Decking the Halls

My family has enjoyed a long tradition of decorating for Christmas the minute the leftover Turkey is put in the fridge. On the farm in Kansas, this meant a trek to the tree farm or the pasture to "top off" a tree leaving the evergreen to continue living and growing while providing us with plenty of pine to wedge into the house. The Dunback Christmas tree tends to take over the living room and allows plenty of space beneath for us to wiggle under and stare up at boughs twinkling with lights, hung with ornaments fragile with age and strong with memories. As kids, my brother and I would sit with mom and dad nightly before bed, stringing ropes of popcorn and cranberries or simply rehashing the events of the day, enjoying our sentimental holiday trappings for the entirety of December until our spindly fire-hazard of a tree greeted the New Year dripping dry needles but having been completely and thoroughly loved.

After a surprisingly holiday-ish weekend in Haiti, I have felt inspired to continue in the Dunback tradition of decking the walls and halls of our little home, commencing in traditions nurtured by our own little family. This will be our first Christmas with Solomon so I am more excited than ever to prepare our home and hearts for Christmas, creating a magical, spiritual space for my little boy to enjoy. This year we will pull in many of our favorite of family traditions as well as adding a touch of new (and tropical!). I look forward to watching our own family's traditions evolve through time, coloring Solomon's life, creating warm happy memories, linking holidays over the years with the familiar rituals and celebrations of the season, no matter where we call home.

Last night, I pulled out a little box of Christmas decorations we had in the closet from last year. I hung a string of lights around our balcony, and strung two of our more sturdy plants together to serve as our current Christmas tree(s). I have a deep love and appreciation for Christmas lights, how they gently illuminate the darkness with soft, glowing color, instantly sparking so many memories, and filling me with happiness.

I had a moment of sentimentality opening my little box of Christmas decorations, remembering last year in our guesthouse room as we fought suffocating feelings of loneliness and homesickness, debating whether our lack of invitations to holiday celebrations was because it just wasn't done or because we weren't fitting in. This year, after a holiday weekend that departed from traditions of home, but was happily celebrated with new friends and people who are starting to feel like our Haitian family, I had to smile and give up a word of thanks. I'm thankful that the holidays aren't going to be as hard this year, thankful that Patrick is with his family now and I, too, will be with my family soon. I'm thankful for a home to make festive and my own little family to celebrate with as well as friends here who can help create new moments of holiday fun.

The actual event of decorating for Christmas is as meaningful to me as the finished product. Every year memories are sparked with each ornament or card unwrapped. Last night I pulled out tiny ornaments that Patrick had bought last year as a "cheer-up" surprise from a local minimart--- pine cones, plastic candy canes and tiny wrapped packages. Although not Hallmark quality, they remind me of a husband who was determined to give his mopey wife some holiday cheer. On more sturdy branches of the plants, I hung the Christmas balls and snowmen ornaments that arrived last year in holiday care packages from our moms. The tinsel that had created our abstract art Christmas tree in the guest house room now decorates a large leafy plant. ;) The manger scene bought from the vendors outside the guesthouse sits on the bookshelf, ready to be lit with candles each night when darkness falls.

Last, I pulled out carefully folded white paper snowflakes and smiled remembering sitting at a table in the guest house with Sivie and a 9-year-old girl also living there while waiting for her adoption papers to clear. We had all made snowflakes together to decorate our rooms and to chase away the sadness of not being with our families. That will always be one of my favorite memories of Silvie. That night we talked with tears in our eyes, sang with determination to get our spirits jump started, and snipped, clipped and designed a table full of snowflakes that would refuse to melt despite the tropical heat. And here they were, triggering a flood of memories of our first Christmas in Haiti.

Solomon and I snuggled on the porch last night, in a bath of colorful, twinkling light, feeling the cool night breeze kiss our skin. I trust that we'll enjoy repeating this ritual of ending the days on the balcony, sleepily enjoying the lights of Christmas that invite reflection, spark memories, and nurture simple happiness with quiet, cozy time in the presence of ones you love.

After Solomon was tucked in and I was getting ready to take a book to bed, my brother and his family Skyped. They had gotten their Christmas tree and wanted to share with me the beginning of its decoration. I was thrilled, and showed them what my own holiday spirit had produced. Conor bounced around the living room in his red onesie pajamas and Caden stood next to Chris's knee clearly intrigued by all the re-decorating going on. My brother gave me a tour of his exterior lighting that rivaled Clark Griswald's work in all its grandeur. Candy giggled with me at my own creative Christmas bush. I was nothing but smiles sharing a holiday tradition together despite the miles and ocean that separates us. Christmas magic indeed.

I woke in the middle of the night to thunderstorms rumbling, bringing an unseasonably cool air breezing through the windows. Much to my delight, this morning remains unusually cool thanks to an overcast morning and a lingering dampness in the air that has not yet turned to steam. Today Sol and I are going to stay close to home, enjoying some one-on-one time together. We'll cut more snowflakes and stars (Sol taking a largely supervisory role), maybe fashion an angel to be heard on high, and dance to Christmas music. I'd say I'd make hot chocolate or something to celebrate this "cold" Haitian day (probably 70's???), but I see that the clouds are already giving way to blue, so better sip my coffee, appreciating the one morning it doesn't make me sweat. :) Tonight I plan on popping some popcorn over the stove, and finish the day with a movie night feature of The Polar Express (thanks to a sentimental brother sharing his family traditions with us via care package).

Fa lala lala--lala la la.

Giving Thanks for this Weekend

With Patrick home visiting family, I had not looked forward to Thanksgiving this year with much wild excitement, fully planning to put it out of my mind and treat the week like any old week. Despite my Scroogeness, I ended up having a really great holiday weekend.

Thanksgiving Day, after a long mobile clinic on shaky, not-quite-recovered-from-mysterious-illness legs, Sol and I headed up the mountain to meet a young couple working through the MCC. They, too, had to work on our American holiday, so we agreed to meet and celebrate together later in the evening. They turned out to be the kind of people you felt you had known for a long time, and I was immediately comfortable in their presence. They were equally as uninspired as I to take a gobbling turkey from life to platter via a long process of slaughter, de-feather and de-gutting, so instead they shared a really yummy carrot soup which was perfect for my beat-up insides. I spent the evening with new friends, delicious food and great conversation. I smiled all the way home with a sleeping Solomon in his care seat, happy for a night out, a body that was feeling more like my own again, the contentedness of a yummy meal and the prospective of more fun times with such great people. Unexpectedly, I had found myself in the company of new friends on the holiday, and the country felt all the more beautiful and "homey" for it.

Friday night, I made dinner for Silvia and Yvertha as a thank you for their week long TLC. We had a truly American home-style meal of baked chicken with spices, potatoes, carrots and onions. I even made a experimental sweet-potato pie and a huge green salad with all the vegetables I could find. Faithful to holiday tradition, we all ate too much and toasted to a meal shared. We talked the evening away covering everything from the evolution of Michael Jackson's career (and nose) to Haitian politics and religion. GREAT night-- felt like a dinner with family. And that is maybe the highest compliment I can give for a moment.

Yesterday, we three females and Sol had a day at the beach. Girls Day Out, we called it. Yvertha had been to some beaches with friends but said that Silvia had been only a very long time ago, so it was going to be a treat for all. We arrived early enough to get a favorite spot on the beach with the most sand and the gentlest waves.

After we were all safely in our spandex, we hit the surf. Yvertha had a ball with Patrick's snorkel and hunted fish. Silvia jumped up and down, immersing herself in the ocean and laughing with Solomon. In all her excitement she soon started sputtering, having bounced to a place where her toes no longer made contact with the sand, and Yvertha and I had to pull her back into the safely shallow surf. Sol lazily floated in his floaty, splashing and laughing at us vying for his attention. I soaked in all the happiness around me.

Silvia prays every noon, and certainly didn't let a public park stop her. In all her beachy happiness, she wasn't going to keep her prayers quiet. I looked up suddenly as here came Silvia from her beach chair, walking back into the surf, praying to God at the top of her lungs, thanking him for the day, asking for his presence and protection for all the people swimming, driving, working, all people both healthy and sick; she finished with a song. Silvia is a woman who knows who she is and doesn't spend a lot of energy on self-consciousness or shyness. For that and more, I love her.

We played all day, splashing, floating, burring each other in the sand. Solomon REALLY enjoyed the sand, throwing it, handing it to people, digging up rocks (to put in his mouth). I ran into a friend on the beach--the driver for the guest house--and he came over and got buried as well. We ate big beach meals, lazed and napped in the shade and let the surf wash over us.

Great day. Great weekend. One not only to enjoy with all its good food, conversation and fun with friends, but a weekend to remind me of all I have to be thankful for. During the course of the last few days, Solomon and I have skyped and received phone calls from friends in KC and Denver, from Patrick and his family in Iowa, and from my family celebrating Thanksgiving together at my brother's house in Kansas. The Skype camera has been passed from one face to another so we could see people we've long missed, hearing their voices and laughing together at Solomon's antics of "so big" and "stink face." Solomon was especially happy to see "DaDa" who sits before the camera in layers of clothes, looking rested and happy as his nephews tackle him from behind. Thanks to modern methods of communication, our family is here with us in a small way, and that is all I need to make the holiday complete.

So this Thanksgiving, I give thanks for health, good food and new friends who have pulled us into their lives in Haiti. I give thanks for a little boy who has changed Patrick and my life, for an incredible husband who is my best friend and still makes my heart beat fast. I am thankful for a safe home, for stimulating work, for the challenge of our days. I give thanks for friendships that stay strong despite change and miles between us. I celebrate a family so great that it hurts when I'm not with them. I celebrate sun and sky, ocean horizons and green palm trees. May you too find yourself reflecting on all that there is to be thankful for, and throw up some celebration in the process.

Happy Thanksgiving

From our family to yours

Home Remedies Part 2

After cooking and simmering all morning long, the smells of Sylvia's labors in the kitchen evolved into something spicy, warm and delicious. The savory fragrance chased away my previous trepidation.

Despite my initial reservations, I had a small bowl of Sylvia's homemade soup and thoroughly enjoyed the subtle spices, the vitamin-packed vegetables, and the rare bite of well-cooked goat meat that, after ample time over heat and simmering in the broth, tasted a lot like pork.

I'm not sure if this is the magical remedy my body needs, but it certainly won't hurt. If the love and faith Sylvia put into the soup's preparation can be transferred within a spoon full, I'll be well before sunset.

In the season of Thanksgiving, I'm reminded of all I have to be thankful for.... my usual good health, friends near and far, family I adore, a little boy who has changed our lives, the gift of a challenging and adventurous work, and our adoption into the lives of people here who love and nurture us like family.

Doctor need not heal thyself. There is help abundant.

Home Remedies

I've been battling some sort of mysterious illness since Sunday. It has taken the wind out of my sails and left me scratching my head with diagnostic guesses. Doctor treat thyself. Of course everyone has some opinion of what is ailing me and what I need to do to get better. I have decided it is a toss up between something I got from bad fish and Dengue fever.

Patrick left for the States on Monday to visit his family for Thanksgiving. Silvia and her daughter Yvertha moved in to keep me company while Patrick is away. They insisted that I should not be alone. They are a family away from family, and their busy energy and calm presence fills the silence and chases away emptiness. Their company has been especially nice since I haven't felt like myself and my energy is sapped while Solomon's--of course--is not.

I'm not used to being fussed over. But Silvia and Yvertha are determined to heal me with TLC. The mini-pharmacy of meds I'm taking is not enough in their opinion. They've made several juices for me to drink, bean sauce over rice for vitamins, and prayed for me aloud morning and night.

Silvia just got back from the market. She went to get ingredients to make a special soup for me today to bring me back to health.

The "special ingredient" was goat meat.

I've seen what that looks like in the street market. There is no shortage of flies and stink. UNLESS it was freshly slaughtered. (groan)

She was disappointed because they didn't have any goat's heads which give people EXTRA force and would certainly cure my ailment. (ORRRRR send me heaving to the bathroom.) Oh how I'd much prefer chicken noodle soup.

I have to get well soon or this homeremedy might just finish me off.

P.S. It is 6am. Raw meat of any kind, much less GOAT is too much to stomach (in sickness or in health) at 6am. I'm just sayin'.

Really, I feel very loved. A little scared, but mostly loved.

In Rememberance of Bravery and Glimmers Hope

Monday was my usual clinic day at CONASPEH. I consulted a hallway full of patients, struggled with heart-heavy news and celebrated a glimmer of hope for a patient burdened with an ugly diagnosis.

The morning's mood darkened when we all received word that one of the teachers at the CONASPEH school had died. I was taken aback by the news. I had shared a special relationship with her that began during my first months at CONASPEH. I first met her after she was wounded by the hands of her husband. Her burns had been extensive, but healed after many clinic visits and her own gentle care. Through persistent counseling by Francois, Miss Fanor and I, she moved herself and her newborn daughter away from the threats and injuries of domestic violence and into the safe home of extended family.

I watched her confidence and joy build after that first encounter, and she frequently visited me in the clinic long after her wounds healed. She gave Solomon his first baby gift--a pair of brown leather shoes that spruced-up his church outfits with style. She often shared pictures of her daughter with me and we kept each other updated on what new things our babies were doing.

When I heard the news of this young mother's death, my anger flared suspecting a fatal act of domestic violence. But instead I was informed of a brain tumor she had had all along, that caused violent seizures that had previously been well controlled. She never had shared that diagnosis with me, maybe because she knew there was nothing to be done. Or maybe she had decided to simply focus on life, the life she had left. In recent months, her symptoms had worsened. Ultimately she succumbed. Now her baby girl has to tackle life without her mother.

During the course of the morning, I also had a follow-up visit from an 18 year old girl struggling with a disfiguring mass in her mouth. She was initially seen and diagnosed with a rare form of cancer by the Partner's In Health hospital in the central plateau, but came to our clinic last week looking for hope and possible referral for the difficult treatment required. She had already passed by the general hospital in Port-au-Prince which could offer her no options, citing lack of radiation equipment as reason for their inability to help.

But I was able to deliver a little hope today, thanks to help from a network of colleagues. Through connections made with CRUDEM and the hospital they run in Milot, Haiti, I found an volunteer American oncologist who agreed to see this patient during an upcoming visit to Haiti and who potentially may be able to provide a radical operation to remove the tumor. It is a long shot, but I was glad to share hope in whatever form it comes. She is young woman, strong and full of faith. I hope that is enough to carry her through the many challenges she will face in the upcoming months.

Suffering and struggle so often challenge life for many people living in Haiti. In honor of their strength and perserverience, we must celebrate the moments of obstacles overcome and glimmers of hope found. For my friend departed, I remember her formidable strength as she stood up to her abuser, realizing that it is not ok to suffer wounds by the hands of your spouse. I pray that her courage has been planted and grows in the spirit of her daughter.

For my patient, I celebrate a glimmer of hope. Despite the odds against her, we haven't yet hit a dead end. Thanks to volunteers at work and the networking of those with a passion for the people of Haiti, we have found an avenue to explore that may mean life doesn't have to end after only 18 years for this one young woman.

So again, I ask for your prayers. Send up your thoughts for a friend gone and the family that lies in wake of her death, prayers for a young life burdened by a very difficult and painful illness and for hope that treatment may offer her a chance at life again.

Vist from Friends

Last week we welcomed a group from LongMeadow and North Hampton, Massachusetts to Haiti.

Like many of CONASPEH's faithful partners, this group has a long history with CONASPEH, becoming involved when the school and headquarters were simply a dream and a blueprint. Through the years, their partnership has witnessed the construction of the main CONASPEH building, rooms filled with children as school rolled into session, a seminary and nursing school begun and many projects dreamed up and set into action. The most recent cause for celebration is the successful purchase of a large plot of tree-filled land neighboring the CONASPEH school.

This group of people has a special place in Patrick and my heart as well. A year ago this week, they arrived and were our very first group to welcome a mear three weeks after we stepped off the plane. Of course so early in our time here, we were worthless hosts. We couldn't speak the language, had a skeleton idea of what was going on at CONASPEH, and were still stumbling through ideas of how our work would manifest. We were struggling with the initial emotions that come with observing life here, and this group did as much ministry to Patrick and I as they did to CONASPEH and the people of Haiti.

We enjoyed greeting them this week, marking another milestone in this year's anniversary of living in Haiti, remembering their visit last year and feeling like we've come a long way.

The week was packed with activities including hiking to a hill-top church, visiting an orphanage and several CONASPEH schools, driving through the Artibonite valley and up the mountains to Kenskoff, touring the National Museum, the Cathedrals of the city and eating lunch at the historic hotel Oloffson. The group added their energies and talents with lots of work in the school holding 5 classes in the seminary, 3 classes in the nursing school and several sessions in the secondary school. One of the members shared bagpipe music with many groups of children and students, sparking awed silence at the bizarre instrument many had never seen before. Some of the CONASPEH students worked with the group to create a mural to be shared with partner schools in the States, and pen pal letters were exchanged. The end of their visit was gifted by a program put on by the children of CONASPEH who benefit from scholarships this particular group raises for them. All enjoyed an afternoon full of singing, dancing, skits, poetry readings and topped off by a Haitian feast.

We receive many visitors to Haiti. We welcome those who come for the first time, digesting new sights, smells, tastes and interactions, working through the emotions and contemplations sparked by experiences and observations. We also delight in visits from those who've made a well-worn path between their homes and Haiti, who can remark on changes seen, celebrate the evolution of projects, and stoke the hopes and inspiration of CONASPEH's work with their own determination and excitement. This is what partnership is all about. The solidarity of friends who come, who share, who listen, learn and open their arms to receive the gifts of their partners. In such partnerships we lift each other up, we tackle projects with the strength of many hands lent and prayers raised up. There is no one benefactor, but instead a sharing amongst all. Both parties walk away stronger, challenged, changed. This is how hope is maintained and progress made, both in developed and developing worlds. This is our particular formula for changing the world... one visit, one project, one class, one interaction, one hand-holding, one mind, one heart at a time.

A week in review

It is Saturday which means another week has zipped by in a technicolor blaze of activities, meetings, routine and observation.

Some highlights:

* After two months of living solely on power the public electric company felt like doling out thanks to our inverter getting fried by some "bad current," we finally have a replacement inverter and 24 hours of electricity once again. We were good sports during the "outages" reminding ourselves that most Haitians live permanently on the whim of the electric company's schedule or manage with no electricity at all. What I found a bit maddening was the lack of any sort of schedule or predictability. Most days the electricity would blink on after we'd go to bed, flooding our dark room with light at about 11pm, but mercifully spinning our fans until about 5am. Other days we'd be graced with power in the late afternoon, or it would spill over into the morning allowing us to make coffee the modern way with our Mr. Coffee maker. After all is said and done, we have to admit we really like electricity. It is fun to see Solomon's face after 6pm and not loose him to the shadows hiding behind by candle light, to walk around the apartment without the aid of a head lamp, and to not have to wake up at 4 am in order to work on the computer or print off lesson plans.

*Sometimes I think watching our landlord react to situations must be like watching a rooster enter a cockfight. Patrick and I are better about mastering our own reactions these days (thanks to Haiti-weathered tuff skin and experience), and instead sit back fascinated at the display of puffed chest, splayed tail feathers and nervous bawking. We've learned if we sit still long enough, nod and smile, usually the cock will loose his fight and a compromise can be reached.

* A couple of really sick kids presented to the CONASPEH clinic drenching Miss Fanor and I in worry. We were able to place an IV in a dehydrated 9 year old and giver her enough IV fluids until she could start drinking again without throwing up. We sent a little one to the hospital for a more complete work up after her mom brought us to her after 16 days of fever and 3 days of no food or water. Our own rehydration attempts failed with throw-up all over the floor, and the little girl looked like she was quickly loosing her reserve. I'm praying that she got the help she needed before it was too late.

*One man I've been following weekly after he suffered a crippling bout of meningitis came to clinic this week with good news. He has slowly been recovering his eyesight and easing out of the throws of pain. He walked into the clinic unaided for the first time which made Miss Fanor and I high-five each other in relief.

*The staff at Carrefour found a lab technician, and this week was her second week working with the materials in the mobile lab. She was able to do a couple of malaria screening tests, start some blood work, check urine chemistries and blood sugars for us during the coarse of the clinic day. She won my respect after arranging the lab materials to her approval and diving into work despite a space that wasn't in ANY WAY designed like a modern lab nor did it provide sufficient space for her to work well in. She's offered to come to CONASPEH a couple of days a week to get our lab up and running while Carrefour works to build up enough money to buy its own supplies allowing for a functioning lab Monday through Friday. I'm glad to steal her for a few days a week! Good help is hard to find, and I think we found a gem in her.

*Thursday's Mobile lab took us to a rural area outside the town of Leogane. Three second-year nursing students accompanied us this week, and did great work helping by taking vital signs, working with Miss Fanor in the pharmacy, or sitting with me practicing exam skills. Each of the students presented a topic to the waiting room of patients. One gave a mini-lecture on heart-burn and reflux, discussing foods to avoid and some natural remedies to try. Another discussed anemia and sources of iron in the diet. I was proud of the students for jumping in and giving very well-received lectures. Group teaching was then re-enforced in a one-on-one setting. I enjoyed a moment of pride watching my students become educators before my eyes. The students brought a renewed energy to the mobile clinic with their bubbling enthusiasm, so a fun day was shared.

*Patrick, Solomon and I were thrilled with an invitation to visit another missionary family living in Port-au-Prince. The Livesay family invited us over for dinner, play and conversation Wednesday and we all had a ball. Solomon loved having someone other than his mom and dad to play with, and proceeded to follow the Livesay children around, kissing and grabbing at them to no end. He showed no fear toward their gentle giant Mastif, and motored about like he owned the place. Patrick and I loved meeting some fellow Americans in Haiti, sharing stories of lives that brought us here, the inspiration for and arduous process of adoption, work and observations about the crazy life in this country. There is nothing like the healing power of chatting with people with similar backgrounds to make one feel a little less crazy and have a lot more fun. So a public thank you to the Livesay's and their big, beautiful family for extending the hand of friendship.

*Patrick started basketball class this week. He is to teach a skills class during the school day to several very-interested classes of kids as well as conduct practice for a CONASPEH team after school. This week he found himself standing in front of 30 pre-teen boys, under the 11-o-clock sun, with two basketballs and a half concrete basketball court. Of course chaos eventually ensued. The class is a big hit. Patrick just needs a few more assistant coaches. Any volunteers?

*Patrick also has come to the "anatomy" lecture in his English classes to the nursing students which makes for an interesting earful. Although he prefers his theology lectures for the content and conversations stimulated, you can't help but enjoy a chorus of overly eager voices reciting with enthusiasm body parts from head to toe.

*During the end of my lecture in obstetrics this week, I fielded an array of questions regarding stories or some public beliefs regarding pregnancy. "I heard about a woman who carried a baby in her stomach for 2 years, is that possible?" "If you surprise a pregnant woman out of sleep, will it lead to deformations in the baby?" "There was a woman in Haiti that gave birth to fish, how do you explain that?" I have learned to answer questions based on my own background and referencing my responses as such. "In my experience, that isn't possible." Some students seem to nod, their doubts confirmed. Others smile knowingly at me. One such student spoke up, clearly not satisfied with my skeptisism. "It is different in Haiti than where you come from," she said. "There is magic here."

Vodou or not, she is right. There IS magic here.

First Birthday

Our family (with a VERY TIRED B-day boy)

Today was Solomon's birthday! The little king is 1 year old and growing. Although maybe not grasping the full meaning of the occasion, Solomon definitely caught on that everyone was making a fuss over him today and he didn't shy from the spot light.

On the Beach

We kicked off the birthday weekend Friday spending a family day at the beach--the one place where never a fuss or a cry escapes Solomon's mouth. He is ever happy and peaceful as he kicks the waves, searches for rocks, and floats on the waves. Mom and Dad always love the peace and quiet after a non-stop busy week, and so everyone came home sun-kissed and blissfully relaxed.

Help me unwrap it, Dad!

Look Dad, its a toy!

This morning Patrick and I sang Happy Birthday to the birthday boy in the morning light as he blinked sleep from his eyes and grinned at his crazy parents from his crib. He kicked the morning of with a present from Grandma Jane. This was Solomon's first wrapped package, and after tasting it, shaking it, and then holding it out to Daddy, he got a little help with getting the unwrapping started. He did enjoy tearing the paper and was quite surprised to find something within! The little car Grandma Jane sent him went right in his mouth--a baby's stamp of approval. The rest of his birthday packages were left to the afternoon as reward for getting through a morning full of activities

Mmm, pancakes (and SYRUP)!

On the farm in Kansas, a long-loved birthday ritual is waffles with icecream and toppings for birthdays. AFter growing up in a no-sugar-cereal household, the birthday breakfast sugar mountain was my brother and I's favorite part of our day. Lacking a waffle iron to start our own tradition, we instead introduced birthday pancakes with a hint of syrup. Solomon loved his first dance with sugar and was none the wiser that the pancake wasn't waffled. :) He soon had face-painted himself with his breakfast in his efforts to get finger fulls of food to his mouth. Off to the shower with daddy to wash off the maplesyrup maddness. And then the primping for his big debut. A tux no less.

Little Birthday King Solomon dressed to impress

Today we shared in celebrating our little man with his biological mom, Sophonie and her family. We had long been planning to do a Sunday baptism together, and she thought it would be perfect to do so on his first birthday. So she planned a day to have Solomon presented before her church, Patrick and I introduced as his adoptive parents, and blessings given in a baptismal ceremony. We prayed a lot about such a venture, worrying about boundaries in such a sensitive relationship. Ultimately we agreed knowing that someday Solomon will look back on pictures of this day seeing not one but two families celebrating his life, loving him and pledging our commitment to nurture him in whatever ways we are able.

Sophonie (bio mom) and Solomon

We met up with Sophonie and her family at her house before church. The building she lives in is a lofty, cavernous concrete structure that has the framework for grandeur, but rests in a ruggedly unfinished state. Likley the construction was halted long ago when funds ran out. Sophonie and her family occupy a second floor space that recieves cool breezes and looks over the neighborhood and out to the mountains. The furnishings were bare: lace curtains covered doorways, a single table and several chairs were the only decore in the living room. The large bedroom held only one twin bed and some knick nacks that likely travel with the family. I imagine most sleeping is done on the concrete floor. But despite the sparseness of the apartment, it was trimmed for a celebration.

Uncle Solomon meeting his nephew, Juvens

We met the oldest 3 of Solomon's 6 siblings, and Uncle Solomon got to meat his nephew as well. We were also introduced to the Haitian God parents Sophonie had chosen to stand with us for Solomon's baptism today, both good friends of hers. After worrying a little about how the dynamic of the day would play out, my nerves were quickly calmed with our warm reception and the ease in which the entire family engaged not only Solomon, but Patrick and I as well. We all had roles to play in Solomon's life, and it felt like a natural family gathering to celebrate a little boy we all love.

Clapping to the Music

Off to church we went. We arrived to a pristine little church painted bright white and hung with colorful silk flowers. The service was already underway by the time we arrived, so Solomon made his grand entrance and sparked smiles all around. He clapped with the music, made his way through the pews, leaned on strangers knees, ducked under benches, and interacted with other children sitting much more properly in their pew seat. If spiritual inspiration is determined by the length of a sermon, then the pastor of this church was HEAVILY inspired. As his message wore on, changed directions, ramped up in amplitude, his hands started flying, sweat pouring and his voice nearly reaching falsetto. As the preacher spun his message, layers of Solomon's outfit started pealing off. First the coat with tails, then the vest. Although he walked in without a spot or a stain, by the end of the sermon, two buttons had popped off his vest, knees had gotten dirtied and the vest a little dust-stained. Just when I thought we'd have to try to sneak a nap in before Solomon's part of the service, we were called to the alter.

Patrick, Sophonie and I along with his godparents stood before the pastor with Solomon. We agreed before the congregation, as people who love this little boy, to nurture him in the spirit and love of God, to surround him with community and to raise him in love. Then the pastor, who was sweating profusely after nearly an hour-long sermon, took Solomon and prayed to the heavens while the congregation lifted their prayers aloud behind us, sending a cachephony of voices rising up around us.

Receiving a pastor's baptismal blessing

Sol was patient for the most part, but considering how far gone he was from missing his morning nap, he got a little freaked when the pastor wouldn't honor his squirming and let him down. A few tears, but really he was mostly fascinated by what was going on, and spent most of the time staring at the Pastor who stood with eyes closed, voice raised, squeezing him tight.

The baptism ended the service, and the congregation shook our hands and gave their blessings to Solomon.

We returned to Sophonie's house and found that her friend and her daughters had cooked up a feast fitting for a Sunday afternoon, a birthday party, and a baptism celebration. Solomon warmed to the new faces of his family all around him, and was soon wandering from one new knee to the next, allowing everyone to hold him, and interacting with the small children of the house. He ultimately got brave enough to explore all corners with mischief in his eyes, hiding in the curtains and eating off of everyone's spoon. The introduction to sugar continued with vengence as his God Mother gave him his first drink of soda pop and he feasted on his first birthday cupcake--well, mostly the icing. I think the sugar rush is what kept his tired little self moving all morning sans nap and into the early afternoon.

Birthday cupcake for a one-year-old

After feasting on a delicious spread, polishing off an entire birthday cake, and lots of play, we bid goodbye to his family and headed back home for a much needed afternoon nap, as Solomon came crashing down from his sugar high.

Diving in

Tonight Solomon has Skyped with his Nana and Pop-Pop and great grandma (GG) in Kansas, his Grandma Jane in Iowa and babbled over the phone to his Grandpa Craig. His Uncle Chris, Aunt Candy and cousins Conor and Caden sang to him over Skype with a cake they baked in his honor and Solomon clapped along. AFter playing with his new cars, reading new books, he is off to bed with his elephant and lots and lots of sweet dreams from a day full of fun.
Mom and Solomon

Birthday Eve

Love at First Sight

My mom recently sent me an e-mail regarding a project she was working on. She started a tradition with my nephew--her first born grandson--to compile for her grandchildren a First-Year-In-The-Life book with highlights of growth from infancy to toddling. She e-mailed me with simple questions about Solomon: where he was born, how much he weighed, what his length was, etc. Fun facts about the first moments of life. Her questions jarred me more than I expected.

Over the last 8 months, Solomon has transformed our lives and become completely our son. And yet there are things about his life that I don't know, moments that I was not privy to share in given the circumstance of our meeting. I don't know if Solomon's mom had him at home or in a hospital, I have no idea what he weighed. Such questions are easily asked, but the fact that I wasn't there suddenly felt raw.

Generations of my family celebrate birthdays with gusto, and part of the tradition is sharing the birth story. My brother and I know what time we were born, funny episodes about the labor (I shot out after my dad "bent my mom in half" during a over-vigorous back rub and was "purple as a grape"; Chris peed on the doctor while my Dad beamed with pride at finally getting a son). As Solomon's birthday approaches and I reflect on the rituals that were so fun for me in my childhood---looking at baby books, hearing my birth story and the joy my parents recount it in--I feel sad, sad I can't share that story with Solomon. As our adoptive child becomes so fully our own, I find myself grieving that I WASN'T there, that I didn't get to carry him in my womb, experience the pains of labor and the rewards of his first cry, mourning the days and months I missed in the life of this child who has wrapped his pudgy fingers so tightly around my heart. And so suddenly I find myself having to reconcile that I haven't been there for every moment of Solomon's life.

Love At First Touch

The social worker who did our home-study brought up the concept that adoption is a positive relationship born out of loss. A child has lost his biological family and possibly the experience of growing up in the culture of his birth. Adoptive parents sometimes adopt out of a loss to conceive or if not, eventually have to struggle with the loss of precious months or years of their child's life they weren't able to be a part of. I had never looked at adoption in that way before and thought it insightful. This weekend I'm beginning to fully understand the complexity of emotions her theory strikes upon.

She suggested that with every birthday, we set up some sort of ritual to do remembering and mourning. Maybe on birthday's eve. She advised we honor a ritual that gives space to grief, that opens doors to conversation. I love traditions and rituals that link season to season, year to year and so I'm anxious to employ this new one in the spirit of healing.

Tonight we'll light a candle together on his birthday eve (and hopefully on birthday eve's every year) for what we have lost. As Solomon grows older, we can allow him to remember the story of his birth to a poor family in Haiti, remembering a mother who loved him but gave him up, and a family he didn't get to grow up in. Patrick and I can light a candle for missing out on the chance to be pregnant with Solomon, his birth and the first 3 months of his life. Tonight we look at what we have lost or missed out on directly in the face, embracing the emotions the reflections stir. And with the rising of the sun, we'll be free to celebrate all we have in each other, celebrate that despite loss, we are all the more rich in love. We'll share the "when I first saw you" story and the love that sparked at first sight in an orphanage in Port-au-Prince. We'll recount the joy of our first day home together as a family, the relief at finally being able to love on each other around the clock, stepping forward into life together.

Solomon 11 3/4 months