October 2008

My biggest problem is not that I don’t want to do stuff, it’s that I can’t do ALL of it at the same time and thus.. I do nothing.

• laugh inappropriately
• stumble in the kitchen and burn things
• forget to pick up a kid (or are really, really late)
• drink alcohol sometimes
• have sex. Sometimes even “kinky” sex.
• remember what it’s like to be a kid
• make fun of their kids’ friends (behind closed doors when their kid isn’t there)
• have bad hair days
• dislike their kids
• love their kids so much they have no idea how to express it
• wish they had no kids
• wish they had more kids
• miss their friends who don’t have kids
• wish they had more friends who DO have kids
• try to be perfect mothers
• fail
• make mistakes
• yell sometimes
• find themselves in tears over really dorky arts and crafts
• struggle to find the “right” in parenting
• pass along habits and mannerisms to their kids
• swear, cuss, use profanity
• wonder if they’re making big mistakes in parenting
• feel confident in their parenting
• feed their kids cereal for dinner on occasion
• ..but supplement with chewable vitamins
• feel judgmental about other people’s parenting
• worry that people are judging them
• feel like they don’t fit in with the other mothers
• try too hard to fit in with the other mothers
• stop feeling embarrassed about a multitude of public humiliations
• appreciate advice when it’s not assvice
• love when someone offers to help
• feel excessive pride when their kid does something wonderful
• make big mistakes and small mistakes and feel the same guilt over both
• have no idea what they’re doing
• make it up as they go along
• try to find the bliss of each child, individually
• think their kids are better than YOUR kids
• feel despair
• wish they could take a nap
• do things that embarrass their kids
• feel sexy
• feel frumpy
• forget what it’s like to NOT have kids
• daydream about the day the kids all leave the nest
• daydream about having/adopting more kids
• experience surreal, weird kid-reality-based moments
• relearn the joy of an empty cardboard box and some lego
• beg for mercy
• have jobs
• miss having a job
• laugh a lot. a LOT LOT.

If only you could see the open, unending joy that spreads across the boys’ faces when they see their oldest brother.
If you could only see his face, too, as he sees them run into the room.

The hugs.
The tears.
The laughter.

There is a brief moment – a pause – when they first see each other. And then they reconnect instantly and that moment passes and they are together. They’re oblivious to the entire world going on around them.

We’ll start with more frequent visits. Progress to unsupervised visits. Move from there to dinner at our home. A weekend together, perhaps..

We have a “supervised visit” with the boys’ oldest brother (known as 16YO) at a McDonalds this afternoon. As always, the kids are “hesitantly excited” which means they occasionally let out a quick burst of, “Yipeee!” and then go back to being all shrugs and “eh, whatever” about it while looking nervous.

Since I’ve been talking about some of the conflicted feelings around family and adoption and biological family stuff, I might as well continue that thread, no?

16YO lives in a foster home. He has stated that he doesn’t want to be adopted (which is particularly understandable, I suppose, given his age) and will thus remain in care until he’s old enough to be on his own. My memory is that the agency will help him until he’s 21 (if he’s in school), but I’m not positive so please don’t quote me on that.

I don’t know if he’s happy. I mean, I don’t know if he wishes he had been adopted with his brothers (by us, or by someone else) or whether he is totally happy in foster care. I don’t know what’s important to him or what he cares about or what he likes/hates.

I know he’s still in touch with his biological mother. I don’t know what their relationship is like – healthy, unhealthy, sporadic or regular – though I know he’s not supposed to have contact with her at all. He’s 16, however, so it’s one of those things that no one can really control.

And 16? My memory of the age is that it’s one of completely insanity. For me it was boys, alcohol, pot, boys, more boys and oh, did I mention sex and boys? I recall wild moments. I recall screaming fights with my parents. And I wasn’t trying to adjust to a whole new situation.

And, really, I don’t know much about him other than what I hear from my assorted sources – my kids, 16YO’s aunt, a social worker or two. And those are only part of a big picture, right? If you asked a bunch of people to describe ME you’d still only get part of a picture. You’d still be surprised to learn that I snorted when I laughed and that I own six pairs of identical jeans (no, really, I do.)

I will admit this – if we had space, I would be petitioning very hard to have 16YO live in our home. We’re qualified to be foster parents, to him or anyone else, and I really and truly believe that it would be in the best interests of all of the kids to be together. They’re brothers. They’re family. They share a history.

Don’t get me wrong – I know it would also be one hell of a major transition for all those involved. Possibly an explosive transition.

I have no idea if 16YO would have any interest in that, either. He may prefer seeing his brothers randomly and having a different kind of freedom. He may not be thrilled with our rules and the things we’d insist he do/not do. He’d have to adjust to having three younger brothers idolizing him and following him around. Two (foster) parents who are concerned with his influence on the younger kids.

We could probably swing it if we made some huge sacrifices. I mean, surely 16YO wouldn’t mind sharing a room with his 11 year old brother right? (Ha!) Okay, really, we could dismantle the playroom and turn it into a bedroom. Add a chair to the dinner table. Cram Maymo into the trunk for car trips (or, y’know, take two cars). Move the Wii and the lego to the living room. Rework our budget to include another wolf-like food consumer.

And 16 means he’s nearing the age of moving out on his own, anyway. There’s a good chance he’d leave in a year or two, depending on his choices (school, girlfriend, etc) and perhaps being part of a family – not a foster care family, but a real one – would be a really good thing before he leaps out into adulthood.

A huge part of me thinks it’s the right thing to do. But Coffee and I haven’t really discussed it. We haven’t talked to the boys about it (because, ha, can you imagine how excited they’d get?!) and we obviously haven’t talked to 16YOs social worker or, even, 16YO himself! There may be a lot more to the picture than we’re aware of because, after all, we’re not privy to any information about 16YO other than what’s relevant to our boys.

I don’t know.

Do you ever get the feeling I like to complicate my own life more than is necessary?

There are so many times in life that I should just emulate my kids.

Today, for example, Maymo had a playdate. His version of “getting ready” was to spend every waking minute asking if “today is my playdate?” and then, when the day and time finally arrived, he peed, put on his shoes, and that was it.

And that’s pretty much his philosophy about everything: pee before you leave, wear your favourite shoes, and go..

I think I’ll work on that.

This morning I double clicked on an old Public Enemy album and can’t stop shouting, “Yeeeeeeeeah Boyeeeeeee!” over and over. I’m hoping to get it out of my system before I go to pick Maymo up from school because, well, yeah. No need to scare the other mothers, right?

I’m pretty sure I occupy a completely different realm from many of them already. I mean.. really. I try to imagine myself hanging out with some of them and then I totally understand SJ’s perspective.

(And yes, I am behaving myself and am avoiding my usual overly-profane communication methods.)

(Though it was cold enough outside, yesterday, that I was chanting, “MUTHERFUCKER” under my breath for a while.)

(But that doesn’t count.)

Amusingly, given that I just linked to that whole anti-playdate thing, Maymo has a PLAY DATE TODAY! And ohmygod, you’d think we were buying him a pony and bringing him a real live Transformer and letting him eat sugar for all meals for the rest of his life. That’s how excited he is.

I am moderately concerned about his social skills but, then again, he’s having a playdate with a girl from his class so I’m hopeful anyway. It’s not like she has a blog on which she’s going to write, “Today I had a playdate with Maymo and I think he stuck his finger up his nose. Then he cried because I touched a car that he liked.” and then all the other kindergarten kids will make fun of him.

That, and the little girl’s Mom is cool. (Hi Laura!)

(Don’t worry, if you stick your finger up your nose and cry, I won’t write about it here.)

Speaking of.. interactions with other kids: we have a scheduled visit with 16YO on Friday that the boys are eagerly anticipating. I’ve asked his social worker whether she thinks it would be possible for Coffee and I to have a “visit” with him on our own – without our kids – so we can get to know him a bit better. Or at least let him get to know us a bit better.

It just feels weird to have three boys in our house and not know anything about the fourth kid who happens to not live with us but is kinda’ part of our family because he’s part of my kids’ family and.. y’see? ADOPTION IS COMPLICATED.

(And hey, my post about adoption question had HUGE numbers of hits and only 3 comments and now I’m wondering: did I scare you off? Or was it just one of those “No idea what kind of comment to leave” blog posts?)

I think a lot about the boys’ biological mother.

I am absolutely certain that, as soon as he’s old enough, Oldest One will seek her out. I haven’t looked for her myself, of course, but she lives somewhere in the same city that we do so it wouldn’t be hard to get in touch. 16YO is still in contact with her – which means he can pass that information on to Oldest One.

It would be easy for me to find her, myself. She’s on Facebook. She’s likely listed in a phone book somewhere. I could email her father, my boys’ grandfather, and ask him to pass along my info.

But I won’t.

My feelings about her shift regularly. One moment I am angry – how could she do this to her kids? To MY kids? The next moment I am sad for her – does she miss them? Does she realize what she has lost?

Part of the problem, really, is that I don’t know her. I don’t know her personality or what she’s doing lately (though I’ve heard some bits and pieces from various sources) and if we met I am absolutely certain it would not be an easy meeting.

It’s likely that she’s angry about her kids absence in her life, right? Wouldn’t she be?

But does she blame me? Or is she, on some level, relieved that they are loved? For that matter, does she think I love them? Does she think it’s possible for me to love her boys as my own?

Does she know that I cannot possibly ever take her place in their lives? That they are not forgetting her and that they are not shifting their alliances to love me “more” than her?

Does she know how often I speak of her? How often I think about her? How hard it is to explain the concept of “biological mother” to Maymo who has absolutely no memory of her? Will she blame me when, someday, they meet up again and she’s a stranger to him?

What does she think about when she thinks of her kids? Does she try to imagine what they look like now? Does 16YO share photos of them with her? Does she wonder if they still eat X or love Y or do Z on the weekends?

Maymo is now one year younger than Middle One was when the boys moved into foster care. He looks so much like his older brothers when they were five and six years old that I cannot imagine she’d fail to recognize him if she passed him on the street.

Does she wonder how all of this has impacted the boys? Does she feel guilt? Does she feel relief?

Why didn’t she fight for her kids? Why didn’t she scream and fight and do everything that was required of her? Or did she try? Did she try to fight as much as she could? I don’t know.

If we saw her on the street would she run up and try to take the boys? Would she turn away in fear or regret or..? Would she hate me on sight?

A huge part of me wishes I could be in touch with her – though I don’t know if that’s a sane thing for me to wish. I’d like to send her a letter and try to reassure her as much as I could about how the boys are doing. To tell her that they are loved but that they still love her very much. To tell her that they are healthy and safe. To tell her that yes, they are struggling, and yes she has made a mess of them in some ways.

I would tell her that I don’t judge her – that I can’t begin to understand her choices and her life and all the things that have happened to bring her, and her kids, to this situation. I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing if I walked in her shoes, after all, because I’ve never walked in her shoes.

I would tell her, though, that I love her kids and that they are my kids and that connects us whether we want it to or not.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified of the flip side. That she’d know who I was and where I was and where the boys were. That she might disrupt the small bits of stability we’ve created here, the progress we’ve made. That she’d make demands I couldn’t fulfill. That the boys would suffer again.

That’s why I don’t make any attempts to contact her. Not yet. Not now.

Sometimes I feel like this life with our boys is temporary – that they’re biding time until they can go back to her. That I will be remembered as the woman who made them do homework and chores and go to school, but not as their mother in any way. That they are playing the role of “my kids” until they can run back to her arms.

They rarely speak of her. I encourage them to talk and I encourage them to remember and I encourage them by talking about her myself (which is awkward, as you can imagine, since I’ve never met her)… but they mostly remain silent. And that silence haunts me.

I don’t feel competitive with her – though I once thought I might. I just feel like there’s something missing from the big picture of our family. She’s in the background of every experience and every moment with the boys. They look like her. They remember her. And to me she is just “the boys’ mother” with a list of reasons why she is no longer able to care for them.

It’s a very strange way to think about someone who’s the key to my kids’ existences, no?

I don’t know.

I want the boys to know their past. I know, without question, that they are unaware of certain things and in denial about others. But how do I mention these things without making it sound like their mother is a horrible person? How do I balance the truth with the fact that she loves them even still? They never ask. They never talk about the past. There is no ‘natural’ time to bring it up.

“Hey, son! Here’s your bowl of cereal and oh, did I mention that the reason you came into foster care and were adopted is because…”

Despite all of this, our family feels normal. Natural. I don’t regret adoption and I still believe this is what we were meant to do. This is our right family. It is the way it is supposed to be.

I just wish there were more answers, more guidelines and not so many shadows.

The place where I buy my hair dye was closed today and, thus, I cannot dye my hair today. Tomorrow is apparently a better day to visit them so I’ll be heading over with Maymo in the afternoon. I promised him we’d eat lunch at a diner near there, the name of which I have already forgotten, and he’s pretty excited.

Speaking of things the kid is excited about, he has a Play Date on Wednesday. He cannot seem to stop talking about it which probably means we’ll spend 20 minutes there before he has a meltdown.

I’m considering whether I should go back on my ADD meds.

I am currently sipping a “Java Monster” energy drink in “Russian” format. It tastes like a cocktail and is supposedly going to make me feel perky. That’s a good thing, really, since I’m feeling more like a nap than anything else.

The problem is that energy drinks actually make me sleepy… which doesn’t seem fair AT ALL.

Mondays can suck my big left toe.

Some kid(s) at school made fun of Maymo’s haircut. This makes me want to cry. I asked him if HE likes his haircut and he said, “YES! I DO!” and I said that was all that mattered, right?, and he agreed and I STILL wanted to cry. (He keeps insisting that we shave it down almost to his scalp.)

Coffee is totally going to make fun of me for that, by the way. He’s going to remind me that I can’t shelter the kid forever and I can’t prevent other kids from being mean.

But, seriously, WHY Y’GOTTA’ BE MEAN TO MY KID?

I’m reading a book right now that’s strangely appealing. It’s called, “Lord Vishnu’s Love Handles“.

I’d like to join a book club. But when would I have time? That, and I don’t really enjoy talking about my books as much as I like reading them.

There are few things I hate more than stress and strife in the morning. One of our kids is the King of Stress And Strife In The Morning. As such, I’m a wreck by the time he leaves for school each day. GAH.

Daisy (our lab) keeps hopping up on the bed and almost instantly falling asleep. She’s snoring right now.

Time to go read for a bit while Maymo plays Mario Kart to “destress” from school. Who knew Kindergarten was SO TIRING?

Every time I see a picture of a cat with “eye boogers” it makes me sad. I do not know why.

Yesterday I got up early (for me, on a weekend) and drove to Fort Erie to hang out with some assorted Federal employees from both Canada and the United States.

More specifically, I went for my NEXUS interview, where I made completely inappropriate comments, laughed my butt off through most of it, and ended up with a card anyway. My fingerprints were approved almost instantly; I did not opt for the retinal scan because, um, ew.

Let me tell you, driving across the border with a NEXUS card in hand is akin to teleporting. It’s SO fast! No one was in the lane other than me! I zipped past all the suckers waiting for regular crossing!

Ditto on the way home.

Yummy.

(You really should apply for a card. Really.)

My haul this time included a lot of Armenian String Cheese and some new Rocket Dogs and a couple of t-shirts from Torrid. I also picked up miscellaneous candy for the kids because, of course, kids like candy. Coffee’s list of things he wanted included “Mrs. Butterworth” syrup (no, really) and some gigantic oatmeal cream pies. Hello HFCS! Welcome!

The drive sucked, though. Fort Erie is not the closest border crossing and I swear it felt like I was driving for DAYS. I couldn’t wait to get home and my legs hurt and my neck and shoulders hurt and there was a point in the drive where I pondered just living in Stoney Creek again. The kids wouldn’t miss me, right? Coffee could come and visit!

I slept REALLY well last night.

And now the weekend is ending and.. wait, do you hear that? I think the Armenian cheese is calling me. Gotta’ go.