Camping Full Circle

I first went camping with my parents when I was 2.  We drove cross-country, pitching a tent along the way, to and from St. Cl*ud, MN, where my father attended a summer course for his Master's in Education.  Two years later, we did the same thing to Salt Lake City and back.  My mom likes to tell the story of how each morning, I would wait in the back seat of the station wagon while she and my dad broke camp, to make sure I wasn't left behind.  Issues at the tender age of 4....

Later, my parents bought a camper, and we would drive to Cape C*d in the summer.  I remember vividly how safe and secure I felt drifting off to sleep in the upper bunk while my parents sat at the table below talking and playing cribbage.  It's one of my warmest childhood memories.

In my 20s and 30s, camping meant backpacking.  My favorite thing in the world was to head into the wilderness carrying everything I needed for a few days.  I loved the solitude of the backcountry, whether it was New Hampshire, Colorado, or Maine.  It cleared my mind and soothed my soul.

When I met Don, his favorite thing in the world was fishing for walleye from his 16' Lund on Lake W*nnibigoshish, or "W*nnie," in northern Minnesota.  He'd been doing it since he was a boy and owned a mobile home on the lake where he spent many summer weekends.

When we married and moved to Wisconsin, we both gave up elements of our ideal getaways.  We were too far from W*nnie to use the trailer much, so we sold it.  Although Don found my lightweight backpacking gear "cute," he couldn't see the point if walleye weren't involved.

Our first summer together, we "car camped" in Ch*ppewa National Forest and fished on W*nnie.  It was a lot of fun.  I came to appreciate the luxury of packing a car instead of a backpack, eating canned instead of freeze-dried food, and pitching a tent in one spot for a few nights.  Although I'm not a fan of motorized recreation, sitting in a boat on a massive lake in the northwoods reading a good book and watching loons and pelicans while my husband catches dinner and my yellow Lab snoozes at my feet  isn't a bad way to pass the time.

The camping honeymoon ended the next summer when it seemed as though our neighbors in the campground were more interested in drinking, swearing, and listening loud music than wetting a line (let alone reading a book!).  That's when we decided to try out a remote campsite accessible only by boat.

For the next four years, we packed everything in the boat and made our way to lucky Site #13 on a peninsula in the lake.  It was wonderful.  Except for the occasional boat trolling for fish along the shore and the raucous cormorants roosting nearby, we were alone. 

Maybe too alone.  In 2005, after returning from an idyllic week in our new-found spot, I became depressed.  I had had a blissful, self-indulgent time -- sleeping in while Don went out fishing, reading a novel from cover to cover, and completing multiple Boston Globe crossword puzzles.  It couldn't have been more relaxing, yet, in retrospect, it felt hollow.

I thought I had accepted that, although I would never be a mom, I could have a full, meaningful life.  I had done a pretty good job of convincing myself, but that camping trip ignited my maternal fires once again.  All I could think of was how empty the experience had been without a child to share the wonders of the outdoors with.

A couple of weeks later, a former co-worker of Don's contacted him to discuss work opportunities.  During the conversation, she mentioned that she and her husband had just received their referral for a baby from China.  Don asked her to send a photo and more information to our home email address for me to see. 

Over the next few weeks, she generously shared all the details of their adoption journey so far and their upcoming trip to get their daughter.  I read everything I could find about Ch*na adoption.  It became clear to Don and me that we were meant to have a daughter from China.  We slogged through all the paperwork, completed our home study, sent our dossier to China, and began what we learned later would be a nearly interminable wait.

A couple of years ago, we bought an old Ford pickup as a farm truck.  It came with a pop-up camper that's old but in good shape.  We figured boating to a remote site with a toddler was not a wise plan, so we adjusted our camping regimen once again and decided to go back to staying in National Forest campgrounds, for a few years, at least.

Which brings us to last week and our long-awaited maiden camping trip with Sarah.  We spent Monday packing and headed north on Tuesday.  I was excited to realize my dream of sharing the great outdoors with my daughter.  She was excited, too.  She loved riding in the middle of the back seat with a clear view out the windshield and a parent on either side.  The hot day and lack of air conditioning didn't dampen her enthusiasm one bit.

We figured an eight-hour drive to W*nnie was far too ambitious, so we decided to stay closer to home and try Ch*quamegon-N*colet National Forest, about four hours north of here. We pulled into N*mekagon Lake Campground (these asterisks are annoying, I know, but I'm trying to foil search engines) after lunch, found a site with water access, and set up camp.  It started raining soon after our arrival, so I was loving the camper.  Sarah settled in for some computer work in her makeshift office.

The rain let up after dinner, but it was still too wet to take Sarah out in the boat, so Don went fishing with Cadi while she and I stayed behind.  We went for a short walk, and she saw her first chipmunk, loons, great blue heron, and merganser.  She also had fun wading in the lake.

At bedtime, I read and sang to her in the bunk then sat at the table below reading a magazine as she drifted off to sleep.  I don't know if she had the same feeling of security that I used to get, but she seemed content, and I loved being her sentry.

I joined her in the bunk later, and the two of us had a cozy night, despite the inadequate bedding I'd packed.  By morning, the old Velux blanket we were using had nearly disintegrated from dry rot or some such thing, and it was chilly.  I snuggled closer to her (for her sake, I swear), and she murmured "Mama."  She loved sleeping with Mom (and vice versa) and woke up with a big smile on her face.

It was a beautiful day, and we headed out fishing.  They weren't biting, so there wasn't much action, and Sarah ended up napping in my arms.  This camping business was all right with her. 

After lunch, we went out on the lake again. This time, Don dropped Sarah and me off on an island to swim and play. She was happy to wade again but not interested in going deeper than her knees. The "beach" was only about a foot wide, so there wasn't much room for playing, either, so we waved Don back in after about 10 minutes.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in camp and soon discovered that there wasn't much to entertain a 22-month-old (besides her laptop).  After dinner, Don went fishing again, and I put Sarah to bed.  (Dad generously gave us his wool blanket for the night, while he shivered under beach towels.)

Just as I was settling into my seat at the table with my magazine and glass of wine, the people in the RV at the site beside us turned on their generator.  Sarah seemed unfazed, but I can't say the same for myself.  For the next two hours, instead of the breeze in the trees and the calls of the loons, I listened to an engine.

They turned off the generator at 9:45, since quiet time started at 10:00, and for a few minutes, there was peace.  Then, the neighbors on the other side of us started their campfire festivities, which included their friends camped across the road and, apparently, plenty of alcohol.  Let's just say they weren't using their inside voices.  By 1:45, the "friends" parted company with a volley of cursing, and it was finally quiet.  Our campground experience was complete.

Amazingly, Sarah slept through the night and awoke chipper as ever.  Don figures he got about two hours' sleep, and I didn't do much better.  We packed up and headed home, which, it turns out, is much more peaceful and relaxing than any Forest Service campground we've experienced.  On the drive, we revamped our summer vacation plans.  Our return trip to N*mekagon in late June was summarily canceled, and our week-long camping trip to W*nnie in August was re-evaluated.

The next morning, Don made a reservation for a cabin at a resort on W*nnie.  It's on a bluff overlooking the water, with a sandy swim beach and hiking trails.  It feels extravagant, but it also feels great!  I'm looking forward to a real vacation that doesn't require a day's worth of preparation (and another's of unpacking and cleaning) and comes with enforcement of quiet hours. 

In a few years, we'll probably be ready to tackle the remote campsite with Sarah, but, in the meantime, we're going to enjoy ourselves and leave the accommodations to others.  And, I'll dream of the day that Sarah and I head out on our first backpacking trip.

Recognizing the Remarkable in the Routine

Friday evening, I gave Sarah a bath, put on her pajamas, read her three bedtime books, said her goodnight prayer, rocked her while singing My Favorite Things, and put her in bed with her beloved doggie and blanket.  Soon after, I was on the couch beside Don watching The Blind Side.  When the movie finished, I turned to him and asked, "A few months ago, did you think we'd ever enjoy an evening like this?"  There were times I didn't.

It's amazing how far we've all come in the last nine months.  It was hard to recognize progress at certain points, but it was being made nonetheless.  Each day was bringing us closer to the comfort and security of an ordinary evening.  Let's hear it for a quiet night at home....

A Lapse in Judgment

Remember the entry back in March about leaving Sarah in the church nursery and how uneventful it was?  Well, that was then, this is now.  I brought Sarah to the nursery again this morning.  She was reserved at first but then jumped right in and started playing at the train table.  The mom-on-duty coaxed her over to the play kitchen, and Sarah happily started cooking with her.  Of course, this was as I stood about two feet away.

They played for a few minutes, then the mom said, "I think it works best if you leave right away."  I hesitated, but then, since Sarah seemed relaxed, I thought she might be right.  I said a quick goodbye and stepped out into the hall.  Sarah immediately started screaming.  I waited to see if she'd stop soon, and when I didn't hear her for about 15 seconds, I thought she might have.  I realized she'd been holding her breath when she drew in another and continued to wail. 

I waited for about five minutes, but she kept getting more panicky.  I went back in, and she lunged for me.  I sat on the floor and tried to get her to play with me, but she kept crying and signing "car" and "home."  We stayed for the rest of the hour, and she did finally play on the slide, but she ended up crying again before it was time to leave.

I'm sick about this.  I should have known that I needed to stay longer before I left.  I made a snap decision, and it was the wrong one.  I'm afraid that I've set Sarah back again in terms of trusting me to be there for her.  She is certainly not over her separation anxiety.  Looking on the bright side, maybe I proved that I will come back when I leave, but she didn't seem to appreciate the lesson.

Some people have told me that there isn't much difference between parenting biological and adoptive kids.  I agree that the similarities outnumber the differences, but those differences can be profound.  Biological kids have such a solid foundation with their parents that most of life's transitions, no matter how difficult, are mere speed bumps.  For adopted children, the same events can be like hitting a brick wall.  That doesn't mean that all adopted kids have trouble with change; it just means that adoptive parents need to be vigilant and proactive.  It adds another layer of complexity to parenting.

I know that this morning's incident hasn't scarred Sarah for life, but I fear that it may have set her back in terms of trust and independence.  It seems we take two steps forward, then one step back.   Adopted kids' development tends to be fluid, rather than linear, ebbing and flowing.  It's not uncommon for them to regress in some areas while making progress in others.  Sarah's sleep challenges have certainly taught me that I can't count on issues being resolved permanently.  They can be triggered anew by certain events.

Of course, temperament can override an individual's life experiences.  Some kids are born unflappable, while others are naturally sensitive.  Even the adoption experts assured us that letting Sarah cry was the best way to get her to sleep well.  We found the opposite to be true.  When it comes down to it, a child should be parented according to his/her specific needs.  Parenting is an art, not a science. 

My scientific background isn't helping me much in the parenting department.  Neither is my tendency toward black-and-white, all-or-none thinking or my penchant for order and completion.  Children don't come in tidy packages, they don't fit into prefabricated boxes, and they don't follow checklists.  My creativity is being tested, and I'm dealing in more gray than ever before.  Sarah isn't the only one growing around here. 

Let It Go, Mom!

My daughter has a mind of her own -- already.  I ordered some sandals for Sarah from The Children's Place and couldn't wait for them to arrive (there's nothing like shoes to get me excited).  They're linen thongs with little crocheted flowers and a Birkenstock-like cork bed.  I think they're the most adorable things ever.  Alas, Sarah doesn't agree. 

I keep trying to put them on her, but she doesn't like the piece between her toes or the strap behind her heel.  At least, I think that's what she doesn't like; it couldn't be that she just doesn't share her mother's hippy tastes.  :)  I've finally accepted that she won't wear them, so they're in the box ready to go back (don't get Don started on how I support the shipping industry). 

I bought her a pair of much-more-traditional sandals at Gymboree yesterday, which she likes fine.  I like them fine, too, but I can't seem to break the hold the others have on me.  My plan is to get her used to flip flops this summer and order the thongs again next summer.  Then again, they probably won't be available next summer.  Maybe I should just let go.

I've also been on a quest to find some fun sunglasses for Sarah.  It's a challenge because she has a very wide, flat face.  Most of the frames for her age are too narrow, and many won't stay on her nose.  The bows on the ones for older kids are way too long for her.  I found a pair of functional wrap-around sunglasses a few months ago, so she has some to wear, but they're pretty short on style. 

At Gymboree yesterday, it hit me that I could buy two pairs of glasses (at buy one get one half off AND 30% off that) and put the shorter bows on the wider frames.  It worked!  They still slip on her nose a bit, but they're really cute.  She loves them, and with the discount, they cost about the same as one pair.  The crazy part is that the other pair of glasses (with the narrower frames and longer bows) fit me pretty well.  Granted, they look like toddler glasses, but it's kind of fun to match!

Mother's Day Reflections

For so many years, I've seen Mother's Day as for other women, members of the special group that society puts on pedestals.  As a non-mother, I felt like a second-class citizen who didn't quite measure up.  I came to expect the awkward silence after a new acquaintance asked if I had kids and I answered in the negative, leaving the conversation with nowhere to go.  I would offer up my dear nephews as quasi-offspring, but somehow they just didn't cut it.  Apparently, aunthood doesn't require enough thankless tasks to qualify one for "the club."

On my first Mother's Day, I've had a range of feelings.  It's traditionally been a painful day for me, and I know it still is for too many women who long to be mothers and aren't for one reason or another.  My heart aches for them, and I want to tell them that they matter a great deal.  Interestingly, I don't feel any more important now that I'm a mom, except in the eyes of the one person who counts -- my darling daughter. 

My main emotion is gratitude, for the incredible gift of being Sarah's mom and experiencing every day with her as she grows.  People tell me what a lucky girl she is to have loving parents and a beautiful home, but the truth is that we're the lucky ones.  As our three-year wait for her demonstrates, there is no shortage of good homes for girls like Sarah.  She would have been adored whether we were her parents or not.  We are the blessed ones, because we get to love and nurture her. 

I also feel sadness for Sarah's birth mom, who sacrificed the chance to raise her for reasons I'll never know but I'm sure were difficult to accept.  Adoption is a beautiful way to create a family, but, by definition, it starts with loss, for the birth parents, the adoptee, and often the adoptive parents.  There's no getting around that.

This morning, I was feeling a bit anxious as we sat in the front row at church, waiting for Sarah to be baptized.  A toddler baptism is nerve-racking for all involved, as there's no telling how the independent little soul will react.  Sarah was good, although not too pleased with the attention.  She cried and resisted when the minister marked her forehead with the sign of the cross, but she was quiet otherwise, moving back and forth between Don's arms and mine.  She spent the rest of the service charming the congregation with games of peek-a-boo and cheesy smiles. 

Don's daughter Emily and her husband Omar were Sarah's sponsors, and they arrived last night with two-year-old granddaughter Sophia.  Sarah and Sophia are getting to know each other bit by bit and played together for a while this time.  It was the first time that Sarah's had another toddler playing with her toys, and she accepted it pretty well, except when Sophia had her favorite stuffed dogs.

As the day draws to a close, I wish all the remarkable women I know a Happy Mother's Day.  Every one of you mothers in some way, making the world a more loving place.

Sarah's First Rainbow

She Loves Me!

Sarah and I have spent quite a bit of time without Don lately.  First, we were in Mass. for six days, then he went up north fishing this weekend.  In the last few days, I've noticed our bond growing tighter.  We both seem more relaxed and willing to cut each other some slack, so to speak.  She is less clingy, but more affectionate.  I feel less controlling and more patient.  Our relationship is deepening. 

For the last few days, when I say, "I love you Sarah," she responds with "Mama."  I interpret this as saying "I love you" in the only way she can right now.  When we're in her room, she'll climb onto the bed where I sometimes sleep, lay her head down, and pat the bed for me to lie down beside her.  She then cuddles up and giggles.

Her sense of humor is emerging.  Friday night, I was feeding her pasta.  For some reason, she must have thought it tasted like fish at first, because she signed "Fish?"  I said, "No, pasta."  She asked again after the next bite, and I said, "No, it's pasta, silly."  She proceeded to ask after each piece, with a steadily growing twinkle in her eye.  She was quite pleased with her little joke.

Sarah came to us nine months ago today.  She was scared, but she bravely gave us a chance to prove our love.  She could have shut down her emotions when faced with such trauma.  Instead, she let us into her heart and began to trust us.  In fact, I think she trusted my love before I trusted hers. 

I have been vigilant since Day 1, watching for signs that she has attached to me.  It may be more accurate to say that I've watched for signs that she hasn't attached to me.  I could have gone through a field of daisies playing "She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not."  I'm sorry to admit that many times I've acted like a jealous lover, judging whether she is drawn more to Don or to me.  I'm not proud of it, and I've fought it, but I've felt it.  I wonder if she's felt it, too, and has questioned my motives.

Today, I'm declaring that Sarah loves me, and I'm banishing from my mind all thoughts to the contrary.  Our relationship still has a lot of growing to do, but I'm confident that we will be as close as a mother and daughter can be.  I'm grateful to both her and Don for their patience with me as I worked through this.  I am one lucky wife and mother.