Mes Petits Enfants

We are hopefully in the final stages of transferring our homestudy and the like from China to the DRC.  We go on Wednesday to get our immigration fingerprints.

During this time, we have bandied around names and the truth is, I just can’t name them yet.  Or, I can, but I can’t talk about them by name.  When I hear Henry ask when we are going to the Congo to pick up Charlie and his little sister, my heart still hurts for J.  When I think of Charlie, I still see J's yellow fluffy coat and chapped cheeks.  So Sloan and I have decided to not talk about them by name.  (Read: I have made this a mandate and Sloan is complying because he understands that what is good for the goose is good for the gander.)

But it is weird to not call them anything.  At first I called them the Congolese.  But that was a mouth full.  Then I referred to them as the Africans.  And that felt, um, wrong on multiple levels.  The littles?  Well, they might not both be the youngest in our family.  

I wanted something that was both a term of endearment as well as something that was a nod to their heritage.  Well, French is the national language of the Congo.  More than likely, my children will speak (or have been spoken to in) Lingala or Tshiluba.  But mes petits enfants (my little children –or grandchildren, but I’m not adopting grandchildren) has a nice ring to it. 

 

So mes petits enfants, we adore you.  Whenever we return from the gym and your Daddy has left for a meeting, your sister Gracie asks “Did Daddy go get Cha-lee?”  

Every night when I tuck your big brother Henry into bed, he asks when we are going to get you.  

“Mom, when are you going to Africa to get my brother and baby sister?”

“I don’t know.  Perhaps this winter?  After Christmas?”

“January is after Christmas.  In January?”

“I don’t know, hon.  Hopefully in the winter.”

“God sure is taking a long time to bring our family together.”

“Yes, well.  It took lots of prayer and trusting God to bring you into our family and that turned out pretty good.”

“Yeah, I’m awesome.”

Indeed.  Mes Petits Enfants, your big brother is right.  He is awesome.  And so are you.  

J'aime mes petits enfants.