Category Archives: Tween Parenting

Getting There

Yesterday was our monthly visit with the social worker. I really do like her a lot; she’s so supportive and encouraging. While I will be glad to finalize my adoption of Hope; I will kind of miss my check-ins with Ms. E. She’s been a nice, unbiased, non-familial attached person for me to check in with and actually ask for advice from rather than just getting unsolicited advice. While thinking about our visit, I was able to really give some thought to the goings-on of the last couple of weeks. I haven’t done a recap in a while, so here goes.

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Respite and self-care: Where have you been all my life?? To everyone who told me to find a way to take a break to just take a breath and get my bearings; thank you. You were right. After interviewing half a dozen people I wouldn’t leave a houseplant with, I finally decided to use the sitter service that I got a Living Social deal on a month ago. Last week I got myself a sitter for Friday and Saturday and wouldn’t you know it, I’m a new woman. Now I talked incessantly about my kid while I was out, but I didn’t call once to check in and I felt free. We tried two sitters, one who was a late 20s and in grad school and another early 20s undergraduate student. Turns out the younger of the two was a hit with us and we’ll be requesting her on a regular basis, because yeah, I need a break sometimes. The investment was worth every penny.   I came home feeling like a new woman, and after Hope got over the anxiety, she found that it wasn’t so bad since I came home in a good mood.

People do strange things when they know you’re adopting. So, Hope’s teachers know that this is a pre-adoption placement. They have been kind and helpful and understanding. And then things got weird on the field trip. Suddenly, I had no name other than “Hope’s Mom.” No really, while introducing the chaperones to the 140 kids in the auditorium, I literally got introduced as Hope’s Mom, with no name of my own. Every other parent got introduced as Mr. or Ms. Smith/Jones/Rodriguez/Jenkins and 70% of the time their kids’ last name was different. It was almost as if this was some attempt to make sure Hope and I were bound together publicly. It was weird and awkward and well, just kind a weird. Hope was completely nonplussed; she has not called me by my given name in months, so to her, that kinda is my name.

Hope tends to be pretty transparent about being adopted. I try to follow her lead and not disclose unless she has. I’m sure the other parents thought I was a bit weird too. Clearly some of their kids had shared with them that Hope was from the West Coast, but she or they must not have shared that her move was a part of an adoption. In making small talk, I was asked how I was adapting to the East Coast and DC area. Ummmm….Hmmmmmm. Yeah, “It’s lovely here.” “Rough winter.” I’ve lived here forever, and Hope’s adjustment has been…big. Yep….a big adjustment….

I have developed the “Mom” look!!! Holy shizzle! I have successfully managed to master the look that mothers give their kids who are cutting up. You know, the looks that say, “You betta get it together!!” This is huge. I had to use the look while chaperoning my first field trip this week. Before we even got on the bus, I had to snatch Hope up and get her together because she attempted a smart mouthed neck roll in front her little friends in the group. Um, no girl. Midway during the trip she attempted a modest break bad moment and all it took was a LOOK! Hot damn, momma is cooking with grease now.

I need to tackle my anxiety/frustration/anger about being judged. I had an unfortunate run-in this week with someone very close to me because of a comment that felt judgy. The truth of the matter is a lot of things feel judgy these days; I’m hyper-sensitive, and it’s really my thing like 78.8713% of the time. It’s hard (especially for this overachiever) to take critical commentary about something you’re working so hard on and for and is complete and utter mayhem on the inside. It’s easy to become angry and resentful and just all around pissy. You withdraw and the circle of confidants gets smaller and smaller until you really are just confiding into the folks you’re paying to make this thing happen. It’s a vicious cycle because then the less people see, know and/or hear about, the more they come to believe that, well, your little adoptive family must be getting along like gangbusters, while secretly, you lie in bed alone nightly watching the ceiling fan spin, while crying and knocking over the red wine glass you had delicately placed next to you.

Oh, that hasn’t happened to you? My bad.

(Yes, I know that bio parents are probably also watching ceiling fans and knocking over wine glasses in bed too.)

I read an article on the Tiny Buddha this week called “Transforming your Relationships by Assuming Best Intentions.”  Ahh, this article was a bit of church and one that I will take to heart in all of my relationships. There are far fewer people in the world who care enough to wish you harm and failure than those who wish wholeness and love for you. People who don’t care about you actually don’t care about you, and they typically don’t even care enough to comment.   I have people who care about me, and it’s silly to continue to rationalize that they are out to get me. Now, changing this mindset will likely take some doing on my part but I need this transformation for myself and my daughter more than anything.

People are going to say some really unhelpful, sometimes less than constructive things; my challenge is to charge it to the head and not the heart.

Hope is starting to really try on her new identity as my daughter. I already mentioned that she calls me Mom and sees me as Mom, but it’s interesting as we approach finalization to hear the questions that she has. I told her yesterday that I had hired an attorney and that we were heading to finalization in June. She was delighted and said something like, finally I will stay here forever. It was a great response and then the questions started, like, “Will I still be from WA or does that all get erased?” I fielded all her questions and then she asked when would we get her passport and when could we go to the Bahamas; a trip that would require her to show her passport with her new name.

Of course the trying on of this identity also comes with a side of trying me, which is delightfully, annoyingly normal. Amazing how normal can also be painful, but whatever. The girl refuses to understand that there are consequences, positive and negative, to every action. And in three short months the sense of entitlement has rooted itself surprisingly strong. We are at the beginning of a tech blackout since rules have been broken and attitudes have been slung. Sigh…

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Overall, things are better. I’m hopeful; I know that we’ll be fine. Things are still very hard; there are moments of anxiety and nail biting and anxiety words and withdrawal and spouts of anger. It still can be overwhelming, but it’s ok. I can see the growth and I know it will continue if I just stay the course.

In the meantime she is punishing me by yelling, screaming and sporadically playing a harmonica. While $10 noise cancelling headsets are not quite as effective as Beats by Dre, they get the job done when coupled with a glass of wine, a pre-dinner brownie and a music playlist. I love her, but I know she’s not ready to be consoled or comforted.

And that’s ok.  We’ll get there.


Spring Break???

I’m not exactly who spring break is a break for, but it doesn’t really seem to be a break for me. I know Hope is happy to be out of school but here it is pushing midnight heading into Thursday and I’m exhausted physically and emotionally. Hope and I have covered a lot of ground in the last few days and frankly, I’d appreciate acting like she does in our therapy sessions—avoidant.

Yeah…this.

lalahear

But alas, I’m the grown up and thus am in the position to actually be required to act as such on a semi-regular basis. So there’s the road trip to Philly.

“Is there anything here besides historical sites?” Hope says while standing waiting to go see the Liberty Bell.

Sigh. I found our spring break trip to the City of Brotherly Love an exercise in reminding me just how selfish I really enjoy being, but can’t actually be anymore. Oh and I’m petty too. It’s ok, admitting it is the first step to recovery.

Case in point: Hope had a hypothesis that Subway cheese steaks would taste better than an actual Philly cheese steak (on what planet??). So we skipped on over to a shop near our hotel that came highly recommended by the concierge. We get to the front of the line, and Hope chokes on her sub order: “Well, I don’t know what I want…how is it normally served?”

Dude taking our order is looking at me like, “For reals? It’s a cheese steak!”

After putzing back and forth for what seemed like an eternity of indecision but was really only about 45 seconds, I ordered two cheese steaks, one with onions and one without, since she managed to pantomime that she didn’t want onions. Once back at the hotel she, was insistent that she have half of my sandwich to taste test the difference between onions and non-onions. Wait…what??? But you didn’t want onions!?!?! I complied, but I seethed. I wanted my damn sandwich intact. I gave up the radio station. When we switched to my Google Play, I let her favorite song go on repeat. I listened to her read Teen Beat and learned about people who I didn’t know existed who were supposed to be famous. I endured Big Bad Wolf style huffing and puffing about seeing historical sites. Got dang, can I have my whole onion filled sandwich???

Apparently not, for half of my sautéed filled onion sandwich made its way over to her plate—where it lay untouched and eventually discarded.

UGH! Yeah, just ugh.  I wonder what will trigger a deeper level of selflessness in me and when…clearly it didn’t happen on this trip. I was really in my feelings about only having half of my delicious sandwich; Hope’s half was ok, just bland. Booo.

After a long drive home in a wicked spring monsoon, I was grouchy, tired, sore from stress and just really needed a hour of recharge in my room. An hour I didn’t get because she wanted to watch Believe (the Justin Bieber movie) on Amazon. Awesome. #notreally

By bedtime, I was a mess and totally botched a talking to about picking clothes off of the floor and putting them in the hamper. Not even sure why I picked that fight at that time. Things deteriorated fast, and in my head I saw the reproachful glare of our hot family therapist, who I telepathically told to kiss my ass in the moment, even as I KNEW I was botching this corrective action and going down in flames. #ifyourepissyandyouknowitclapyourhands,

Awesome. And this morning the saltiness simmered as we got ready for another road trip. We recovered.

Instead of bickering, we covered emotional sinkholes. After the giant eff up of the night before I was actually impressed by my ability to navigate confabs about the spiritual presence of her dad, the introduction of new extended family, fleeting memories of how her biological mom smelled, the loss of a puppy pre-foster care days, how foster parents didn’t keep their promises regarding countless things and on and on and on. There really seems to be no end to the emotional sinkholes, none. But I’m conscious that her ability to talk to me about this stuff is evidence of our growth. At the end of the day trip I was again, exhausted, and we spent the evening untangling a skein of yarn and putting it into a ball.

I swear this yarn thing is going to be my new adoption metaphor. Trying to help a kid untangle the mess around them and make sense of it by reorganizing it.

As we were going through the nightly ritual of twisting her hair before bed, I came across a letter she wrote to me during a fury filled moment this morning. It was a cogent, expletive filled essay on how to introduce new ideas and corrections to her—ie not in the way I had done the night before. It was impressive in its thoughtful argument and colorful use of language (I appreciate a well-placed, well-used curse word every now and again, though not from 12 year olds). I was somehow both amused and hurt when I flipped it over and read, “Yeah, I hope you read this you son of a b*tch!!!!!” scrawled in huge letters. In short, the gist of her letter had me dead to rights—it was good parenting advice for her. I’ll be sure to follow it in the future

So much ground we covered today.

But she was horrified because well, she wrote it more than 12 hours ago, and it hardly seemed relevant anymore. It was a coping strategy to deal with her anger. And well, was I snooping (if it’s in plain view, addressed to me as “Mom-B*tch” then I don’t consider it snooping)? She wouldn’t even show me her face to me this evening. And again, I felt sad for my sweet girl who struggles with her emotions. It must be so hard to feel so deeply and strongly and also feel like you’re dragging the world around with you. She actually refused to look at me anymore out of I dunno, shame? Embarrassment? Worry? Anger? I tried to soothe her. I told her that her advice was good, and I would follow it from here on out, but hey, um, could you not call me out my name?

Tomorrow the trampoline park, where I will pray I don’t break anything.


Musical Monday-Life on the Upswing

So if you’re an old school, hip hop head like I am, you might’ve come across the delightful knowledge that De La Soul decided to give away their entire catalog for free on Valentine’s Day.  Now I had most of the music, but there’s nothing like getting something free, and there’s nothing like getting good music for free.  Double Yes, Yes!!!  So I’m on the couch with my noise-cancelling headphones bumping to the extended remix of Buddy while re-writing a paragraph of my dissertation.  #grooving

Why mention De La Soul and the headphones, you ask?  Because I’m also in a noisy power struggle with Hope, who is doing her damnedest to play her saxophone as schnittily as possible right now.  I’m making her practice daily in preparation for a graded concert later this week.   Girlfriend thought that the agreement we made during our family meeting yesterday would be sated with a half-arsed 10 minute practice session. I don’t think so.

Had the nerve to yell at me when I politely told her she needed to pull another 30 minutes out of a hat.

So now my house sounds like a flock of geese are being tortured.

Oh wait…Queen Latifah is dropping her verse…Me, Myself and I is up on the rotation next.  #stilljamming

Oh, she’s mad, but she’s playing though.  And I can barely hear her.  #winning #sorryneighbors #TheFurryOneisNearlyDeafandDoesn’tCare

Just a minor bump in the road on this nearly perfect Monday.  That’s right, nearly perfect!

I had an epic meltdown yesterday when she effectively made us so late to church that I couldn’t find a parking spot.  This after I baked the blue cake! I secluded myself in my room for about 90 minutes while binge watching House of Cards on Netflix. Yeah, I should’ve hit a bedside Baptist service online or on the tube, but I was all about gluttonous self-medicating in those moments.

Despite my cake and self-sequestration, our first home-visit went smoothly enough yesterday afternoon.  I often read how some folks deep clean the house and such before a visit.  I tidied.  Look lady, we live here—emphasis on the live.  Laundry isn’t fully done.  I did load the dishwasher, the puzzle we are working on is still on the table and I just noticed the jam stain on the front of my dress after I offered her some water and blue cake.  Get over it.  Fortunately, Ms. E is cool.  She gave us both some good coaching and reassured me that I’m going to survive and that we are doing just fine.  She’s actually very excited for us.

Yeah, still feels like schnitt, but ok.  I’m starting to believe it will get better.

I’ve been to the gym for the last three days.  I had a nice holiday today while Hope went to school.  I’m starting to feel a little more like my sassy self.

For the first Monday in about two weeks I feel like I might have a grip on things.

She has now been practicing 17 minutes longer than I required.  She’s also playing rather well, seeing as it took a lot of effort to play all mad and crappy and I can tell she is getting tired.

Well, look at that (grinning), ABM won that struggle, didn’t cry, didn’t break a sweat or a nail and jammed the whole time. #stillwinning #stilljamming

Just maybe I can do this. 🙂


Living Rooms, Kinky Coils & Mama/Daughter Bonding

So, I’ve made an appointment for Hope to get her hair braided this weekend, but first we had to take out her current braids, wash, condition and blow out her hair to prep it.  I’ve been eager to do this since she got here.  I wear my hair in its natural state: curly, kinky, coily; so does Hope, but most of the time her hair is hidden away in braids.  I wanted to learn more about Hope by doing her hair.  I also wanted to have the little girl/mommy time that comes with doing hair.

When I was a child, my mom washed my hair in the kitchen sink while I stood on a small chair.  Then she painstakingly blew out my hair with a hair dryer, followed by getting it straight using a comb heated on an eye of the stove.  She would then either braid our hair or put it up in ponies.  The whole process took about 2 hours—I had a lot of hair.  Then she’d tackle my two younger sisters’ heads, both of whom, at various times, had hair down to their waists.  Grammy was tired after it was all over, but she loved to see us with our hair all fresh and styled up.

There was an intimacy in those moments that I now more deeply appreciate.  I always trusted Grammy to make me pretty.  We would sometimes talk or even sit in silence, but getting my hair done on that small chair in the kitchen with Grammy was my time with her during hectic weekends.  I had her undivided attention.  She would fret over the health of my scalp and hair.  She would cluck if she used too much heat on my hair or nicked my ear with the hot comb (long before flat irons).  She would wail when I took scissors to it mid-week to cut crooked, too short bangs because she had to figure out how to help me hide them until they grew out.  Even though it was a chore, it was something so selfless that Grammy did to care for me and to make me pretty.  Looking back it was a special thing we shared.

I wanted to share that with Hope.  I had to use a dining room chair in the living room instead of a tiny kiddie chair in the kitchen, but I got it done.

It took an hour to take Hope’s braids out, and more than 30 minutes to detangle it and get all the shed hair out (which incidentally was a lot, like think yeti).

I explained why I don’t use shampoo to cleanse (I find it too drying for my curly tresses), and yes, Hope, I go through large quantities of conditioner.

I explained that I don’t use towels on my hair because my hair can catch in the terry loops and break; instead I buy t-shirt fabric since the nap is gentler on my hair.

Yes, Hope, I use olive oil and coconut oil at various stages of the ‘hair-doing’ process.  No, coconut oil does not smell like a pina colada, like you might think; it used to though.  No, I don’t know why that old coconut oil grease used to smell like that.

I listen when she says she has “bad” hair (meaning it’s very kinky or coily, not straight), and I try to educate her that there is no such thing as “bad” hair.   Her dark brown and black curly hair is lovely.  And it’s so very thick.  It lies down at the first sign of heat, though.

I listen when she feeds me the line, “When my hair is blown out, it’s down my back.”  She has a lot of shrinkage, but it is not down her back.  It takes me back to the short haired girls who used to tell me that same line, when I arrived at school on Mondays with my long ponies swinging.  I remember how I couldn’t understand that science of how their hair could be longer than mine.  It wasn’t.   It never really mattered, but I see it for the self-esteem/self-identity issue it really is now.  I see Hope struggling with long hair desires, too.  She asked me for a weave earlier this week.  I said no. I’m not anti-weave, I just don’t think she needs a weave at 12.

Yes, you need to try to learn what your hair likes and what it needs to make it thrive.   I have gone through many products; we’ll figure out what your hair likes.

‘Oh, so the scalp massage feels good?”

She almost fell asleep, cooing how good it felt.

“Oh you like the paddle brush too?”

Hope begs me to keep brushing her strands after her blowout.

I explain why I need to trim her broken ends.   I don’t have to cut as much as I thought.

I explain what a twist out is, and how it’s usually how I style my hair.  I set her hair similarly.

Please, hold your head up. #phraseinheavyrotation

I am sad that her lovely tresses will be hidden in braids again by this time tomorrow.  She can keep them for 3 weeks, but then I want to have this experience again.  I need to  experience this with her again.

I want to coach my little naturalista to love herself and her hair.

That was five hours (yes, Lawd—FIVE!!!) of near bliss.


Three Weeks Post-Placement

It’s Friday and things are better.  Today is the second snow day this week and I’m wondering will the kids get any summer break around these parts.

Hope was delighted by the snow day; she’s a hard core nester/homebody.  She never got dressed, never bathed (I let it go for yesterday), and just was happy as a clam.

I was still sick with a racking cough.  I still have the racking cough, actually; I imagine it will be with me for a week or so.  I was kind of miserable.  I gave her lots of tablet time, made her practice her sax (Hey, it actually sounds like music now!) and lay in bed.  I fretted bit about how the house felt filthy to me, how I just wanted to sleep unencumbered and how I needed to go dig the car out so that it wasn’t so bad when the second storm hit later in the day.

I started to think about what I’m learning during this process.  I have been blogging more about my emotions in the moment and straying from the learning part.  It’s just been so overwhelming. So here goes my current list of observations and learned gems.

  • I know we’re improving even if it feels like walking across hot coals in hell.  She comes to me, she wants to be with me, and she gets frustrated when I say no but she is increasingly less likely to push me on things.  She’s never again asked to be taken back to WA.
  • There is a difference in when she decides to be straight up oppositional and when she is just being a typical annoying teen.  My dissertation research is, in part, about how personal values shape viewpoints on a particular issue.  There is a personal value called “face” that really is much like the desire to protect and preserve our public identities.  Anything that threatens what Hope perceives to be as personal identity space she digs in and digs in hard.  So teacher notes invade a space in which she is constructing her public persona.  School incidents are particularly threatening to how she sees herself and she will go down swinging to preserve her “face.”

Typical annoying teen stuff, she’s more likely to come to me later and tell me that her feelings were hurt by something I said or did—like when I told her “Fine, don’t wear your coat in 22 degree weather when you have a sinus infection.  Catch pneumonia <shrug>.”  Later she politely told me that hurt her feelings because she could die from pneumonia and surely I didn’t want her to die.  (I reminded her, no I didn’t want her to die, which is why I insisted on the damn coat #girlbye!)  Glad this dissertation is worth something more to me.

  • There so many things, like boundaries, that she wasn’t taught and must learn.  My biggest peeve is her traipsing into my room.  Yesterday she got into my bed.  Yeah, yeah, snuggling and all that, whatever.  I am desperate for some sanctuary and personal space, and my bedroom is IT.  I still tiptoe into my parents’ room back home.  Bedrooms are sacred space for me.  And despite several polite conversations, she just traipses in whenever she gets ready.  She’s walked in on me in my bathroom, getting dressed, you name it.  Drives me nuts and when I say something it’s all, “You don’t want me in your room,” with lots of attitude.  Yeah, you’re right, I don’t.  There I admit it.  It’s the only safe space I have.

While doing a puzzle in the living room yesterday during the storm, I also realized that she didn’t really know how to work on a puzzle with someone else.  She sucks up the table space by leaning all the way over such that her hands hang over my side of the table and will actually pick up pieces I am working on.  I had to take several breaks because it was almost invasive in a way that ruined the experience for me.  Yesterday was not the day to teach more about personal space, but clearly that’s something I need to work on with her.

  • There is a kindness of spirit in her.  She has made me tea every day that I’ve been sick.  She knows her skills of caring for me are limited so she focuses on what she can do.  At her core, she is such a sweetie.
  • A trip to the veterinarian determined that The Furry One is in the very early stages of kidney failure.  At 14 and 3 months, it is a normal sign of old age.  Given his overall health though, the vet confirmed that yeah, the rug pee fiasco of last week was indeed an declaration of war.  He’s actually engaging Hope more appropriately this week.  Had he been sicker I would’ve asked the vet to duct tape and paperclip this dog together, I’m way to unstable to lose The Furry One right now.  That would send me right on over the edge.
  • The weather is effing up my best efforts to get us on a consistent schedule.  I mean really, I can’t win for losing!  Two days off this week.  No band practice.  I’m increasingly behind at work.  It’s all a mess, I tell you.  And I know that the scheduling thing is going to be the way to glory for us.  I really need to have a talk with Mother Nature.
  • Prayer works.  Hope and I pray together twice a day.  She is responsible for one of the prayers.  I notice how her prayers have changed over the weeks.  The things she prays about are changing, she prays for our family.  She prays for The Furry One even though he peed on her rug.  She prays that she’ll have a better day at school.  I can’t honestly say that I’m deep in meditation when she’s praying because I’m trying to tune into what she’s saying and maybe not saying.  But her prayers are changing and I’m encouraged by that.
  • Hope is finally getting the concept of salvation.  She told me early on that she had been saved twice but it didn’t work; it didn’t “take” because she is so bad.  Lots of distilled theological conversations up in Casa de ABM.   She’s now talking about baptism and salvation and such.  She had a mini-meltdown this week when contemplating a lost family member and whether they were in heaven or hell; she didn’t know if they were saved.  It was a heartbreaking moment, but it revealed a few things to me:  She’s thinking about our talks, she’s applying those discussions, and she’s still grappling with grief.  I was sad for her, but I was also happy to know that I’m getting through that tough candy shell of hers.
  • She enjoys a little decadence, like we all do.  She gets excited to try new things, do things with me that foster families had previously promised but didn’t do and is thoughtful about each experience as it bonds us.  I’m the one who’s following through, who’s showing her something more.  She appreciates that.  One night a week is pizza night; during previous weeks we got take out.  This week I needed a fabric napkin experience as a Maslow’s Hierarchy element in my life (I loathe fast food) so I decided we would go out to eat.  She was almost overwhelmed by the local restaurant; she relished having a small appetizer and dessert.  She was tickled by the whole experience.  I was getting terribly ill during the dinner but I found such pleasure in watching her take it all in.
  • I had no idea 12 year old asked so many why questions.  Oh. My. God.  Why?  Why?  Why?  Why to random stuff that I’ve never heard about that happened when she was 8?  Why to random stuff that happened last week?  Why to something that happened on a random show she watched but I didn’t?  I thought in going with an older kid, I would bypass a lot of the “why” stuff.  No, not really.  I can see how stunted in some areas she maybe.  She wasn’t in environments when she could ask why; she is now.  I can see that I’ve created a safe space for her to do that.  I’m increasingly comfortable with say, “Sweetie, I don’t know.  Can we Google it?”  By the 18th time I try to recite that without sounding annoyed and exasperated.

So, it’s Friday, one of the days when I can be a bit more reflective.  Hope is still snoozing and I’ve tidied the house, taken out the trash, opened a window and let some cool air in to air out the sickie germs, and written this here post.  If I hurry, I probably can get to the grocery store to pick up a few things and GASP—get some Starbucks and some Valentine’s chocolates that I don’t have to share!!!  OMG, OMG so exciting!!

OMG—Hallelujah!  Peace out!


Shoe Drop – The Sequel

Well, we managed to make it one whole week in school before I started getting the emails about behavioral problems.  Five notes in two days.

Yeah, the last few days have been tough.  Wednesdays are usually our turn around day; things improve so I’m optimistic about today.  By Friday we’re great and then it starts all over again on Mondays.  It’s an awful cycle.  And even though I can tell it’s a cycle, it’s just relentless and the severity is always surprising and I’m getting so freaked out about Monday’s that there’s a cloud over the weekend for me.

The teachers asked me how they can help Hope.

I gave what I believe to be what I would do—try to be gracious but consistent and please be patient with us.

Yeah, the truth of the matter is I have no effing idea what they should do.  I’m barely holding it together around here.

I sat her down and gently talked to her.  She was shocked that teachers would just email me.  Naw girl, no one is checking for your little “note sent home but never really gets here” game.  No boo, teachers just email the parents now.   Her defensive shields went up slowly, but when they were up, they were really up.  You see, Hope never does anything wrong.  She is always the victim.  How dare they send me emails full of lies about her!

This oppositional defiance thing is so dang serious.  And it’s so exhausting, especially when the denials and lies fly in the face of obvious fact and reason.  There’s nothing reasonable about oppositional defiance.

This week I had to start doing some consequences; she seems stunned.  I actually am stunned.  I’m always feeling stunned.

<whisper> I kinda hate my life right now.

<whispers even more softly> I feel awful and guilty that I hate my life right now.

Amongst the rudeness, the belligerence, the lies and the shutdowns, the clinginess and everything else I can’t be bothered to list here, I’m really feeling like a failure. I know I’m not, but it sure feels sucky. I never imagined that I would fly in with a cape and save Hope; I thought I had realistic expectations, but it’s just really hard.  I cannot remember the last time when I felt so emotionally stretched.  I feel awful that I can’t muster the umph to comfort her for every little thing.  I wonder when she pushed a boundary by showing me a “funny” video laced with F-bombs, was my reaction ok? Does she think I’m mad and frustrated all the time?  I’m usually frustrated and I try not to show it, but more than mad, I’m usually aghast by just how crazy this life is at the moment.

I’m really sick with a sinus infection this morning.  So she started complaining about her ailments to see if she can one up me and if I would let her stay home with me.  She didn’t have a fever, but I did this morning.  So her little narrow butt was dispatched to the bus stop, but not before we had to have another head butt about the need for her to wear a real coat in 22 degree weather with snow storm expected to start later today.  #icant

Nothing about any of this even feels rational.  I just feel like I’m riding the same roller coaster day after day, walking on egg shells, trying to keep things moving.  Cooking, cleaning, laundry…I loathe too much clutter when I’m sick.  I like things tidy when I’m sick.  I needed her to go to school so I could have time to wipe down things with my Clorox wipes, change my sheets, make some chili and homemade bread and nurse myself and my mind.  I’m praying that the storm is delayed so that she stays after for her band practice so that I can relish two additional hours of peacefulness.  The storm means all kinds of bonding time tomorrow…Sigh.  I’m planning to run and get a couple of puzzles.

I’m hoping this Wednesday turnaround gives me the emotional break I need through the end of the week.


Facebook Make Up Sessions

“…my life ruined right about now i wish i would have just stayed in washington i hate it here right now.”

Oy.

I didn’t even have to go into her Facebook account to sniff around like I normally do; she posted this as a comment on a photo, in a confab she was having with a FB friend.  I’ve set up our accounts that her posts always show up in my feed.

I was so sad to read that she was sad.  That said I also know when she posted it we had just locked horns badly because she threatened the Furry One.

Hope’s been on a quest to use The Furry One as a test of my loyalty to her.  She’s insisted that he is trying to bite her and that he doesn’t like her.  It makes her sad that he doesn’t want to sleep with her and that if given a choice, The Furry One is content right under one of my butt cheeks.  I’ve had him since he was 8 weeks old and he’s been my constant companion for 14 years. Of course he wants me.  He’s my first furry born.

They are both demanding of my time and both very jealous of the other, but Buddha does show affection towards Hope and the dog doesn’t bite.  He never has.  And now that he’s the equivalent of 98 in people years, he’s really just not about that vicious life.

We had a confrontation about her lying about Buddha, so then she threatened him.

And I went off.

Animal abuse and cruelty was at the top of my non-negotiable list, so when she threatened him I did not react well at all.   It doesn’t help that my resistance is low later in the day because I’m tired.  Make that utterly exhausted.

So I took a timeout—these are becoming routine in our home now.  I’m usually the one in timeout and I explain why, usually because I know that I’m too upset to have a productive interaction or I realize that I’m feeding into the ODD behaviors.  I just have to step away.

She eventually sought me out and we spent our time together before bed.  We’re cool.

Then I saw her FB post that was made while I was in timeout.

So, I inboxed my kid after she went to bed.

“Saw a post that you felt like your life was ruined here and that you hate it here right now. I know you wrote that after I was so angry about you accusing [The Furry One] of trying to bite you when we both agree now that he didn’t.  I’m sorry.  I am learning how to be a mom, and it’s harder than I thought. I am trying really hard, though. Sometimes I will do better than other times. Please know that even when I’m mad, I love you so very much. More than you’ll ever know. I think in time we will be just fine.”

“ps: [The Furry One] loves you and so do i.

“pps: I’m glad you like your school”

I didn’t say anything about it when she got up this morning.  I knew she would see it when she finally logged on.   Her response?

“Really mom?”

Along with this “sticker:”

eyeroll

Yeah, we’re cool again.   For now.


Learning to Say Yes (Sometimes)

So, my local county is not particularly friendly to those of us who are creating families across state lines.  We could not register for school yesterday because, despite my legwork, we hit a major roadblock yesterday.  Apparently when a child from outside of the Commonwealth is placed in my county, the county wants a blood oath that if this adoption thing doesn’t work out that I will reimburse the county for her public school education.

Yeah.  I call bull-hitsay.

So offended.

Had I lived in a car or been otherwise undocumented, we might’ve had an easier path.

But no.  I live in one of the most affluent counties in the country, and they have no desire to support adoptive families without nickel and diming us about public school tuition until finalization.   My county supervisor will be hearing from me and it won’t be pretty.

The good news is that we are registering this afternoon and Hope is going to school tomorrow.

Hang on; I need a moment of delicious silence to contemplate this.

Ahhhhh.

With the few hours of school related respite I’m counting on, I’m also going to try to wrap my head around learning to say yes to Hope on some things.

Helping her learn expectations for our home has actually gone reasonably well, but while we were unpacking her boxes that arrived and discussing the purchase of some new shoes for an upcoming event she shut me down before I could reply to a request for a shoe with a low heel.  I hadn’t even had the chance to hesitate, but I suppose my brow must’ve furrowed in a way that suggested I was going to say no eventually.  #nonverbalfail

“You never let me do anything!”

Now this, of course, is not true and was likely an incredibly normal outburst for a tween.  But it led to 45 minutes of sulking followed by a hidden controlled cry for me.  I have had to say no to a number of things but I usually give choices to redirect a no to a “here are your options.”  Sometimes I need to just say yes, especially to the small stuff. Truth be told, I immediately thought a cute tiny wedge or kitten heel would look great on her and suit our purposes, but I never got a chance to say anything.

So this got me to thinking, how can I create some scenarios in which I say yes, if for no other reason than to reinforce that I can say yes, as much as I say no.

So, today we’ll look at some shoes on Zappo’s, and eventually I will say yes to a pair.

I will say yes to ice cream today after school registration.

I will say yes to Wii gaming.  (I will later nurse the bruises that all those arms and legs banging into me because she can barely control her body.  Turns out Wii is a contact sport.)

I will say yes to a trip to the trampoline park this weekend.

My girl just needs to hear yes a few times.


School Registration

Today we register for school.

I.

Am.

Elated.

I doubt that she’s quite as excited.  Let’s go burn off some of this energy, Hope.  Praying I have enough motivations to help her try to keep it together.  I have realistic expectations about her initial behavior, but I’m hopeful about Hope.

Let’s do this!


Shoe Drop

Awww yeah, the glass slipper dropped today.

It’s been an edgy day in the ABM household.  It hasn’t been horrible, but the glimpses of drama are starting to emerge.

Image

The Furry One is beside himself with Hope in the house.  He’s fretful, clingy and begging for attention.  Hope is also clingy and begging for attention.   The combination after about 8 hours has left me loathing clinging for the day and begging for quiet and solitude…and a dose of my anti-anxiety meds.

She caught several attitudes today when I replied no to a request or just asked her to wait.  She nearly had a meltdown when a neighbor stopped by to do me a quick favor.  Disruptive, huffy, and just downright rude.

After finishing up our board game this evening, she caught a serious attitude when trying to add up her winnings.  I suspected that she had some problems with the math, so I suggested that we get some paper and a pen to help with some of the math and I also offered to help.  Full on attitudinal meltdown.  We took a 10 minute time out.  Came back after the time out for more attitude complete with a “You don’t need to keep me, just send me back to Washington.”  Yeah, zero to 60; we are there fast.  I suspect I’ll be hearing that refrain a lot in the next few months.  Sigh.  Awesome. #notreally

I replied, “Nope, you’re not going back unless we go to visit.  We’re stuck with each other, and I’m excited about that, and I love you.”

We just finished a follow up 20 minute time out, and now she’s talking to a friend.  And yes, I’m listening because she talks so dang loud and on speaker.  She’s talking to some little dude that she has a crush on and apparently had an AMAZING dream about last night.  And OMG, she just told him she liked him because he’s cute (#liveblogging!).  Thank you Jesus for the 3,000 miles between them (#jesusbeafence).

Gotta admire her hutzpah, though.  How many chicks do you know are willing to just call up a dude at 12 (or 30) and tell him they like him and why.  And now she’s all giggly again, and I have to go so I can hear her debrief version (which no doubt will vary from what I heard with my own two ears), and then we need to watch Big Bang Theory in my bedroom.

Meltdown over.

There is a lot of attitude living in the ABM house these days.  Good Lord, be a fence against the drama.  And since I’m praying, I need every boy at her new school to look like a medieval gargoyle.

Amen.


K E Garland

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