More Than OK

The clock crowed earlier than usual this morning, calling us all to the first day of school. We all gathered in the super six year old's room and played a little, read a book, helped the persevering preschooler into his clothes as his older brother once again put on his school uniform. I watched as he inspected the new uniform shirt I had placed in his tomorrow drawer and then discard it, determining it was too big for his tastes. After settling on one of last year's shirts we headed to the kitchen, where eggs were scrambled and pictures were snapped.

 

 

 

And it was a good morning. Our normal chaos, sure. Our normal loud, sure. But everyone got to where they needed to be, wearing what they needed to wear, having eaten something warm and healthy. Really, that is all I am looking for these days.

 

Part of the reason our morning went so well is that we reviewed our back to school plans last night, at our big Back to School Dinner Party. I told the boys about their party last weekend, so that we could let them choose the menu. Then I let them know that there would be party favors with candy. A few days later I mentioned decorations. By the time we arrived home last night, after stopping by the persevering preschooler's preschool open house, the boys were frantic. They raced into the dining room to see their party.

 



Each boy had their very own 'chalkboard" place mat with their new grade level printed in chalk. Books and a cup of pencils added a school feel to our table, and the mug also held the questions for our "back to school" Q & A. I made a simple "back to school" banner and hung it across the curtain rod.

We ate dinner and talked about the upcoming school year. We reminded our sweet boys that we want them to do the best they can, to always strive for the top. We also reminded the boys that doing the best they can does not always mean getting straight A's. That sometimes it means being nice to the bully. Sometimes it means inviting a shy child to share your lunch table. Sometimes it means not hitting back or giving up your turn. We reminded our boys that "fair" does not mean that everyone gets the same, that it truly means that everyone gets what they need, instead. We reviewed our family policy of listening to the teacher and doing what we are told, even if we don't agree with it. We reviewed how we express that disagreement. We reviewed the homework and behavior policies from the super six year old's school and signed the agreements. (As a side note, I love how everyone signs these agreements. My first grader signed his name, agreeing to complete homework and to follow the rules at school.)

We talked about how proud we are of both of our boys and how amazing this school year is going to be. New friends, new experiences. New books to read, new puzzles to solve, new ways to show our faith, our compassion, our brains and our abilities. And then we played our game.

At the last minute I had written down a bunch of back to school questions, such as "Am I allowed to stand up on the school bus?", and "Show me how you walk in the hallways". Other slips included "What would you do if another kid picks on you", and "Who is in charge of your classroom?". Surprising to all of us the super six year old ran upstairs to get paper and created a score sheet for each of us. He made everyone answer each question, assigning a score to our answers, tallying the numbers with each round. Even the persevering preschooler got into the game, climbing down from his chair to demonstrate how he walks in the hallways and how he sits on the bus. After we finished reading all the questions my oldest son asked for more. My sweet husband and I lingered at the dining room table with him, firing question after question until we ran out of school related thoughts.

We laughed. We used a game to prepare our son for his new school year. We celebrated and reminded our boys of their responsibilities. Of our hopes and dreams for them. We cemented a tradition and made lasting memories. We are ready to embark on another great school year.

This morning the persevering preschooler and I walked our newly minted first grader into his school. As we reached the Activity Center, where morning assembly is held, I stopped right outside the door, kneeling down to whisper in my son's ear. "I am so proud of you. There is nothing you can do to make me happier with you than I already am. Just go, make smart choices, be yourself, and have fun. I love you!" He smiled, hugged me, and I felt his hand slip from mine and he ran into the room. He ran up to a friend he was hoping he would see today, hugging him and giving high fives. He looked around, unsure of where to put his backpack or what line to run to when the whistle blew, which would be happening soon. I watched him walk up to his principal and ask her his question. She pointed to his line and he ran over to drop off his backpack. On the way he stopped, noticing another friend from last year who was crying, sobbing really, unwilling to let his mother walk away. My sweet boy detoured to his friend, walking up to him and giving him a hug. I heard him tell his friend that it was going to be OK before he ran off to say hello to someone else. I turned away, picking up my youngest son and hugging him tight. He is going to be OK, my oldest. More than OK, I think.

The Ups Give Me Energy

Last night the Wilkison clan all rolled into the tiny toddler's new preschool for a fundraiser carnival night. And I say "rolled" because that is how I feel we travel, everywhere. Loud. Always in motion. My boys are like bowling balls just rolling around, not a care about who, or what, they might knock over. We do so many things for the super six year old- the three year old hangs out at church while his big brother attends the weekly kids programming. He tags along to the swim lessons, the flag football games, the school art shows. (Which we attended last evening as well.) The life of a younger brother, right?

So when we have the opportunity to celebrate the tiny toddler, we go for it. And while our evening, true to form, eventually melted down into a puddle of tears and defiance, for a short time we did just that. Watching my  little man walk around his school, knowing where everything is, showing us his room- was priceless. And so worth the chaos of too  many tired parents crowded into the small school hallways, too many wired little ones hopping up and down, too many heavy winter coats that had to be carried because children just can't seem to do this for themselves. We took the fundraiser up on it's cheap food and fed our boys dinner for $4.00. We sat in the tiny cafeteria/gym while the boys ate their hot dogs and pizza and I watched in amazement as my tiny toddler got excited about a boy sitting three tables over. He mumbled something about going to hug this boy, climbed down off the bench seat and ran over to his new friend. I quickly followed, trying to remind him that "Not everyone likes hugs- please ask first!" The other boy's mother looked startled as my little guy ran straight into her son. Her son looked a tad startled too and for a brief moment I thought, "Oh my God, he doesn't know this kid!" But we sorted it out. Somewhat. The other boy, who looked older than mine, may, or may not, be in the tiny toddler's class. He may, or may not, actually know the tiny toddler- he did seem to recognize him, but he wasn't talking. But my heart perked up a little- my tiny toddler might have a friend!

I watched as the preschool staff that know my little guy waved to him and gave him high fives. While there was still some indifference over showing me his classroom there was also a glimmer of light. The tiny toddler attends this school four afternoons a week, riding a school bus to get there from daycare. Every evening I ask him what he did in school, and every evening he tells me that he didn't go to school. Or that he didn't ride the bus. Last week he told me that he walked all the way there, in the road.  He tells me his teacher is never there. He simply refuses to say a word about this school.

Parenting this child is like being forced to ride a roller coaster every minute of every day. At his school, watching him smile at teachers and wanting to hug other kids who he may, or may not know- I was at the top of the roller coaster, screaming with joy, laughing and having fun. But just like every roller coaster ride, even though I was momentarily thrilled, there was the thought of the scary moments that could be just ahead always lurking in my mind. The moment when he takes his shoes off and throws them at his brother's head in the backseat of the car. The moment when he repeatedly unbuckles his brother's seat belt as we are hurtling down the highway. The moment when his eyes are angry, or, worse yet, empty. And just like every other day, last night we made it through the scary part of the roller coaster ride and put a sleepy tiny toddler into his bed, peacefully. We don't always make it to bedtime peacefully, and often bedtime is a trigger for my little guy, but even on those nights we wake up in the morning with the scary behind us, at least for a while.

There used to be a time when it seemed as though the roller coaster only went one way. As though there was no opportunity for those thrilling, happy screaming moments. Now my roller coaster gives me the ups and the downs. The downs are horrendous. The downs threaten to tear apart the family. The downs push seeds of doubt into my mind and push my husband and I apart. The downs make me worry about my tiny toddler's future, about my whole family's future. The downs leave me with bruises from being kicked, colds from being spit on, and dirty clothes from thrown food. But now we have the ups sometimes. The ups give me hope. The ups bring tears to my eyes as I watch in amazement at whatever new task or emotion my tiny toddler is mastering. The ups make me see his future in a slightly brighter light. The ups give me the energy I need to live through the downs.

Last night, for a short time, was a huge up. And it's those little moments that make parenting this goofy, classic rock music loving child so worth it.

How was your day?

Every day I ask the same questions. "How was your day, Mishka?" You lean back on me, warming my body with your fleece footie pajamas. Tonight you are playing with a bright orange lock you found on the floor of your older brother's room, where we are hanging out, in his big cozy recliner chair. Your brother was given this little lock by a friend at school. These kindergartners have big hearts and they are always sharing their treasures. I have no idea what items of his, or of mine, my super six year old has given away to his classmates. You concentrate on the lock, your tongue sticking out, trying to find the right combination that will make it magically lock into place. "Did you have a good day?" I try again. You ignore me and work the lock between your fingers. I place my hand on your head and turn it towards me, trying to to get a look at your beautiful brown eyes. You pull away, eyes locked on your hands. "Did you eat soup for lunch today, Mishka?" I know you did. We check the lunch menu every morning, you and I, and so I know that beef soup and peaches were on your plate today. Silence. Your tongue pops in and out of your mouth as you finally give up on the lock and toss it aside. I seize my chance before your mind is otherwise occupied. "Did you have a good time with Daddy tonight?" You spent the evening at church, hanging out with Daddy while your brother participated in the mid week childrens' program. Again, silence.

"OK, you don't want to talk about your day? Let's talk about something else. What would you like to talk about?" You think about this for a minute before answering with, "The bug on your bear." Ah. I retell you the story of a few weeks back when all four of us were in the master bedroom and your older brother and I noticed a scary looking bug sitting on my teddy bear. I remind you of how Daddy took a tissue and captured the bug, showing us that it wasn't a scary beetle like we thought but instead a harmless moth. "Bugs go in tummy?", you ask. I explain that bugs don't go into our tummies. You look scared. I assure you that bugs can be friendly. "Ladybugs scary?", you ask. "No, honey, ladybugs are sweet and come to visit every so often before flying away." I sing you the "Ladybug Ladybug" song. Only one verse, before you make that noise that only you can make, the noise that means "stop , something bad is coming". I stop.

I wonder how your day went. Your teacher told Daddy that you had a good day, considering your preschool program was closed today. You did well most of the day, only having a hard time at the end of the day. But I wonder what you are thinking. Most of the time you refuse to talk about your days, preferring instead to rehash an old story. You love to talk about the past, my Mishka.

This morning in the car you were singing to yourself the names of two of your friends from daycare. Over and over you sang these two names. "Are those your friends?" "Yes momma", you tell me. "What are the names of your friends from preschool?" "No friends at preschool, momma." I worry. I know that you have only been going to this preschool for about a month and I know that maybe some of the other children in your class aren't able to play like you do. But I also know that you don't like this new school. Are you learning to make friends? Will you be able to maintain friendships as you get older? Will you let others into your quiet world?

You climb off of me and start spinning around in a circle on your brother's rug. I sense you are on overload from our short conversation and I pick you up and carry you into your room, standing you up in your crib. I see you have managed to steal your brother's baby stuffed hamster and I watch as you tuck it gently under your blanket. You then take it out, bring it to your face and scream at it, then point your finger at it, saying "NO!" loudly. You then hug it and tuck it back in, next to you. Is this what love looks like to you, little guy?

Maybe tomorrow you will tell me how you day went. Maybe tomorrow you will allow me, for just a few moments, to live in the present with you. But if not, we can talk about whatever you want, little Mishka. Whatever you want.

goodbye honeymoon, welcome back guilt

The Adoption Guilt  is back. Actually, I don't think it ever left. I am actually waking up in the middle of the night thinking about the sometimes near constant moments of parenting horror I have experienced these past few weeks. Apparently, the honeymoon is over.

I love my kids. And both of them saw more tragedy in the first months of their little lives than I have experienced, well, ever. There is a reason behind every odd behavior. Maybe not every behavior from my big four and a half year old. (and yes, I know I have been referring to him as "the big four and a half year old" a lot lately, but this is how he sees himself, so I'm just going with the flow.) I am not so wrapped up into being an adoptive parent that I think that every mis-step on Matthew's part is adoption related. Basically he is a obnoxious rambunctious, active, always sometimes overly sensitive preschooler. He is going to melt down. And his melt downs do not usually result in a mommy melt down. Which is what I keep reminding myself. I can parent. If I do say so myself I am actually pretty good at it, most days. But this new twist in our family has totally thrown me for a loop. I seem to be one mommy melt down after another these days.

Yesterday after school the boys and I were sitting at the kitchen table, having a snack. Well, actually, Matthew was sitting at the table, having a snack. OK, you got me. Matthew was squatting on his kitchen chair, eating a Popsicle. How he does not tip that chair over more often is beyond me. (I know what you are thinking: how many times has he fallen out of his chair? I honestly cannot say. I have lost count.) So, Matthew is "matthew sitting" in his chair and Alex is half standing, half sitting in his high chair, screaming at me and pointing in the general direction of the fridge. I am also not sitting. I am standing in the middle of the room, halfway between the fridge and my boys, fighting back the urge to see if my two year old can catch a flying piece of cheese while I fight back tears.

Here is what the food hostage exchange looked like:

me: how about a popsicle?
toddler: yes. and he shakes his head "yes".
me: hand over popsicle.
toddler: throws popsicle on floor while saying "no no no."
(repeat this exchange for every color popsicle in the box.)

me: cheese? (I say this while holding up a slice of cheese and smiling my best fake smile.
toddler: yes. and this time he smiles.
me: hand over cheese.
toddler: throws cheese at brother while screaming and attempting to rocket himself out of high chair.

me: maybe you are not hungry? I make a move to lift him out of the high chair.
toddler: screams no and takes a swing at me while signing "eat".

repeat this scenario, oh, I don't know, fifty times and you will come to understand how I finally picked him up out of the chair, set him on the floor, sat down at the table and said to his older brother: "You saw him saying "yes" to all that food, right? What is the matter with him?" And Matthew, in his always spot on four year old logic replies "That kid is crazy, Mommy."

I wish. That kid is not crazy. He is frustrated with the language barrier. He is teething. He is hungry. He is trying to assert his independence. He is two. Oh my God, he is so many things. He is not a purposely trying to drive me crazy. Although sometimes he is. I swear, sometimes he really is trying to drive me over the edge. He gets this look in his eye and makes sure that he has my complete attention before purposely dropping his food over the side of his high chair. And if he is really mad at me he will scoop it up by the handfuls and throw it. He has a moody streak, this one.

And I know what some of you are thinking. He is 26 months old. He will survive if he misses a meal. He is old enough to learn that there are consequences to throwing food and throwing tantrums. And I agree. But he is adopted. He is still bonding and learning to trust us. He has food issues that most likely stem from day after day of not getting enough to eat. I was there, at his orphanage. I witnessed snack time and meal time. And it was heartbreaking. So there is no way I am letting this boy think he is being punished or go without eating. Now, if my four year old acted this way, yes, he would be removed from the table. But his food issues are a thing of the past.

But oh how quickly we forget. I barely remember the time, when Matthew had only been home a month or so, that he bit me so hard we both landed on the floor. I was holding him, his head resting peacefully on my shoulder, and we were standing at the refrigerator, with the freezer door open. He bit me. Hard. Startled I bent forward in an effort to both push him away and prevent myself from dropping his tiny little 16 month old body. When I bent forward I let go of the freezer door, allowing it to swing back closed. Only I righted myself and stood up before the door had closed all the way, which resulted in me smacking my head, hard, on the freezer door. That was when we both went down. I remember sitting on the floor, holding Matthew with one arm and my head with the other, crying. I am sure those tears were only in small part from the pain. They were from the days of constant grunting and temper tantrums at the dinner table. They were from the near constant biting of mommy only. They were from the arm and backaches of never. being. able. to. set. this. child. down. never. ever. They were from the night terrors and the fact that I couldn't figure out why he always smelled like pee.

Yes, there were a lot of tears back then. And then, one day, it all smoothed out. And now, the tears are back. They seem worse this time around. They probably aren't, but they seem worse.

Maybe it is because Alex is older than Matthew was when he joined his forever family. Maybe I am expecting too much from this little guy. Maybe I just don't remember the occasional lows our first few months with Matthew. It's probably a combination of both. I don''t know. But one thing I do know; whatever is going on is leading to major mommy guilt.

My mantra these past few days:
it is ok to be frustrated. it is ok to me tired. it is ok to be thankful when the boys go to daycare/bed. it is ok to walk away and tag daddy in. he is not trying to drive me crazy. this is probably harder on him than it is on me. it is ok to let him scream when I pry him off of me and into daddy's arms - I have it on good authority that he immediately stops crying when I leave the room. and maybe most importantly, this too will pass.

I repeated this mantra last night over and over and over again. I sounded like Atticus Shaffer  from The Middle.

If this continues much longer you may find me muttering to myself in the grocery store or curled up in the fetal position in my kitchen with a Popsicle stick in my ear. Tonight when I pick the kids up I am going to try not to drag the big four and a half year old into my drama. I shouldn't really be asking him for his opinion on his brother's behaviors. That kid already has way too much power around here...

I'm planning to color my hair tomorrow. Not related to adoption guilt, just thought you would want to know.