This past weekend we celebrated the tiny toddler's Family Day. For reasons my husband and I cannot articulate we both dislike the term "Gotcha Day". We prefer to think of these two special days as the days that we all became a family. Every Family Day is special, of course, but this year the celebration took on a different meaning. It was a celebration of survival. The growing pains our family suffered this past year were not easy. Always worth it, but not easy. And so, one year into being a family of four, I have these thoughts about the past 365 days.
If I had it to do all over again I would have read more books about behavior modification and the adopted child before traveling to Russia. Our adoption agency gave us a minimal amount of information on what to expect, and I truly didn't know any better. Which is 100% my fault. We had so much waiting time before the big five year old came home from China that I read every book about China adoption I could get my hands on. I knew exactly what our trip would be like. I knew how we would be treated in China. I knew what to expect when we came home. But the second time around it happened more quickly. We already had a child in our home to care for and drive around town to preschool, football practice, Sunday school, birthday parties, China school, China play group... It is no excuse, but we were busy living our lives. And we are good parents. We knew what we were doing. And thank God we did.
Because if we had been first time parents this past year would have been unbearable. We would have made way more mistakes than we did. That being said, I still wish I had been better prepared to start from day one the special type of love and discipline needed for a 24 month old adopted from a foreign country. I have no doubt that the frustration we felt when dealing with our sweet tiny toddler did nothing but add to the problem.
If I had it to do all over again I would have put the lock on the refrigerator earlier.
I would have found the solution to the problem of the tiny toddler removing his car seat straps earlier.
I would have removed all the toys before the tiny toddler threw them at my head.
I would have taken more deep breaths. I would have stopped using time outs sooner. I would have, I would have, I would have....
But I can't turn back the clock. And it is time for me to let it all go. I need to remember that we were in the trenches. Had I been on the outside looking in at our little drama this past year I might very well have thought of all of these things, and more. But living it every day, I was too close to the situation to clearly see my way out. So I did what everyone does in a difficult situation. I did the best I could with what I had to work with. And it was enough.
I have 365 days of being a mother to two small boys under my belt. I have 365 days of watching bugs crawl across the sidewalk. I have 365 days of blowing bubbles with the tiny toddler in the bathtub. I have 365 days of laying on our bed reading books with him. I have 365 days of hugs, and cuddles, and kisses. I have 365 days of watching him say "I love you" in his special version of sign language. I have 365 days of "firsts". Watching him fall in love with his first TV show. Watching him taste peanut butter for the first time. Sharing his first amusement park and seeing his love of merry go rounds bloom right before my eyes. His first English words. His first meeting with Grandma and HG. His first time counting to five.
In three days my tiny toddler will celebrate his third birthday. Last year we were in Russia on his birthday and we celebrated with an odd tasting cake made by the hotel dining room. Me and Daddy and our new son, alone, unsure, not knowing what the future held but thrilled to be together in that moment. This year he understands what his birthday is about. He has picked out the flavor of cake he wants and has chosen the candles for the top. He likes to hold the package of candles and pretend to blow them out. He is ready. Later this month he will have another first- his first American birthday party. Because one of the few things we knew he truly liked last Christmas was buses that is what everyone gave him last year. Every Christmas present he opened contained some sort of bus toy. Now he thinks all presents hold buses and so every time we talk about his birthday he says "bus?". He has no idea....
The big five year old is in his second season of flag football. He will participate in his first vacation bible school this summer. he heads off to kindergarten in the fall, and will also be taking violin lessons, playing sports, and becoming more involved in church. He will continue with China school and his China play group. The tiny toddler is turning three and will soon be starting preschool. He will take swimming lessons this summer and a music class in the Fall. He will start Sunday school and maybe take martial arts at China school with his big brother. He will learn more English and more self control. My family may be done "growing", which is a little sad, sometimes. But we have so much "growing up" still to do.
So here's to another 365 days of chaos and craziness. Here's to more "Mommy, can you put this rock in your pocket cuz i want to keep it forever." More, "Me do it, Mama, me do it!". More singing in the car and dancing in the living room. More pretending the stairs are a train that can take us anywhere in the world we want to go. More watching bugs and playing in the dirt with our little construction cars. More monster trucks and Angry Birds. More giggles because big brother said "poop!". Another 365 days of love.
Showing posts with label self reflection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self reflection. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
why I think Zhu Zhu pets are better than birth control
After a great Easter weekend spent with family in Cleveland we were heading home when about an hour away from home we ran into a serious traffic jam. With the tiny toddler asleep in his car seat and the big five year old completely entranced with his hand held game I let go of my frustration over this unplanned delay and all the work that lay ahead of me at home, like packing school lunches and unpacking the car, and I had a real adult conversation with my husband. The big five year old was playing a Zhu Zhu pet game in which he had to keep all the pets happy- feed them, put them to bed, help them use the potty. (That's right, the cute little hamsters actually climb up onto a potty and then a flushing sound can be heard.) These little hamsters require a lot of attention and my big five year old was having a hard time balancing it all. It reminded me of our pre marriage days when my husband and I would spend time together playing video games. I used to love the Sims game. Something about being in control of these people on the screen, feeding them, making them drink expresso, decorating their homes.... I loved this game. Loved it. Occasionally I would neglect them to the point where the grim reaper would show up and take my little creations away, which was always a little sad. But the ones that survived- they had a good life. I married them off and soon they started having babies. So then I had these adult Sims to get up, dressed, fed and off to work every day, and these baby Sims to keep clean and fed and find childcare for every day. Soon it all got to be too much and I grew tired of my pretend people- after all, I was living this life already, without the babies. I had a boyfriend, a home to clean, meals to cook, a job to hold down. I was actively trying to avoid the grim reaper in real life, did I really need to do it in a pretend world as well?
I haven't thought about that game in a long time. But my conversation that night with my husband made me realize that I will never need to play that game again. I have a real life Sims situation going on in my own home every day. Just like my Sims, one of my "live" people always needs something. Just when one little person is no longer hungry the other one needs a diaper change. Just when my husband finally has my attention and can actually talk to me one, or both, of the little ones need to talk to me as well. One is hungry. One is dirty. One is needing entertainment. One is needing exercise. One is wanting to talk. One needs a hug. Oh my God, I am living in a video game.
But unlike the video game, I can't turn it off and go back to real life. This is real life. And also unlike the game, the stakes are much higher. If the grim reaper takes my grown up Sims away I can hit a few buttons and create another one. If social services shows up and takes the crying Sim baby from the crib and walks out the door I can match up my adults and have another go at it. And on the plus side, all that "trying" raises their happiness meters. (Unlike the real life "trying", which can lower happiness meters in no time.) But here, in my real life, I have to get it right. And some days are easier than others when it comes to keeping all those balls of need in the air, isn't it?
I had never really thought about it until my sweet husband and I had that discussion in the car the other night. I am totally playing a real life Sims game. I am stuck in a constant loop of feeding, bathing, entertaining, and working to pay the bills. The payoff will be so much more rewarding though. Even though I can't turn the game off when I am tired or frustrated, or create a new character if I make a mistake, I am raising people here in real life. I am helping give this world two more beautiful, charming, intelligent and compassionate young men. And that makes me never want to turn off the game.
My big five year old is now up to taking care of six Zhu Zhu pets in his hand held game. He is sitting on the floor of my office playing the game right now, and I can hear him muttering to himself things like, "I'm going as fast as I can!", and "How can you ALL be thirsty AGAIN? I just gave you a drink!" Better than birth control, this game.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I am nearly 42. it's time I grew up.
Tomorrow is my 42nd birthday. Wow. And, might I add, OH MY GOD. How the heck did I get here? Certainly not a straight and unbroken road. No, I took a cracked path, filled with treacherous loose stones and occasional tall grass hiding land mines. But my path was also covered with beautiful flowers and lots of sunshine. And when the rains did pour down I always had an umbrella handy in the form of dear friends and, eventually, my amazing husband. And I know that my journey is not over yet. I have to admit it, I have, possibly, reached middle age. Hold on while I wipe away a tear...
I can only remember a few birthdays in the past that have bothered me. My 30th was not nearly as traumatic as society led me to believe it would be, most likely because I had just started dating my future husband and was totally enveloped in that hazy first few months of love phase. 35 arrived as we were trying to conceive a child, and so it sort of came and went. And to be honest, I can't really remember my 40th birthday. Not in a drank and danced all night kind of way, sadly. But here I am, turning 42.
A year ago at this time we had just returned from Russia, where we had met, fallen in love with, and then had to leave behind our new son. All I remember about last year's birthday is, well, nothing. My mind and heart were too full of that tiny 22 month old with the brown eyes and monkey walk.
This has been one of the best years of my life, and one of the most challenging. My mother passed away 2 days before our adoption agency called us with the possible referral of our little man. The next month we traveled to meet him, and then we came home and raced through the paperwork and before I knew it I was back on a plane, leaving my older son again, this time for a month. The memories and feelings of that month away from him will always be with me. Every moment away from my boy has been burned into my brain; it was truly the longest month of my life. While I celebrated the addition to our family and began the process of bonding with another son I mourned the moments lost with the boy I left at home.
And then my tiny toddler and I arrived back in the states. Both of us tired, wrinkled and basically a mess, me walking slowly from wearing the baby for three straight days. But we were home, and I was sitting on a bench, still wearing the baby but now also wearing the 4 year old who had climbed into my lap and thrown his arms around my neck so tight I could barely breath. And it was heaven.
Yes, this past year has been a challenging one. Folding the tiny toddler into our family has not been easy, and came with it's share of both laughter and tears. I may just have cried more this past year than the rest of my life combined.
Now we are settling in, and I am catching my breath. We still have our tiny toddler moments but the good outshines the bad. And, true to life, now that we have righted the ship, so to speak, my husband has lost his job. We thought it was coming, we planned for it, as best we could. And now all of our plans for summer fun and home redecoration and backyard play sets are on hold. But it's all good. I am used to life being on hold. Anyone who has lived through fertility treatments and international adoption knows how to wait.
I have really been focused on the waiting these past few days. I have been angry at the situation. I have been feeling like maybe it was time for someone to take care of me, for a change. I have been working since I was 15 years old. I put myself through college. When I received my lay off notice a few jobs back I went out and found a new job before the current one even ended. The only time I have not worked is when I quit my job for my youngest son, because he needed me more than all those assisted living communities did. But we all know that staying home with him was the hardest job I have ever had! Now I am back at work at a job that allows me the flexibility to care for my family the way I know they need. I do what every mother does. I work outside the home, and I work inside the home. Our work is never done, is it? So I was angry. But not anymore.
I have no reason to be angry. We may be waiting for monetary gain but we have so much right now. Our little United Nations wing upstairs, with a tiny brown haired toddler sleeping in his crib, his bum up in the air and a preschooler with jet black hair sleeping backwards in his big boy bed, surrounded by no less than 10 stuffed baby animals and one large Cleveland Browns pillow pet. Our front porch where my husband and I often sit at night, a baby monitor and two beer bottles on the table between our chairs. Our back yard where we play endless games of football with the big five year old while the tiny toddler wanders around trying to tackle us and where we sit by the fire late into the night. The kitchen with the wall paper I picked out where I love to cook for my family. The bedroom furniture my husband picked out all by himself and was so excited when he came home to tell me he had found exactly what we were looking for. I didn't believe him, of course, but he was right. Nine years later and I still smile when I walk into the bedroom. I have everything I need.
This is my 42nd year. This is the year my family will learn to live without me a little, so I can find more ways to be true to myself. Maybe this is the year I finally take those golf lessons, or move my yoga from the living room to an actual public studio. Maybe this is the year I dust off my french horn and go back to the community band or maybe this is the year I walk a thousand miles. This is the year I will sit on the sidelines and watch my big five year old play flag football. This is the year I will carry my tiny toddler into the shallow end of the pool for mommy and baby swim class. This is the year I will begin to date my husband again. This is the year I will no longer be angry at all the waiting. After all, I am nearly 42. It's time I grew up. This is going to be a great year!
I can only remember a few birthdays in the past that have bothered me. My 30th was not nearly as traumatic as society led me to believe it would be, most likely because I had just started dating my future husband and was totally enveloped in that hazy first few months of love phase. 35 arrived as we were trying to conceive a child, and so it sort of came and went. And to be honest, I can't really remember my 40th birthday. Not in a drank and danced all night kind of way, sadly. But here I am, turning 42.
A year ago at this time we had just returned from Russia, where we had met, fallen in love with, and then had to leave behind our new son. All I remember about last year's birthday is, well, nothing. My mind and heart were too full of that tiny 22 month old with the brown eyes and monkey walk.
This has been one of the best years of my life, and one of the most challenging. My mother passed away 2 days before our adoption agency called us with the possible referral of our little man. The next month we traveled to meet him, and then we came home and raced through the paperwork and before I knew it I was back on a plane, leaving my older son again, this time for a month. The memories and feelings of that month away from him will always be with me. Every moment away from my boy has been burned into my brain; it was truly the longest month of my life. While I celebrated the addition to our family and began the process of bonding with another son I mourned the moments lost with the boy I left at home.
And then my tiny toddler and I arrived back in the states. Both of us tired, wrinkled and basically a mess, me walking slowly from wearing the baby for three straight days. But we were home, and I was sitting on a bench, still wearing the baby but now also wearing the 4 year old who had climbed into my lap and thrown his arms around my neck so tight I could barely breath. And it was heaven.
Yes, this past year has been a challenging one. Folding the tiny toddler into our family has not been easy, and came with it's share of both laughter and tears. I may just have cried more this past year than the rest of my life combined.
Now we are settling in, and I am catching my breath. We still have our tiny toddler moments but the good outshines the bad. And, true to life, now that we have righted the ship, so to speak, my husband has lost his job. We thought it was coming, we planned for it, as best we could. And now all of our plans for summer fun and home redecoration and backyard play sets are on hold. But it's all good. I am used to life being on hold. Anyone who has lived through fertility treatments and international adoption knows how to wait.
I have really been focused on the waiting these past few days. I have been angry at the situation. I have been feeling like maybe it was time for someone to take care of me, for a change. I have been working since I was 15 years old. I put myself through college. When I received my lay off notice a few jobs back I went out and found a new job before the current one even ended. The only time I have not worked is when I quit my job for my youngest son, because he needed me more than all those assisted living communities did. But we all know that staying home with him was the hardest job I have ever had! Now I am back at work at a job that allows me the flexibility to care for my family the way I know they need. I do what every mother does. I work outside the home, and I work inside the home. Our work is never done, is it? So I was angry. But not anymore.
I have no reason to be angry. We may be waiting for monetary gain but we have so much right now. Our little United Nations wing upstairs, with a tiny brown haired toddler sleeping in his crib, his bum up in the air and a preschooler with jet black hair sleeping backwards in his big boy bed, surrounded by no less than 10 stuffed baby animals and one large Cleveland Browns pillow pet. Our front porch where my husband and I often sit at night, a baby monitor and two beer bottles on the table between our chairs. Our back yard where we play endless games of football with the big five year old while the tiny toddler wanders around trying to tackle us and where we sit by the fire late into the night. The kitchen with the wall paper I picked out where I love to cook for my family. The bedroom furniture my husband picked out all by himself and was so excited when he came home to tell me he had found exactly what we were looking for. I didn't believe him, of course, but he was right. Nine years later and I still smile when I walk into the bedroom. I have everything I need.
This is my 42nd year. This is the year my family will learn to live without me a little, so I can find more ways to be true to myself. Maybe this is the year I finally take those golf lessons, or move my yoga from the living room to an actual public studio. Maybe this is the year I dust off my french horn and go back to the community band or maybe this is the year I walk a thousand miles. This is the year I will sit on the sidelines and watch my big five year old play flag football. This is the year I will carry my tiny toddler into the shallow end of the pool for mommy and baby swim class. This is the year I will begin to date my husband again. This is the year I will no longer be angry at all the waiting. After all, I am nearly 42. It's time I grew up. This is going to be a great year!
Monday, February 6, 2012
my grass is green enough for me
When I picture family dinners at my friends' or sister in law's home I see everyone sitting in their chairs around a nicely set table, colorful healthy food resting in matching bowls waiting for the evening prayer to be said before it is consumed in a tidy manner by a thankful husband and sweet, cherubic children. When I start our dinner every evening, usually before all the men in my life descend upon our home, I am still picturing this bucolic scene. Our large dark wood kitchen table is empty and wiped clean, with only the wooden tray holding a bowl of apples and a candle sitting in the middle. The counters are spotless, waiting for me to pull out the bowls and cutting board and pans to create another healthy dinner for my family. My favorite apron is wrapped around me and I am ready to step into happy homemaker mode. But somewhere between starting dinner and leaving the house to pick up the boys from daycare something changes. In a big big way.
My tiny toddler is the king of witching hour meltdowns. He will single- handedly take down dinner prep with his demands for food, which, if left unmet, will eventually reduce both him and me to tears. I know all the tricks- offer him a part of his dinner to eat while the rest of the meal is cooking. And I do this. But the problem is that he eats it quickly and demands more, which means he won't eat the rest of his dinner. Sometimes I bring a little snack with me to daycare pick up so he can eat it on his way home. Which helps, occasionally. The only tried and true way to prevent total chaos at dinner is to have everything ready to go when they walk in the door. Which is a great plan, as long as I am not the one doing the daycare run. On the evenings when my husband brings the boys home and I can have dinner on the table the moment they walk in the door, my tiny toddler walks in, drops his coat and climbs up into his new booster seat, all smiles, ready to eat. My sweet tiny toddler, happy and well fed.
So the dinner time chaos begins when we all arrive home and doesn't end until the tiny toddler has been released from his booster seat not once, and sometimes not even twice. He either eats or doesn't, and eventually attempts to climb down, often getting wrapped up in the seat belt. He might wander around for a while, playing with his brother or attempting to turn on the TV, and then he will meander on back to the table and climb back up into his seat for another bite or two. Up and down. Up and down. Which, truth be told, is not what makes our evening dinner time so chaotic. At least now that we have a booster seat for him he actually sits. We never used a booster with our big four and a half year old. He climbed out of his highchair and onto a regular kitchen chair, where, except for falling off every so often, he stayed. The tiny toddler, on the other hand, climbed out of the same highchair and right onto a kitchen chair, where he did less sitting and instead used said chair as a launching pad to slide his tiny body across the kitchen table. Nightly. No need to ask for help! Want the grapes sitting across the table by your older brother? Just climb on up and launch your body across the table to get them for yourself. Never mind the drinks spilling, the silverware clanging to the floor. So the booster seat, which I didn't think my tiny toddler would accept into the small inner circle of items he allows, was a lifesaver.
It's pretty clear that our dinner hour doesn't match the scene in my head. Add my husband's potential downsizing into the mix and I can just put my dinner time conversation on a loop.
"We will be OK. You'll find another job, if you have to." "Forks are for eating with, not for banging on the table." "Are you allowed to stand on your chair at school?" "We'll be fine, honey!" "Sweetie, don't pry the top off your sippy cup with that knife." "How did he get your knife?" "You don't need more ketchup, look how much you already have on your plate." "Please don't worry about this, honey, we will be fine." "Seriously, dude, chairs are for sitting, not standing!" "That bite is too big!" "Use your napkin!" "Where is his napkin?" "Everything is going to be OK." "You are going to fall off your chair if you keep doing that!" "I told you you would fall!" "We will be fine!" "Why are you under the table?" sigh.
Food in mismatched bowls on the table and food on the floor. Silverware and paper towels everywhere. Total chaos. But it's not so far from that bucolic dinner scene. We all sit down together every night, which is more than many families. We say grace before we eat, albeit a little differently than most, I would imagine. My big four and a half year old is in charge of saying grace, and he has two very sweet little prayers in his repertoire. One is a song, complete with hand motions that he has taught his younger brother. Lately both the song and the spoken prayer have taken on a lilting, jazz style beat that some might find sacrilegious but I find sweet in his exuberance and joy. Maybe I have to remind the big four and a half year old to be thankful for his food, despite the fact that I didn't serve him chicken nuggets, the only food he feels qualifies as a true meal. My husband is thankful, though, and his boys will learn at his knee how to be thankful and how to treat women and will one day walk in his footsteps. The meal is usually home cooked and nutritious. And my children? Whether clean and shiny or crawling under the table covered in ketchup they are always sweet and cherubic.
The truth is, what I have every night, the noisy, messy, chaotic meal with the jazzy undertones, this is my new "perfect". They say the grass is always greener on the other side, but from where I am standing, it's just green enough. There might be some brown spots that need more water, or some totally bald spots that need a different type of seed planted, but the rest of it? Green enough for me.
My tiny toddler is the king of witching hour meltdowns. He will single- handedly take down dinner prep with his demands for food, which, if left unmet, will eventually reduce both him and me to tears. I know all the tricks- offer him a part of his dinner to eat while the rest of the meal is cooking. And I do this. But the problem is that he eats it quickly and demands more, which means he won't eat the rest of his dinner. Sometimes I bring a little snack with me to daycare pick up so he can eat it on his way home. Which helps, occasionally. The only tried and true way to prevent total chaos at dinner is to have everything ready to go when they walk in the door. Which is a great plan, as long as I am not the one doing the daycare run. On the evenings when my husband brings the boys home and I can have dinner on the table the moment they walk in the door, my tiny toddler walks in, drops his coat and climbs up into his new booster seat, all smiles, ready to eat. My sweet tiny toddler, happy and well fed.
So the dinner time chaos begins when we all arrive home and doesn't end until the tiny toddler has been released from his booster seat not once, and sometimes not even twice. He either eats or doesn't, and eventually attempts to climb down, often getting wrapped up in the seat belt. He might wander around for a while, playing with his brother or attempting to turn on the TV, and then he will meander on back to the table and climb back up into his seat for another bite or two. Up and down. Up and down. Which, truth be told, is not what makes our evening dinner time so chaotic. At least now that we have a booster seat for him he actually sits. We never used a booster with our big four and a half year old. He climbed out of his highchair and onto a regular kitchen chair, where, except for falling off every so often, he stayed. The tiny toddler, on the other hand, climbed out of the same highchair and right onto a kitchen chair, where he did less sitting and instead used said chair as a launching pad to slide his tiny body across the kitchen table. Nightly. No need to ask for help! Want the grapes sitting across the table by your older brother? Just climb on up and launch your body across the table to get them for yourself. Never mind the drinks spilling, the silverware clanging to the floor. So the booster seat, which I didn't think my tiny toddler would accept into the small inner circle of items he allows, was a lifesaver.
It's pretty clear that our dinner hour doesn't match the scene in my head. Add my husband's potential downsizing into the mix and I can just put my dinner time conversation on a loop.
"We will be OK. You'll find another job, if you have to." "Forks are for eating with, not for banging on the table." "Are you allowed to stand on your chair at school?" "We'll be fine, honey!" "Sweetie, don't pry the top off your sippy cup with that knife." "How did he get your knife?" "You don't need more ketchup, look how much you already have on your plate." "Please don't worry about this, honey, we will be fine." "Seriously, dude, chairs are for sitting, not standing!" "That bite is too big!" "Use your napkin!" "Where is his napkin?" "Everything is going to be OK." "You are going to fall off your chair if you keep doing that!" "I told you you would fall!" "We will be fine!" "Why are you under the table?" sigh.
Food in mismatched bowls on the table and food on the floor. Silverware and paper towels everywhere. Total chaos. But it's not so far from that bucolic dinner scene. We all sit down together every night, which is more than many families. We say grace before we eat, albeit a little differently than most, I would imagine. My big four and a half year old is in charge of saying grace, and he has two very sweet little prayers in his repertoire. One is a song, complete with hand motions that he has taught his younger brother. Lately both the song and the spoken prayer have taken on a lilting, jazz style beat that some might find sacrilegious but I find sweet in his exuberance and joy. Maybe I have to remind the big four and a half year old to be thankful for his food, despite the fact that I didn't serve him chicken nuggets, the only food he feels qualifies as a true meal. My husband is thankful, though, and his boys will learn at his knee how to be thankful and how to treat women and will one day walk in his footsteps. The meal is usually home cooked and nutritious. And my children? Whether clean and shiny or crawling under the table covered in ketchup they are always sweet and cherubic.
The truth is, what I have every night, the noisy, messy, chaotic meal with the jazzy undertones, this is my new "perfect". They say the grass is always greener on the other side, but from where I am standing, it's just green enough. There might be some brown spots that need more water, or some totally bald spots that need a different type of seed planted, but the rest of it? Green enough for me.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
baby stepping to my new year's resolutions
Today is January 4th and I am finally ready to settle on my new year's resolutions. I used to never make resolutions because really, who keeps them? Then I started making them and, yes, not keeping them. Then I started making really teensy tiny easy to handle resolutions, like spend more time with my husband, get more sleep... And I kept them! What? Is this a turning point for me? Then I came across something I couldn't live without ~ a family, and I resolved to find a way. It wasn't January 1st, but the day I made the decision to not give up on having children was the day I learned something about myself. If I want something bad enough, I mean really want it, then I will find a way. Because I am way crazier stronger than I ever thought I was. And ever since that day I have continued to make resolutions. Some at the new year, others not. I am always careful about what I choose to work on, so to speak. I want to be challenged, yes. I want to make my life or my family's lives better, definitely. But I am also a wimp human and I don't want to fail. So I choose wisely. Which takes time. Which brings me back to why I am just now getting around to making my small handful of resolutions today, on the fourth day of the new year.
So at the end of this year I will have better skin, and more money in my back account from all the money I will save on skin care products. I will be a little healthier, and happy from all the spontaneity with my boys. I may finish the year with slightly less of a coffee addiction. I will know the words to way more songs. I will have reconnected with friends and with my husband, and I will have an arsenal of yummy muffin recipes. Sounds like a win win for me! What's your resolution?
- let go of the schedule and the organized chaos of my life every so often and just have fun. I do this already, but not enough. need more fun!
- continue to sing, every day. show tunes, kids songs, weird al- whatever! from country to contemporary christian there are more songs out there to be sung!
- perfect my kitchen dancing. and, naturally, do it with my boys.
- bake more muffins and tiny cakes. now that I have finally used my new kitchen aid mixer there is no going back!
- find user friendly, easy to make, inexpensive green alternatives to my skin care routine.
- find little ways to be more healthy. walk more. eat less. or eat more of the right stuff. maybe drink less coffee. maybe. not sure I can commit to that one just yet.
- get back into life- spend more time with friends and more alone time with my husband.
So at the end of this year I will have better skin, and more money in my back account from all the money I will save on skin care products. I will be a little healthier, and happy from all the spontaneity with my boys. I may finish the year with slightly less of a coffee addiction. I will know the words to way more songs. I will have reconnected with friends and with my husband, and I will have an arsenal of yummy muffin recipes. Sounds like a win win for me! What's your resolution?
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
watching the bubble of innocence slowly dissolve
Sometimes it is physically painful to me to watch my boys learn the tough life lessons. Feelings that seem second nature to us as adults were often learned through heartache and confusion when we were small, and seeing my big four and a half year old struggle through learning these same lessons is so hard. I am proud and sad at the same time, which occasionally makes me wish I was one of those people who could just turn off my feelings. You know the kind- very little bothers them, life's lessons are just that, lessons, and certainly nothing to be feeling anything at all about. But I am not one of those people. When I was a young driver I hit a bunny on one of the winding country roads that surrounded my childhood home. When I got home I remember being so upset as I recounted the story to my mother, and I will never forget what my older sister said. "You know, that bunny probably just hopped off into the woods to die- you probably should have just backed over it again and killed it right then, to put it out of it's misery."
Now, my sister didn't believe this. She wasn't a masochistic bunny killer in her younger years. She was just being mean to her younger sister, a normal and favorite past time of older siblings around the world. But those words were devastating to me. The idea that that poor little injured bunny would drag itself into the woods to die stuck in my too sensitive brain for weeks after that day. And that is not the only snapshot of sadness I carry around. I have always been very sensitive and injustices, whether they happen to me or to someone else, have always stuck with me. Which makes it hard to watch my kids struggle to learn life's lessons. But I have to let them learn. I have to let them make their own mistakes.
Yesterday the day care/preschool held the Christmas parties for the children. Both of my boys' classes celebrated with a hot dog lunch, cookies, Jesus stickers, and a book gift exchange. I like the fact that the teachers ask for a book for the gift exchange and I took my time selecting age appropriate and fun books. My tiny toddler came home with a peek a boo type book featuring a dog, one of his favorite animals. Score! My four and half year old received a book that he likes, sure, but as he was telling me about his party in the car on the way home from school it was clear that there was another book that another child received that he would have preferred. He was sad as he told me about this other book, and I know it sounds crazy, but it broke my heart a little. He was well behaved during the party, he thanked his friend for the book he received and he didn't ask for the one he wanted. He understood that he couldn't have it. He learned a lesson about grace and thankfulness in a way that is so much better than me just explaining it to him.
But I learned a little lesson too. My big four and half year old's bubble of innocence is slowly starting to dissolve. He is aware of the news of the world. He knows that there was a "bad man" on the loose near his school once, over a year ago, and he still talks about that day every so often. He knows that something happened to the people of America before he was born that we remember every September and he went through a phase where all of his drawings included American flags for all those people who had "hurt loved ones". He has already lost his first grandparent and occasionally draws cemeteries, telling me that these are the stones we use to remember people. He still talks about his pet fish, Stewart, who swam away to the ocean through his bathroom sink. (don't judge me. we totally panicked when my husband accidentally poured the poor fish down the drain with the water from the fish bowl.)
He is such a sweet and loving little boy. I am not ready for that bubble to shatter completely. And I know, it will take time for that to happen. But he is going to be five years old in two months. He will start kindergarten next Fall. He will be riding the school bus and spending more time with older kids. I won't have as much control over his little world and who he interacts with, I won't be able to protect him as much as I do now. Which I am acutely aware of, and which made me want to drive my sweet little boy straight to the book store yesterday to buy him that book he really wanted. I didn't. But I really wanted to.
Now, my sister didn't believe this. She wasn't a masochistic bunny killer in her younger years. She was just being mean to her younger sister, a normal and favorite past time of older siblings around the world. But those words were devastating to me. The idea that that poor little injured bunny would drag itself into the woods to die stuck in my too sensitive brain for weeks after that day. And that is not the only snapshot of sadness I carry around. I have always been very sensitive and injustices, whether they happen to me or to someone else, have always stuck with me. Which makes it hard to watch my kids struggle to learn life's lessons. But I have to let them learn. I have to let them make their own mistakes.
Yesterday the day care/preschool held the Christmas parties for the children. Both of my boys' classes celebrated with a hot dog lunch, cookies, Jesus stickers, and a book gift exchange. I like the fact that the teachers ask for a book for the gift exchange and I took my time selecting age appropriate and fun books. My tiny toddler came home with a peek a boo type book featuring a dog, one of his favorite animals. Score! My four and half year old received a book that he likes, sure, but as he was telling me about his party in the car on the way home from school it was clear that there was another book that another child received that he would have preferred. He was sad as he told me about this other book, and I know it sounds crazy, but it broke my heart a little. He was well behaved during the party, he thanked his friend for the book he received and he didn't ask for the one he wanted. He understood that he couldn't have it. He learned a lesson about grace and thankfulness in a way that is so much better than me just explaining it to him.
But I learned a little lesson too. My big four and half year old's bubble of innocence is slowly starting to dissolve. He is aware of the news of the world. He knows that there was a "bad man" on the loose near his school once, over a year ago, and he still talks about that day every so often. He knows that something happened to the people of America before he was born that we remember every September and he went through a phase where all of his drawings included American flags for all those people who had "hurt loved ones". He has already lost his first grandparent and occasionally draws cemeteries, telling me that these are the stones we use to remember people. He still talks about his pet fish, Stewart, who swam away to the ocean through his bathroom sink. (don't judge me. we totally panicked when my husband accidentally poured the poor fish down the drain with the water from the fish bowl.)
He is such a sweet and loving little boy. I am not ready for that bubble to shatter completely. And I know, it will take time for that to happen. But he is going to be five years old in two months. He will start kindergarten next Fall. He will be riding the school bus and spending more time with older kids. I won't have as much control over his little world and who he interacts with, I won't be able to protect him as much as I do now. Which I am acutely aware of, and which made me want to drive my sweet little boy straight to the book store yesterday to buy him that book he really wanted. I didn't. But I really wanted to.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
I think of her often and I thank God for her daily. I just can't say the words, yet
With Thanksgiving right around the corner I have been having a lot of conversations lately with my big four and a half year old about what we are all thankful for. He has been pretty much right on with his thankfulness - his preschool mind has him thankful for monster trucks and Halloween candy. The other day though, out of the blue, he said this to me : "Mommy, today I am thankful that you and Daddy went all the way to China to adopt me when I was a baby." Totally unprompted and totally sweet.
Tuesday night I was sitting in the cafe at church with both my boys waiting for Daddy to pick them up so I could attend a meeting. I asked my daily "what are you thankful for?" question. His reply: "Mommy, I am thankful for that other woman who carried me in her tummy and then took me to that place where I got in the van and drove to you and Daddy." OK, so he has a few of the details wrong, but oh. my. god. Total heart stopping moment. "I'm very thankful to her as well, Doodlebug.", I answered. And I am. I am so thankful to her. This woman who I will never meet, who has given me a piece of her- I owe her everything.
Which is why I feel guilty sometimes, when I think of this woman. I am thankful to her for so much. I am thankful that she went against years of violence against newborns to let a disfigured baby boy live. I am thankful that she placed this baby somewhere he would be found. I truly owe her my life. The connection I have to my oldest son is unexplainable. Sometimes my love for him is so strong it feels as though I am suffocating. I know what he is thinking. I know that he is a very sensitive soul wrapped up in an all boy package. He is in every breath I take. He is mine. All mine. And I know that. Both my boys are my boys.
So why is it so hard for me to say these two simple words: birth mom. I have yet to use these words with my oldest son. I feel as though there is no going back, once those words are out there. I tell myself that my little man is too young to understand, which is probably partially true. But I know the real reason I have yet to utter those words. I don't want to share him. He is mine. And I know that how we handle this will set the tone for how we handle it the next time around, when our tiny toddler is old enough to begin to understand his adoption story. We have danced around the subject. We read Motherbridge of Love by Xinran. We talk about the two women, the one who gave him life and the one who is teaching him to live it. He knows that some mommies have babies in their tummies and some grow their love for their baby in their hearts. He knows he wasn't in my tummy and neither was his little brother. And I know I am probably over thinking it. It will come in it's own time. But still, I feel guilty. I owe this woman. I feel connected to her through this beautiful boy. I wonder all the same things my son will most likely wonder one day. Did he get his beautiful features from her? His sense of playfulness? His love of music? Does she have long fingers just perfect for playing the piano? Is she sensitive and caring? I owe her. And I want my son to know as much of his sketchy story as possible. She deserves to be remembered. And he deserves to have the keys to his start in this world. So I sometimes feel guilty that I haven't uttered those two little words yet. Birth Mom. I think of her often and thank God for her daily. And one day I will give her the title she deserves. Birth Mom.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
I am so thankful to be a part of a community
There's this woman I know who is feeling totally alone. A busy, burned out, hard working single mother of a girl on the verge of teenage craziness, she is finding that there are very few supportive people in the corners of her life. Unlike me, I thankfully admit. I have loving, supportive people in my corner. In every corner of my life. And it feels good, it really does. And so, naturally, I feel bad for this woman. I do. I really do. So I have been thinking about the supportive people in my life and it got me thinking. It is all about community. And becoming a part of a community takes time. It takes work. It takes the realization that it's not all about you. It takes putting others first, especially your children. It takes faith.
My husband and I used to belong to a small group through our church. We were matched with four other young couples and met at least once a month for three years. About two and a half years in it became painfully clear that this wasn't working for us. We brought our oldest son into our family about a year into joining the group and became the only couple with children. Suddenly we were dealing with baby sitters and issues our fellow small group participants couldn't understand. We found we weren't getting as much out of the bible studies as we should have. We began to dread the get togethers. So we decided, after much thought, to leave the group. That was a while ago, and since then I have realized that it wasn't the small group mentality we didn't like. It wasn't the bible study. It was just that particular group that didn't work for us, even though we liked and respected everyone there. From that small group experience though, we found a few very good friends and many others who would help us in a pinch. We see these people at church, at day care, in the community, at the grocery store... they are part of our community.
I am a busy woman. I have to feel pretty strongly about something before I get involved. I am quiet by nature and am happiest when at home with my husband and boys. So it was a big step for me to join the board of Central Ohio Families With Children From China. (If you check out the link that's my sweet boy on the front page, on the right, in the Brown's shirt.) But I had to join. I felt that our youngest children from China, and our boys, especially, were under served by this very family friendly group. And I believe that you must be the change you want to see in the world. So I joined the board. I became active. I helped to start a social group for the youngest adoptees. I put mine and others' kids first, and I was the lucky one. The other families in this group - they are a part of our community now.
I have a small handful of close friends from college that are part of my community. I have my Kent State University Kappa Kappa Psi brothers. We may not chat every day but my brothers will always have my back. They are my community. And it goes on and on.
I find myself getting frustrated sometimes when people feel so alone. Why can't these people see the bigger picture? They feel they don't have the time to join a church, or a club. They think they are the only ones with busy jobs or occasionally wild kids. They live in their cocoon. And when the need a ride because the car broke down, or need a sitter because the kid is sick and that meeting just can't be missed, they have nowhere to turn. Which perpetuates the cycle of feeling alone. I know it's not easy. But break the cycle. Find your community. It takes time. It takes work. it takes putting others, including God, first. But being a part of a community is how we are intended to live. I am so thankful for my community.
My husband and I used to belong to a small group through our church. We were matched with four other young couples and met at least once a month for three years. About two and a half years in it became painfully clear that this wasn't working for us. We brought our oldest son into our family about a year into joining the group and became the only couple with children. Suddenly we were dealing with baby sitters and issues our fellow small group participants couldn't understand. We found we weren't getting as much out of the bible studies as we should have. We began to dread the get togethers. So we decided, after much thought, to leave the group. That was a while ago, and since then I have realized that it wasn't the small group mentality we didn't like. It wasn't the bible study. It was just that particular group that didn't work for us, even though we liked and respected everyone there. From that small group experience though, we found a few very good friends and many others who would help us in a pinch. We see these people at church, at day care, in the community, at the grocery store... they are part of our community.
I am a busy woman. I have to feel pretty strongly about something before I get involved. I am quiet by nature and am happiest when at home with my husband and boys. So it was a big step for me to join the board of Central Ohio Families With Children From China. (If you check out the link that's my sweet boy on the front page, on the right, in the Brown's shirt.) But I had to join. I felt that our youngest children from China, and our boys, especially, were under served by this very family friendly group. And I believe that you must be the change you want to see in the world. So I joined the board. I became active. I helped to start a social group for the youngest adoptees. I put mine and others' kids first, and I was the lucky one. The other families in this group - they are a part of our community now.
I have a small handful of close friends from college that are part of my community. I have my Kent State University Kappa Kappa Psi brothers. We may not chat every day but my brothers will always have my back. They are my community. And it goes on and on.
I find myself getting frustrated sometimes when people feel so alone. Why can't these people see the bigger picture? They feel they don't have the time to join a church, or a club. They think they are the only ones with busy jobs or occasionally wild kids. They live in their cocoon. And when the need a ride because the car broke down, or need a sitter because the kid is sick and that meeting just can't be missed, they have nowhere to turn. Which perpetuates the cycle of feeling alone. I know it's not easy. But break the cycle. Find your community. It takes time. It takes work. it takes putting others, including God, first. But being a part of a community is how we are intended to live. I am so thankful for my community.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
if I judged you, I am sorry, or, why every mother of a toddler needs to learn the football carry
Last night was a particularly trying evening with our new little guy. We have been having a fair number of these trying times lately. It is normal, I think. Not that I am an expert on the behavior of newly adopted toddlers or anything but it seems to me that it is normal. He is coming into his own. He is very comfortable in his new surroundings. He is bonded with his forever family. His every need is now, finally, being met, and he feels safe. Now is the time for him to try out his new found independence. Bundle that independence up with the language deficit and communication struggles, toss in teething pain and an an occasionally jealous older brother and you have got a recipe for disaster.
I woke up a few times throughout the night last night thinking about my boys. We have certainly had our share of trying times these past few weeks. But we have also had our share of really great, really chaotic, really fun times. And it made me think of all those harried moms I have seen out in public, and all those thoughts I have had, mainly along the lines of "I would never do that!"
To all those moms I unknowingly judged in the past - I'm sorry.
Dear Moms:
I just have to say I am sorry.
I am sorry for judging when you speak tersely to your children in the WalMart parking lot. First of all, WalMart will make anyone cranky. And second of all, I now know what it's like to carry a screaming two year old like a football under one arm while trying to hang on to a four year old's hand, all while carrying slippery plastic shopping bags and attempting to stop the four year old from jumping that puddle up ahead and soaking me from the knees down.
I am sorry for those toys I bought your children that had ink pads and stamps in them. Even if the box said they were age appropriate. Oh dear God, I am sorry! I know you have no reason to be nice to me now, but if you have a secret for getting little inky stamp shapes off the bathroom floor, please, I beseech you, tell me!
I am sorry for looking at your children and thinking, "I would never dress my kids like that." Even as a toddler my oldest son had very definite fashion ideas. And most of them clashed with the Land's End and Old Navy looks I expected any child of mine to be sporting. And now, thanks to the joys of hand me downs, my youngest son will be sporting the same trends that I didn't like the first time.
I am sorry for being disgusted when you took your child out in public with a wet cough. Oh how little I knew! If we stayed inside until the four year old's cough was gone we would spend eight straight months trapped in the house.
I am sorry for thinking you looked disheveled and judging your stained shirts and wild hair. I did not know that a clean, fresh shirt could become wrinkled and stained within thirty seconds of putting it on. I swear, the shirt is clean when I walk down the stairs in the morning. By the time I sit down at the breakfast table every substance in the room has found it's way to my shirt. And don't even ask me about my hair. The two year old won't let me shower without throwing open the door and pushing his way into the shower with me. And his constant tugging at my clothes and pulling at the hair dryer cord while I try to dry my hair makes for a quick dry job. And I have no clue where my mascara is. I did find a tube of Burt's Bees lip balm under the car seat the other while trying to dig out the pacifier, so there's that.
I am super sorry for buying your child any toys that had small parts. Why on earth do all of these toys come with tiny swords, tiny animals, whole tiny villages complete with tiny trees and tiny villagers who, I swear, are mocking me from the toy box. All of my Tupperware is now in the toy box holding Lego's, board game pieces, and other miscellaneous toy pieces that I don't think are even an integral part of the playing but that my son would notice if even one tiny tree got "lost". I have nothing to hold leftovers. Nothing.
I am sorry for thinking, "when I am a mother I will not tolerate those crazy kid behaviors." I open that bathroom door every time the two year old is out there crying and banging on the door. I let him climb in the shower with me. I watch my four year old occasionally roll, yes, I said roll, all the way from the classroom to the door at day care pick up.
I am sorry for judging you when you let your child watch a DVD or play a handheld video game at dinner out. My family was going to sit nicely in their chairs and talk about their days. Right. My family knocks over drinks, drops countless matchbox cars on the floor, throws sippy cups across the room. One time, when Matthew was a toddler, he actually threw an entire piece of buttered toast across a very crowded restaurant. True story. I would consider letting my kids watch reruns of "Oz" if it meant I could sit quietly and talk to my husband while eating my dinner when it was actually hot, without having to fend off flying tiny cars.
And, lastly, I am sorry for thinking you were crazy for not wanting to leave your child, even for a night out with the love of your life. I had no idea how hard it would be. No. Idea.
I'm sorry for thinking my little blessings would be different. Turns out, they're not.
I woke up a few times throughout the night last night thinking about my boys. We have certainly had our share of trying times these past few weeks. But we have also had our share of really great, really chaotic, really fun times. And it made me think of all those harried moms I have seen out in public, and all those thoughts I have had, mainly along the lines of "I would never do that!"
To all those moms I unknowingly judged in the past - I'm sorry.
Dear Moms:
I just have to say I am sorry.
I am sorry for judging when you speak tersely to your children in the WalMart parking lot. First of all, WalMart will make anyone cranky. And second of all, I now know what it's like to carry a screaming two year old like a football under one arm while trying to hang on to a four year old's hand, all while carrying slippery plastic shopping bags and attempting to stop the four year old from jumping that puddle up ahead and soaking me from the knees down.
I am sorry for those toys I bought your children that had ink pads and stamps in them. Even if the box said they were age appropriate. Oh dear God, I am sorry! I know you have no reason to be nice to me now, but if you have a secret for getting little inky stamp shapes off the bathroom floor, please, I beseech you, tell me!
I am sorry for looking at your children and thinking, "I would never dress my kids like that." Even as a toddler my oldest son had very definite fashion ideas. And most of them clashed with the Land's End and Old Navy looks I expected any child of mine to be sporting. And now, thanks to the joys of hand me downs, my youngest son will be sporting the same trends that I didn't like the first time.
I am sorry for being disgusted when you took your child out in public with a wet cough. Oh how little I knew! If we stayed inside until the four year old's cough was gone we would spend eight straight months trapped in the house.
I am sorry for thinking you looked disheveled and judging your stained shirts and wild hair. I did not know that a clean, fresh shirt could become wrinkled and stained within thirty seconds of putting it on. I swear, the shirt is clean when I walk down the stairs in the morning. By the time I sit down at the breakfast table every substance in the room has found it's way to my shirt. And don't even ask me about my hair. The two year old won't let me shower without throwing open the door and pushing his way into the shower with me. And his constant tugging at my clothes and pulling at the hair dryer cord while I try to dry my hair makes for a quick dry job. And I have no clue where my mascara is. I did find a tube of Burt's Bees lip balm under the car seat the other while trying to dig out the pacifier, so there's that.
I am super sorry for buying your child any toys that had small parts. Why on earth do all of these toys come with tiny swords, tiny animals, whole tiny villages complete with tiny trees and tiny villagers who, I swear, are mocking me from the toy box. All of my Tupperware is now in the toy box holding Lego's, board game pieces, and other miscellaneous toy pieces that I don't think are even an integral part of the playing but that my son would notice if even one tiny tree got "lost". I have nothing to hold leftovers. Nothing.
I am sorry for thinking, "when I am a mother I will not tolerate those crazy kid behaviors." I open that bathroom door every time the two year old is out there crying and banging on the door. I let him climb in the shower with me. I watch my four year old occasionally roll, yes, I said roll, all the way from the classroom to the door at day care pick up.
I am sorry for judging you when you let your child watch a DVD or play a handheld video game at dinner out. My family was going to sit nicely in their chairs and talk about their days. Right. My family knocks over drinks, drops countless matchbox cars on the floor, throws sippy cups across the room. One time, when Matthew was a toddler, he actually threw an entire piece of buttered toast across a very crowded restaurant. True story. I would consider letting my kids watch reruns of "Oz" if it meant I could sit quietly and talk to my husband while eating my dinner when it was actually hot, without having to fend off flying tiny cars.
And, lastly, I am sorry for thinking you were crazy for not wanting to leave your child, even for a night out with the love of your life. I had no idea how hard it would be. No. Idea.
I'm sorry for thinking my little blessings would be different. Turns out, they're not.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
occasionally someone is crying. and it's not always me.
I have noticed a change in my parenting style this second time around. Oh, who am I kidding. What I have really noticed is how much calmer I am with this new little guy. Maybe it's because we spent so much time with him in the orphanage. With such a huge glimpse into his daily life I knew exactly what he had been exposed to and what would be brand new to him. Having received my oldest son in a sterile government office in Guangzhou, China, I had only a small idea of what his days in the orphanage were like. When we came home I watched his every move. My fear of the fact that my son had never seen a flushing toilet, stairs, a stove - I was terrified that something horrible would happen. He had a tent on his crib. (which he loved, by the way, and which we still use with our youngest.) The stairs were gated at the top and the bottom. That baby didn't make a move that my watchful eye missed. The first time he rode the RTA with Daddy and attended his first football game I was a nervous wreck. And when he got hit with that softball during his first tee-ball practice, resulting in a bloody nose, I was mortified. My baby!
The joyful arrival of our second child brought back the crib tent. It brought back the gate at the top of the stairs, which, frankly, I'm pretty sure the little guy can already open. The bottom of the stairs remain open, even though my frisky little twenty-six month old chases the cat up the stairs at least a hundred times a day. But his arrival also brought something I didn't have the first time. Calm. Security. I knew to expect this, I suppose. It's not like I wasn't aware that second children are often allowed more freedom. I just didn't expect to be letting go of that nervousness quite so quickly.
A typical day for Alex includes the following, happening at least four times, in no particular order:
And I don't even bat an eye. I pick him up, check for broken bones, give him a kiss and set him upright and on his way. I don't blink when I watch him climb down the garage stairs and then stick his thumb in his mouth. I simply wash it off and move on. I watch as he climbs the stairs chasing the cat, knowing all the doors are closed and he can't get anywhere but the hallway. But I don't rush to get him. I let this little guy explore. I let him fall. I let him play rough with his brother. I let him be the boy he is. And in the process, my older son gets to be the boy he is too.
I know that one day my toddler will be riding scooters. I will be pulling candy wrappers, matchbox cars, leaves and dirty rocks from his pockets when doing laundry. And when that day comes I know my older boy will have moved on to big boy bikes and climbing trees. Eventually they will be riding roller coasters, having crushes on girls, driving. (gasp). There will be dirt in my house and on them. There will be loud toys and video games. There will be monster truck shows, demolition derby's, trips to the race track. There will be football and baseball and soccer. (and because they are my boys there will also be music lessons and trips to the library.) My life will be messy, and I won't always be able to control the chaos. So I am glad I have learned this lesson early. My life with these two boys is loud. It's messy. It's often sticky. Someone is usually tackling someone else, and occasionally someone is crying. And it's not always me.
I am the mother of boys, something I never dreamed I would be. And I am just calm enough to tackle each day right along with them.
The joyful arrival of our second child brought back the crib tent. It brought back the gate at the top of the stairs, which, frankly, I'm pretty sure the little guy can already open. The bottom of the stairs remain open, even though my frisky little twenty-six month old chases the cat up the stairs at least a hundred times a day. But his arrival also brought something I didn't have the first time. Calm. Security. I knew to expect this, I suppose. It's not like I wasn't aware that second children are often allowed more freedom. I just didn't expect to be letting go of that nervousness quite so quickly.
A typical day for Alex includes the following, happening at least four times, in no particular order:
- climbing out of high chair. even with the harness latched.
- rolling down the bottom two steps. how he makes it all the way up and then almost all the way down, every time, is beyond me.
- getting knocked down by his older brother.
- nearly slipping under the water in the tub while attempting to pull his brother under with him.
- gently rolling off the sofa, accidentally. then climbing back up and falling off on purpose.
- walking into the corner of the kitchen table. one day I watched him walk into three of the four corners, one right after the other, as he rounded the table to head outside.
- getting knocked down by his older brother.
- falling off the coffee table. don't even ask.
- running at top speed into the stove, dishwasher, walls.... he is mimicking his older brother, who thinks it funny to run into a wall and then fall down. he is just pretending. Alex, however, is too young to understand this type of humor and so he is literally running into the oven and falling over. repeatedly.
- oh, and getting knocked down by his older brother.
And I don't even bat an eye. I pick him up, check for broken bones, give him a kiss and set him upright and on his way. I don't blink when I watch him climb down the garage stairs and then stick his thumb in his mouth. I simply wash it off and move on. I watch as he climbs the stairs chasing the cat, knowing all the doors are closed and he can't get anywhere but the hallway. But I don't rush to get him. I let this little guy explore. I let him fall. I let him play rough with his brother. I let him be the boy he is. And in the process, my older son gets to be the boy he is too.
I know that one day my toddler will be riding scooters. I will be pulling candy wrappers, matchbox cars, leaves and dirty rocks from his pockets when doing laundry. And when that day comes I know my older boy will have moved on to big boy bikes and climbing trees. Eventually they will be riding roller coasters, having crushes on girls, driving. (gasp). There will be dirt in my house and on them. There will be loud toys and video games. There will be monster truck shows, demolition derby's, trips to the race track. There will be football and baseball and soccer. (and because they are my boys there will also be music lessons and trips to the library.) My life will be messy, and I won't always be able to control the chaos. So I am glad I have learned this lesson early. My life with these two boys is loud. It's messy. It's often sticky. Someone is usually tackling someone else, and occasionally someone is crying. And it's not always me.
I am the mother of boys, something I never dreamed I would be. And I am just calm enough to tackle each day right along with them.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
this is who I was meant to be
Taking my little family from one kid to two has been so much fun! Going from parenting one four year to a four year and a two year old has been challenging, but it has been more exciting and rewarding than I had imagined. My boys are getting to know each other, starting to play together, and slowly starting to show a little less jealousy when Mommy's attention is needed with one child over the other. Just a little less. I still always have at least one child hanging off of me, and I wouldn't want it any other way.
When my older son was a toddler I watched his every move. I baby proofed our entire house and admonished my husband when he didn't close both the gate at the bottom of the stairs and the one at the top. I never let him eat unless he was sitting in his high chair. I was over the top careful with my sweet little guy. This time around I am finding that I am a lot calmer. I have learned that my older son is going to climb over the sofa, which means that, occasionally, he will fall off. I have watched both my boys stand on a kitchen chair to reach the counter. I have witnessed them falling over in the bathtub and dunking into the water. I know they will fall, they will scrape their knees, they will eat too much cotton candy and have tummy aches. And none of it will throw me into a panic.
I truly feel as though I have come into my own. This is what I was meant to be; a wife and a mother. There is nothing that I want more, and nothing more that I want in my life. I knew I would be happy when my family was complete, but I had no idea I would be this happy. And this is how I know. This was my morning yesterday:
My two year old managed to complete all of these tasks between 7:45 am and 11:00am:
When my older son was a toddler I watched his every move. I baby proofed our entire house and admonished my husband when he didn't close both the gate at the bottom of the stairs and the one at the top. I never let him eat unless he was sitting in his high chair. I was over the top careful with my sweet little guy. This time around I am finding that I am a lot calmer. I have learned that my older son is going to climb over the sofa, which means that, occasionally, he will fall off. I have watched both my boys stand on a kitchen chair to reach the counter. I have witnessed them falling over in the bathtub and dunking into the water. I know they will fall, they will scrape their knees, they will eat too much cotton candy and have tummy aches. And none of it will throw me into a panic.
I truly feel as though I have come into my own. This is what I was meant to be; a wife and a mother. There is nothing that I want more, and nothing more that I want in my life. I knew I would be happy when my family was complete, but I had no idea I would be this happy. And this is how I know. This was my morning yesterday:
My two year old managed to complete all of these tasks between 7:45 am and 11:00am:
- take ever paper out of the accordion file I had been using for the adoption and spread them throughout the living room. Anyone who has ever gone through the adoption process knows how much paperwork is involved. That file was full of copies of every document we might ever need, and every copy was tossed onto the floor. It looked like it was snowing in my living room.
- take every small toy and matchbox car out of the canvas bin, look at it, and toss it aside.
- take every pot and pan out of the cupboard, bang them together, then throw on kitchen floor, making lots and lots of noise.
- steal Mommy's cell phone and hide in seat compartment of school bus riding toy.
- sit in high chair and throw shape shorting blocks across kitchen, narrowly missing Mommy's head. Repeat three times before Mommy finally takes blocks away.
- sneak off to ride big brother's new scooter, fall off repeatedly, cry. run over own foot, Mommy's foot and the cat. Repeat.
- dump bag of goldfish crackers on kitchen floor, amid Tupperware and pans previously removed from cupboards. run over crackers with scooter. sit on cracker pile and eat own weight in colored goldfish.
- shove cheese curl into DVD player. Refuse to show Mommy where cheese curl had been hiding. (I didn't even know we had cheese curls...)
- remove shorts and diaper. attempt to flush diaper down toilet. run around house naked while waving diaper over head. giggle.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
is there ever a time when everything just stands still?
I know I am not alone when I say that time is moving too fast. And it's more than just the fact that son recently turned four years old, although that is a big part of it, I suspect. Maybe it's because I missed the first 15 months of his young life, or maybe every mother feels this way when her little ones start to grow up and test their independence. I don't know. I walked into the gym at church last week to pick up my son and he was playing catch with a small football. He was actually throwing the ball to a friend, who was throwing it back. Another afternoon I arrived at daycare just as he was heading to the bathroom. "You wait outside, Mommy", he said. "I can do this by myself." What? I don't know why I was so shocked. After all, he uses the bathroom by himself at home all the time. But sometimes he still needs help. Sometimes he still needs me. And usually, when he does, I am slightly annoyed as I head to the bathroom to meet his current demand. Because I know he can do this on his own. But watching him take charge of this at school, with his teacher waiting outside the bathroom- not even outside the stall, but outside the bathroom, I was suddenly smacked in the face by his growing independence. Sometimes I look at him and wonder, "who is this kid?"
Yes, time is moving too quickly for me. At a time in my life when my career should be somewhat stable- I'm 40 years old, have a pre-schooler and another toddler on the way - my work life is absolutely crazy. For two years I have held this position and assumed that once I was truly entrenched in my work it would calm down. I now know that it will never calm down. In fact, I can't even assume that this is the busiest I will ever be. Which is terrifying. There are weeks that I find myself lying in bed on Friday night wondering what happened that week. How did a week with such a promising start spiral down so quickly? Did I really spend half of my work week on the telephone? (Think about that. That is 20 hours, at least...) Did I really work every evening after my little guy was tucked into bed, thinking it would propel me forward, helping me to keep my head above water? Then why do I feel like I am drowning all the time?
Time that used to stand still has also picked up speed lately. As a younger person I assumed my parents would be around forever. When I lost my father in my late twenties, I revised that assumption, but only slightly. After all, my mother was still very young. Even when she was living with Alzheimer's Disease and I was fielding her many daily calls and traipsing around Grove City doing her shopping- a slave to her endless shopping lists- I still felt as though time was standing still. Then she suddenly died. And before I could even blink time had rocketed forwarded and I was standing in that same funeral home, in that same room, saying goodbye to another parent.
Now there are phone calls to make for her estate, a home to clean out and sell, a missing bed to find at her assisted living. There are bills to pay and organizations to notify. There are doctor appointments and documents to dig up for our second adoption. There is shopping to do and room to get ready. Good Lord, there are suitcases from our recent trip overseas to begin the adoption process that still need unpacked. I think we might even still have a suitcase from China to unpack. We came home and hit the ground running as a newly formed family. In between bottles and surgeries and doctor appointments and day care and bonding there simply wasn't time to unpack. That suitcase belongs to us "pre matthew", and I barely remember who I was "pre matthew".
And there is life. Careers and family obligations and baths and bedtime and whole foods cooking and weekly planning and getting to the gym and writing thank you notes and keeping up with older aunts and facebook....
Is there ever a time when everything just stands still? Is there ever a time when a person can just breath and get her bearings about her?
I don't know about you, but I am thinking that my time to breath may just be when we bring our second son home. Having stepped away from work at that point for a few months, I might just be able to relax, breath, and ignore the entire world. The death certificate demands, the endless work phone calls, the suitcases that will need unpacked... I will be able to push aside all the noise, and focus on what is really important. My new little guy, my older son, and my husband. And I can't wait.
Yes, time is moving too quickly for me. At a time in my life when my career should be somewhat stable- I'm 40 years old, have a pre-schooler and another toddler on the way - my work life is absolutely crazy. For two years I have held this position and assumed that once I was truly entrenched in my work it would calm down. I now know that it will never calm down. In fact, I can't even assume that this is the busiest I will ever be. Which is terrifying. There are weeks that I find myself lying in bed on Friday night wondering what happened that week. How did a week with such a promising start spiral down so quickly? Did I really spend half of my work week on the telephone? (Think about that. That is 20 hours, at least...) Did I really work every evening after my little guy was tucked into bed, thinking it would propel me forward, helping me to keep my head above water? Then why do I feel like I am drowning all the time?
Time that used to stand still has also picked up speed lately. As a younger person I assumed my parents would be around forever. When I lost my father in my late twenties, I revised that assumption, but only slightly. After all, my mother was still very young. Even when she was living with Alzheimer's Disease and I was fielding her many daily calls and traipsing around Grove City doing her shopping- a slave to her endless shopping lists- I still felt as though time was standing still. Then she suddenly died. And before I could even blink time had rocketed forwarded and I was standing in that same funeral home, in that same room, saying goodbye to another parent.
Now there are phone calls to make for her estate, a home to clean out and sell, a missing bed to find at her assisted living. There are bills to pay and organizations to notify. There are doctor appointments and documents to dig up for our second adoption. There is shopping to do and room to get ready. Good Lord, there are suitcases from our recent trip overseas to begin the adoption process that still need unpacked. I think we might even still have a suitcase from China to unpack. We came home and hit the ground running as a newly formed family. In between bottles and surgeries and doctor appointments and day care and bonding there simply wasn't time to unpack. That suitcase belongs to us "pre matthew", and I barely remember who I was "pre matthew".
And there is life. Careers and family obligations and baths and bedtime and whole foods cooking and weekly planning and getting to the gym and writing thank you notes and keeping up with older aunts and facebook....
Is there ever a time when everything just stands still? Is there ever a time when a person can just breath and get her bearings about her?
I don't know about you, but I am thinking that my time to breath may just be when we bring our second son home. Having stepped away from work at that point for a few months, I might just be able to relax, breath, and ignore the entire world. The death certificate demands, the endless work phone calls, the suitcases that will need unpacked... I will be able to push aside all the noise, and focus on what is really important. My new little guy, my older son, and my husband. And I can't wait.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)