Mano, Sleep and Things that Go Squeak

With an ever-so-slight withdrawal of my hand, I had accomplished something I hadn't done in literally  months.

Daniel was asleep in his crib and I had been the primary parent involved. Every single night for as long as I can remember, the bedtime routine involved Claudia putting Daniel to bed. For whatever reason, I wasn't quite the same in Daniel's mind.

On this particular evening, however, Claudia was out with some friends and the evening routine was left in my hands.

It began with Daniel drinking a bottle while snuggled on the couch with me and watching a T.V. show. As time went on, it became obvious Daniel was becoming drowsy and ready for bed.

"Ready to go to sleep, buddy," I asked.

"Yes," he said and nodded for extra emphasis.

I pulled him up in my arms. We said, "Night-Night," to our dogs, the living room, kitchen and stairs. I laid him in the crib and he rolled up in the blanket. I thought it was going to be that easy for a brief moment.

As he noticed I was leaving, he whipped around, threw off the blanket, bolted up on his feet and cried for me to come back; which I of course did. As soon as I was hanging over his crib, he was laying down again and reaching for my hand.

"Mano," he asked. I reached out and let his miniature fingers curl around my hand and watched him doze to sleep again. After a few attempts, he finally let me withdraw my hand completely. He was sound asleep.

That's when I turned around and realized why God made our bodies make popping noises, creaky floors and things that go squeak. It's to give him a little laugh every night when parents try their best to slink out of their children's rooms soundlessly.

While my back was turned and I was leaning over Daniel's crib, his room had transformed into a virtual mine field of potential sound-making booby-traps. I can only imagine, God smiles down every now and then at our plight as parents.

I gingerly took my first step and heard my knee pop. I prayed the floor wouldn't make a noise, but of course it did.

CREEEEAAAKK.

I slowly put increasing pressure on the carpet; my mouth contorted as I silently prayed for God's intervention. "Help me be silent, Lord, and please, please don't let Claudia come home right now" I prayed. If she did arrive at this time, the dogs would certainly create enough racket that Daniel would wake.

Daniel rolled over. I twisted my neck to look back at the crib while minimizing my body's movement.  The coast was still clear. Daniel remained laying down. Now time to make sure I didn't bump a toy that makes noise.

Finally I reached the door, which of course, during the day opens and shuts silently. But at night, the noise the door makes as the bottom rubs across the carpet is like a child's nails scratching a chalkboard.

I continued my prayer even though the goal was so tantalizingly close. I took nothing for granted. Then with the swiftness of a ninja, I opened the door enough to slide out and shut the door behind me.

Mission accomplished. Good night.

Raising a Colombian in the USA

Daniel looked down at his plate, grabbed a fistful of arepa and stuffed it into his mouth; but getting him to consume other aspects of his Colombian culture are more challenging.

Gotcha Day is ten months behind us and a lot has changed. First and foremost, Daniel is a full blown toddler. He runs. He plays. He talks. His personality shines more brightly each day and the pace of his learning has increased ten fold.

As adoptive parents, it's important to us for Daniel to remain connected to his birth country Colombia. We didn't change his name. We speak Spanish at the house. We attended Novenas during Christmas. We cook arepas and arroz con pollo. We listen to Colombian music and translate English books into Spanish while reading to him before bed time.

We're not abnormal. Many parents of Internationally adopted children do the same type of things. Why? It's because a child's native country is a part of him or her and should be celebrated and encouraged rather than to pretend otherwise. When we've explained our desire for Daniel to speak Spanish, for example, we've had more than one person make comments as though we're in denial of the enevitble and I feel as though I have to defend or explain our rationale. Sometimes it's unspoken and other times it's said out right, "well, he needs to speak English too."

The opposite is true. We want him to be bilingual, but Daniel is exposed to English so much that he is already displaying a preference toward it and could lose Spanish completely if we weren't on constant vigil. Here's a great example of a frequent exchange he and I have.

"Up," he exclaims to me with his arms outstretched.

"No entiendo," I reply.

"Arriba," he says, and I pick him up.

So despite the fact Claudia is from Colombia, we have begun to realize how difficult it will be for us to raise a Colombian in the United States. We admit, on the other hand, that we are blessed to be able to speak with him in his native language at all since many parents of adopted children don't have that resource.

I'm not admitting defeat, only acknowledging the challenge. Our culture has some great aspects, but so does Colombia and we want Daniel to have the best of both worlds.

Looking Back And Forward at the Midway Point

Standing over Daniel's crib, it occured to me that he is only a couple of weeks from being 20 months old.

There isn't much particularly special about that milestone for most kids. It's the equivalent to turning 22 years old - nothing special.

That's not the case for Daniel however. At 20 months he will have spent exactly half of his life with his foster mother and half his life with us, and each day going forward his time in Colombia will become a smaller and smaller percentage of his total life. With his time in Colombia quickly fading into the distance of the past, we enevietably ask ourselves, "what will he remember from Colombia?"

"Do you think if his foster mother walked into the room that he would recognize her,"asked Claudia.

I pause and reply, "it is hard to say. He is shy with strangers but warms up quickly to them."

"Do you think he remembers Colombia," she asks.

"I don't think so. Not at this point," I reply. "But we will go back to visit every couple of years. You still have family and friends who we can visit and we will take him to see places that were part of the adoption process like where we picked up his Colombian passport."

We try to maintain his Colombian heritage in the house. We participated in a couple of Novenas during the days leading up to Christmas. We play Colombian nursury music and we speak Spanish at home. We do what we can.

But the reality is he will only have photos and video to remember his days living in Colombia. Looking forward, he will have so many more opportunities than he would have probably had in Colombia. That's what is so exciting about thinking of his future.

Standing over his crib, Claudia and I watch him pull the blanket over his face and say, "night night."

He is completely happy. As I watch him fade off to sleep, I can't help but smile at the thought of watching him grow up. There are so many things I want to do with him when he gets older that he can't do yet like going for a hike or camping. Of course, I don't lose sight of enjoying Daniel's 20th month and all the other months between now and our first camping trip.