Category Archives: The Adoption Process

Stability & Grace

Yesterday we hit a day of stability.  Hope returned to school.  I returned to work.  I had dinner on the table at a decent hour, and we acted silly for nearly two hours afterward.  No real static, no real drama.  We had a single moment that we both decided to let go before it turned into something that it didn’t need to be.

Yesterday, I watched Hope dancing and acting silly with her long arms and legs whirling around and thought to myself, “Yeah, this is cool.”

It’s amazing what a difference a day can make.  Wednesday was…

Ugh.

Yesterday, there was some backtracking on the RAD diagnosis. Does it matter?  I don’t know yet.  I’ve had to put those emotions on the shelf and just press forward.  I picked up some parenting books on attachment, on adoption blues, on adoption challenges and on parenting adolescents from the library, along with some recipe books.   When on earth will I have time to even flip through these books?  I don’t know.  My oral defense is shaping up to happen in about 20 days.  Onward and upward with good intentions, right?

Today I was talking to someone on the phone (who is apparently going to need a blog pseudonym soon, since I’m finding him creeping into this space), and he was chastising me on saying, “You know today is a good day, I just hope the weather doesn’t wreck it (we were supposed to get an ice storm this morning).”  Dude is eternally optimistic and urged me to find the silver lining, when all I could think about was how I associate bad weather with really hard times with Hope and breaks in new routines.  I had my defensive arguments all lined up when it dawned on me that he was right, and I should just shut up and listen and stop needing to be right.

Before Hope I always had to be right; most of the time I was right.  The times when I was wrong, I could find a way to make it right.  #fullofmyself #firststepisadmittingit Now I have so little control or my life that my need to pick and win absurdly small, inconsequential fights is really high, just so I can feel like I’m doing something right, when everything feels so ridiculously wrong.

So as I was sitting there listening to dude coach me to speak positively and being a little pissy about the conversation that I had conveniently re-labeled “lecture” for my convenience, I just realized that he was right, and I needed to be gracious and take his words to heart.   When I let that defensiveness and fear of judgment abate, I heard the emotion behind his words, which was sincere and very sweet.

WIN_20140307_171625#raisedeyebrow #smiling #hmmwhathavewehere?

I thought, “Self, ya gotta keep some of these guards down because you’re keeping out both the sour and the sweet.  Sometimes the sweet is far more powerful that the sour.  Get over yourself and get out of your own way.”

Another day, another lesson, right?  I do believe in the power of positive words, but it’s so easy to feel overwhelmed in the face of the mess that I’m experiencing.

So, today I’m going to try practice grace.  Shut up and listen.  Let some things just go.  Be deliberate about speaking positivity.  And admit that its hard and sad and that I need help, but also that there are sweet, sweet times too.  It seems that Hope isn’t the only one who needs to hear some affirmations and put them out into the universe.  I realized today that I’m so terrified of “breaking the kid,” that I’m very likely breaking me, and well, that isn’t going to be good for me or the kid.  At all.  Not even a little bit.

So I’m going to try to practice more grace and less fear.   Here’s to hoping it opens me up to more sweet than sour days in the future.  #2Corinthians129


The Dx

Today has been a crappy day.

Family meeting with the social worker that was awful.  Therapy with the Absurdly Gorgeous Therapist (AGT), who I’ve now decided is only Really Handsome—this is a  disappointing, step down.  I am currently withstanding the Ice Maiden silent treatment from Hope after all this chatter about treatment and feelings today.   Like Hope, I’m raw from all this feelings talk too.

Since it’s been a schnitty day, and I’m anticipating World War 14 when dinner is served, I’ve taken a different tact for this post.

The Dx

There once was a girl named Hope

Who recently claimed “end of rope.”

Then the care team said, “RAD,”

And ABM was so sad.

Now they both need help learning to cope.

Sigh….


In the Midst…

I have just completed the last chapter of my dissertation.  And I did it during and immediately following one of the biggest, messiest crises of my life.  I’m telling you, my Holy Homeboy ain’t stunting on your “Woe is me, my life sucks,” kind of moments—he’s there to help you

Get.

It.

Done.

It is the only explanation for my ability to function during the last two weeks, much less finish up with the major writing.  Truth be told, I just want to lay in my bed for a few extra weeks  hours, which will occur tomorrow what with another DC area snowstorm scheduled to start at O-dark-30 tomorrow morning.  #sickofwinter

So, here’s my recap of this week’s life lessons and observations.

Hard times don’t last, but tough people do (with lots of help).  Cliché, right? It’s true.  Hope and I are settling back into our routine after a dramatic two week episode that saw the need for mental health interventions, a belligerent social worker who kept suggesting that I broke the kid, fall outs with Grammy that managed to include the word “failure,” tears, more tears, stress eating,  full on emotional meltdowns, phone calls, texts, instant messages from kind friends who dragged my emo butt through the muck and mire back to sanity, and one special person who managed to strap me to the couch for a day of rest on an emotional island.  Somewhere along the way I pushed out a few work projects and got this dissertation draft done.  I think I can really do this.

Resilience is a blessing.  As much as trauma is long lasting and contagious, our ability to bounce back from “stuff” is nothing short of amazing.  I had to do some really, crazy, “never thought I’d be here, but here I am” stuff during the last two weeks.  Hope experienced some schnitt that I wish wasn’t necessary on the path to jelling our little family.  I thought she would punish me (she still might); I thought I would lose her.  I thought about every possible catastrophic outcome.  And yet, in the end, here we are sitting watching some stupid kid movie on Netflix, soaking up some together time.  Occasionally, she gets up to just give me a hug.  I didn’t know if we would have this a week ago, but here we are.  Oh, I know that we will have drama in the future, but we will survive.  We will prevail.  We will be happy.

Some people really are just bullies. Never in my life would I have imagined picking up a phone call from Hope’s social worker to hear her just yelling into the phone, upset about all that was going on.  Where do they do that?  Does that strategy work?  WTH!!??!!

After getting a couple of those calls when the woman had been updated with all the available information on the status of our crisis, I finally had to just check her.  You know, the kind of check that comes in quiet but informs your adversary that you ain’t here for their foolishness one more got-dern minute.  I gathered her up quick and got us on the same page.  I know she was trying to do her job, and apparently some folks just accept her behavior as being passionate about the kids.  Um, no.  You can be passionate without steamrolling over people.  No ma’am, you can just stop that madness right, damn now.   #nothavingit  #trymeonemoginandsee

Your capacity feels tiny, but it really is limitless.  There were moments when I wondered whether I could do any of this.  There were moments when I felt just paralyzed by what felt like a lot of emotional chaos.  There were things that had to be done, calls to make, emails to follow up on, specialists to chase down, social workers to call.  I went to work.  I stayed up late writing.  I was and am exhausted.  And somehow I just kept going.  At least once an hour I thought I should just stop.  I doubted myself.  I doubted my commitment to Hope.  I raged at God; wasn’t it supposed to be a little easier than this?  Just a little?  Did you really have to flex and show me you could save us?  #ialreadybelieveddang

And yet every day, I got up and I did as much as I could.  I muddled through it.  Some moments were prettier than others and there are now stacks of papers and crap that I will consider stabbing someone if they dare touch said stack or move it.  I don’t know how I managed, but I did.  I’m too tired to think I’m a superhero, but damn if I don’t feel like I should go buy a t-shirt with a cape.  Once I get some rest, I might go climb the Himalayas or something, you know because apparently I can.  When tested, you can do so much more than you thought.

Everyone’s life is messy.   A year or two ago, I came across an article on Yahoo about how Facebook was making people depressed because they were comparing their lives against all the happy faced pictures that all their friends were posting on Facebook.

Well, really, who’s going to post all the crap pics?  You know the one where your eyes are closed, the selfie you took after you wedged yourself in that outfit in the dressing room, the vacation picture that seemed innocent enough until some a-hole in your group posted it tagged you and now you feel like a killer whale in a bathing suit?  Yeah, those pics.
Our public lives are carefully crafted, and while it looks great, it’s a big farce.  Everyone has at least one hot buttered mess that they are wrestling with on the daily.   As I shared the details of the recent drama, lovely people in my inner circle confided their stuff too.  On some level, misery does love company, but only because it can be humanizing, validating, and well, in a moment of brutal honesty, you feel some hope that someone’s mess may sound as bad or worse than yours.  Sometimes it just helpful to know that you aren’t struggling alone.  Everyone has it bad.

Sometimes you need drugs.  Yeah, sometimes I’d love a nice herbal or to just pray my way through stuff, but sometimes you just need drugs.  And it’s ok to make the choice and damn the people who shame you and tell you that your kid needs to take karate or that you just need to exercise more.  They don’t know schnitt about what you’re experiencing.

New drugs were introduced into our lives recently.   I was worried; I still worry.  I don’t want Hope on drugs forever and ever, but a week and a half in, I can see that this drug will provide us with the headspace to work on emotional coping skills and adjustment struggles.  The social worker gave me hell about this particular drug, but you know what, she’s never actually lived with Hope.  In a shared living environment, I’m seeing what Hope really struggles with and I’m working to get her what she needs to ensure her long term success.  Mama knows. This short term relationship with drugs is a good thing for us and again, if you disagree, just move it along.

It’s late and I’m exhausted.  And well, I just finished writing my dissertation, ok?  This is it for tonight.  I’m hopeful and optimistic that we will continue to heal and grow.  We survived because we’re survivors.


First Adoption Crisis In Progress

This past week has been nothing short of exhausting.  I’m grateful for my friends and some family and many fellow bloggers who have offered support.  I am not alone.  It makes me sad that so many families slug through these trauma-induced swamplands, but it is helpful to the spirit to know that I’m not alone.

So, here’s what I’ve come to know this week:

This “Sandwich Generation” mess is a bitch.   So sandwich generations are the folks who are sons and daughters of living parents and who are parents themselves.  In this midst of this mind-blowing crisis with Hope, Grammy has been absent.   Honestly, I want my mommy, and she’s not out there.  She did share that she had a passion for kids like Hope, but she didn’t say she had a passion for me.  She did say that she didn’t agree with my decisions regarding Hope.  She raised questions about my ability to raise Hope as a single parent.  While I sit at the bedside of a kid who is presently telling me she hates me 100 times a day, I also sit and wonder what I did to deserve this Grammy freeze out.  I feel like I’m catching it from all sides.  My life is filled with gray at the moment when I prefer the definitiveness of black and white, so I’m inclined to just tell Grammy to kick rocks and go play in traffic.  Sigh, but that probably doesn’t meet the WWJD standard now does it?

I am resentful about the need to be the bigger person.  I’m pissed about feeling like I need to act like an adult.  I’m annoyed as all get out that Grammy has failed to be the person I’ve built her up to be.  At church this morning I went to the altar to ask for special prayer for me and Hope.  The sermon had been about relationships that provide refuge in times of trouble. #messagefromGod The parishioner who prayed with me this morning asked, among other things, that all members of the family strive to act appropriately, as Jesus would, during this crisis.

Well, dang. So convicted…

Fall down 7 times, and keep getting up.

So, I will continue to pray that the relationship with Grammy be restored and that we both act as one another’s refuge.  In order to do this, I’ve got to let this pissed-off’dness go.  #notreallyready

Yeah, I’m going to have to ask to be delivered from this anger and hurt and ushered into a space of forgiveness.

Something tells me I’m going to have to pray *that* prayer repeatedly. #lowSouthernBaptisthum #shadysideeye

Anger and hurt deliverance prayers for everyone!!  In dissecting this mess with Grammy, it’s not lost on me that Hope and I share a lot of parallels.  Like Hope, I’m struggling with all the new expectations, the new roles, the fear, the anger when expectations are not met; only I’m feeling this mess towards my own mother.  So prayers are going up that my Hope also be delivered from the anger and hurt she feels after so many years of disappointment.

Friends are everything.  Old ones and new ones…You learn who your friends are on this journey.  Your closest circle knows the most or as much as you are willing to share; they peep through the window and then they extend their hand, a handkerchief, a hug.  They are compassionate.  Even when they don’t know what to say, the empathy that rolls off of them gives you something to hold on to.   I was telling a new friend this week about my love of the book of Job; I find it to be a fascinating expose on man’s relationship with God.  My friend, who was trying to convince me to just allow some folks to care for me this week, chastised me by saying, “Well you know, Job’s friends weren’t really schnitt, but they showed up.  Let me show up for you.”

That was too deep, and my sassy “I got this” façade came crumbling down.  And I’m better for it.

I’m also delighted that my Holy Homeboy has seen fit to begin a new season with an old friend who was my bestest bestie until a stupid falling out nearly a decade ago.  A week before this crisis started, we ran into each other at the local Costco.  I’ve missed her so much that we later both admitting to crying after the interaction as we continued to shop in Costco.  Her reintroduction into my life has been a special blessing.

Adoption drama needs its own version of Google Translate.  It’s incredibly hard to spend time with someone who just says they hate you over and over again.  Absurdly Gorgeous Therapist (AGT) called me to check in and reiterated that new adoptive parents must bear the brunt of all the anger of trauma and lost these kids feel.  Yeah, dude, I know.  But that ish is whack.  Yeah, there, I said it.  It totally sucks arse to sit and just be the whipping post.  Oh, and let me not to forget to mention her boundary pushing efforts to be just generally rude and obnoxious. I think we should have a google translate app for every crappy moment.

Kid says: “I hate you!  I wish I’d never come here!  I wish you would just go away and die.”

Google Translation: “I’m not sure how to love or be happy, but you’re nice and kind and I have no frigging idea how to take that.   Please don’t stop being kind to me and for God’s sake, don’t leave me!”

Yeah…adoptive parents need that app and we need it yesterday.

Encouraging Turnarounds Lurk about.  Yesterday Hope said she would stop speaking to me forever.  I calmly replied that that might be kind of hard living in the house together, especially since she needs me for stuff.  Why not think about the things she might need to talk to me about…she started making a list and inside I smiled because it was one effing long list.  She needs me.  When she was done I said, sounds like we might have to talk a lot.  Today, she talked and played with me; ever so often she would announce, “I’m still mad at you. I still hate you.”  I just replied, “I know.”  She let me hug her for the first time in 5 days.  That’s got to be some kind of progress right?

Stress is the devil.  So remember when I said detangling Hope’s hair last week was like pulling out a yeti?  Yeah, well, I’m so stressed that my hair is now shedding like yocks of hair.  I swear I harvested a guinea pig out of my head this weekend.  Sigh…

I’ve cooked for the first part of the week and am really going to try to stay hydrated and rested.  I actually got a zit this weekend!?!?!  Zits at 41 are no bueno.  I need to find a happy place stat.  Today was all about hair and skin conditioning.

I have writers’ block.  I estimate that I only have about 10 pages left to write on my dissertation.  Needless to say, I’ve been distracted.   I cannot continue to dwell on this dang chapter; I need that cognitive energy for other things.   I pushed out a page today, but I need to pick up the pace.

The Furry One just likes to go pee in Hope’s room.   Yeah, he just does.  I’m going to go buy a Bissell Green Machine, and we’re going to have to learn to keep Hope’s door closed when she’s out and about.  My old dog is just an old dog, doing old dog things, I guess.   I still love him.  #shrug

So, that’s this week’s lesson recap.  This too shall pass; I know it will cycle back.  I’ll be more prepared next time.  I’m hopeful that this week, Hope and I can make progress, that we can get back to a little piece of our version of normal.  I hope my face doesn’t break out and my hair stays put.  I hope for more friend bonding, less dog messes to clean up and a completed dissertation.

Amen.


The Sand Storm that is Trauma

Hope is terrified of the idea of normalcy, of family, of happiness.  All of this fear and anxiety manifests itself like a furious sand storm that just beats you in the face with no end, goes up your nose, gets lodged in your ears.  It covers your hair, your eyelashes, your clothes.  The angry sadness finds its way under your finger and toe nails.  It’s in your private parts.  It’s gritty, painful, it’s everywhere.  It’s dangerous; it’s deadly.  It chokes Hope.  It chokes me, too.

sandstorm431x300

I knew I was going to fight this sand storm from the very beginning, but this week, it’s been relentless.  My beautiful Hope is stuck in all this sadness and anger and if the sand storm analogy wasn’t bad enough, my girl’s lack of hope for herself and the life she can have with me is sucking her in like quick sand.   I am doing everything I can to pull together all the resources necessary to drag her out of that sand.

I am so tired this week.  And I am terrified too.

She has described my very existence as really being the root of so many of her problems. I know it’s not true, but it lances a tiny bit of blood every time she suggests it.  In nearly the same breath that she’s cursing me, she will demonstrate a kindness towards me from somewhere so deep inside of her that is like the smallest most precious drop of water in a hot desert.

I see glimpses of her desire to just be happy; but they are fleeting.  They are overwhelmed by all the fear, pain and hurt. During some hours, it feels like there is nothing I can say to ease any of it.  The defiance is so rough that she will just deny anything and everything just so she can have some control.

The sky is blue.  No, it’s not; it is purple.

I love you.  I hate you.  I don’t want to live here.

I want you to stay here with me forever.  No you don’t; you want to throw me away.

Sigh.

It just doesn’t stop.

Trauma is just so awful. It makes people just believe they have no self-worth; that they aren’t deserving of anything that could possibly, conceivably be construed as love, hopefulness, joy, normalcy.

I’m finding that aspects of trauma are contagious.  Oh, I have experienced nothing like my lovely Hope has, but her trauma has now become my trauma.  Her pain is now my pain.  Her anger is now my anger.  Living with her, it’s all become mine too, but I’m the one responsible for helping her find her way, our way, out of this mess.   It is consuming and overwhelming.  It also hurts like hell.

People ask me how I’m doing.

Sigh…

I’m just doing.  I’m living moment to moment, hour to hour, day to day.

I take a lot of deep breaths.

I cry a lot.  I cry for her.  I sob for her and all the dreams I have for her.

And I do this mostly in private, because how can you explain to people that Hope doesn’t understand how to be happy?  How can you explain that her fear makes Hope say she hates you?  How can you explain that Hope’s trauma is so consuming that she wonders whether she can just survive the day?  How can you get people to understand the long term effects of trauma in the face of being offered a “good life?”

You can’t.  So, mostly, you just don’t try.  So you live this process alone.

It’s really lonely.   Even when you have people around who are supportive and grasping to understand, it is still lonely figuring out how to survive the most irrational behavior you’ve ever experienced.  There are things you don’t dare share.  There are things you can’t imagine saying.  God forbid you say something that makes someone wonder quietly or worse, out loud, that it might be all your fault.  If the drama of trauma doesn’t keep you up at night, the fear of that kind of judgment will.

Yes, trauma is contagious.

And yet, I try to have hope for Hope even while she pushes me away and spews venom that hurts my heart.  I just want to hug her.  I want her to just stop resisting and rest in my arms for a good cry.   I want to soothe her tears, smooth her hair from her face, look into her brown eyes and tell her that I’ll love and protect her always, that it really will be ok.  I want her to understand that she doesn’t have to test me; I’m not going anywhere. I just wish she would stop fighting.

I just want the sandstorm to stop.

It’s only been a month today since she arrived, and I know that the reality is that the storm is just starting.


The Day After Someday…

One day I may share the details behind these feelings in more detail, maybe, maybe not.  Just know that today rates as one of the lowest days of my life.  This adoption thing is a beast.  Trauma lingers and just wreaks havoc long, long after the original incident.  It’s stunning how the long the reach is and how devastating its touch remains.

Today was so difficult because I had to step up and be the mom of a child who has endured unspeakable trauma.  I’m not proud of the stripes I had to earn with the decisions I had to make today, but I made them just the same.   And I am heartbroken by them.   I have had some tough days in this life, but few will compare to the day I had to make a decision that will be one of my and Hope’s life crucibles. I know that everything will change after this.  It’s scary, but there’s also hope in the midst.  Just know that today was a tough, tough day for me and for my lovely Hope.  But tomorrow will be a new day for us.

Tonight I am practicing my own self soothing behaviors watching trash tv, eating fried chicken fingers, eating a rustic loaf of bread slathered in butter and cheese and losing myself in a bottle of blush vinho verde…yeah, the bottle, it’s yummy.  Oh and I’m trying to catch up on a few things at the office.  I shudder to think how my late night, tipsy emails about spreadsheets will read in the light of day.  Oh well.

My wish this evening is that someday my precious Hope will find it in her heart to know that the drastic decision I was forced to make today was in her best interest, that I did it out of love, that I did it to save her.  I hope someday, sooner rather than later that she won’t be so very sad about leaving bad things behind and embracing goodness and light, and that she will, on her own volition, someday choose to step into happiness in this new chapter with me, the Furry One and all of the many people who have come to love her after only a few weeks and months.

I hope someday that the trauma of the necessity of my decision will fade and that the hurt, anger and downright fury born today will be replaced with love, joy and true healing.  I hope someday that she will know and trust that I will always have her back, to care for her, to always put her essential needs first.  In the face of anger and heartbreak I proved that today.  I hope that we both recover from all the events of the day and that we will find our happy together, healing and healed, safe and sound, loving and loved.

This journey is the greatest test of faith I have ever endured.  Everything before was a test for this moment. My Holy Homeboy doesn’t promise us peace, he promises us peace in the midst of the storm.  I’m still paddling in the storm; you can’t see all my tears because it’s just raining so damn hard.   But we’re going to be ok, we will make it.  Be encouraged, somehow, I am.

Amen.


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. 🙂


The Blue Stress Cake

I make a small cake for myself almost weekly.  Really, it’s kind of my stress recovery cake, made on or around what I like to call “Turnaround Wednesday,” Hope’s behaviors begin to improve after a rough start to the week.  I’ve been doing reasonably well about not stressing eating since Hope got here.  I’ve even dropped a few pounds.  I don’t get to the gym as I’d like, but the cake is my salvo.

Hope has no interest in my cake.  The first week I made it, I covered my guilt about stress baking by decorating it to celebrate our first week together.  She wasn’t impressed and has never wanted a piece.

This week I made the cake on Sunday morning.  #saywhatnow?

I also had the gall to root around in my pantry to find food coloring.  I plucked out blueBlueBlue.  And I started adding drops.

Stressed much?

Now I’m looking at this stupid blue cake, thinking…I’m guessing there’s something to the fact that I made it blue.  Sigh..Blue sure is how I’m feeling.

Today is our first home visit.  I’ve tidied the house as much as I could, kicking myself that I agreed to do it before the housekeeper comes on Tuesday.  I have no idea how it’s going to go.  I’m not scared; I’m just feeling overwhelmed.  I need to do my progress report this week–we’ll celebrate a month together.

Is it wrong that aspects of it don’t feel like a celebration?  I’m miserable with flashes of happiness, which are appearing more like stunning moments of surprise.  Those moments are so fleeting right now.

I will likely cover my blue cake with chocolate frosting.  Yeah, I’m sure my therapist would have a lot to say about that “frosting as a covering” bit…but I do have blue sprinkles.  I found them in the pantry too.

Sigh…

Maybe I’ll offer the social worker some cake later.


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!


K E Garland

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