We’re Back (Sort of)



In what amounted to the full efforts of a transcontinental move, our family has relocated itself.  Ten minutes down the road.  If you had asked me in January where I saw myself by the time pre-school started, I’d have answered in the same spot.  I couldn’t have imagined how roughly true that was.

It’s been a strange move.  We are officially in a new town, but we go to the same church and grocery store.  The only major difference to our out-of-the-house routine is which Target we go to.  Our new-to-us neighbors are finally realizing we don’t need tips on what’s what in NoVa.

Preschool started up this week for both girls.  They go to the same learning center.  They are in new classrooms with new teachers and loving it.  We see their old friends out on the playground, and we’re quickly making new friends.

One, a mom, was trying to figure us out.  She eventually approached the subject directly when she realized we were parked right next to each other.  She thought maybe Wren was my black husband’s child from a previous relationship because there was no way Wren had white blood in her.

I actually get that a lot from people I haven’t seen in ten years… Surely I’ve remarried as one does.

The thing is Wren does have a white great grandmother.  I shared that with the mom of the girl in Wren’s class.  When we got home, I asked Wren if it bothered her that I talked about her adoption.  She’s still very quiet on that subject.  Maybe I should take a cue from her.

Yes, I realize the irony that I’m blogging about it.


Friday Morning Roundup

The chicks and ducklings are well.  Despite growing rapidly, they are still content to remain in the wading pool.  The largest one is Donald, the duck, who is timid and very mild.  The smallest, Shy Guy, is doing well.  There still seems to be something off about him, but I think he will survive.

The girls like to accompany me on walks.  We go no less than 1/2 mile from home, and I’m astonished each time that I don’t have to carry anyone back up the hill.  Susie enjoys being off-leash.  She’s turned into a responsible dog in her old age, and I enjoy her steady company.

When we’re not outside, the girls are drawing with markers, playing with blocks, reading their books, or playing with their dolls.  It’s just like we are at home.  Whenever I need a moment to think, I turn on the television.  Napping is still unattainable although I do sometimes manage to get one down.


As for me, well, I have started a new hobby which I will write about on Knit Me For a Loop.



Highs and Lows

The weather yesterday was just perfection.  I didn’t get any pics of the girls in their Easter dresses, and I’m not worried about it.  They’ll be in them again soon enough.  (For the record, I did get a few pics of them on our walk in their more stylish play clothes.)

I have packed very minimally on this trip.  It’s an experiment for me in minimal living.  And so far I have realized I don’t need as much as I thought I did.

For example, I packed just two pants, one dress and three skirts for myself.  Three short tees, three long tees, one fitted shirt, oh and lots and lots of shoes.  I must be doing it right; I have worn more shoes than clothes.

I tried to pack minimally for the girls as well.  Three dresses each, and only a fraction of their clothes.  Unfortunately, that still amounts to a lot.

The weather today was cold and damp, and I don’t regret bringing extra clothes that could work as layers in a pinch.

The girls’ moods seem to fluctuate as much as the weather.  Their lives have been turned upside down.  We don’t see daddy anymore except through Facetime chats.  It’s been tough on everybody.  Not having a schedule hasn’t helped.

Today was the first day we didn’t have any epic meltdowns.

Plus there were naps.

There is hope.


She sings to them

It was just a thought I dismissed as I made the six-hour drive “home.”  Could I get the girls a chick or two?

My parents have had a variety of foul on the farm over the years. There have been chickens, geese, doves, ducks, and even emus.  These birds found their way to our various houses over the years in a manner of ways. One came home as a result of a school project in which several eggs were hatched in the classroom.  Some were purchased at auction.  Others were delivered by mail.

When grampa mentioned this very same idea on our gator ride, I let him know I had thought of it as well.  We conferred with gramma, and it was settled.  The girls were getting chicks. Continue reading

Change of Address: We’ve gone nomadic.

We are adjusting to some changes.  The girls and I have moved back “home” to live with my parents while our house back in Virginia is put on the market.

I use the word “home” loosely.  Although this is where my parents mostly reside, this isn’t where I grew up.  Sure, I spent my summers here, but it’s not like I can call up old friends from high school.  I don’t know anyone here.  To keep loneliness at bay, for my girls and myself, I’ve decided to join an activity time at the local library which starts next month.

We got here on Tuesday, and already we have had a few adventures.  We found a little playground in town.  We weren’t there for very long, maybe half an hour, and I saw a couple push their child down the street in a stroller.  I hope next time we can find someone to play with. Continue reading

Black History Month

As Wren gets older (she turns four next month), we are becoming more mindful of her awareness of our differences.  It started innocently enough last summer.

“Mommy,” she says as she points to her toe. “I’m brown.”  I asked her what colour I was, to which she replied, “Apple juice.”

A couple of weeks ago, she caught me off guard.  What she said made me uncomfortable.


“Mommy, I’m black.”


I asked her how she knew she was black, and she said her friends told her.

Honestly, those words stung me.  I can’t really explain it.  Shouldn’t she have learned that basic fact about herself from me?


We read storybooks all the time that feature African Americans.  I commissioned an artist to sketch a Martin Luther King, Jr. portrait that hangs in her bedroom.  We compliment her all the time on her hair.  We stress the importance of lotion daily.  We chose a preschool based on its diversity.  So much of what I do is deliberate.


I know she is black.

I should have told her.


We were asked to speak about our transracial family recently.  I talked about the deciding factors.  Our families are diverse in that we both have siblings that married outside of our race.  The pastor of our very diverse congregation is black.  My lady doctor is black.  Our neighbors are black.  Our co-workers are black.  We knew the child we adopted would not live in a world of white.

So during our own adoption training session when we were asked the following four questions, we honestly could answer yes.

  1. Do I worship with someone in the race I plan on adopting?
  2. Do I work with someone in the race I plan on adopting?
  3. Do I dine with someone in the race I plan on adopting?
  4. Do I live with someone in the race I plan on adopting?

At the time, we knew just answering a checkbox wasn’t enough.  We asked our pastor for his blessing, and we asked the neighbor we bowled with and worshipped with and shared butterscotch pie with (and who reads this blog) for her blessing.  Our family is blessed due to our pre-existing relationships in the race we ended up adding to our family.


As Black History Month begins, I am going to take the opportunity to do a better job of letting my daughter know she is black.  I want her to be proud of who she is, because she has every right to be.




Chickadee and Me

Twice a week, big sis Wren goes off to preschool and I’m left with wee Chickadee.

For the first hour, she’ll ask “Where Wren?” at least a dozen times.  “Oh, Wren at school,” she repeats after me.

Chickadee misses her sister A LOT, but she’s come to appreciate alone time with me.  Truth be told, I’ve come to appreciate alone time with her, too.  I have hardly had a chance to be one on one with her, and I was nervous about what to expect.

Right now we’re listening to Daddy’s upbeat Celtic music, and the Scotch Irish in her is showing through.  She’s a twirlin’ and clapping to the strong beat.

She’s asking for a dance parter, of which I’m her only option, so… until next time.  🙂