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.

and no one cried, not even me

My husband went to the last home game in Cleveland today. As a season ticket holder he is gone many Sundays during football season. In warm weather he takes my big four and a half year old with him but on days like today he goes alone, leaving me home, all day, with two young boys. He called tonight on his way home from the RTA station and asked how my day was going. The tiny toddler was in bed, still awake and chattering away in his crib and the big four and a half year old was watching his nite nite show and having some yogurt. The toys were picked up and the kitchen was clean, including the floor. The laundry was done and our bed was made. Everyone had been fed, bathed, and not only survived the day but actually had fun. So I answered his question of how my day was going by saying, "No one cried. Not even me." He laughed, but he understood.

Sounds crazy, I know. what kind of mother can't handle her two children alone for the day without breaking down into a puddle of tears? Seven months ago I would have never dreamed that tear stained mother would be me. So I was thrilled to be able to tell my husband that today, on the first day of 2012, I did not cry.

Welcome to 2012! I have to say that 2011 was a whirlwind of events that made me feel as though my family was on a roller coaster. A really old roller coaster, one that doesn't have the kind of state of the art safety system the new ones have. The kind that take you to the top of the hill and then push you down with just a loose lap bar holding you in. The kind made of wood that bounce you around and beat you up a little, but yet are thrilling at the same time. Up to the top of that first hill, slowly, slowly- let's adopt another baby! Down to the bottom, hitting hard, being thrown back in the seat - not from that country you won't! Up another hill, excitement growing - let's try this country! And down again, slamming into the bottom - no, not that country either! Home study done - up up up the hill. My mother passed away unexpectedly - back to the bottom. Another long hill to climb - will we get approval on the adoption referral we received? This time the trip to the bottom was slow and not so painful- yes, we can adopt the little boy with the soulful eyes! And the trip up again took longer this time - we're meeting him already! We're bringing him home! And then down again. And again. You get the picture. Call it adjustment issues, call it post adoption depression - who knows. But the first six months home from Russia with our new son was one slam into the bottom of the hill after another.

But 2011 is over now. And I will always remember it fondly, just as we always remember the good and not the bad. Uncle Fred got drunk and threw a punch at his brother in law at the wedding? This I do not remember. The beautiful flowers and great DJ, now that I remember. (And no, I don't have an Uncle Fred and no one was reduced to fist fighting at my wedding. It was a very classy and calm affair.) I will remember 2011 as the year my youngest son joined our family. we saw his picture in January, met him in February, made it official in May and brought him home in June. And then we spent the next six months painfully growing from a family of three into a family of four. And we emerged on the other side, victorious. A happy, somewhat well- adjusted family of four.

I no longer feel bad for the secret feelings I harbored during those six months. Through it all, through every moment where I thought I was most surely going crazy, through every tear that fell from my eyes onto the head of the sweet little boy who would never let me put him down but who yet still managed to be angry a good part of the day,  through it all I knew I loved him. I knew I wanted him. I knew he was mine. I did the right thing for him, albeit sometimes on auto pilot. So I don't feel bad. But I am happy to say goodbye to 2011 and welcome 2012.

This year I will get back to doing what I love the most in this world- creating a warm and loving home and life for my family. I have a new job that allows me to control when and where I work, one that allows me to use my abilities without sucking the life from me on a daily basis. I have a renewed spirit. I have good friends, a strong group of women on whom I rely more than they know, I am sure. I already have vacation plans for the summer, for crying out loud. I am totally in control of only what needs to be controlled and able to enjoy the freedom of what doesn't. I am ready for 2012. Bring it.

stress, arm pain, roller coasters and the principal's office

Yesterday was not a particularly good day. I spend my work days in a perpetual state of chaos, always feeling as though I am not doing enough, not spending enough time with every member of my team, not reviewing the right data, not submitting the right report at the right time. I usually try not to worry about this feeling because I know that many other regionals at my company feel the same way. The organization has high standards and high expectations, and so do I. My boss and my fellow regionals make me want to be a better leader and coach, and so I put even more pressure on myself and give even more. I know this is the pattern, and it works. I work in a constantly changing field, for a large corporation that takes what feels like rather sudden twists and turns but what are,  in reality, carefully thought out and calculated steps towards success in this economy. There are some days that I feel as though all I do is put out fires. Then there are other days that seem like one endless conference call. Other days I feel as though I have spent half my life in the car, the painful reality of a road warrior. never does it seem as though I spend enough time coaching, teaching and mentoring. Yesterday was a fire day. I had my fireman hat on all day long, soothing nerves, talking team members off ledges, correcting others mis-steps. My to do list in my Franklin Planner grew longer and longer, and there were very few check marks, to me the sign of a successful work day. Perhaps tomorrow I should simply write "put out fires" in my planner. That, at least, I could check off.

Somewhere around 2:00 yesterday my entire right arm started to hurt. It was a nagging pain, one that wouldn't subside with movement or Tylenol. I was vaguely worried about this pain so I did what everyone does in this easy access to information world we live in - I logged on to webmd. I immediately ruled out broken bones and shingles. Nothing really fit, so I gave up searching for answers online, satisfied that it wasn't a symptom of something truly bad.

After spending all day putting out fires with severe pain in my arm I spent some time on the phone with our consultant from the adoption agency. You would think I would have this more pulled together, it being my second time hacking my way through this paperwork, but I don't. It didn't get any easier. In fact, I think it might have gotten harder, because this program is so new. No one really has all the answers, there were no families blazing the trail before us, working out all the kinks. I hung up the phone slightly more confused than when I placed the call. The calls that followed, to the local police station, the Franklin County sheriff's office, and the BCI did nothing but increase my confusion and agitation.

Fires, arm pain, frustrating phone calls that led to more questions instead of answers - I head into daycare to pick up my son. My precious little baby boy. My sweet little angel who was summoned to the director's office earlier that day because he keeps tackling his friends. Now I don't think he is alone in this; many of the boys are rough housing and many of them are getting called on it every day. But I am not concerned about those other boys. Yesterday  my son had his first visit to the principals office, so to speak. Truly a proud moment.

I wanted to attend the first MOPS meeting of the year but couldn't. Between the arm pain, which was really distracting and the fact that I didn't want to put Matthew in the Moppets room for 2 hours after being in day care all day I just couldn't pull it together to go. Sometimes you just know when you need to call the game and go home.

The entire rest of the evening, through dinner, cleaning up, putting clean clothes away, tidying the upstairs, two thoughts swam through my head. "My arm really hurts", and "We are never going to get this dossier done in time." I couldn't pull my head away from the logistics of getting signatures notarized, the photos a friend will be taking of our little family later this week, the fact that our birth certificates and marriage license still have not arrived, the increasing arm pain, and my son's visit to the day care director's office. Add how far behind I feel I am at work and you've got the recipe for a total meltdown. Which occurred at exactly the  moment I lay down in bed. Step 1. brush teeth. Step 2. Lay down and pull blankets up to chin. Step 3. unleash massive tears.

Normally I press on. I handle things well. Today I woke up with no arm pain and a fresh perspective on how I am going to get all this done. But last night all I could think about were those happily pregnant women who go about their normal lives for 9 months while they wait for junior to appear. They don't have to prove they are worthy. They don't have to jump through someone else's hoops. I know this is unrealistic. I have been pregnant. I know that there is worry and fear and invasive doctor's appointments mixed in with the joy. But last night I didn't care about any of that. Everyone who has been there will tell you that the adoption journey is a roller coaster of emotions, with many highs and many lows. And last night was truly a low. It was a low I haven't felt in a very long time.

Today I am back to knowing that we were placed on this journey for a reason. So what if I have to prove my worthiness to be a parent? So what if I have to jump through hoops?  The first time I jumped through those hoops I was given the opportunity to parent the most spectacular child. I get to learn Serbian words to add to my limited Chinese vocabulary. I get to celebrate little christmas along with autumn moon festival and chinese new year. We will add to our family and we will have the children we were meant to have. Today I know this. Today I worked at solving the time crunch issue with our dossier, instead of throwing in the towel. Tomorrow I will hack away at it a little more.

I usually carry all my stress in my neck and upper back. I always know it has been a bad day when I can't lower my chin to my chest without blinding pain. Maybe yesterday's wicked arm pain was a new way my body will show stress. Maybe I pinched something. Who knows. Today it was gone, and so were my doubts and heavy heart. Today the roller coaster started back up the big hill.