An adoptive mommy in our extended network wrote this intelligent article on international adoption in Vogue.
Tariku attended his first Gay Pride event! We couldn’t make it to the big parade on Sunday, so instead we headed out with Auntie Jo and Auntie Anne to the Silverlake Dyke March on Saturday night. He had a blast drumming along with the djembe and waving at the onlookers. We topped off the evening by staying out until 10, which got us in big trouble with Daddy but what the hell. Sometimes a guy has to stay out and party with queer revelers until all hours, right?
On Friday morning we went to Tariku’s final adoption hearing at the Children’s Court in Monterey Park (though I’ve learned to be suspect of the word “final” with anything pertaining to adoption). The waiting area on the fourth floor was lined on one side with east-facing windows. The clouds were shades of shifting grey and the pretty, filtered light fell on a conflicted scene where a small percentage of adults carried celebratory balloons and the rest sat with bad posture while kids zoomed back and forth between one family member at one side of the room and another family member at the other. A few kids sat and talked with their attorneys.
Tariku toddled down every hallway, tried to get into every door and hugged every kid there who was even close to his size. I felt proud of him. Not for anything in particular but just for who he is, for his sweet, sweet heart and his adventurous soul. I felt proud of myself and our family for coming this far.
Auntie Jo and Auntie Anne were also in attendance. We all sprung a tear or two when the judge declared T our legal son, with all corresponding rights and privileges.
As we walked out we started to argue about whether T would prefer a brother or a sister. Is it so wrong to want a girl just because I have terrible tutu envy every time I walk by the dance wear shop in South Pas? When I decorated T’s room and shopped for his first clothes I was obsessed with gender neutrality. T’s favorite things- buses, trains and airplanes. Though he also harbors deep affection for gender neutral ceiling fans.
“How do you know we won’t get a boy who wants to wear a tutu?” asked Scott, cheerily. That is why I married my husband.
Afterwards, we went home to celebrate with subs and cookies and water toys. Much joyous splashing ensued.
Tariku at Weezer rehearsal. He jammed on drums with the enigmatic daughter of our fearless leader. I’m convinced she’s the next Karen O.
T-Bone is living up to his middle name (Moon). Puzzles? Nope. Stuffed animals? No way. His small fleet of tiny vehicles? Mama, puhleeze. There is only one worthy toy genre- DRUMS DRUMS DRUMS!
As long as he doesn’t start throwing TVs out of the hotel room window into the pool…
Tariku went to his first Weezer show on Saturday- the KROQ Weenie Roast at the Verizon Ampitheater in Irvine (can I add that I really resent having to advertise a brand every time I mention the name of an arena these days?). At first he gave me a hard time about wearing his rock baby ear protection, but he relented after I patiently explained to him that Apple and Moses and all the really cool rock progeny happily wear their headphones. He clapped; he danced; he waved at Daddy a few times. Then he fell asleep in his carrier amidst the noise and the lights and the screaming crowd, proving once again that he is the baddest baby of them all.