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. Yvertha and I commenced to discreetly change into our bathing suits (under towels, shirts etc). Silvia, in all her unabashed glory, just de-topped, sat while unfolding her bathing suit, and got dressed leisurely. She was private about the south pole, but otherwise, I felt like I was sitting in a live scene from a National Geographic photo. Silvia didn't seem bothered by the waiter coming up to get our lunch orders. No rush to cover herself. If he was bothered, he didn't show it either. I had to laugh (on the inside). Yvertha whispered something to Silvia as she was dangling free, but Silvia took no notice to what she said. I knew then it was going to be a beach day like no other.

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 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.

I'm also 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 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. (I think I just puked a little in my mouth.)

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. The smell through the house is starting the process. 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. its 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.

Visit 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

Little Responsibilities

Today's mobile clinic took us to a church-mid-construction outside the city. Although lacking funds for completion, the church boasted lofty goals with high peaking ceilings and a cavernous sanctuary. Without the finishing touches, the skeleton-cinder-block state it stood in left it feeling stark and echoing emptiness. Our clinic space was set up in a corner of the vacant sanctuary with blackboards and sheets walling off a little space for myself and Miss Fanor. Our clinic-day of patients were all sitting on school benches waiting for us at 7:30am, so we hustled about getting things set up. High above our heads men were starting their work for the day on the tin roof. Hammering. On the tin roof.

I had a "if they could see me now" moment this morning as I attempted to politely commence clinic over the racket of nails breaking through aluminum. Lets just say patients one through four took will-full deep breathing and tolerance. Soon however the physical exam was becoming an exercise in the absurd as I found myself placing my ear centimeters from my patient's mouth in order to hear their story, attempting to differentiate a heartbeat through my stethoscope from the pounding in my brain, and screaming instructions about treatment over the din in the room.

The pastor eventually took pity on my, seeing how slow I was plodding through the group of patients, and called a cease-hammer to the workmen above. Ah, silence is certainly golden.

My most heart-warming patient encounter came with the last two faces of the day: a twelve year old boy escorting his 3 year old cousin to our clinic. Both of their parents were working, but the children had colds and fevers, so were sent in for an exam. The boy wrapped his arms protectively around his cousin, much like a father would his child. The little girl leaned against her guardian, all eyes and smile, feeling brave with her protector wrapping his arms around her. Both children presented their symptoms like little adults, describing to me their cough, how hot they get at night, and what they can't eat. When giving instructions about medicines they would need to take, the boy had me repeat the instructions several times until he had all memorized for both he and his tiny cousin. He repeated my instructions back to me like a star pupil before he left, proving that he had all information locked safely away in his mind.

Poverty often forces children to grow up too fast, take responsibility before their years. As you travel down any street in Port-au-Prince, you can often see children working along-side their parents in the side-walk restaurants, carrying water down the street, dumping out waste water into the gutters, hauling produce on their little heads. Children play along the side of the road sans over-protective-parent ushering them back away from traffic. In the countryside, little boys carry machetes half their size as they stride along the fields. Yet somehow most seem to adapt to the responsibilities thrown at them. I think often of the overprotective nature of my own culture, of my own parenting style. Once again, it is a luxury to allow children to grow up under the eagle-eye of their parents, tucking them far from danger and lecturing about staying close. American children often rebel against such luxuries eventually, wanting to break free into independence. If only each culture could walk a mile in the other's shoes. I wonder who would be more ready to go back home.

Today's encounter with my littlest of patients made me proud of the responsibility this 12 year old was grasping with determination, and heart-warmed over the trust that flowed from his tiny, bright-eyed cousin. I pray that they always look out for each other in a world that often looks the other way.

Church in Cabaret

In case you are all wondering why 3 blogs get posted all at once (with post dates), we've been battling some unpredictable electricity as of late. Lately we've only been able to enjoy electrical current coarsing through the house spinning fans and enabling the internet between the inconvenient hours of 10:30pm to 5:30 am. But tonight we got a surprise blink of the lights on at a glorious 4:30 pm, so I was able to upload pictures and post blogs from the last week.

So sleepy he fell alseep in his dinner.

However, I've also been a little lax in keeping up with writing. There is this little entertaining miniature man with great hair I have to blame for it. But tonight, as I procrastinate from lesson plans, I'm trying to catch up.

Last Sunday we attended a church in Cabaret, a town about 45 minutes outside of Port-au-Prince, along the National Highway to the north. Cabaret is a rural costal town straddling the busy highway that carries traffic from Port-au-Prince to the Artibonite valley and back.

The church we attended was tucked into the community, just off the road. It was the kind of church where you felt welcomed by the first hand you shook, the first cheek you kissed and the all the smiles and greetings to follow. Leaving the city behind felt good last Sunday, and being welcomed into a small town with abundant hospitality made for a beautiful morning.

The pastor of the church was 85 and had lived and worked in the community all his life. He introduced us to his wife, his children and all the leaders of the church as a part of the service. The congregation sang with great gusto, filling every square inch of air in the small tin-walled Church with music. Solomon was thrilled by our seats in church--right next to the drummer. He got a few beats in to the patient kindness of the musician. Patrick gave a beautiful sermon and was encouraged with Amen's along the way.

After church, I held a small consultation and education time with any interested community members. A group gathered all around me instead of sitting and taking turns. Initially I thought there was going to be a fight for attention, but instead the folks in attendance simply gathered for a more community-style forum. As one by one, people aired their health concerns, I taught not only to the patient but to the group at large. Soon everyone was discussing symptoms and treatment suggestions, giving advice and asking questions. Since no one seemed to be the least bit bothered by blatant lack of privacy, I relaxed into the unconventional consultation setting and had a lot of fun. Children were paraded before me with fevers and coughs allowing all the woman to fuss over them, voicing their additional concerns despite the fact the child was in no way related to them. Neighbors spoke up with additional "symptoms" they'd observed in the elders who aired their aches and pains. The group at large worried over a young woman who hadn't slept in days, who exhibited symptoms of depression. Blood pressure readings were compared amongst the group like war wounds. I had to smile. It was the most fun in clinic I've had in a while.

In the mean time, some of the boys from the community introduced Patrick and Solomon to their livestock... a goat, a horse, and a donkey. Solomon experienced his very first free-range petting zoo. The donkey was by far the favorite and the most willing to sidle up for some hands-on love. The goat was not at all thrilled, especially when Solomon used his as a drum.

Patrick was also pulled into conversations with the men of the church concerning theological education and their dreams of building a bigger cement church across the road.

After the afternoon's activities, we were treated to a home-cooked meal of fish creole with plantains, beans and rice. A feast in deed. The hospitality shown to us was overwhelming. We walked out of the church, bellies full, into the warm but fresh coastal air, scattering chickens in our wake and listening to the rustle of a field of plantain palms.

With so many CONASPEH churches in the city and previously being limited by unreliable wheels, we've not ventured far outside the city limits on Sunday mornings. But after this week, Patrick and I both look forward to further exploring the Haitian country side and getting to know in a small way the communities within.

Hospice

Today after clinic in Carrefour, a dear friend asked me to visit her failing aunt in her home. She warned me that she was dying. Her aunt had been struggling with illness for a long while, and now was virtually bed-ridden. She has lost most of her cognition, slips in and out of alertness, is incontinent and can no longer move on her own thus requiring her family to take care of her around the clock.

I accompanied my friend into a very poor two-room cinder block house crammed with life. Two young women were sitting outside, starting to boil plantains. A couple of young men looked to be fixing a door jam to the kitchen with tools banging and grunts heaving. A baby lay in diapers on a blanket in a corner the of the main room, sweat beading on her forehead in the still heat of the breathless space. The smell of a charcoal fire filtered into the room, hinting of dinner to come.

We made our way behind a curtain into the bedroom with two large beds and a few wardrobes. As I squeezed between the beds in order to get closer to my patient, I marveled that the entirety of the family had to sleep together in this room at night. I found an elderly, frail, thin woman lying on a bed with her eyes closed. Her face wore the lines of a life long lived, her wrinkled, leathery hands spoke of hard work defining her days. Her clothes were neat, her hair was braided, she smelled like soap. An adult diaper was working to keep her and the bed dry. She lay quietly, appeared comfortable and didn't pay any attention to our entry. Two tired looking young woman sat on the bed next to her, her daughters I was told. They were in charge of her care. "She hurts all the time," they told me with eyes lowered to toward the floor. It is hard not to be able to take away pain, no matter how gentle you are or how much care you provide.

Although I introduced myself to the woman, she never opened her eyes. I started my exam to find the malnutrition common in the elderly and senile. Bed sores had started to form around her heels and tailbone. I discussed with the family who had been vigilant with her care about needs for turning to relieve pressure and pain. They nodded with understanding, seemingly glad for something simple to do.

As I discussed what could be done and what should be done, they listened stoically. We talked of signs of infection and whether or not they would want to use antibiotics that might prolong her life. They weren't upset by the proximity of her death, but by her suffering. I gave a little sigh of relief, glad for a perspective that didn't fight the inevitable, but only the unnecessary. Suffering.

We made a plan for every 2-hour turns while she slept in the bed, keeping weight off the pressure points that were starting to break down, for simple wound care treatments and medications to be given around the clock for pain.

My friend only admitted to me after we were leaving that she had brought me there not to recommend treatments (there weren't many to realistically recommend), but to give her an idea of how much longer her aunt had to live. There was family living overseas that needed to come and say goodbye. Funeral costs are hefty, so as a family they needed to be pooling money to pay for the funeral. She gave a strained laugh after admitting such as if to apologize for her bluntness. But after hearing her share many warm memories of her aunt in her golden years, I knew there was no question how much she loved her. She was only being practical. And merciful. "Its no way for her to live," she said.

I thought a lot about that family tonight driving home and what an invalid in the home means for them. End-of -life issues hit all families hard, those with resources and those with none. For this family it means two able-bodied women are pulled out of the markets where they might make a little money in order to respectfully care for their mother during her last days. Any extra money they have go to buying pain medication and adult diapers. An entire extended family must reach into their shallow pockets to scrape together money in preparation for an honorable funeral (that costs as much or more as one in the States, I've been told). Caring for someone bedridden is hard on the body, and watching your mother slip farther and farther away is even harder on the heart.

Yet I applaud this family who has pulled together and are ushering their elder through the final days of her life with care given by their loving hands. In that family a baby sleeps next to a dying woman. The activity of the tiny house and the family it can barely contain continues to cycle through lives, bringing them all together to work, live, love and care for each other as days go by. I felt honored and humbled to be a witness.

Adventures in Growing

The hardest part of being a parent in Haiti is not getting to share my son with family and friends on a regular basis. So tonight I’d like to get you up to speed on the many talents and quirks of a little boy named Solomon who has his mom and dad wrapped around his pinky toe.


Solomon is not only walking, he is as close to running as a speed-toddle can get. He has discovered the game of Chase or “I’m gonna GET ya!” and toddles away as fast as his short legs can carry him, squealing with delight and ducking behind mommy’s legs (or daddy’s if mom is in hot pursuit). He now cruises all over the apartment; he’s MUCH to big for his kiddie cart now. He's following us from room to room, opening cupboards and closets, empting them of their contents, sometimes crawling inside. He likes to walk outside on the back porch and watch the children play below, hollering out to them for their attention (which they gladly give).

He is also starting to climb… can maneuver his baby toes onto the lip of the first layer of tile along the balcony, holding himself up with his arms to peer over the edge. Once he learns to scale walls we will be absolutely forced to move before he takes his first flying lesson.

He is starting to master rolling over and scooting on his belly off the bed or the couch, and is QUITE pleased with himself when he does it sans help. Mr. Independent.

He’s learning how to throw. And how to share.

He still loves to give applause.

He is “SO BIG” when he raises his hands above his head.

When feeling silly, he scrunches up his nose in a “what stinks?” expression, audibly breathing in and out through his nostrils and pouching out his lips. It makes Patrick and I laugh out loud no matter what we are doing.

He says “Dada” now with meaning, and maybe “mama” or was it “baba” without quite as much comprehension. But trust me, he has his way of communicating.

He is still shy with strangers, but always remembers a friend he’s made.

Things Solomon DOESN’T like: Sitting down to eat (or SLOWING down to eat), a plastic toy whale (he’s placed a random fear in this happy little plastic creature and will walk in a wide circle around it in order to cross the room). Goodbye’s. Brushing his hair. Waking up in a dark room. Teething (1st tooth nearly here! Just 19 more to go--sigh--).

Things Solomon Likes: Shredded cheese and apple sauce. The landlord’s German Shepard, Wa-Wa. Standing at the balcony and watching the activity of the street below, yelling out at trucks rumbling by. Finding things hidden—like mom’s coffee or the basket of seashells. Playing the drums. Dancing (head-bob). Sprawling out on his belly on the floor and following ants with his chubby fingers. Touching things like our hair or wa-wa’s fur, or goats, donkey’s, horses, ants…. Car trips and watching life pass by his window. Feeding himself. The smell of the new lotion we bought (he tries to lick it off his face and fingers). His stuffed animals and his blue blanket. Splashing in water. Reading books.

Ways to make Solomon Laugh (aside from the infamous cup-sucked-to-the-face trick): Surprise him. Make his stuffed animals dance and sing and talk to him. Endless kisses. Turning him upside down over your shoulder like a bag of potatoes. Tickling him on his feet, on his back or on his chest. Chase him. Dad doing the “Fonz.” (I’m working on capturing a video for your viewing delight).

We know we have a feisty one on our hands. Recently we’ve been practicing the word “NO” as he nurtures a love for electrical cords and pulling things off walls. After giving him a warning no, he stops, looks at me as if considering the situation… then proceeds with the “no”-inciting task with eyes glued to me in joyful anticipation, then running into my arms giggling as if to say “JUST KIDDING” or “GETTING INTO TROUBLE IS SO FUN!” Oh boy.

As much as I love watching my baby go go go go, my favorite moments are when he finally slows down, sleepily seeking the arms of his mom or dad. The moment his body relaxes in our arms and sleep overtakes him is absolutely delicious. I also love the few minutes right after he wakes from a nap when he is still sleepy enough to want to cuddle, tucking his head into my neck and putting his hand around my shoulder. Soon he'll be off and running, but for those few precious minutes, I’m in heaven.

He seems to be picking up new tricks, new sweet skills before our eyes. His baby days seem to be dissolving the faster he walks and the stronger he gets. I don’t dare blink for missing something. So from time to time, allow me to indulge myself in sharing his growth with you. Because Solomon is just a fun kid to know. And an amazing child to love. Ok, time to wave "bye-bye!"