Friends are Family One Finds Along the Way: 2012 Ashraya Reunion Trip

This was our second reunion trip to see Anju's friends from her children's home in India.  Two years ago, we met the group in the Cincinnati area and visited St. Louis, Lincoln sites, Mammoth Cave and other attractions on the way there and back.  We took our vintage camper with us that time and enjoyed seeing a part of the country we hadn't seen before.  You can read about that trip in the ridiculously detailed blog entries here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here.  (I must have had a lot more time to myself back then.)

Last time, the Ashraya kids were 2,3,4 and 5.  So, we really looked forward to seeing how a couple year's maturity would change how the kids related to one another.  And, we were excited to add another family to the reunion mix.   Their son was the object of our prayers for many months as he was featured in the same waiting kids article that Anju was, has a similar special need, and he was such a card at the children's home that we couldn't shake him from our minds once we got home.

It's wonderful to have family.  It's lovely to have friends.  But it's rare and an incredible blessing to have friends that are like family.  We were lucky to have been the first of the group to travel to India, and therefore saw all the kids together before they were picked up by their parents.  We saw the older ones playing together and crying together and causing mischief.  We saw them help each other and hug each other.  We held them on our laps in groups.  Although institutional life is FAR from ideal, we witnessed the little family they had there.  And, it seemed very important, once we had connected with other families state-side, to facilitate this little family in seeing each other every now and then.   

We had an incredibly fun weekend together.  The parents and siblings seemed to get along well, and the Ashraya kids were inseparable.  There was a lot of laughter and sweating and photographs.  It never ceased to move me when I saw the little Ashraya friends reach for each other's hands, as they did almost the whole time they were together, after having not seen each other for 2 years.  They were drawn together, in an almost magnetic way.  They are friends, but they are also family.  

 Iowa/Missouri border

 Battle of Athens State Historic Site

Athens, MO

 Cahokia Mounds

Collinsville, IL

 Ulysses S. Grant National Historic Site

St. Louis, MO

 Jr Rangers

 Ashraya kids at Grant's Farm

St. Louis, MO

 Cooling off at the St. Louis Zoo

 Anju and Nisha

 Anju thought the penguins were stinky!

 Ring around the rosie in the reptile house

 Reunion group

 All the kiddos

 Ashraya friends

 With Martin Luther at Concordia Seminary

St. Louis, MO

 What Anju found on display at the Concordia Historical Institute Museum

Kirkwood, MO

 Daddy helps Anju with her Jr. Ranger booklet at the Truman National Historic Site

Independence, MO

 Harry S. Truman Presidential Library

Independence, MO

 Money Museum at the Federal Reserve Bank

Kansas City, MO

 Kansas City BBQ at the Crown Center

Kansas City, MO

Hallmark Cards

Kansas City, MO

Bunads and Kimonos

I've always been proud of my Scandinavian roots.  I love eating a plate full of white, bland food on Christmas and wearing intricately woven woolen sweaters that you have to wear a turtleneck under or else you get a rash around your neck.  Seriously, I do!  I took Norwegian for 2 years in college, in part so I'd be able to learn more about my family, their immigration process and adaptation to American life through books and letters left behind.  As a child, my Norwegian and Swedish heritage was a daily part of family celebrations and identity.  We had relatives from Norway that we visited with or hosted when they came to visit.  My Grandma Rasmussen made the most tender hardanger lefse, and I haven't tasted anything like it since she passed away.  Our grandparents would recite Norwegian children's rhymes as they bounced us on their knees.  My grandpa had a sign that said, "Parking for Norwegians only" in his yard.  No, there was no doubt that we were Scandinavian.  And proud?  Our chests could not puff out any further with pride.

However.......

There were times we'd go to international cultural festivals and dine on lefse and lingonberries with rice porridge, and to be exotic, perhaps have a gyro or sausage on a bed of sauerkraut.   But out of the corner of my eye,  I'd notice the huge coconuts full of some exotic nectar with feathery decorations coming out of the top other tables were enjoying, or plates full of spicy-smelling mysterious meats and rice and I'd secretly wish I came from a culture that was more....well, let's say colorful?  While our dancers wore beautiful bunads of red and black, they were prim and proper and all stood in an orderly line or circle. The dancers from other countries had drums and bright floral silky costumes that flowed as they moved.  Some had ribbons they waved with the music.  Some yelled or whistled or shook parts of their bodies that good Scandinavian boys and girls shouldn't.  And although I was very proud to be blonde and Nordic, there was a part of me that wished we didn't have to always be so reserved and boring.

Along comes Anju.  

I saw an ad for an Asian heritage day at our state historical society in their monthly magazine.  My first thought as I graze the article is that it's only Asia.  Nuts.  Not us.  Then in a whirlwind of thought I realize, WE ARE ASIAN!  Sure enough, the region includes Bangladesh, Nepal....India!  Now that we are a Norwegian-German-Swedish-(misc European mutt)-Indian family, WE get to celebrate Indian heritage.  So, we went and enjoyed a day of Tibetan drummers, sitar music and Nepalese food.  The kids made Chinese dragon puppets and the girls got to dress up in Japanese kimonos.  In the performance hall, the heads with shiny black hair sat right up in the front as not to miss a thing.  Us Lutherans sat in the back row.

Certainly we didn't need to adopt to learn to appreciate other cultures.  I've spent years studying other cultures because of my love for the different ways humans organize themselves and make sense of the world.  But being able to integrate Anju's Indian heritage into our lives and identities has freed us to think of ourselves as part of something much bigger than we were before.  We're insiders now.  And I see many more colorful days ahead for us.

Another year with our girl

November 20th marks 3 years that Anju has been home with us.  As she runs around the house talking about what kind of cake she wants for "her day", it's hard not to reflect on how far we've come.  Not only has she blossomed and grown and developed into quite a little lady, but as days turned into months turned into years, the difference in how she joined our family has also faded into the background.

Certainly, we have not forgotten her adoption.  Every November, I get out my Mysore Sandalwood soap and enjoy the "smell of India" as I remember it.  Each time I hear of children in need or read someone's adoption journey I immediately remember the struggle, emotion and elation of our long process to get our little princess.  And, she talks openly and often about being a baby in India, being adopted, her "India" mama and all her brown friends across the U. S. who have peach moms and dads like she does.

But this year's Gotcha Day finds itself not so much as a destination, but as a passing milestone.  This weekend is full of other commitments- visits with friends, birthday parties, church activities and a sibling's skating lessons.  There's a Thanksgiving dinner to plan, and a trip to the grandparents to pack for.  She is fully immersed in family life- our family life.

So, Anju will be celebrating her Gotcha Day this year by attending church with her family and then going to a friend's birthday tea party.  The cake will have to wait, as I haven't had time to bake it yet.  And it just might be the best Gotcha Day yet.

Anjulina Ballerina

Anju has gotten the nickname "Anjulina Ballerina" even though she isn't taking any sort of dance class.  She has, however, gotten very good at wearing leotards and spinning/tumbling around the living room practicing for 'nastics, which she began this fall.

She loves her class of 4 girls and 2 boys, and her coach, Jeff.  She did not advance to the next class at the conclusion of the first fall session, but she is excited to take the intro class again second session.  The stretching seems to be helping her heel cords, so I'm very grateful for that.  She now has 2 career choices in the works: either a gymnast or a stirrer (she is referring to helping someone in the kitchen by stirring things for them).  I'm fairly certain she's going to have to pick a different life path, but I'm glad she spends so much time doing things which apparently she can see herself enjoying doing for a lifetime.

Anju on the beam

Anju's class listens to Coach Jeff

Anju enjoys the fall leaves

Pictures (as promised): Lengby move + Hartland life

The Stafford kids and kitty returning home from a walk to the lake in Lengby.

Moving day!

How do you load up the pastor's library?

Loads of books wait to be loaded onto the truck

Last pose with our Lengby home

The kids in their "Lengby Kid" shirts by the Lengby sign as we drove out of town

Our new home in Hartland

Shawn's installation day

The kids and Spammy??? on our visit to the Spam Museum in neighboring Austin, MN- home of Hormel

Celebrating Jonah's birthday at Jellystone - Austin, MN

At this point, where do I begin?

We moved to southern MN in mid-June.  So, I spent much of late May and early June packing and tying up loose ends.  And going insane.  Then regaining sanity.  (That happened a bunch of times and I'm not certain really at which point in the cycle I am now.)  Then I spent mid-June to mid-July unpacking, and mid-July to present trying to give the kids some sort of summer by going to county fairs, festivals, swimming pools, campgrounds and grandparents' houses.  I've intended to blog, but each time I think that I should have pictures and I don't know where my cords are, or my camera batteries are dead, or I'm so exhausted that I need to lay down, or maybe it would be more important to unpack my crock pot or bread machine, or someone has scratched someone again and "There's blood, Mom!" or locked someone in the camper or something more pressing.  So, I haven't blogged.

Until now.  (And you're likely wondering why, as this is the most uninteresting blog post you've ever read, right?)

Well, there's been so much change, I could write about what has stayed the same.  I've already mentioned my exhaustion and battles with maintaining sanity.  We still have 2 cats and 3 kids.  We still have 2 cars and 1 camper.  The kids still are best friends and bitter enemies.  But that's pretty dull.

We have a parsonage in town.  It's a beautiful 100-year old home with a rich history and plenty of space.  It's taken awhile to figure out how to best use the layout, but we're getting there.  Solveig misses the wide open spaces of our rural Lengby yard, but is beginning to appreciate the neighbor kids who regularly stop over to play with her.   After a month of training, our cat Pumpkin is acclimated to his new stomping grounds, and he is already hard at work charming the neighbors and finding favorite outdoor napping spots: the shade under the tomato plants during the hot days, and the sunny porch swing on mild days.

We've lost Shawn's great-grandmother since we moved.  At 102, she finally reached the number of days God ordained for her, and began her life in Heaven.  She was the matriarch of the family and even with her advanced age, it just doesn't seem right that she is gone.  We found out that one of the members of our Lengby church was killed in Afghanistan, and we aren't there any more to provide support.  I resigned from my city clerk job in Lengby in June, and find myself without any outside-the-home responsibility for the first time in 8 years.  We registered the older 2 kids for their new school after weighing the options.  After having prepped Anju for starting preschool in Bagley this fall, she will now be doing homeschool preschool with her mom.  Jonah turned 9 and Pumpkin turned 8.  Solveig's goldfish died.

Solveig will be starting confirmation and figure skating this fall.  We have to drive a ways to get to the rink, but it's what she needs right now.  Anju will be taking a gymnastics class once a week, too, as the PT and OT people in Fargo recommended.  She's nervous about the class, but giddy to get to wear a leotard.  She's already dug one out of Solveig's dress-up box and has it set out ready to go--although we're still weeks away.  She wants to add a tutu.  I'm sure the teachers will appreciate that.  If we can find a piano teacher, Solveig and Jonah will have that, too.

So, the staffordsoflengby are not of Lengby anymore.  But, we're not of Hartland yet, either.  We miss the loons on the lake calling to us, and the slow pace of our northern life.  But we're enchanted by the fireflies dancing each night in our Hartland yard and enjoy the proximity to family and friends.  We know God has intended us to make these changes at this time, and has wonderful blessings in store for this parish, and our family.

( Pictures next time----and soon-----I promise!)

The envelope, please!

Anju's complete report came in from her clinic visit. 

She weighed in at 26.2 pounds and is 35.5 inches tall, both at the 0%.   They noted this time that she was petite, but there was none of the "genetic short stature" as a medical condition like last year.  Thank goodness!

Her gross motor development is reported to be around the 38 month level, which is a 7-8 month gain in skills in 12 months.  They describe this as a mild delay, with decreased strength and fair motor planning and coordination skills.   They note difficulty with jumping, hopping and stair mobility, and recommend gymnastics to strengthen her muscles.  I'm hoping tumbling around the living room counts for now, as there is no gymnastics program anywhere near here.

They also would like another MRI of her spinal cord next year to check up on her syringomyelia.


None of this is much of a surprise.  We know she's doing incredibly well, and we know that her heel cord tightness is a problem that we can't quite resolve.  The only thing I found troubling in the 8-page report was the fact that I am repeatedly called her "adoptive mother".  Sure, in the social worker's section, I'm fine with that.  They give her history and I can see that it is important in that section.  But come on, urology?  Can't I just be her mom?