April 2008

Oldest One is mad at me.

Mad enough that, since about 3:30 when he arrived home from school, he has not left his room. It’s nearing 5pm.

For a while he was making quite a bit of noise in there but, for the past little while, it’s been quiet.

He is mad because he didn’t bring his math workbook to school – two days in a row – and, as a result, he has lost $1 from his allowance and isn’t allowed to play WoW today. If you ask him, he will tell you that he is mad at me because I took away his game – not mad at himself for forgetting his work.

He is mad because we have expectations.

He is mad because we don’t let him shirk his responsibilities.

He is mad.

For much of my life I have avoided “mad” by becoming a silent-walking Ninja in my own home. Whether it was my parents or my boyfriend, I would find a way to shrink into nothing and be silent, in order to avoid the anger.

I cannot do that with a ten year old, nor do I want to, but sometimes the urge still pops up. Avoiding it seems easier, no?

Instead, I look him straight in the eye. I don’t blink. And I remind him that the consequences of not doing his homework have been spelled out quite clearly for him in the past.

He is MAD.

And I take deep breaths.

Scene: I’m in the kitchen making granola bars. The door to the playroom opens and Maymo appears.

Maymo: Mom? PLEASE MOM?

Me: Um, please what? What do you need?

Maymo: PLEASE.

Me: PLEASE.. what?

Maymo: PLEASE can I take my shirt off PLEASE? PRETTY PLEASE?

Me: Maymo, you can take your shirt off at home any time you like. You can run around the house naked for all I care. But why do you want to take your shirt off?

Maymo: (looking at me like I’m retarded) Why not?

He then goes back into the playroom and closes the door.

The End.

This morning I heard the pitter-patter of small feet on the ceiling above me (we sleep below the living room) and noted that one of the kids was obviously up earlier than usual.

It turned out to be Oldest One who, by the time our alarm rang, had already eaten breakfast, packed his lunch, made his brother’s lunch, done all of his chores, set out the cereal/bowls/vitamins for his brothers..

It was awesome. Totally perplexing, but awesome.

–

No need to worry; I didn’t go and beat up any eight year olds last night.

The truth is that I’m quite confused by the whole deal – the kid in question was at Middle One’s birthday party, always friendly to me at the school, and his mom has always been friendly.

So I’m not sure what transpired. I’m not sure how things went from “friends” to “I hate you”.

I am hoping that this is isolated – not the sort of kid campaign that leads to Middle One being picked on by other kids just ‘because’.

In the meantime, I’ve told Middle One that I think the situation sucks and that if he wants me to do something I will (though I’m certain he won’t want me to do anything and, too, I have no idea what the hell I would actually do) and that I’m here to listen.

The truth is that Middle One is a quirky, strange, eccentric kid. And I know, as well as you do, that quirky, strange, eccentric kids are not always easily accepted at times.

But he is loving and sweet and kind. He’s confident in a way that I can’t remember ever being – and he’s 100% okay with being himself. If he can hold on to that, he’s going to be fine.

That “friend”, however, should probably take care not to run into me at the grocery store because I am not above pelting him with grapes, apples and random canned goods.

–

This morning I smelled bubble gum on Maymo’s breath before he started eating breakfast. I suspected he had been chewing some but he denied it.

The smell, however, was noticeable from a foot away.

I asked – he denied. But he looked squirmy and he reeked of gum and he was avoiding eye contact.

So I resorted to a trick that an ex-boyfriend’s parents had used on him as a child.

“Maymo, did you know that when you lie, the inside of your mouth turns blue?”

“No..”

“Were you chewing gum this morning?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because you smell like gum and I’m pretty sure you were chewing it.”

“No! I wasn’t! I wasn’t chewing gum!”

“Okay, open your mouth and let me look.. OH! Do you know what colour the inside of your mouth is?”, I asked.

He looked completely shocked. “Blue? It is blue. Because I was eating gum this morning.”

The friend’s parents had always told him that his tongue would turn blue if he lied – and when I heard that story (at the ripe old age of 17-ish) I laughed and laughed and laughed at my boyfriend’s gullibility.

This morning, after a stern reprimand about lying, I had to leave the room to laugh.

–

Oldest One has been riding his bike to school every day without incident. I am so unspeakably proud of him for this bit of bravery.

Middle One will be starting to ride to school on Monday. And, of course, I’m totally nervous about this even though he rides all over the neighbourhood on the weekends.

–

I’m hoping to get a bigger start on spring cleaning this week and the coming weekend. Is it weird to be this excited about scrubbing walls and floors and cupboards?

I also can’t wait for warmer weather so we can do some painting – we have a ceiling in the dining room that’s chipping (from the leak we had) and I can’t wait to get it all painted up and looking spiffy again.

Oldest One still says he wants his room to be painted black – which is fine with us – and I suspect Middle One is going to want to do the same. It’ll be interesting to see if Maymo still wants “pink!” for his side of the room. At least it’ll coordinate with Middle One’s choice, right?

–

Time for a toasted bagel.

For a while, Middle One was calling and leaving messages for a friend in his class at school. The friend never called back but, as you may know, eight year olds aren’t exactly the most socially-adept people.

Then, the same friend invited him to come over after school “any time!” to play. The kid lives near the school, so we had no problems with letting Middle One ride his bike there. But he’d return home shortly after he left, reporting that this friend wasn’t home.

Again, however, eight year olds aren’t exactly the masters of their own domains – they have lessons and visits with relatives and shopping trips with parents and all the rest.

On another occasion Middle One biked over to the friend’s house, returned and said that a neighbour told him, “Oh, they’re not there. They went to the beach and they’re staying in a hotel there.”

Middle One was perplexed. I was perplexed. I figured there was something lost in the telling – as often happens around here.

And every day this friend would be at school.

And every day he wouldn’t be home afterward.

Today Middle One said that the house he thought was his friends’ wasn’t. And neither was the phone number.

And he knew this because he asked the friend why he was never home and the friend replied, “Because that’s not my house and I didn’t give you my real phone number and I don’t like you.”

So, if you need me, I’ll be somewhere in the neighbourhood beating up an eight year old for upsetting my kid. Please start putting bail money together because I am pretty confident that this isn’t going to end well.

Our social worker visited yesterday – our Adoption Worker, I should say – and met with the boys briefly after she and I hashed out some various issues and details.

The boys are always nervous about her presence – despite her reassurances that she won’t take them away from us and that her visits are for positive reasons – so I spend a lot of time talking to them about how much I like our worker. And, really, I do.

I consider each visit to be one step closer to finalization.

And, too, I think we lucked out when it came to all of the social workers we’ve dealt with in this process.

–

The two older boys need to have independent legal counsel in the near future. Coffee and I are not permitted to attend the meeting (though, of course, we’ll be in the waiting area) while the boys are asked whether they do, in fact, want to be adopted. They will have to explain to the lawyer what “adoption” means and what it will mean for their future.

The two older boys will then sign paperwork for their adoption and then they’ll have 21 days to wait (during which time they are able to change their minds) and then.. we get a judge’s signature on some paperwork and it’s a done deal.

A done deal!

I don’t anticipate feeling any different about our situation once the paperwork is signed. I already feel quite permanent about things – I don’t have any wiggling thoughts that this isn’t going to actually happen or that the agency will decide to change their minds.

–

Adoption Worker: Oldest One, you look nervous. Does it make you nervous when I visit?

Oldest One: No.

Adoption Worker: No? But you’d prefer if I didn’t visit at all, right?

Oldest One: (laughing) Yeah.

–

Our adoption worker also asked whether I was comfortable with public speaking (yes, yes I am) and whether I’d be willing to speak to potential adoptive parents during training sessions. I said I would absolutely be willing – and thrilled to do so.

–

Coffee and I talked last night about the various cautions and suggestions we’d offer to potential adoptive parents (of older kids) and what we’d tell them to expect. Our list was quite long (I’ll share it if you’re actually interested..)

But we both agree that we’d do this again – that the decision to adopt older kids was the right decision for us. That things have mostly been as we expected and that the difficulties, too, have been pretty much what we thought.

–

Yesterday was the first time, ever, that the kids weren’t a basket of tears and anger and fighting immediately after our worker left. In the past it’s like a cork popping out of them the moment the door closed.

Last night they exploded with energy, of course, but on an emotional level everyone was reasonable. No fighting or tears or yelling.

Progress..

The visit with Grandpa and his wife went very well. They met us at the archery range in the morning, which gave the adults time to talk privately about the boys, bio-Mom, 15YO, etc., and then they followed us home for lunch and time spent with the boys.

Once home, Coffee and I tried to leave the room as often as possible – knowing that Grandpa was there to visit the kids and not us, of course – and we popped in and out to help wrangle the kids whenever things got a bit crazy. We didn’t want to interfere, though.

So far, a few days later, the only one with an emotional “fall-out” seems to be Maymo. He’s been weeping and crying and quite upset off and on for “no reason” which leads us to think it’s related to the visit and the excitement and the all-out love-fest that took place. On one hand, it sucks to see him so emotional but, on the other hand, it’s good that he made the connection and understands a bit better what “Grandpa” means.

Oldest One had a rough day yesterday in a few ways but wasn’t as wrecked as we would have expected.

Middle One has been his usual self. No issues, really.

We thanked the boys for letting us meet and spend time with their Grandpa. We’re all one big family in a sense. Grandpa is a part of our (Coffee and my) lives now as much as he is part of the boys’ lives, albeit in a different way.

I think the kids were happy that Grandpa accepted us, and vice versa. I know the older two had wondered what Grandpa would think of our dyed hair and our piercings – and I think the fact that Grandpa was okay with them (or, at least, not outwardly disapproving) went a long way in making the boys feel like it was okay to be adopted and to love us.

And I think the fact that we liked Grandpa and his wife a lot – and were able to exchange hugs and laugh and talk happily – went a long way to making the boys feel accepted too. To know that we are open to their biological family in a sense means that we’re not going to try to take that away from them.

From my point, though, the visit made me miss my Dad more than I have in a while. I know how much he’d have loved to spend time with the boys and to see someone else doing that (from a grandparent perspective) made me a bit weepy at times. I am so very, very glad the boys have Grandpa – even though he lives far away and can’t visit more often,

[portion removed by Coffee's request]

Take one “found” kneeler chair in drab grey and dirt..

..and rip off that old fabric. Then cover it in a new, fancy print that you find REALLY CHEAP at the local store..

..and you’ve got yourself a truly fabulous kneeler chair to sit on:

All bow before my handy staple-gunning skills!

On a daily basis, I try make sure that Maymo has some “alone time”.

It’s not something he gets a lot of, really – he shares a room with Middle One; he goes to school with a bunch of other kids in the mornings; he spends the evenings fighting with his brothers and, to be honest, it kind of scares me to imagine him growing up into the sort of person who has no idea what to do with himself when alone.

We have a routine.

I pick him up from school around 11:15 and, now that the weather is nice, we go for a walk in the woods behind the building. We point to birds and nests and pinecones and animal tracks and spend some good quality air-sniffing time together. Today we had an hour long wander and it was wonderful!

Then we hop in the car and drive home. We pass Coffee’s office and shout, “HELLO PIPPY!” to his car when we see her in the parking lot.

Sometimes we run an errand or two.

We arrive home and I make what’s affectionately called a “party plate” for lunch – a small dessert plate on which I have placed peanut butter crackers, some cheese, assorted slices of fruit and any other food Maymo’s in the mood to eat.

Once he’s done eating, and his plate is placed on the kitchen counter, I leave him alone.

That’s right. I leave him alone. There are no crafts or games.

I don’t GO anywhere, of course, but while he’s tucked into the playroom and happily building lego castles and singing songs to himself I’m wandering around the house picking up other toys or reading a book or just plain listening to him sing.

When he first moved in, I felt obligated to spend every single moment with him. To entertain him, consult with him, chat with him, dance for him… and I was very much hesitant to let him EXIST on his own. I mean, what if he got LONELY or BORED?

As it turns out, he doesn’t.

If I were to leave him in the playroom from 9am ’til bedtime, I can assure you he’d only emerge for food and bathroom breaks. Maybe he’d ask to watch some “Wonder Pets” or “Word World” but, otherwise, he’s totally content in there.

Sometimes I want to go in and see what he’s doing but, when I open the door, he gives me the same look I give people when they interrupt me in the middle of a great chapter in a book – some annoyance mixed with a big dose of frustrated “patience”. And I realize that he needs time to himself, too, to play and sing and make a mess and pretend to be a car or a bird or something else altogether.

Don’t get me wrong – there are days when he wants to play something with me or do something with me or just follow me around the house for a while. And we do. But he’s growing to like some time to himself, too, and I think that’s really a fabulous thing.

–

At night we’ve been reading a bedtime story called There Is A Bird On Your Head by Mo Willems. In it, Piggie (the pig) says the phrase, “They are in love!” which I always read with a sort of sweet, sappy voice – “They are in loooooooooove!”. Maymo likes to say it along with me in the same voice.

Lately, whenever he hugs me (which is often) he’ll lean his head onto my shoulder and say, in that same voice, “We are in looooooooove!” which is, quite possibly, the sweetest thing a kid has ever done. Ever. No, really. EVER.

He also likes to tell me that he loves me more than his brothers love me. In fact, he loves me 2,010 and Middle One loves me 2,001 and Oldest One loves me zero. Or one, maybe, but probably not. ZERO. I’m not sure what the numbers represent or what scale we’re on here, but 2,010 is a pretty big number, right?

And he still calls me “Maymo Mom”.

When he’s in trouble for something he will sulk. He will cry a little bit. And then he will come over to me with a big smile on his face and say, “Hug?” and we do. And then he’s fine again and fixing his mistake or moving beyond it. He doesn’t hold a grudge.

If he needs me to help with something he’ll shout, “WHAT’S GONNA’ WORK?” and wait for me to finish with, “TEAMWORK!” and then he’ll sing it to me. Go Wonder Pets! And then we work together.

–

Four is a pretty amazing age.

I read an article a while ago that basically stated that any parent(s) with a child over the age of 10 should be able to live a mostly idle lifestyle because, of course, that over-10 kid should be doing the majority of the work around the house. Bonus points if you have more than one kid.

I agree with that statement to a certain extent. It’s not that I expect our kids to do all the work around the house, of course, but I do expect them to have responsibilities that extend beyond themselves and which benefit the family as a whole.

Our chore list at the moment is primarily skewed toward school work – spelling words and assignments and the like – but each kid (including Maymo) has a few tasks in addition. The chores will, ideally, be rotated to allow each kid a chance to be responsible for something, to learn the best ways to do that task, and to tuck that knowledge into their brain for the future.

I think it’s important, after a certain age, to learn the skills required to clean, cook, repair and maintain a home. While our chore list here will never be all-encompassing, and Coffee and I aren’t going to be living a life of leisure, I’d like to use the concept of chores as a teaching tool.

But when I tell people about the chores the kids have – particularly people who have kids around the same age as ours – they seem somewhat amazed. Is it really weird that we expect our kids to contribute to the overall happiness and cleanliness of the family?

Here are their current chores:

Oldest One (age 10)
- homework
- clean main bathroom by noon on Saturday
- collect and sort garbage/recycling on Thursday night
- clear the table after meals
- wipe the table after meals
- put away clean dishes

Middle One (age 8.)
- homework
- clean upstairs bathroom by noon on Saturday
- set the table for meals

Maymo (age 4)
- help Oldest One clear the table after meals
- help Mom clean shower (while he’s showering)
- help Mom/Dad fill bird feeders when they’re empty

Middle One’s chore list is slightly shorter than it used to be, simply because he needs more time for homework each night.

Oldest One’s chore list is also slightly shorter because he was having so much fun with cooking dinner each night (a previous chore) that he wasn’t doing his homework when asked. Once he’s back on track with homework we’ll be adding “make dinner” to his chore list again.

And Maymo’s chores are all “help someone” chores because, as noted, he’s only 4.

But really, I don’t consider this excessive in the slightest. In fact, I think the older two need MORE chores, not fewer.. Am I wrong?