zi-NAH-boo
Zinabu. Zinabu, Zinabu, Zinabu.
We are approaching his five year anniversary of joining our family. Does that seem possible? It does not, to me. His arrival (and subsequent pain and adaptation to America and our family) still feels so palpable. So just yesterday. I marvel at a five year anniversary.
Zinabu is the light of my life. The most incredible joy-filled ball of energy and brains. He is still a little tone deaf, but he loves to sing funny songs as he follows me around. Yesterday it was, "We're doing the laundry one piece at a time..." When he wants to get his way, he stares at me with his enormous brown eyes and says, "You can't resist the puppy dog stare." And he still asks me eight million questions a day, such as, "Where does Daylight Saving's Time really start and what time is it really here if it's already midnight in New York?"
His brain is so mathematical. He is a living, breathing calculator. We are going to have our hands full keeping him happy at school, and he is going to be "one of those" kids. One of those kids in the double-double-triple-super advanced math classes in eight grade, riding the bus to the high school to take AP Calculus with a bunch of 17-year-olds. I can hardly wait to see what he'll be when he grows up. I won't be able to understand it because it will have something to do with quantum physics, but I am very excited.
And he is still very much a little boy. Needing my snuggles. Needing his PB&J without crusts. Needing kisses after reading books together. Needing to sit in my lap when he wants to feel close to me. Needing to show me his cuts and scrapes so that I am aware of his owie status.
I pray that his mom knew all this about him before she died. I don't know how she would have known, but I hope that she could look into his eyes and see all that potential and life and joy bubbling under the surface. He tells me often that he's so happy I am his mom now, and after I weep silently into his shoulder... I agree.
Showing posts with label Zinabu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Zinabu. Show all posts
3/11/12
2/23/12
2/19/12
Old Habits Die Hard
I thought we had conquered the B.O.B. in Zinabu's life (Bad Orphanage Behavior), but in the last week it has reared its ugly head on more than a few occasions. For example:
1. He fell yesterday. Hard. I mean really hard on his kneecap. He burst into tears and I rushed over to console him and he walked away, trying to hide his pain and not letting me touch him. This goes beyond wanting to be tough. It's more of a "I learned at age 3 that I had to take care of myself and I won't let anyone around to help me." It was so sad, as he couldn't really walk well... more like a staggered limp. I had to grab him and forcibly hold him, telling him over and over again that he needs to let me help him when he gets hurt. It's my job and it's okay for him to cry. He wasn't really happy about it.
2. He got royally mad at Carver and was in tears and incredibly frustrated. David and I were trying to talk to him and get to the bottom of the situation but again, he walked away from us and locked himself in the bathroom. He hates crying in front of ANYone, and he hates feeling weak or vulnerable.
So I'm back to some intense lovin' on the little dude, and I'm back to reminding him constantly that it really is okay to cry, show emotion, be vulnerable, allow others to help, and in general take advantage of the family that surrounds him. It's heart-breaking to watch him think he needs to be so tough and alone. Anyone else still struggling after several years at home with your kiddo?
I thought we had conquered the B.O.B. in Zinabu's life (Bad Orphanage Behavior), but in the last week it has reared its ugly head on more than a few occasions. For example:
1. He fell yesterday. Hard. I mean really hard on his kneecap. He burst into tears and I rushed over to console him and he walked away, trying to hide his pain and not letting me touch him. This goes beyond wanting to be tough. It's more of a "I learned at age 3 that I had to take care of myself and I won't let anyone around to help me." It was so sad, as he couldn't really walk well... more like a staggered limp. I had to grab him and forcibly hold him, telling him over and over again that he needs to let me help him when he gets hurt. It's my job and it's okay for him to cry. He wasn't really happy about it.
2. He got royally mad at Carver and was in tears and incredibly frustrated. David and I were trying to talk to him and get to the bottom of the situation but again, he walked away from us and locked himself in the bathroom. He hates crying in front of ANYone, and he hates feeling weak or vulnerable.
So I'm back to some intense lovin' on the little dude, and I'm back to reminding him constantly that it really is okay to cry, show emotion, be vulnerable, allow others to help, and in general take advantage of the family that surrounds him. It's heart-breaking to watch him think he needs to be so tough and alone. Anyone else still struggling after several years at home with your kiddo?
2/13/12
Valentine Party
Zinabu's second grade teacher opted to have the class Valentine party on Friday instead of tomorrow. I don't blame her. Those kids were so excited they could barely sit still. And with all the sugar in the classroom, it's no wonder she wanted to just send them all home for the weekend. The kids had a Valentine box competition, where they decorated their own boxes and displayed them. Totally unfair, as it was completely obvious which moms decorated boxes for their kids instead of letting the poor kids do it by themselves. Zinabu, the minimalist, drew red lines on glued a few hearts on his box. "Do you think I'll come in first place, Mom?" he asked. Ever the optimist.
Zinabu's second grade teacher opted to have the class Valentine party on Friday instead of tomorrow. I don't blame her. Those kids were so excited they could barely sit still. And with all the sugar in the classroom, it's no wonder she wanted to just send them all home for the weekend. The kids had a Valentine box competition, where they decorated their own boxes and displayed them. Totally unfair, as it was completely obvious which moms decorated boxes for their kids instead of letting the poor kids do it by themselves. Zinabu, the minimalist, drew red lines on glued a few hearts on his box. "Do you think I'll come in first place, Mom?" he asked. Ever the optimist.
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| Why does he still hate when I try to take his picture? |
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| He's getting tired of me. |
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| Waiting patiently for his teacher to say, "Go!" See his box? Plain and simple, yessiree. |
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| Go! |
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| Zinabu is still enthralled with American "holidays." All the hoopla and candy. It's like he can't believe his own good fortune to have landed on this planet. |
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| Z's classroom. Controlled chaos. |
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| My valentine. |
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| And the sugar kicks in. |
12/16/11
Stage Hand
This week was Zinabu's 2nd grade holiday play! Entitled "Melten, The Warm-Hearted Snowman," it was cute overload times 1,000. Zinabu, on the other hand, is not so into elementary school musicals. He's not keen on people looking at him--on stage or anywhere else, for that matter. So while all the other kids were getting excited to be elves and reindeer and snowmen and the "town's children", Zinabu was having panic attacks about being in "Melten." His teacher understood his frustration and understood that forcing a kid to do something they really hate is just plain lame. So she gave him the job of curtain opener. He got to stand behind the stage (where no one could see him) and open the curtain at the beginning of the play and then close it at the end. I was so happy that Zinabu was happy. Tuesday night we all went to his play and it was adorable. Our favorite part, though, was when the curtain moved.
This week was Zinabu's 2nd grade holiday play! Entitled "Melten, The Warm-Hearted Snowman," it was cute overload times 1,000. Zinabu, on the other hand, is not so into elementary school musicals. He's not keen on people looking at him--on stage or anywhere else, for that matter. So while all the other kids were getting excited to be elves and reindeer and snowmen and the "town's children", Zinabu was having panic attacks about being in "Melten." His teacher understood his frustration and understood that forcing a kid to do something they really hate is just plain lame. So she gave him the job of curtain opener. He got to stand behind the stage (where no one could see him) and open the curtain at the beginning of the play and then close it at the end. I was so happy that Zinabu was happy. Tuesday night we all went to his play and it was adorable. Our favorite part, though, was when the curtain moved.
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| Zinabu with two friends who were elves. |
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| At the end of the play, Zinabu was called out on stage to bow. You can see that he bowed quickly and was already heading for the wings faster than you can say "Justin Bieber." I barely had time to take a picture. |
11/14/11
Happy Birthday, Zinabu
He is 8. My youngest is 8. My sweet Zinabu from the other side of the world is now 8 years old. He's been with us longer than he was in Ethiopia: 3.5 years there, and 4.5 years here. That's amazing. He is one of my greatest blessings. I love you, Z Man! Enjoy the photos. I had fun going through them all. And at the end, if you've been following my blog since the beginning, you might remember the classic "C is for Cookie" video that he sang when he'd been with us for only a few weeks. Still makes me laugh and cry all at the same time.
He is 8. My youngest is 8. My sweet Zinabu from the other side of the world is now 8 years old. He's been with us longer than he was in Ethiopia: 3.5 years there, and 4.5 years here. That's amazing. He is one of my greatest blessings. I love you, Z Man! Enjoy the photos. I had fun going through them all. And at the end, if you've been following my blog since the beginning, you might remember the classic "C is for Cookie" video that he sang when he'd been with us for only a few weeks. Still makes me laugh and cry all at the same time.
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| Our referral picture. The first time we saw his face. |
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| With us for just a few weeks. He loved all things goggles and glasses. |
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| Always smiling. Always. He even smiles in his sleep. |
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| Precious. |
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| Quirky. |
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| Totally a Daddy's boy. |
7/9/11
6/8/11
Summer Nights
There were a lot of fun things going on in the city last night, but we participated in the good ol' American pastime of baseball. Zinabu had his first game of the summer. He was so stinking adorable I could hardly stand it. Put him in a uniform and his cuteness skyrockets.
The air was warm. The sun was shining. Only two kids got hit on the head with a baseball. And Zinabu made a great play at third base. When the game was over, we headed over to the playground that was on the other side of the park.
They were filthy, but they sure slept well!
There were a lot of fun things going on in the city last night, but we participated in the good ol' American pastime of baseball. Zinabu had his first game of the summer. He was so stinking adorable I could hardly stand it. Put him in a uniform and his cuteness skyrockets.
The air was warm. The sun was shining. Only two kids got hit on the head with a baseball. And Zinabu made a great play at third base. When the game was over, we headed over to the playground that was on the other side of the park.
They were filthy, but they sure slept well!
6/1/11
4/26/11
Um, No!
I was listening to an interview on the radio this morning and it pretty much kicked me in the gut. A mother and father were talking about their two boys they adopted from Russia. I resonated with them in many ways: the paperwork, the wait, the grief of having a child in an orphanage, the work, the exhaustion, the unbelievable joy, and so on. But then they said this:
"We've often been asked if we'll make sure we incorporate the boys heritage and culture into their lives as they grow up. And we do! They're living in Mississippi now, so they eat red beans and rice, shrimp, and listen to Hank Williams."
Yes, it was said tongue in cheek, and yes, he was trying to be funny. But his point was that his boys are now a part of his family and they're not Russian guests living with them. They're his boys. And as much as I applaud his deep love for his kids, this struck me as very, very wrong. His boys are not guests, but they are Russian. They will want to know all about where they were born and what it was like there. Keeping their birth country's culture alive in the house does wonders for an adopted child's soul.
I will be the first to admit we could do a lot more with Zinabu and his heritage, but we certainly don't throw it out the window and consider him blessed because now he can eat pizza with us. His "Ethiopian-ness"--if I may use that made up word--is a lot of what makes him Zinabu. How he eats and moves and walks and talks. Very Ethiopian. His questions and concerns about his adoption are soothed when placed in context with where he came from. To insist he's an American now is to shut the door on a very rich and treasured past. I cringe when I hear other APs (adoptive parents) doing just that.
I was listening to an interview on the radio this morning and it pretty much kicked me in the gut. A mother and father were talking about their two boys they adopted from Russia. I resonated with them in many ways: the paperwork, the wait, the grief of having a child in an orphanage, the work, the exhaustion, the unbelievable joy, and so on. But then they said this:
"We've often been asked if we'll make sure we incorporate the boys heritage and culture into their lives as they grow up. And we do! They're living in Mississippi now, so they eat red beans and rice, shrimp, and listen to Hank Williams."
Yes, it was said tongue in cheek, and yes, he was trying to be funny. But his point was that his boys are now a part of his family and they're not Russian guests living with them. They're his boys. And as much as I applaud his deep love for his kids, this struck me as very, very wrong. His boys are not guests, but they are Russian. They will want to know all about where they were born and what it was like there. Keeping their birth country's culture alive in the house does wonders for an adopted child's soul.
I will be the first to admit we could do a lot more with Zinabu and his heritage, but we certainly don't throw it out the window and consider him blessed because now he can eat pizza with us. His "Ethiopian-ness"--if I may use that made up word--is a lot of what makes him Zinabu. How he eats and moves and walks and talks. Very Ethiopian. His questions and concerns about his adoption are soothed when placed in context with where he came from. To insist he's an American now is to shut the door on a very rich and treasured past. I cringe when I hear other APs (adoptive parents) doing just that.
2/21/11
What's In A Name
Carver Thomas Michael. Carver after George Washington Carver. Thomas after a dear friend of ours who inspired up to adopt in the beginning and passed away from cancer. Michael because that's what his first mama named him.
Lily Roberta Shanice. Lily because I fell in love with the name. Roberta after my mom, who is one of the biggest inspirations in my life. And Shanice, because that's what her first mama named her.
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 Jon Zinabu. Jon because that is David's middle name. Zinabu because that's what his first mama named him. It means "rain." He never goes by Jon. He always has been and always will be Zinabu. |
2/20/11
2/12/11
Epic Fail
Several months ago, a new Ethiopian restaurant opened up in our humble city. The food is wonderful and the owner is from Ethiopia and has a passion for Ethiopian children who are living in the United States. A month or so ago she began Amharic classes for children. (Amharic is the official language of Ethiopia.) Friends of ours take their daughter, Frehiwot, and have said it's fantastic. Zinabu even told us he would love to relearn Amharic.
A win-win, right?
Wrong.
I didn't account for Zinabu's perfectionism to rear its ugly head. He refuses to go. Literally refuses. He actually began crying when he thought we were going to sign him up. He told me he wants to learn Amharic without other people around. Uh... what? He doesn't want anyone looking at him or noticing him or being in any way aware of his presence. This is common for him but we're usually able to work around him. For example, we went to a school roller skating party the other night and he put his roller blades on and stood by the wall for the first hour. Once I quit looking at him and stopped telling him to get out there and have a good time, he eventually made it onto the rink. He puts so much pressure on himself to do things perfectly. And if he can't do it perfectly (like roller skate or learn a new language) then he just plain won't.
The force is strong with this one.
So even though there is a fabulous Ethiopian culture/language class being held once a week only 3 miles from our home, we are not attending because he just
won't
do
it.
And I won't make him. That would just have the reverse effect and he would be miserable and most likely wind up hating Amharic and all things to do with Ethiopia. Which we do not want.
Perfectionist children are hard. Do you have one? Yes, he's brilliant in school. To the point we could probably have him skip second grade next year if we wanted to. But his brains are no match for his need to do everything perfectly. I'm stumped.
Several months ago, a new Ethiopian restaurant opened up in our humble city. The food is wonderful and the owner is from Ethiopia and has a passion for Ethiopian children who are living in the United States. A month or so ago she began Amharic classes for children. (Amharic is the official language of Ethiopia.) Friends of ours take their daughter, Frehiwot, and have said it's fantastic. Zinabu even told us he would love to relearn Amharic.
A win-win, right?
Wrong.
I didn't account for Zinabu's perfectionism to rear its ugly head. He refuses to go. Literally refuses. He actually began crying when he thought we were going to sign him up. He told me he wants to learn Amharic without other people around. Uh... what? He doesn't want anyone looking at him or noticing him or being in any way aware of his presence. This is common for him but we're usually able to work around him. For example, we went to a school roller skating party the other night and he put his roller blades on and stood by the wall for the first hour. Once I quit looking at him and stopped telling him to get out there and have a good time, he eventually made it onto the rink. He puts so much pressure on himself to do things perfectly. And if he can't do it perfectly (like roller skate or learn a new language) then he just plain won't.
The force is strong with this one.
So even though there is a fabulous Ethiopian culture/language class being held once a week only 3 miles from our home, we are not attending because he just
won't
do
it.
And I won't make him. That would just have the reverse effect and he would be miserable and most likely wind up hating Amharic and all things to do with Ethiopia. Which we do not want.
Perfectionist children are hard. Do you have one? Yes, he's brilliant in school. To the point we could probably have him skip second grade next year if we wanted to. But his brains are no match for his need to do everything perfectly. I'm stumped.
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