I got tagged by Cloudscome. I think I need to write an entirely separate post on how it feels to be tagged for this particular meme. For right now, the meme:

1. I am:

Polish, Irish, Scottish, British and a smidgen of Cherokee. I can’t remember, without calling my Mom up at work right now, if there is actually Hungarian on my paternal side or if Grandma just has a lot of Hungarian recipies. Either way, she’s a magnificent cook. I identify a lot with my Polish ancestry because of my paternal Grandma. In fact, I want to go to Poland someday to explore and seek out relatives that are still in the “Old Country.”

2. My kids are:

Unique? Obviously, Munchkin has my heritage and then from her biological father, she has some African-American, British, Jamaican and some other things that are slipping my un-coffee-laden mind. Of course, this is all genetically speaking; she has an entire other history from her adoptive parents. As for BigBrother and LittleBrother, they have my heritage and whatever TheHusbandMan’s happens to be. No, I don’t know the answer to the question, “Are you guys related to the infamous Hatfield clan?” No one has done their geneaology. I really need to get to work on that… eventually.

3. I first started thinking more about race, culture, and identity when:

I was in high school. Prior to that, I wasn’t really aware of race issues. While our school wasn’t overly diverse, I didn’t see a difference in playing with x-race or y-race. In high school, however, I “dated” (prior to being allowed out of the house to date, so basically we held hands at school, passed notes and talked on the phone) a guy who was a year older than me… and African-American. While Mom and Dad didn’t expressly forbid the relationship, Grandma (yes, the Polish one) was a bit more verbal. I was shocked by this fact. I had been taught to love everyone and I was very confused. I was also hurt for my (short-lived!) boyfriend.

4. People think my name is:

Oh, gosh. No one could/can pronounce my maiden name. No one. It’s aggravating. In fact, when people called and mispronounced my name, I would say, “Nope, no one by that name lives here.” As for my married name? The Hatfield and McCoy jokes just keep coming. (I just made a humorous post on the family blog regarding the issue.) To answer again, no, I don’t know if we’re related to any of the infamous clan. I can hope not to be, right?

5. The family tradition I most want to pass on is:

I’d like to see our boys pass their first name on to their sons as the middle name, as it’s gone through generations on my Husband’s side of the family. I’d like to see them pass a love of Paczki on to their families during Lent to identify with their Polish heritage. Part of me doesn’t want them to do the next one because I’m an over-protective mother but, in all honesty, if they also joined the fire service (like has been passed through the blood for generations), I would be a proud Mama. As for Munchkin, if she would pass on the Leigh to one of her children (as she also bears my middle name), I would feel honored. Heck, if she became a fire fighter, I’d be a super proud Mama (but that doesn’t flow through my genetic makeup… so it’s up to TheHusbandMan to influence her!).

6. The family tradition I least want to pass on is:

Let’s break the cycle of unplanned pregnancies (maternal side), shall we? While I can hope that by the time all three children are facing such issues and decisions that adoption will have been thoroughly reformed, I’m also realistic. It is my greatest fear that any of my children will have to face any of the issues I have faced (and continue to face). (That said, I would move mountains to support them in the wake of an unplanned pregnancy. Any of them.)

7. My child’s first word in English was:

I don’t know Munchkin’s first word. BigBrother’s, of course, was dada, followed shortly behind by ball.

8. My child’s first non-English word was:

I don’t know Munchkin’s. BigBrother was “hola.”

9. The non-English word/phrase most used in my home is:

Yia yia, which is Greek for Grandma. (Yes, I’m aware that we are not Greek!) It is what BigBrother calls my mother. We’re not particularly sure why; he just started doing it one day. When my mother told a coworker who happens to have Greek heritage, she informed my mom that it was Greek for Grandma. Apparently my Son is a freaking genius.

10. One thing I love about being a parent is:

Snuggles. I don’t get enough of them since a) Munchkin lives quite a distance away, b) she doesn’t stop moving when we do see her, c) BigBrother is a constant ball of movement as well. However, as BigBrother has been waking up early (!) as of late, we’ve been cuddling in my(our) bed in the mornings while he finishes waking up (thus fully waking me up as well!). The only other time I really get significant snuggles is when he’s not feeling well so I don’t really wish for those ones.

11. One thing I hate about being a parent is:

Judgment. I know. I should have a thicker skin. (I mean, I just wrote about it yesterday!) But it is one thing I hate dealing with as a parent. The fact of the matter is that I am a mother to the Munchkin and my boys. There are certain people or groups of people that don’t want me to wear that title for my daughter because I don’t kiss her boo-boos or do the daily (and hard!) work of a parent. However, I am her mother. When I talk about her placement, people automatically want to pass judgment on me, assuming I fit any of the multiple stereotypes that surround birth parents. They’re shocked when I don’t and want me to fail in some other way by stating that I must cross boundaries or cause her parents a lot of mental anguish. They tell me that my boys will be confused, that the Munchkin will be confused. And quite frankly, I’m done with all of that mumbo-jumbo. Our family is different. It is unique. It is not “wrong.”

12. To me, being an anti-racist parent means:

Teaching all of my children (in various ways) that we are more than our skin, more than our heritage, more than our past wants us to be. To do that, I continue to surround myself with others who think in a similar fashion, read books, blogs and articles that challenge me to think bigger and broader and pray for guidance on this issue that will hit my family in unique ways. Thankfully I was blessed with a Husband who thinks about these issues in the same ways (or, really, I wouldn’t have married him!) so we can also put up a united front for our children. Unfortuantely, being an anti-racist parent also means educating certain family members who use derogatory words and spew negative speech… without murdering them… so that my children will not be negatively affected by their hatred. I won’t stand for it. Ever.

As for tagging, I’m totally late to this meme because last week was crazy, crazy and thus, I don’t know who has and who has not completed the meme. If you want to participate, I’d love to read your answers. Leave me a comment to let me know if you participated!