Hungry

Because of the episode at school, Xanthe went in for an EEG and a consultation with the neurology docs.  She could only sleep for four hours the night before!  Torture for Mom!  Thursday night, I took her to a movie at 9:30.  We ate lots of popcorn.  Then we wandered around Smith's looking for fun gifts.  We put together a basket and doorbell ditched a friend at midnight.  Actually, we just left the stuff.  We wouldn't ring a doorbell that late!  We managed to stay up until one o'clock, so we didn't have to wake up until 5.  By the time we had had breakfast at McDonald's, it was time to get ready and take kids to all their schools.  Frank and Ruby have different schedules, and Araceli and Freestone go to different junior highs, so there's quite a bit of driving going on in the mornings.  It kept us busy until it was time to go. 

Xanthe and I both fell asleep during the EEG.  The doc said it came out normal, and recommended an MRI next.  I'm glad we're doing that, because Xanthe's genetic history is such a mystery.  These episodes could be "conversion disorder," I think where the brain basically turns off and turns back on under stress.  Interestingly, the doctor said it could be related to food stress.  Not hunger, but stress related to food.  Well, Xanthe certainly has that.  She doesn't grasp the concept of portions, or have any idea of how hungry she is or isn't. Her relationship to food is very, very primal.  It's one streamlined idea:  "Get food."  The stress of eating being more complicated than that is a struggle as she gets older.  One more thing that I thought would be solved once Xanthe had plenty to eat.  We have never figured this one out.  "Letting her eat as much as she wants" has been an epic, decade-long fail for our family.  You see, when food is present, Xanthe is stressed.  If she has a little snack in her school backpack, she is absolutely consumed with when she's going to be able to eat it.  We're still having to have the conversation, "I'm going to give you your food first, so when you're finished, other people may still be eating, and that's OK, because you won't be hungry."  That has been a very difficult concept, because if someone is eating, or if someone has something different than what Xanthe has, she goes ballistic.  For years, we avoided taking her places where there was food, like a recital with a reception afterwards, or a church function where there was a refreshment table set up with goodies meant to be eaten after the event.  Xanthe would writhe in agony, rubbing her eyes, a sure sign that she is under a great deal of stress.  She would literally ruin anything where food was involved, for the whole family.

It's irritating when people chirp cute little solutions to me, as if during the past ten years, we hadn't thought of "letting her have a snack in her backpack," or "let her have as much as she wants," or "let her choose what you have for dinner."  That's cute, but you have no idea the enormous amount of stress Xanthe's food issues present for the whole family.  Here's an example of what we've been dealing with.  This was when I was still optimistic that Xanthe would grow out of these terrible issues.  The tone of the post belies the desperation that I felt when things like the kid with the Doritos happened.  Even now, I still feel extremely tense whenever Xanthe and food are in the same room.

So I don't know whether this stress is related to food, but the last two times it has happened, there was food stress.  At play practice, she hadn't had breakfast and I was going to bring it to her, but she didn't know exactly what time.  At school, she had rushed out the door that morning with a breakfast that she wasn't excited about, and then her friend was stealing her fries at lunch.  She wasn't hungry, she was just worried she wouldn't get enough, meaning ALL of the food that she could imagine wanting.

Anyway, towards the end of the doctor visit, where I had promised Xanthe there would be no shots, the nurse suggested getting a flu shot.  Xanthe glared at me.  She suddenly got extremely hungry and couldn't think about anything else.  She flopped, sighed, complained, cried and wanted to talk incessantly about where to go eat.  I got her out of there as quickly as I could, no shot, and sped to the nearest Wendy's after picking up Ptolemy.  I got her chicken nuggets, a drink, a Frosty, a chicken sandwich and fries. I figured she deserved one of everything after getting no sleep and spending the morning at the doctor. Ptolemy got a junior cheeseburger, period.  Even so, there was a crisis because Ptolemy took the tomato off his burger and put it in the bag.  Even though Xanthe had a chicken sandwich, fries, chicken nuggets, a drink AND a Frosty, she did not have a tomato.  She HAD to have that tomato.  It was aggravating, because I was driving and couldn't help her, and I didn't want her to make a mess trying to retrieve a slice of tomato out of a bag, when she had a feast right in front of her.  

So the saga continues.  Do I pull the car over so Xanthe can have a discarded tomato slice?  She is almost 12, and she lives in the real world.  At some point, there has to be some normalcy surrounding her food habits.  The older she gets, the more we have tried to gently work on these things, and I think that's part of the reason for the increased stress levels, who knows?  But now, every time she fixes a plate of food, she brings it to me to show me, proudly, that she took a reasonable amount of food.  She wants to get better, but, like me, she doesn't know how.  I do know, from reading mountains of literature on the subject, that there is no fix.  It's just adapting to the situation with coping mechanisms, and there is just no quick way to do that.  When a baby is hungry, that hunger lasts for a lifetime.  That's why Ptolemy and Tziporah were fed on demand, and never, never made to adhere to a schedule.  I couldn't risk them feeling that never-ending hunger that has made Xanthe's life such a challenge. 

See why the idea of getting a shot made Xanthe so agitated and hungry? :)

A Haircut

This cute little thing got 6 inches chopped off her hair.  It was gorgeous long, but adorable in a bob, so we decided to switch it up for summer.  Xanthe was pleased with it.  She feels sassier and more confident.  Xanthe is a fun kid.  She keeps me on my toes with her attention to detail and constant concern for when and what we'r having for the next meal.  If it weren't for Xanthe, I think I might just forget to feed the kids half the time.  Her first words in the morning are always, "What are we having for breakfast?"  Her best memories of any trip are always what we ate.  And here she is after her haircut, getting food!  She is a little foodie!  She isn't picky and loves all kinds of food, so she is fun to dine with.  Even if it's just a little ice cream on the way home from a super fun haircut.

I love Xanthe's real smile!  It emanates light.  Xanthe awes me with her tender heart and steely core.  At her very core, she has something that I imagine is the domain of her Chinese ancestors; a strength that connects her to their spirits, and to her family line.  Even though she is sealed to us forever and is ours, ours, ours, I have to think that she can still lay claim to her heritage.  It wouldn't make sense that her ancestors wouldn't watch over her.  She is lost to her birth family here on earth, but not in heaven.  They know her.  They are watching over her.  So Xanthe has two families' angels on her side.  No wonder her smile emanates light!

Phew, all that deep thinking over a haircut?  Nothing is "just a haircut" with this kid!

Lost and Found

 Here is Yi Ai You on her first birthday at the YiYang SWI in Hunan Province, China.

And here is Xanthe Mary Mei Dopp, age 10, at her ballet class on costume day in Kaysville, Utah.

Sometimes I am mad at her birth parents.  Xanthe lost so much when she lost her mom and dad, her ancestry, her heritage, her language and her homeland.

Other times my heart overflows with compassion and grief for her parents.  They lost so much when they lost their daughter, a link in their family chain.  They lost a tiny baby, but also they lost everything she would become.  Adopting a child from so much loss and uncertainty is different, I would think, than having a newborn placed in your arms and knowing that her birth parents planned this for her, and that his baby is now YOURS.  I know that Xanthe is MINE, but there are times of doubt when I question the validity of my claim, so great is the empathy I feel for any parent who has to abandon their child out of poverty.  I feel guilty.  It's like we rescued Xanthe from a sinking ship, but we couldn't rescue her parents, and to this day they're lost in a sea of sorrow.

 Sometimes when I watch Xanthe dance, or see her face light up when she laughs, I wish so hard that her birth mother could stand by my side and we could watch her together.   I knew before Xanthe was here, that she was missing from our family.  I knew she was ours long before she was in our arms.  I used to despair that we would never, in this vast world, find our daughter.  By the grace of God, we did find her, and because of that, her birth parents' loss isn't total.  Their baby is safe.

Our baby is safe.

The Sad Parts

 Yesterday because of Chinese New Year, I was going through some of Xanthe's photos.  This is the day we met Xanthe.  Scott and I were introduced to her at the city building in Changsha, where eight frightened and confused little girls were handed over to eight sets of emotional and ecstatic parents who looked and smelled nothing like anyone the babies had ever known.  Xanthe was sick.  She had a cough and probably an ear infection, from the way she kept tugging on her ear.  She reacted tot he trauma by not reacting.  This picture of her lying on the bad was what she did.  Her papers said she could sit up and move around, but her flaccid little body couldn't even roll over.  Now I realize that part of it was the shock of her new situation, but she was nothing like the muscular powerhouse she is now.

 We immediately administered antibiotics, cut her fingernails and gave her a bath.

 I have to admit, Scott and I were freaked out about the shape of Xanthe's head.  It seemed to have two bumps at the crown, one on each side, and as you can see, it was extremely flat.  Xanthe, as we know now, is an observer, reticent to jump in until she knows the lay of the land.  That trait doesn't serve one well in an institutional setting, where the squeaky wheel not only gets the grease, but has a better chance of survival.  Xanthe had, however, acquired the skill of drinking very quickly.  The orphanage was on a strict schedule, and feedings were 4 hours apart.  That's a long time for a baby to wait!  Xanthe at first wouldn't take the food we put in her bottle, a mixture of formula and rice cereal, until we served it literally scalding hot.  Then she sucked it down in 4 or 5 second, the whole bottle.  The orphanage cuts off the top of the nipple so the kids can eat faster, and Xanthe was a pro.

 The other thing we were shocked at were the little scars on her thighs.  Later, when we visited the orphanage, we saw that the crib sides were only about a foot high.  Then we understood the explanation that the babies' thighs were tied to the cribs so they wouldn't fall or climb out at night.  IT seems barbaric to us, where we have so many luxuries, but what is the alternative if you only have what you have?  The most shocking thing about our new little baby, even more so than all the crazy things we observed in the first hour, was that Xanthe seemed to have dark bruises all down her spine, on her tailbone and on her ankle.  As soon as we saw the bruises, we rushed out into the hall of the hotel to get someone to document that we had not inflicted these abuses.  Other parents were out too, looking for our facilitator.  Only then was it explained to us that most Asian children have birth marks known as "Mongolian spots," which look a lot like purple bruises, especially since Xanthe's pigment-rich skin was so pale at that age.  The spots are usually on the torso, mostly the back, and fade over time.  I wish I had taken a picture of Xanthe's impressive Mongolian spot on her tailbone that first day.  It completely boggles my mind that nobody in the adoption process mentioned to us that our babies would have these spots!  We couldn't have been the first parents who were unnerved by this discovery!

 This is the front entrance to the YiYang SWI.  Xanthe's finding place.  She was found on April 14, with a shirt, a hat and a bottle of sugar water.  Her birthday was decided as April 10.

 A few days later, Scott had figured out just how to get this beautiful smile out of our solemn little girl.  She loved to be thrown in the air.  And she loved it when Scott stuck his tongue out at her.  For the first couple of days, the only sign we had that she was "in there" was when Scott would stick his tongue out and Xanthe's little tongue would cautiously sneak out of the side of her mouth in imitation.  That was our only communication, until Scott got those smile out of her.

 After we gave her a bath that first day, pulling on her ear.  Honestly, she was pretty dirty.  The orphanage hallways are outdoors, so obviously there is no heat in the building.  It's cold.  I'm sure there are cultural opinions about not bathing babies when the weather is cold, since they could die of the cold.  They wear layers upon layers of clothing, out of necessity.

 Xanthe's friend Abigail, Tim and Courtney's baby.  The Atnips were our partners in crime in China, since we were the only two couples to fully venture out and see all the sights.  Some of the first-time parents had their hands full!

So these are some of the more sobering aspects of Xanthe's story.  Her Chinese history is rich and without end in its depth.  She will spend her whole life exploring what it means to be Chinese, Chinese-America, adopted, and everything that goes with that.  There are happy parts to her story, too, like the wonderful nanny who took care of her, the comparatively good conditions she lived in, and the fact that we were able to bring her home when she was so young.  Then there are all the other babies and children who are still there.  After we came home, I had this daydream I would play out in my mind, over and over.  "If we were able to bring home one hundred children from China, could I find families fora ll of them?"  I would play it out in my mind, time after time, going through all the people I knew who would throw open their doors for these imaginary children I would bring home from China.  I would also envision how many Scott and I could carry on the plane.  Maybe we could each carry two, three.  Maybe four each, and other people on the flight could help us hold them.

I guess I had those fantasies as a coping mechanism for knowing that we were leaving behind so many perfect little children, dressed in their layers and layers of clothing, tied to their cribs, the light fading from their bright little eyes day by day.  I couldn't stand the thought of it, and I still can't.  There's no way to spin it so it's OK.

I'm just thankful that Xanthe was chosen for us, and that we listened to the spirit that told us it was in the stars, and that we found her.  We found her and she's home.  That is something.  That is a miracle.

Real Moms

This morning, one of those quintessential adoption moments occurred, out of the blue.  I'm never prepared for these moments.  They never happen with fanfare or warning.  One minute Xanthe was frustrated about doing her hair, the next minute, she was muttering under her breath, "I wish I had my real mom."

I ran to her and wrapped her in my arms.  I was stunned that this had come out of nowhere, but at the same time, I was relieved to hear Xanthe express these feelings.  She hasn't expressed many emotions about adoption, and I am happy we have some talking points now, based on her feelings.  I told her, "oh honey!  I bet she wishes she had you, too.  Heavenly Father wanted you here in our family, but it's OK to feel like you miss her."  Later, I said, "She can be your 'birth mom' and I'll be your 'real mom.' Would that work?"

A minute later, Xanthe was laughing and we were taking pictures of her on the couch.  As fitting as this picture appears, the real reason she looked so forlorn was because she has decided she doesn't know how to smile, since I started telling her to "look natural" in photos.  Ha ha!

I am sure most people don't realize the extent to which adoption is so much more complex than giving birth.  It's just a much, much more nuanced and complicated relationship.  It's not more or less than, it's just extremely intricate, especially in a situation where the child has been abandoned, then institutionalized, then suffered a second primal loss in being taken from the orphanage and placed with a new family.  There is just no end to the range of emotions the child and parent have to work through, and no end to the time it takes to do so.  It has been nine years since Xanthe came home, and  in some ways, she is just now beginning to address these issues.  It's interesting because every single child in the world, at some point, wishes/hopes/fears she is adopted.  I wondered if I was, at times when my mom was being mean!  For adopted children, that fantasy is an actual alternate reality that one has to wonder about.  What would it have been like?  Would my birth mom be better at doing hair?  Would she love me more?  Would she be nicer or prettier?  It's impossible not to fantasize about what might have been, and even wish for that alternate reality.  I myself sometimes visualize Xanthe's birth parents and wonder...

I'm not sad for Scott and myself.  Not at all.  We have a beautiful daughter.  I don't feel at all bereft that I can't provide what the concept of a birth mother can provide.  I am sad for her birth parents because they lost her.  I am sad for Xanthe because she lost them.  Along with that, there are about a hundred valid emotions that play out; anger, guilt, gratitude, confusion, love, compassion, grief, joy...pretty much the gamut of human experience is wrapped up in a single adoption.

When I sent Xanthe off to school and cried, I cried not for myself, but for Xanthe.  She has so much to work through.  But it's OK.  It's her story, it's our story, and it's a beautiful, beautiful story, heartbreak and all. 

A Day of Celebrations

 Thursday after PTolemy's very last day of preschool, I took him to Dylan's for a special lunch.  He had a sack full of treasures from school, and we didn't want to just go through them in the car.  We wanted to savor them.

 Smarties for a smartie...

 ...and a scrapbook of all the fun times those cute little people had this year with Miss Sharla.  Look how much Ptolemy has grown!  Lunch was short because Ptolemy had pre-ballet.  He loves his class with his friend Camden, Liby from Shelter, and the other gwills.  His teacher, Miss Lisa loves him, too.  It was just an all-around great day for the kid!

 And it was a great day for Xanthe, too!  May 22 was Gotcha Day, or as most people call it now, Family Day.  Eight years ago on May 22, Scott and I walked into a beautiful room at the city offices in Changsha, China, and there was Xanthe, sitting on the orphanage director's lap, drinking water out of a cup.  All the girls were dressed in bright pink outfits with little shirts and split pants.  We were afraid we wouldn't recognize our daughter from the two pictures we had, but we knew right away who she was.

Xanthe is the one on the far left, with the man in black.  There were three other babies, too.  We were surprised that they were already there!  In fact, I think it was a mistake.  I think we were supposed to wait and have the babies brought in and presented to us, but we all accidentally ended up together, and what a happy accident!  I love the way it all played out.  None of us dared rush over to the babies.  We were in a foreign country, after all, and we had jumped through some very mysterious hoops to get to this point.  We didn't want to do anything to jeopardize our being able to hold our long-awaited children, and finally take them home!

 Scott brought Xanthe this huge cupcake when he came home.  It was so pretty, it warranted its own photo shoot.  Xanthe is such a beautiful girl!  I love these photos.  She got the candy necklace from Mrs. Glissmeyer at reading tutoring.  Sadly, it was her last session.  She absolutely loves Mrs. Glissmeyer and the time she spends at her home reading.

That night, we took Xanthe and Tizzy to Settebello at Farmington Station for their special $2 pizza margarita night.  There was also $2 gelato, so of course, we took advantage of both specials!  Xanthe loved being the center of attention...as much as she could with Tziporah's antics adding to the festive atmosphere!  Scott and I both forgot our phones, which never happens, and led to some discomfort as things started going haywire due to phone calls I was waiting for.  Oh well!  It was a bummer that we couldn't take pictures of Xanthe, though.  Scott told her, "This night never happened because there are no pictures to share on social media!"  :)

 This was moments after the kind man in the black shirt handed us our baby.  One baby was screaming uncontrollably, but the rest were eerily silent.  Libby adapted quickly.  Abby was a koala bear, clinging heavily to whomever held her.  Xanthe was sick, tugging at her ear.  The orphanage people gave us some medicine, but we had brought antibiotics with us, and administered the first dose right away.  I'm so glad we had been advised to do that.  I love this picture because it shows the determination that I had felt in finding Xanthe and bringing her home, and the peace at having her.  It shows the fear and confusion in Xanthe's face, and the physical discomfort she must have been in, with her lungs and ears infected.  I lvoe it because I have Xanthe's favorite "Panda" blankie over my shoulder.  She still sleeps with it.  One just like it, its twin, was given to Xanthe's special nanny at the orphanage.  I love this picture too because Scott took it, through teary eyes, still in marvelous shock over having a child in this way!

We recreated the picture when we got home from Settebello.  I just adore how Xanthe is still looking up with those brown eyes, but this time with more confidence.  She is where she belongs and she knows it.  We love you, Yi Ai You!

Practicing

Children have a way of asking the big questions in a small way.  Off the cuff, in a casual setting, a cute little third grader will drop a bombshell, leaving her mom scrambling.  It all started at piano this morning when we were talking to our teacher.  She said that when her son asked why he had to practice, she told him this:  "Because when you looked down at our family from heaven, you saw that we play musical instruments, and you chose us anyway!  So it was your choice!"

We were joking in the car, then, on the way home, Freestone saying that when I had a miscarriage after Ruby, that was Freestone.  He said he changed his mind that first time and went back because of the practicing.  We were all laughing when I said, "Yeah, and Xanthe said to herself, 'That family practices too much!  I'm going to China!'"  She giggled boisterously.  Then she said cheerfully, "Yeah.  'Cause I already had a family in China.  But they didn't WANT me!"

Oh.  Wow.  I couldn't let that just float into the atmosphere.  Suddenly, instead of talking about practicing, we were talking about how Xanthe's family in China loved her a lot, but couldn't keep her.  Then she said, "Have you heard the story of how boys stay in China and girls don't?  Why do they do that?"

Oh.  Wow again.  I was wishing we were still laughing about Freestone going back to heaven when he found out he was going to have to play the violin in our family.  But instead we were talking about tradition and farming and sons and daughters.  I was wishing that wherever she heard these little snippets, she hadn't heard them.  Nobody is an expert on China, so the less said in front of such young, impressionable children, the better, unless you are their parents and feel like you know what to say.  For me, I don't know what to say.

But at least I have the right.

Raising a Chinese daughter is more complicated than raising a child who looks just like me, for sure.  Sometimes I'm sad when people say something like, "Golda looks just like you!"  or, "Tziporah looks just like the rest of the kids."  But look, that's the reality.  We're certainly not going to pretend Xanthe isn't Asian.  We love that she is!  She is absolutely beautiful!   I look at her slender fingers and her muscled calves and her shiny, dark hair and wonder:  where did those traits come from?  Xanthe is so many layers of gorgeous.

Being an Asian kid in a white community has its humorous moments, too.  The other day, Ruby told me that Xanthe was pulling back the corners of her eyes, slanting them up, then down, chanting, "Chinese!  Japanese!  Chinese!  Japanese!"  Later, when I talked to her about it, it struck me as funny.  I told her that it's rude to say that, and that when kids say things like that, they're not being respectful.  I said, "You might hurt someone's feelings, like...um...Jade or...yourself...."  It was a funny moment.

And speaking of Jade, I just shake my head whenever Xanthe tells me that another person got her mixed up with Jade, the other Chinese-American girl in her class.  They don't look alike!  They are not similar!  They are not the same girl!  It is NOT OK to intimate, through your sheer laziness, that all Asians look alike.  Look into their sweet, caramel faces, into their innocent eyes, and notice.  These are two very different girls.  Yes, they love their Asian-ness.  No, they don't want it pointed out in a negative way.  Yes, they feel it as a deep wound when you casually say, "Oh, I thought you were that other Chinese girl."

Race is such a complicated issue.  To address, and even to not address it, is to blunder, because everyone's feelings are different, deep and intense.  So we take it all in stride and love who we are.  At the same time, we love who other people are, too, and we learn to not fault them for their reactions.  After all, we all chose to come here and experience all this.

Even in spite of the practicing.

Reunion Party

 This is how Tziporah would ride in the stroller if she wasn't strapped in.  Oh, but then she would start scaling the back of the seat with her feet/  Where you think you're going, little one?!

 This is my friend Catherine from Catherine's Chatter over there on my sidebar.  We have only met once before, at this same get-together two years ago, but we've been friends ever since, thanks mostly to the miracle of blogging.  I love Catherine, so I'm glad we got this picture last night.  I was pitiful at taking pictures!  I was too busy catching up with my long-lost friends and tracking down Tziporah, who is part Sir Edmund Hillary and part Vasco de Gama, wandering off to explore things to possibly climb.

And these are some of our beautiful children!  They cannot stay still to pose, and there is always someone who doesn't feel like being in the picture, but the craziness is part of the group, so it's all good.

I love being with these families and seeing the kids grow.  Each family has a unique story and each family is structured differently, and they are all wonderful.  It's amazing to me to look around one of our get-togethers and think of all the prayers that were answered through the creation of these perfect little family units.  Heavenly Father is mindful of us, I know that.  That he knows all the birth families of these kids intimately, too, is awesome to me.  It's all so complex and wonderful, it can boggle the mind.  We talked a lot about the DNA testing at the party.  I often wonder about Xanthe's birth family, and would connect with them in a heartbeat if I could.  For now, knowing that we have the same God watching over us is enough, and I hope our prayers for them are recorded in heaven.

Thanks to Laurel and Jay for hosting a great evening in their beautiful home and yard!  Let us know when the splash pad is installed, and we'll come try it out for ya! ;)

Somewhere Between

My older kids and I watched a movie tonight that Scott and I saw in the theater, Somewhere Between.  Twenty minutes into it, Xanthe wandered out of bed and Ruby invited her to watch the movie.  I wasn't going to let her see it, but she was quiet and I started thinking she might be old enough.

After the movie, as I was tucking Xanthe in, I said, "So, what did you think that movie was about?"  Xanthe replied, "Chinese people."  I thought maybe she didn't pick up on much, but as I pulled the blankets up to her chin, Xanthe said in a small voice, "Mom, how many days did my birth mother keep me?"

"Four," I said out loud as I chanted in my head, "Hold it together, hold it together, hold it together..."  I didn't want to break down in the sobs that a moment like this deserves.  I wanted it to be about Xanthe and her processing her emotions, not mine.  But the way she phrased her question was so heartbreaking.

I began, not wanting to say anything that wasn't true, "Your birth mother kept you for four days, and she probably held you the whole time, you were so tiny and beautiful.  Then she or someone else took you someplace where they knew you would be safe, which was the orphanage."  We then moved on to a discussion about her "roommates," and how Xanthe hoped none of them were older than she was, because she wanted to be the oldest.

Xanthe wasn't found with a note, as far as we know.  Most babies are found with a note telling at least their birth date.  That leads me to believe that Xanthe's family was very poor and illiterate.  If we could find them, I would, in a heartbeat.  There is no question for me, I would want to know where Xanthe came from, and who her people are, if I had the choice.  I don't know how Xanthe will feel in the future, but I do know that we will probably never even have a scrap of information about her family.

It's enough to know that Xanthe is where she belongs, according to Heavenly Father's plan.  I have a feeling the future could be very interesting as God's plan unfolds for Xanthe.  She has amazing things in store for her, and I can't help but hope that some of them include the people who brought her into this world.

For tonight, I can only offer up my silent gratitude to Xanthe's birth parents, and promise them that Scott and I will take care of their - our - little girl.

The Red Thread Turns Into a Very Thick Cable

ONE of the great things about having Xanthe in our family is that we get to celebrate extra holidays.  Chinese New Year is the biggest holiday in the world, celebrated by well over a billion people.  Records are broken every year in regards to number of texts sent, number of train tickets sold, worldwide volume of phone calls, etc.  More people travel for Chinese New Year than anything else in the world, because part of CNY is going home.

This year, we stayed right where we were and the party came to us!  And boy did the party come in force!  We had many new families as well as old.  Everyone knew someone, but nobody knew everyone.  What we all knew was that there was a ton of good food, if you could get to it!  I think our house finally met its party match.  I know there were at least 95 people, 20 or 30 of whom seemed to be running in circles around the basement in their Chinese finery, shrieking and giggling.  A perfect activity; not messy and good exercise!

As crowded and noisy as it was, I can't put into words why I love having the house packed to the gills or why it's such a thrill to have people gather here.  I just love it.  For Scott, hosting isn't necessarily his calling in life.  He's a social guy and a good sport, but parties are something he puts up with because he loves me, just like I put up with...um...I can't think of anything.  Scott is perfect.  (Breathe a sigh of relief, Scott, but hurry, because we're having two recitals at our house Friday.  You don't have to come! :D)

Yes, the red thread community we have become a part of has turned into a very strong cable of families who are bound together by something invisible, indescribable, yet unbreakable.

Ptolemy stole the show, wearing our only pair of Chinese pajamas.  I was talking to another mom and called Ptolemy "my cute little guy," which is a no-no.  He was quick to point out that, "I'm big!  And I'm handsome, too!"

Sneaking cookies before the party?

And then, this happened!

Gracie, Ari and Kate, three of my very favorite past and present ballet students, found a quiet corner.

The Amazing Passeys.  We love you guys!

That's Liese Checketts on the right, the organizer of all this craziness.  Thanks for everything, Liese!

These are just the cooperative kids.  There were about this many who didn't make it to the couch because they were just too busy!  It's OK, though, because the couch was pretty much at capacity!

Sophia playing a traditional Chinese instrument, a reed flute.

Changs and Sandy.  Terah and Ruby had something in common:  They were both the Arabian soloist in the Nutcracker during consecutive years.  Now they might have something else in common too, if the Changs end up adopting from China or Taiwan!