Now, I had fully expected to be an embarrassment to all three of my daughters at some point. I guess I had hoped it wouldn't start at 7 years of age, but apparently I am not wanted at school holiday functions by my newest daughter. Why? Because we look different from each other.
I pointed at my face and asked, "Do I have an extra eye on my forehead?" She laughed, and said, "No."
"Are my ears too big and floppy?"
"No."
"Do I have three noses?"
"No!"
"Well, it sounds like we pretty much look the same. My hair isn't as pretty as yours, and my eyes aren't brown, but I have a sister and a daddy with brown eyes. Maybe we're not so different, after all."
"Mmm..."
"And you know you have a friend in your class from China who has a mom who looks like me, too. Does her mom come to school?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'm not going to hide, either. I'm afraid you're stuck with me. I'm your mom forever, and I'm going to come to your school until you don't go to school anymore. We'll always look a little different, but I'll always love you."
"I love you too, mommy."
"So... should I make a face when I come? Then I'll really look different... see?"
"Moommm! NO!"

I know it's not really me that she doesn't want to see. She just doesn't want to be looked at or to be asked lots of questions all the time. I get that, really I do. It's actually kind of ironic, since I'm struggling with trying to be the "good adoptive mommy" who is providing her Chinese daughter with all manner of things Chinese - today's e-mails included some messages to Chinese friends Lixin and Minxuan who are helping me find a Mandarin tutor to come to our home on a weeknight in lieu of all-day Sunday Chinese school.

I don't want my kid to be the one who grows up and writes articles like this for the local paper, detailing how many mistakes her adoptive parents made in not acknowledging her Asian-ness. "Yeah, my parents meant well, and seem like nice enough people, but ultimately they really screwed me up big time. Here's a list of everything they did wrong!"

After reading that, I asked David what he thought about moving to a more diverse neighborhood. He smiled, and said, "And that would be WHERE in Colorado? It's not like we have a huge Chinatown here." And he'd be right, there's a whole bunch of white people living in white snow here. There are also a lot of Hispanic folks, but far fewer Asians, and even fewer black people. Dave and I have talked about retiring to a city someday, so we could walk down the street for our groceries, and head to the local shows without having to go far. But ultimately, we enjoy the beauty of the less populous areas of Colorado, and the relative safety for our kids in being away from the worst gangs, drug issues, etc. that plague many big cities. I guess I want to live on Sesame Street, but I haven't found a place to live where children run around unsupervised with their muppet friends and the diverse figures of Gordon, Maria and Alan sit waiting on the brownstone steps, ready to sing the alphabet with my kids. I admit I've had a thing for Big Bird ever since reading Carol Spinney's book, The Wisdom of Big Bird and the Dark Genius of Oscar the Grouch. After all, Big Bird was the first muppet to head to China, too...

In my ideal world, I'd have no problem with driving an hour each way on a Sunday to Chinese school, spending four hours there, and then part of every weeknight working on Chinese language and dance and culture. But realistically, I have two other children to consider, and I need time to do fun stuff with all of my kids. Evenings and weekends are what we have together when there's regular school and work, and we need to make the most of it. I'm completely willing to spend part of that time doing Chinese stuff. Not all of it, though.

And while I want to bring China home with us, so to speak, and let Eleanor feel secure in knowing that we love and respect her heritage, I want my kids to explore a LOT of cultures, not just China's.

After all - if Eleanor is worried about me being embarrassing, I really should tell her about my mom, who occasionally wore traiditional Ukrainian costumes around my friends when giving her folk art "egg lessons." (With the beribboned hat, poofy sleeves, and embroidered peasant collar). We're not even Ukrainian. She also warped my childhood with show tunes and musicals; I still can't drive by a cornfield without singing something from "Oklahoma."

I guess that if the worst that can be said for me is that I actually was PRESENT for my kids, and that was embarrassing - so be it. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. I might even break into a showtune every so often in the presence of their teenaged friends someday. In fact, I plan on it.