Category Archives: The Transition

Visitation Reflections

It’s hard to believe that two weeks have passed and Hope’s visit with me has ended.  We’ve both got mixed emotions about this next part of our journey—waiting for paperwork.   She needs time to say goodbye, and I need time to “dissertate” and get the rest of our support team set up.  It’s a lot.  The therapists I’ve reached out to haven’t returned my calls.  There’s some additional room decorating that needs to happen.  And let’s not forget that I’ve got a mess of work to catch up on—including one journal article that needs to be revised in less than a week so I can meet the next deadline.

Hope and I have finally, in the last few days, settled into a delightful kind of normal.  There’s a comfort with each other; there are really challenging moments but we’re in a good place as we head back to the West Coast.  The last 4 days have been delightfully—gasp!—fun.  They’ve been a mom and her daughter just kicking it.   So, here’s my lessons/observations/whatever as I reflect on the last couple of weeks.

10.  Lots of things are just not that serious.

Sometimes Hope plays in the floor like she is a 5 year old.  Truth be told, I hate it, but really, I love hearing her giggle more than I hate it.  She’s laying in the floor, playing with the dog, she’s giggling, she’s being a kid.  She’s being a kid.

I want her to be a kid.  So, I just need to chillax and let some things just go.  It’s really not that serious.

There are way more parking lots in this life than in my previous single with no kid life.  I realize that I have a lot of single girl hang ups about food and space and exercise and clothes and… you name it.  In two weeks, I’ve learned I need to go into parking lot rehab.  Most of it is really just not that serious.

9. Timing is everything.

I’m growing accustomed to living my life in 20-30 minute increments.  Hope does not do well with sudden changes.  Sudden change equals life upheaval; so we need to avoid all of that.  Having been childless the ability to change my mind at a moment’s notice never affected anyone else.  I can’t live like that now.  In fact, I need to announce what the next day’s schedule is, remind her and set timers.  I never thought that my adoption registry for my upcoming shower would include a timer, but yeah, I need timers all over the place.

I use them to have a timekeeper for electronic screen time (in addition to parental apps).  I use them to say we need to be dressed to leave by a certain time.  I use them for everything!  Life is much more manageable with the timers.  Thank you Jesus for timers.

8. Speaking of Jesus…

I am Christian, but I’m not, nor have I ever been particularly preachy or proselytizing of my faith.  I don’t hide it, but for the most part, it’s one of the areas of my life that I tend to not talk about with folks other than close family and friends.   I mentioned in an earlier post that one of my mountains with Hope is my insistence that we go to church.  I don’t have an expectation that she necessarily join or that she even get *saved.*  I hope she comes to those choices, but they are choices.  Despite becoming a believer at 7 and being raised in the Baptist church, I can’t say I took my faith as bedrock until the last 10, maybe 15 years of my life.  And even then, I identify as a progressive, liberal Christian and ideologically, I am increasingly finding it hard to fit and to find a place where I fit.  The current Christian landscape in the US is kinda creepy to me.

Anyhoo, Hope asked me about being saved and baptism and just some basic theological questions that at her age I took for granted because I had always been around the Christian church.  I was delighted by her questions because I could explain things with ease and confidence and the moment lived up to visions I’d had in my head about spending time with my daughter through this particular lens.

Church was great (you know when that message is really YOUR message—yeah, today was that sermon) and I cried because I was just so happy with my life—the ups, the downs, this amazing kid sitting next to me and the blind and nearly deaf dog we have at home.

I don’t know if Christianity is for everyone; I know that I do my own thing and have found a church that works for me.  I will say that whatever your faith, this adoption thing is a beast and I know that you have to lean into whatever it is you believe in.  You will need to lean in hard, dang near perpendicular!  The grounding in something beyond yourself, something supernatural, is necessary.   One of the things the speaker reminded the congregation about this morning:  faith is not grown on the best days; it’s grown on the worst.   If you’re traveling this path, you need to believe in something.   Jesus happens to be my homeboy; he might be a good homeboy for you too.

And that’s pretty much my annual quota of religious proselytizing.   <shrug>

7.  Mountains are worth the effort.

The great Dr. Seuss 10pm bedtime standoff from last week was clearly our turning point.  OMG!!  I am still so proud of myself for standing my ground, clicking the lights and hunkering down in that power struggle.  I’m most proud that once she caved and went to bed that I was able to go in, kiss her good night and tell her I loved her.  We haven’t had a serious bedtime issue or major meltdown since.

I’m a natural stubborn debater.  I like to be right.   I like to win.  I’m reminded with Hope that the need for humble grace after having won is really what makes you hit the summit of the mountain.  It’s not about winning the power struggle, it’s about loving after the struggle is over.

6. Physical touch is healing.

Hope has some issues with being touched in certain ways.  Fortunately she can’t seem to get enough of hugs.  I hug her and kiss her forehead 50 times during the course of a day, even when she is being a real pill.  Midweek she just really started spontaneously hugging me on her own.  We held hands in church.  She kisses my cheek.  This physical affection is so meaningful for both of us.  It heals what’s ailing us, even if it’s a temporary salvo right now.  I’m going to miss hugging her for the next couple of weeks.  The Furry One is going to get hugged a lot more as a result.   We humans need physical touch.

5.  I’m a little worried about going back to work. 

For the first time in years, my focus is completely devoted to something else in my life.  This new identity business is really a BFD!  I’ve got a mess of stuff going on and I know that people will have the same expectations of me as they did before, but 1) I don’t really have a desire to work the way I did pre-Hope, at least not right now; 2) I don’t care about being defined by my professional identity right now.  I know it will all shake out in time.  I’m near the top of my own personal professional game right now.  I have a job that I love; one that I thought I’d have a hard time walking away from ever.  Today, well, hmmmm, I could.

I guess like I have to figure out what Hope’s and my normal will be, normal will also have to be redefined in my professional life too.

4.  This culture undermines parents. 

I can only imagine and apologize for some of the utterly silly things I may have said to the folks around me who are parents over the years.  Please forgive me. It really is pervasive though.

In the last two weeks I have had folks attempt to shame me for some of the early decisions I’ve made concerning how I intend to raise my daughter.

Do you think it’s wise to force her to go to church?

She really should have a cell phone; I don’t think you’re being realistic, everyone’s doing it.

Oh hot chocolate?  You know, she would probably be fine with decaf coffee.

Oh, this is the light stuff.  Everyone has an opinion, but so few bother to filter them or think about how they affect conversations that should happen at home.  Most things are innocuous, but, ugh…let’s just say, I had no idea how challenging this culture is with respect to raising a kid.  In my happily single, childless haze, I just had no idea that my big mouthed ideas should probably be left to myself.

Noted.

3. Kathryn Purvis is changing my life.

About a month ago, I finally picked up Purvis’ book The Connected Child.  I’m still wondering why no one at my agency recommended this book to me as I was wading the paperwork.  A few chapters in and it just made sense.  I tried to use it to help educate my family about things to expect with Hope.  There’s a great website (http://empoweredtoconnect.org/) and a Youtube channel with short videos as well.  I’ve got to practice the techniques more diligently, but Purvis’ work is extraordinary and will have a meaningful impact on me and Hope.

I’ve read several books and scanned a dozen more on adoption and older child adoption topics; The Connected Child seemed to provide me one stop shopping for information and resources.

2. I’m still in paperwork hell.

All I want for Christmas is Hope.

Whether Hope and I get each other for Christmas is dependent on the ICPC paperwork being completed in the next 15 calendar days, 11 business days.

Waiting still sucks.

1. Happiness is a by-product.

Last week Hope told Grammy that my job was to make her happy.  Grammy corrected her and told her that my job was to make sure was safe, had what she needed and loved her in healthy affirming ways.  The result of my doing these things is her being happy.  This was a great lesson.  Lots of people chase happiness, but don’t chase given their life meaning.  The latter is what ultimately will bring you much closer to your desired state.

Hope coming into my life has made me very, very happy.

Tomorrow I head back East for a long day of travel and possibly several weeks of waiting.  It’s all good though, I’m happy!


Only 5 Days Left: Top Five

She goes home in 5 days.  The next time she comes it will be to stay.  I am looking forward to taking her back and dreading the separation all the same.  Today was a bit more sanity-grasping.  I’m still tired, but I feel like there’s still some functionality I can squeeze out.

5. Sometimes God allows you to see someone else’s reality check and allows you to be blessed by the observation. 

Grammy came to visit.  Bless her heart.   She came with a photo album and high expectations of being grandma.  I so wish she could’ve had the experience she dreamed about.

Instead, Grammy got a serious reality check.  Hope avoided her like the plague.  She was impulsive during the visit.  She ignored her at various stages, she was a little obnoxious.  She chattered nearly the entire time.  She was as polite as my scared little biting hila monster could be, under the circumstances.

After the last week and a half, I deemed the visit actually successful because I know what could’ve happened.  I was happy and proud that my girl kept it together a bit—not one meltdown.  Given where we are and how we’re doing, there wasn’t even a single meltdown.  Really it was an act of God.

Grammy was stunned that Hope’s behavior could be deemed a success.  After she left she was like, “You guys (my sisters and me) weren’t like that.  I don’t think I could stand for that behavior.”

Ah, welcome to my world.  I’ve been trying to tell her what it’s like.  She wasn’t buying it.  She told me what I needed to work on with Hope, in her opinion.  I told her which things were mountains and which things were parking lots on her list—which was mostly parking lots.  I’m trying really hard not to die in a parking lot; dying trudging up mountains is good; parking lots are a waste of time.   I’ve recently died in several parking lots—it is not worth it.

I think she gets it now; or at least she gets some of it.  I got some validation that yeah, I’ve got a lot going on in Casa ABM.  It ain’t easy.

I needed that validation, and I really needed it from Grammy whom I adore, but if you read this blog regularly, you know that Grammy can get on my nerves something terrible.  Hearing her acknowledge that things aren’t as she thought they would be or that I’m good mom trying to do right meant the world to me.

4.  Bedtime is a mountain I am willing to die on. 

The exhaustion, now more from walking on eggshells all day, is so absurd that I am insistent about the 10pm shutdown.  Anything later will render me nearly incapacitated and will only guarantee that we will have blowups because the battery is just too low for me to have any patience control.   The latest power struggle was adhering to bedtime.  I repeatedly told her I loved her every time I told her she had to go to bed NOW.

I felt like Dr. Suess:  You can go to bed in your clothes, you can go to bed without meds, you can go to bed with socks, you can go to bed on the couch, on the floor, at the jamb of the door.  Oh, but please believe these lights are out now!!!  Now dammit, now.

I filled her humidifier.  Clicked out the lights and strolled to my bedroom, while she sat on the couch in the dark.  Took homegirl about 3 minutes to realize that she wasn’t about that couch surfing life and got ready for bed.  Got her water, refilled the water carafe, took her meds and cutoff her own light.  I went in to kiss her goodnight afterward.

This was such a major win today.  We won—both of us.

3. She’s terrified, and I wish there was a magic thing I could say or do to make it better. 

But there isn’t a magic thing.  We will go through this cycle for a good long while.  I have no idea how I’m going to get this dissertation written.  It’ll get done, but I really don’t know how.

Last night Hope confided a lot of her fears about moving.  At one point she said she didn’t want to live the rest of her life here, but she was afraid if she didn’t move here she wouldn’t have a family.  She wondered if giving this chance up and remaining in the system was a worthwhile choice/risk for her.  It was heartbreaking.  I honestly can’t imagine what it all must feel like for her.

I love her so much, even when she is being a first class hellion.  I’m moving into that space where I can try to take a moment to just breathe and remember how she got to this moment.  That’s got to be what brings me back to how best to handle things.

2. I have a wonderful primary care doc who managed to help both of us today.

As I was going in for some “please scrape me off of the ceiling” medication this morning, Hope became afflicted with one of her now infamous maladies—the trusty sudden ear infection that also prevents swallowing.  She informed me and everyone who would listen that she hadn’t swallowed at all during the 7 mile drive to the doc’s office.

Blessed be, doc had a medical student in the office today for shadowing.  Hope got the full service treatment by the med student while I begged like my life depended on it for anti-anxiety/anti-depression/anti-keep-me-from-losing-my-mind drugs.    Then she got a second once over by doc, who diagnosed her ear infection free, though she does have TMJ and some repetitive stress in her wrist from gaming.   Round the clock ibuprofen…awesome.

I knew she was doing it for attention.  She was busted but the TMJ diagnosis gave her a little cover to save face on.

She had another sudden onset this evening, and after I put on my shoes and grabbed my coat to head to the ER to see about this chronic issue she slipped, again, into some kind of remission.  I’m sure it will be back.   I was just glad that my doc did and said all the things I needed him to say for me and for her.  It was a good experience all around.

And yes, I got some short term drugs and we’ll reevaluate my pharma needs after her official placement in a few weeks.  Blessed be.

1.  This will power me through some tough days ahead. 

She handed this to me at the end of lunch yesterday.  I nearly cried.  I have put it with my important papers and prized possessions.  It is why I’ve popped my pills, put on my pjs and committed to doing it all over again tomorrow.  I’m not sure what else I want or need to say about it.

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Whatever Day: Top Five

I am tired.  I am weary.  There have been good hours and bad hours.  I have had more controlled cries than I’d like to admit.  I know I can do this, but there are those sad, sad moments when I wonder how.  Anyway, here’s the most recent top five observations/lessons/musings, whatever.

5.  Everyday includes a meltdown.

Every. Damn. Day.

We could be going just fine; things can be awesome.  Hope and I are getting along.  We’re bonding and we’re giggling.  And then something triggers a tidal wave of emotion and the wave smacks me in the face full force.  Waves of sadness, anger, frustration, roll off of her.  Oh it isn’t usually tears.  Usually it’s a temper tantrum or a verbal assault.  Then there’s the quiet boil. I have no idea what happened.  There’s no reasoning with her.  I’m left trying to figure out what the trigger was and if it can be avoided, while trying to pretend that my feelings aren’t hurt, and trying to scrape both of us off the pavement so we can get onto the next thing.

It happens every day.  Some days it’s several times.  Some days it’s late in the day when you are starting to think you might be spared from a meltdown today. Whenever and whatever it is, it’s is emotionally exhausting.

4. I need meds.

My ability to keep the cries controlled is diminishing.  I need help.  Doc has been called to update a prescription to help me keep it together.  Mentally I’m ok, but my ability to control my physical emotional expressions is starting to shake.  I’m strong enough to know that I need to get ahead of that; I have neither the time nor inclination to be sitting around physically incapable of being functional during this transition.  Oh there will be times when such a thing might be healthy, and I will stop, drop and roll with it.  But right now, I need to get through the tasks at hand and I need help.  I’m ok asking for it.

3. Culture clashes are real.

I’ve given in on having Top Ramen in the house.  She complained about the taste of lactose free milk (which I need), so I bought regular to my own detriment.  When she threw a hissy about going to church and going regularly…well, I threw a hissy back.

Yeah, I did that.

Church is important to me.  I practically ran to the altar yesterday to ask for special prayer and specifically patience.  It is one of the few places I can get my cup filled.   And these days, I need that cup filled to the brim (see #5).

She resisted.  I insisted.  She tried talking in church, I shushed her.  She doodled, I allowed that, despite the fact that she was annoyed the pen didn’t work at first and I shot her a dirty eye, snatched the pen and swapped it out with one that did.  She ended up crying.  I cried all through the prayers.

She talked about how she had never been expected or required to attend church regularly before.  I told her this was one of the things I would insist on.  It is expected now.  She huffed.  I puffed.  We eventually sat quietly.

It is essential to me that we go and go regularly.  It’s ok if others chose to do something different in their house.  Very cool, they can do that over there.  This is what we do in Casa ABM.  I believe it is the right thing for me and my kid.  Yeah, this is not up for negotiation.  Folks can feel however they feel about it, too.

That said, the culture clash between Hope and I is real.  Ugh, we bump heads on all kinds of things.  But church is a mountain I will die on.  I’m ok with that, but Lord do I need to stay prayed up to get through that clash.

2. Hey, I’ve conditioned us to go to bed at 10pm!

This is probably the only win I feel is concrete enough where I can say it’s an achievement.  A pox to folks who are like that’s still too late.  Yeah, I’d like for her to be in bed earlier, but getting us to “lights out” at 10pm for several nights in a row without a meltdown is epic.  I’m realizing that late evening rewards work well in achieving this goal.  I will work it back to 9:30 in time, but 10pm is a coup.  It also means I have some quiet time before bed.

Hallelujah.

1. The chuckles aren’t funny.

Yeah, I’m trying to be a good sport about things.  I try to look at the bright side.  I post some of the amusing things for friend and family on social media.  I see my own strategic error, now.   I’d love to think I make this transition look easy, but it’s not.  I had a personal meltdown this weekend that had me calling my adoption agency’s support line to help me navigate and pull myself together.  I was a sobbing, blubbering mess.

And the social worker laughed at me.  I guess she hears these kinds of calls all the time.  This was normal for her.  It wasn’t normal for me.

Oh she said all the right things.  She did help me get through my little crisis.  But the exchange made me feel silly for calling.  I felt stupid for going to the support line to confide that I needed help.  It didn’t matter that I got through the crisis.  I felt like I had to lay down what little dignity I had managed to salvage this week to get through it.  I felt judged and dismissed.   I don’t know if I’ll ever use that number again.

Honestly, I’m feeling dismissed a lot during a pretty vulnerable time.   It puts my fledgling parenting skills on the defensive every time.

What I choose to post about this journey is fairly transparent, but it is going to be increasingly sterilized because it’s too much drama to sift through.   Without the context, things seem light and easy.  Behind the scenes, it’s not.  It’s hard.  I’m dealing with some very real ish over here.

Many interactions off line and online are just making me consider shutting down most communications with most folks.  I know that that’s probably not a good idea either.  I need support and lots of it.  We live in a culture where support is often heavily laced with a backhanded compliment, normalizing commentary that serves as a dismissal, and competitive experiential sharing.  Yeah…no, it’s not really support.  I’ve been guilty of all of these behaviors at various exchanges.  I’m embarrassed that has taken such a dramatic shift in my life to realize what is meaningful support and how even the most innocuous comment or gesture can change the interpretation of what’s being offered.

Well, I’ve been up for hours thanks to a wicked bout of insomnia, the first since Hope arrived.  Grammy will be here in a couple of hours.   I hate that I will not be here to “manage” her and Hope’s first meeting, but I have an important work commitment that I couldn’t really bail on despite being on family leave.  It Is the only concession I made for that part of my life.   I would be lying if I said I was not looking forward to the commute into DC with music with all of the curse words.

I’m committed through getting through today and being the best mom I can be today.  That’s all I can really do.  Tomorrow can wait for now.


Day 7: Top Seven

During the course of writing this post, things hit an upswing.  I’m not where I want to be emotionally, but I’m better than where I was.

We survived Thanksgiving with only a few wounds, though I think mine seem worse than hers.  I cooked the family turkey.  We only ate about half of it, so I brought it back home.  I dropped it in the hallway right at the door to my condo.  I cried and cried and Hope stepped up and comforted me.  Nice, especially since she had been a holy terror most of the day.

Today, she’s been with me 7 days.  So here are my observations, lessons, journey-woman musings.  Oh and in honor of the number of completion, there are 7.

7.  It’s hard not to take her behaviors personally.

Ok, I need something much harder than this tough candy shell, because it’s not going to protect my feelings at all.  She says really mean things within minutes of any extension of kindness.  And it’s always my fault.  She’s quick to remind me how sensitive she is, but there is rarely a hint of compassion for me.  I mean, I’ve seen it, but wow… it was triggered by my dropping a turkey and crying in the hallway.

I know as the grown up that I’m supposed to keep it together, but dang, I’m pretty sensitive too.  It’s just me, Hope and the Furry One up in this house, and you know what?  Ish really got real the last couple of days.  I know that it’s probably a good sign, but I really have been hurt the last couple of days, just really hurt.  I need to develop whatever emotional armor I need to raise this kid with a quickness, otherwise I’ll be crying myself to sleep for a good while yet.

As I write this, I’m trying to recover from a personal meltdown. Yeah, she’s raising a racket in her room, while supposedly doing homework.  I know its self soothing behaviors; I know I should go comfort her in some way.  But I just don’t have it in me right at this moment.  Maybe in 30 minutes; maybe 40…

6. Jedi mind tricks and “call your bluffs” work.

Thanksgiving dinner was a challenge, what with an attention-starved, hunger striking tween in play.  The family was on high alert to be gentle and give her space.  I was prepared to take her home to protect her from being overwhelmed.  What actually happened was that she acted like a first class brat at various intervals when she didn’t feel she was the pedestal hogging center of attention, because to hear her tell it, “Everyone always loves me and always wants to be around me.”  With a big rowdy family everyone gets bits of attention here and there.  Dinner is a chaotic, laughter-filled food fest with a dozen people or more talking at the same time.  No one is the center of attention, though had she joined us for dinner, she might’ve been.   Instead the hunger strike persisted.

Having attempted many attention grabbing hunger strikes in my teen years, only to be comforted by one Auntie who was trying not to undermine me in this scenario, I told her we would head home in a specified amount of time (soon) and it was too bad she wasn’t hungry since there was so much good food around.  She was upstairs in a flash.

Today while shopping with the favorite cousin and the cousin’s friend, my attention seeker’s pedestal was not high enough, so a faux, but oh so dramatic, spontaneous ear ache/infection came on.  She whined that she wanted to go home.  So I made arrangements for the cousin and friend to stay at the mall, and announced our immediate departure.  It was like she touched the hem of Jesus’ garment — instantaneous healing, since she hadn’t played out her deadly ear infection scam as including leaving the presence of two supa-fly 16 year olds.

And home we went, despite all protestations of healing.

Boom.

5. She’s manipulative, and she knows it clap your hands.  Clap, clap.

On the way home she said, “It is sad that I get sick whenever we are about to do something you want to do.”  Yeah, the next mall stop was Old Navy, where she knew I’d wanted to go all day.  Her sudden, life threatening ear infection (that also affected the very ability to swallow) killed that trip.

Oh the shade of it all.  If you could’ve seen the side eye I gave this tween in my head!  My Lord, my Lord…smh.

And yeah, the illnesses only strike when its something I have initiated or expressed an interest in doing.

She catches stomach aches, ear aches, foot cramps, you name it, she gets it.  I’m surprised she hasn’t claimed a flesh eating disease yet.  I shared this with one of my cousins this morning.  We are a robust family, but almost all of us has a serious, chronic ailment that could usher us out of here. MDs are like family around these parts.  Keep on playing, Hope, and you’ll be at my GI doc’s office scheduling an endoscopy to see what’s really going on in your tummy with all these stomach aches.

I know that it’s about anxiety (10-20%) and attention-seeking (80-90%), but she is so shady about it.

4. Hope is so tall that its easy to forget she’s only 12, and emotionally more like 9 or 10….

…until she opens her mouth and says something so ridiculous.  It’s exhausting following her because she is all over the place. Part of it is age, part stunted development.  She can go from trying to act older down to a 5 year old within the same sentence.  When she’s happy she giggles and the little girl within emerges–she’s charming and adorable.   But then there’s all this other stuff.  She looks young in the face but she’s tall and developed and well, it’s sometimes hard to remember, she’s only 12, has been to hell and back and I need to lower expectations for behaviors.

I’m really conscious of this when we are out and about because I see the higher/older expectations people have of her.  It’s tough being so tall at such a young age.

3. Tweens are kinda (really) obnoxious.

Holy cow.  I already knew tweens were obnoxious, but most of the tweens I know or have known, I’ve known since they were infants.  It’s off-putting when your new tween seems to think you only moved to civilization to adopt her.

“Ugh, your cable is bad.  You really need to get the kind of cable we have back home.  This tv doesn’t get any real channels.”

“Nope, the cable isn’t bad.  The cable in your room is intentionally bad since you don’t need access to some of those other channels. The cable is great in the other parts of the house.”

“Have you heard of Robin Thicke?  He’s a singer; his CD is really good.  You should get it.  Do they sell here?”

“Robin Thicke has been around since you were an angel on the gatepost of heaven.  Yeah, I have his CD; I have all of his CDs.  Virginia is not like living on the moon, though Amazon Prime might deliver there.”

“This condo-hotel you have isn’t all that good.  We should rent a new place.” (The condo building has experienced some untimely water issues this week.)

“I live here.  I own this space.  It’s not a hotel.  We are not renting a new place.  Stuff happens and you deal.”

And if I hear Gaga’s Applause one more time, I’m going to lose it.  I finally had to school her on lyrics while at the mall since she insisted on giving a concert of the song, over and frigging over.  There’s a line in the song where Gaga talks about being a Koons (the art dude), but Hope kept screeching what sounded like Koonts, which in turn sounded like a gross mispronunciation of a gross c*nt.

Honestly it was hilarious, but I finally had to ask her to stop singing that line.

Yeah, obnoxious, but sometimes funny.

3. This happened:  Another mom discussion.

So after the drama that was Thanksgiving  dinner with the family and before I accidentally dumped the turkey in the hallway in front of my condo door, Hope once again broached the issue of what to call me.  She’s been grappling with this for a couple of months now.  She says calling me mom is weird.  She does everything but call me mom.  She describes me as mom; she tells her friends I’m her mom.   I’m her mom.

But I get why she struggles with this.  She hasn’t had a mom.  She says its weird to call me that.  In the last 24 hours she has regressed to call me by Foster Mom’s name, so I know it’s really weighing on her.  I’m reassuring her that it is ok with me; I’m ok with not having the title even if I would love to have it.  The fact that she’s given me that title with everyone else is enough for me.

I do hope it happens, though.

1. Hope told me she loved me.  

In the midst of what feels like one of the upper, not quite so hot, rings of hell this week, Hope said she loved me.  Even in my frustration and tears, it was shocking and sweet and wonderful.  It is ironic that it comes during the most challenging time, but I guess that’s the point.  I’m doing ok by her.  She knows I’m here to stay. It will eventually get better, even if I know it will get worse before it does.

Oh, hello obscenely full tumbler glass of blush vinho verde, how you doin’ tonight???


Day 6: Top Five

Yesterday was an exercise in pivoting.  The condo building has been having water issues; unannounced the building engineers shut the water down at 11am.  It wasn’t scheduled to return to order until 8pm.  Yeah, awesome on the day before the biggest food fest all year right?  Not.

We salvaged our day by going to meet and greet some family.   I’m not going to try to catch up with blogging about Day 5 since it’s running together with Day 6 pretty strong.

5. Older cousins are magical. 

I have an older cousin who is about 6 years older than me who I think is simply a goddess.  She’s beautiful, smart, older, wiser, awesome…I was always so excited to get to spend time with her when we were growing up.  She was always so loving and kind and she was hands down, the coolest cousin who was like my older cooler sister I could’ve dreamed up.  Well, she has a 16 year old daughter who is nearly her splitting image.  I think Hope fell in love with her yesterday.

Little T was kind, loving, thoughtful and generous with my daughter.  Their multi-hour bonding session allowed me some much needed grown up time and just allowed me to breathe in a way I haven’t since she got off the plane.  I also got to bond with my older cousin, and I think both Hope and I scored big with the cousin outing yesterday.  It was magical.

4. Back-talking is a trigger for me.

Hope has a mouth on her.  Nothing is ever her fault and has a tendency to be oppositional.   She will cut me off mid-sentence and that ish drives me nuts and can easily be a flash point for me.  I had to break it down for her that I will not tolerate being spoken to any kind of way, I’m not her home girl, I will respect her but I will also demand respect.  I understand that she has something to say, and I will give her a chance to speak her peace, but it will not happen over me.

3. I worry I won’t be able to give her the attention she needs. 

She is an attention sponge.  I love her but I need some time.  I haven’t been very good today about giving her the attention she needs.  I’m tired and cranky, and some of her behaviors coupled with  my fatigue make us both vulnerable.   I am careful to apologize and explain if I go too far.  I try to be sensitive.    But I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say that although I love this kid beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, she has gotten on my got-dern nerves in the last 24 hours realizing the gravity of her emotional needs.

I’ve gotten so I only read a few blogs, and I sometimes see people explore their feelings for the adopted older children.  Some people talk about loving them, some don’t.  Some talk about not liking them but loving them or not loving them but liking them.  I know I love Hope, but admittedly, I haven’t liked her very much the last 24 hours.  I feel like I should feel guilty about that, but I don’t.  It is what it is.  This is a huge transition.  I’m not going anywhere, but sigh…

I worry I’m not going to be able to fill that giant hole.

2. I did write about fatigue already, right?  A couple of days ago?  Well, here’s the remix.

Yeah, I am so tired that I really just want to put clean sheets on the bed, put on clean PJs and sleep for like days.  I’m not wired to sleep for long periods of time, but, my God, I really feel like I could.

I am working on a fantasy where the Furry One, Hope and I lay in silence in a big bed with amazingly fluffing bedding with sunbeams that shine on us to warm and bathe us in natural light.  There’s a light breeze, not chilly, but a nice summer weight blankie is casually tossed across us.  There a glass of chilled blush vinho verde on my night table and I just snooze.  You know that delicious snoozing that you can get on a summer Saturday afternoon when you miraculously have nothing to do.

Yeah, that.  So not going to happen.  There’s a kid chattering and tapping on things and a dog who’s barking because he’s hard of hearing.

Yeah, I need more coffee.

1. I’m ready for Thanksgiving to be over.  Can we fast forward through the rest of the day?

I’m so glad Hope is here.  But the expectations for this visit and this holiday combined are too frigging high.  I’m really, really stressed.  Do I think anything dramatic will happen, not really, except me or Hope freaking out about it being Thanksgiving and all.

I’ve been up since before 3am.  She’s been complaining about a tummy ache since waking up.  She’s talking loud to the tv trying to get my attention.  I don’t really even want more coffee.  I just want quiet.  I don’t want visitors.  I want to see my family but I would love an excuse not to go.  I don’t want to wonder if things will go smoothly or not.  I’m just worn out.  I’m thankful for my beautiful daughter.  But I want a just move past this day and get a do-over for tomorrow.

I don’t want advice.  I don’t want anything more than just calm, expectation-less quiet.   I’m happy, in my own way.  I’m just a little at wits end and frazzled today.

And now I’m going to sign off because my out of town family are here and I’ve got to manage another round of meet and greets.


Day 4: Top Five

Yesterday was a bit of a doozy for me, seemingly less so for her.  In all it was a very good day, but as a newbie parent of an older child, I struggled.  Here’s what I learned on Day 4.

5.  If you are a drinker, you will finish the bottle of wine after the kid goes to bed.

Yeah, you will.  Don’t even think you won’t, no sense in lying to yourself.   We went to the museum of natural history today; Hope is very tactile and very curious.  I realized that she’s also fairly well read today as well.  I get overstimulated at museums, but taking your kid to a museum seems to be a good, worthwhile endeavor, right?  We spent 4.5 blasted hours in the museum.  4.5!!!!!!!!!!!!  I’m telling you if they sold booze, I would’ve bellied up to the bar and ordered a $30 rail drink.  I was so desperate for an adult beverage; that it could’ve been a no shelf kinda drink.

When I got home, I killed the last 3rd of that bottle of $2 buck Chuck Beaujolais while she did homework in her room.  Yeah, I did.

4.  Your game face must be strong because the lying is persistent.

Seriously, there are little lies like, “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to eat all of the gummy multivitamins you bought me two days ago.”   There are whopper lies like, “I rode an elephant bear back one time.”   As long as the lies aren’t pointing to a safety issue, you just can’t even bother with a strong reaction.  At least I try not to bother.  I just click my head to the side and with a bit of sarcasm in the voice go, “Really? Oh, ok.”

Sometimes you really just can’t tell whether the kiddo is lying or not.  For instance, yesterday Hope told me that several friends (aged 12-13) smoke pot on a regular basis and come to school high.  I pray this is a lie, but honestly I have no way of knowing.  I remember in back in the day (also 7th grade) I bought a peach Jolly Rancher stick, and Chris Tucker, a boy I liked at the time said my breath smelled like weed after I smoked it.  I’d never knowingly smelled weed, so I took his word for it and started buying a different flavor.    After I was good and grown I smoked a bit of pot in my day.  Yeah, peach Jolly Ranchers don’t smell at all like weed.   Of course kids today get exposed to so much more than I ever was in my time.

Of course there is a cumulative effect of all this lying and other accompanying behaviors takes their toll, which leads me to #3.

3. Some meltdowns are completely unpredictable, and it could be the kid melting or it could be you melting.  

I will cop to having two moments where I barely held onto my sanity and had mini-breaks yesterday.  Patience is one of the virtues I’ve been working on for more than a decade.  Hope brings new sets of triggers that I didn’t know existed.  Most of them I can handle, but cumulatively…oy vey.  There is a word that I have decided that we will not use in our home; we’ve been working on not using this word since I was in Seattle.  Her new tactic for using the word is to add the word, “LIKE” in front of it.  She repeatedly used it during a conversation as we were driving to the metro station yesterday.  When I initially corrected her, she said, “Well I didn’t actually say that such and such was stupid (<<<<the word I have banned because of excessive and mean usage), I said such and such was LIKE stupid.”  She then grinned at her cleverness.

Sigh.

We went back and forth on this for about 90 seconds while in the parking garage, until I hit the brakes, put the car in neutral, pulled the hand-break, and spoke my peace and ended the discussion.  I immediately regretted having a “Don’t make me stop this car” moment without warning.  It startled her and scared her a bit and she went into sad/mad/quiet mode.   The good news is that our sad/mad/quiet modes (both of ours) are shortening.  We recover, we talk about and we move on.

2. Do something to take care of yourself

Self-care is essential and I’m not just talking about the booze.  I’m letting her sleep an extra hour this morning so that I can have a little extra me time.  I drug myself out of bed and exercised.  After the first 10 minutes I could tell my mood was lifted and my tank was getting filled.  Today I’ll focus on getting and staying hydrated.

I really need to prep a speech I have to make next week and I really need to work on my dissertation.  I’ll set 20 minute goals for those tasks today.  Twenty minutes is better than no minutes.  The point is, that although life is changing so dramatically, there are still things I need to do for myself.  They make me feel good; they help me maintain a separate identity from “Mom;” they keep me sane.

1. Enjoy the random.

In the midst of my museum induced misery, Hope just came over and hugged me.  She didn’t verbally say anything; she just hugged me.  That hug said everything.  It is why I was able to endure the museum.  It was amazing and loving and sweet and just a little Hope Diamond of perfection.  I know she is sad about leaving her friends and everything she’s ever known on the other side of the country, but she’s ok here.  She cares about me.  She’s growing to trust me.  She’s digging it.

Things aren’t bad at all.  There is a time when they may get bad for us, but she does care and she knows I care.  The random hug is better than words.  There’s something about touch that is more meaningful, more intimate.

Life is good as long as there’s wine.  🙂


Day Three: Top Five

Things I’ve learned about my older child and older child adoption on Day 3.

 5.  Older kids have probably missed a lot of their childhood.

My own parents were often criticized as being too strict.  My sisters and I didn’t go to rated R movies, we didn’t have cable, we focused on school and activities and we were shielded from so much.  My sisters and I got to be little girls.  Hope seems to rarely have had a chance to be a little girl, and to some degree trying to impose a bit of little girlness in her life is like putting a genie back in a bottle.

The truth of the matter is that she has likely seen a lot more than I’ve seen in my 40 years.   She’s annoyed that I won’t let her see certain things, say certain things, do certain things.  She’s 12.  She’s not a grown up, she doesn’t have to be a grown up.  She can still be a little girl with some help.

4. The ego is frail.

I think all of our egos are frail.  But I especially think that our older adopted kids’ egos are so very fragile.  When it occurred to me yesterday, we were playing Wii.  She talked MAD ish about how she was going to whoop me.  Whatever.  She won the first game, and then I smoked her on the next three.  The sulking started and was headed to a full on cry when I just essentially stopped playing.  I stood there though the next 4 Michael Jackson songs, barely lifting my arms until we were far enough in the song that I knew I couldn’t win.

Let me explain why it’s more than ego in number 3.

3. Depression and low self-esteem is serious for these kids.

My heart broke several times during the day when Hope called herself ugly.  She said she wasn’t smart.  She said no one before her had really wanted her.  Her self-worth is so low.  Can you imagine such a life that you woke up one day and you ended up in the custody of the state and you bounced around for a couple of years, hoping someone will want to adopt you?  It makes me cry just thinking about it.  How can you not be depressed with low self-esteem under those circumstances?

It’s going to take a more than a few days to help her overcome all of this.  Protecting her fragile ego by not smoking her on Remember the Time is a small thing I have to do to help.

2. Tweens actually believe stuff in tabloids and on the internet.

This isn’t exactly limited to older adopted kids, but I do think that the desire to dive into the alternative reality offered in the tabs and on the internet allows them to practice a type of escapism.  The stories I had to hear about Justin, One Direction, the Kardashians and other tween idols were so utterly ridiculous.   It also requires a lot of patience to listen and not counter the narrative too much, because it’s really just a pain in the butt to grapple with.  Tween logic—I’m sure all tweens—just makes it that much more difficult to help parse reality from reality tv.  I’m struggling to help her get accustomed to her new reality.  She won’t marry Bruno Mars, but she will have a good life just the same.

1. Older kids are exhausting. 

So… people talk about the whole infant brigade.  I’ve seen the evidence that new parents can be walking zombies.  Parents of older kids must be faking it really well, because they seem to have it more together.

Dropping an older kid into your life is exhausting in a different way.  They don’t go down for naps.  They talk and talk and talk.  Bonding is so super awesome, but my brain starts slowing down in the afternoon.  My little night owl is just getting crunk.  I am so frigging tired.

I’m a serious extravert, but I still need that quiet time.  That quiet time is rare this week.  I know that I’ll have a bit more when we get settled into a routine with school and activities.  My car will be a sanctuary.  But in the meantime, all this bonding (which I’m not complaining about at all!) is emotionally and physically exhausting.   I found myself thinking, are you sure you don’t want to take a nap?  I think you should take a nap.

I want to take a nap.

In other news, The Furry One is clearly confused by the new addition.   He has taken to humping one of my slippers.  It is a new slipper.  It is a nice slipper.  It is a fluffy slipper.  Sigh.


Day Two: Top Five

The top five things I realized today, Day 2 with Hope.

5. Hope is on the come up.

What, pray tell is the come up, you ask?  It’s when your socio-economic status rises or “comes up.”  I live a comfortable life.  I’m not rich and I dang sure am not wealthy.  I’m comfortable, and Hope will be comfortable.   But Hope thinks I’m rich, a notion I must disabuse her of, and that by adoption, she’s rich.  We’re e traveling a path where she asks for things because she’s testing me and because she wants to show off to her friends back home.

We endured an hour long power struggle during an outing today when she complained either that I wouldn’t buy her anything or that I wouldn’t buy her the things she really wanted.  Hope chose gaudy stuff that was either reminiscent of a rap video (think Run DMC chains) or the biggest bottle available of Justin Bieber’s Girlfriend perfume, even though she admitted she doesn’t really like to wear fragrance.    These things represent a level of affluence for her.  At one point, before attempting to stomp off in a huff, she said what was she supposed to tell her friends back in Washington?

Sigh…We will gently sort this out over time.

4. You haven’t lived until a 12 year old tries to convince you that the 13 year old she’s crushing has a hot body.

No, really this was the highlight of my day.  Had I known I could be having this kind of conversation with my daughter I might have had/adopted kids years ago.  So she’s telling me about some little boy she is digging, and she goes on to describe him and then stops short.  We’ve had these kinds of chats recently about boys; I’m careful not to overreact to her crush confabs.  We’ve been building some trust currency during these chats about boys so she’s increasingly forthcoming.

When she stopped, I probed.  “So…what is it?  He’s cute, pretty eyes, curly hair…Are light skinned brothas back in style?” She giggled and replied, “You’re close but not really…” “Oh, so we’re talking about his body, ok.  Spill the deets.”  “OMG when he takes his shirt off…(ABM’s internal alarm goes off:  when the hell have you been privy to seeing him disrobe???)…his chest….”   Oh, ok, so he’s got a nice body at 13???  Really?  “Yeah, he doesn’t look his age, he looks a little older.”

What, his birdcage chest looks 15?

Girl, bye!!!

Seriously, these conversations are both hilarious and enlightening.  I know that Hope will need vigilant supervision, but she can crush all she wants as long as she tells me.   I was only a little older than her when I fantasized that I was going to have Ralph Tresvant’s (New Edition) baby one day.

3. My girl misses her dad Every. Single. Day.

I’ve often told friends and family that I believe grief to be a horribly destructive emotion.  It’s such an amalgamation of so many other messy emotions—sadness, hurt, anger, loss…It’s just wicked.  I’ve heard stories about Hope’s dad that didn’t paint him in a very good light.  He’s gone now, but Hope has him up on an incredible pedestal.   He was her primary parent, and she adored him.  And then he was gone.  And people said bad things about him and said to get over it.  She hasn’t.  It’s going to take more time and a lot more maturity to get her to a place where she can really handle that loss in a healthy way.  She talks about him a lot, and I’m ok with that.  He isn’t a threat to me.  I don’t intend to try to make her stop missing him or to totally rewrite the history she’s constructed to help her remember him.  It is what it is.  It will take her time to get there.  Her grief makes me sad though.

2.  I know that she really doesn’t want to be pack leader, sulking notwithstanding.

For the most part, Hope is good about how we are constructing boundaries for her.   Since she’s out of school, we have designated school time.  There’s tablet time, which thanks to a nifty app shuts ish down!  We had an epic negotiation session over brunch about chores, allowance and behavioral expectations.  In short, Hope was happy with the boundaries as long as they were laid out, some things were negotiated and the consequences—both positive and negative–were clear.

That was fine until I the screen time app kicked her out of a game and she didn’t win her last game of solitaire before screen time expired and I ixnay’d hooking her DS to the house wifi.  And let me tell you, her sulking stomp game is strong.   The screen time combos sent her into a pout spiral on the couch.  She argued that she had not won one game of solitaire yet; I replied, well maybe tomorrow will fare better.  And she went all, “Mr. Gorbachev , tear down that wall” on me.  <blank stare>

Again, girl, bye.

She nearly went apoplectic when I said she would have to earn my trust in her on the internet post placement to get wifi access to the internet on her DS.  Internet access will be a relatively new thing for her, and I’m not interested seeing it abused.  Also, I know she is young and not too discerning about folks so she needs a heavy hand around the access issue.  Even if and when I said yes, I’d have to set it up to change the password daily in order for both of us to really make it work.

Whatever the scenario and ensuing meltdown, Hope longs to feel safe and secure.  She needs to know I care and that our extended family cares.  Being the boss is hard work that she really doesn’t want to do.  She wants to be a kid.  I’ll let her flex from time to time, but Mom’s the boss with ultimate veto power.  She don’t want none of this responsibility, not really.

1. I am so a morning person and Hope is not.  I know I will be the one to do the primary adapting.

And it’s ok.  No, really it is.  Change is good.  Reframing productivity and success is good.  There shouldn’t be any sob stories for my lost productivity or any whining about why Hope doesn’t like mornings.  Besides, did you really think I didn’t think my life would get turned upside down?

We are creatures of habit and preference.  Mine happen to be early to rise and conquer the world.  Hers happen to be rise around midday and world domination can wait until evening.  She is at her most active and most productive between the hours of 4 and 7pm.  I see it and I feel it. It is exhausting since I start winding down around 2pm; I am most productive between 5-10am.  But this is how she’s wired.

Some days I will learn to sit down more and some days she will be up with the proverbial chickens.  I’ll still get my before dawn workouts in and my morning quiet, reflection time.  I hope to get some writing done tomorrow morning before she gets up.  I look forward to adapting to a more lively afternoon life, when normally I’m winding down.  It’s really all good.

Oh there’s so much more I could write.  Stay tuned for an interesting hair focused post as she emotionally toys with wearing her hair out when she moves here permanently.  Just two days and seeing me with my hair and so many naturalistas walking around the DC area, and she’s thinking.   It’s good stuff.


Day One

Our first evening together started with the long hug I needed as she came off the plane.

Soon Hope and I were on our way to get carry out and to head home.  She loved her room, and I thought she might cry.  She wrote out her full name-to-be (her existing full name with my last name added to the end) on her chalk wall decal.  Then I thought I might cry.   She spontaneously gave me a hug, and it was so very, very lovely.

She spent about 2 hours in her room watching a little TV (realizing that she doesn’t have a cable box and is left to survive with basic) and playing a little candy crush on my tablet.  I haven’t told her that I’ll be giving her the tablet at some point, but I’ve set up my new one to remotely limit the time on the one she will use.  She booze shamed me (LOL) when she asked if the wine in the wine rack in the kitchen came with the house.  After a hearty moment of internal laughter because I have no earthly idea how many bottles of wine have met their end in this house during my 13 years here, I simply replied, nope, just restocked this week.

The Furry One finds her presence curious and mainly hopes that she will be a new opportunity for table food.  I hope his expectations of her grow with time, but he’s such an opportunist.  He’s trying to figure out his new pack status. Heck, I’m trying to figure out my new pack status.

She told me how her issues with grief and loss came to be over dinner, and my heart broke.  There really are some awful people in the world.  I’m guessing she trusts me; she’s increasingly transparent about her history.  I’m careful not to overreact, but I do try to validate her experiences and her feelings.

She resisted taking off her coat or her shoes, despite being here all evening.   Her anxiety is lessening, but it’s there.   She went straight from fully clothed with her coat on to her PJs.  She wrote our schedule for tomorrow on the chalkboard and snuggled in to read in her room.

I’m exhausted.  The build up to her arrival and the actual arrival has just whipped me.  I just want to get in the bed and crash.  I’ll probably be up early to do an exercise video in the living room, especially since breakfast is at IHOP tomorrow.

I’m tired, but I’m also so in love with Hope.   I’m so glad she’s here.   I just love her so much.


Just Three Days More!

Time has flown even when it felt as though it were dragging.  Hope and I are ready to get this visit going!  The room is ready; I put up the bubble decals and put on the lovely new bedding with the personalized pillow case.  There’s still at lot for us to pick out: more shelving and storage, lighting and another piece of furniture.  She tells me she has 11 boxes of stuff to ship here (so far), but Foster Mom assures me that some of those boxes are filled with foolishness, like nearly empty lotion bottles, that *may* get lost in transit.  We’ll see.

I just can’t wait to give her a hug and bring her home.  When we first decided on a two and a half week visit, it seemed like such a long visit.  Now that the visit starts in three days, I am already sad about saying goodbye.  My sadness won’t consume the joy of the visit, but just knowing that I have to take her back and not knowing when she will be home again just makes me sad.

I’m delighted to step away from work for a few weeks.  I love my job; I really do.  I think each of us, deep down, hopes that we are so important to our jobs and careers that stepping  away for a while may cause near chaos for the folks around us.  I know that life goes on without you though; the office will be fine, and I happen to be in a supportive environment where nearly everyone will respect my nesting time and leave me alone.  Of course there’s always that one person from the planet Zoron who is dumb enough to call, but I figure I’ll deal with her when the time comes.   I do have to give a speech early one morning during my leave; I couldn’t get out of it.  Hope will get a chance to see new mom at work since she will have to tag along.

I have to also admit that I’m delighting in telling folks I’m going on leave because it gives me an opportunity to tell some colleagues I’ve known for years this special news.   I’ve been with my office and my members for 12 of the last 16 years; it’s been very cool to just give a peek behind the veil of my life.  I’m a new mom!

In other news…How is it that my lovely Hope, who has a beautiful singing voice and a natural gift for percussion, is so taken by the tenor saxophone?  Don’t get me wrong, I love that she loves music.  I love that she loves learning music.  I love that she wants to try.  I love that she wants to sing for me, and I love that she wants to play her sax for me.

But, oh my goodness, it really sounds like she’s killing a flock of geese when she plays.  It’s sharp and flat and just…horrible.

There I said it.  Yeah, I said it! Last night’s saxophone concert was in a word awful, but I oooh’d and ahhhh’d  and clapped.  I am practicing not grimacing because I don’t want to grimace in front of her—well at least not too much.

I have many friends with kids who have endured painful band and choir concerts over the years.  I have seen their comments on social media.  I heard the stories of would-be bleeding ears.

Reading Facebook comments and hearing the stories is just not the same as enduring it live.  I have a new respect for these folks.

Wow, last night’s musical concert was a mix of what kind of sounded like Jingle Bells, St. Nick, Frere Jacques, and some other songs  that I really, really struggled to make out but simply could not.

Lord knows, I love this child and want to nurture her gifts and talents.  She wants to take band when she moves here and I totally support that move.  But ABM is going to HAVE to get some noise cancelling ear buds (the all-out headphones will be much too obvious!).

I suppose it could be worse, she could be playing a straight wind instrument.

Shudder!


K E Garland

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