WARNING:POLITICAL RANT - READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Yesterday we went to the US Embassy's Fourth of July celebration - yes, it was early, but fun nonetheless as we ate hot dogs, hamburger, cotton candy and other American fare. There was Uncle Sam walking around :

and patriotic music playing - a bit hokey, but comfortably familiar. Ariana had her first snow cone(in a cup) and was very happy bouncing in the big giant bouncy ride (what in the world do you call those things, anyway?)

It was held on the Embassy residences, a complex that looks very much like any housing complex in the U.S., with several moderately sized buildings separated by large patches of grass. The party was staffed by the complex residents and it was nice to see the diversity so prevalent in the U.S. - a nice change from the homogeneous world of Japan.

At about 2 o'clock, the parade started - lead by representatives of our armed forces, holding flags.

As I looked into their young faces, I saw the pride and sense of responsibility that carrying that flag represented. Their families were cheering on the sidelines. Earlier that day, I had been served food by others who serve our country for a living. Whether away fighting or work here at the embassy, there lives are at greater risk because of that choice.

I looked in those flag carrying soldier's faces and started to cry. Because we have let them down. We have sent them and keep sending them into harms way badly prepared, without proper planning, without the tools they need to succeed. And we keep sending them. After their tours are over, we say "sorry, gotta go back". Having to leave their families after an already long period of time and head back to a situation that even the experts are saying cannot be won.

I looked into those soldier's faces and wondered if they were the lucky ones. The one's stationed here in Japan and would never have to actually go to where the fighting is. If they would be safe.

I wondered about all of the other ones - all of the young people all over the country with the same innocent faces, the same pride and dedication, the ones being sent.

And I thought the powers that be, the powers in control of it all -

"the deciders", should be ashamed.

Pants.....Pants..... Pants!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

........she wailed at 1:30am. Dee Dee has a bit of a clothing fetish right now. Specifically - pants. She will not wear anything else, except for a brief stint in a dress in honor of baba-san. Once in the selected pair, she will not get out of them, demanding to sleep in them and whatever else she has decided to put on and not to take off.....so every night, she falls asleep in baba-sans arms...



and gets placed on the couch for a bit before getting transported to her bed, at which time her pants (and hat) are removed.............

She then wakes up at some point in the night, realizing she is half naked and missing the all important pants and that's when the fun begins. She starts screaming.............."pants.................pants.............

......PAAAANNNTTTSSS!!!!!!!! until I get out of bed, trudge into her room as I try to find the pants she had on the night before, get her in them and then try to calm her down enough to get her to sleep............it's times like this when it really helps that she is as cute as she is.

"You'd think these things would come with a mute button"

...............said Jed referring to Ariana during one of her random and endless monologues, which I'm sure contained valuable information and words of wisdom that we would have been amazed at could we have understood her.

This is their last day together as brother-san is leaving tomorrow for the states, where he shall remain for his senior year of high school. It is sad on several levels, most notably though is his connection to Ariana. Their relationship has been slow to evolve, like a ballet where the dancers gradually move toward each other, then run away only to eventually join together. It's been a joy to watch.

This is also Father's Day - and a better one they could not find. He proved himself again today as getting dressed was proving to be more than a little difficult for the little one. DeeDee (as in Diva DiLaura) made an appearance:

"No, NO, NOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

...as it seemed none of her pretty little dresses would do. Lately she prefers pants, mostly jeans, and was having a hard time understanding that today was special and jeans would not do. I left her to let her be "DeeDee" for awhile and Baba-san entered. A few minutes later, not only was she in a very pretty dress, but was sitting down quietly putting on her shoes (not the little Ugg like boots she wanted to wear) without a tear being shed. Because Baba-san was taking care of everything.

You see, it's the little things that count. The soft voice explaining about how wearing a dress today " would be so nice". The reading, the piggy back rides, the Baba-dancing at bed time.

Shortly after I met Baba-san (before he was Baba-san) and very shortly after I met Jed and Kelsey, I witnessed a conversation between the three of them that made me realise what a good father he was. It was a difficult conversation and it could have gone so many unhealthy ways. He could have lied. He could have lashed out in anger. But it didn't. He was honest and straightforward. The words he used showed me how much he cared about his children, how much he respected them, how much he loved them.

I fell in love with him on that day.

And now I get the pleasure every day to see that same care and love and respect.

I picked good.

Happy Father's Day Baba!!!!

Screams and Cheese

After yet another traumatic pre-school drop off experience (she started whimpering when she saw the building and flew from the stroller into my arms once in the lobby. The whimper developed into a full fledged scream when I suggested she play with her friends and I ended up leaving with her still crying in the arms of the teacher), I contemplated:

1) taking her out of school and just keeping her home, joining the many homeschooling families all over the world.
2) having baba-san drop her off as I find it too hard to see her little face. I keep having flashbacks to the day we got her and how she screamed out in terror and anger for her caretaker.
3) re-allocating her savings and putting more into the "therapy fund" as all of this is probably traumatising her for life (see point #2 - forget about my flashbacks, I'm more worried about hers).

You see, with an adopted child, it is very difficult to determine what is just normal everyday separation anxiety and what is adoption related trauma. And for adoptive parents, that is the big dilemma. How do you know? For every instance of "adopted child" behavior I read about in all of the books, there was an example of the same behavior seen in my friend's "home grown" children.

In this instance, is the separation from me too traumatic for her - saying "goodbye" is getting worse every time; or, is her behavior normal for any child who is being separated from her mother for the first time?

As it turns out, she did stop crying. She played. She danced around and was apparently sharing kisses with another little girl (not that there's anything wrong with theat), she built a very tall Lego tower, and ate a little bit of her pasta and many cheese balls (round little balls of cheese individually wrapped and found in most grocery stores. She likes the plain ones, but they also have ones that taste like little bits of cheesecake - yummy!!!).

When I picked her up, she was a little whimpery when she saw me, but was quite talkative and said goodbye to everyone. So, we will continue going to school..........

.............and putting a little money into the "therapy fund", just in case.

Sunset from Jed's Window

The Guilt.....

....of leaving your child as they scream. The third day of pre-school didn't go nearly as well as the first. She was fine as we walked into the building and took the elevator to the school. I could tell she was nervous when we entered as she climbed me like a tree and held on like the little monkey she is.

I sat holding her for awhile outside the classroom saying over and over "mommy comes back". But she wasn't having any of it. I carried her into the classroom and still, she wouldn't let go. Bringing her to the blocks, she played for a little while, but once I suggested she go and play with her new friends, she was back in my lap, holding on to my neck with a firm grip.

At one point the teacher came and tried to pull her away from me. Big mistake - she screamed and I had a flashback to the day we got her and the scream as she was pulled from her nanny. With a look that said "back off" I said to the teacher to leave her with me for a few minutes, wondering how bad it would be to just keep her with me until she goes off to college, because hearing that scream and seeing that face filled with terror was just too hard.

I carried her to the slide and she reluctantly played for awhile and then we sat down. The teacher came over and sat and I told Ariana again how I would be back. The teacher said she would call if she was having a bad day.

She cried.

I left.

She cried.

I stood outside the door and listened.

The crying stopped.

I risked a peek and saw her sitting in the teacher's lap.

I left.

And waited.

For the phone to ring.

I'm still waiting.

O-Bon

A Buddhist tradition, it is believed that ancestor's spirit's visit during this time and it is one of the most important periods in Japan, taking place in August (or July depending on what calendar is used). Lanterns are lit and put in front of people's homes to guide the spirits and there are many festivals where people dance. Bon Odori is what the dance is called and Ariana and I went to learn how the other night.

The ladies there had brought extra yukatas (summer festival kimonos) and graciously let me wear one and even more graciously put it on me. For those who think that red sash is easy to put on - wrong. It is actually three separate sashes; the first to tie up the kimono to the proper length, the second to secure the first and the last is the obi, or sash. While many older women are skilled enough to be able to do it themselves, most younger women (many times not as interested in tradition) actually go to a salon to have them tied properly. There are women who give classes in proper Kimono wearing it is such an intricate procedure. I was in awe as the woman pulled and pushed and spun me around until I had a beautifully fitting robe and my red sash secured with an expertly tied bow.

Then the dancing began. There were three different dances, all moving around in a circle. Some of the music was instrumental, some chants, and some sounded like rap music, which made everyone laugh. Ariana spent the time not dancing, but running around the room and making faces with one of the other girls there.


She might have worn a yukata, but never would have stood still long enough to tie it on....oh well, perhaps next year.

You think she would have cried....

...........just a little bit.......

Today was her first day of pre-school. Backpack packed, we left the house not knowing what to expect. Arriving at the school a little early, she looked around expectantly as I filled out the paperwork. As the children started to arrive, she recognized a few she met the previous week at the trial class. She took off her shoes and entered the classroom, walking around and letting herself be led by one of the teachers to the "ball pit" to play.

I stood around talking to the teachers and answering more questions as she was helped out of the pit and went to play with the other kids. I could tell she didn't quite know what was going to happen and mentioned a couple of times to her that she was going to stay and play and I was going to leave.

Finally, it was time.

To Leave.

To Leave.

Ok, I'm leaving.

"Bye".

I left the room and stood for a minute or two for "the sound".

The sound of fear, of "mama don't leave", of "I need you".

There was silence.

Ok.

Ok?

oookaaay.

I left, holding the phone "just in case they needed to reach me", as I had mentioned quite a few times to both teachers and the women at the front desk.

Four hours later, the phone not ringing once, I re-entered the school, trying to stay hidden so I could watch her. One of the boys pointed and said "Ariana mama" and I ducked back, waiting for a sound.

There was none.

Finally, she saw me and smiled a huge grin, running to me and then turning and running away. The kids were playing a game and she wanted to continue to play and I watched as she ran to me and then away, laughing.

She was happy.

I left the entrance and that is when "the sound" started. I went back into view and she kept crying, so I went in and held her and told her I would always be there to pick her up.

And I did.

And held her tight and that is what she seemed to need at that moment as she stopped crying immediately and was still.

I held her tight as that is what I needed at that moment.

To let her know I would always be there.

To pick her up.

We finished the class together and she got her new little school bag and climbed into her stroller and immediately fell asleep.

A trying day for us both.

Ariana's Week

scrambled eggs and a sesame croissant...yummy............

visiting with my cousin Ryushin down in Yokohama. He has a rattle toy on his stroller which is kind of fun, but I have very cool sunglasses.... I win..


Mom took me to visit with her friend Gayle and her two little girls. They live in Hong Kong now but are moving to Beijing. They are here in Tokyo for a few days. This is Addy. She looks a lot like me. I'm not sure I like that....

We went to Harumi Triton for a festival and got our face painted. Addy needs to step away from the mirror. There is only room for one beautiful face at a time....

watching the magicians with Addy's big sister Lydia is really fun. Especially when I get a little scared....
big giant Panda!!!!...............Yeah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


home sweet home......ok, with Tess's butt in my face, perhaps not so sweet...

No Swiping Wipies

It finally happened.

In one of the safest cities in the world, where the idea of something being stolen never enters one's mind, where you can leave a stroller with many things in the pockets out in front of a restaurant, or a temple in this case, and come back hours later to find it and everything in it still there, the unimaginable happened.

Something was stolen.

Out of the stroller.

Not the little hat.

Not the umbrella.

Or the raincoat.

What was deemed so valuable in Tokyo that someone would risk eternal shame and dishonor?

Wipes.

Baby Wipes.

Pampers Baby Wipes to be exact.

Usually carried in the diaper bag, I had fished a couple out to clean the candy off of Ariana's hands as we were playing tourist today with my friend Gayle and her two daughters, Lydia and Addie, and what point is playing tourist if you can't eat candy and ice cream at 11am in the morning.

After getting as much of the sticky stuff as I was going to from her hands, I casually threw the pack into the bottom basket of the stroller. We were at the Sensoji Temple in Asakusa, about to walk up the steps and I was bragging to my friend Gayle about the ability to leave one's stroller anywhere and not have to worry about it, or anything in it, not being there when you returned. We parked the strollers at the base of the temple and made our way up the steps. After a brief visit inside, where we gave our children coins to drop in the box, we made our way down the side of the temple where we stopped for picture taking and eventually made our way back to the strollers. Walking leisurely down the side streets on our way to the Hanayashiki Amusement park, we stopped at a bathroom for the suddenly required "potty break". Gail asked for a wipe and I bent down to get one for her.

They were gone.

I looked in the bottom basket of the stroller.

I looked in the side pocket of the stroller.

I looked in the many pockets of the diaper bag.

I looked again.

No.

No.

It couldn't be.

Amazing.

Someone swiped my wipes.

We stood in shock as the reality sunk in.

Here.

In Tokyo.

Wipes are not safe.

Even at a temple where I would imagine the act of theft would bring about more shame on a person and their family than normal.

Perhaps the thief was a tourist, desperate for wipes and unable to find them in the Tokyo stores. They are difficult to find, as I found out when I went to replace them and ended up with two very tiny packs of "wet tissues", which thankfully I didn't have to use because if I had, I fear these two little packs would not have done the job for Ariana's usual diaper deposits.

In any event, I do think swiping someones wipes is a cowardly, evil act and am now thinking up a suitable punishment. Not that I will ever get to use it in this case. But, it could come in handy.......perhaps for the 17 year teenager who refused to clean up after himself........mmmmm...........

Art and Anger

It's amazing how good art can change your mood from angry to inspired. I took Ariana to Bunkamura today, a multi media complex in Shibuya, to see one of my favorite artists, Amedeo Modigliani. Just looking at the collection made me forget all about the teenager living in my house that refuses to clean up after himself.

After being asked nicely twice to put the dishes, glasses and silverware left in the sink the previous night into the dishwasher, I go into the kitchen and low and behold, the one plate was in fact in the dishwasher, but the rest of it was still sitting in the sink. Did I need to specify that "dishes" included said glasses and silverware? To top it off, I open the fridge and there, right in front of my eyes, is an empty tupperware container. EMPTY!!!!Perhaps I should start blasting Aretha Frankin's "Respect" into his room whenever he is holed-up with mass quantities of chips and ramen?

Perhaps he no longer cares, as he is leaving in two weeks, but I do. And, he will find out just how much I care when he comes home from school.

Now, back to the art. Ariana was sleeping when I got there, but woke up about halfway through, just as I was approaching the nude sketches. With visions of her screaming "tushie" or "peepee" or "boobie"; breaking the absolute silence that enveloped us as we walked from piece to piece, I quickened my step until we were safely in the area exhibiting various letters and postcards sent between Modigliani and his girlfriend, fellow artist Jenne Hebuterne, shown in the painting above. We finished the exhibit in silence and made our way home.

Now - to prepare, as I FEEL A LECTURE COMING ON.................