Signing off

See you again sometime after mid October. Ethiopia, mom and I are nearly on our way! But oh, what am I forgetting? And what will Sarah Palin (and Tina Fey) say while I am gone? Here's to the economy, let's hope we still have one upon my return . . . scary times all around. Ugh, my boys, my heart, ouch, I can't think of it, can't say good bye, ohhhh . . .

*Kisses*

Extreme Triplet Soccer

During our first several months home with the boys we often heard, as part of the general triplet exclamations from the public, You got your own basketball team! Three boys, sure, we have a team. Come on, they are black, so of course they will be good at basketball. Yeah, sure. I used to laugh and say to Jerry, they'll stop saying it if Sira and Bereket don't grow. Well, they are growing, just not much. I know Tsega looks big and bulked he is, but he is smack in the middle average for height. So maybe NBA is not in our future.

I never aspired to be a soccer mom, although watching your kids kick around a ball is pretty exhilarating (although I still hope they will all grow up to be excellent tap dancers too). I mean, I even curled my lip up at a particular used minivan we browsed mainly because of the soccer mom decal on it.

Anyway, watch the triplets play their version of extreme soccer, complete with spirited happy dances at the end. (That's Sira in the overall shorts.) Maybe being a soccer mom is not so bad. Did I just say that . . . ?

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Three Tree Huggers

Like parents like sons, my kiddos are aspiring naturalists (or mama hopes, anyway). Hug those trees boys (and hug them they do), kiss the sky, see the usually unseen in Nature's underbelly. My dear Tsega takes in the flowers, birds, and trees with delight as he places both hands on my face and forces my head to turn at whatever spectacular miracle he sees. Don't worry Tsegs, mama sees the bird.

You scared me!

We're in the house, it's just after nap. Sira and Bereket are awake, snacking and playing, while Tsega sleeps on. Suddenly from the corner of perception my senses begin to form an image in my brain of an extra figure entering the living room. It's Tsega, groggy, he has woken and let himself out of the nursery. But since my conscious mind only registered two players in our scene at that time, I am startled. An instant reflex of frightened unknowns threw my flight or fight senses into a frenzy. I scream. No small scream either (I have very powerful lungs--no triplet can match me in volume). A LOUD shocking blood curdling scream. What am I thinking, it's just my third child, who else would it be? Poor Tsega, my scream waves through his body visibly, he jumps, and his face produces that adorable turned down quivering mouth as his cries mute out the echoes of my scream. Of course by now we are all hugs and consoling apologies but I cannot stop cracking up. Hilarious, mama.

I guess because I am still not used to free comings and goings, it's still weird for me to see a child enter a room from doors that I closed. Come on brain, catch up. We're growing up. Two of my three can even put their own shoes on now--velcro secured and all.

Guess where I'm going?

I can't keep it to myself any longer. Barring no bad luck to stop us (knock on wood), I am returning to Ethiopia and traveling with my mom for two weeks come October--2 weeks from today! Flights are fixed, travel arrangements are made. Just mom and me, no kids coming or going this time around. Day 2 in Ethiopia we travel by car eastward to Awash National Park and staying on at the Bilen Lodge among the Afar peoples for a couple of nights (just one lion roar to reach my ears is all I ask for).

We then continue east onto Harar for a couple of more nights, where I will be sure to feed the local wild hyenas.

We fly back to Addis from Dire Dawa and get back on a plane the next early morning and head north for a whirldwind's night stay in historical Lalibela.

Holiest of places we will be, one among Muslims (Harar--the fourth holiest Muslim site), one among Christians (Lalibela--the unofficial 8th Wonder of the world).

I ran across these amazing photos of Ethiopia, many of Harar and the Northern Historical Route, by one adventuresome blogger (within the old city we're staying at the traditional Adare (Harari) house the blogger describes).

My only disappointment is that I will not be camel trekking around Bilen. Apparently two of the camels are lost.

Why am I going? Why not!? Mom is staying for 2 weeks beyond my stay for volunteer work around Addis Ababa with a group of Canadians. What else would a cool, retired mama hungry for the world opt to do with her time off?

Excited? You bet!

Please send Jerry your arms, your child care providers, your prepared meals for my time away. He will really, really, really need the help (before you think me selfish, his truly wonderful mother will help while I'm away). And I will really miss three little babies but I can't think of that right now . . . ouch my heart (oh my they will be missing on me and I doubly don't want to think about that . . .).

Melkam Adis Amet

Happy New Year! May your 2001, the precise New Millennium (in Ethiopia), be joyous! Yes, we are all 7 years younger in the land of 13 Months of Sunshine. In honor, those of us with roots in the Ethiopian gene pool gathered on the prairie; the first such gathering to ever hit the innards of rural Kansas. Thank you thoughtful hosts and kind patrons! A bow to the cooks and your very impressive Ethiopian menu. May your tongue be hardy and the berbere sauce I made for you tantalize your lips and sit well in your stomachs (Kansans are not known for their spice). By the way, in case you read this, to the family with the 2 girls with roots in Tennessee (and not Ethiopia, my mistake!): I absolutely adore your girls! Tell them their three "cousins", as one of them put it, would love to see them again.



September 12th also marked a special day for us as we celebrated the 2nd anniversary of our referral. Well, celebrate is a loose term. We played outside after many hours of beautiful but stifling rain. The stifling part being house bound with nap rebellions and an overly cranky (sleepless) fitful mama (remember when I said I thought we were conquering the crib farewells? Well I take it all back--help!). We thanked Mama Earth for a better mood for mama, a cool end of summer, much rain, and fewest bug bites I ever remember in Kansas; we sat in mud puddles, baked wet dirt, and walked the dog (Louie that is; true to her coon hound blood, Clementine is a dog that runs and searches, never to be walked).











We also marked a stark decline in parenting energy and skills. I hate to say this aloud and can it really be true? Yes, we have turned to videos for parenting moments. Let the TV baby sit as we steal a few moments of house duty, shower, or rest. Yikes, has it really come to this? And I never thought my boys would sit still for TV. Seems Sesame Street: Old School, Volume I possesses magic soothing powers (it works on me too). My favorite parts are the thick grainy videos with soft folksy music playing in background: kids in funny 70s style following each other; cows getting milked; or orangutans yawning in the zoo. Really floats the soul. Ohhh, how I love the big hair in the Old School Sesame St black community. Maybe my kids will finally learn to talk watching Bert and Ernie? Still very little words bellowing forth from three rosebud lips; but plenty else bellowing.

Really, speaking of words, I'm starting to get a little embarrassed as other, younger, 2 year olds tell their moms in clear voices, mom, I lost my shoe, while my trio babble on in baby squawks. We're still in child/infant development and I see general, overall improvements, but it's hard for us sensitive mamas not to worry. Yet there is a sweetness, an utter cuteness, an extra special uniqueness to my boys; star quality. They are hard to take one's eyes off of. And man can they play. They are now at the age where they lose themselves into a crowd of children so naturally, so easily, that one begins to wonder, whose children are these? Those babies are all mine, baby.