Mr. Rogers Neighborhood with the soothing tunes inviting me to be friends with a kind man who changes into comfy sweater and shoes when he comes home washes the background of childhood memories with sweet, sleepy, smiles of a carefree PBS filled afternoons twirling the shag carpet between my pudgy fingers. Chimes rang and the screen went fuzzy as the little train pulled us into the Land of Make Believe where puppets kings and queens visited creatures living in trees and windmills. With my thumb tucked securely on the roof of my mouth I would get excited and tell all who would hear, “Make-a-bleeb! Make-a-bleeb!” This name for the magical land so real to my pre-school eyes filled me with rapture and wonder.

At four years old my youngest son looks at me, brown eyes of lands where imagination is real, and I see to the beyond. He clenches in his hands two little plastic toys and taps them around the house creating fanciful stories with voices and sound effects. My world settles down as I watch him play. Zooming around our rooms I am his stow-away peeking into the land where I once resided but now only come to as a visitor.

Now on with the crunchy, munchy, mixed up life I lead…

• Some piles and clutter around the house don’t bother me at all.
• My favorite stuff to seeing lying around: Sharpies, Molskines, kids creations, and books.
• Kaitlynn’s first birthday with us was yesterday. She is “fweeeee” years old now. (link to a few fun pics)
• Raimy, my oldest daughter, comes running with my friend and me three mornings a week. Feels good to have arrived at this phase of motherhood.
• We are in the final stages of negotiations for owning our first piece of land ever. We are buying a school with a huge plot of land as a future site for the orphanage. Throughout the day I pause at the wonder of it all.
• Contemplating the acquisition of an electronic reader such as a Nook, a Sony Reader, a Kindle or (in-a-world-of-pink-unicorns-and-fairy-princesses) an iPad.
• I wish they had chosen a different name than iPad.
• Christmas season in Cochabamba means: water balloons in the streets, imported people from the Potosi region, lots of tank-tops and umbrellas, and sweating Santas in a snow free land.
• Any other Bones fans out there? Wow, this last episode “The Doctor in the Photo” gave me chills.
• This morning my 4 year old son tells me that Spiderman is Peter. Then we went on to have an interesting conversation about the ‘real names’ of various heroes. He then asked me what the villain’s ‘real names’ are. This age when they start forming coherent sentences to express opinions and ideas thrills me.

White shirt pressed and buttoned up the curly haired boy beamed. Miniature dress slacks creased carefully hung down to the tennis shoe clad toes. A bright red tie as a final touch and he was ready.

“I’m a gentleman!” he exclaimed proudly examining himself in the bathroom mirror.

Admiring her brother’s dapper apparel the littlest smoothed down her ruffles and smiled. Her dark eyes and dimply mocha cheeks framed by a tiara of baby’s breath looked up to me. Bright red dancing shoes upon her tiny feet and we were ready to go.

“She’s a princess!” he said with a clasp of the hands and a spontaneous hug. What a good big brother!

We arrived at the wedding site and practiced the march. People gathered with oohs and ahs for the bride, her attendants, the decorations and my two precious babes. A minor mishap with the throwing of the ring pillow (with the real rings!) by my son as he walked to close for comfort to a pond in the yard where holy matrimony took place stopped my heart for just a beat. Our tidy two year old saw fit to throw the petals but then also pick them back up. They made it to the front; whew!

The ceremony was lovely. The bride gorgeous. My eyes, though, were glued to my ring-bearer and flower girl. A marriage of nations, the wife from the States, the man from Bolivia, was duly represented in the brother and sister pair of different skin tones. It was a happy day.

When my youngest boy, Tyler, was an infant we used taxis to get around. Some taxi drivers are chatty. One afternoon I ducked into the cab of one such chatty driver with my baby boy on my lap. The man began with the usual questions of where I am from, how long we have been here, etc. Then he asked about my boy. Is he your son? Yes. Was he born here? Yes. Then the oddest thing happened. The opinion expressed with beaming pride had me scraping my jaw off the floor mat of the back seat of his car.

“Ah! So he is Bolivian! How good that he is improving the Bolivian race!” he nodded his head and looked once more at the light skin of my son through the crooked rear-view mirror. Personally I find that saddening.

In related news some years back Miss Bolivia commented, “It is wrong to assume that all Bolivians are short, poor Indians. In the tropical region I am from we are all tall, white and speak English.” She was ridiculed in the press and many shameful articles were published denouncing the racism that runs rampant in Bolivia. It never ceases to amaze me that in a nation with the land mass the size of Texas and the population comparable to that of New York City there is so much hatred between people groups. The Cambas have words to say about the Collas. Those of the Altiplano criticize those living in the Amazonian region. The light the dark. The European and the Native. Those who purely speak Castellano and those who speak a more ancient tongue. Not to mention the five major political parties ranging from Socialist to Autonomous. The divides run deep and dark, as I am sure they do in most lands.

I digress.

Recently the issue of race was raised on my cousin Lynde’s blog: A Wordy Girl Mom ‘The R Word”. She and her husband are as caucasian as they come. Last year they were blessed to bring home a beautiful, vibrant daughter from Haiti. Their daughter is in Kindergarten this year. Amongst the multitude of adjustments to be made there have been some discussions that have arisen about race. Lynde addressed a few ways that they are teaching their girl about race. I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to talk about race in our family.

Here is one of the comments I left over there on her blog that got me to thinking about doing a dedicated post:

… I wonder why race is such a huge issue in the States, the supposed Melting Pot. Ever since my kids could be aware of stuff like that we have lived in Bolivia. This morning after reading your post I thought to myself, “Oh, I have never even fielded this race business with my kids. I wonder if they have been hurt or something by someone.” So I went immediately one by one and asked them if anyone had ever brought up the fact that they are a different color from their papa, that their mama and papa are different colors, etc. Nope. Not one. Raimy is 12, and the most sensitive, yet no one had ever brought that up with her. Maybe we are just generally “odd” in Bolivian eyes and so the race stuff gets lumped in with all the other stuff that sets us apart. I am very curious if when we come to the States [for a visit] in January if the race stuff will come up.

During the beautiful stages of coloring books and learning our colors when my three big ones were little I threw a question out there just to see how they would respond.

“What color are you?”

They looked at their arms for a while and then to each other. The corporate answer was finally, “We are skin color.” I told them that was great. Then I took it one step further, “What color is your papa?” They decided that he, too, was skin color just a little more brown than they are. “And me, what color am I?” They tell me I am skin color too, of course, but with a little more pink in it.

Since then we have had other talks not so much about race but about ethnicity. To fill you in, in case you did not know, my husband, DaRonn is African American. I am as white as all get out. Living in Bolivia has opened their eyes to the beautiful spectrum of humanity. To allow them to identify with their roots we let them play with some titles. Here is the way that they describe each member of our family.

Papa – African American

Mama – Caucasian American

Raimy, Timothy and Gabrielle – African Caucasian American

Tyler – African Caucasian Bolivian American

Kaitlynn – Bolivian American

I truly hope that this list does not offend anyone. We celebrate our African American roots. We enjoy the Caucasian influence in our lives. We revel in the tri-racial aspect that the Bolivian boy and girl bring to us. Then through it all we live in a hammock sway between the Northern hemisphere and the Southern hemisphere, knowing the rhythms, tastes, weather and speech of more than one place.

In the middle of it all I know in my heart that the culture rich existence we provide them will be to their benefit. Then the temporal worry wart whispers once in a while in me wondering if I am inflicting irreparable damage. Inevitably within minutes there come a reminder that it is ok in a hug around my neck, a Spanglish make-believe wafting to my ear, the feel of the brush in my hand as I style and shape hairs, or in the look in their eyes when they call me mama.

I think often about their futures. I wonder who they will choose to fill their hearts with. I imagine that the multi-cultural kaleidoscope will be one of my greatest treasures when I am old and wrinkly.

P.S. I didn’t plan on writing a 1,000 word post on this topic. Must’ve been important to me.

EDIT: Since this is my 700th post I am going to take the liberty to add some irresistable charts. You know how I love my charts!

Racial Ethnicity Demographic comparisons in the U.S. 2008

Racial Ethnicity Demographic comparisons in Bolivia 2002

I imagine that the family and close friends will be the only ones that will want to invest the two minutes to watch some everyday antics at the Washington house. That is cool with me. The camera was just there on my desk as I worked so I pushed play without them knowing. Here they are in all their hilarity.

Yep, she’s fitting right in. My kids are wondrous!

See related vlog post:

Vlog Two Minutes with my Two Year Old Tyler

It’s easy to let the bedheads run free when they look so cute. Don’t you agree?

“Mama, can you take a picture of us?” Tyler asks as he helps his sister climb into the comfy chair near my desk. Undeniably one of the cutest little 10 seconds of their whole lives. Then they were off with bitty baby doll in tow to play to their heart’s content.

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My parents were here for two weeks. Though I was virtually silent in virtual land we were loud and rambunctious and all over the place when they were here. There are some pics on facebook if you want to check them out. There will be a few posts here about the marvelous visit.

For these few moments I have between morning errands and getting lunch ready I wanted to get down a few of the first things impressed upon me most during our vacation.

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My dad…

I love my dad. I know that. That is the That in the title. I know that I love my my dad. Having him here in flesh and blood, in hugs and smiles, in talks and tickles, and in play and work I was reminded that I love him. I was also reminded (and rehearted too) why I love him. The Why was refreshed. The way he talks, the way he is with my kids, the twinkle in his eye, the stuff he knows how to do, his power naps, his long strides, his sense of humor, his easy going nature are all wonderful things that I had forgotten I missed.

It’s great to know that you love someone, and what’s more, that they love you too. It is a treasure to remember and let your heart delight in why you love this person and let them express to you why they love you too.

My mom…

She is Oma. All my kids love their Oma, even the youngest who met her for the first time. Seeing the connections take place with Oma and the Grands was miraculous to say the least.

On one of the first days my mom said something that matched my thoughts at that very moment. She said, “I am so glad we still have stuff we can teach them.” It was in that moment that I was thinking how great it was that my kids were just soaking up everything that Oma and Opa were showing them. There were knitting lessons, new card games learned, scrabble tips instilled, and fun little songs, just to name a few. I had never realized how the high esteem my kids have for their Oma and Opa could create such a great desire to learn. From the moment they stepped foot in the door to when we loaded the truck for them to leave there was a constant flow and exchange of learning and rich new experiences. It has always been the philosophy of my mom that learning should be fun. I am so glad she is passing that along to my young, impressionable ones like she did for my when I was a kid.

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So much more to process and tell. Soon… For now I gotta get cooking.

Until then, remember why you love the ones you do and have fun learning something today.

Raimy and Timothy, 3 & 2, 2001

Timothy and Gabrielle, 3 & 2, 2003

Tyler and Kaitlynn, 3 & 2, 2010

Three and two, third time ’round

Sibling cuddles

Tongue twister interpretations

Applause for bathroom business

Bi-lingual make-believe

Messes and lullabies

Picture book awe

Coffee shots for mama

Scrambles for papa’s lap

Tickle spots

Q and A all day

Lub-oo and I love you too

Sticky kisses

Hugs forever

The day is still waking up as are my little ones. I tossed and turned all night in happy expectation mixed with other emotions. 5:30 I was out of bed in the chilly, dark house. DaRonn had done the same long before me. So I made bread pudding for breakfast.

Words are failing me. I am going to have to get the kids ready for school shortly as well. So I will just post some pics of our final day of prep and visitation at the orphanage. Oh, and in case you are just joining me in this wonderful story, today we bring our daughter Kaitlynn home! 3:00 is our appointment with the judge. I am praying that it all goes well.

Tyler's transition to the big boy bed went very smoothly. He slept fine last night, his first night. I am so proud of him.

This is the bed he handed down. She is going to love it! Come on home baby...

This was the bag that came with us to all our visits. Essentials: doll, blanket, comb, water, club crackers, camera, and lip gloss (a fave).

These three little pretties were lovingly called "the triplets" at the Home for about a year until true triplets arrived at the Home. The true triplets are 3 mo. old and soooo cute. These three pictured here are about the same age and came on the same day. This pic was taken yesterday (5 - 25 - 10).

This pic was taken 2-09 during their first days at the Home. They were all about a year old. They are the best of friends.

On a Red Rider trike with a Sock Monkey shirt, pig-tails and a contented smile. How can I be so blessed?!