Sahm I Am - By Meredith Efken Page 0,47

And I’m not just saying that in case any happen to be reading over my shoulder.) I think my favorite Christmas memory is going to be the one our family made on the plane over here—even though it’s technically a two-days-before-Christmas memory.

Here’s the background—about a month ago, Tristan (DH) decided that our kids should go to a private school in Baltimore. I was really angry at him because he didn’t even discuss it with me first. But, as it turns out, the children absolutely ADORE their new school, much to my chagrin. And they *are* behaving better—Seamus hasn’t tortured poor Griffith or Cosette in weeks. Irritated them, perhaps, but not tortured. I think I just wasn’t keeping them busy enough at home.

Tristan, though, finally saw the error of his ways and apologized for being so high-handed about it. I think God must have taken him to the woodshed for an old-fashioned thrashing because Tristan felt so bad for treating me that way that he was crying. He offered to pull them out of the school and let me continue home-schooling (though he did request that we try for more structure). But I figured it would be too much upheaval for them, and besides, they’re happy and settled. Why mess with it?

But I did tell him how lonely I’ve been feeling. I thought about getting a job, at least part-time. But I really don’t want to. I like being home. I just like being home with children better.

So we got to talking about all this on the flight to London and Tristan asked me if I’d be happier with another child in the house. I said yes. He said, “Why do we not have another one?”

I said, “We decided no more babies.”

He said, “Yes, but does that mean no more children?”

I just stared at him, like, “what are you talking about?”

“I’ve had quite a bit of time to think about this the past few weeks. Part of the reason for placing the children in school was to reconnect them with their British heritage. But I’ve found myself longing to acquaint them with their African heritage, as well.”

“You want an exchange student?”

He laughed a little—which always gives me butterflies in my stomach and shivers in my spine. Anyway…he says, “No. I was actually thinking about adoption.”

I about bolted out of my seat. I’d never even considered something like that. I figured adoption is what people do when they can’t have kids. But I was trying to be a good sport, so I nodded and pretended this was a perfectly normal thing for him to suggest. “From Zimbabwe?”

“No. Unfortunately, international adoptions are not allowed from Zimbabwe.”

Wow—evidently he’d been doing a bit more than just “thinking” about this. He was serious! “From where, then?”

“Ethiopia.”

Now I really did jump! “You gotta be kidding! What if they have AIDS? I don’t think I could handle that. I’m not that heroic.”

“There are those who do not have AIDS. And they are the ones we will adopt.”

“Will?” I shot him a didn’t-you-learn-your-lesson-yet look and he shrugged.

“If we decide to.”

“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

He wiggled around in the seat so he could reach his carryon and pulled out a folder marked “Adoption Info.” He handed it to me and said, “I will take a nap now. You may read what I have found on the Internet.”

And he settled a travel pillow around his neck and was asleep before I’d barely opened the folder. Either that, or he was playing possum like a pro.

At first, I just thumbed through the pages, hardly reading any of it. It just seemed like such a ridiculous idea. I’d always heard that international adoption is a mess of red tape, paperwork and government corruption. But then an article caught my eye. It was about one of the adoption agencies that work in Ethiopia and all the children in their orphanage. I read about how they learn to speak English and learn about American customs just so that they’ll be ready to be adopted by an American family. And how most of them lost loving, devoted parents due to disease or starvation. How their partner orphanage for the HIV-positive kids spends all its time loving these children, only to have them die in a matter of years because there’s no money for medicine to help them.

And I started to cry. I bawled and bawled, and at some point, Tristan woke up and put his arms around me and held me. “I knew