Hey Mommy

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


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

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

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

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


"Hey Mommy. MykneehurtsandIneedanotherbandaiddidyouhangupthatpictureIpaintedwhyareyoudoingthatHeyMommyHeyMommyicancountto29Mommy..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want to be like them when I grow up!

Over the past few weeks my sweet husband and I have been working on completing admission paperwork to the Attachment and Bonding Center of Ohio. This extensive process has us creating narratives of our entire journey with our persevering preschooler. Starting at the beginning, in that dated hotel room in Russia, we began to lay out every step. Every step forward, every step backwards, every misstep.

These narratives include mainly our concerns and issues, and very little of our successes. Which we have done purposely, because we know our little guy needs help and we want him to get it. We know our entire family needs help. Despite our leaps and bounds we still have a long way to go.

And so we have been remembering the chaos, the sad, the am I the only parent who feels this way questions. Not fun, for sure. But because of this forced trip down memory lane we have also found ourselves pointing out how far we have all come since those fateful days in that musty Russian hotel room. And I do mean how far we have all come, because this journey does not just belong to our youngest son. We have all been on the rocky road, sometimes together, sometimes standing alone.

My sweet husband keeps saying things like, "Remember that next time Alex flips out."

And I do remember. This weekend alone my sweet baby worked through so many of his issues and emerged triumphant on Sunday evening. He did manage to get himself, his brother, and his grandparents thrown out of a childrens' museum, but really, that is nothing for my little guy.

He handled a busy weekend - a large Easter egg hunt filled with bustling children, competition, and, of course, candy. Attendance at a church he is unfamiliar with and where he spent time in both the sanctuary and the childrens' area.  Again, more bustling children, which is one of his triggers. He cheered his older brother on at the first Spring flag football game of the season. He spent two nights with his grandparents, without his usual bedtime rituals. He was an amazing Sensory and Trauma success! And yes, I am ignoring the Great Childrens' Museum Incident of 2014. His misdeed occurred during free play with other children, one of his biggest triggers. My sweet husband and I learned that lesson the hard way, and now so have the in-laws.

Late last week my persevering preschooler and I were reading a book that his bus aide gave him. (I know, right? What a sweet woman this aide is!) The main character in this book was a blanket, and the story was about how the little boy was never going to leave the blanket. Just like Mommy will never leave Alex. After we read the book my young son asked why he didn't have a blanket. Now before you get all upset that my sweet little baby doesn't have a blanket, let me put your mind at ease. He does have blankets. LOTS of blankets. But he really doesn't have a small one that can travel with him. He did, but he never used them, and now Lord only knows where they are. Still packed in a box, probably. But now, now he wants a blanket. "Like my brother's", he tells me.

His brother overheard this request. "He can have one of my Brown's blankets, because I have two." Wow. Just WOW.

The conversation ended and the boys went to Grandma's for the weekend. Frankly, I forgot about this simple request. But my smart seven year old didn't forget. This morning my oldest son showed up in the living room much earlier than needed, trailing his pillow, stuffed animals, and two Brown's blankets.  I watched as he handed one over to his little brother. "Are you sure?", I whispered to my brave son. "I have two. And he wants one."

There was a time when my oldest son would never had dreamed of sharing any of his precious belongings, especially not with his demanding and confusing little brother. There was  a time when his younger brother's antics would make him angry and frustrated. There was a time when he couldn't see the positive changes in his growing brother.

So we still have little to no eye contact. We still have stilted conversations and lots of melt downs. We still have refusal to learn, well, anything from me. We still have oh so many issues. But we also have more smiles from our youngest than blank stares. More joy. More participation in family. More understanding. And more brotherly love. My boys, they are right on track. They are getting it right. And I am in awe of them. I want to be like them when I grow up!

Worth the Wait- That Adoption Wait Doesn't Always End When Our Child Comes Home...

When an adoptive parent hears the words "adoption wait" one thing usually comes to mind. The long months before the child comes home, months  that often turn into years. Years of filling out paperwork, waiting for approvals, standing in line at the Secretary of State's office, locating floor plans to your home, creating fire drill exit strategies, rearranging work meetings to accommodate getting that second, or third, set of fingerprints. Months of looking at that tiny, blurry, grainy referral photo. Months of loving this child you may have never met, and months of waiting with arms aching to hold that sweet child of yours. The adoption wait. We know it well, don't we?

With the adoption of my second child the term "adoption wait" took on a whole new meaning. The final signatures, the court decrees, the flight across the world and that first walk through the door as a family recently grown by one did not end my adoption wait. In fact, when that front door closed behind my newly formed family of four, our adoption wait was just beginning.

Suddenly everything that came so easily the first time around was a huge challenge. I found myself waiting for so much. Waiting, really, to be a mom, again. Waiting for the eye contact. Waiting for the anger to stop. Waiting for my new son to stop racing about the room as though driven by a motor. Waiting for that first hug. You know, the one where he actually hugs me back. The first good report from daycare.  The first family dinner without chaos. The first calm bedtime. The first calm car trip. The first calm anything.

Waiting. Always with the waiting. The first 27 months of our lives together were spent mired in the adoption wait.Waiting for the storm to pass. And when it didn't, I found myself waiting again. This time, waiting for therapists and doctor's appointments. Waiting for diagnosis and treatment plans. Waiting for spots to open in special schools and IEP's to be created. And then to be updated. Waiting for return telephone calls and emails. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. And just when you think you can't wait a moment longer, some new reason to wait pops up.

With our first adoption wait we knew what to expect. Fill in all the blanks in the paperwork, make the required five copies of everything, visit FedEx for the 100th time, and then wait. While that first wait wasn't easy, not by a long shot, it was, at least, predictable. At the end of the wait, if we followed the plan laid out by our adoption agency, and if nothing went wrong, like political unrest or a natural disaster, we would have our child. Maybe I was naive during those two "first" waits. Looking back, and knowing what I know now, seeing how the Russian ban on American adoptions has torn families apart, I am sure I was very naive. Thank God I was naive.

With this second adoption wait, the wait that started the day we came home with our 24 month old son, there was no "plan". My plan was to follow the same steps I took with our older son, steps to bonding that worked beautifully. Practically from day one my little Chinese son and I were glued together, bound by a love so deep that nothing could tear us apart. Meeting each expected growth and developmental milestone, cruising through surgeries with flying colors, our bumps in the road were small stones. The second time around, those bumps in the road were huge boulders that threatened to tear my family apart. Spouses arguing. One child craving the attention he suddenly lost when his little brother came home. One child pushing me away at every turn. And a tired, lost mother, with nowhere to turn. After all, I had asked for this. I wanted  this. I did this to myself. And so, on top of all of the other waiting, I waited for that mommy bliss I felt the first time. I waited for that bliss for two years.

So with all the waiting then came all the guilt. Why wasn't I more excited about this child? Why couldn't I make this work? Where was my heart?

I added waiting for the love to kick in to my list. Don't get me wrong. I loved my young son from day one. From the first moment I saw him toddling down that dingy hallway at the orphanage I loved him. Maybe that was why this adoption wait was so difficult for me. Because my love for him was so strong. My desire to have that family I had always pictured was strong. And so I waited.

The funny thing is that despite all that waiting, that perfect family never showed up. And as each day passed, full of tears and fighting and thrown food, that perfect family picture changed a little. Maybe I didn't need perfect. Maybe I would settle for a dinner without a meltdown. Maybe I would trade perfect for less bruising at the hands of a two year old. Every day the perfect picture faded and eventually a new image settled into my heart.

Happiness replaced anger. Grace replaced selfishness. The wait came to an end. The end snuck up on me, really. We are not through with the issues. My son may always have early life trauma related baggage to carry around. But I will always be there to help him carry it. And I no longer feel as though I am waiting for anything. I think I realized it for the first time the other day, as, ironically, I was waiting for our behavioral therapy appointment to begin. My son and I were sitting together on a sofa in the waiting room, surrounded by older kids and harried looking adults, and as we snuggled together to read a book I realized something. I was not holding my shoulders so tight they ached. I was not practically sitting on my son to get him to sit still. I was no longer holding my breath. I was simply a mom, reading a book to her four year old son. Yes, he still cannot sit still. He still has food issues and he still has moments of total meltdown. Yes, a good part of the reason that he is doing so well is all of the work we have put in to getting him to where he is. And yes, there are days that it is exhausting. But I am no longer waiting. No more do I wait for the anger to pass, both in him and in myself. No longer do I wait to run an errand because I just can't face taking him with me. No longer do I dread bedtimes or family dinners. No longer do I feel as though I am simply housing this lost little boy. No more. Now when I look at my persevering preschooler, I see my son. And it makes me smile. Because we made it through the wait. There will be more waiting in our future. More therapy, more issues, more meltdowns and, I am sure, a lot more frustrating moments. But during all of those waits  it will feel less like waiting and more like what it is- living. The wait is over! We may not look like the perfect family, and we may not look like the family I always pictured as perfect, but we are perfectly placed together. And that was worth the wait.

Some days I Just Want To Be Normal

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Family Day- I Can Always Feel the Joy

Happy Family Day little Alexander Artur!

holding my new son for the first time- 21 months old

 

Two years ago today my sweet husband and I stood in a Russian courtroom, surrounded by Russian officials, a Russian Social Worker, a Russian Judge, and our interpreter. We had been told ahead of time that in a Russian court it was customary for the man to do the speaking; I was to keep quiet unless I was directly asked a question. This worried my sweet husband, seeing as I am the talker in the family. But I wasn't worried. When it comes to protecting and standing up for our little family my husband is always spot on and well spoken.

I cannot remember how he answered the questions posed to him but I do remember that just a few questions in our interpreter, Anna, suggested that perhaps "Mrs. Wilkison would like to speak.", suggesting that the judge needed more information. And speak I did.

I told the judge that I loved this tiny little boy. That he had held a special place in my heart since that moment when I first saw him toddling down the long hallway in the orphanage some three months before. I explained that we understood adoption, that we had adopted before, that this little guy had an older brother waiting for him at home. What I didn't say, what I had been instructed not to say was that this tiny almost 2 year old brought me joy. It had been explained to us by our Russian adoption facilitator that there is no Russian translation for the word "Joy". This word would not translate in a way the Russian judge and lawyer would understand. And that gave me a great insight into the country of my youngest son's birth.

So maybe I didn't speak that day about the joy in my heart. But that doesn't mean it wasn't there. And it is still here today.  Two years home already! And he has brought so much joy to me. So much joy. It seems as though sometimes we focus on the struggles. We only see the chaos. We do not take the time to celebrate the successes. We miss the joy. But not today. Today I am thinking only about the joy.

I remember looking down at you, snuggled on my hip in your baby carrier, as we stood on the curb outside the Incheon Airport in Korea, waiting for the hotel bus to pick us up. I remember thinking how surreal that was, me, wearing a baby, dragging a suitcase, alone on a curb in South Korea. I remember surreal, but also remember  joy.

finally coming home- waiting for our plane in South Korea- 24 months old

I remember watching your little body asleep on the floor of the Continental Club at LAX, my body tired as well but unable to sleep. I watched you, thankful you had fallen asleep and I could relax and let my arms, tired from holding you, and my back, weary from wearing you, have a rest. I remember tired, but I also remember joy.

I remember walking off the plane, finally back home, and seeing my oldest son, just four years old, leaping about, trying to climb into my arms. I sat down on a bench, with my husband on my left and my four year old on my right, climbing into my lap, totally squishing his new little brother who was still in the baby carrier strapped to my body. I remember looking down at my new son, clueless to what was going on but not seeming bothered. I felt my husband touching my shoulder as he re-acquainted himself with his new son, who he hadn't seen for two weeks. I re-acquainted myself with my oldest son, who I hadn't seen for four weeks. I remember the joy as I felt the warmth of my growing family around me.

I remember my four year old playing on the floor with his new little brother in those first few days home. Brothers! So much joy.

There have been missteps these past two years. There has been pain and sorrow and longing and not as much peace as I would have liked. But there has also been a new special needs preschool that is helping us figure out how to help our little guy cope and learn. There has been an amazing day care teacher who has worked with us to guide our son. There has been Sunday school teachers and other adults at our church who have stepped up. There have been close friends cheering for me, telling us we are doing OK. There have been in-laws who babysit and give us time to ourselves, and who are making an effort to learn more about early life trauma so they can help even more. There has been so much joy, and this is what we celebrate today, on our son's second Family Day.

brothers, two months home

two months home, checking out a petting zoo

 

We celebrate this path that has made it very clear to me that I need to step up and add my voice to those screaming for adoption reform. We celebrate the broken road my youngest took to get to us because it showed to us what true suffering is. I have seen unexplainable things and I know what life lies ahead for those orphans left behind. And while this is terribly sad and it may be too late for some of them, still I find joy in having found my passion, so to speak. And I will do good with that passion. I will make changes, however small.

We celebrate this path that has taught me how to be a more patient and kind person. We celebrate this path that has made me an advocate for special needs and has taught me how to stand up for my children. We celebrate this path that has shown to me what compassion truly is, and also has shown me that perhaps I could have stood by my friends a little more strongly when they had young children and struggles of their own.

We celebrate every smiley face on the behavior chart from daycare. Every check mark on his chart at home. Every book that he lets me read without wandering away. Every hug that he returns. Every meal that he eats without melting down.

my rock star, two years later!

I feel joy when my son sings with me and when I see him using his imagination to play with his older brother. I feel joy when he tells me he loves me or signs "I love you". I feel joy when he pumps his arm up and down and says, "YES!" because he is super excited or super proud of himself. I feel joy when he spells his name out loud or names colors or numbers. If I remember, if I can push the chaos away. If I choose, I can always feel the joy.

The Negotiation Dance

I am quickly learning the importance of taking care of myself. While I am quick to understand the "why", I am much slower at implementing the "how". I know I must take time for myself. But forcing myself to carve out the time to do it is another story.

And I am not alone. Every mother is busy. Every mother is busy. Every mother is tired at times. Every mother needs to learn the importance of taking care of herself. And I am sure that many mothers find it hard to complete this very important task.

My life is often frustrating. More frustrating than I had planned. More frustrating than I wanted. Possibly more frustrating, at times, than other's lives. Possibly not. Our frustration level is in the eye of the beholder, right? Some mothers might be able to take on a higher level of chaos than I can. I wish I was one of those mothers. I wish I could brush off the frustration and chaos, pick myself up and move on. And sometimes I can. But usually I cannot.

Every day brings a wealth of new opportunities and challenges. Every minute with my youngest son is a negotiation.  Good morning! Hey there little mishka- time to wake up! Please roll over here where I can reach you. Give Mommy a hug. Come here please. Give me a hug. (I put my arms around him and pull him into a hug. He holds on, but doesn't hug back.) You can hug me more tightly than that! Hug me tight tight! Please stand up. No no, stand up. Come back here please, we need to get dressed. Can you take off your shirt? Let me help you. I'm sorry! You need to take off your shirt! Let's take off your pajama bottoms. OK, OK, you can take them off. (He sits down on the floor of his room and slowly begins to pull his pants off. They get stuck on his toes and he screams at the top of his lungs. The first scream of the day is always alarming as it pierces the quiet of the house.) Which pants do you want to wear today? What do you mean you don't like "slippery pants", (slick athletic pants). You wear these all the time. (His older brother refused to wear jeans as a toddler and so we have drawers full of these "slippery pants". OK, let's wear these jeans. We don't throw the clothes we don't want to wear. Pick those up. Pick those up so you can earn your check mark. (We are offering check marks that can be turned into tokens that can earn snacks and fun stuff.) Let's go downstairs now. You go first. (I know if I leave the room first he will throw his little body on the floor, screaming, the aftermath of which will take at least 15 minutes to return to normal.) Please go out into the hallway now, so I can leave your room. If you leave your room now you can catch Daddy before he gets in the shower to say good morning! Don't go into your brother's room! Turn your brother's light back on! Please come back into the hallway. Please go down the stairs. Please do not stop on the stairs. Why are you stopped? (I know I cannot go around him.) Are you stuck? Please tell your brain to move those feet!  You want juice? I heard you- you don't need to scream it at me. I will get your juice in just a moment. Which cup do you want- the dinosaur or the car? Neither? These are your choices, pick one. (He is on the floor again, screaming about his lack of cup choices. I hold him up to the cup cupboard, where he selects the tiny cup with no lid.) OK, you can have this cup but you have to sit down at the table to drink out of it. Please sit down. We don't walk around the kitchen with open cups of juice. I know you want your juice but you must sit down first. (The three of us, my oldest son, my husband and I walk around the kitchen being careful not to step on the screaming 3 year old laying on the floor.) If you want yogurt you can get it from the fridge. You can pick which yogurt you want. I will get your spoon. What is wrong with that spoon? Fine, get your own spoon. Now that spoon you chose is not going to fit into the yogurt cup. OK, try it for yourself. Don't throw your spoon across the room! Please go pick up that spoon. You can have another spoon after you pick up the one you  just threw. Chairs are for sitting! Please sit down. Chairs are for sitting. If you don't sit in your chair you may not be at the table- we do not stand on the chairs.  Time to put your shoes on. Please go get your shoes. No, you can't wear your flip flops. Where did you even find those? Get your tennis shoes please. Because it is cold outside. Please put your shoes on. You can do this yourself. Get your backpack. Not your brother's backpack! Put that backpack down! Please pick up your black spider man backpack and put it on. You will get a check mark if you finish your shoes and backpack and we get out the door on time. Thank you for walking to the car so nicely! Please climb into your seat now. (I cannot help into the seat, no matter the weather or the time. He will scream and spit at me if he isn't allowed to take his time climbing into his seat. I have to watch for the moment right when he should be plopping down into his car seat, because it is at that moment that I must grab him and push him down into the seat, or he will be in the front seat before I know it.) Please let me buckle your seat. Please move your hands so I can snap your buckle. Please sit back. I will hand you your stuffed cat in a moment. If you just sit back and let me buckle you I will give you your cat. Please get out of the car. Put your backpack on. No, you have to hold my hand in the parking lot. Do not let go of my hand! We hold hands in parking lots! Please take off your backpack and coat. Bring me your backpack so I can hang it on your hook. You don't need your backpack in the classroom. Please give me a kiss kiss. Can you look at me when you say goodbye? Let me see your beautiful eyes! Please have a good day. Please use gentle hands with your friends. Please let go of my hair. I have to go now. Mommy loves you!

A little over an hour has passed since I woke up my little guy and we began the negotiation dance. It will start again at 5:30 and continue until bedtime. He seems not to remember the negotiations from the day before. each day we begin again. If the negotiations are proceeding well then I am rewarded with smiles and songs and jokes from my little guy. This is how his brain is telling him life works, right now. So this is how our lives work. It is exhausting. It is time consuming. It is worth it when he stays calm and can eat and think and learn and process life around him. it is worth it when he feels comfortable enough to sing and joke with me. My brain does not work like this, although it is learning how. So my brain is tired. My spirit is tired. My creativity and "fun" are tired. And I know I need to take care of myself, because I doubt any of this is changing anytime soon. It's not bad. It's just different. Raising this boy is different than raising the other. One way is not better. One way may be more challenging but it is also teaching me patience. And calmness. And how to be sure I am looking after myself while I look after the men in my life.

"The Cleaning led to Reading Which Led to Relaxing Which Led to More Cleaning Which Led to Getting Back on Track to Fulfilling My Purpose", or, "I Finished a Book!"

Yesterday I finished reading a book on my Kindle. When you finish a book on the Kindle it asks you if you would like to let the world know, via facebook, that you have accomplished the often monumental feat of actually finishing an entire book. I said yes. And then many of my friends, who will be reading the same book for a book club we are in together, all expressed their amazement. I know, I was right there with them. Me, finish a book? I haven't had time to read anything that wasn't about ADHD, early life trauma, fetal alcohol syndrome, or behavior in nearly two years. Now don't get too excited for me; it was, after all, a very short book and an easy read. And it was enjoyable, providing interesting food for thought on what it must be like for an older child to be internationally adopted and removed from the only home, and country, they have ever known. I started reading it while my super six old was at China school, when all I had was time and a comfortable chair. But I was able to finish it at home thanks to the fact that I have been cleaning like a mad woman. I have been working hard to keep the toys picked up, the kitchen counters cleaned off, and the kitchen floor sparkly clean. And when all that is in place I can relax. I can sit on the sofa after the boys are in bed and actually focus on something other than what didn't get done that day. And so the cleaning routines, (thank you fly lady!) led to the ability to read for enjoyment, which led to me being relaxed, which led to more cleaning. Finally! A cycle I don't mind being caught up in!

For some reason I am really feeling the spring cleaning bug this year. Maybe it is because the boys in my life are so messy. Maybe it is because my in-laws are visiting next week to watch my super six year old play football and have offered to stay with the boys for a few hours while my sweet husband and I sneak away for some much needed alone time. (Sadly, we are only planning a quick trip out to eat, but we are both super excited about it. I will get to drink all of my ice tea with no boys stealing large gulps from me! I will be able to sit still with no one touching me, or climbing on me, or elbowing me or kicking me. I will be able to eat my dinner while it is hot. I will be able to listen to my husband and actually concentrate on his words.) Wait, where was I? Spring cleaning. Yes.

So the in-laws are coming. And then the next weekend the social worker is visiting for yet another post placement visit for the tiny toddler. Who, while still tiny, is not really a toddler any longer- he will be four years old next month! The house certainly needs to be clean for her visit! And then a day or two after that we have a baby sitter coming over so that my sweet husband and I can sneak away again; this time to see the documentary STUCK.

Who knows what, or who, has prompted this spring cleaning bug but I am feeling more in control and happier than I have felt in a very long time. There is just something about purging and organizing that makes me happy. I have cleaned out all of the upper kitchen cupboards, throwing away chipped glasses and old vitamin bottles. I have cleaned under the sink, (gross!), and added stacking plastic bins to hold the soaps and scrubbies. I have added a shower curtain rod to the back of the boys' bathtub to hang plastic baskets holding their toys and wash cloths. Thanks to the holes in the baskets the toys can drip dry and the tub stays clean! I have cleaned the huge kitchen cupboard that held mismatched plastic bowls and lids, throwing away everything that didn't have a match. Now there is no Tupperware, but there is a large space for the boys' back yard necessities like bubbles and chalk. I cleaned and organized the walk in closet in the master bedroom- we can see our clothes again!

The cleaning out of every cupboard and closet, combined with our weekly family meeting, has made me feel more in control than I have in a long time. I have no control over the issues my youngest son faces. I have no control over schedules changing or my super six year suddenly being worried about his sweet little smushed in nose. I have no control over computer issues at work or the fact that I often feel as though I am drowning in toys. But I do have control over what lives in my cupboards and what is thrown away. I do have control over some of the chaos that naturally comes with raising a family.

Maybe it's the warmer weather. Maybe it's the cleaning. Maybe it's the new organizing bins and systems I have put in place. Maybe it is the fact that we are finally getting back to having regular house cleaning help around here; something every working mother should have. I am sure it is a combination of it all, but I don't really care. I am finally feeling more in control. Which means I am feeling more able to be the mother God designed me to be. So go throw something away. Go clean out a cupboard. Go open your window and breath in the cool Spring air. Go be the person God designed you to be!

Planning & Praise- the successful family meeting

Kids need opportunities to learn how to be a part of a team. They need to learn how to bring up issues and how to solve problems. They need to learn how to sit quietly and let others speak. They need to learn how to listen. And they need to internalize that family is a safe place where they have a voice.

My boys need to learn how to appreciate each other's differences and how to manage their issues with each other. And I need to learn how to manage my issues with them. That's right, I have issues.

• Our house is too loud, much of the time.
• I didn't play with the toys, I am not putting them away.
• The tiny toddler makes this unworldly screaming noise when he is frustrated. Or when he doesn't get his way. Or when he is tired. This must stop.
• While I enjoy meal planning I would like input from the men in my life who show up at the dinner table every night.
• The cars are too messy. (OK, that is my sweet husband's issue, but I totally agree.)

I am sure I have MANY more issues. But these issues, along with a desire to further cement the idea of "family" in my tiny toddlers heart and mind, fueled me to start weekly Family Meetings.

After announcing to my husband that we were going to start meeting every Sunday evening as a family and laying out the rules, we held our first meeting. What rules, you say?

• Meeting to be held in dining room, away from toys and TV.
• No toys at meeting.
• Everyone gets a chance to talk.
• Everyone must say at least one good thing about their past week and one good thing about someone else at the table.
• All decisions are final. No whining!

After dinner we all moved into the dining room. I explained the meeting process to the boys and asked for their good thoughts. To my surprise, it was the tiny toddler who spoke up first. He was sitting on the table, meowing like a cat, as he often does. He used his outside voice, as he often does, and yelled, "Daddy took me to grocery store!" Earlier that day my sweet husband had taken him grocery shopping, something I don't do very often because, frankly, it is just. too. hard. But obviously, shopping, alone with Daddy, left a great impression. What a great start!

We reviewed the schedule for the week, including all of my super six year old's school activities and lunch menu. Whether to pack or buy is a huge topic of conversation in our home. We ended the meeting quickly after we opened it due to the super six year old's lack of interest and the tiny toddler crawling around the dining room table meowing. But I considered it a success.

I posted a Family Meeting Agenda on the fridge and all topics that came up throughout the week that needed further discussion went onto the agenda. Good thoughts about my boys, all three of them, also went on the agenda, under "Good News". This way we don't forget the nice things we want to say about each other by the time Sunday evening rolls around.

In the middle of the week the super six year old asked to go to COSI. Actually, he asked to either go to COSI or Mexico. Not sure why Mexico, but COSI? Yeah, we can do that. Put it on the agenda.

Yet another bout of young boys running around the downstairs screaming. And another. This must stop! Put it on the agenda.

My sweet husband pushed to near craziness over the mess of toys and snacks in the backseat of the car. Put it on the agenda!

Once it is on the agenda we don't need to keep talking about it. This is a tip I learned early on in my career, when I first became addicted to the Franklin Planner system. Once it is written down, once it is planned for, there is no need for further discussion. Whew.

Our second family meeting followed the same patterns as the first. The tiny toddler continued to climb onto the table. Everyone continued to speak over each other. But we accomplished our goals.

We have a potential date for a trip to COSI. We have a plan for creating "centers" so that the running around screaming game will be timed and will only be allowed for 30 minutes. After that, they will move to a new center somewhere else in the house.

We have reviewed the toy pick up rules. Again.

We have reviewed the fact that cleaning out the car has been on the weekly cleaning schedule for months. We have solidified that no one except me reads the cleaning schedules posted on the side of the refrigerator. Good times.

But we have done so much more. Our boys are hearing the discussions between my sweet husband and I regarding day care pick ups, school drop offs, who is driving who to which activity. They are seeing that to keep a family running takes planning. They are learning that I will listen when they tell me what they want for dinner, as long as they don't ask for candy and Popsicles. They are learning how good it feels when someone notices their good actions. They are learning to speak up, to solve problems, to understand the value of planning. They are finding their voice. And they are solidifying their place in our family.

So two family meetings later I am happy with our baby steps. I am sure that next week the tiny toddler will still be climbing onto the dining room table. I am sure that the super six year old will complain that he would rather be watching TV. I am sure that "picking up your toys" will always be on the agenda. But I am also sure that the tiny toddler will continue to hear praise on his amazing successes. I am sure that the super six year old will continue to love planning the after meeting family activity. So far we have raced remote controlled cars, as a family, all four of us running around the living room with our remotes. We have finger painted, as a family. Who knows what we will do next week. My young man takes the planning of these activities very seriously.

Every day we have set backs. Every day I dodge shoes thrown at me from the back seat or clean up dinner from under the kitchen table. So we have our set backs. And we have our successes. And now my boys have a way for their voices to be heard. Behavior experts say that family meetings can solve a myriad of behavior problems. We shall see. But at the very least these meetings allow for planning and praise, which is really what it takes to run a successful family, right?

I am choosing to label him "loved"

This is a great time of change for my little family. I can sense changes happening in my Big Five Year Old. He is looking older. He is calming down and having great behavior days in school. He is talking football, really talking football, with his dad. He is beginning to understand his little brother's challenges and starting to show compassion towards him. He handled the death of his first guinea pig with appropriate amounts of sadness and understanding, and he stood in our living room this morning and explained what it meant that he "rescued" his new guinea pig- he was proud to have taken in this little creature that, in his words, no one else wanted. Oh. My. Change is afoot. He will be six years old in three weeks. Halfway through kindergarten, attending church youth group activities weekly, showing an aptitude for math and engineering. Sometimes these growth spurts are harder to see, and you wake up one day and notice your kid is suddenly heavier when you pick them up, or using words you didn't know he knew. This is not one of those times, no. This time I can clearly see the changes in my oldest son, and it makes me proud. He is maturing yet still oddly weird. He still marches to his own drummer, as they say.

My Big Five Year Old has never really asked about his adoption. He knows his story, and he has heard the words. Birth Mom. Adoption Plan. Orphanage. But he has never really expressed an interest in the finer details of how he found his way to our family. In treating him like the growing boy he is I have begun to explain to him how his little brother came to be born with the challenges he now faces. And in doing so, those words that are sometimes hard for me to say have been coming out of my mouth left and right. Oh yes, change is afoot.

We have come as close to a diagnoses as we will be able to get to with the Tiny Toddler. And now we have "labels", which I don't like but which I know are needed. We have an IEP. We have goals and targets and a plan. We have hope. And we have all of that because we have those dreaded labels. Now I know what research to do. I know how to arm myself with information. I knew before, but I was all over the place. Maybe it's Reactive Attachment Disorder. Maybe it's Oppositional Defiance Disorder. Maybe it's Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Maybe it's ADHD. Maybe it is all of the above. But now we have our best educated guess and we are moving on to the living of our lives. Not to the fixing. To the management, and the living. To the fun, and the family vacations, and the celebration of successes and to all those teaching moments that lay ahead. Because we can't fix. And I am so relieved.

Now we accept. I have a beautiful, healthy, smart, fun little boy. He has trauma, yes. He may always have challenges stemming from poor decisions made by his birth mother. He may never connect all the dots the way I wish he would. We may forever walk through this life armed with techniques and flash cards, and behavior modification charts. But it is a life I am thrilled to be walking through with my amazing son. What he has overcome I cannot imagine. I complain if it is too cold or if we run out of diet root beer. His challenges? They must have seemed insurmountable to him. These new challenges? This time he won't have to do it alone. Again, I have to say how relieved I feel. I have taken my fears for his future, my fears for my family's future, and my fear of the unknown and I have turned it into acceptance and fight. I am ready to step into this new role, as a mother of a "labeled" child. But watch out, because I am the only one who can label my son with any moniker that really matters. And I am choosing to label him "loved".

I have to stay in the game...

A few years ago, back when I had only one child and he was still quite young, I knew a mother with a son with significant behavior issues. "Knew" might be too strong a word. I "saw" her frequently enough to recognize her and her son, and I spent enough time around her kindergartner to know first hand the issues he faced. I am proud to say that I don't feel as though I judged her. I did notice that she always looked exhausted. I also noticed that sometimes it looked as though she had "checked out" when someone was speaking to her about her son's behavior. Sometimes she just seemed as though she couldn't hear another word.

I don't know when her son's behavior challenges began. Maybe she had been dealing with them since birth. Maybe she was an adoptive mother. I don't know why the behavior challenges occurred. Maybe it was trauma. Maybe it was DNA. Maybe it was lack of structure. I don't know if the behavior challenges have worked themselves out by now, some four years later. I hope so.

Yesterday the tiny toddler did not have a good afternoon at day care. He hit. He threw a few toys. He basically attempted to tear the room apart a few times. He refused to nap, disagreeing with even laying down and trying to rest his obviously over tired little body and mind. On the way out of the school he refused to walk, forcing me to carry him to the car while he swung at my head and spit at me. I held him, half in his car seat, half in my arms, whispering to him that he is safe, he is loved. I finally had to hold him down while I buckled him into his seat. Halfway home he stopped screaming, but not until after he took off his shoes and threw them at me. We both came out of the scuffle with war wounds, he with a scratch by his eye from my fingernail and me with a large bruise on my shoulder from him kicking me.

I sometimes feel as though it is a love/hate relationship we share, my tiny toddler and I. When we got home he put on his apron and helped me make dinner before he spun out of control again. Eventually I gave up and took him upstairs to bed, again kicking and screaming. Finally in his crib, surrounded by books and toys, with me sitting in the rocking chair across the room, he calmed down. Another day done, some good, some not so good.

We have worked hard to get our little guy to the point where he isn't having bad days every day. We have so many days of joy with him. He is sweet and caring, and likes to play jokes on Daddy. He loves to sing and is starting to ask question after question about everything. He is beginning to learn his colors and numbers and he is starting to babble as he pretends to read books, which is a strong precursor to learning to read. But when we have back to back downward spirals it is hard not to spiral down right along with him. It is hard to push through and stay in that place he needs me to  stay in. Unlike my tiny toddler, I don't have the luxury of fighting back.

This morning we spiraled down over tennis shoes and coats. Not able to fight yet another battle we headed out the front door, one kid wearing a coat and backpack, with DS in hand. (Having taken advantage of my distraction he managed to walk out the front door to school carrying his DS, something he doesn't usually get to play on short car trips.), and one kid in a t-shirt, arms bare, stomping to his side of the car. Then the tears started, because he was cold.  Seriously??

By the time we walked into his classroom his coat was on and all was well with his world again. We stopped and checked out the lunch menu. (Happiness over the mashed potatoes listed but unsure of the turkey being offered.) He walked into his room carrying a plastic bowl of cut up grapes, his offering for the "Friendship Fruit Salad" his class would be making today. I was beginning to relax. And then a teacher appeared out of nowhere to talk to my little man about something destructive he did yesterday. And it happened. I. couldn't. hear. another. thing. I could not take anything more in to my overloaded brain. The teacher didn't seem to want to talk with me, and even though I knew I should stop and have the conversation with her, I didn't. I chose to turn away from her. She was kneeling down in front of my son, helping him take off his coat. He was crying, like he does every morning when I walk away. (I love you! I hate you!). She had it under control. And in that moment, she had more control than I. I placed my hand on my big five year old's back and guided him out of the room. I could feel the tension in my shoulders creeping back in; I could barely remember the relaxation I was starting to feel just moments before. And then it hit me.

I am that mother. The one I knew four years ago. The one whose eyes glazed over when the topic of behavior popped up. Now I know I am not always that mother. I know that the mother I met four years ago wasn't always that mother either. Usually I am checked in, ready to tackle these challenges together. Together with my husband, Together with the teachers. Together with my son. But this morning I was at my limit. I walked out of the school wondering what those teachers were thinking of me. Did they think I didn't take them seriously? Did they think that if only I offered more structure at home these issues would disappear? Did they think I didn't care? I'm not going to lie to you. This morning, I didn't care. I just wanted out of there.

It affects every aspect of our lives, this trauma. It affects my marriage, as we sometimes struggle to contain our anger and to remain united. It affects the big five year old, who sometimes see his little brother get away with behavior he can't. It takes time away from him, which is heartbreaking. Knowing that my big five year old was all alone downstairs watching TV, or raiding the pantry, or doing Lord knows what, when I was upstairs dealing with the tiny toddler's behavior last night was enough to make me cry. When it's good, it so good. And when it's challenging, it's heartbreaking.

I know it's time to have the "child of trauma" talk with the day care. I have filled in his main teacher but I don't really think she fully understood. And how could she? His behavior is so inconsistent, frequently with many good days in a row. It is hard to understand that his behavior may worsen as he trusts more, as he tries to push his teachers away because he is starting to feel too comfortable there. It is hard to understand that he is waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this great thing he has going on to be pulled out from under him. It is hard to understand that he might not do well in larger groups of loud children because he has internalized the feelings of his first 24 months of chaos. I don't even always understand it.  I find myself frequently wondering why he just can't get with the program. Why something so seemingly small as a 10 second wait for grapes can sometimes cause him to clear everything off the breakfast table before throwing himself on the floor. If I have a hard time fully understanding his feelings then I know others don't get it. And I don't want him labeled. He needs to find his path in his own time. And I need to stay on that path with him. I need to be always stable, always consistent, always loving, always 100% present. I can't let myself be that other mother. My tiny toddler has seen loss. Birth mother. Caregivers. Friends in the orphanage. I can't be another loss to him. I have to stay in the game.

Despite Pat Robertson's warning, I am hoping my children "grow up weird"

The other day I read the most recent “stupid adoption statement” to hit the media. This time is was Pat Robertson sharing his convoluted views of international adoption.  This is the  same man who once told a lonely husband whose wife was suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease to divorce her, because “it was better than adultery”. My entire grown up career has been spent in the world of senior health care and so I have seen many a lonely spouse, grieving the loss of their beloved partner long before a death occurs. My own grandfather was one of those lonely spouses. I have seen friendships blossom in the halls of memory care assisted living communities as lonely spouses turn to each other during visiting hours. I have seen divorce and adultery over this horrible disease.  I wouldn’t dare pass judgement on these husbands and wives, and, unlike Pat Robertson, I wouldn’t dare speak so casually of what is always a very difficult and painful situation.

This is also the same man who has shown agreement with the Chinese "one child" policy. This policy has been at the heart of abandonment and murder of babies for years. I would like for Robertson to meet my son and explain to him his thoughts on this policy. While I am sure Robertson does not condone murder, (well, I am pretty sure), any intelligent person can see the link between this policy and the fact that many many many babies born in China do not live to see day two of their young lives. I am thankful, every day, for the brave birth parents who possibly disregarded their safety to assure their newborn son was cared for, even if it did mean abandonment.


 And now he has done it again.

Those of you in the inner adoption circles have most likely already heard about the thoughtless remarks Robertson recently made on his television show regarding international adoption.  Basically, a women wrote in asking for advice about her boyfriend not wanting to marry her because she was the mother  to internationally adopted children.  Had they been her “own” children, (meaning biological), according to the woman, he would have married her.  That this ludicrous topic even made it on to a television show is absurd enough. Say it with me people, “Adopted children are our ‘own’ children.” 

But Robertson’s response is what has most of the adoption community pulling out their collective hair.  He said that he understands that this man “didn’t want to take on a United Nations”, and that you never knew about adopted children- they’re history might have led to brain damage, causing them to, wait for it, “grow up weird.” Wow.

First let me address the “you never know” comment. He is absolutely right. You do never know what you are getting with an adopted child. But not because they are adopted. Because they are a child. And every pregnancy, every birth, every adoption, every blended family brought together by second marriages leads to many unknowns where the children are concerned. I have friends with biological children born with Down’s Syndrome. I have friends with adopted children with heart defects. I have friends with biological children born with cleft palates. I have an adopted child of MY OWN born with a cleft palate. I have friends with biological children with autism. I have friends with adopted children with behavior issues, and I might possibly have one of those on my hands as well. But I also have friends, and relatives, with biological children with behavior problems. So, yes, you do never know what you are going to get.

Now on to the more offensive part of his statement. Thanks, Pat Robertson, for helping to further the stereotype that internationally adopted children are “damaged”.  This horrible stereotype, most often found attached to children adopted out of Eastern European countries, serves no purpose except to frighten prospective adoptive parents and label our children. If the adoptive family is using a trustworthy adoption agency then these potential issues have already been raised, privately, to the individual family. Families do not decide to adopt a child without much thought, prayer, and education. We were not surprised by the behaviors we saw in the orphanage my youngest son called home. We are not surprised by the behaviors we see in him. We were educated, by ourselves and by our adoption agency, and we walked out of that gray building fully knowing that problems may arise.  I am not saying that it was easy. It has been far from easy. I’m not saying that I didn’t lay awake in my bed in that hotel room in Russia, my sweet husband already back in the states, thinking about how my new son was going to fit into our family and how this transition was going to be, for everyone.  But even at those moments, just days after finalizing the adoption, I thought of him as “my son”. I had to sleep backwards in the bed with my hand stuck through the rails of his crib because he would scream if he couldn’t touch me. I had to hold my bathroom needs until I was sure he was asleep, and even then I had to sneak off the creaky mattress and pee in the dark with the bathroom light out so as not to wake him up, because if I wasn’t in that bed, with my hand in his crib when he opened his eyes he would scream with such terror that I was sure the police had been called. I had to shower with my arm stuck outside the curtain, so that his tiny hand could wrap around my finger. Eventually I coaxed him in with me, so he could play in the water and I could stop my contortionist act. I don’t do those things anymore, but I still do a million other things every day to help my son gain his footing in his strange new world.

I know that adoption isn’t for everyone. And thank God for that. Not everyone should take on parenting an adopted child. Not everyone should take on parenting their biological children, and I have often thought that if new biological parents had to jump through the same hoops and survive the same scrutiny as adoptive parents that fewer babies would be coming home from the hospital with their blood relatives.  I am also not saying that the boyfriend that started it all didn’t have a right to feel the way he did about taking on someone else’s kids. I do, however, have to question the judgement of the mom who turned to the 700 Club for advice- couldn’t she figure out on her own that she did not share the same value system as her boyfriend? Did she really need to turn to someone else for advice on this one?

I know that this is not what Robertson meant in his heartless statement, but I have to say that, yes, my children are “weird”. And so am I. They come from a long tradition of “weird”. Maybe it was because he spent all those years teaching middle school band, but my father was the King of Weird. He would talk to his little plastic ant friend, Sam, who sat on his desk at school. He would suggest  to kids still waiting for late parents to pick them up after a concert that perhaps they were busy “changing the locks”. He would make musical instruments out of household items. His mother was also a tad strange, as evidenced by her nickname, “Iguana”.  Lord knows that I am weird.  And my sweet husband? Don’t even get me started.  I am proud of my boys and their individual little personalities, and I will celebrate them and support their weirdness to the day I die.

My minister posted the following comment to my facebook page, as I was writing this blog post.  He had come across another blog post about the absurdity of Pat Robertson’s statement, and he forwarded that article on to me, with the following note:

Beth, when I read this article it got my blood boiling. It will you too. But it also made me think of the wonderful thing your family is doing. You and Brad are being Jesus to your boys. Thanks for the love you have shown to all of God's children.

I am thankful for his thoughtfulness and agree that, yes, I was quite upset when I had heard Robertson’s remarks.  Because, after all, whether it be a toddler in a dark and dreary orphanage, starving for both food and attention, a baby in a sterile orphanage sleeping on a wooden board, also starving,  a biological child with a disability, or a  baby still in his mother’s womb, all children are God’s children, and all children are perfect, just the way they are.

two successes and one rough night

Thanks to not sleeping very well lately I have had lots of time to think. OK, you got me, I have had lots of time to play solitaire on my iPhone. But sometimes I think. Last night I thought. I thought about what we can do to make the transition of me working from home, sometimes on the weekends, easier for my boys. Easier for all three of my boys. Easier for my husband, who needs to keep the little ones busy and active. And easier for the little ones, who know that Mommy is right upstairs and seem to be just treading water as they wait to hear the office door open. And, let's face it, easier for me, too. So we have some work to do there. We'll figure it out.

I wandered downstairs in the middle of the night and then I found myself wondering why the kitchen floor was so sticky. The floor that I scrubbed twice last week and then used the robotic floor cleaner, who we have named Bob,  on every other night. Except last night, because I never went back downstairs after the drama of putting the tiny toddler to bed. And, not to be outdone, the kitchen table was sticky as well. The big five year old's flip flops were peaking in at me from the back porch and a half gallon empty bottle of bubble solution was in the bathroom sink. So I had a lot to think about.
What the heck went on down here last night?

But none of that matters. Even the crazy bedtime last night isn't important. Here is what I really should be thinking about...

I volunteered in the nursery at church yesterday morning. A few days before this I started telling the tiny toddler that I would be working in the nursery with him. And every time I told him, he clapped and cheered. He truly wanted me there with him. He really is a little too old for the nursery- our church offers Sunday school starting as young as two years old, so, at three, he really should be attending that class and not hanging out with the babies in the nursery. I hadn't tried to transition him to this class yet, though, because a little guy can only handle so much change at one time. But yesterday the nursery coordinator asked him if he wanted to go to Sunday school, he said "yes", and off they went, hand in hand. When I went to pick him up he was hanging out in the middle of a group of kids, popping bubble wrap, which, let's face it, is everyones' favorite thing to do! Success! That's what I should be thinking about!

And here's the biggest weekend success of all. My husband and I went out Saturday night for our small group couples dinner/bible study, and we used a new sitter that the kids had never met before. I knew all was well when I called home partway through the evening and the sitter told me that they had put together the pirate hats I had left for them to make, she was wearing hers, and she was, and I quote, "rockin it." They boys loved her and had a great night. They next morning, yesterday, I went in to wake up the tiny toddler for church. After we played our daily game where he rolls to the far end of his crib where I can't reach and and then pretends he is a cat,  I finally managed to grab him and give him a big hug, telling him that I missed him the night before. He smiled and hugged me back and then told me all about his night while I got him dressed. "Hat", he said, pointing to his head. "ball" he said, pointing the window. (Seeing as no windows were broken I assumed he was pointing outside and showing me where he played ball.) I set him down on the floor after putting on his shoes and told him to go find Daddy. And here's the best part. I followed him down the hall, past his brother's room where my big five year old was simultaneously making his bed and doing some sort of hip hop dance while singing to himself, and into our bedroom. And my tiny toddler walked up to Daddy, touched his knee, and said, "missed you Daddy." oh. my. god. This is huge. Sometimes we feel as though this little guy is more of an occasionally angry room mate than a son. He often seems to exist with us- likes to spend time with us, depends on us to meet his needs, but truly emotionally invested in us? Maybe not so much. But yesterday morning he told his daddy that he had missed him.

I am planning to work tomorrow evening, so before then we will make a plan to keep the boys busy. Maybe I will make a list of activities for them to keep busy. Maybe those activities will take place away from me  outside in the fresh air. Maybe the floor will be sticky and all the kitchen cupboards will be open when I come back downstairs tomorrow. Maybe it will continue to sound as though a herd of elephants are chasing each other around the living room. Who knows. We'll figure out this work any hours I want from home thing. But more importantly, the tiny toddler had two BIG successes this weekend - and that is what I should be thinking about in the middle of the night.

odd behaviors, angry outbursts and car seat dancing

We took the tiny toddler to the Nationwide Children’s Hospital Behavioral Health Center this morning to finally look into what is going on with his odd behaviors and defiance. The good news is that even though he displays a few markers that would place him on the autism spectrum the assessor did not think that we need to worry about that. And even though he also displays a few markers for oppositional defiance disorder, she didn’t feel that was a concern either. Whew. She also reinforced that my sweet husband and I are, in fact, not crazy. Having the chance to witness just a tenth of his total lack of interest in behaving in a manner that would welcome him back to her office, she informed us that we were not over reacting in bringing him in for a visit. Whew again.

The first few days/months of his life with us were not easy, as many of you know. His young life, measured still in months at that point, had seen so much loss and confusion that I understood the acting out.  We ripped him away from the only home he knew. We sounded funny. We smelled funny. I am sure he had seen other babies leave the orphanage, never to return, and so he quite possibly may have been terrified of what his fate was going to be as we walked him down that dingy hallway, through the heavy wooden door and into the gray, cold night. It brings tears to my eyes still to think about the wild look on his face as we drove away, me holding him tight and attempting to whisper comforting words into his little ear. So his outbursts at the hotel, the airports, those first few months home- I understood.

Then those first weeks stretched into months and before we knew it a year had passed. Our tiny toddler spent most of that first year continuing to display his anger. Again we thought adoption related.  It is not uncommon for a child adopted as a toddler to push away people who love him, in an attempt to protect his heart. He had already lost a birth mother, never feeling that loving touch that begins to build that lifelong connection. He had seen caregivers come and go, possibly never bonding with any of them.  He had lost the only home he had ever known. He had no guarantee that we weren’t going to leave him as well. So he spent months pushing us away. This was super frustrating for us because during all those months of fighting and pushing us away he was also bonding and pulling us in to his heart. Every day was filled with hugs, kisses, screams and punches. And my heart felt as though it was being pulled apart, “I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you” is very exhausting.  But through it all I kept thinking, “This will pass. He will soon trust that we love him and that we are not leaving him and he will settle down.” Only he never did.

The days got easier, I guess. Or maybe we all just got used to it. I really don’t know which. Some days are better than others, as it is with any parenting hurdles. My sweet husband and I read books and took online parenting classes. But so far we really haven’t found what works consistently. Which brings us back to this morning, and our appointment at the behavioral health center.  And the relief of finding out that our sweet little angel probably is just a stubborn and defiant toddler.

OK, so now the real work begins. We don’t know if he will outgrow this behavior. We don’t know if this is somehow adoption related, seeing as he spent the first 24 months of his life in basically a free for all setting, where it was OK to hit other kids and where he had to fight for everything he got.  I’m choosing to believe that he will work it out. I’m choosing to believe that I will not have a tall, strong teenage son who is quick to anger and can’t handle his emotions. I’m choosing to believe that I will not have a 7 year old who can’t focus on the activity at hand and who’s favorite word is “no”.  I’m choosing to believe that if we put in the work and help him through this now that we can have calmer days and my tiny toddler can have the calm and happy life he deserves.

So we will participate in the program being offered by the hospital. We will read the recommended books. We will take deep breaths and walk away before we explode and we will take turns handling the odd behaviors. I will research diet changes and alternative medicines and make an appointment to discuss having the metals removed from his body. We will run our lives on routines, something it is very clear our little guy needs. We will anticipate and redirect and teach teach teach.  We will be thankful for our beautiful son, for the times that he laughs so hard that he instinctively covers his mouth with his hand and when he dances in his car seat. We will not lose sight of our big five year old, who soon will be starting kindergarten and may have his own struggles pop up.

So we really don’t know any more now, at the end of the day, than we did this morning, before our appointment. We know what our tiny toddler probably doesn’t have but he remains a mystery to be unlocked. And even though I am often exhausted and frustrated and ready to throw in the towel, I will happily plug away at finding the key to unlock the beautiful little person I know is in there.

welcome to my adventures in positive parenting!

I think my sweet husband and I are pretty good parents. We roll with the total chaos and try very hard to enjoy every moment of it. Personally, I don't mind the little things. My boys can splash water out of the tub. They can race their very loud trucks around the circle of our downstairs while my sweet husband and I sit at the kitchen table, right on the race track, trying to finish dinner. They can rummage through the junk drawer looking for my Bert's Bees to feed their growing lip balm addiction. My big five year can use his "super powers" to climb up onto the kitchen counter and help himself, and his brother, to candy, or a cookie, or a banana. We change diapers on the sofa and the floor. We change diapers in the way back of our Equinator. (Our Equinox- best. car. ever.) I have even changed diapers on the concrete floor of airport bathrooms in both Hong Kong and South Korea. They can litter the backyard with toys and pick out their own clothes, which means sometimes the big five year old looks as though he was dressed by Helen Keller. Truth be told, I am pretty proud of the way we let our boys be themselves. Family over perfection~ that's my motto.

That all being said, however, there are still countless times that I find myself totally exhausted from the nagging and bargaining it takes to keep this family moving. I hate hate hate giving consequences. Can't we all just get along?

So, take the need to lose the nagging and throw in the behavior issues our tiny toddler presents us with on a daily basis and it was pretty clear- we are good at this parenting thing but we could be better. We needed help!

Which prompted a search of parenting styles/classes that fit our family and our specific needs. As an adoptive parent there is no question that some of my parenting techniques must reflect the special needs adoption brings to the table.  I started with Beyond Consequences because I was hearing a lot about this approach from my Families With Children From China Friends. And it seemed like a good system, albeit maybe a tad pricey. I have heard nothing but good things about the techniques used through Beyond Consequences. This program was created by an adoptive mother who truly understands attachment issues and how early life trauma can lead to very severe behavior problems that affect the entire family. Which is exactly what we were facing, but still, the program sounded a tad too severe for us. We don't have violence in the home, we don't have totally unmanageable children. Now, we might, one day, if we don't get a handle on all this now, have those major problems, but right now our issues are not that drastic and I am not ready to label our family in that way. So I kept looking.

Then I found Positive Parenting Solutions. Yesterday I participated in a free online seminar with this organization and I learned a few things. First of all, I learned that I am not alone. In fact, I learned that there are families out there with far more serious behavior problems than what my two little guys throw at me. I also learned that we need to get a handle on this now, before my boys grow into teenagers. I learned that I was doing a lot right, which was unexpected and very cool. I learned that you don't need to have kids with major behavior issues to want to have a calmer more loving household. I walked away from that seminar more excited about parenting than I have been in a long time. So I jumped in with both feet and signed up for the online classes and resources. I began using just one of the techniques I learned about yesterday with my big five year old during our visit to the library and we managed to have a perfectly pleasant library visit, complete with kiddy computer time, a game of checkers, and books checked out, all with no whining when it was time to end each activity. Score!

Tomorrow morning I plan to start using a few techniques to make our morning routine run a tad more smoothly. Does it make me a nerd that I am so excited about this?  And in my true fashion, I plan to blog about it all the way. What worked, what didn't, what changed my life. So stay tuned, my adventures in positive parenting are just beginning!