Before I walked out the door to get Patrick yesterday I poked my head into the refrigerator to get something to drink. I was thinking a Coke but I had already had my cup of tea for the day and more than one caffeinated beverage in a twenty-four hour period finds me wide-awake at 2 am trying to think up anagrams (Steve's full name can be made into nutty serene evils). Coffee - and this is true - coffee makes me so edgy I throw up. But anyway as I was debating my drink options my attention was drawn to a can of beer - all gold and shiny like a fishing lure. And I found myself thinking that a beer might be quite refreshing. I am not normally a beer drinker but the thought of a nice crisp pilsner for the drive was tempting; especially when I remembered that beer is supposed to be good for one's milk supply. So I contemplated it but then I noticed that Steve had gotten some ginger ale and that sounded even better. I grabbed one and left. It was only after I had driven a couple of miles that I realized how illegal it would have been had I opted to tool over to the elementary school with a beer in the cup holder. Such is the strength of my subsuburban rectitude, such is my bone-deep assurance that I am an adult now and entitled to make my own decisions that the prohibition never even crossed my mind. Since it was such a nice sunny day I had even pictured finishing the beer on the school bench while I waited. Obviously I am sleep deprived but MAN I love being 36. Long into my twenties I was still jumpy from all of the underage sneaking around I had done, but no more! My conscience is so clear that when the Sheriff asked if I knew why he had pulled me over I probably would have said something vague about the tags. Guilt-free living is so liberating.
But let's get back to that beer in the fridge, because it is important.
On Saturday afternoon Steve's birth father strolled through my kitchen drinking a beer he had obviously gotten from his RV (they winter in Arizona and summer in Maine - I guess we were sort of on the way home.) After first noting that it must be happy hour already and wondering why I had not been informed; I was then struck by what he was drinking: a Pilsner Urquell, by all that is holy, in a CAN. The can, you see, was the give-away that it was a BYOB item as all of our beer is in bottles; but the part that flabbergasted me was that all of our beer is also Pilsner Urquell. Steve and his birth father both love the same Czech pilsner; love it enough to travel with it. OK, maybe that doesn't sound as spooky as it felt but the whole weekend was punctuated by these moments of strange... what? Coincidences? Synergies? Like bow hunting. Show of hands, who here bow hunts? Right? Me neither. And it has always been odd that Steve, raised as he was by nice totally urban intellectual types - Quakers, no less; should have busted out all Grizzly Adams upon reaching man's estate. But Steve's birth father took it up decades ago and, like Steve, moved to a more remote part of the country (sorry Twin Citians. I don't mean that Minnesota is remote, heavens no. I mean that we personally live waaaaaaaay out here where no one delivers) specifically to pursue his outdoors'ishness. And I wish I could tell you the most startling one but it involves politics and I have long since learned to steer clear here... let's just say that a week ago Steve and I were hotly debating an issue and he said "Utah" and the same issue came up this past weekend and his birth father said, "Arizona". When I tell you that acceptable answers could have ranged from "Sweet Valley High" to "the solar temples of the Fifth Dynasty" the fact that they both named states, and bordering states at that, was unreal. Obviously these things cannot be genetic traits so what was up with the eerie similarities? I don't know.
For the record we aren't adoption reunion neophytes. In fact, this was his last one; having already met his birth mother, his half sisters through her and his half brothers on his birth father's side. And as pleasant as all of those meetings and subsequent relationships have been I don't think any of them have made Steve go, whoa, weird, in quite the same way. The brothers, for example, were wonderful and charming and bright and interesting and Steve felt a strong affinity for them but offhand I cannot think of anything specific that they shared in common. I mean, besides having a reverence for the Simpsons but hell who doesn't? That's like the Dorothy Parker character who was doomed to tell, from time to time, of her love for color, the country, a good time... and sunshine.
So the weekend was good and Steve seems, I dunno, settled in that area. Like he finally has every last bit of his curiosity assuaged. And from my personal perspective I liked hearing the family stories. I like stories and I like that I can tell Patrick/Caroline/Edward "...and then on the other other side the family was from Latvia and came as refugees to the US after the war but prior to that your great-grandmother completed law school and medical school at the same time... ." Oh and Steve's birth father seemed to take a proprietary interest in the children that was sort of sweet. He took a photo of the Mother's Day card that Patrick had made me (details at REDBOOK under There's Always June 15th) and he seemed prepared to believe, with extreme prejudice, that each kid was unique and wonderful. Very My Genetically Related Grandchild Could Beat Up Your Honor Student.
In conclusion, Steve has had the greatest series of birth family reunions in the history of recorded time. No crazies, no one with axes to grind, no bitterness, no jealousy - just a parade of people prepared to like one another and then get on with their lives. Over the years: his birth mother has become seamlessly attached to our extended family like a starfish arm; his younger half sister sent the very first baby gifts we received after Caroline and Edward were born; the elder half sister thoughtfully married an astrophysicist who studies white dwarves and with whom Patrick could happily converse ALL DAY LONG; the older half brother brought us homemade blueberry jam and talked Shakespeare with me over Scotch; the younger half brother pummeled Patrick like pizza dough as only a young uncle'ish can while Patrick screamed with joy; and, finally, the birth father showed up with old family photos and a range of interests that was like Steve, cubed.
And if you are wondering how we found all of these people in the first place, I'll tell you. Steve was not told he was adopted until he was ten. Then they took him out for pizza. Apparently that was how they did things back then. So they told him he had been adopted (surprise) and gave him the limited information about his birth family that they had - his birth father was Russian (Latvian, actually - came over when he was seven, but close enough I guess) and his birth mother was of Irish descent - and that was it. Until he was in his late 20s when he was given two additional pieces of information that had been kept: the first was a copy of his original birth certificate that listed his birth mother's last name and the second was the fact that the adoption agency had told his parents that the birth mother had attended an exclusive women's college. And they named that college. If you know anything about adoption search you know that the birth certificate was a rare gift. These records are still sealed in New York but the attorney handling the adoption was a family friend and he squirreled away a copy of the original certificate. Of course all by itself having the last name would have been interesting, but useless as a starting point. How many women were there in New York City with the last name Mc Irishsomething? A lot. But coupled with the alma mater it was practically a compass and a map with an X on it. I say practically because when Steve took a trip and swung into the college to check old yearbooks he discovered not one, not two, but three women from the right years with this last name.
So that's where he was when I met him eleven (no, twelve) years ago. He was curious about his history and he had narrowed his search for his birth mother down to three possible women. Every now and then he would do a google search and I think he spent some time on adoption reunion forums. I finally asked him if he really, I mean really, wanted to figure out who is birth mother is and contact her. He said yes but he didn't want to send an open letter to three different people because that would make him feel like an ass. And I could see where he was coming from with that: Dear _______, Did you by any chance...? Sincerely, Total Stranger. So I started making a series of increasingly, um, let's say creative phone calls in an effort to further reduce the field. We knew her basic statistics from his adoption records (height weight hair and eye color) and we hoped to be able to use this information to eliminate one or two of them. Eventually after much lying and some unexpected and much appreciated assistance from another alum who I found online, we were pretty sure we knew who to contact. At that point I hired a private detective to confirm eye color and height and to get us a current address... and voila. Steve sent a carefully neutral letter and she responded and here we are. All reunited. Check and check.
So that's the story. Well my side of it. Or rather, my interpretation of the events. I'm sure Steve's version would be different (although I did just have him read this to make sure I hadn't violated anything anywhere). And actually MY side, my personal side, of Steve's adoption story starts at a very different place. For me the point where his adoption became relevant (apart from being who he is ya ya la et cetera) is when he used it as the bedrock for his obstinate refusal to consider adoption or donor sperm during The Troubles. As you can imagine four or six or ten miscarriages caused by Steve's wonky genetics gave me a vast amount of time to contemplate the alternatives and it was... frustrating to have him refuse to consider any of them. I have no idea if Steve would have been just as adamant without his background but I do know that the conversations would have been different. I literally had nowhere to go when he said, "I was adopted and I want a genetic tie to my children" because, well, what the fuck do I know about it? It's like arguing about the war in Iraq with someone who has actually served in Iraq. Or, if that metaphor seems a little harsh, it's like trying to describe a color. I might really believe I get it, but how do I know if I do or not?
And not that you asked me, but I think that one of the nicest thing an adoptive parent can do is compile as much information as they possibly can about the birth family or the birth country or anything, really, that can give some sense of heritage. The child might grow into a person for whom this information holds no interest but then again they might not. I think Steve's parents showed a great deal of thoughtfulness and foresight when they stashed as much documentation away as they did, particularly when you consider the hidden nature of adoptions at the time. And I do know that there are many situations in which little to nothing is known about the birth family and I think that is sad but unavoidable. So all you can do is acknowledge that the lack of information might feel like a loss to the child. It is a loss.
OK. Any questions?
PS From a hostessing standpoint only this past weekend was REALLY HARD. It was like entertaining friends of friends with no idea as to their diets tastes politics familiarity with small children etc. I had planned an excursion for Saturday afternoon but the skies opened up around noon and it simply poured rain. Argh. And trying to get meals on the table - particularly dinner when I usually take an hour to do Caroline and Edward's bed and bath routine - was a logistical nightmare. Fortunately, they drank. Which brings us back to that can of beer in the fridge.
~Fin~
It TOTALLY AMUSES me that you were going to drive to pick up Patrick while chugging a beer. Mother of the Year vote from me, right here! Hee!
And I'm glad that Steve "knows" his birth family now. I'm sure that was weighing on him ... how lucky he is that there are no "crazies!"
Posted by: moo | May 16, 2008 at 02:23 PM
And a hearty congratulations for remembering to pick Patrick up at school. Although, a funnier story would be that you left him at school because you were picked up by the cops. Heck, if Patrick is like my kid, he would be THRILLED if the police car stopped with its lights and sirens on where he could see it, and then you _gasp_ got to ride in the car, and mommy, why didn't you take me too?
Posted by: SarcastiCarrie | May 16, 2008 at 02:34 PM
I want you to know that I think you are delightful. Your posts always bring a smile to my face. Thank you!
Posted by: Sam | May 16, 2008 at 02:36 PM
Umm. Warning for the future: in some states, an open can of anything alcoholic in your car could be a problem. Be careful out there.
That said, just want to tell you how much I enjoyed and appreciated your thoughtful and beautifully written post.
Posted by: Anne | May 16, 2008 at 02:45 PM
We have a child using donor sperm, and I'm currently pregnant with #2 using the same donor.
The only good thing that I can say about the fact that in order to be legally recognized as the other parent to our children, my partner had to legally adopt Noah and will have to do the same for his sister, is this: We have an awesome record of everything we know about their donor, and the documentation of what our life was like when they were infants because of the home visit the court required.
Posted by: Liza | May 16, 2008 at 02:46 PM
That story was strangely touching. Thank you so much for sharing.
Posted by: Heather | May 16, 2008 at 02:49 PM
that's really cool about the connections between Steve and his birth father. I am glad it has all worked out for you guys.
Posted by: Dara | May 16, 2008 at 02:51 PM
that's really cool about the connections between Steve and his birth father. I am glad it has all worked out for you guys.
Posted by: Dara | May 16, 2008 at 02:53 PM
oops...too many beers
Posted by: Dara | May 16, 2008 at 02:53 PM
That was a fascinating post Julia. I am happy for Steve.
Posted by: Libby | May 16, 2008 at 02:57 PM
Wow! Nice long post - I love it.
My favorite adoption story is that my husband's father is adopted and his birth family reached out to find him (father is dead, but his two uncles went looking for him). However, they have apparently found him as obnoxious as I do and I don't think anyone has pursued the connection after the first few phone calls. I've tried to get their info several times but my father-in-law won't pass it on. I think it irritates him that I am more interested in talking to them than to him. But then, I'm more interested in talking to anyone else than in talking to him.
Posted by: Cris | May 16, 2008 at 03:02 PM
"fortunately, they drank" - hee - sounds like my family. So glad all the new relations have turned out satisfactorily - good for you & Steve, but also for all of us out here in teh intarnets who have the pleasure of reading about it. :)
Posted by: Lisa B | May 16, 2008 at 03:09 PM
This is so so great to hear Julia, and you know you are completely right about the gathering of information. It can be invaluable when looking, and moreover, if we never find anyone, it can be helpful when we have questions.
There is a symmetry in meeting someone sometimes, and I think there is more to genetics than we think out there. With my birth mother, there are times when she and I will react the exact same way, and have the exact same expressions on our faces. A friend who had spoken with us both on the phone prior to the first time I had met my birth mother, told me that our voices sounded precisely exactly the same. Tone, intonation, everything.
I haven't kept in touch with my birth mother simply because she insists on including my half-brother and idiot SIL at all times, and well, I can't stand them. But she did tell me information about my birth father. And I know his name from my original adoption order.
And now, you have me thinking. What if? Maybe I should look for him too. You never know, maybe it will be a reunion as nice as this one.
Please tell Steve congratulations from a fellow adoptee.
Posted by: Aurelia | May 16, 2008 at 03:25 PM
Always love your stories. You make me feel like we could go out for coffee and we would be charming and laugh a lot. God, *that* sounds stalkerish. Don't worry -- I don't live anywhere near you!
Glad for you that the stressful hostessing duties have passed for now. And how much have I wanted to bring a beer to the carpool line? Hope you enjoyed the beer later.
As for the eerie similarities between Steve and his dad -- well, there's more things...heaven and earth...Horatio...yadda, yadda.
And you will be writing a book, sometime, right? Because, um...well, we need you to do so. (But no pressure. I suppose we can get you sleeping through the night first!)
Posted by: Beth | May 16, 2008 at 03:30 PM
Always love your stories. You make me feel like we could go out for coffee and we would be charming and laugh a lot. God, *that* sounds stalkerish. Don't worry -- I don't live anywhere near you!
Glad for you that the stressful hostessing duties have passed for now. And how much have I wanted to bring a beer to the carpool line? Hope you enjoyed the beer later.
As for the eerie similarities between Steve and his dad -- well, there's more things...heaven and earth...Horatio...yadda, yadda.
And you will be writing a book, sometime, right? Because, um...well, we need you to do so. (But no pressure. I suppose we can get you sleeping through the night first!)
Posted by: Beth | May 16, 2008 at 03:31 PM
While this isn't the same thing, I get the creepiest sense of deja vu when I'm with either my brother or my cousin, the only two males of my generation in my family. While we had grown up together when we were all little, my brother and cousin saw each other at most twice from the age of 10 until now, 16 years later. But they have the exact same reaction to certain sitauations. Like, they both make the exact same face when confronted with something they forgot to do. And neither my dad nor uncle have ever made this face. So, genetics are really weird!
Posted by: Julia | May 16, 2008 at 03:39 PM
Oh, Julia, I do so love your writing style. Please don't ever, ever stop.
Posted by: Fatemeh | May 16, 2008 at 04:17 PM
Truly an astounding "adoption" story. I'm tempted to send it to my brother-in-law, who adopted seven children after both he and his wife were over forty. (There are two sets of twins.) Theirs is a different perspective, of course, but yours (or Steve's) is a story worth hearing. Your "new" family sounds like quite a bunch of impressive, thoughtful people. This wkend I'm off to see my own great niece and nephew twins, now 12 weeks old. They should only be as cute as yours!
Posted by: Luise | May 16, 2008 at 04:36 PM
First of all, I am the same way about alcohol. And I am only 25. Haha! Margaritas should be a staple, like soda!
And also, I am hopeful the exclusive women's college is Bryn Mawr...just because I went there, haha. It's not the most exclusive one out there, but probably has the most secrets...
Posted by: Diana | May 16, 2008 at 04:38 PM
Must note: am not moron. Do not know why things keep double posting.
Posted by: Beth | May 16, 2008 at 04:45 PM
wow. that is remarkable. I am so glad it turned out so well. what a gift!
Posted by: Amber | May 16, 2008 at 05:14 PM
You crack me up. And congratulations! It sounds like everything went really well and you came through like a trooper.
Posted by: victoria | May 16, 2008 at 05:17 PM
I suppose I can understand Steve's reaction re: the genetic connection thing, but really genetics don't mean spit. My perspective is a bit different; I do have genetic connections: brothers, niece, nephew, etc. My son though is DE.
I love him so much sometimes I think my head will explode.
I am so glad it finally worked out for you & Steve (and that he has the connection he wanted...whatever floats your boat...). I just love reading about you and your relationship with your children.
It makes me feel all squishy inside.
Posted by: sheilah | May 16, 2008 at 05:40 PM
What a wonderful reunion. I'm so glad for Steve that his birth family has received him with open arms.
And the beer, just had to chuckle I can imagine you pulling up into the pickup lane with the beer in your cup holder going "wait, how did that get there" :)
Posted by: winecat | May 16, 2008 at 05:42 PM
truly great post, Julia. Thanks so much for keeping up with this blog despite the recent embiggening of your family. Sounds like you are all doing wonderfully. How is Steve's knee, by the way?
Posted by: squashi | May 16, 2008 at 06:24 PM
It sounds like a great, if sometimes freakout-inducing weekend. And all these new relatives sound very much like a find. Very happy for you.
Posted by: JuliaKB | May 16, 2008 at 09:50 PM
Interesting...my husband is also adopted but he has the opposite perspective from Steve. He has no desire to meet his birth parents. And, when we initially had some trouble conceiving, he was all for adoption. Although he does enjoy the genetic link to our kids. He also refers to them as his organ donors.
Posted by: Chi-An | May 16, 2008 at 10:12 PM
You know what is so bizarre? Everyone I have ever met (three people IRL) (and Steve, he counts now as someone I've "met") from Minnesota is either adopted or has siblings that are adopted. Why? Is Minnesota an adoption hotbed? Are laws different there? Or is it just random chance?
Posted by: Nicole | May 16, 2008 at 10:23 PM
I just wanted to let you know that I, too, LOVE your writing. I second whomever above said you should write a book. (Or, "compile" a book - you certainly have the material!) And, speaking also of feeling stalkerish, I had a dream the other night I went to visit you ... and you just kept FEEDING me. It was all delicious. By which I mean to say, I am sure you were a divine hostess!
Posted by: TheLuckyGal | May 16, 2008 at 10:26 PM
in something mostly unrelated to the heartwarming story that was shared - but I'm 98% sure that his mother and I are alumnae of the same college - and there is something about that that makes me happy. (I'm graduating in 4 days so connections to the college are popping up everywhere and making me weepy.)
Posted by: Elizabeth | May 17, 2008 at 12:56 AM
That is a truly beautiful story. Just awesome.
One point I must quibble over, though, as the daughter of a Latvian who came to this country as a war refugee: Russian and Latvian are so not the same. I mean, they can overlap, as there are a heck of a lot of ethnic Russians living in Latvia these days. In the case of my family, though, and most Latvians I know in this country, they were refugees after fleeing the second Russian invasion. Anyway, not trying to pick a fight, but I know that any kind of Russian=Latvian statement at one of my family dinners would make it most uncomfortable. Do you know Steve's father's thoughts on the subject?
P.S. Of course they drank, they're Latvian! Sveiks!
Posted by: hermia | May 17, 2008 at 08:54 AM
Hermia, my god of course not! Or, of course as the case may be. I was (obviously ineffectually) trying to make the point that people were so casual about providing adopted children with information about their heritage back in the late 1960s that they were told he was of Russian descent rather than Latvian. My "whatever" tone there was supposed to be ironical. Damn straight there is a difference between Latvia and Russia. Although his father's father was actually Russian, his father's mother was Latvian and he himself was born in Riga. Thank you for providing me with the opportunity to clarify.
Posted by: Julia | May 17, 2008 at 09:03 AM
Thanks for this story. I'm so glad Steve had enough information to track his parents down. My sons' adoptions are "closed" (not my choice), and it's the one thing I regret/worry about the most. We had to get US birth certificates for them, with us listed as the "birth parents," and one certificate even has the wrong birth city, because they automatically list the birth place as Seoul even if the kids aren't born in Seoul. It's like he's a non-person with a fake birth certificate.
We have the option of sending letters to their files in Korea for the birth families to read if they ever want to make the connection from their end and contact us. I do it every year on their birthdays.
Posted by: Denise | May 17, 2008 at 09:12 AM
I'm so glad Steve has been able to reconnect with his birth family and that it has gone so well. I am not adopted, but my father split when I was a baby. I eventually found him when I was 16, which was not too hard given that my Mom knew his name and his parents' names. Unfortunatly, he has not been interested in maintaining a relationship with me or my children. Which sucks for them since they have no other grandfathers at all now, and he lives right by Disney World.
Posted by: jennifer | May 17, 2008 at 10:33 AM
I was adopted at birth, and I've met my birth mother and half sister. That's probably about as far as I'll get, because I just don't know how to write "Hey, remember that girl you knocked up in 1980?" in a letter. But I TOTALLY get the weirdness... my half-sister and I used the same silly expression, ordered iced tea the same way (no lemon, 2 sweet-n-lows), hate tomatoes, but love chunky salsa, and have the exact same sense of humor. Also, I used to own a red Beetle convertible named Cherry (best. car. ever.)- and when she was pregnant with me, my birthmom owned a red Beetle she named Cher. It's weird enough that we both named our cars, really. Coincidence? Synergy? Weird and cool.
I had a great adoption experience, but I'm very glad that my son is genetically my own. I can't pinpoint why it was important to me, except that I've never lived with anyone who looks like me before, and it fascinates me every day.
Posted by: Amanda | May 17, 2008 at 10:57 AM
It's interesting to contemplate this, since I've been through 3 reunions personally (my brother who was placed at birth by my Mom, my sister that my fuckwad of a father abandoned early and I lost contact when she was 3, and now my daughter).
I used to think environment was everything, genetics nothing. And how can genetics dictate things like how you hold a coffee cup, or eat your food, or what movies you watch?
I know this is your brother's field, so perhaps you already know some of the theories that are currently swirling around the land where genetics and adoption meets, but there are some interesting hypotheses.
First would be things like the research that shows a child's preferences for foods can be shaped prenatally. Wha? Yeah, not what I expected, but from a chemistry point of view, isn't really as far fetched as it might seem at first blush.
Then there is the babies who will calm/turn toward on hearing the theme song of the soap opera their mother watched while she was pregnant. Clearly these kids are being culturally conditioned in utero. Combined with the human desire to seek out that which we connect with the familiar and comforting, and perhaps we have some explanation for some of the strange similarities seen in the MN twin studies (twins who married a spouse with the same name, perhaps they heard it often in utero? Who knows?).
That said, there apparently are genes for weird things like how you hold your coffee cup and other strange things I previously relegated to the area of familial culture, not genetics.
There are a few examples in my own family. My brother was the first eye-opener. He, like the rest of Mom's family, lives and dies for books. He would go without food before reading material. He is loud, brash, and stubborn, unlike his mellow, prim and proper adoptive family. He's the political liberal to their uber-conservatism. And he does this funny thing with his teeth when he's drinking, just like my maternal uncle. Strange!
The inter-familial connections are even stranger, like the fact that my Mom, daughter, and myself all identify ourselves as bisexual. My sister, daughter and I have all eaten our peanut butter cups the same way for as long as I can remember, and years before any of us could compare the same, and we each are separated by 11 years. It's not generational, or familial influence. We all have the same urge to eat the chocolate off the outside first. Every Single Time. Who knows why? Is it for the same reason my kids have sensory issues (all four, the autistic one, and the others as well)? My husband and I both have those foibles. I don't like my food touching. Too many tastes at once overwhelm me. Is that why I eat my peanut butter cups by flavor? Is that why I, and my daughter, sort skittles and smarties by color?
So perhaps genes don't determine the trait, but they set the stage for the trait to exist as a reflection of some preference that is indeed genetically (or prenatally) determined.
Fascinating stuff, no? Like my green eyes..... I knew brown and blue played some role, high school genetics text be damned. In my case, there wasn't much other option. We have blue eyes as far back as family history goes, save the brown eyed Jews on Mom's side. No green. At all. Except me.
Posted by: Crystal | May 17, 2008 at 04:00 PM
Gah. Can we please be friends? You are by far the best writer on the interwebs. I've been reading you for a while, and this post really took the taco. Amazing. Please start posting 3 times a day! PLEASE?!?!!?
Posted by: Megan | May 17, 2008 at 05:10 PM
i am a birth mom who was tracked down two years ago.
My 'son' is amazing and now i am a grandma. My 'son's' mother called to congratulate me, us.
we both cried.
i can't even, ever articulate the relief i have over how my son was raised, his spoiledness and how he can still call his 'mom' and cajole her into making him a pie when he KNOWS how busy she is!
and i love it.
i smother everything in ketchup, my son believes food is just a prop for ketchup.
i speed read everything, my son speed reads everything.
people get on my nerves, my son loves people, as long as they stay off his nerves.
my grandfather's lower lumbar area was messed up in an accident, my father's lower lumbar area was fractured severely in a construction accident, my lower lumbar was factured in a two story fall and my son's lower lumbar was crunched in a football game.
genetics are amazing.
i haven't ever posted on your blog before, but i have been a long time reader. thanks for sharing this.
Posted by: bpW | May 17, 2008 at 06:33 PM
Oh, I do love a happy ending. :)
Posted by: amy | May 17, 2008 at 09:08 PM
My first reaction to your post was ... NO FREAKING WAY! I'm sorry, but those "coincidences" are just mind-boggling to me. I thought that kind of stuff only happened in twins separated at birth! Because their genes are, you know, so WAY more similar than us regular folks and our parents. Man. Czech beer. That's just strange. Now, I need a drink.
I'm very happy for you guys... but sorry to break it to you, you'll never make it onto Dr. Phil with such an utter lack of drama in your family reunions.
Posted by: Emily | May 17, 2008 at 10:23 PM
Hate to sidetrack a really excellent post, but I think it's important to say that beer DOES NOT increase milk supply. Hops can increase milk supply, but alcohol reduces it.
http://www.kellymom.com/herbal/milksupply/herbal-rem_f.html#hops
But I think it's hilarious that you were pondering taking a drive with a beer and finishing it at the school! :)
Posted by: prettypixels | May 18, 2008 at 10:00 AM
Oh my God, am I the only one totally wondering from the clues what that "political" conversation was about?
Nice blog!
Posted by: Lynnie | May 18, 2008 at 01:59 PM
Had to share this story with you. Patrick should ride with me, as I have been pulled over in the line to pick up kids at school. It was in the town where we had just moved. Unknown to me the entire one mile residential road leading to the elementary school was 20 miles an hour. It wasn't marked at the very beginning and I slowed down as soon as I saw the sign. Unfortunately it was too late. The cop knew where I was going so just noted my license plate number and just pulled up next to me with flashing lights in front of the school. Talk about awful and expensive $245.00 for speeding in a school zone, 35 miles an hour in a 20 mile an hour zone, ouch. In made a lovely first impression on my son's kindergarten teacher. I never was asked to be a homeroom mother. I wonder why?
Posted by: anon. | May 18, 2008 at 04:11 PM
Heritage is weird. I have two paternal half brothers, over a decade apart in age, neither of whom has really grown up with my dad but both share a lot of his characteristics including little weird things like facial expressions and gestures.
I have to make a sordid confession that I love you with a love that borders on the obsessive since I used my baby's precious erratic napping schedule (usually scheduled for house maintenance, but procrastination is so much more my forte) to score a Julia-fix from your archives.
Also, another thing. When I was whinging about my breastmilk supply issues (my son is a couple of days younger than your twins) they suggested I start eating polenta with milk. On the downside I am not fond of the foodstuff and it is monotonous and fattening BUT it seems to have really perked up my milk supply which has in turn made a difference to my kid (sleeps more, cries less, magical things those) so I thought I'd throw it your way in case it works for you and you fancy giving it a try.
Posted by: Nina | May 18, 2008 at 05:38 PM
@ Lynnie
You are not the only one. I have been trying to guess all day. It is verging on an obsession. The mysterious clues are just *so* mysterious!
Posted by: Carolina | May 18, 2008 at 08:28 PM
Julia, I do love your stories ... Thanks for sharing the moments you have with your husband and children. These moments are obviously precious to you, and it is absolutely delightful for us "people inside the computer" to read your stories of joy, silliness and triumph ... even the stories of sorrow and sadness. You are truly a person who is/has a *sweet* heart. Take care.
Posted by: Sarah H. | May 18, 2008 at 09:10 PM
Very cool adoption story. I know I've probably said this before. It always surprises me that Steve didn't have a problem having biological children, only with adoption. It was his bio family who had the problems that necessitated adoption, right? That always stumps me with some adopted kids. I can understand why some are wary of adoption, but I don't understand why they aren't also wary of having bio kids. (PS: I'm an adoptive parent who has made contact with birth parents for the reasons you mention).
Posted by: sunny | May 19, 2008 at 01:25 AM
I love the story, I do, and I think it's so important to get out there but what I really need to tell you is that my first thought when I finished it was, "Dude, she just wrote that long, detailed, crafted, thoughtful post while parenting 3 people, 2 of whom are the exact same very very tiny age? I need to commit a little harder to my writing. Dang!"
Posted by: Kizz | May 19, 2008 at 01:26 PM
Having followed your blog from the beginning through all my infertility woes & adoption stress, I have just been able to look in for the first time since our gorgeous daughter came home. (Because an 18 month old walking in really is as tiring as they say!)
And I come back to this post! Almost a double resolution. And yes, we are keeping safe everything we know about her background and about the way the process works right now so that she has no gaps in her foundations...
So happy for you & Steve - in everyway posssible. Thank you for getting me through some tough times.
Posted by: Sara in UK | May 19, 2008 at 02:58 PM
and yes, with reference to the previous poster - I can't even find time to READ your blog with just one child and a tiny house to manage, with a giant Tesco a handy 3 minutes' walk away. How DO you manage to write this thing??
Is it the special costume??
Posted by: Sara in UK | May 19, 2008 at 03:01 PM