny Lady.

A Nice Person.

A Gentle Being.

My Friend.

Happy last day of second grade.

I love you,

Mommy

What Was Your Biggest Day?

 

“It’s a big day," I replied when Meazi’s Amharic tutor Mahelet told me she was graduating from college on Saturday, “A really big day." I flashed back to my own college graduation, I was standing on the sidewalk in Greenwich Village hailing a cab with my mom. I was sobbing. School was over and the Icelandic actor I was in love with was not in love with me. Everything seemed so unstable. I was thrilled to be finished with school, and I already had a job, but my emotions were all over the place. Happiness, sadness, relief, fear, love- my poor mom must have thought I was a total nut bag at that point. There was no way we were going home on the subway, this kind of display was only suitable for the private backseat of a dark taxi.

I don’t know why I only had toddler adjectives in my vocabulary to describe graduation day to Mahelet, “big” “really big,” but I could tell by her face that she knew what I what I was talking about. I have no doubt that Mahelet, a brainy engineering student, has a very bright future, but still the end of something that intense and that structured can be a little unnerving and a lot bit emotional for actresses and engineers alike.

I have been thinking a lot about big days this week. There have been many “big” days along the way. The day the doctor called with my cancer diagnosis was a big ‘bad’ one. My body felt the same way as graduation day, only much more awful.

The day Steven’s mom died, really bad day. I remember my very non-religious husband reading the Mourners Caddish quietly in our living room minutes after getting the phone call.

What else? Wedding Day? Cliché but true. All my emotions were on the surface that day too. I picture my dad putting his arms around me and my brother and sister and saying, “You kids know all the right things” following my sister’s beautiful maid of honor speech. I remember Steven flubbing his vows a little bit but making an affable recovery in the nick of time. It was also a big day.

All of these times I remember, all of these big days.

Guess which day is the biggest?

 Ok, Ok, maybe it is because it is the most recent of so many mentioned? 

Today, this day, four years ago was my biggest day.

In my nearly one hundred years alive on this planet, the day I first heard about Meazi and Melese is, by far, my biggest day.

I loved them then just hearing about them.

 It would be a few months before I met them...

It would be a few months before we brought them home...

But on that big day, May 27th, it seems that my body must have somehow known what it would be like to know them. Along with that e-mail and that phone call it was as if someone slipped me a mickey, or made me swallow a Wonka-like everlasting gobstopper of emotions- a predictor of what it would be like to raise them. 

On that big day they made me a mother, something I had longed to be.

Today, I love them so, so much. 

They are everything to me.


Many of you were a part of the day we heard about our future as lucky people. Thank you for being there.

Happy Biggest Day to me.

What was your Biggest Day?

The Return Of The Sunday Garden Tour

We are spending some time in the garden. We spotted a rare East African Butterfly.

Loquat Harvest

Steven and I continue to disagree on whether the kids will need all ten fingers as they grow up.

Behold the Loquat!

Discussing Pectin.

Happy Sunday. Don't be surprised if you receive jam from us this holiday season.

Wordless Wednesday

Planted the Seed.

Remember this day?

Chris Treter of On The Ground changed everything that day. A big "If" became a "when".  It was a good day.

Chris just got back from Kololo. You have to read what he wrote about his trip HERE.

It is hard to read this and not say, "Eh, it was just a drop in the bucket. What can we do?"

It is hard not to feel discouraged. I've been trying to get a lunch program there. I've been trying to get shoes from TOMS for the kiddos. Drop in the bucket. It will never be enough.

In the middle of my discouragement, I began thinking about all of you. I know how many people did something to get this school up. I know who you are. Could you do me a favor? Could you leave a comment on this post saying, "I did this" or "Here" or "Me!" Or whatever you'd like. Let's just see you all in writing huh? Let's just give you a pat on the back for your contribution.

Chris's post brought me to tears. Hoping that we can come together again and do more. Who is with me? Who helped plant this seed?

Home is a Sister...

I know I have been neglecting this blog, but I have done a little bit of writing this month.

I have a new column HERE about what home means for Meazi and Melese.

I wrote about the Tesfa Teen runners HERE (page 28).

I found Melese outside the other day. It was windy. He was wearing his turtle costume and a pair of butterfly wings. He was moving his back around trying to see if the wind would lift him so that he could fly. 

This pretty much sums up what we are doing around here, trying hard to give our kids wings so they can fly.

Wordless Wednesday

My Favorite Artist

Meazi under her self-portrait.

I found the following typed into a word doc on my Mac:

When I grow up I want to be an artist. Right now I like to write poems. My favorite painter is me. My favorite food is slippery shrimp. I like playing with my brother.

I like playing mommy and daddy with my brother. At school I like playing with Lulu. She is my best friend. My brother’s name is Melese. 

If you'd like to make Meazi's favorite food, HERE is the recipe. 

It is delicious.

Her self-portrait is her standing in a crystal cave. They did a performance at her school where each kid had to describe the most beautiful thing they had ever seen. Meazi apparently saw a crystal cave in National Geographic.

Can you tell I adore her? How could you not?

Got any recommendations for actual crystal caves to visit?

Ducks

Dear Meazi,

My alarm went off at 5:40 this morning. I wanted to make sure we had enough time to have a proper breakfast before your violin concert this morning. You dressed in a darling red Christmas dress your nana bought you last year. You wore shiny black Mary Jane’s that your good friend Yene passed down to you, and brand new white bobby socks. You looked a little like Norman Rockwell’s Ruby Bridges, skinny legs, braids pulled back, face scrubbed clean, a determined stride in your step. You did very well. You stood behind a pretty tall girl so it was hard to see you, but I saw your bow move gracefully back and forth. After your three songs were over, you moved your head so that you could find us in the audience. Your father, Melese, and I were in the front row. You spotted us and burst into a big wide grin. You were proud. So were we. You handed me your violin case and hurried off to be with the rest of your classmates. You didn’t want to miss PE. Daddy, Melese, and I left your school. Daddy got into his truck and went to work. Melese and I drove to his school.

Dear Melese,

 Today was your last day of school before the holidays. We arrived late and immediately joined the other preschoolers for some songs. They had you and a few other kiddos stand up so they could sing you Happy Birthday. As a New Year’s baby the wanted to make sure they got a chance to wish you a good one. Afterwards I walked you back to your classroom and kissed you goodbye. I went to the restaurant next door to have a cup of coffee and to catch up on some e-mail. I opened my computer and read about the shooting in Connecticut. Tears rolled down my face as I glanced across to the play yard where I knew you were safely playing. A little while later, I packed up my things and walked back to your school. I found you stacking milk crates outside with your most favorite friend. I walked back into your classroom and took a spot on the circle rug anticipating the goodbye meeting that would start in just a few minutes. A classmate’s little brother sat next to me, a two–year old who is so, so, so ready to be in school like his big brother. His mom had just removed his sandy, muddy, socks, clues that he had enjoyed another Friday community day with his big brother. I couldn’t stop staring at his tiny toes. My eyes welled up as I thought about all of the murdered kindergartners in Connecticut and all of those tiny, tiny toes. Kahlil Gibran’s words flashed in my head, ‘Your children are not your children’. I thought about how none of you belong to any of us, and about how all of you belong to all of us, and about how as parents we are responsible for the caring of all of the children within  our reach, should they need us. I grabbed your classmate’s brother’s tiny pink toe. I couldn’t help myself. I smiled at him and he leaned his head toward my shoulder smiling. His mom stood behind us, busy breastfeeding the newest addition to their family, boy number three.  On the rug in the next spot over was the darling blonde girl who always wore sparkly shoes. Today was her very last day. Her family decided to move to Seattle and they wouldn’t be returning in the New Year. Then you finally ran in Melese. You plopped down in my lap and grabbed my hand. Your hand was freezing from being outside all morning. I put my cheek on yours. I opened my oversized sweater and wrapped your body in with mine. I took a breath and knew you were safe for at least this one deep breath.  The teachers began the songs. Your school has a no cell phone rule. I am almost certain your teachers hadn’t heard about the shooting yet. They began this song:

Five little ducks
Went out one day
Over the hill and far away
Mother duck said
"Quack, quack, quack, quack."
But only four little ducks came back.
Four little ducks
Went out one day
Over the hill and far away
Mother duck said
"Quack, quack, quack, quack."
But only three little ducks came back.
Three little ducks
Went out one day
Over the hill and far away
Mother duck said
"Quack, quack, quack, quack."
But only two little ducks came back.
Two little ducks
Went out one day
Over the hill and far away
Mother duck said
"Quack, quack, quack, quack."
But only one little duck came back.
One little duck
Went out one day
Over the hill and far away
Mother duck said
"Quack, quack, quack, quack."
But none of the five little ducks came back.
Sad mother duck
Went out one day
Over the hill and far away
The sad mother duck said
"Quack, quack, quack."
And all of the five little ducks came back.

I held you close as we sang with your friends. I scanned the room, taking in the faces of these children, their parents and your teachers. I tried not to cry.

On our way home I positioned the rear view mirror so that I could just see you. I wasn’t letting you out of my sight. At home I gave you whatever you asked for. First those Annie’s shells with cheese, the ones in the purple box you call bunny mac, and then the giant piece of candy cane I had been disallowing all week. “Take it, please,” I said. “Eat it up.” We opened a huge package. It was party stuff for your ‘Dolphin’ birthday party. You said dolphins were beautiful and that that is why you wanted them for your party. “Ok,” we said. You stacked the plates, and cups, and picked up a party favor and said, “This one is for William.” William is the friend you love the most.

We left to get Meazi. When they finally called her name in the carpool line, I began to cry again. I couldn’t wait to see her. She bounded down the stairs and ran to the car. “What took you so long mom? I was the last second grader waiting.” “I’m sorry,” I said. Melese, you turned to her and said, “Meazi, I ate your peppermint. The big one.” I had forgotten that was Meazi’s piece. She burst into tears. I think she was upset about the candy, but it was also Friday afternoon and she is always exhausted on Fridays at 3:30. I reached my hand back and put it inside her new bobby sock. 

I drove home like that, you, Melese, in my rear view, and you, Meazi, with my fingers on your ankle.  I drove carefully and graciously, for a change.

I brought you both in. Meazi you cried again when you found the minuscule scrap of peppermint your brother left you. I made you both hot cocoas. As you put your lunch box in the kitchen I couldn’t help but think about all of those moms and dads and loved ones cleaning out the lunchboxes of children they would never see again.

Ducks that didn’t come back.

How will we keep our ducks safe?  Our violinists and dolphin lovers? Our ballerinas and baseball players?  All of our ducks?

How will we do it?

Wordless Wednesday