This Reminds Me

I notice big differences in the perceptions and actions of people that have  adopted children.

If the child was adopted domestically and looks like the parents, “passing” seems to be most common.  Adoption seldom enters the conversation.   It’s seldom a “secret.”  But it’s not advertised.

If the child was adopted internationally, or if the child doesn’t look like the parents, then the level of investment in the adoption seems to be governed by the presence of bio children.   Parents – particularly mothers – of these adopted kids with no bios seem to focus more on the attribute of adoption itself.    They don’t merely feed their kids.   If their kids were adopted from Russia, they scour the user boards for Russian recipes.     If their kids were adopted from China, they have adorable silken garments to wear for Chinese New Year.  If their kids are of a different race,  they rush to deify leaders of that race.

But if the child was adopted internationally – and/or if the child doesn’t look like the parents – and there are bio kids in the family, “blending” seems to be more the norm.  And because we blend, maybe we seem like we don’t care enough – whatever “enough” is.

Look what I found on Julia’s desk at Parent’s Night tonight.    She’s proud of being adopted.   Good thing, since we’re also proud of her.

I remember the judge in St. Petersburg asking me, “How will you be able to give enough attention to this child when you already have three children?” and my replying, “Those three children will make her life richer.  She will never lack for attention.”  And that’s been true.   Rachel, Lois and Hannah have had every bit as much to do with Julia’s acclimation and attachment as have Keith and I.

But because those three children were already here, there are lots of things we just don’t do.  Yes, yes, I took the advice of the adoption experts and scattered Russian stuffola around the house.  We hang a Russian flag for Sister’s Day.  We have somber icons on the mantle, colorful photos on the walls and decorated eggs on the bookshelves.  In fact, just this week I made Julia a collage of herself in Russia to decorate her room.

The girls’ rooms are very expressive.   Keith and I don’t much care what they tack up as long as it’s not vulgar.  We figure we’ll paint when they leave.

But our lives aren’t centered around adoption, or Russia.  We don’t belong to a single adoption support group.  (User boards?  Yes.  But there’s only one I visit regularly now, and not every day.)    We don’t cook Russian food because we typically cook what the whole family likes and makes good leftovers for lunches.    We don’t seek out Russian cultural events, of which there’d be darned few in San Antonio anyway.  Julia doesn’t own a single piece of Russian-themed clothing – and I honestly don’t think she’d wear it if she did, she’s so picky about her clothes, none of which includes a ruffle, ribbon or bow.  We’ve been invited to countless adoption-themed ministry events at different churches and – unless I was working a table for Buckner (our agency) - haven’t attended any.

I worry less about our integration of all things Russian than I do about the blending of six day-to-day lives in America.  Julia’s wanted to play soccer, but we can’t make the times work with our two full-time jobs – it’s hard to say “no,” though I told Hannah that, too, about swim team.   Julia would like to come home on the bus instead of going to the after-school program, but again, not an option for her….or for Rachel, Lois or Hannah at the same ages.

Our dinner table rocks with constant bantering.  Over spaghetti, or hamburgers, or chicken pot pie – not borscht.   With big glasses of cold water – not hot tea.   And while we wear T-shirts and shorts – not tunics and flouncy skirts.

We talk about Russia, sure – but usually, it’s Keith or me that brings it up.  I expect Julia to be insanely interested in Russia when she’s older, and when she is, we have papers, pictures and gifts for her.  We’ve even talked vaguely of re-visiting St. Pete when she’s a teen.  But today, she cares more about playing swords in the cul-de-sac with the neighbor kids.   And in the meantime….Rachel’s started college and has a job.  Lois is carrying a super-heavy load in high school and pondering the fate of the Latin Club.  Hannah is creating an eco-system project and anxious about advanced choir.

If Julia was “the only one” – I’m sure we’d celebrate Victory Day, drive to the nearest Russian Orthodox church every Sunday (it’s in Houston, BTW) and slurp vodka every night.   But she’s not.  We swirl in a blender of activities.

We don’t deny where she was.  But we also know where she is.  And who she’s with.  And what everyone is doing.  And it’s all gotta blend.

11 Responses to “Life in a Blender”