Precious Connections . . .

Many things I took for granted before we adopted our our daughter took on new or different meaning to me. I know I cannot fulfill all my daughter's needs when it comes to connecting with her culture or understanding her path to our family. I find myself looking to put things in place that will help her during the times she will need to seek help and guidance elsewhere. I don't know what it is to be Ethiopian. I don't know what it is to be adopted. I don't know what it is to be birthed in one continent and raised in another. As a mom, I want to be all things to my daughter - to be her guide on her journey. But I know I will fall short and so I plan.

I realize, as I reflect, I will fall short in that capacity for my sons too. But I honestly had not given that much thought before Leyla arrived. I know as boys there are parts of their journey that their father and the other men in their lives will need to take a leading role. But those differences are the norm in families. Perhaps that is why I felt more comfortable believing what my sons needed would naturally be there for them. However, I am less sure about that too as I watch my eldest enter his teens. The world I knew growing up as teen no longer exists and he will face challenges I didn't.

When we went to Ethiopia to bring home our daughter, we traveled with two other families who were also meeting their daughters for the first time. Both families had connections to where we live. Interestly, both mothers had grown up in the area although their families now live elsewhere. We discussed keeping the girls connected as much as we could. Each year since, we were able to get together with one of those families. They have a biological daughter Hazel (who accompanied her parents to Ethiopia) and their Ethiopian daughter Naima. Naima is about 6 months older than Leyla.

When we met our daughters, that age gap seems quite large. Leyla was a tiny 6 month old and Naima was a tall slim one year old, walking and starting to talk. I included some photos of the girls from that time in Ethiopia below.
The first summer visit together the age difference had diminished but still was evident. Leyla was a few months past her first birthday and just mastering walking. Naima was closer to two and happily running and talking up a storm to her sister. Our boys really enjoyed meeting Naima and Hazel because it allowed them to connect to their sister's time in Ethiopia before she joined them. Dimitri went out of his way to form a connection with Naima who was a bit shy when we first arrived.

This last summer, the age difference was barely evident. And they started to notice each other in a different way. Naima said to her mother, "Leyla has curly hair like me." It struck me this potentially was the beginning of a deeper connection. Only Leyla's brother Dimitri came a long on the visit (Damian had a soccer game and was disappointed he couldn't join us). Dimitri at thirteen was a hit with the four girls. He is wonderful with kids and pretty much will let them do anything so they have fun. And the girls took full advantage. The pictures are evidence of that..




Since that visit, Leyla asks me with some frequency to see the pictures we took. She will ask me "Can I see my friend Naima." She doesn't seem to tire of looking at the pictures of the fun times they shared. Something clicked with her and made an impression. I hope it is the beginning of a something she will be able to nurture and grow. Naima has a unique shared experience with Leyla. And it may be able to provide some of the answers or support they will both need as they grow beyond childhood and examine their history as well as their path forward.

Like Leyla, I enjoy looking at these pictures because of the joy that exudes from them but also because I want Leyla to have all that she needs for her path - especially what I know I cannot provide. And these pictures make me hopeful . . .

September 11

September 11th never meant anything to me before 2001. I recall vivid details of that day and the days that followed. Small details became etched in my brain because of the horror of the day - like who I met with immediately before seeing the television screen with the burning towers. I have a hard time remembering meetings from last week much less nine years ago. I recall the eery strangeness that came over me when I looked in the sky above our house where planes regularly circled when they couldn't immediately land at nearby O-Hare airport in Chicago and saw nothing but blue for days. My youngest son was 7 months and I wondered what kind of world would he grow up into. My sense of security was ripped away and in its place was a raw appreciation of how fragile and illusory that sense was.

In 2008, I gained a new meaning for September 11. September 11 is the Ethiopian New Year. Around this time of year, we received the referral of our daughter and an introduction into her Ethiopian culture. The Ethiopian calendar (Amharic: የኢትዮጵያ ዘመን አቆጣጠር yä'Ityoṗṗya zämän aḳoṭaṭär), is based on the older Alexandrian or Coptic calendar, which derives from the Egyptian. But like the Julian calendar, it adds a leap day every four years. Like the Coptic calendar, the Ethiopian calendar has twelve months of 30 days each plus five or six epagomenal days, which comprise a thirteenth month. The sixth epagomenal day is added every four years without exception on August 29 of the Julian calendar, six months before the Julian leap day. Thus the first day of the Ethiopian year, 1 Mäskäräm, for years between 1901 and 2099 (inclusive), is usually September 11 (Gregorian), but falls on September 12 in years before the Gregorian leap year. The year 2003 begins today September 11 in this calendar.

I looked for pictures to show the joy and celebration that my daughter might be experiencing in her native land today. I was surprised to find pictures of little girls that looks strangely familiar although I had not seen them before. I looked back at picture from Leyla's second birthday and saw her yellow dress that mirrored the yellow flowers decorating the young celebrants in Ethiopia. How appropriately similar they looked including the life and fire that shines out of their eyes.


Now both meanings I have come to know for this momentous day intertwine as I reflect. I celebrate the amazing culture that was not mine until my daughter made it so. I also remember the inhumanity and humanity that is exposed in tragedies driven by hate and misunderstanding. I see a connection in the sharing of cultures which leads to greater appreciation of both uniqueness and sameness. A part of me wishes for a way to replicate what happened in our family on a massive scale although I know hearts change on an individual level. Our family now reflects 4 cultures - Dutch, Greek, Ethiopian and American - and our hearts are open to appreciating and learning about the many others that make up the mosaic of our globe.

Melkam Addis Amet -- Happy Ethiopian New Year.

Growing in my heart

I recently saw this lovely poem (by Fleur Conkling Heyliger) shared by a proud adoptive mother:

"Not flesh of my flesh
Nor bone of my bone,
But still miraculously
My own.
Never forget for a single minute
You didn’t grow under my heart,
But in it."

This sums up beautifully what I am sure many adoptive parents feel. It certainly captures our experience. To bring your child, who was destined to be a part of your family, from the other side of the globe, makes you believe in things bigger than yourself like miracles, destiny and more . .

These feelings did stop at my husband or me, they extended to our sons. The youngest recently told me as we were walking alone together, "I love her (his adopted sister) so much it fills my whole heart. It's a wonder there is room for the rest of you. But somehow there is." I gave him a big hug. I understood exactly what he meant. I watch each morning as Leyla gets up and runs to find "the boys." They each bend down so she can wrap her little arms tightly around their necks and give them good morning kisses. The look of joy and peace on their faces as she does this ritual warms you to your soul - it is so pure and real!

Both brothers have their own unique relationship with their sister. The youngest loves to goof around with her and find ways to make her erupt in peals of laughter. Her laughter is quite infectious. We find it is nearly impossible not to laugh along with her once she gets going. My eldest has a more nurturing relationship with his sister in part because he is eleven years older. She will cry for him if she is hurt and a parent is not close on hand. Below are some favorite pictures of my boys with their cherished little sis. The love they have for each other, grown in their hearts, is a special joy for a parent to witness.

Why Ethiopia?

There are certain questions I get with some frequency since we adopted our daughter. One of those is “Why Ethiopia?” I was recently asked this question again from a prospective adoptive parent on Adoptive Families website. Excerpts from the email I received are below:

“I just wanted to tell you that I have been really inspired reading your blog. . . . When we first began researching adoption (about a year ago), we talked about Ethiopia, but were both so afraid of the unknowns and decided it was not for us; however, I have always felt that it was where we should be. . . .. . Your beautiful story has inspired me and concreted the idea in my mind that we are being called to that country. How did you decide it was right for you?"

The truth is we didn’t originally start thinking about Ethiopia. A number of our friends adopted children from China and a few from Romania and Russia. We wanted to add a little girl to our family since we had two sons. After that our biggest concern was the health of our new child. We were open to a slightly older kid, up to two years of age, given our boys were 6 and 10 at the time we started the process. We began looking into adoption with the thought that China likely was the path for us. We assembled the massive amounts of paperwork and even prepared ourselves for the long wait that was anticipated with China. At the first informational meeting, we saw a family from my son’s elementary school. They were considering Ethiopia. I found it very interesting since I did not know anyone who had adopted from Ethiopia. I did remember learning about Ethiopia from early Bible classes and school. I was intriqued but did not give it much more thought.

We moved forward with China without considering Ethiopian at that point. I remember vividly when I received an email from our adoption agency while we were visiting my husband’s family in Greece that summer. I was sitting under an umbrella being the one in the family most likely to turn an angry shade of red under the hot Mediterranean sun. I feel a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I read the message . . another family where one parent had a similar health history as mine had their paperwork rejected by China. We were just getting ready to submit our paperwork. The agency strongly recommended that we consider another program since we would likely be rejected as well. I had not considered, much less prepared myself, for this possibility. I felt the tears sting in my eyes as my husband gently asked me “What’s wrong?”

I believed in my heart that there was a third girl child we were supposed to adopt waiting out there for us. As I let the bitter disappointment go over a period of weeks, I realized she was not in China. And I needed to explore other possibilities. When we returned to the states, I reviewed other countrie's programs and decided to look closely into the Vietnam, Russia and Ethiopia. I interviewed with the leaders of each program at our agency. We decided on move forward on parallel paths with Ethiopia and Vietnam given that Vietnam had many question marks and Ethiopia was still a pioneer program for our agency. We started our Ethiopian paperwork and then never did much with Vietnam. The more I learned about Ethiopia generally and through our process, the more peace I had with our decision.

As we explained this change in plans to our boys, my eldest said with complete candor something I could not even say to myself, “They won’t give you a baby because they think you are going to die.” Wow – that one hit me right at the very core of my being. I knew he was right but hearing it out loud was another thing altogether. Somehow, hearing him say it with the tone of total indignation at the injustice of it was a small comfort. Having your children want to protect and defend you is a special thing indeed – although it felt bittersweet given the circumstances.

Ethiopia has a long and rich history as one of the ancient countries. We found many similarities to my husband’s Greek culture: the climate, the traditions, the food and the focus on family and community. When we traveled to Ethiopia, we felt welcomed and very much at home. The foliage and vegetation reminded us both of my husband’s homeland. Here is a picture of our time in Ethiopia getting to know our new daughter.


I believe you receive the children you are meant to have no matter how they come to join your family. Our daughter is no exception. She is so completely one of us while also being completely Ethiopian and uniquely her own person. What seemed like a devastating piece of news at the time put us on a path to amazing joy. As my eldest son will guilelessly say (and does so with almost annoying frequency), “I am so glad China did not work out otherwise we would not have gotten Leyla.”

I saw this recent quote which spoke to me: "When you learn something from people, or from a culture, you accept it as a gift, and it is your lifelong commitment to preserve it and build on it."--Yo-Yo Ma, American cellist

I feel this applies exponentially when you accept the gift of a child from another people and culture. My youngest son asked me, “Are we Ethiopian now?” I answered, “No one will look at you and see Ethiopian but you are Ethiopian inside if you accept that connection to your sister’s homeland.” He said, “Good.” He doesn’t give me as much insight into what happens inside his head but clearly he viewed being able to connect with his sister’s country as a positive.

The answer to “Why Ethiopia?” is simple: because that is where our daughter was waiting for us. And we accept the lifelong responsibility to honor the gift we have gotten by way of Eastern Africa. Here is a picture of the family recently celebrating Leyla's second birthday at a local Ethiopian restaurant.

what's in a name

Choosing a name for your child is usually a momentous and often challenging task. When you adopt a child you add a few additional dimensions. These dimensions increase further if your child is from another country and culture. When we choose our eldest son's name, we chose a name we both loved. Some of our original criteria were: 1) the name needed to be of a saint so my son could celebrate his nameday (a Greek tradition to celebrate rather than birthday), 2) the name should be unique but not strange, and 3) the name could not have an easy nickname. (Incidently, my husband has made the most of being a Greek in American and is the only one in the family who celebrates both his birthday and nameday.) We had to work through some cultural issues with my husband's family since Greeks generally name the first born son after the father's father. My father in law's name is Orestes which didn't seem quite right for a child who would be American by birth and Dutch and Greek by lineage. Also, in mythology Orestes kills his mother - not a plus from my perspective.

We chose Dimitri from Demeter, the goddess of nature and the earth. We gave him Orestes as a middle names which led to him having the rather unfortunate initials of DOA which he now embraces as a teenager. One of my best friends who lives in Holland called me when I was pregnant and told me she had the perfect name for me, Dimitri. I laughed and told her we already chose that very name but it gave me confidence we had chosen well. Dimitri is also the patron saint of my husband's hometown of Thessaloni and the name of his godfather's father. All convinced me Dimitri was the name of destiny for our first born pictured below communing with nature after he was told not to since he was recovering from a severely broken arm but apparently the call was too strong to resist.


With our second son, the name did not come as easily although the criteria was generally same except we decided we wanted another name that started with a "d". We settled on Damian Michael (his dad's name). You will see a theme with the middle names; they are all connected to my husband's family. No "drama" on the Greek side for this name since the second son "was supposed" to be named after my father. My folks, who are Dutch, have similar naming traditions (I am named after my pateral grandmother but ironically look like my materal grandmother's side of the family - go figure) but they did not express any opinion on how we named our children. Damian means to tame. And if you met him, you would not think "tame." He has boundless energy and curiosity and often combines the two. We feel like the ones being tamed in most instances. Below is a picture of the tamer dancing to the beat of his own drum - literally.


With our daughter Leyla, it was a family affair. We received her referral picture and had the advantage of seeing what she looked like before we named her. Our criteria varied a bit this time. My husband Michael wanted something that meant "a gift from god." Her birthmother gave her the name Fasika which means Easter and we wanted her to retain that gift. My husband also wanted to name her after his mother Maria. We all wanted an Amharic name to honor her Ethiopian heritage. The boys wanted a name that fit a princess which we all felt she looked like in that first photo. We faced a few challenges with the nameday but use her middle name for Greek holiday purposes. We worked through many possibilities before settling on a three name combination. Adding two opinionated brothers definitely lengthed the vetting process.

Although Dimitri and Damian's favorites didn't make the final cut, both threw themselves into the process and enjoyed learning more about the meaning of different names. We chose Leyla which means "dark haired beauty", Marie for Michael's mother (and a saint) and Fasika for her birthmother. We learned later that Leyla can also mean "change" which is fitting for many different reasons. We call her every combination from using all three, to Leyla Marie or Fasikie, or just Marie. She beams at all but has a hard time herself with saying Fasika. She often refers to herself in the third person as "is Leyla" or "Leyla did it," the later usually when she had done something she shouldn't. Here is a picture of our dark haired beauty from her early months home.


It is interesting to note the Greek connection to the naming of Leyla's homeland. The name "Ethiopia" derives from the Greek ethio, meaning "burned" and pia, meaning "face": the land of burned-faced peoples. Aeschylus described Ethiopia as a "land far off, a nation of black men." Homer depicted Ethiopians as pious and favored by the gods. In Ethiopia's naming tradition, the children take their father's first name as their last name. The first name is usually given by their parents and is significant in meaning to them. On Leyla's visa back to the states as well as her Ethiopian passport, her name was listed as Fasika Michael. My husband Michael enjoyed that quite a bit.

This custom is used to make it easier to identify family groups. Our family group shares a last name, an adverturous spirit while each is a unique and quirky individual. A family friend who had not seen Leyla for bit recently ran into the five of us at one of the boy's many soccer games. She commented as she watched Leyla run, play and laugh out loud as she amused herself (see below), "She is such an Angelidis!!" Well said.

Love - the same but different

We were recently invited to come to answer questions about our experience for a group of prospective adoptive parents. The agency provides a list of likely questions which reminded me of all the ones we had when we were going through the process. As we sat with the five of us in front of the group, there was an awkward silence. .where to start. The facilitator asked us, “Did your daughter have any issues when you first brought her home.” As I was responding that our daughter did indeed have a common Ethiopia digestive issue, Leyla, who was sitting on my lap studying those studying her, passed gas very loudly. Her facial expression never changed. I paused and then added, she still has the occasional digestive issue and the room laughed. Leyla then proceeded to show off her lovely belly by lifting her dress and then moving to stick her hands inside her cute little matching bloomers. My thirteen year old son sitting next to me looked a bit mortified but it definitely lightened the mood.

The parents asked a number of great questions. Then one gentleman asked a series of questions that were a bit unexpected given the fact that our three kids – the two oldest - 9 and 13, were in the room and listening to what was said. He asked, “Do you love your biological and adoptive children the same? Do you pay more attention to the adoptive child? Do your other children get jealous or resent that?” He continue on in that vein for a while. It was interesting to watch many of the other parents squirm uncomfortably in their seats or even seem to tilt their bodies away from this man as if to distance themselves from his questions. I also felt my son sitting next to me sit up a little straighter. I knew he was listening very intently.

When the gentlemen finished, my husband responded with a laugh, “Oh I can answer for me and it’s an easy answer. I love her more and I have already told my sons that!” Half the room laughed and the other looked slightly horrified. My husband is from Greece and is not shy to speak his mind or make a joke. As I explained to this room, in the Greek culture or at least in my husband’s family, I have observed that there was a little truth in what he said but it had nothing to do with adoptive versus biological. In my husband’s family, his sister is his father’s favorite and my husband is his mother’s. And they freely joke about it.

These questions are difficult ones but go to the heart of what makes a family through adoption or biology. I mentioned I read a blog that tried to describe the love you feel if you have both biological and adoptive children. This woman had one of each and said her love for them was both the same and yet different. I agree with that assessment although since I have two biological, I will add it is the same but different for each child. One difference with your adoptive child is you want to make up for what wasn’t right in their past even though at an intellectual level you know that is not possible. But the love you have for them still includes that fierce desire.

I also spoke to the the attention question. My youngest son, who was our baby before his sister came, did mention early on when she was home, “She gets all the good attention and I get the bad.” We talked to him about it then and explained that she was a baby and he had gotten that same type of attention when he was a baby. It didn’t come up again so I asked him some months later if he still felt that way. He looked at me like it was a particularly dumb question as only your kids can, “Oh no, mom,” he said. “I may get a little less attention from you and dad. But I get A LOT of attention from Leyla so it is all good.” His little sister adores him and finds just about anything he does hysterically funny. They share a special bond that includes lots of laughter.

As I am speaking, this son has sat down on the other side of me and is poking me – increasingly harder as I try to ignore him. Finally, I say to the parents, “And as you can see, my kids know how to get attention." As I turned to him and asked him what he wanted to share, I waited with trepidation. This son can say the craziest things and they are not always appropriate for the situation. He started, “I was reading a book about a mother who had a biology –ical and adopted kid. She said that she loved them both the same amount but that the love was different for each of them so I agree with my mom.” Wow – I was humbled and proud. I don’t always know what goes on in his head but he had clearly been thinking about this at some point and found his answer through that book.

As we were driving home, my husband and I talked about what a great experience this had been to go back to talk to parents like us. We were reminded of how terrific our boys have been through this whole process and how much choosing this path has made our family learn and grow in beautiful but sometimes unexpected ways. We also felt we were in a small way paying it forward since our experience has been so amazingly positive.

When you grow up . . .

As a mom, I often look at my children and wonder what they will look like or what they will be like when they grow up. With my biological sons, I look at relatives from my family and my husband’s as sources for part of the answer. Will my son share my dad’s quirky nature? Will my son be fun loving and adventurous like my husband’s favorite cousin? Or will he be a photographer like my favorite cousin? Or more likely which combination of characteristics will they exhibit from an number of people? As they grow and mature, I see different characteristics and tendencies. Their interests, hopes and dreams evolve over time too.

With my daughter who is from Ethiopia (pictured above looking every bit the princess she is in our house), I still see our family in her. .even though she has different biology. I see her younger brother’s love of food, music and dance. I see her older brother’s fascination with the animal kingdom and his sweet caregiver tendencies. I also realize that I can’t know some of the possibilities for her since I don’t know her biological family. To fill in those gaps, I found myself looking at picture of Ethiopians in the news or in my day to day life for potential clues. Occasionally, I see a face or a gesture from one of them that remind me of Leyla. When Leyla was recently home, I saw a lovely model gracing the pages of a magazine I was reading. I thought maybe Leyla will grow up and look something like her. They had a similar bone structure. As I read the article, I was pleased to learn that this model was Ethiopian.

Her name is Liya Kebede and she has an inspiring story. She used her celebrity and wealth to reach back and help those less fortunate in her country in a variety of ways. Liya was born and raised in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. She has commented that the modeling industry in Ethiopia is quite different. For example, in Ethiopia she had to provide her own shoes for a runway show. In 2003, she became the face of Estée Lauder cosmetics, the first Ethiopian in the company's history. Liya is one of a handful of African models featured in major magazines and fashion shows.


In 2005, Kebede was appointed as WHO Goodwill Ambassador for Maternal, Newborn and Child Health. During her acceptance speech for the 2005 UN Day Award, she called out the need for focus on women and children’s issues:

"Every day we hear about the dangers of cancer, heart disease and AIDS. But how many of us realize that, in much of the world, the act of giving life to a child is still the biggest killer of women of child-bearing age? That over half a million die every year? Or that 3 million babies are stillborn? Or that another 4 million die during the first days and weeks of life?"

In 2009, Liya starred in the film-adaption of the bestselling autobiography Desert Flower by former supermodel Waris Dirie. The film recounts Waris's childhood in Somalia, her rise to stardom and subsequent awareness campaign against female circumcision. It premiered at the Venice Film Festival and received a standing ovation.

She founded the Liya Kebede Foundation, whose mission is to reduce maternal, newborn and child mortality in Ethiopia and around the world. Her Foundation funds awareness raising projects as well as provides direct support for low-cost technologies, community-based education, and training and medical programs. In 2009, Liya worked with the Gates Foundation as part of their Living Proof Project. Liya served as a High-Level adviser for the Center for Global Development’s 2009 report "Start with a Girl: A New Agenda for Global Health." She writes for the Huffington Post about maternal and child health. She is part of the Champions for an HIV Free Generation, an organization led by former Botswana President Festus Mogae which advocate for increased HIV prevention and treatment in Africa.

In 2008, Liya also launched Lemlem, a clothing line to help preserve the art of traditional weaving and bring sustainable economic development to Ethiopia. Lemlem, which means “to bloom” in Amharic, features hand-spun, woven and embroidered women and children’s clothing.


For each of my children, I hope they take the best of their biology and their environment to develop themselves into a caring, multi dimensional people that leave the world a little better place than they found it. In Liya Kebede (and Waris Dirie), I see that kind of person. I look forward to the unique journey that each of my children will take. I realize Leyla’s journey will be similar in many ways to her brothers but also include more unknowns for her and me. I hope she will find people to inspire her as she develops into her best self. I can already tell her that she inspires people with her shiny deep black eyes that seek out eye contact and hold it and with her laugh that makes you just want to laugh with her. In addition to my hope for my children that they find people to inspire them, I also hope they will become people who inspire others.

I found a paperweight over the weekend with a great Maya Angelou quote that I intend to give Leyla when she is older:

“Dream. Let nothing dim the light that shines from within.” It’s that light that inspires others, in my humble opinion, and I see it shining in each of my children.