Julius Is a Stern Babysitter

Photo courtesy of Katie. Baby courtesy of Robin.

You Know You Live In Canada When...

You're pissed off that you bought the "wrong" grade of maple syrup. I'm a grade B girl myself. I've got no patience for that pansy grade A stuff. That's the early season syrup, the light stuff, the syrup for sissies. B is for badass.

Okay, so I'm exaggerating. But seriously, it's a disappointment to think you're flavoring your coffee with some hearty mid-season maple only to find out you've accidentally purchased the light stuff.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, it's cool. I didn't know about any of this stuff before I moved here and started flavoring everything with maple. You can get schooled here.

Other ways in which I've been indoctrinated into Quebec life?

I consider 50F and sunny to be warm. I'm talking worth a trip to the park and the ice cream store.

I occasionally say "eh" at the ends of my sentences without realizing it.

I occasionally say "oui" or "ouais" instead of yes, even when talking to Anglophones.

I think poutine is a perfectly reasonable thing to eat on a Friday night.

I don't bat an eyelash at a 9-percent beer, even before 5pm.

I know that if you miss your turn while driving, the answer is not to take the next right but to drive backwards for as many blocks as necessary until you find the street you missed.

Ditto for missed parking spaces.

I know that it can and will snow in April. And May. And June.

Date Night

Last week, Xander took me out to dinner at a rather fancyish restaurant. We had a delicious meal, wine, profiteroles. We come home, climb into bed, and I'm just about to lay my head on his shoulder when he jumps up and shouts, "I just proved a theorem!" Then he sprints back into his office.

Really, being married to a research mathematician is every bit as romantic as you think it is.

Night Shift

How about a little art for your Friday? If you enjoy that, check out the book.

Changing Our Sense of Aesthetics in Honor of Earth Day

I was so happy to see the following article in The New York Times yesterday:

The Dandelion King

By ROBERT WRIGHT
April 20, 2010

Wild, weedy lawns are greener, but can we consider them prettier, too?

The unkept look of my lawn is just a byproduct of a conclusion I reached a few years ago: the war on weeds, though not unwinnable, isn’t winnable at a morally acceptable cost.

We're not planning to buy a home in the foreseeable future, but one of the things we have talked about regarding home ownership is that we want a low or no-maintenance lawn. The event that sparked this discussion was a trip to Arizona in which we marveled at the folks who insisted on green grass in their yards. In the desert? Really? And then there was our trip to southern Utah, a most deserty desert, where you'll still find a golf course or four if you need one. What?

I've never understood why we insist on altering the state of nature, even in areas where it really does not matter. If you've got small kids, then yes, I see the appeal of a trimmed section of lawn for rolling beach balls and learning to walk. But who cares if that lawn includes a mix of grasses and dandelions? Why is tall grass considered ugly in the suburbs and beautiful in the prairies? These aesthetic choices we've made as a society are often arbitrary. And the fact that having tall grass or dandelions in the front yard affects property values is a flaw in the system, not in the yard.

Long live the dandelion!

I Am Literally Laughing Right Now

BICTH!

Francophones in Quebec are often overheard employing American swear words in the middle of entirely French conversations. We're told this is partly because of their novelty, but it's also partly because American swear words possess no real meaning to people who didn't grow up forbidden to use them. Young Quebecers say "fuck" all the time, and it's amusing to me because--as a big employer of the word "fuck"--they never get the usage quite right. But who can blame them for not knowing how it works given that their swear words consist of variations on things like "the host" and "the chalice" and the highly, highly offensive "tabernacle?" (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you can find a tutorial on Quebecois swear words here.) What do words like "fuck" and "bitch" even mean when your knowledge of rebellious verbiage is dependent entirely on your Catholic upbringing?

Honestly, I'm not convinced American swear words possess much meaning for Anglophones, either. I think all this stuff about certain words being "bad" is utter nonsense, which is part of the reason I found the following much more entertaining than offensive:


And really, I can't blame them for the error. That "tch" sound is a tough one.

A Warning

My current status on That Social Networking Site reads that Alana:

really, really doesn't want your unsolicited parenting advice. In fact, I'm tempted to put my babies to sleep on their faces in a recalled crib with a bumper in the sunshine with no hats on and the TV blaring after having fed them formula from a BPA bottle with shellfish, honey, and non-organic peanuts just to spite you.

Really. Yes, your child/children is/are amazing. And yes, I'm sure you are the perfect parent. And I'm sure your advice is way better than any other parenting advice anyone has ever given me. And I'm sure it must be worlds better than any idea my husband or I might have on our own, given that we only have, like, six or seven degrees between us, none of them in parenting. But unless you have been a parent to two 11-month-old twins within the past, say, 5 years, who were adopted from Ethiopia and have the exact same medical history, emotional make-up, and karma, and unless your personality is identical to mine and/or my husband's, I don't give a rat's ass what advice you have for me. I really don't. If I have a question, I'll ask.

You want to share your parenting advice? Write a book.

The Period of Data Collection Is Over

Anyone else see this? One of the reasons you don't hear a lot of the good stories about adoption is because those of us who are responsible parents don't want to subject our kids to the kind of media frenzy that comes with "speaking up" about issues like adoption. We want to protect our kids, not put them in the spotlight. But still, we long for more of the good stories to be shared, which is why I was grateful for that little essay. The comments following this article on That Social Networking Site included several by adult adoptees who were also expressing thanks for a positive adoption story.

I've spent countless hours reading negative adoption stories, warnings, things to be aware of regarding transracial and international adoption. I'm thankful for that information, but I'm also growing weary of the constant stream of negativity. I wonder how it makes the happy adoptees feel to have people constantly making it sound like they should be upset or angry or outraged that they were adopted. This isn't to say that those that are upset or angry or outraged are wrong--they have good reasons for their feelings, and God knows those feelings have been stifled long enough--but I wonder if some adult adoptees get as fatigued as I do over forever hearing the down side. I remember the first time I met an adult adoptee, and I distinctly remember the stunned feeling I had when he told me how much he loved his parents and how happy he was to have been adopted. I realized that because of everything I had been reading, I had drawn the conclusion that adoptees are destined to be unhappy, to feel angry, to feel cheated. I realized that my perception was creating unnecessary anxiety about my role as an adoptive parent. Sure, we want to work hard to make sure our kids feel comfortable discussing their thoughts and feelings about their adoption, but it's wrong for me to conclude that they will necessarily be unhappy about adoption or being part of a multiracial family.

I'm reaching a point where I think I have collected a fair amount of information on these issues, and I think I'm ready to just let that sink in and move on. To stop the research portion of this endeavor and move on to writing the thesis. There are as many different perspectives on adoption, on transracial adoption, on international adoption, as there are people. But in the end, my family's story is the one that matters most to me. And I think our story is going to be a good one.

Plans

Some days I have trouble believing that we really are finished with the adoption process, that we really did pass court, that we really don't have to wait anxiously for any more magic phone calls. I imagine this is largely due to the fact that the children aren't yet here, in our home, making noise and demanding attention. This will become a reality soon enough, though, because we are going to Ethiopia very soon. Plane tickets were bought, a guest house was booked, touristy things have been arranged. It's going to be awesome. Not like a hot dog. Actually awesome.

Originally, when we thought we'd be traveling in March, we were planning to spend a few weeks in Ethiopia. We wanted to have a bunch of leisurely time in Addis, travel north, do some hiking in the Simiens, and head south to see zebras and hippos. We had it all planned out. But alas! Our case got delayed and delayed and delayed, and now we are just looking forward to having the kiddos home as soon as possible. Nonetheless, we are still making time for Lalibela, the Blue Nile gorge, and a visit to the area where our kids were born. It won't be the dream journey we imagined, but it will still be pretty amazing.

Given everything that is going on in our lives over the next couple of months--a trip to Ethiopia, a crash course in parenting, an international move--I expect blog posting will be more sporadic than usual between now and about June or so, but we're still here! Don't give up on us!

As a gesture of good will, a sort of down payment on future blogging, I present to you a cat in a box:


Feel free to enjoy it thoroughly. There's more where that came from.

Anxious

*UPDATED*

Right now, my husband is in a taxi with the orange cat on their way to the emergency room. Julius is diabetic. He was having such a good week. Low blood sugar. We got to skip 4 doses of insulin in 4 days. And then tonight after dinner and his injection, his head started twitching uncontrollably. Like palsy or something. This could indicate renal failure. Or it could just be that his blood sugar is higher than it has been lately. (It was 19 following his meal, even with insulin, when lately he has been between 8 and 16 most of the time.) And all I can do is sit here and wait.

We went through something like this a few years ago. Our one cat, my best friend, started yowling and couldn't stand up. We took him to the ER. We never brought him home. He died that night of a blood clot. Just like that. I was devastated.

Say what you will about cats being "just pets." The orange cat is part of our family. And right now, I am terrified.

Luna is curled up in my lap. I think she knows something is wrong.

*The vet couldn't find anything wrong with Julius. She was astounded that he is in such good shape given that he's a diabetic cat and says he looks great and appears pretty healthy. His glucose levels are good, everything is fine. She said it could have been neurological, but there's really no indication that he had a seizure or anything. We're supposed to videotape it if it happens again. Let's hope it doesn't.

Surprises

This week, we received a most excellent gift for the Dinkees* from their Aunt Skye down in Savannah. Skye is a mega-talented knitter and has been making stuff pretty much since she was old enough to hold objects in her hands. Little did I know that when she posted photographs of recent crafts awhile back, some of them were intended for our family. You can find photos here.


* "The Dinkees" is a nickname given to the twins by their cousins, Hilina, Saida, and Judah. When they were first told about the twins, they had trouble saying "Dink-uh" and "Dink-ay" and decided Dinkees was close enough. We love it.

A Little Hopeful Something

Nothing warms my heart quite like seeing a woman getting a big ol' hug from a lion.

Dayenu Explained!

You folks are gonna wanna pop on over to The Education of Deborah Schwartz and check out her husband's sweet Power Point presentation on the meaning of the song "Dayenu." (Just a note: If you're not Jewish or Jewish-by-association, you probably won't enjoy it so much.)

Very Belated New Year's Eve and Nuit Blanche Photos

I meant to post these ages ago. They are from our incredibly delightful outings to the Old Town and environs for New Year's Eve and Nuit Blanche, respectively. Just in time for Easter and in no particular order:

Weather Trumps Religion

Good Friday turned out to be the most beautiful day in Montreal. Even though we had a mild winter this year, it was nonetheless chilly and grey and rather depressing. So on Friday, when I and the other folks in this good Catholic province should have been in church, we went out to enjoy the weather. It's hard to care too much about a crucifixion that may or may not have occurred a couple thousand years ago when it's warm outside and sunny for the first time since August. I didn't even fast. No. I went to the park. And I ate ice cream. And I drank beer on a terrace. What's more holy than blue skies and sunshine after a long hard winter, I ask you?

A Bit of Montreal Randomness




And to cap off this lovely Friday, a bit of randomness from New York as well.