Sharp Sticks at the Breakfast Table

School has started! Oh my goodness, people, can I tell you how excited I am that this summer.is.finally.over. OVER! I know, I know, we had a great time these past three months. We managed to complete nearly every activity on our Summer Bucket List. Swimming, family roadtrip to the beach, biking, hiking, ice cream, fire flies- oh yes, we did it all. My boys went to a NASCAR race and to museums. We definitely made the most of our summer. (Planning, people! It is all about the planning! Stay tuned, our Fall Bucket List is coming soon!)

But in between the ice cream and the swimming were a lot of moments of chaos. Normal, for us. Raising kids can be chaotic for every family. And I swear that raising boys is just louder and dirtier. So raising two boys, one of who is a little RADish, is all chaos, all the time. You get used to it.

But now, at least until the school starts calling with concerns over the RADish, now is MY time. I get my quiet house back. My peaceful work day. My ability to think and to use the bathroom on my own. Heaven, people. Seriously, this is how low I have sunk. I think being able to walk to the bathroom without having to sneak and not having my heart stopped five times a day by a five year old running at my office door in an attempt to break in is heaven. H-E-A-V-E-N.

So today was the first day of school. By the end of last school year my oldest son had regressed to eating sugary cereal and cheese and crackers every morning for breakfast. Getting protein into this kid is not easy. This year, I have planned. I prepared ahead of time. I have searched and searched for interesting, healthy, protein packed breakfasts. I know I won't be able to stave off the Lucky Charms forever, but one day at a time, right?

Today we ate our breakfasts off skewers. That's right, sharp sticks at the breakfast table. Tomorrow? Maybe fire...



This morning's skewers held together strawberries, grapes, waffles, and scrambled eggs. I cooked the eggs in mini muffin tins, in the oven at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. They pop out as cute little scrambled egg muffins, which are super easy to pop on a skewer. Add a little ketchup and syrup for dipping and a great breakfast was had by all!

What did you have for breakfast on your first day back to school?

breakfast success!

 

 

Hey Mommy

It was a long day, and I was tired. Your older brother had ignored his chores and his homework, and I was frustrated. You were running around the playground when I got to daycare to pick you up. You ran into my arms, smiling. You started chattering the moment you saw me. I smiled at you, nodded my head. You chattered through putting your back pack on and as we walked to the car. You chattered as you helped me to buckle your car seat and as I wearily got into the car. You chattered as I drove the quarter mile home. I turned on the radio in an attempt to unwind, just a little. My day starts when you show up at my bedside, with your first "Hey Mommy" of the day. A million "Hey Mommy"s later I just needed a break. So I turned on the radio. Your older brother understands that I am frustrated with his choices. He wisely chose to read a book on the short drive home. I turn off the radio. It cannot compete for space in my brain, not with your chattering.


"Hey  Mommy. Hey Mommy. I am awake now. I am not going back to sleep. Can I have your phone?"

We pull into the driveway just as Daddy gets home. I open you car door and help you unbuckle but I wander away before you hop out. I turn on the oven, robotically moving into making dinner. My boys, all of you, vibrate, file, and trail in. A trail of backpacks, shoes, coats and mail depict your travels around the kitchen. Another school day, another 200 papers to sort through.

You run to your clipboard to check your treat. Your brother had told you that there was a "super cool" treat on your clipboard and you couldn't wait to check it out. Maybe the build up was too much, I don't know. You looked at the matchbox car attached to your clipboard and the melt down began. I took the car out of your hands before you threw it at one of us. Without a word I set it on the counter, ignored your screaming, and turned back to the task at hand- dinner. You stand in the doorway, crying for your car. And the dance begins. The car is given back to you. You throw it. It is taken away. You scream. We dance this way for a while, until I snap. The car is put up in a cupboard and you are sent to your room. You don't go though. You never do. I take a deep breath and sweep you up into my arms, kissing your sweaty little head. I move us into the family room and attempt a "time in". In theory you should be able to calm yourself down during this quiet time with Mommy. In real life, however, you continue to scream and kick at me. Sometimes we make it and sometimes we don't. This time we don't. I let the tension flow from my arms as I let you slide to the floor. Daddy scoops you up and half carries, half drags you to your room. Your screaming permeates the house. My heart melts into a puddle as you scream my name. I turn away from your brother as I work hard to concentrate on dinner and not on how my heart is breaking,. Hearing your child scream for you as though he feels he might never see you again is heartbreaking.

You are told you can come back downstairs when you are ready. The rest of your family sits down to dinner. A quiet dinner, each of us caught up in our own thoughts. Tasteless, sad, quiet, your empty chair sitting there, mocking me. If I am to be totally honest, this is not the family I dreamed of. At least not tonight.


"Hey Mommy. MykneehurtsandIneedanotherbandaiddidyouhangupthatpictureIpaintedwhyareyoudoingthatHeyMommyHeyMommyicancountto29Mommy..."

That was last night. This morning you appeared at my bedside at the crack of dawn, chattering away. If you remember last night you don't speak of it. I am amazed at how we can fight, you and I, and you don't seem to remember it the next day. No grudges, no lingering anger. Not on your part at least. I remember it all. Every kick. Every scream. Every tearful cry of "Mommy". It is etched on my heart forever.

You are not easy, my son. I feel as though every single thing we do is a struggle. Getting dressed, eating breakfast, getting out to the bus stop. You hop up the bus stairs as the bus driver greets you with his usual "Hi Smiley!". At least once a week he asks me, "Is he always this happy?" My answer today might have been a little harsh, but dude, you drive the bus to the special needs preschool. You should know. Things are not always as they seem.

After I get both you and your brother on your school buses I head out to the registrars office to sign you up for kindergarten. I sit in the hallway facing the open window while the school registrar reviews your paperwork and walks me through kindergarten. My mind wanders. You don't talk, you whine. You sing to yourself in the bathroom. You melt down on a pretty regular basis. You occasionally hurt your friends. Who am I kidding? You don't have any friends. You occasionally hurt other children who happen to be hanging out around you. You have, inexplicably, wet your pants three times over the past three weeks, all while on your way to the bathroom. You don't sleep, at least not enough. You take hours to eat, or you refuse to eat. You wander away from the dinner table. You have odd behaviors. I love you, and I will always love you, no matter how many times you rearrange the silverware or repeat the number "3" over and over to yourself. But others, out there in the world, they might not be so understanding. What I see simply as "Alex" others might label "weird". I am drained by the time I get back home. The thought of sending you to school terrifies me.

"Hey Mommy. I was playing with the other kids today and they made fun of me. Mommy, Hey Mommy, why?"

Daddy picks you up from daycare tonight and you show up in the kitchen, all smiles and sweetness. You eat your dinner as though you haven't eaten for days, sitting quietly in your chair and asking to be excused. You watch a little of your favorite movie, Hop, before I take you up to bed. We read books. We talk about your brain. We celebrate your smart choices. I relax as I lay on your bed next to you. I give you a goodnight kiss and walk to the door. You are on your feet already. And we dance again. I put you back to bed, cover you up. You kick off the covers and demand I cover you up again. Well hello crazy blanket game. We haven't seen you in a while.

"Hey Mommy cover me up!"  "Hey Mommy I need covered up!"

When your Daddy and brother return home from running an errand they find us back downstairs. Daddy takes you to bed, again. You scream, again. My heart shatters a little, again. My sensitive seven year old at first questions why his little brother is still up, annoyed at the unfairness of it all. My answer, "I don't know. I just can't.", must speak to him. He stops complaining about his brother's late bedtime and chooses to hug me instead.

I think sometimes that your particular brand of trauma is tricky, because you will have so many good days. Sure, your good days would make that Super Nanny woman from TV cringe, but in comparison to the chaos, your good days are awesome. And then the issues pop up and we are blindsided, again. I understand a little of what your mind is doing to you. After three years of living with you I am a little gun shy too. I feel as though I am always on edge, waiting for that other shoe to drop. So I get it, how you feel.

You have had a rough few days. You will cycle back up, I hope, as you usually do. You have more doctors to see and treatments to try. You have a lot to do this summer. Between therapy and doctors and kindergarten prep we will be busy. But right now I have to go to bed, because it is getting late, and you will be chattering your "Hey Mommy" into my sleeping brain before I know it.

Some days I Just Want To Be Normal

Watching your child struggle is not easy. Watching your child struggle and wondering if your child even knows he is struggling is not easy either. This week marked the end of the school year for both my kindergartner and my preschooler. Both boys had special end of the year programs, on the same day. My super six year old sat still up on stage, singing songs and reciting bible verses, all while wearing a cap and gown and proudly displaying the medal he was awarded for learning all of his bible verses this school year. He walked across the stage, accepted his certificate, hugged his teacher and posed for his photo op. Mommy and Daddy took him out to dinner, where he sat still, ate his fruit cup and was allowed to walk across the dining room to say hello to a few friends from his class who were also out celebrating graduation. But before the calm and the proud came something I am not used to; the sadness of watching your child struggle.

Earlier that day my super six year old and I waited in the hallway of my youngest son's preschool. We were waiting for the green light to go into his classroom for the last day of school program. As we waited a teacher walked by with my son. He smiled when he saw me and ran to me for a hug. He then continued on his way with the teacher. The doors opened, the program started, and my son was still missing. His little class sat on tiny chairs all lined up in the front of the room. They sang a song, complete with hand motions. My boy was nowhere to be seen. Tears filled my eyes as I realized that he was out on the walk with the teacher due to his disruptiveness. He wasn't even able to participate in this program. One of the teachers in the room caught my eye and suddenly realized that my boy was missing. She left the room and returned with my son, holding his hand and keeping him close. The children continued with their program, singing songs and dancing. My son stood with his back pressed up against the teacher, occasionally trying to break free while she held on tightly to his active little body.  He stared around the room with a blank stare. He did not sing a single word or follow a single direction. When the songs were over and it was time to make a craft all of the children sat at the tables and worked with their parent. Mine sat on his chair, then stood on his chair, then dumped over his bowl of craft supplies, then hit his brother, who was trying to help him glue pretty jewels onto a foam picture frame. At snack time my youngest plowed over the other children while running to the bathroom to wash his hands. He turned on the water full force and dumped soap all over the sink. He ran out of the bathroom and grabbed his place mat with such force he dumped the entire stack on the floor. He then threw the place mat at his brother and ran for the puzzle table. And it just went downhill from there. I sat there, watching my two boys, the oldest sitting in the tiny chair that was almost too small for him, his legs crossed, carefully taking pictures with the disposable camera he had begged me to buy him earlier that day at the grocery store, and the youngest, literally bouncing all over the room. The realization hit me: in this room full of special need children my child wasn't keeping up. Suddenly I felt as though the rest of the room was moving in slow motion and my child was running full speed ahead. I watched the other children sitting still, happily gluing and snacking and smiling. I watched the other children giving the teachers hugs and calmly walking from one activity to another. I felt my heart race as I watched my boy wind up tighter and tighter. Something is not right with this picture, I thought, and I never fully understood it until that moment.

I know that there are many reasons for the behavior I saw that afternoon. I know that my son is smart. I know that while he can't seem to process consequences he is starting to get basic preschool concepts. He can spell his name. He can count. He knows his colors and some letters. His speech is becoming easier to understand. Last night at dinner I asked my son if he knew one of the songs his class had been singing and he was able to sing most of it with me, so I know that had been paying attention in class at some point. I am sure that the addition of parents and grandparents to his classroom may have caused him to shut down during the program and to wind up during the craft. But I could tell from the teacher's expression that the behavior I saw that day is nothing new for my little boy. And I also know that he has only been home for two years. That he has not caught up to his peers and can be considered more of a two year old than a four year old. I would be thrilled with his progress if he were only two. Excuses? Maybe. Grasping at straws? Probably.

I carried my squirming boy to the car and buckled him into his car seat. I listened to his demands for bug juice and "Donald's", (McDonald's), as I drove home. A few hours later I handed him over to the baby sitter and walked out the front door with my husband and six year old. I sat in the worship center of my son's school, watching the program, watching my son participate and follow directions. And I couldn't help but wonder. Will we get here with the preschooler? I want to be that mom who celebrates every success, no matter how small, but some days it is just so hard. Some days I want the "normal". Some days I want to just play with my boys without being on high alert for toys being thrown across the room. Some days I want to just eat dinner out with the "normal" kid issues. Some days I want to put my son to bed without the charts, without the tears, (from us both), without the spitting and kicking at me. Some days I want to just see the light in my son's eyes, instead of seeing him shut down.

I am working hard at becoming the mom my son needs. One who will fight for him, advocate for him, and who will celebrate his every success, no matter how small. One who can find beauty in every day. But last week, on that special graduation day, I was not that mom. I just wanted to be "normal". But this is my new normal, and I am all he has. I have to do this right.

From Birth Mothers to Bullying- the boy is doing just fine

"Daddy is not answering his phone.", I said to my super six year old, as we sat snuggled together in the restaurant booth, waiting for our dinners to arrive. "Keep calling, Mommy. You must persevere!" Persevere? My super six year knows the word "persevere"? After grilling him for the definition, it turns out, he does.

Learning that my oldest son has a vocabulary even larger than I thought was not the only thing I learned yesterday. Apparently my young man knows this word because it is one of the awards given out monthly in Chapel in his school. I just found out about these awards last week and am still a little sketchy on them. I hear there is an award for "Honesty", and now one for "Perseverance". What I do know is that my guy has not been awarded one of these yet, and he really, really, really wants one. At his age, and knowing his temperament, I doubt he wants one for the meaning behind it as much as for the idea of "winning". My super six year old loves to win. But what a great thing to win at, right? I learned about this at 7:00pm last night, after spending the entire day playing at COSI.

The morning started with a trip to the pediatrician for my son's six year old well check up. There I learned something I had been suspecting for quite a while. My young son can act calmly in that doctor's office. I was beginning to wonder. He questioned the nurse, "Am I going to get any shots today?" She wasn't sure. He questioned the doctor, who confirmed that, no, he would not be getting any shots. He had been questioning me for two days. He immediately stopped wiggling and grabbing for items in the drawers under the exam table. He let his strong body melt into the table, stretched out long, and began to play his DS while he sang to himself. (Smashmouth!) I could actually talk to the doctor! I could think about my answers! I could stop being that frazzled mother who has to keep one eye, and both hands, on her child at all times! Yesterday morning I learned that when my son has the information he needs he can be a calm little guy. And yes, I already knew this, but it was a great reminder.

I learned that my super six year is maturing in ways that make me proud. While we waited for nearly two hours to get into COSI - ALWAYS BUY YOUR TICKETS ONLINE DURING SPRING BREAK PEOPLE!- I allowed my boy to wander off to the nearby hands on exhibits. I could always see him, and he came back to me every time I called his name. "Such a patient boy you have there!", exclaimed a grandmother waiting in line behind me. "Not usually", I thought. But maybe, just maybe, he is learning this. Patient and a good listener. Who knew.

I watched my son share the small rubber balls in one of the Space exhibits with a little girl. He had watched her be denied a ball by the boy on the other side of the exhibit and when she showed up at his side he didn't need me to remind him to be a gentleman. He willingly gave her a ball. And when the little boy on the other side tried to take it back, my young man grabbed it first, saying, "This ball is hers", and handed it to the girl. He shared, and more importantly,  he stood up for what he knew to be right. He did not let that little boy do what stands for bullying in the kindergarten set. And I learned that my super six year old is on his way to becoming a man.

I learned that my guy knows A LOT about space. He had his facts right and was able to hold a conversation with a much older boy about planets while waiting in line to see the space capsule. He taught a younger girl about how the earth moves around the sun, using his hands and a ball to further explain. He is an educator, this boy.

I watched my super six year old take command of a group of children, both older and younger than he, to run the mini land rover and cranes. He gave direction to everyone, making sure every child knew their instructions before starting the mission. He is a leader, this boy.

We played together in the Ocean exhibit, my son showing me how to place the water stream just right so that it would intersect with his. His little engineering mind figured out where to place all of the water streams so that all five of them intersected. It was late in the day and we had the exhibit all to ourselves, so he had the time to really figure this out. I learned how single minded my son can be. He wasn't leaving the exhibit until he had those streams of water precisely where he wanted them.

I watched my boy play a game of checkers in the outside play area, with checker pieces bigger than his head. He bounced around the giant sized playing board, pondering his choices and making his moves. I had warned the older girl he was playing with that he may not know how to play; turns out I didn't need to do that. Sometime between the last time I played with him and yesterday he learned the rules of the game. I learned that my son frequently plays checkers with his friends at his after school program. Once again I was reminded that my super six year old has a whole life I know very little about. Again I was reminded of the importance of cementing this relationship early on in life so he will be sure to include me in his life as he grows. Just imagining what parts of his life I may not know about when he is a teenager makes me shudder!

I learned that my son is outgoing. Which, of course, I already knew. But this boy is confident. I watched as he realized he didn't have a partner for a game he wanted to play and with just a tiny nudge from me he asked the girl next to him if she would like to be his partner. There was no fear that this older girl would deny him his request. He was confident that he would not be shot down. I also learned where his head is about his birth country. He is currently in a phase where he is very proud to be Chinese. The girl he asked to play this game was also Chinese. While the girl won the game, the two of them had a very high score- higher than the other kids who had gone before them. When I pointed this out to my son he exclaimed, loudly, that it was because both he and his partner were Chinese. The girl's Chinese father hid a smile when this was pronounced. OK, still doing good with the birth country thing.

I learned that my super six year old is still not ready to discuss his birth mother. He was very interested in the display of fetus', looking at each month of pregnancy with great care. He was amazed when he realized how very small he started out. I was cautious to use the correct terms and to make sure he understood that when he was a fetus he was in his birth mother's tummy, not mine. We spent a lot of time in this exhibit but it wasn't his time to ask these questions, not yet.

I learned that my boy is all boy. He spent quite some time playing the "bodily function" organ, where each key he pressed gave us a loud sneeze, hungry rumblings, or a cough. The "vomit" key was his favorite. So much, in fact, that he continued to make the disgusting sound long after we left the exhibit.

As we finally left the museum, eight hours after arriving, we walked slowly to the car. We had parked in the farthest lot from the door, and on the way in my boy had bounced along and run ahead numerous times. Now, on the way out, he was lagging behind, his little legs tired. Despite my equally tired legs I picked up my 45 pound six year old and carried him to the car. He rested his head on my shoulder and ran his fingers up and down my back, enjoying the feel of the fabric of my coat. "I think my legs are broken.", he mumbled in my ear. I hugged him as we slowly made our way to the car. I learned that my  big six year old, the one who acted as a leader, a teacher, a protector, was still also a little boy. My little boy.

I don't often have the chance to spend an entire day, uninterrupted, with just one of my boys. We went to the museum because my son asked to go, and because it is such a great educational opportunity for him. But all those hours, alone with my oldest son, were educational for me as well. A reminder to sometimes pause and take a moment. A moment to appreciate the growth. A moment to ponder the amazing creature before you. A moment to play like a child, with your child. And a moment to carry your child in your arms again.

mothers and sons, it's not an easy thing

We met with the big five year old's kindergarten teacher this week for our first parent teacher conference. We dropped the tiny toddler off at day care so we would have as few distractions as possible. We loaded the big five year old up with healthy on the go breakfast choices since we had to leave the house an hour earlier than we usually do. We tried every door to the school before we found one that was unlocked at the horribly early hour of 7am. After finally finding an open door, on the other side of the school, we made a mad dash through dark hallways and a empty gymnasium only to arrive at the conference 3 minutes late. (score!) His teacher showed up 5 minutes later...

We sat on tiny blue chairs with our knees tucked up to our chins. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my big five year old wandering around his classroom, trying on a hat, touching a book, looking out the window. While we talked to his teacher he found a seat and ate his breakfast before hopping back up and joining us at the "adult" table.

We learned that our big five year is very smart. We learned that his reading and comprehension are high for a child his age. We saw school work that was A+ quality and some that was definitely a fail. We nodded our heads and agreed that he was a smart kid who needed to work on his behavior and impulse control. His teacher called him a "blessing" and said that he "marches to his own drummer".

I walked out of the large, colorful classroom proud. We have things to celebrate and things to work on. We were not surprised by what we heard.

What has surprised me these first 6 weeks of school has been my emotions.  Our days are ruled by the color my big five year old achieves on his daily behavior chart, yes. If he brings home a yellow, orange, or, (gasp!) red day our evenings are filled with reminders, (which sometimes turn into lectures), no TV or screen time, and early bed times. It is not easy on anyone. How one small child can bring home news that can totally change the family dynamics, every single day, was a surprise to me.

The daily school bus ride from school to his after school program has also been a landmine my big five year old has had to navigate, alone. So far he has had nose bleeds and lost his thermos. He had an assigned seat for a while, most likely brought on by his desire to sit with the other kids and his indecision of where to sit when they say "no". And it breaks my heart. Who are these kids to say "no" to my sweet little boy? Why won't they let him sit with them on the bus?

I tell him that they need to get to know him. That the older kids have friends already from last year. That he needs to let the other little boy from his class, who also rides the bus, pick the seat. That he needs to relax and let it happen. That making friends is not easy and takes time. I tell him all of this with a smile. But inside I am seething at these children who won't let my boy share their seat. I hold back tears and want to fold him into my arms and never let him go.

Some days my big five year old comes home full of smiles and stories about his day. Some times he comes home full of sadness because "no one wants to play with" him. Now my boy is smart and outgoing and energetic and I suspect that he might be a tad too controlling when his friends don't want to play with him. He is imaginative and likes to create elaborate stories as he plays. I tell him to ask his friends what they would like to play, to join in with them. He tells me that his friends make his "eyes water", which is what he says when he feels as though he is going to cry. And I smile and offer encouraging words. Again, I want to take these children by the hand and force them to play with my sweet boy. I want to be there, with him. I want to remind him to sit in his seat and pay attention to his teacher. I want to sit with him on the bus. I want to play pirates with him at recess. I want to stop him from working so hard to please his friends. I want him to relax and let it happen. I want to stop my heart from breaking and his eyes from watering.

This is kindergarten. There will be many successes and challenges along my son's journey. Sometimes I will be there to pick him up. Sometimes he will have to figure it out on his own. Sometimes we will cry together at the unfairness that is life. Sometimes we will celebrate together the amazing things happening in his life. I won't always have the right answers, and sometimes I might not have any answers at all. What I do know is this; it is easier and harder every day. Sure, he no longer requires diapers and total supervision. I can turn my back on him in the bath tub and let him play downstairs while I put his little brother to bed upstairs. I can let go of his hand in a parking lot and he can buckle himself into the car. He can help me make dinner and get his own snacks. But his days are no longer filled with naps and play time. And with age comes concern. Ever since his stint at Safety Town this past summer my big five year old has been more aware of the dangers this world holds. The smoke alarm going off in our home can now send him into a panic, now that he more fully understands it's implications. The TV news is unsettling to him now that he knows a little more about what's out there. The more we teach our children the more innocence slips away.

This is life. It breaks my heart to see my big five year old struggling. Letting go, letting him find his own path may just be hardest thing I have ever done. And to think that in a few years I get to send another little one out into the world, without me. I want to keep them close, protected from the things that make our eyes water. Mothers and sons. It's not any easy thing.

transitions...

When my Big Five Year Old was a toddler I used to drive myself crazy with each new, annoying phase he toddled into. He used to knock over the television speakers and climb up onto them, standing tall as though he had just conquered a mountain. He stopped doing that and started biting me. Always on my neck when I was holding him, and always when I wasn’t expecting it. And always me. He never bit my sweet husband or anyone else. He was laying claim to his new mommy, and I couldn’t wait until he felt the transaction had been complete.  Eventually he stopped biting me and entered the phase where he threw everything he could get his hands on while sitting in a crowded restaurant. That was a super fun stage. That guy never saw that piece of toast coming…

 

Just when his phases started to slow down and I could walk away from him without fear of him hurting himself or others, we brought home the Tiny Toddler. And the phases started all over again. Along with the new crop of weird toddler behaviors came the work we had just started letting go of: back to changing diapers, spoon feeding, preparing special foods, wearing the baby 24/7. And I didn’t complain. It was exhausting, but it was also wonderful. A whole new blessing.

 

And while we enjoyed the blessing still we looked ahead to the days of more independence. And now, our Big Five Year Old is there.  He is gone from me now, spending every day in a classroom at his new school. He has new friends and new mountains to climb. And this phase, is so. much. harder.

 

The transition from preschool to kindergarten has not been an easy one for my sweet boy. While he is academically ready for the work, ahead of the curve there, really, he still needs to work on respecting authority and following orders.  This is not news to me, of course. But that doesn’t make it any easier. It’s hard on him, and it’s hard on me.  For the past three weeks our whole world has revolved around what “color” he ended his day on- anything green or above means a good day, yellow, orange, and, heaven forbid, red, mean not so good. So far he has been all over the color board, landing on the dreaded “red” just the other day. Now we know that just telling him to behave is not going to work. We know that this is a work in progress. We know there is a fine line between enforcing the rules and assuring that we don’t cross the line into a world where my sweet boy no longer enjoys school. There is so much pressure here! We are laying the groundwork  for his entire school career, and I want him to get off on the right foot.  I can already see him starting to shut down when we spend too much time talking about his behavior. He seems genuinely confused when I ask him what choices he made that pushed him into the lower colors. And I know he needs to figure this out for himself. We can guide him, we can gently redirect him, we can show him the correct way to behave. And after that, he has to figure it out for himself. But it is so hard! I want to be there, in the classroom with him. I want to be able to stop him when he makes a poor choice and say, “See? That is what your teacher is talking about! Don’t do that!” I want everyone at that school to be able to look past the tough transition and see my amazing kid for what he is, which is, well, amazing.

If you ask my Big Five Year Old what his favorite part of the day is he will tell you recess. Smart man. He can run and jump and scream and do all those things he isn’t allowed to do anywhere else. But when I ask him who he played with that day he always mentions the same two boys that he knows from church and his previous daycare. Neither of them are in his class, although they are both in kindergarten. His face will then often get a little cloudy as he tells me that no one else wants to play with him. We talk about how he can’t always be in charge of the games, that he has to let the other children pick the games too, how he has to do what others want to do too. We talk about how he should ask the other children to play, instead of waiting for them to ask him.  Sometimes he says he understands and his face brightens. Sometimes he tells me that the other kids not wanting to play with him makes his “eyes water”, which is what he says when he feels like he is going to cry. Which makes my eyes water. I want to be there on that playground, I want to show him how to make friends. I want to sit those other kids down and lecture them on how wonderful my little boy is. Or better yet, I want to keep him home with me, where I will play with him and be his friend.

 

We are doing all the right things. We role play conversations with friends. We practice sitting still and listening. We are in daily contact with his teacher. We stick to the rules and enforce the consequences. And he is a smart kid. And he is outgoing and friendly. He will get through this transition just fine.  I know he is not the only little one in his class feeling these growing pains.  But he is my only little one in that class, and it breaks my heart to see him struggle. This phase, this is the hardest. And I can see the future. It isn’t going to get any easier. There will be fights with friends, crushes on girls, sporting events lost…  The years before, they were physically hard, true. But this next phase, this is going to be a tough one. But my sweet boy needn’t worry. I won’t just see him on the other side. I will be walking through it, right along with him.  God give me strength…

Dear World,

Today I watched my baby boy walk out of my arms and into yours.  I thought I was ready, but it was harder to watch him walk away than I thought it was going to be.  He was super excited to be allowed, for the first time ever, to get out of the car all by himself – he had no idea the backseat doors even opened from the inside.  He skipped up the sidewalk and into his new school, his dinosaur backpack heavy on his back. He emptied his pockets as we waited in the drop off line, car after car of moms and dads wearing pajamas, business suits, workout clothes. He handed over his Angry Birds slap bracelet, a small stuffed yellow Angry Bird, a piece of wrapped candy, two rocks, and a tiny plastic spinning top. And then he hopped out, yelled, “I love you Mommy!” over his shoulder, slammed the door, and skipped into his new school.

He is yours now, World. Please take care of him. Please be gentle with him. Please don’t show him your harsh reality just yet. I have spent the past four years keeping him close, while trying to teach him everything he needed to know to be ready for this day. I have spent years holding his hand as I walked him into daycare and preschool. He has been surrounded by other well protected children; at daycare, at China school, at family gatherings. I have controlled his TV viewing and monitored his intake of world events. Remember, World, this is the boy who spent months talking about how bad he felt for the “Americans who had people hurt in 9-11”, after overhearing his teachers talk on the anniversary of this horrible day. And he didn’t even know the whole story.  He is sad when his friends are too preoccupied with whatever they are doing to include him in their play. This boy, he feels things very deeply, World, please remember that.

They say that internationally adopted children are often very fierce and independent, as though a fire burns within them. Not my little man. No, World, he is not independent. Oh, he can get his own snacks and he can use the men’s room out in public all by himself, sure. But I make sure the snacks are the ones I want him to eat, and the men’s room is in a safe environment.  He is mine, World, and he has been from the first moment I held him. He didn’t cry when the nanny handed him to me. He held on, and he hasn’t let go of me yet. He still needs me, World. Don’t push your negative views, your bad attitudes, your violence and your anger onto my little boy. Share all you have to offer, World, your good and your bad, with him slowly. Show him your compassion as he makes new friends. Show him your friendly competition as he discovers skills he is great, and not so great, at. Show him your love as he gets a hug from his new principal, something they are still allowed to do in his private Christian school. Show him your amazing abilities as he learns about science. Show him your diversity, World, as he continues to learn where he fits in as an American born in China. Show him your patience and tolerance.

 

 

Keep him safe, World, as he rides one of your big yellow school buses to his after school program this afternoon.  He has never been away from me for so long, or with so many new changes all at once. Before, when he left me, I walked him to his classroom and picked him up. Now he is walking in alone and riding a bus. He is going to have such a great time with you, World. This boy, he is going places. He is smart and funny and compassionate. He is still fragile, though, World, so please, handle my baby boy with care.

 from this 15 month sweetie.... to this big 5 year old in the blink of an eye...

 

the man he will one day become

I saw my little boy grow up a little last weekend. It seems as though right before my eyes he went from my baby to a grown up five year old.  We spent the weekend being very busy, shuttling the kids from one place to another, every moment planned out. Well, to be truthful, we spent most of the weekend shuttling the big five year old around while the tiny toddler came along for the ride. By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around I truly was seeing a different boy when I looked at my oldest son.

This happens to mothers every so often. It has only happened to me once before, although I know it will again as my boys grow. I walked away from my then four year old last May to spend a month in Russia finalizing the adoption of his new little brother. I cannot put into words how my heart ached for my oldest son while I was away from him. I couldn't wait to hold him, to touch his hair, to feel his  little body in my lap. My body and mind were tired from the long trip home with the tiny toddler strapped to my hip. My steps had slowed and my sleep deprived brain was getting a little fuzzy. But when we finally landed in Columbus Ohio my strength was renewed and my steps were a little lighter as I walked off the plane and into the arms of my oldest son. I remember sitting on a bench, crying, holding my four year old, with the poor tiny toddler smashed between us. And then I really looked at my boy.

His hair was more course. His head was bigger. His body was sturdier. He had changed dramatically in those four weeks I had missed. And last weekend it happened again.

We are hoping that our big five year old is accepted into the private christian school to which we have applied. Last Saturday we had to rush him straight from China school, where he had already spent two hours completing Mandarin and Martial Arts classes, to an hour and a half of kindergarten testing. While we waited for the test to be completed we chased the tiny toddler around the school and attended a parent orientation meeting. As I sat in that classroom listening to one of the kindergarten teachers talk about the first few weeks of school and expectations, it hit me. My baby was going to be in kindergarten next year. In just three short months he will get on a school bus, by himself, and go to school. He will have to remember his backpack and lunch box. He will not be able to take one of the "baby animals" he carries in to preschool every day. He will be buying milk, for God's sake!

Sunday we rushed straight from church to my big five year old's first flag football game of the season. He played last Fall for the first time and loved it. Football is definitely my little man's game. 

my little football star!

Despite the lack of direction from the coach, my little football player let his talent shine through. He ran for 2 touchdowns and pulled 11 flags. He zigged and zagged and by the end of the game every parent on the sidelines was cheering for him. He was the standout MVP of the game. And I was so proud.

But what made my heart sing even more than the smile on his face when he ran the ball into the end zone was what I saw happening in between his turns to run the ball. My big five year old was doing more than scoring points for his team. He ran next to every other kid when it was their turn to run the ball. He attempted to block for them, even though the team had not yet been taught about blocking. He cheered them on, encouraging his new team mates to run that ball. He jumped up and down and clapped at the end of each play, touch down or not. He not only showed his amazing athletic skills but, perhaps more importantly, he showed his amazing compassion and sportsman like conduct. Watching my son run next to a team mate, cheering them on, brought tears to my eyes. He is growing up so fast.

Later, when I had a moment to sit still and really look at the photo I snapped before the game, (above), I was taken by how small my big five year old looks. Because out on that field I didn't see this little boy- I saw a glimpse of the man he will one day become.