Five Is Weird. Still.

(Photo by Jenn)

A few days ago, we very quietly marked the end of our first year as a family of five.

It occurred to me then, and now, that I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing as a parent. I mean, yes, the kids are clothed and fed and generally clean(-ish) and I seem to get them to their assorted obligations (Scouts, school plays, friends’ homes). They’re healthy and they’re growing and they seem to be reasonably well-adjusted to us.

I’ve learned what they like to eat – and don’t – and I’ve learned valuable lessons about routines and bedtimes and the preferred flavours of chewable vitamins. I know the lyrics to the Magic Schoolbus cartoon and I know how much it hurts to step on a chunk of Lego with a bare foot.

I’ve also learned how many days I can go without showering (more than you’d think) before I feel really, REALLY gross. I’ve learned how to cry quietly in the bathroom and how to keep a straight face while lecturing someone.

My standards have dropped drastically in many areas – like housekeeping and eyebrow waxing.

But I still really don’t feel like someone’s mother.

There are days when I wake up short on patience and high on irritability. There are days when I question whether anything I do, at all, will make any difference. And I can’t count the times I’ve looked at one of the kids and wondered what kind of therapy they’ll need in the future as a result of my parenting.

Kids are resilient and I’ve learned this both first-hand (from making mistakes) and from observation.

They wake in the mornings with a blank slate – something adults should work harder to embrace.

I often feel like I should be better at this by now – that a year should be enough time for me to know what the hell I’m doing.

But the other thing I’ve learned is that things are always changing.

Last year Maymo was in a specialized language school that necessitated horrible amounts of driving and coordination – and now he walks to school with his brothers and his language has improved significantly.

Last year Middle One hated school and hated learning and struggled to read and had no friends other than one asshole child that I hated. This year he’s still struggling but ohmygod, he’s making progress and he’s happier and he’s got friends.

Last year Oldest One wouldn’t leave the house. He refused to join any groups, wanted to be homeschooled, didn’t want to talk to other kids. This year he’s in Scouts, goes to Youth Group, loves school and has amazing friends.

They are growing. They are changing.

There are struggles.

Oldest One is now comfortable enough to express his anger – and is in therapy in the hopes of finding better ways to let it out. He has so much to be mad about, legitimately, but he won’t discuss it.

Middle One is starting a reading program, at home, in the hopes of getting him up to grade level in reading and writing. He still needs help with social skills.

Maymo still needs language assistance and is learning how to be less sensitive. He’s learning to stand on his own feet and is starting to recognize that crying hysterically doesn’t get him what he wants (at school, home, or otherwise..)

They are growing and changing and adapting.

There are many times when I firmly feel the strangeness of being an adoptive mom to older kids. I missed out on a lot of crucial moments in their lives, a lot of bonding opportunities, a lot of educational moments. Trying to fit them in, now, is awkward but important.

It is hard, too, to remain positive about their past while acknowledging what brought them into care. Hard to balance the love of their biological relatives (those who we’re in touch with) and the loss of their mother in their lives.

And it’s hard to find ways to involve their oldest brother, 16YO in a meaningful way, when he remains a veritable stranger to Coffee and me, lives in the same city but not nearby, and has a life about which even his brothers know nothing.

Remaining true to my own values, morals and principles is harder than I’d thought it would be – from what we eat to how we spend money. The influence of “other kids” is high and there are times when I just want to make the boys happy. There are days when I’ll do almost anything to avoid tears and yelling, too.

Teaching lessons – the important kind – seems to take forever.

Some days I’m flat-out jealous of those parents who have biological kids. I daydream that it’s far easier for them (though I’ve read too many blogs to truly believe that). But when I look at the various issues our boys have and the time it takes to bond.. well, how can I not wish it were otherwise? For them, and for me.

I wish they loved me the way they would if I had known them since birth – with no other mother to compare me to and measure me against. I do.

If we could turn the tables back, though, I’d still choose to adopt older kid(s). My insecurities and worries are manageable enough, for me, and I think my personality is better adapted to older children. I think the things I’ve had to let go of in order to be their parent are minimal.

But yes.. There are times when I still mourn my pre-children days. I miss long sushi lunches with Coffee and sleeping really late and not having to make meals “on time” (or at all). I miss having disposable income for frivolous things.

I miss not having to justify anything, ever, to anyone.

But it’s a new normal. And the only way through is to keep going and to reassess things from time to time to see what’s working and what isn’t. To admit that I’ll be making mistakes long after the kids have grown and moved out, so there’s no reason to think I have to be perfect now.

In less than a month we’ll be receiving our “order of adoption” papers from the court. Our social worker will come to our home to deliver the documents and that will be the end of us as “adoptive family” and the start of us as “just a family”.

There will be no strange mash of papers in the cupboard identifying the boys by their previous last name. I can put those in storage.

There will be no need for me to email a social worker when a health card expires. In fact, my wallet will not contain any “temporary” cards at all.

We will have birth certificates with their adoptive names. Passports, bank accounts, RESPs, will all be issued under the names we call them now.

There will be no more appointments in which I have to explain that I’m an adoptive mom – there will be no indicator otherwise. I will not have to include our social worker’s information on any forms or paperwork.

We’re already a family, though. As weird as it is, and as strange as it feels sometimes, we are a family of five.