December 2007

Last night, Coffee and I stayed up mighty late – first, hanging out with Oldest One, who “wasn’t tired”, and then wrapping presents until our hands were numb.

Like a moron, I was determined to carry on my family tradition of wrapping each item that goes into the stocking in addition to wrapping the bigger gifts. It makes the whole present thing take longer and it’s way more fun but, ohmygod, it sucked to do all that wrapping.

We finally turned off the lights and hit the proverbial hay at around 1 a.m.. only to be awakened by Middle One at around 3 a.m. He had a nightmare for the second night in a row. Coffee brought him to sleep in our bed, tucked between us. This is a HUGE no-no in the world of foster care but I’m going to assume the agency will make an exception since we ARE adopting the kids once the paperwork shows up.

I was so tired when Coffee plunked Middle One into the bed that I couldn’t even open my eyes.

I also couldn’t fall back to sleep for a very, very long time. Yargh.

And of course, at 7 a.m. this morning, we woke up and hit the ground running with everyone opening gifts and shrieking and giggling.

For the past few hours we’ve been taking turns challenging Oldest One at his new Wii game – Rayman Raving Rabbids – which has been a spectacular hit with all of us.

Here’s hoping it tires the kids out because, oy, I need to get SOME sleep tonight!

The list of gifts included Wii games and DS games and board games and candy and, for Oldest One, the only gift he really really wanted: World of Warcraft. Sadly, the family computer we bought (for Christmas) won’t arrive for a few days. He was giddy to open the package, however, since he’s been asking about it since the day he learned he’d be here for Christmas.

The Boys each picked out presents for Coffee and I – for me, a stack of chocolates and fuzzy socks and, for Coffee, three fabulous t-shirts. They picked out present for each other, too, and I was surprised by their generosity and thoughtfulness overall.

No one has eaten anything remotely nutritious. No one has showered, brushed their teeth or otherwise groomed themselves beyond putting clothes on. No one has breathed a drop of fresh air. There are candy wrapper littering the entire house.

In other words, Christmas is exactly as it should be.

Here’s hoping you’re having a spectacular day, too!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

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If you need me, I’ll be huddled under a pile of discarded wrapping paper, trying to catch up on my sleep while the kids power the entire house with their sugar-driven manic energy!

The kids are currently using our bed – a queen-sized mattress on the floor – as a jumping, vaulting and wrestling ring. I’m sitting in the office (right next to them, mostly in sight).

In the process, each one of them has been bashed, punched, kicked or otherwise mangled in some (minor) way. And, of course, once they’re injured even a little bit, they start to cry those “ow” tears that aren’t really HURT so much as stunned and angry.

But those non-hurts still cause the kind of tears that involve some sort of sulking which, if ignored, will stop in about 3 seconds but which, if paid attention to, will lead to sobbing and wailing and being mad at someone.

After the third or fourth set of “ow” tears, I finally stated that if anyone got hurt again they’d have to stop playing on the bed.

I have heard several THUDS and several THUNKS and a few “OWs!” and yet, there haven’t been any tears at all. None! Nada! Zip!

Ha!

(Seriously, can I just say that it’s really easy to feel totally competent and brilliant as a parent? It’s also just as easy to feel like a complete, clueless idiot.. but I’m forgetting that part for now..)

There were very few tears today – just a few from the usual bumps-and-scrapes and a few from frustration. No temper tantrums, no screaming, and, even more importantly, no fratricide.

I feel like the World’s Best Mother! I kept all three alive! All day! *grin*

Little One had a long bath this evening – I sat next to the tub (and got soaked) while he splashed around with some of the assorted tub toys. His favourite so far seems to be the little blue whales that spit water. We bought him a nifty water funnel-like toy thingie (how’s THAT for a description) that he’ll get to open at Christmas and I suspect it’ll be a hit.

The moment Little One hopped out, I wrapped him in a huge towel and carried him upstairs to put on his jammas. He kept talking about the bubbles and the warm water and how much fun it was. Man, I hope THAT perspective on bathing continues.

With only one single comment from me about it being “time for a bath”, Middle One was in the tub before I had a chance to blink. Once he settled into the water, sitting comfortably, I turned on the Jacuzzi jets and the bubbles grew a personality of their own. It was crazy fun.

Man, I’d love to show you the pictures…

I read LO and MO a quick story, hugged and kissed them both goodnight, and left them with their Dad. Coffee is now reading them a second story and getting them fully tucked in for the night.

And Oldest One? He’s in the tub as I type this, relishing the bubbles that he made with the Jacuzzi jets and, I assume, getting more wrinkled than your average prune. In a few minutes I’ll knock and tell him it’s time to get out. I imagine he won’t be overly thrilled with that eviction notice.

We’ve been talking about signing all three boys up for swimming lessons – they don’t need to be lifeguards, but I want them to be comfortable and safe around water – and I think their love of bubble baths might be a good sign.

I probably just jinxed that, didn’t I?

At any rate, all is well over here. The kids are fine, I’m fine, Coffee’s fine.. We may actually survive Christmas!

For a while, now, I’ve been keeping a fairly big secret with regard to The Boys.

It’s time to come clean!

The secret… is that I am in contact with some of The Boys’ extended family – aunts, specifically – and those extended family members read this blog.

(Note to Aunts: I’m not going to identify you here and you are under no obligation whatsoever to do so, either.)

I confessed this ‘secret’ to The Boys social worker a few days ago. She asked how Coffee and I felt about it (and how it happened) and I told her that it wasn’t something we had specifically set out to do, but rather we ‘found’ each other via the internet.

Call it kismet, if you like, but it was a totally amazing connection that I’d never have expected in a million years and, mygod, it made me unspeakably happy.

Blogs are powerful things, my friends.

We intend to keep The Boys in touch with these relatives as much, and for as long, as everyone is comfortable. This is a very, very good thing.

I told The Boys that I had been in contact with these relatives and you’d have swooned if you could have seen their faces light up. “You mean we don’t have to lose contact with them?!” asked Oldest One.

Adoption means loss for kids. They lose their parent(s), family, school, friends, belongings, pets, familiar routines, familiar faces, familiar smells and familiar foods. They lose their sense of security and their understanding of the world. At the age of 4, 7 or 10, they’ve already lost pretty much everything they’ve ever known.

They were moved from their family home into a foster home which, in theory, will provide them with the necessities of life. But everything is new and strange – from bedtimes to toothpaste brands to the food served at dinner. And then, once they had mostly settled, they were moved AGAIN to our house.

Y’know how stressed you are when you pack and move to a new place? Even when you CHOSE that place? Or when a friend moves away and you miss all the things you used to do with them? Multiply that by a thousand or two when it comes to being adopted as a kid and add in a healthy dose of people telling you to, “Get used to it” or “This is just how it is now..”

The kids have very little control over their new lives.

A lot of people ask what our reactions, feelings or thoughts are toward The Boys’ birth family. The question pops up regularly when I mention we’ve adopted domestically and that The Boys have lived in the KW area most of their lives.

People feel rather insecure about “local” adoption – the fear of a birth mother appearing to whisk the kids away or a long-lost grandmother who wants to reclaim the child sometime in the future. And let’s just admit that we’ve all read some story in the newspaper about that exact scenario happening. I’d be lying if the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

But we focus, instead, on what’s best for The Boys. We minimize risks and we’re honest with the kids and we remind ourselves that we are not the only people who love them.

Adoption is a very strong combination of loss and gain for everyone involved.

For all our happiness at having The Boys in our family, we know that it has meant a big loss for their mother (of course). It’s obvious that she loved her kids but, you know as well as we do, love isn’t always enough to help you overcome your problems. Did she set out in life to have kids and lose them? Of course not.

In the same realm of loss, it’s rare that the feelings of extended family members are really deeply considered unless those family members are in a position to adopt the kids themselves. There are a lot of reasons why someone might not be able to do that – from health to finances to location to living situations to..etc. It takes a lot of strength, in my opinion, to know what you can and cannot handle in your life.

Three boys? Not a small or simple committment to make..

Even though the extended relatives, in this case, aren’t The Boys’ parents and didn’t have that day-to-day contact with The Boys, it doesn’t mean they aren’t attached and loving and, at the same time, missing them and feeling that loss. While, for any number of reasons, it’s the right choice for them not to adopt the kids, it doesn’t mean they don’t want to know how they’re doing or what they’re up to these days.

I bear no ill will toward The Boys’ mother. She had some issues and problems that made it impossible for her to care for The Boys as well as they needed.

The specifics of those issues will remain the “private information” of The Boys (in other words, I’m not gonna’ list ‘em here – I want to keep their private lives, well, private!)

And I bear no ill will toward their extended family members.

In fact, I am incredibly grateful that they’re out there, in touch, and willing to stay in touch for the sake of The Boys. I know they’re relieved, too, to know that the kids are in a home full of love. That they are truly, completely and utterly wanted here. (And oh, they are so very wanted!)

It’s our job, now, to help The Boys reconstruct their lives. We let them talk about their mother, father, older brother, family, losses and gains as openly as possible. We ask questions about them and the good memories they have.

They keep a photo of their mom in their bedrooms and we regularly tell them how pretty she is (she really is!) and how much they look like her (because they do!)

Part of helping them feel safe and secure is to keep them in touch with anyone who has meaning in their lives – relatives, friends, teachers and even their foster parents. They already know they can’t go back to any of those places. They already know why they no longer live with their birth mom.

I am thrilled about this “secret that’s no longer a secret”. When The Boys ask us questions about their past – their mom, say – we now have people other than the agency to ask. If they ask about relatives’ names, we have someone to ask.

And The Boys know for sure that they are still loved by all the people who loved them before, too.

It is easy and then, somehow, it is really really hard.

One moment I feel like I know what I’m doing and everything will be okay… and the next moment I question whether I should be allowed to parent a potted plant, let alone a child (or three).

For a second everyone is happy.. and then I exhale and everyone is in tears or yelling or hating on the person next to them. And sometimes it’s really hard to keep a straight face when I hear what caused the outburst. Reaaaaally hard.

We knew when we signed up for this parenting gig that it would be exhausting and emotional and that we’d question ourselves a thousand times each and every day.

Or two thousand if you’re me and prone to overthinking things.

We know there are no ‘right’ answers to fit every scenario, especially with adopted older kids. We know we need to parent them differently than we (or you!) would with a child you’ve had since birth.

And so I question. And ponder. And wonder what the hell I’m doing.

Little One and Middle One were hanging out with me in the store earlier, minding our own business and happily moving along, when Little One decided he could not possibly handle another moment under my fascist regime.

Y’see, the rule is that you’re either holding my hand or holding the cart or you’re in the cart. He didn’t like ANY of these options and his desire to run wild around a busy store was totally not going to happen. Because I am a Mean Mommy.

So he decided to fling himself to the ground and cry. And cry. And cry.

And cry.

And cry…

After waiting several minutes (while hugging him and wiping away tears) I asked if he was ready to hold my hand, hold the cart or join Middle One who was already sitting in the cart. Little One crumpled back down the ground and glared at me as if trying to burn a hole in my forehead.

A stand-off in Zellers! Cue the dramatic music!

I have to confess: at this point I was having some problems keeping a straight face. Really. Have you ever seen the face of a REALLY ANGRY four year old?

Instead of giggling, I scooped him up, plunked him into the cart, and began pushing the cart toward the check-out where we were meeting Coffee and Oldest One.

Little One responded to my scoop-and-plunk by wailing at the top of his lungs – sobbing as though I was trying to kill him with my bare hands. Even Middle One was completely perplexed by the whole scene.

I do not find outbursts embarassing. Yes, they’re loud and they’re messy but, reasonably speaking, they’re just a fact of life when you’re little and you can’t express whatever it is that’s upsetting you. Psychological torture won’t work on me – I can hum punk rock songs inside my head and TOTALLY tune you out!

Pushing a cart with a screaming child did not phase me in the slightest and Little One was perfectly peachy-keen again by the time we met up with Coffee and Older One again.

But of course I second-guessed myself every second of that little adventure.

Should I have stood in the men’s section for as long as it took for him to stop sobbing and choose to either hold my hand or get in the cart? I didn’t think so – I mean, we had to meet up with Coffee and Older One and we didn’t exactly have three hours to stand there. Not to mention, I figured he’d be a lot calmer once we had a change of scenery.

Was there something I should have said, or done, instead of scooping him up? There is no reasoning with someone (of any age) who is lying on the ground sobbing for a reason they cannot articulate, of course, and no way to make him feel better, either. Plus, there’s no negotiating with the rules – they are what they are and little people have to follow them.

We need to continue working on attachment – which means simply walking away and telling him “We’re leaving!” or “Goodbye!” (as my own mother used to do) is not even remotely an option I’d ever consider in a million years. I can safely say that will NEVER be something I’d consider doing with any of the kids.

I am not a yeller – nor would this have been a situation worthy of yelling – so that wasn’t an option to consider.

I am not a threatener – nor was there really anything to threaten – so that wasn’t an option to consider.

So, as I wandered, pondering those thoughts, I decided that I had done what was best in the situation. And then it occured to me that Britney Spears gets a parenting coach to follow her dumb ass around and help her figure out what to do in these situations and, dammit, I WANT ONE TOO.

Could you please add that to my Christmas list? Please?

It’s 9:30. All kids are in bed. I remember a time when I wouldn’t have considered this to be a reasonable bedtime for a grown-up but, ohmygod, I am so very tired.

Good thing we were warned about this, too.

If we need to be anywhere at a particular time, wake Little One up three hours in advance so he can spend 2 of those hours randomly poking at his breakfast, tell me thirty-nine stories about cereal and/or toast, eat one mouthful every 10 minutes and cry for completely unknown (to him, to me, to everyone else) reasons…

As we put together our Christmas tree, last night, The Boys remarked that it was one of the most beautiful they’d ever seen. I had to agree with them.

The tree is shiny silver foil with purple and blue lights, a royal crapload of red shiny balls (attached to the tree with multicoloured paperclips) and red shiny foil garland.

There are chocolate-mint and grape candy canes, a few ornaments that The Boys picked out, and today we’re going to find a gigantic (and, no doubt, gaudy) star to attach to the very top.

It’s definitely not a ‘traditional’ Christmas tree. This is.. spectacular. It’d make the ‘normal’ people in the world wince.

What I’m saying, here, is that we’re obviously channeling you in our living room.

Of all the things you did as a parent, the one thing that really stuck with me was your willingness to teach your kid to be unique. To let his freak-flag fly, so to speak.

From dyeing his hair whatever colour he wanted to letting him listen to punk rock, I loved that you let him learn at an early age that we’re all free to live the way we want to live.

Childhood, in my opinion (and yours!), is a great time to live freely and not have many societal “shoulds” and “musts” attached to you. There’s so much time later in life to worry about what to wear or what other people think – though, wouldn’t it be great if we didn’t have to worry about that EVER?

So when the kids ask me if they can dye their hair blue, I’ll say yes. And when they ask if they can listen to some punk music, I’ll say yes. And when they ask if our silver foil tree is gorgeous, I’m absolutely saying yes.

I miss you a lot, Deb, but I’m still learning all the right lessons from you.

Love,
Violet.

..happened to be my WordPress comments database. (Somehow, I don’t think I can pin that on the kids.)

Coffee repaired it with some duct tape, a paperclip and approximately three seconds of time spent sitting at my computer.

Comments are now working again!

There are 3 boys in the house right now.

Little One is playing Mario Party on the Wii.

Middle One is kissing the beagle over and over and telling her how much he loves her.

Oldest One is running around organizing all his stuff in his Very Own Room.

Coffee is making pizza for dinner. (Pepperoni!)

And me? I’m breathing deeply and watching. And did I mention breathing deeply?

Shortly we’ll eat dinner and then we’ll be setting up the tree and putting on the lights.

FOREVER FAMILY!