My little boys are growing up. Most of the time they are typical 5 and 3 year old boys, racing through the house at top speed blowing whistles or screaming with laughter.  Most of the time they are loud and messy, just the way they are supposed to be. But more and more I am beginning to see the men they will one day become. Last month we heard the tiny toddler tell his Daddy that he missed him the night before, when we had left both boys at home with a sitter in order to sneak away for some much needed Beth and Brad time. (It has been so long since someone has called me “Beth” on a regular basis, instead of “Mommy” that sometimes when I hear it I am caught off guard. Are they talking to me?)

And that was quite a milestone for our little guy. Two and three year olds are notoriously selfish and unaware of others around them, but our youngest was even more so. For many months, over a year, we all sort of coexisted in this house. We bonded with our beautiful new son, and we bonded so well that he still screams when I leave him. He wanted to know we were close by, but there were many moments of total frustration as our youngest acted as though we meant nothing to him. He would, and still does sometimes, tell me to leave his room at bedtime, only to scream for me once I was out of his sight. I would come back and he would  kick me out again, pointing to the door and saying “Mommy go!”. This is no game. He is not laughing or smiling as he does this. He seems to truly want me to leave, but then is grief stricken when I do. This “I love you I hate you” sentiment has made me somewhat crazy over the past year.  Often our sweet little boy would stare at us blankly, or, worse yet, stare at us with hatred in his beautiful brown eyes. He was like a tiny angry visitor, not invested in his new mommy and daddy.

But last month he told Daddy, totally unprompted, that he had missed him the night before. Victory! There’s a glimpse at the little boy we knew was trapped inside the screaming, hitting toddler! And the other day he was the only one of my three men to notice that I not only got my hair cut and colored but that I also had my nails done. “Pretty Mommy!”. Which prompted this long and unnecessary conversation:

Him:       “Me color nails?”

Me:        “No, sweetie, only mommies color their nails.”

Him:       “Why?”

Me:        “Because boys don’t color their nails.”

Him:       “Why no boys?”

Me:        “Uh. Well… girls like the pretty colors, but boys don’t.”

Him:       “I like colors. I color nails.”

I’ll spare you the rest of this conversation, which pretty much consisted of me attempting to explain to my very young child why boys don’t paint their nails. Until I finally said this:

Me:        “I don’t have any nail polish, so you can’t color your nails.”

Him:       “OK mamma!”

Sigh.

 

I spent a night away from home last weekend and when my tiny toddler saw me the next morning he ran to me, gave me a big hug, and said “I missed you last night, mommy.” He understood that I was leaving, and while he wasn’t happy about it, he accepted that I would return. And when I did, he made sure I knew how much he had missed me, saying it over and over again. My little boy is beginning to understand that he belongs to us and we to him, and that we will always be together, even when we are sleeping in separate towns for the night. He is starting to show his emotions in a positive way. Plus, he complimented my hair, which none of the other boys in my life did. I can see a little bit of the man he will become starting to emerge.

 

And it’s not just the tiny toddler doing some growing up these days. Our boys  just started a new daycare program this week and we managed to be late to pick them up on the very first day. The people over at the Parents of the Year award should be calling any day now. The reason my sweet husband was late was a car accident on the highway that slowed traffic down. That very morning my sweet husband had forgotten something he needed for work and so before dropping the boys off I drove them downtown, where Daddy was hanging out on a street corner waiting for us. There we were, me with the car pulled over to the curb, him bent over with his head in the window. Worst. Pickup. Ever.  So my big five year old knew that Daddy worked downtown. And later in the day, when some of his classmates had still not been picked up, he overheard a teacher talking about a car accident on the highway coming from downtown. And then even later, at the dining room table, as we were talking about our days, my big five year old spoke up and told his daddy that he was happy that he was OK because he heard about the car accident and he knew Daddy worked downtown, and he was “just a little worried” that Daddy might have been in that accident. Look at my big five year old caring about what happens to others!

We shield our children from so much. I know I do. My big five year old has a huge heart and is super sensitive, so I am very careful about how much information he receives. But he is out in the world every day, without me. He hears things and sees things and I have no idea how he is internally processing it all. But the other day, at the dining room table, amid the ketchup and the strawberries and the cups of chocolate milk, I saw a glimpse into the man he is growing into. And I couldn’t be more proud.

it's a lot of responsibility, this parenting gig

The other day I received a very thoughtful card in the mail from my mother in law. She had remembered that one year ago today, around this time, we were burying my mother. She sent me a thinking of you card, in which she wrote that she was happy that I was a part of her family. It was, by far, the single nicest thing that anyone had done for me in a while.

I was still thinking about this thoughtful gesture when I picked up my boys from daycare/preschool that afternoon. On the way out of the church I told my son about the card I had received from his grandmother and I asked him if knew what Grandma had been feeling when she sent it to me. We talked about compassion and empathy. Later that evening at the dinner table I asked my big four and a half year old if he could tell Daddy what feeling Grandma had when she sent me the card. He couldn't. But he could say that Grandma was thinking about Mommy and that it made Mommy feel good. I'll take it.

I talk to my boys a lot about what we are feeling. And about what other people are feeling. And about our role in what others are feeling. I believe that understanding how we feel and how our actions impact how others feel is the foundation for raising compassionate, caring, and loving boys. I believe that boys need to be allowed to be boys- to run and jump and lay on the sidewalk looking at bugs. I want my boys to climb trees and play football and get dirty. But I also want them to appreciate music and feel the power and satisfaction of creating music. I want them to read and be able to appreciate, if not like, art. I want them to be well rounded. And that includes compassion.

The same day that I received the thoughtful message from my mother in law a friend of mine posted on facebook a status update about bullying in elementary school. A discussion ensued and one theme was prominent ~ none of us really remember kids being mean to each other when we were in elementary school. And it got me thinking. This is why I want my boys to understand compassion and empathy. I know there is a fine line between raising confident boys and raising bullies.

I also know that I have sons who may one day be the target of a bully. My big four and a half year old has a crooked little nose that is pushed in one side, a casualty of his cleft lip and palate. One day it will be repaired. But he has already come home from preschool asking why his nose is different that his friends'. The jump from 4 year old friends innocently asking him why his nose is different to a 5 year old bully mocking him for it is not a huge leap.

I know both my boys might one day face a pint size accuser calling them out on their heritage or on the fact that their mommy isn't "real". There is a real chance that my boys might be bullied. I also am not so unaware as to assume that my boys won't ever be the bully. Which is why now, when I see the chance to teach them about compassion, I seize it.

Last week when I picked up my big four and a half year old from school he and his friends were running races in the gym. My little guy is fast. He might not have noticed how his winning every footrace was making one of his friends sad, but I did. When we got to the car I asked if he had noticed. (He hadn't.) I asked if he could think of something he could do to make his friend feel better. (he couldn't.) We then brainstormed about skills his friend has that he could compliment. We came up with one, and he promised to try to remember to mention it the next day. Who knows if he did or not, but at  least he thought about it. At least, for a few minutes during our car ride home, he thought about how when he wins, which is awesome, someone else loses, which is not so awesome for them. At least, for a minute, he thought about how he could make someone else feel better about themselves.

It's a start. It's a lot of responsibility, this parenting gig. I don't want my boys to be bullied as they navigate the already difficult world of growing up. But I don't want them to be the bully either. I want them to be confident and strong. But not so strong that they are hateful. I want so many things for my boys that it sometimes overwhelms me. The good news is that I am in control of at least a little part of their destiny. I believe the end of bullying starts at home. By teaching, and sharing, and talking, and living my words every day. Even the two year old knows how to say he is sorry. And I know when I first started making him say it when he hit his brother or threw something at my head that he had no clue what it meant. But now he says it while gently rubbing my arm, or while giving his older brother a little hug. Now he knows what it means to be sorry- he knows that he hurt someone and he has to make it right. And that is a good first step.

today is the day he took his crime spree on the road

Years from now when my youngest son does something mischievous, like pull a prank in college and get caught, I will be able to look back and pinpoint exactly when his life of crime began. Today, July 13, 2011, at 4:05 p.m. Sure, he has taken toys from his brother at home, he has stolen my cell phone and Daddy's car keys, but today is the day he took his crime spree on the road.

Before Alex joined our family my oldest son showed no interest in carrying his belongings from his cubby at daycare to the car. Every day it was a battle as I juggled his lunchbox, home work papers, clothes, swim trunks, towel- whatever odds and ends he needed to get through the day. Then along came his little brother, who is more than happy to carry all he can away from school, and suddenly Matthew wants to do it all himself. Alex is especially interested in Matthew's  lunch box, demanding to carry it out of school every evening. Now that his brother wants it, Matthew wants it too, naturally, so pretty much every day I have to become a hostage negotiator to free the lunchbox from the grips of two sets of little sticky hands. Every day.

So I knew my youngest son really liked the lunchbox. I just thought it was that lunchbox...

Today when we arrived to pick up Matthew he could barely contain his excitement over the brand new lunch box of a friend. And to his credit, it was a way cool ride for the carrot sticks and gummy bear set. It was a large plastic John Deere tractor. It was, according to my oldest son, ..."so cool, Mommy, it is just really way cool." While standing in awe of this large plastic tractor he didn't even notice that his little brother had taken the opportunity to nab his lunchbox from his cubby. With Alex trailing behind us we walked down the hall and around the corner, past 4 more classrooms and walls covered with cubbys. As we headed towards the front of the church Matthew was chattering away about wanting to get a lunchbox like his friend's, only "not a tractor, Mommy, but something even cooler, like a race car." He debated aloud about which would be better, a nameless race car or a Hot Wheels car. "Like Track Attack, Mommy, one of those way cool cars." (Track Attack, for those of you not living with a pint size race car fanatic, is a Hot Wheels driving game for Wii that my little guy may just be addicted to. I am not too concerned though. What with the casino being built right around the corner from me I figure there will be plenty of addiction help popping up soon.)

As I listen to Matthew chatter on about race car lunchboxes and how he needs a new one because Alex is going to need one when he starts daycare so he can have his old one and "I can get the new one, Mommy, because I am the older kid, right Mom, right?", I quickly look back every so often to be sure that Alex is trailing behind us. I see his light brown hair bopping and weaving out of the corner of my eye, as he toddles along behind us while Matthew hangs on to my arm and bounces up and down, making sure he has my full attention focused on the very important matter of race car lunchboxes and how much more food they can hold. More food? This kid barely eats at home, yet he cannot seem to get enough at lunch. I make a mental note to ask him later, when he is not so excited about race cars, if he is getting enough to eat at school.

We pass the drinking fountains and head towards the cafe area. I completely turn around to look fully at my youngest son for the first time since we began our journey from the classroom. I see he is still hanging on tightly to Matthew's little red lunchbox. And he is also holding on tightly to 4 other lunchboxes of various shapes, sizes and color. What the hell? He is totally loaded down, with 2 lunchboxes in each hand and the fifth one held tightly against his chest. He can barely see over all of them. If I wasn't so mortified I would have found it quite funny. Looking back, I wish I had whipped out my cell phone and taken a picture. Although then there would be evidence of his crime...

I stop the train and pull into one of the cafe tables. Matthew, always helpful, chooses this moment to say "Mommy! You have to watch him ALL THE TIME!"

After looking around to see if any other parents or teachers are around we lay the 4 lunchboxes out on the table. I pick each one up individually, turning it over looking for a name. One has a first name and last initial neatly printed on the back. I set it aside and open the other 3. Nothing. No names, and one of them even has a space to write the name! Parents, really! My kid CANNOT be the only one who steals lunchboxes in broad daylight. If your child's lunchbox has a place to write the name of your child in it, do it!

Matthew pipes up to tell me he knows who these other lunchboxes belong to. I sit down at the table and corral Alex between my legs so that he cannot wander behind the counter and steal the coffee pot. I put my hands on Matthew's shoulders and look him square in the eye. "This is VERY important, Matthew. Do you REALLY know who these lunchboxes belong to?" His expression is serious as he solemnly shakes his head, yes. I hand him  the lunchboxes and tell him to put them back in the right cubby's. Oh and Matthew? HURRY!

So, yes, I kinda made my 4 year old an accessory to a crime. He took his role very seriously and skipped off to put the stolen goods back where they belong. Alex accompanied me, this time in my arms so that he was not free to wander about picking up loot, to put the last lunchbox back in the right bin.

As we walked out of the church tonight I wondered if I should have found a teacher to help us, and not relied on the 4 year old to sort out the mess. Here's hoping everyone took home the right lunchbox tonight!

waiting for his mommy to come get him

Yesterday when I picked up my little guy from day care his teacher mentioned to me that my sweetie pie had had a tough day, spending most of it upset with a little friend because of teasing about his mommy. Me. My son was upset because his friend kept saying "Your mommy is my mommy." Seemingly innocent teasing. This is a good friend that my son looks forward to playing with every day, the same kid who my little guy constantly asks to have over for play dates. I didn't think much of it at the time. After all, kids are always looking for ways to annoy each other, right?

We get in the car and on the road and we discuss his day and the "Christmas junk: we see out the windows. We talk about dinner and the Wii football game he wants to play when we get home. Then he asks me if he is in trouble for getting mad at his friend. "Of course not", I say. "But he was just teasing you like you tease Daddy when you say you like college football. He was only teasing."

My son is quiet in his car seat for a few moments and then he says, "I don't like it when he teases me about that. You are my mommy, not his. I waited for you to come to get me in China and that is where babies are who need mommies. You are mine." Talk about a heart stopping moment. I nearly had to pull the car over to the side of the road. My son is a few months away from his fourth birthday. He knows he was born in China. He has read "Shaoey and Dot, Bug Meets Bundle". he has seen the photos of our life changing trip to China and he has heard the abbreviated toddler version of his story. He has listened quietly as I have answered nosy questions from strangers regarding his lineage. He is proud to be from China. Yes, he knows all of that. And yesterday I learned that he understands more than we thought. He gets it.

It's funny, really. There are so many moments in the course of daily life when an adoptive parent questions "Is this adoption or is this life?" Is the fact that my son has followed me from room to room of our home since the day he came home linked to a fear of abandonment he cannot yet express or is it typical young child behavior? As he gets older we will face more and more of these questioning moments. I rarely think of his odd quirks and occasionally poor behavior as being related to adoption. Adoption was the furthest thing from my mind yesterday when his teacher relayed the story of his spat with his little friend.

So I learned yesterday that my little guy does sometimes think about the rocky start to his life. I wonder what he will feel and think when he learns, when he is much older, just how rocky that start truly was. But I learned something even more important yesterday on that ride home from church. I learned just how very important I am to my little guy. He won't share me with anyone who didn't join his family the same way he did, "waiting for his mommy to come get him."