Category Archives: Parenting

September 27, 2015

Lonely Single Mom

Yesterday was rough. I am traveling for the first time in months, and none of our regular sitters were available this weekend. I was pinched and had to go with someone new.

This woman has spent the week driving me nuts.

We talked, we negotiated a 4 day/3 night job, I promised to follow up with an email outline and texts.

I thought it was all good. Until this cuckoo bird called me yesterday, saying she had not received any of my communications and that because I apparently hadn’t sent anything, I had failed to confirm.

Oh, and her rate was her “live in” nanny rate—basically I’m paying her like Hope is an infant, needing 24 hour care, which roughly came to about $2K

Say what now?

She said, well what if Hope get sick at school and needs me to pick her up? Ok, right, but 1) we have a contact for that, 2) Hope would rather shave her head than go home from school sick and miss seeing her crush in gym class–the last class of the day and 3) unless she is projectile vomiting, I’m going to tell that nurse to put some ‘Tussin on it and send her behind back to class.

Lady, you have got to be kidding me. I cannot.

So, we renegotiate because clearly she did not understand my needs. I resend the email and text messages.

I think we’re cool.

3:34am, in all CAPS: MISS ABM, MY INTERNET HAS BEEN OUT FOR DAYS BUT NOW I GET YOUR EMAILS. I WILL BE THERE. I UNDERSTAND. THANK YOU.

Um, ok. Yes, in all caps. She yelled at me in the middle of the night.

Sigh.

Sooooo, you accused me of not sending emails, but you weren’t able to access the internet. Yeah, this is just peachy.

At 9am, I have a conference call with the new tutor, while I’m out getting some exercise. Never mind that I think I’m going to do three loads of laundry and I haven’t started packing and my flight leaves at 1:10pm.

10am, sitter calls again because there is a discrepancy between the time I originally requested with the sitter service and the time I asked her to come.

OMG. I calmly tell her that the time I have told her, texted her, emailed her repeatedly is the only time she needs to be concerned with. Somehow she gets riled up, then I get riled up, then she threatens to quit, and I lose my ish since I’m supposed to be on a plane in a couple of hours. I start sobbing. She now claims to quit because I am crying; I just hang up because I’ve got to come up with a plan, and I don’t have another moment to spare with this bird.

She calls me back, I tear her a new one; she apologizes for like 20 minutes; I can’t get her to hang up.

Sigh.

Trip’s back on, though I’m stressed to the max and making a mental note that it’s time to hire someone privately.

She calls me and texts me twice more, including the text of a beautiful forest fire, that I guess is supposed to be inspirational…I guess.

She picks up Hope and I eventually get to Chicago.

I call Hope, and she politely tip toes around the fact that the new sitter is a cuckoo bird. I’d done everything I could all week to chat the sitter up and to seem optimistic about it, but come on…Hope is 14 if the sitter is a crackpot, then she’s going to know that the sitter is a crackpot.

Finding help and support can be so challenging for me. I don’t have much family around anymore. I haven’t been good about nurturing some of my pre-Hope friendships; life is so different now. Sometimes Hope’s anxiety behaviors clearly turned folks off, and I just took steps away. A great deal of my support comes from “staff.” The housekeeper every two weeks, the dog walker that helps to manage some of Yappy’s puppy energy and the sitter service that helps me be able to travel for work and have an evening or two a weekend a month to myself.

When I first started using the sitter service, things were great. I was able to find some really kind, patient and compassionate young women to help me look after Hope. I wouldn’t say they babied her, but she got a lot of attention and had fun when the sitters came. These days, those awesome women have moved on to other things and this has resulted in us being a bit rudderless without consistent sitters. And please know, we need help. No, make that *I* need help. It’s really crazy out here all by my lonesome. This single mom situation is serious!

I’m also finding that our needs have dramatically changed. For all the problems Hope and I may have, we are remarkably stable, these days. I think it time for us to look for someone who can meet our new needs, which means shuttling Hope to activities, making sure she goes to bed and takes care of the dog and brushes her teeth. I need someone responsible, but I don’t need a live-nanny who treats Hope like an infant or a toddler.

I think the most striking thing about this episode is how limited my options feel in securing help with child care so that I can continue to do things that are required for my job. Family isn’t really an option. Friends aren’t really an option. The sitter service is a great option, but a bit of a personality crap shoot.

This single mom feels pretty alone and kind of unsupported. Not that the people around me are mean or intentionally unsupportive, but there aren’t people close enough to me to ask that they watch Hope for 3 or 4 days without costing me a grip.

I don’t have a village to raise this kid and that sucks.

I guess there might be some kinda village but it is nothing like I envisioned what it would be or what I now know I need for my family.

No village = mo problems. At least it feels that way. It feels hard.

I can see how the lack of village affects me. I wonder how the lack of a village affects Hope. I dunno.

I’m beginning to be somewhat withdrawn like Hope socially, despite my constant efforts to stay connected. I feel the sting of rejection when a band parent just ignores me, or worse, turns her shoulder to signal my exclusion from participating in a conversation. I’m actually starting to wonder if band parents are talking about me—I have no idea what they’d say? Do I volunteer enough? How come I don’t always sit with the parents during games (because they ignore my very presence). I also feel the lonely when I talk to my sisters over many cities and several states. I feel it talking to my parents 100 miles away.

Single parenting a kid from a hard place is great, but my own journey has some really lonely spots. This feels like one.

Lonely parenting only adds to the stress of parenting in general. This is tough job; you really need people around you, to lean on, to sob with, to take deep breaths with. You need a village.

I’m hoping that I can try to build a suitable village, one that will give Hope and I the support we need.

13 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption Blogs, Adoptive Moms, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Single Adoptive Moms, Single Adoptive Parents, single mom, Single Parenting | posted in Hard Stuff, Lessons Learned, Parenting

September 15, 2015

A Traditional Feminist

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, I am the eldest daughter of three girls. We are a dynamic threesome. We are educated; independent, firery, sweet, and super thoughtful. We are also big believers in girl power!! We all own power tools and do home repairs too.

Our father is a retired mechanic. I think his biggest hope for us was that he and our mother would raise us to be independent women who could take care of ourselves who would in turn meet men who would do it for us. Gosh I love my daddy.

In my “capital F” feminist days I was a bit offended when I came to this realization, but now, years later, I kinda dig it. I mean, I can and do take care of myself, but the notion of having a partner who could shoulder the burden and do a lot of stuff, is more and more appealing as I age. Ok, not just for doing stuff, but you know…<smile>.

Anyhoo, at one point I was a Feminist—capital F—and I asked dudes out, I was ready to burn my bras, Gloria Steinem was my homegirl. I raged against the patriarchy! I pushed my way into a corner office and tried to find ways to bring women with me and thank the women who mentored me.

Then I got tired, because, well, being Black and a Feminist is hard work. Don’t believe me, peep #FeminismIsForWhiteWomen on Twitter.

The movement doesn’t really have a good, solid, inclusive space for women of color and the narrative of seeking equality on multiple fronts.

So, then I just kinda lived my own brand of feminism—little f.

I do what I want, when I want and I pursue equality and justice the best ways I know how.

So what does this have to do with anything?

Well, as a 14 year old girl, Hope is boy crazy. There are hearts on notebooks. Mr. &; Mrs. So and So scrawled here and there. It’s adorbs! But, it’s usually accompanied by Hope chasing a boy to exhaustion to go steady. Love comes and goes in epic fanfare in a 7-10 days.

The thirst is real. We’ve talked about it in therapy and without breeching too much of her confidence; the need to be loved by someone other than me is really serious and specifically by a man/boy is essential.

So we’ve been working on social cues, particularly from crushes and learning to just lay low and be the pursued instead of the pursuer.

Let the crush express his interest.

Consider his true worthiness of your time.

Let the crush ask for your number.

Let the crush text you first.

Let the crush wait a bit for your response.

Don’t be so accessible.

Cultivate your sista friendships instead.

Let him ask you out.

Breathe.

This is the whole reason why the Holy Homeboy gave the male species all the pretty colors and stuff–think birds–peacocks, mallards, robins, cardinals…amiright? Of course I feel some kinda way that he made the girlie birds all bland and homely looking, but that’s another discussion for another day. #idigress

Now, none of this really stands in opposition of feminism for me—big or little f. But coaching Hope in this way feels like I’m taking a step back in time and teaching her those silly “rules” about dating. It feels traditional in a way that feels throwback, in a way that feels like I’m somehow cheating on my own brand of feminism.

It’s just weird that the anecdote to Hope’s social issues is to teach her a very traditional view of what courting is supposed to be like.

And yet, of course I want her to be courted. Dammit, she deserves to be courted and she should dang well be taught what it should look like so she doesn’t get shafted by some dork who isn’t worth her time and who I might have to chase away with a broom like my mom did with one of my sister’s suitors (that was EPIC!). Let’s face it, no one will be good enough and I’ll be using my $5 Bed, Bath and Beyond coupon for a fancy new broom this weekend. Oh, and let me be clear, the desire to be courted has nothing to do with the desire to be treated as an equal in a relationship.

It’s especially weird because I feel like I’ve come full circle—this is what daddy taught me, what I moved away from a bit as I explored my own world, what I’ve returned to with my sweet Elihu (he’s a serious courtier in word and deed) and now what I’m teaching Hope.

Am I still a feminist? Um, yeah, of course, I am!

More importantly, with this whole full circle thing, am I old?

What the hell????

It just feels like I’ve fallen down some weird rabbit hole in which my adult lived experience is colliding with the values I hope to instill in my daughter about her own worthiness.

They aren’t really that different. I think they are just different chapters in the same story…at least that my story and I’m sticking with it.

1 Comment | tags: adoption, African American Parenting, Daughters, Feminism, Parenting, Parenting Teens, Single Moms | posted in Hard Stuff, Lessons Learned, Teen parenting

August 12, 2015

A Setback Forward

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Setbacks are hard. Actually they can be crushing.

There are always signs that a setback is imminent, but it’s easy to get somewhat complacent about life. You see the signs, rationalize that it’s not really that bad or that serious. You see the signs; you just deny that you see them at all. You see the signs, and you can’t really stop it so you just hop on the rollercoaster and hold on for dear life.

I saw signs, but I didn’t put it all together until it was too late.

Hope is really anxious about starting high school in a few weeks. She’s also struggling with romantic relationships in ways that are pretty dramatic. She’s also really wrestling with family issues. Now any of these on their own might be enough to upset the apple cart.

I was so busy tackling micro-level issues that I missed how the constellation of issues might be viewed holistically as a sure sign of imminent disaster.

On the upside, I didn’t spend a lot of time this go ‘round beating myself up about being myopic about problem solving. No time to waste doing that mind game.

On the downside, our setback was so epic in the moment of discovery that I was scared that it was going to really, really, really take Hope and I to a bad place.

The difference with this setback is that Hope told me about it on her own. And that…that’s a huge step forward. I try to be honest with her; I do. I try to kick it straight as much as possible in ways that meet the needs of the 7 year old, the 14 year old and the young adult Hope strives to be. She tells me a lot of things, as I mentioned in my post last week. I know it’s edited, but it’s still so much more than what I dreamed of sharing with my parents.

In college I really engaged in some self-destructive behaviors. It took me years to tell my parents. By comparison, Hope told me about some things she tried within 24 hours. She would not have done that a year ago or even 6 months ago. It’s really amazing in these moments to see how far we’ve come.

Yeah, in the midst of new chaos, there is still a metric for progress.

She trusts that I’ve got her back, even if I have to fight her to save her. That’s pretty cool.

In an effort to switch things up and try to alleviate pressure at home while building confidence, I have suspended the chore chart for the foreseeable future. I realized as she was telling me things about herself and things she had done recently, that she can’t handle the things I’d expected of her. It took me so long to get to this realization. I am so sorry that I really tried to make that round peg fit that square hole. Hope needs hope and success, not a spreadsheet/paystub. One day I’ll bring it back, but she simply isn’t ready.

I also realize, that she’s simply unable to manage to keep up with her room by herself. She simply can’t do it. She doesn’t know why, I don’t know why, but my moaning and groaning about laziness and messiness only sinks her into the mess more deeply.

So, I overhauled the way I manage this family, by simply giving her a list of things to do every day. The list doesn’t have much on it; there’s a couple of chores, there’s piano or sax practicing, some sentence diagramming and math worksheet activities, dog walking. The goal is to get more than half of the things done each day. Most of the activities require my engagement, adding to our daily quality time.

I have finally, after 18 months, properly calibrated my expectations to her abilities. And guess what, she is working those lists and accomplishing more every day than she ever did before this week.

I took off on Monday morning to set the house to rights, make emergency appointments and clean her room. Hope was grateful. I tossed a bunch of her stuff; nothing with deep emotional attachment, but things she was hoarding. She never once asked what I did with it. I see her working as best she can to be tidy. I can actually see the struggle, when before I just refused to see it or acknowledge that it could even exist.

Last night, we stayed up late, made brownies and ate them while watching TV. It was a treat. The control freak in me was screaming “You’re staying up tooooooo late!!!” (I imagine my control freak persona being akin to the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland.) The fun, reasonable mom in me told the control freak to hush, while telling Hope, “Let’s just watch one more episode.”

Seeing her relaxed and giggling while having peanut butter and chocolate brownies at 11pm was worth a lost hour of sleep.

The setback was scary, messy and just traumatic, but ultimately it was allowed us a huge step forward. I have a bit more hope than I’ve had for a while. I’m proud of us. I’m proud of Hope for being courageous. I’m proud of me for being adaptable and finally, finally perceptive.

I feel like for once, I actually got it right.

10 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption Lessons, Adoption Stress, African American Adoption, African American Parenting, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Lessons Learned, Single Adoptive Moms, Single Adoptive Parents | posted in Dealing with the Past, Lessons Learned, Teen parenting

August 2, 2015

Natural Consequences

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, jumping into parenting at the teen phase has taught me countless things, but this post is about one personality quirk of mine in particular.

I am a nag.

I know that my nagging is closely related to my control freakdom.

I nag Hope.

I kinda feel like I have to. She doesn’t do the things I ask when I ask; she barely does chores (even chore money doesn’t motivate her!). The levels of teenage apathy astound me. They are shocking, in part, because my parents never allowed it; so it’s was inconceivable to even consider not listening and responding as an option.

So, I am a nag. I also realize that I have a personality that is just naturally inclined to be naggy.

Surprise! Nagging actually doesn’t seem to be the most effective parenting method. #gofigure I mean, it can be useful, but really, it mostly serves to get me all riled up, and it gets Hope all snarky, and then I fantasize about putting her ish out on the balcony.

I want Hope to be successful, and I know that there are times when I really do have to help her because 1) she’s a kid and 2) she has some challenges that really require my help. All that said, I’m tired of being a harpy mom.

For the month of August I am committing to focusing on natural consequences.

Oh, you chose to spend your last $6 on an icee at the movie theater after I offered to take you to 7-11 for a $2 slurpee and now you’re mad? Too bad, so sad.
Oh, you don’t want to watch a couple videos on sentence diagramming, which you’re supposed to already know? Hmmm, OK.
Oh, you’re too busy to read that second book so you can write the report that’s due on the first day of school? Hmmm, well, maybe honors English isn’t for you.
Oh, you don’t want to tidy up that apocalypse called your room but you want to invite someone over to hang this weekend? I can’t go for that…no…nooo…no can do.
You haven’t meaningfully done chores in 4 weeks but you want to keep your cell phone and you want me to take you to the amusement park? #nope

And on and on, until the break of dawn.

One night this week, in an epic fit of passive, aggressive “helpful” parenting, I logged into her Google calendar and put in every chore, all her activities and appointments along with convenient reminders for every one of them, including the things that she is supposed to do daily. She will be buzzing nonstop between 6:30 and 8pm daily. Do I think I will make much difference? Maybe, maybe not. But I figure by Monday evening when a bunch of them are going off, she will become annoyed and either make different choices than she does now, she will confront me or she will simply be ok with hitting the ignore button.

Elihu tried to get me to use some app that would let me know whether she did something or not. I replied that I didn’t want such a notification. I’d rather *see* her actually doing stuff. I rationalize that the calendar set up alleviates my need to stay on her to do the things she needs to do. If they don’t get done, well, it’s not because she didn’t have reminders.

I’m hopeful, even if a bit naïve. We’ll see, I guess.

Trying to teach Hope some responsibility has been really hard…really hard. I love her so very much. Each day, I do see these challenges of proof that we are getting closer and closer to some sort of normal. Even though it feels like my pressure is through the roof, I know that these are common parenting issues, and that…that is good.

So, for now, I’m really committed to using natural consequences in helping Hope learn some responsibility. The nagging is just too exhausting, and it doesn’t seem to be effective anyway, so here goes!

12 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Parenting, African American Parenting, Older Child Adoption, Parenting, Parenting Teens, Single Adoptive Parents, Single Parenting | posted in Lessons Learned, Teen parenting

June 1, 2015

Finding a House

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So after the fiasco that culminated in leaving my previous house of worship, I just took some time off from church. At first I applied a lot of pressure to myself to find a place that would hopefully offer Hope and me a place to fit. Aunty Therapist convinced me to just take some time off; she was right.

It gave me a little time to breathe.

A couple of weeks ago, I visited the neighborhood Unitarian church. I was intrigued by and attracted to the progressiveness, the commitment to social justice, the inclusiveness of believers. It all seemed to suggest that it might be a nice place to visit and to try out.

So, Hope and I get there and…we diversified the church by a factor of 200. I mean, I was looking for diversity, but I didn’t want to exclusively be “the” diversity. Also, the congregants were…older, a lot older.

And I struggled with the service. I was raised Christian; I identify strongly as Christian even though I believe a lot of other things that many folks believe are counter to Christianity. I have never been in an organized place of worship where I could also be open about all the other stuff. I also missed the routine of a more traditional Christian-oriented service. I like it; I know what to expect and generally what kinds of things I’m going to hear. So, despite being curious and interested, I found myself overwhelmed by being in a new space and not knowing anyone, overwhelmed by the service being so different, overwhelmed by my being so different than the other congregants. People were very nice, but it really didn’t feel like…I just didn’t think this was home.

And so then we didn’t go back.

Until this yesterday; off we went to the 10am service to try again.

Hope nearly shut down when I announced that she was expected to go to the Religious Education class today. I sensed her anxiety and yet I pushed her off anyway; we were really going to give this Unitarian church thing a chance.

So, the service…yeah, I’m still not connecting the way I would like to, but ok. It was nice, really nice, but just really different. While having snacks after the service I chatted up an older couple who joined the church about five years ago. I had my little visitor tag on and shared what I was kind of looking for and how I was also a little anxious about how Hope fared in the RE class. I shared that we were an adoptive family.

The gentleman smiled and shared that he was adopted many, many years ago.

I smiled. We smiled. And I got the sense that he got me and that he appreciated that I was looking for something for me and Hope that I still struggle with articulating after the drama of our last church.

I breathed, and I smiled again.

And then Hope breezed by, casually saying, “Hi mom” as she headed to the snack table.

I was nearly slack jawed, staring at my usually withdrawn kiddo as she amiably chatted with other teens, giggled and perused the snacks.

Hope didn’t run to me. She didn’t cling or give me dirty looks about making her do this thing she didn’t want to do 90 minutes ago.

I just watched her. She strolled over to me confidently, bringing me a piece of cake that I didn’t ask for but secretly desired, just because she knows I like cake…a lot. It was even a corner piece because she knows I love frosting.

Who is this kid??? She brought me a piece of chocolate cake for gawd’s sake??? I thought to myself, well, this is the shock of 2015. Stunning really.

I introduced her to the folks I spent some time chatting with earlier.

And then, she asked, “Hey the kids are going to IHOP after church, can I go?”
So, clearly this Unitarian church is the church of the body snatchers because I have no idea who this kid masked in Hope’s clothing is right now. I’ve fantasized about moments like this. moments when Hope asked to ditch me in favor of hanging with peers.

The other kids breezed over and all these teen eyeballs looked at me expectantly.

And I said ~~hells yeah~~ sure. I told her to call me when it was time to be picked up and practically threw $20 at her. I said good bye to new people I met and I left. I totally ~~ran~~ bounced to the car.

I left my kid with folks I don’t even know, kids she met at church, kids she actually asked to go hang out with. In retrospect it sounds a bit irresponsible to just let her go get in someone else’s car and drive off, yet I lost, like, no seconds of sleep over the decision to do so.

OMG. Seriously, Hope asking to hang out with other kids was a fantasy come true.

And about 2 hours later she texted me to come fetch her. She went on about how the kids went to IHOP and then to Starbucks. One kid is a rising 10th grader at the school she will attend in the fall and also in the band! The young man who is the youth mentor/group leader is also an adoptee. Hope gushed about how much fun she had, how accepted she felt and how she looked forward to going to another event.

She begged to go to the game night the church is hosting for the teens in a few weeks as I picked her up. I had Yappy with me so all of the kids came out to the car talking about game night and how it would be fun.

More expectant teen eyeballs looking at me for an immediate answer.

Um, yeah, sure!

So, looks like we’ll be hanging out with the UU folks for a minute. I hope this continues to be a place of growth for Hope. I am excited for her.

I’m also excited that I might have some time to myself without paying the nanny.

Yeah! #fistpump

11 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption Lessons Learned, Finding Faith, Parenting Teens, Teen Development | posted in Finalization Life, Other Stuff, Teen parenting

May 16, 2015

A Journal

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So I got started with a new therapist last month. Sadly she is not an Absurdly Hot Therapist like my and Hope’s family guy. But she is a nice, motherly/aunty-like, African American woman. She’s just what I need…for so many reasons, not the least of which is that she seems to be a good therapist.

It’s nice to have a super safe space to say the things I don’t dare utter anywhere else.

I’m still grieving the break with my old therapist. We’d been together for a really long time, so it was probably time for us to split anyway, and then there’s the fact that my insurance wouldn’t pay for my visits to him and paying out of pocket was getting kind of old. So, for the low co-pay of $10, I can see her as much as I like. I think I’ll call her Aunty Therapist.

So, Aunty Therapist told me that I need to keep a journal to lift the burden of the things I can’t talk about publicly, not even on the blog.

So, I got a new journal.

“Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick and pull yourself together” ~~Liz Taylor

I bought fancy pens too. I like fancy pens a lot.

And I’m trying to figure out where to start. I used to journal all the time. I have decades worth of journals I’ve written over the years in my home. Provisions for them have even been made in my will. Decades of journaling and two years of blogging and I have no idea where to start.

Sigh.

I’m really, really struggling with Hope these days.

It really is exhausting; she is exhausting me.

I love my daughter, but every day I wonder what the hell I’m doing.

I’m just doing a lot of second guessing. And I’m plagued by all the emotions I typically write about. Low confidence, loneliness, anger, sadness, overwhelm…and so on. Sometimes the dark emotions feel and seem…unspeakable because they are just so awful. And then guilt about feeling any of it comes in to crush everything.

Confessing all this stuff in print is hard, but I suppose keeping it all in is harder. I know it doesn’t help.

So, I guess I’d better get to writing.

6 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption and Emotional Health, Adoption and Emotions, Adoption Stress, Parenting, Parenting Teens, Single Adoptive Moms, Single parent, Single Parenting | posted in Finalization Life, Hard Stuff, Teen parenting

May 9, 2015

The Band Clique

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Hope has about 5 weeks left of school, more or less. This would also be 5 weeks left of middle school—thank you Holy Homeboy. I remember some highlights of my own middle school years, but I seem to largely have blocked it out from my mind. I’m now convinced it is because middle school sucks.

Your hormones really kick in.

Relationships are complicated and have the lifespan of a butterfly (about a week or two, if you were wondering).

You struggle with developing your own sense of style or just falling in with the ubiquitous jeans and t-shirt routine.

Cartoonish attempts at applying makeup abounds.

Sexuality is questioned.

There is a constant need to fit in and standout.

And it’s all misery inducing.

Ugh.

Yeah, middle school sucks. I knew it would suck for Hope; hoped it wouldn’t, but anticipated that it would. What I didn’t anticipate was how much I would get swooped up into the suckiness.

During the last year and a half, I’ve developed yet another identity that I didn’t see coming. First I was Black, then single, then I became an adoptive mom. Then there were the times I was just a Single Black Mom. Then I became Dr. ABM.

Talk about intersecting identities…

So, somewhere along the way, I also became a Band Mom.

Yep, Hope is a band geek—do they still call them that? Is it Gleek now? I dunno, but I do know that I’m a Band Mom.

I’ve chaperoned a few field trips, gone to most of the concerts (I’ve missed a couple because of business travel), dragged a tenor sax to various practices, hired accompanists for solo ensembles, asked about reed readiness, baked sweets for fundraisers, bought and sold magazines, poinsettias, popcorn, nasty cheesecakes, cookie dough and pizza dough, and sat in stanky band rooms (‘cause middle schoolers are funky—and that descriptor is being polite and generous) helping put on cummerbunds, bow ties and pearl necklaces, and I’ve worked car washes during which the parents worked harder than the kids.

Despite all of this, at this week’s band concert I realized that I was still not a part of the band parents’ clique.

Oh, they remember me because I’m at all the major events and I volunteer, and well as the only Black band parent who seems to be active, I know they see me. #donthitmewiththatidontseecolorfoolery

But I don’t get any invites. They don’t remember my name; they remember that we, Hope and I, relocated mid-year last year; they forgot that we are an adoptive family and I’ve lived here over half my life—I guess I don’t hold that one against them.

I am on the margins because these folks have known each other since elementary school, and I’m still the newbie. I am the chick who sidles into conversations, waiting to jump in like a game of double-dutch. The one who is showing the new social media tracking app I’m using to monitor Hope’s internet wanderings. The one who is asking who’s going to be at the next event and can they save me a seat since I don’t have anyone to sit with (see that single identity).

During this week’s concert, I found myself sitting next to one of the cool Band parents, “Jen” (not her real name). I like Jen a lot; she’s fun and sarcastic and just my kinda chick. She also saved me a seat. #score!

At one point in the concert, the band director was explaining the history of an Elizabethan march the kids were about to play. I rolled my eyes dramatically, since I’m kinda over hearing this song during practice.

Jen giggled and said, “You are such a bad influence on me!” She said it that way that you know she totally digs the fact that you’re irreverent and cool and fun. #shelikesme #shereallyreallylikesme

And in that moment I realized that I was in middle school all over again. #ugh

To quote Hope, I like, literally, rolled my eyes dramatically to get Jen’s attention and let her know I was too cool for school and I was like, literally, in like my heart, like literally thrilled that she responded in a way that literally let me know that I had hit the mark.

Literally.

I was cool and I *might* just be breaking into the cool Band parents’ clique. #nobodyfresherthanmyclique

Credit: http://www.keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

And I was mad happy about that ish. Especially since Jen said, we had like, literally, 4 years of band hanging out to do when the kids started high school this fall.

I am so in!

OMG!

Literally.

Literally is a word that is spoken in my home like, I dunno, literally 8 billion times a day. I hate that word.

I can’t believe this Band parent identity is really a thing. How the devil did I get caught up in caring about whether I was a part of the cool parents’ group? #causeIsecretlywanttobecool And why weren’t more brown and black parents involved in Band Parenting and was there some underground group they had that I also needed to break into? #wherearemypeeps

Where do I belong? What am I doing?

A better question is what in the entire hell is going on here? I have resorted to tween antics trying to fit into this new identity of Band Mom. Holy Hey-Zeus, I’m in middle school all over again. #hangsheadinshame

And yet, I find myself still hopeful that I broke into the clique sufficiently before high school starts. I’d hate to have to be still sweating these folks this fall. #iaintgottimeforallthat

That would be, like, so not cool.

Like, literally not cool at all.

5 Comments | tags: adoption, Finalization Life, Parenting Teens, Single Adoptive Moms, Single Adoptive Parents, Single Moms, Single Parenting | posted in Finalization Life, Teen parenting

March 9, 2015

It’s Exhausting

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I’m so very tired of having to explain the death of another kid getting cut down by a police officer.

Deadly force was used on another unarmed kid of color–keyword–”another.”

Tony Robinson was killed on Friday in Madison, Wisconsin.

Just Thursday night, Shonda Rhimes tried to unpack a version of Michael Brown’s shooting on an episode of Scandal. I couldn’t even bring myself to watch it until the weekend; it hurt too much.

I don’t get the deadly force thing. I don’t understand why, in the rock, paper, scissors game of life, a kill shot is needed when a leg or arm shot will do. I don’t understand the comfort in training law enforcement that seems to surround the use of deadly force.

And as always I don’t understand why it seems to be necessary for me to teach my kid to how to not get shot by law enforcement, especially when she feels some kind of way about them anyway. It’s getting harder to believe that her sassy personality and extraordinary height won’t be found threatening by someone, so threatening that she could lose her life behind some absurd ish.

The mental gymnastics involved in explaining the significance of commemorating Blood Sunday in Selma, Alabama this weekend, keynoted by the first African American president while also explaining that another unarmed African American was shot and killed the same weekend is…exhausting.

It’s depressing.

Oh, we can all say, “Well, let’s wait for the investigation and see what happens.” Sure, of course, I’m reasonable in this and I’m glad that the police chief has responded so differently. He clearly learned what not to do from the Ferguson police department. But, inquisitive, invested 13 year olds who don’t miss ANYTHING in the news like this don’t wait to start asking questions or expressing frustration or proclaiming that police don’t like people like us. She wants to talk about this ish now, right now.

And frankly so do I, but like I”ve said before, I don’t know what to say.

13 Comments | tags: African American Adoption, African American Parenting, single mom | posted in Hard Stuff, Teen parenting

March 3, 2015

Adopting Hope – Guest Blog

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Recently the kind folks over at America Adopts invited me to compose a guest blog for their site. Super, super cool! I’m touched by the invite to offer another voice and perspective on adoption, particularly older child adoption. Thanks for the opportunity to share!

Adopting Hope: My Story as a Single Adoptive Black Mom

8 Comments | tags: adoption, Adoption Blogs, Adoption Emotions, African American Adoption, African American Single Adoptive Mom, Finalization Life, New Single Adoptive Parents, Single Adoptive Moms, single mom | posted in Adoption Advocacy, Finalization Life, Lessons Learned, Teen parenting

January 22, 2015

Big Fun

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Hope recently asked me, in her most exasperated, working on getting it perfect, teen tone: “Mom, ugh…..how did you ever get through being a teenager? It’s sooooooooo hard. It’s so confusing, all these emotions, I just can’t.”

I waited for her to throw herself to the floor and writhe around as that seemed to be the next logical step in this drama-filled confab we were having. She didn’t, and for that I am grateful.

“Yeah, sweetie, I dunno. It’s hard. I guess I muddled through…just like you will muddle through. No one gets a pass on the horror that is the teen years.”

Hope had just spent the last #ikidyounot 2+ hours telling me blow-by-blow about a conversation she had with her crush after school the previous day. You know that time that she left the after school program because the crush said it was ok, and that he could sneak her back into school, and no one would be the wiser, but that’s not what happened, and I found her on the side of the road freezing to death alone when I picked her up?

#recordscratch

This kid is going to be the death of me. It’s a wonder I even saw her!

I didn’t even yell at her at the time; I couldn’t. I mean…I was so stunned that I found her on the ROADSIDE, with no damn coat on in 30 degree weather. I didn’t even ask her the whole story at the time. I was just so glad Hope was ok, and I was busy blasting the heat so that she didn’t continue to freeze to death ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD. #lawd #ranmypressureup

So yesterday we spent a relaxed evening with her telling me the whole story of how she ended up on the side of the road.

Honestly if it wasn’t so dang absurd and scary, it would be hysterical. The things we do for a crush…smh! As she spilled the tea, I found myself shaking my head.

Hope would respond, “Yeah, mom, I know. It was dumb. I was really dumb.”

And I still couldn’t yell at her. Lord knows I wanted to raise hell, but I couldn’t because I started remembering the time my dad came to fetch me from a location where I KNEW I wasn’t supposed to be, doing something I KNEW was stupid. I remember the fresh hell I felt waiting for him to yell at me, waiting for the inevitable punishment, waiting to be in so much trouble. Oh I got in trouble. I remember losing my TV and being grounded for a long time, but I don’t remember a lot of yelling. I’ve probably just blocked it out, because I’m sure there was some yelling. But I remember the punishment, and more so, I remembered the self-conviction I felt because I knew I was in the wrong, so, so very wrong. I don’t even know if I really hung out with those kids, who I followed in my dumb moment of peer pressure, ever again. I remember the gravity of letting my parents down and just doing something so absurdly dumb and how it made me feel.

I could tell Hope was feeling pretty low. With every, “And then he said…. And then I said….and then we went so and so and then person X stopped to take a selfie…,” I knew how she felt about her shady shenanigans. I also kinda wanted to stab myself with a fork because the conversation pattern was annoying as all get out. #totally #literally

So, I decided to show her how I felt. As she was still prattling on, I pulled up a clip of Claire Huxtable GOING THE HELL OFF on Vanessa in the episode called The Night of the Wretched. I told Hope to hush and that this was what I was feeling right now, but that I would not yell at her. She could feel free to imagine Claire yelling at her for having Big Fun with her crush while wandering around the neighborhood two miles away from home.

She laughed and afterward said she got it. I took over the conversation by asking what I really wanted to know—specifically what happened (in 90 seconds or less) and how she now felt about her crush and his shenanigans.

I’m glad I could take some time to breathe, to remember how hard it is being Hope’s age, to remember what it was like getting caught doing stupid ish. I’m glad that for once I could practice a little grace with her. I’m glad that she can talk to me and tell me what’s going on, even if it takes forever to tell the story. I’m glad we are learning not to blow up.

I’m counting this as my first parenting win for 2015.

5 Comments | tags: adoption, African American Parenting, Lessons Learned, Parenting, Tween Parenting | posted in Lessons Learned, Teen parenting

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