Tag Archives: Adoption and Emotions

July 6, 2014

Mommy Time Out

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, I came unhinged today. Totally hit the wall and had to give myself a time out.

Vacationing with kids, I’m realizing, is a bit stressful. Vacationing with Hope has added layers of anxiety and messiness. I admit to being keyed up most of the time, waiting for, anticipating something to flip our lids. After my threats to leave the mouse trap, honestly she was great, and we had an enjoyable time away. The bugs, while they frightened her, did not trigger a full on meltdown. Hurricane Arthur delayed us by about 6+ hours in getting home, but in the end, we took it all in stride. We headed down to fetch The Furry One and ended up coming home last night.

That’s it. Vacation over. Time to jump back into reality.

But at some point today, I realized that I’m just not okay. I slept late, and the circles under my eyes are lighter than they’ve been in a while. I had great plans to go to church, hit the Costco, maybe take Hope to the library and veg out on the couch for a while. Yeah, but none of that happened. Instead, I became irritable right after breakfast. I was cranky, blue, frustrated and just really should’ve went back to bed and pulled the covers back over my head.

The last few days one of Hope’s family members has just bombarded me with messages about all manner of things. I just haven’t responded. I couldn’t. It was just too much, too soon. One family member sends messages in the middle of the night, midday, whenever. There are pleas with phone numbers and email addresses. Shout outs that she’s praying for us. Did I know she had whatever medical condition? Didn’t I want to know why she couldn’t step in with Hope? The whole family is waiting for information. They are heartbroken, elated, impatient, waiting, oh respectful, but why the devil didn’t you hit me back yet on Facebook? Last night’s midnight message begged me to call the grandmother and there was a lengthy story to go with it. Her message also gave me a head’s up that there was family bickering going on about me and Hope. #jesusbeabrickwallofprivacysettings

I have dug deep into my empathy well and tried to imagine what it must be like to find your family member who was lost to you and now found. I don’t downplay what that must feel like. I know my own grandmothers’ hearts would have burst from joy had I been lost and somehow was found. I get the Amazing Grace and Prodigal Son analogies. There must be a joyfulness and a bit of frustration in understanding why I just won’t call and put Hope on the phone.

But their emergence from the depths has just really rocked my world. I have a pit in my stomach, and I get somewhat nauseous with every new development. I hate not telling Hope yet; I feel like I’m lying by omission, but I need time to get the support team up to speed; it’s a holiday weekend.  I am trying to figure out how to tell Hope, which I know will just be straight up, because that’s how we do. The family is supposed to send some of her father’s belongings; I kind of want to wait so that I have those things. I’m just trying to figure it all out. I’m beyond overwhelmed.

I’m also trying not to be afraid of the box of crazy that it feels like has just opened in the middle of a slightly more settled life with Hope. No really, I’m terrified. Seriously one week of Facebook messaging and I see folks not respecting boundaries and spilling the beans on family bickering…about us, no less. And it’s just so much, so much. I can’t even get a good cry. Ugh.

So, as we were off to church, Hope went into one of her attention seeking spells—the infamous “I have an ear infection and cannot swallow and am now dying” routine. These spells still burn my house to the ground; I used to be able to predict them, but now they just seem so random. I usually ignore them until she pivots to a more appropriate way of getting my attention. But today, already peeved and riled up by the Facebook drama, I pulled over and, just as dramatically as her spell came on, dramatically announced that we were going to Patient First to see about her ear, nose and throat.

“Oh, I’m not that sick,”Nah, girl, we’re still going because I’m fed up with the ruse. #overit

Two hours and thirty minutes later, I’m out of a co-pay, burned my cell battery down playing bubble poke while waiting for the doctor to tell us in about 7 minutes what I knew all along: not a dang thing is wrong with Hope, who then pivoted to a spasm story—her backup ruse—which was also quickly dismissed by the doctor.

I sat there all that time getting increasingly annoyed by everything. I was annoyed by all the messaging. I was annoyed by Hope’s collection of feigned illnesses that drive m up the effing wall. I was annoyed that the budget is tight this month and a co-pay wasn’t really planned for. I was annoyed that my diagnosis of “Kid with no physical maladies” was confirmed. I was annoyed by how long we had to wait. I was annoyed that we missed church and I really needed to throw myself in prayer on the altar. I was pissed about not going to Costco and the library. I was just pissed about everything in the world.

Oh I’d worked myself into quite the quiet lather.

And then, while sitting in the treatment room waiting for the doctor to discharge us, one of the aunts sent me a Facebook game invitation and all common sense and any shred of adulthood I might have once had went flying right out the window.

Really, lady? A Facebook game invite. Get off my damn Facebook page right now, dammit, lady. #getoffmylawn I had already put the whole lot of folks in a limited access group after friending me. For some reason it was that dang invite that just tipped me right over into emotional chaos. I block every game request I get from anyone. I hate those damn things.

And sadly, poor Hope was the one that just got iced out. She thought I was mad at her, especially after her faux illnesses were called out; I was annoyed but not mad at her and I told her so. I broke down into unexplainable tears on the drive home. She comforted me, and I told her she could watch a movie while I just retreated into my personal space to gather myself after sufficient guilt-tripping, self-loathing. #mommytimeout

I think I’ll get us to make brownies or cookies or something tonight. We need a bit of healing bonding. Sigh. I think I need the resumption of our routine tomorrow as much as she does. Here’s hoping tomorrow—with the Bey & Jay concert for me—will push us to better days.

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life

July 1, 2014

Podcasts and Vacations, Oh My!

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Ahhhh, with some distractions in my life (vacation and the emergence of the bio family), I have neglected to blog about the Add Water and Stir podcast!
Yes, Mimi from ComplicatedMelodi and I made like Kool and the Gang and “got down on it” with our inaugural podcast last week. The description? BAM:

This is the inaugural episode of Add Water and Stir, a new podcast devoted to exploring adoption in communities of color.  Hosts AdoptiveBlackMom (ABM) and ComplicatedMelodi (Mimi) share how they came to be adoptive parents, and they delve into how their adoption stories differ from the mainstream adoption conversation.  Show highlights include receiving the child’s disclosure records, “passing” in same race adoptive families and the shade associated with parenting children of trauma.

Mimi says a write purty. She’s very kind.

Anyhoo, if you want to kill some time and check us out over the US holiday week/weekend, you can find us in these streets on YouTube:

On the podcast page:

addwater3

Click me to reach the page!

Or at the actual podcast location for Episode 1.

http://traffic.libsyn.com/addwaterandstir/AWAS_001.mp3

We’re podcasting live every two weeks, be sure to check us out on July 10 at 10pm EST/9pm CST.

___________________

In other news…

Hope and I are vacationing in Florida this week, enjoying the joy that is humidity and messy thunderstorms. We visited the Magic Kingdom yesterday which was plagued by a massive deluge as we arrived. After shelling out a couple of hundred bucks to get in, another $20 for obnoxious ponchos I was ready to make the best of the day and make some magic happen.

Hope wanted to wallow in self-pity.

“Woe is me.” “Whenever I want to do something it never works out.” “The world is against me.” “God doesn’t like me.”

Ok, so like Michelle Obama, there’s one thing I don’t do well, and it’s this: wallowing.  No ma’am. I allow moments of wallowing self-pity, but they are moments. I collect myself and move on. Hope LIVES at an emotional address called 1234 Self-Pity Street, The Universe Revolves Around Me, VA; USA. It drives me nuts and is a total buzz killer. #icant I know that so much has happened and not happened in her life that it has created this address for her, but I do not live there.

So, I told her she got one pass for wallowing, but that was it because I know the rain was disappointing.  But wasn’t the end of the world. We were at Disney, dammit. Pretend to be happy, put some positive energy in the universe and live in the moment. #powerofpositivethinking #thesecret

During the next mini storm, Hope went in hard on the wallowing. And I lost my shiz. What I wasn’t fitting to do was listen to misery all day after spending a grip to get here when we could still have a good time. I read her the riot act about killing the vibe, refusing to have fun and getting on an emotional plane back to Self-Pity Street.

I also threatened to leave. Oh, but I did.  I threatened to pull the plug on that giant mouse trap and didn’t blink about it either.

Now if you’ve never been to Disney World, you should know that it’s incredibly hard to stalk off in a huff after threatening to leave when you need to walk a mile to the monorail and then catch a tram to your parking lot. I mean you need a serious, “you pissed me off and we’re leaving” face for at least 40 minutes. But Hope also knows that while I am responsible and serious about money, I don’t fret over money that has already left my wallet, so if we needed to leave after dropping a grip to get up in Disney, then stalk on the monorail and tram I would… with a resting b*tch face I would. And there would be no stopping at any gift shops on the way out. #noearsforyou #herfacetho

Then I made like Elsa and went all Frozen for 30 minutes. I quietly went, with her in tow, to get something to eat, checked the FastPass situation for the cancelled rides, and sat on a bench while I got myself together and gave her time to get herself together to. Then we went on It’s a Small World After All. And all was again right with the world. We had a great time with no more drama. She got her ears and her dog Pluto and had a great, great time.

Negative talk is a big problem for Hope, and one that I’m constantly working on with her. It may sound harsh, but she has a flair for the dramatic so I have to go in hard with her. I’m proud of her for choosing to enjoy Disney.

In Hope’s family news, I checked in with all those family members who contacted her, let them know that their friend requests were denied, messages erased, they’ve been privacy blocked from her page and that they needed to come through me if they want to eventually have contact with Hope. I would determine when and how that would happen. So far the response has been respectful and understanding, but I can’t help not trusting them. We’ll see where things go, and I hope that one day Hope and her family will have a good relationship, but for now I’m going to keep tight reins on this situation.

Well, back to sunning myself with Hope and the friends we’re visiting. Peace out!

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Finalization Life, Other Stuff, Tween Parenting

June 30, 2014

That Dang Facebook

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, we’ve all read how social media can be a pain in the butt. It’s been blamed for the demise of countless relationships. Irresponsible posts have ruined friendships, busted up families. Heck, if we include blogging in the larger context of social media I have to own my own drama, with how I fell out with my own mother after expressing my anger and frustrations on this very blog.

Hope has a Facebook account. Now I wasn’t particularly a fan of this, but she already had one when she was placed with me. Her therapist encouraged me to allow her to continue using it to keep in touch with friends from back home. The truth is that she really is not really on it much; when she is on Facebook, she’s looking at Justin Bieber posts and absurd short videos of the latest dance moves.   I check her page regularly. I log on as her to check her private messages too.

A few days ago, I got a friend request from a complete stranger. Now usually I dismiss these quickly. I keep my privacy settings pretty high and rarely get such requests from folks without a mutual friend or acquaintance. For some reason I didn’t act on the request and just let it sit for a day or so. Last night I actually clicked it and reviewed the sender.

That dang Facebook. Damn if the sender wasn’t Hope’s paternal aunt. Sigh. Panic set in. I’ve never felt panicked before about Hope’s biological family.

A few weeks ago, I set out to search for them so that I would have information to share with her at some point. I want her to know about her family and to decide what kind of relationship she wants or doesn’t want. Her mother is out of the picture and her father is deceased. She was closer to the latter and I’ve always created a lot of space for her to talk about him. She wonders aloud about them ever so often. I’ve never felt threatened—emotionally or otherwise—by her biological family. But this all felt like an invasion of epic proportions.

I logged out and logged into Hope’s account to find that half a dozen paternal family members had sent friend requests and a couple of messages, including one from this aunt, were in her private “other” message box. The messages talked about how happy they were to find her and just kind of jumped into conversation like nothing happened.

I deleted the friend requests. I deleted the messages. Then I sat down for the first of a couple of sad cries.

I thought, I will take a day or two to figure out what to say to these folks. How do I protect Hope? How do I talk to her about this? How do I wrap my own brain around how these folks could reach out to her, send her messages without consulting me and most of all—WTH (W=Where) were they for the last 4 years when she was in foster care? And where were you when she had a failed kinship placement with one of y’all bamas a few years ago…talking ‘bout some, you wondered where she was and how she was doing? GTFOH!

I don’t know if I have the right to ask some of these questions of them, but dammit where were they when she was floating around?

I hate thinking about how I’m going to eventually talk to Hope about this; I will but I don’t know how right now. I rather talk to her about anything else under the sun.

I’ll take another awkward sex chat, Alex, for $2000.

Oh, and I do not want to talk to these people. At least I do not want to talk to these people right now. I owe them nothing, right? Oh, and for the record I don’t care what they think of me. That’s not a part of my freakout.

The rush of emotions is overwhelming. I am angry that they would send her messages directly and not even think they needed to come through me. I am scared that they will persist in trying to contact her without my ok. I am sad that I feel the need to protect Hope from her biological family. I am empty headed about what any kind of relationship might look light, never mind how long it will take to get there.

So, when I awoke from a nap earlier yesterday to find a direct message through Facebook from her aunt, I freaked out again. She thanked me for taking care of Hope, and she said how she’d looked for Hope for years. She then started telling me how she’d reached out to her on FB and gave me contact information to pass along to Hope.

This was one of the few times in my life when I had chest pains. I decided to use a life line and call my sister, who validated my emotional free fall.

I eventually wrote back to her. I explained that I saw her messages and all the family friend requests to Hope. I explained how upsetting this could be and why. I confirmed that Hope is entitled to relationship with her biological family, but that right now we need some more time. I asked her to cease contacting Hope directly and to kindly ask her other family members not to either. They can contact me and I will determine when and how their contact with Hope will happen. I promised to give her some updates from time to time.

She wrote back that she understood and would respect my wishes. But will the others? I feel like I might’ve started a game of Whack-a-Mole with folks just popping up.

I will broach this with Hope sometime this summer. I discuss it with our Absurdly Hot Therapist and see what he says about this.

I want her to have this family; but I don’t trust them. I don’t trust them at all and I don’t want them to hurt her or us. I didn’t really sign up for a forced open adoption; so this is all a shock. I’m glad that we are finalized and that I feel like I’ve got the papers to legally shape what happens next. That doesn’t really help the pit in my stomach but it’s a start.

11 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life

June 25, 2014

The Hugs and Kisses Bet

By AdoptiveBlackMom

It’s Hope’s birthday, and I’m practically doing the pee pee dance I’m so excited! I’ve been waiting for this day with almost as much anticipation as all of our other milestones. Hope is excited, but a bit anxious because whenever she’s asked what we were doing for her birthday, I’ve just said it was a surprise. I asked her numerous times what would she like…did she want anything special. She said she didn’t really know. So I set about, like the overzealous new parent that I am, to Blow. Her. Mind.

Lately I’ve been chatting with her about buying less “stuff” and focusing on more experiences so we can build some happy memories together. This has led to some reflective conversations about her father and her memories of him. She takes a lot of pride in telling me about her memories; sometimes I have to grit my teeth because some of the places she went or things she saw, she really shouldn’t have been taken there or seen those things. But, I try to not sully what are happy memories for her; I also try to give her the freedom to talk about how much she misses her dad. She told me last night that when she’s home, she thinks about him a lot. Grief is a beotch.

Hope also likes to talk about her experiences with me over the last few months and how much things have changed. I love these chats; even if it means that we muddle through tough memories. These chats usually involve me giving lots of hugs and kisses. She loves it; I love it; the Furry One loves it. She also knows that withholding hugs and kisses is one of my Achilles heels, and she routinely threatens after the love fest to cut me off, usually in a joking manner. In the last week, the hugs and kiss strikes have served as my punishment for various infractions. The threats and strikes are hollow—at most they last a few hours– and we typically settle into a puddle of laughter.

So, on the way to her first voice lesson last night, she decided that I should be punished because I was going to the Jay-Z/Bey concert in a few weeks and I wasn’t taking her. No hugs or kisses until after the concert. I said ok, well, just how mad are you? Interested in raising the stakes? I bet her that she wouldn’t make it that long without a hug from her mom. She egged me on and bet me $20 she could (#OhImtakinghermoney). I upped it to $30 and she upped it to $50 that she could withhold hugs and kisses until July 8th.

I knew I had this bet won before we even pinky-swore…which we indeed did! #shedontevenknow

She immediately started trying to renegotiate terms and finding end runs around the bet.

“Air kisses don’t count right?”

“Well, what if I get sick or I’m crying?”

“You can still try to kiss me right?

And on and on we went. Seems she really wants the contact as much as I do.

Miss thing was trying to weasel out of her bet, and our pinkies were barely disentangled. I told her she could do whatever she wanted because I knew I would get hugs and kisses, and I predicted that she wouldn’t hold out long.

“Do you know how long I’ve gone for periods without hugging a parent?” said Hope.

Oy, you just never know when or how the moments of trauma will resurface. I didn’t joke about that; just asked a few questions and reiterated that she could get a hug from me anytime she wanted one, morning, noon and night. She briefly talked about how many fosters she refused to hug during placements. She’s not kidding, if she really wants too, she could strike for long periods of time. I am comforted in knowing how much she wants hugs from me. I’m sad about how many hugs and kisses strikes there have probably been in her 13 years. It put her little strike threats into perspective for me.

So we enjoy the rest of our evening hi-fiving, thumb hugging and blowing air kisses, in accordance with the terms of our bet. After she went to bed, I began executing Plan “Blow Hope’s Mind.”

I wrapped the Katy Perry CD and gently placed it atop of her alarm clock. I hung the concert t-shirt on her bathroom mirror with a note, “You might want to build an outfit around this shirt.” I placed a birthday card with her concert ticket for TONIGHT’S Katy Perry show in her bathroom under her favorite lotion.

True to her word, she didn’t hug me on her way out this morning for the last day of school (yeah, we’re still in school around these parts). But she is excited about the concert tonight. Over breakfast, she told me a story of how a foster parent promised to take her to a concert but didn’t; how the house she was staying in was right behind the concert venue, how she could hear the girls screaming all evening at a concert she was missing.

Joy is often still tinged with sadness around these parts. It’s like she just can’t let herself really enjoy the moment because the blessings remind her of all the bad times.

I’m hopeful that I’ll still get a hug and kiss today. We’ve got lunch and cake and maybe pedicures later before the concert tonight.

Then there’s the second card…the one with the ticket to the Bruno Mars concert in a few weeks.   She loves Bruno Mars, loves him probably more than Bieber.

I’m glad we get to do things together, to create new memories together. I hope one day the happy times don’t get overshadowed by the sad history.

In the meantime, I’m looking for hugs and kisses tonight and the settling of this silly bet. #inittowinit

7 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life

June 16, 2014

Here We Go Again

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Last week was delightfully mundane. Exercise time for me, band concert for Hope, the revival of crockpot recipes, and end of school year English projects. We capped things off with a trip to the hometown to see family. Post-Placement life continues to be a generally lovely thing. The lack of drama has allowed me to just enjoy Hope and do some reflecting on the last two weeks. But of course, drama is back and all I can think is, “Here we go again and how long do we go this time.” So…back to recaps.

__________________

I hate that damn reptilian brain. All that primitive thinking crap, fight or flight responding and all that just base level crap. I hate it. I hate it because there is no reasoning with it. There’s no amount of being pissed because the reptile brain is in charge that makes the primitive brain just take a break. The reptilian brain behaviors sometimes bring out the worst in me, despite my best efforts, which just gives it more power. I hate it.

Hope has a phobia of bugs. I’m trying to work with her, but it is now June in the DC area…there are bugs everywhere. If the bugs aren’t outside, the bugs are trying to get inside to a cool space. This will only get worse as the summer drags on. A bug got in the car today; Hope quite literally pushed me out of my driver’s side door with her arms and legs and then set off running. Fortunately we were still in a parking lot. I lost my shizz—my own reptilian brain was terrified and it came out as fury. I yelled and screeched. I howled because my arm got hurt as I was trying to get out of the way when she was pushing and kicking. We could’ve been so easily killed today, and good Lord it was a GNAT!!! A gnat almost got us killed. I cannot imagine how pissed I would’ve been at the pearly gates because my arrival was triggered by a got-dang gnat! This is the second time this has happened. She’s like a long armed, long legged windmill in the front seat of the car (a Mini Cooper—so there is limited space as it is). It’s scary and it’s dangerous.

But all Hope can see is that she was terrified of the gnat, had to get away any way she could and I didn’t understand and yelled and screamed. Because it’s a phobia there is no appreciation of the scale of danger between the gnat in the car and pushing through me through the driver’s side exit of a car that was barely at a complete stop.

The fury was only heightened since we were on our way to a medical appointment and the doctor “sided” with me on the danger factor in discussing the need to address the phobia and stat!

I can’t with this today. I hate the fight or flight response, and I hate the reptilian brain. #gonnafindahypnotherapist #phobiasbegone

Any unanticipated deviation in the schedule wreaks havoc, especially when layered up on existing stressors. The great weekend road trip was still a bit physically and emotionally stressful. Hope seemed to handle it like a champ. No apparent meltdowns on the horizon. Follow up on the day back with a scheduling error with a medical appointment —it was an hour earlier than what I recorded on the calendar so we were late. I apologized profusely, but the damage was done. Appointment was a disaster; homework time was painful; huffing and puffing. She even put me on punishment—no hugs and kisses for a month (#hollowthreat)— she was an all-around pill for two hellacious days.

And then I finally just got us together. Explained that we’re doing this thing together, that we will have good days and bad days and that hopefully there are more good days than bad days.   We had creamscicles, and I got some hugs and kisses and hopefully tomorrow will be a better.

Developmental issues are often invisible. I finally realized why I’m so touchy when Hope acts out in public (aside from just general embarrassment), or when someone chides me on why my daughter does something that they think is rude or otherwise inappropriate. They don’t know what I know. They don’t appreciate that she has developmental issues that are now more obvious to me, but remain largely invisible to everyone else. I can’t go around saying, “Oh, she does that because of a lifetime of trauma, so cut us a break why don’t ya?” To do so violates her privacy and her trust and potentially gives her a permanent label that just isn’t necessary.   So I grin and bear it, mostly in silence under withering glares or sometimes even the phone call that comes offering unsolicited parenting advice.

But this tidbit of information explains so much of why she does the things she does, of why some of her behaviors are odd and occasionally disruptive. The public spells are less frequent, but they happen. Her coping skills are improving, but they are still woefully lacking. Her developmental delays are increasingly apparent to me as she grows comfortable in our home. I’m better at accommodating them most days. But managing them in public is an issue for me. I wish it wasn’t but it is which brings me to my next aha moment.

Managing expectations is exhausting. When you are managing developmental delays with an older child who everyone assumes is “normal,” grateful to have been adopted and should be grateful and excited about meshing into your life, it’s so overwhelming that you just say nothing, withdraw, and mishandle the whole kit-and-caboodle. It’s like a disaster set up. You just can’t win; God bless us all if on one outing she is delightful and the next she’s acting like a three year old. How do I manage all of that and the follow up shade too?

Managing Hope’s expectations in social situations is tough, but that’s doable. Feeling some obligation about managing other people’s expectations about what my kid should be doing and how she should be behaving is absurd. Often you really can’t manage them at all. You wish you could, but you really just never can. It just feels like failing over and over again. I’m honestly not sure why I still try to manage expectations other than my own and Hope’s, but for some deep seated, unconscious reason, I still do.

Despite all the drama, the walls are coming down. Hope is increasingly allowing herself to be vulnerable. She wants to talk; she wants to tell me so many things. She tells me she needs hugs, and I’m only too happy to oblige.  Hope trusts me and she’s working hard at it, and I’m working really hard to make sure I am worthy of that trust. I don’t have much of a poker face and I’m finding that sometimes that’s a good thing; at other times I learning to be stoic enough to not distract her from telling me everything she wants to tell me. It’s hard, but her trust means a lot to me. Her trust is a major motivator in changing certain parenting behaviors.

Of course, I’m the only person she trusts. That’s a heavy load for me to bear sometimes. It’s hard to be the only person your kid trusts; I mean I want her to trust me. I need her to trust me, but building trust to a slightly broader circle sometimes feels impossible. It’s lonely and it’s heavy. Hope is very data driven (ironically, just like me); a lifetime of data has shown her that most of the people in her life don’t deserve to be trusted. I’m honored that she trusts me, but it’s hard being the only one. I look forward to the day when she is able to let others into her circle, not just for her own development, but to give me a break too.

__________________

So, we’re recovering after Bug-gate. Tomorrow is another new day to just try again. It’s easy to get down for a few days and just get stuck there. I hope we’re unstuck. Moving forward again.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Finalization Life

June 3, 2014

Fear Still Rules the Day

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Up until last evening, I wasn’t sure that we would finalize this week. We had one document that required my signature and the signature of some higher up in CPS. My attorney confirmed the date yesterday. Friday is Gotcha Day.

I told Hope last week that we would be finalizing soon. But I was nervous to tell Hope that it was happening this coming Friday. It will all be official in three short days. I just didn’t know how she would react.

I told her over dinner. She sat there stunned. Then she changed the subject and pretended like I never said anything about it.

She does this sometimes in therapy too. She was just avoidant. I decided to just let it go.

But of course it can’t be the simple. It’s never that simple.

Twenty minutes later she picked a mini-battle over a myriad of little dinner-related things. And then there’s the blow-up, followed by the stomping to the room, followed by the concert of badly sung Justin Bieber covers (done for the express purpose of annoying me), door slamming, muttering and other self-soothing behaviors.

I let her be, interrupting her only to tell her to ready herself for bed and to refill her water bottle.

She was still grumpy when I came in to tuck her in, hesitating about whether she wanted me to read her a story.

Of course she wanted a story, and I deliberately chose a longer one to read last night just to be close to her a few minutes longer.

Then when I kissed her good night, she huffed and she puffed, and she screeched at me to close her closet door. Then she bid me goodnight back.

Fear is wicked.

She’s been through this adoption thing before. It never got this far, but someone else tried to tell her that it was forever. It wasn’t. She’s been through this before. It’s terrifying to think that something awful could happen before Friday that would cancel forever. So, the best option is to try to trigger the worst possible scenario before it can happen on its own.

Finalization, for all its celebratory notions, is also a reminder of things that she doesn’t want to be reminded of: all the reasons why she even needs to be adopted at all. And that sucks. It really, really sucks. And when stuff sucks, everything around here sucks, at least or a while. It doesn’t suck quite as long as it used to, but yeah, it sucks for a while. Attitudes, short tempers, tantrums and tears, push/pull behaviors, fight picking, and sometimes, mercifully, the silent treatment. I don’t really like the silent treatment when she retreats into her own little world, but honestly of the choices, it’s the one that is easiest for me to face and for me to overcome.

And even though somewhere in there she’s happy, maybe even ecstatic, it doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t matter that I’m planning a family party. It doesn’t matter that there will be cake. It doesn’t matter that she’s been practicing signing her new name for the last week and a half. None of that really matters.

All that matters is whether Friday is really going to happen. Hell, she’s having a daily meltdown at school and having the school staff call me daily to see whether I’m really picking her up or whether I’m going to be home if she takes the bus because she swears I’m going to abandon her.

This is happening every day. She was telling me that they were making her call. When I met with the staff today to discuss how the calls were heightening her anxiety, I realized that it had nothing to do with the school at all. She just wanted to know if I was going to be there.

Right now, all that matters is whether or not Friday is really going to happen. Will Friday be the beginning of forever?

Yeah, and after it happens, the all that will matter is what happens after Friday.

It’s a new chapter, and neither of us knows what the hell we’re doing or what to expect next.

It will be fine. We will muddle through. Someday we might even thrive. Hopefully, we will do more than survive. We will be fine.

But right now, we are a slave to Hope’s fear right up until the court’s declaration. Sadly, fear will still rule the next few days. I’m praying that the chains of fear will be broken before Friday.

This is my reality of getting me and Hope to permanence, and it continues to be the other side of happy.

11 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , | posted in Dealing with the Past, Finalization Life, Post Placement, The Adoption Process, The Transition

May 29, 2014

The Other Side of Happy

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, yes, I’m happy. I am. I’m screaming happiness. Just screaming it! So happy. So stinking happy.

super-happy-dance-smiley-emoticon

And I plaster that poop-eating, heel-clicking grin on anytime someone asks, because really, let’s not kid ourselves, no one really wants to hear about the other side of happy when so many great things are happening in your life.  #tripsondenialriverforeveryone

So, I’m so overwhelmed that there’s a part of me that is just miserable and empty in spite of all of the happy, and I really am happy.  I wasn’t lying about that.

I marvel at how all these feelings can just coexist.  The duality of emotions on this journey will forever stun me.  #getsmeeverytime

So much has happened in my life in the last four years, the last two years, the last 18 months, the last 4 months, the last month. In fact the last month represents the time when so many things have come to fruition. So many hopes and dreams and things I’ve worked hard for and prayed over have  come to pass. And it doesn’t stop there.

Next week, I’ll finalize Hope’s adoption.  Yep, we have a court date.

When I got the date from my attorney by email yesterday I actually started sobbing.

OMG, this is happening.

woohoo-smiley-emoticon

I was happy but I was also scared schnittless. If I hadn’t been illegally reading my email while sitting at a traffic light, I probably would’ve passed out. Instead I cried. But in the moment, they weren’t tears of joy. They were tears of fear, of the smack of reality, of wondering what was next, of hope that things will get easier, of wondering will I ever feel confident enough, of wondering if and when all of my own supposed support systems will ever feel stable, supportive and safe enough.  Will I fail her?  Am I really, really that selfless?

I am exhausted and despite my happiness, I am back to a week of not being able to stop crying. Maybe I need a med adjustment, because this is just ridiculous.

A few weeks or months ago I wrote about feeling down and some folks pointed out that I was possibly suffering from Post Adoption Depression. I didn’t even know that was a thing. I just knew I couldn’t stop crying, and I was driving a broke-down fire truck from one fire to the next and then role playing ALL of the firefighter jobs that must exist with a small water gun. I barely felt like I was functional.

About two weeks ago, I just started sinking again. The crying and crankiness returned. I just wanted to sleep or at least pull the covers over my head and be left undisturbed. I just mourn the ability to come home to peace and quiet and snuggle with The Furry One and decide, because I could, to just have a martini and cheese toast for dinner. I mourned the days when I didn’t need a sitter. I mourned the ability to pick up and go to the Caribbean for a long weekend if I found a good deal. I mourned the days when I didn’t have to do teacher conferences about questionable grades and behavior or anticipating the mayhem of being a chaperone at the upcoming band trip. I missed the days of less village drama. Life literally changed overnight, and I haven’t adjusted.

And yet, I can’t imagine life without Hope, and Hope comes with all of that and then some.  She’s a game changer.

Then, last evening I got a response email from a colleague who finished her PhD about six months before me. I’d shared in an earlier email that I was feeling like I should be doing “something” (school related) and was feeling guilty about not doing whatever it was I was supposed to be doing. Heck, one time I wrote a final class paper from a hospital—sure I’m supposed to be doing something? Surely I can’t be experiencing some post-EdD completion let down.

Uh, yeah, she wrote back—that post-doctoral listlessness is normal. Yeah, there’s a let-down period with a risk of depression after the euphoria of being done passes.

eyeroll

Really, now this is a thing too? GTFOH!!!

Awesome, my doc and shrink are going to love this. Could be worse, I could be a new Dr looking for a job. So there’s that.

A lot has happened, and a lot is happening. All happy things, but things that require or recently required huge amounts of cognitive and emotional energy over sustained periods of time.  And my brain is just tired. I’m emotionally tired.  And the number of folks with whom I can share this, completely unedited, unfiltered, uncensored at all, is a pretty small number. I’m grateful for them, I am <thank you if you’re reading, you know who you are and each of you are godsends>. But I find myself mourning about the censoring I am doing; the censoring I’m required to do in some core areas of my life.  It’s really just like folding into yourself over and over again, like a bad piece of origami and you’re just waiting for the someone to toss you because the folds didn’t come out right.

Never in a million years would I think that when my dreams come true, mostly in the span of a few weeks, that I would not be wholly ecstatic and bouncing like Tigger.

Happiness isn’t without a price, and it can exist with sadness.

Here’s hoping I can swing back and stay on the topside of happiness and soon.

For now, I’ve got a Gotcha Day party to go plan.

14 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in Post Placement, The Transition

May 25, 2014

Big Holes to Fill

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I had a lot going on this week; much of it left me exhausted and cranky. Despite my bad attitude, I really, really tried to practice better “therapeutic” parenting. It’s paying off, even if sometimes things just seem weird. So, here’s the highlight reel.

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The mask is finally coming off. Four months in, Hope’s mask is finally coming off. I hate to say her behavior is regressing, because in truth, it’s not. A few weeks ago, in the middle of a conversation about something she dropped some baby talk on me. Yeah, baby talk, like goo goo gaga kind of stuff.

Huh?

Say what now?

Whatchu

Whatchu talkin’ ’bout Hope?

I just kept talking and she just kept babbling, and I tried to just pretend it was no big deal. And she did it for the rest of the conversation, and I nearly came unhinged on the inside. What in the holy hell is this???

Since then, she’s tried to climb into my lap several times. Now, you need to know that I’ve got body space issues. #getoffmegetoffmegetoffme I need a buffer. I love hugs and stuff, love them, love them, but um, on my terms. Sitting on me is not on my term list, but I’ve tried to be comfortably uncomfortable for now. Then there’s the bedtime stories, which is actually a lovely ritual. And then this week, she asked could she do some arts and crafts with macaroni, glitter, construction paper and glue.

Seriously, all I could think was, “There is going to be effing glitter ALL. Over. My. House.”   I have no poker face and Hope knows it.

blinkgif

Um…glitter? #icant

She looked sad and I was all like, “But wait…I was just thinking…um, sounds like an awesome idea (#fauxenthusiasm)!!!”

Stanly happy

With each of these things Hope always includes her rationale for wanting to do it: “I never got a chance to do this when I was little.” It’s actually really sad. She needs these memories and developmental markers to move forward. That’s the best motivation I could possibly think of for tolerating glitter in my house.

It does require some kicking around in my brain. Years ago, when I was thinking about what my adoption life would be like, I envisioned a 5 or 6 year old kid in the house. As I went through the process, I realized that in order to actually get a 5 or 6 year old I would probably need to foster or wait years and years and years. Fostering was too emotionally risky for me and years and years, well, I don’t have that kind of patience. I made a very conscious decision to adopt an older child and along with that my whole vision changed about what I thought would be going on in my house. I never dreamed that macaroni and glitter artwork would be a thing that would happen.

I’m guessing you should all place your orders now for kindergarten style glue ornaments…you *know* you want one. Don’t be jelly when my crafty ornament covered Christmas tree is better than yours, all courtesy of Hope’s Crafting Bonanza.

But seriously, all of this stuff is good news, she feels safe. She knows I’m going to help her fill in the gaps; that I’m going to help her create childhood memories that she has a right to have and to still want. I’ll try to be mindful of that every time she tries to crawl into my lap. It’s like cradling a granddaddy long legs. Love her.

I am searching for information about Hope’s bio parents. Now this is a sticky issue. I really have zero interest in these folks, but Hope is an older adoptee and as much as she’s wrestling with healing and filling the gaps that her bio parents left neglected, I also see her tossing things around in her head about who she is and where she came from. There are also things to which she is entitled that I’m intent on trying my best to make right. Things like knowing where her father rests and having the flag she’s due from the VA is important to her. She grieves deeply over the losses that lie within the loss. I can’t make everything right and I don’t think she’s ready for the info right this moment, but I want it for her.

I’m fortunate to have a friend and colleague who does extensive genealogy research. In short order she’s found lots of info—some of it not good, but valuable nonetheless. I’m grateful for my friend and her efforts to help me just get some info. I’ll print it, put it in an envelope and put it away. I have no idea when the time will be right, and I have no idea how that conversation will go. But my gut tells me that getting and saving this info for her to have if she wants will be important at some point.

I’ve come to think about bio parents a lot. I am on several online support sites and most focus on relationships with bio families who have selected families to adopt. These stories are so different from those of us who go the route of foster-to-adopt or in my case focusing my search on children who were already legally free to be adopted. Hope has lived a lifetime already. She had a life that she remembers—the good, the bad, the ugly—before me. That life is real and includes real people who she remembers, people she wonders whatever happened to them. I just want to be able to hand over some things if Hope’s curiosity ever blooms into something more. And I’ll be there for whatever comes after that, because I’m certain something will come after that.

I wish my curfew was later. So in my 20s I stayed out all night on the regular. Leave the club at 3, in the office by 8. In my 30s, I hit the club less and less. Leaving the club at 3 could only happen on a Friday because I needed the weekend to recover and I only had two cocktails. I eventually just fell madly in love with my couch, my bed and one of those backrest things. By the time I turned 40, my regular curfew entailed figuring out how fast I could get home from work and into my PJs—my goal is usually about 6:30 since I have to include time to walk The Furry One. I felt like I earned a gold star if I could find an episode of Law and Order and grab dinner by that 6:30 goal line.

Now I’m almost always home or Hope is always with me. On school nights we need to be home by 8:30 so I can get Hope to bed on time. The weekends are a little more flexible, but Hope’s phobia of bugs is worse at night and she hates being out with all the moths (really this is a thing) such that staying out really can be a miserable endeavor. Respite care allows me that that time out, but I try to be back at bedtime. I’m just getting hype, and it’s time to head home at 10:30 so I make it on time.

soul-train-dancing-o

Just when it’s time to turn up, I’ve got head home and miss the Soul Train dance line. Mess….

Suddenly I have all the energy in the world, and I really want to be out late. Sigh, but I can’t stay out later yet. Hope just isn’t ready and we haven’t found the right sitter. We have a couple we like, but we just haven’t found “the one” yet.

There’s something ironic about the fact that less than a year ago I knew I could go out if I wanted to but preferred to stay home on the couch, and now I have limited opportunities to go out and I want to be out all night. Those are the brakes of parenthood.

I am happy. Sometimes it is so, so hard to be mindful of what’s going right in life. It’s easy to just get mired in how hard it is; I mean really, just look at the first sentence here—I’m whining about it being hard to be mindful. Ugh!

But seriously, I was talking to a good friend this week. Several of my closest friends are going through mayhem of their own; but this friend said to me a couple of days ago that in spite of whatever mess exists, she’s happy. Well, it was such a lovely statement. I was so happy for her. I was so proud of her. It was just such great thing to hear from my friend about her life and about her outlook.

A few hours later I was thinking about this conversation while walking The Furry One. I was thinking about my current state of affairs. Was I…Am I happy? I don’t mean like really right this moment, but rather from that 30,000 viewpoint?

Yeah. I am.

Happy doesn’t always come the way you think it does and it doesn’t always have a silver lining. It might come with several side dishes of crazy, frustration and “you’ve got to be kidding me…”

But yeah, I’m happy. I have the family I wanted, even if it’s not the way I thought it would be constructed. I have a kid that I love, even if we’ve got issues. I’ve got a dog who has been a beloved companion for many years. I have family whom I love and who love and support me in ways that actually build me up. I have accomplished many of my life goals at a relatively young age. I have a great career that I love and which feeds me intellectually and creatively. I have friends who have been with me through thick, thin, cray, sane, poverty and comfort and so much more. I love and I am loved. Yes, I’m happy.

It’s nice to take a breath and just be mindful enough to see the happy.

________________________________________________________

So we’re brunching and traveling today. It’s a beautiful East Coast day and tomorrow I’ll take Hope to see the bikers in Rolling Thunder. It’s a real sight to see and noisy as all get out; I think she’ll get a kick out of it, and it will be a great opportunity to see some DC monuments on Memorial Day.

Be blessed.

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Lessons Learned, Post Placement

May 15, 2014

I Just Want a Nap

By AdoptiveBlackMom

It’s odd to not do my weekly rundown, just because it’s my own way of reflecting and figuring out my improvement metrics (I like data!). So, this week I’m getting it done midweek.

Things are ok around here; we have little lightening rod things that drive us both nuts. But overall, we are doing better. Here’s what’s going down.

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­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Mom needs some attention. So, Hope has some issues with attention. When she’s doing something she really dives deep into the focus; it’s so deep that it’s like nothing else exists and she’s in a trance. The living room TV has become a hot point for several issues. 1) It’s a distraction that makes her late in the morning—on average she’s missing the bus twice a week. 2) The TV a distraction at dinner. We can’t have a decent conversation because I might as well be talking to a napkin. Also she won’t eat because she’s so into the TV. 3) Multiple episodes of Adventure Time, Anthony Zimmerman and Big Bang Theory drive me nuts. 4) I can’t watch grown folks TV on my couch anymore.

So I’ve made a plan to restrict the time the main TV is on and will be moving cable boxes this weekend and downgrading the cable. Cool, right?

Ah but then an external voice of reason, let’s call him Elihu, says, “Hmmmm, ABM, so can we talk about reason number 2 a bit more? Sounds like you were peeved she didn’t want to kick it with you? Were you?” #ihateitwhenhesright

Ummm, there are perfectly legitimate reasons for me making TV changes, but ultimately, yeah, I was so looking forward to enjoying dinner with my girl and she totally dissed me. There’s some part of me that was crushed because I really, really wanted to kick with her that evening. So, some part of me is taking it out on the TV.

But I’m still right about the TV.

When Hope wants to talk, it mentally exhausts me. Oh it’s cool that she wants to talk, but Hope’s attention issues also head to the other end of the continuum where we can change conversation topics, like every 3-5 sentences. In the span of twenty minutes we’ve touched on the following: Bieber, Bruno Mars, has her Seventeen magazine arrived? What’s transgender? Why are people trippin’ about Michael Sam kissing his man when he finally got drafted? When am I going to wash her hair? There are probably another 5 topics that I missed. Ohmygosh.

But here’s the thing, as exhausting as some of this chatter can be and as irritating as the Bieber conversations can be, I LOVE the fact that she wants to talk and that she feels comfortable enough with me that she’ll ask me about all the touchy topics.   I do wish that she had an “inside voice” and asked some questions at home or in the car or somewhere where we had some privacy. I totally wasn’t fazed by the content of LGBT questions—I’m committed to raising an inclusive-minded kiddo. What did trip me out was the fact that she asked the questions about Conchita Wurst and Michael Sam at Gate K19 at O’Hare on Sunday morning at 5:30am on volume 37 of 50. The surrounding ear hustlers were so serious, and it was too early for all that.

Someone is always doing worse than you. This is a recurring life lesson, but it’s something that I keep coming back to on this adoption journey as well. I hit up my agency support group last night where other waiting parents were bemoaning waits of 4 months to 2 years for a match and other parents struggling with the demands of new parenting and specifically parenting their child’s specific challenges, while still other parents wondering if they are really going to jump in and do this thing. Then another parent I met through social media posted a link to this Tumblr page: Parenting Confessional.

Hope was the first profile I received and we were formally matched about a month later. I managed to write a dissertation during this process, finishing the last chapter during one of the darkest weeks of my life while trying to survive an event that threatened to disrupt our placement. Family drama. Drama of varying sorts. And yet, I’m actually ok. Hope is actually ok. I’m not sure we’re thriving (yet) but we’re stable or at least as stable as a 3.5 month adoptive placement is probably going to be.

I mean I think about how the parent of a friend of Hope’s responded when I asked if it was ok if I took her daughter to the movies with Hope a few weeks ago. That woman sounded like she was going through IT and I don’t know her from a can of paint. All God’s children got problems. I would say that my and Hope’s problems are probably not all that bad all things considered.   I’m finding folks doing way worse than me; heck I see them in the blogosphere all the time.

Sometimes emotions really, really suck. I’m reading Beyond Consequences right now, and it’s all about how our kids have not developed an ability to self-regulate their emotional states through appropriate behavior.   In a super condensed nutshell, kids who’ve experienced trauma will flip out when their emotions are overwhelming; parents are more likely to focus on the inappropriate behavior that drives us up the effing wall rather than the deep-seeded emotional baggage that underpins it even when it isn’t apparent. We’re more likely to use a punishment paradigm than to emphasize a “You’re safe, let me help you be more safe” paradigm. Yeah, ok, got it. Makes sense, right?

Yeah, until your kid is going the hell off on some random ish that you have no effin idea what triggered it.   You’re saying safety crap and “There, there, let mom hug” you while you’re ducking blows and trying to figure out what the hell is going on. When this happens for us, sometimes it’s days before Hope can get herself together to say what’s really going on. Hell, we just deconstructed the whole Don King episode from two weeks ago last night.

It’s heartbreaking to find that your kid really, really doesn’t have the regulatory skills to just not go the hell off or be reduced to tears because you said no to getting a Slurpee on a Tuesday. It’s also guilt ridden, especially with the older kids who just by virtue of their age and size, you expect have some crap together. They don’t; not even close.

Emotions can just be like a really, really bad storm when they take over. Bless Hope’s heart; she has improved this skill area so much, but ugh…I have no idea when or how or if she’s really going to get to be able to master/muster the emotional –behavioral thing. Time will tell.

Adoption related judgment fear notwithstanding, I really don’t give two damns about what other people think. Hope and I’ve been talking a lot about friends, bullies, the whole relationship milieu. I only somewhat recall how much I fretted about what other people thought and the possibility of being talked about, judged or bullied. But it’s a constant life issue these days around these parts. I am trying to work on building Hope’s self-esteem, but ugh, these little bad arse school kids are wrecking her flow. There’s lots of soothing hugs and internal desires for me to go up to that school and end up doing something that will end up having me go viral on YouTube before getting arrested.

But, I’m learning that my general self-esteem is pretty solid. I understand my flaws but they’re mine. I can fret about my body, but it’s mine. I don’t really care much about what other people think or have to say about me. That’s a liberating realization.

A liberating realization until I think about how awful I feel when Hope is doing something publicly that draws negative attention and reckless, shady looks in my direction that say, “Aren’t you going to check your kid? Aren’t you going to snatch her up? Why haven’t you “fixed” that yet? Are you going to *do* something because she’s ruining it for everyone?” Fear of parenting judgment is my current “thing” that I just get nervous about. I know in time it will pass. So much has happened that it’s hard to remember that it’s only been 3.5 months since Hope moved here. I’ll get better at not caring about what people have to say at some point.

_______________________________________________

We’ve got a busy weekend planned, but I hope to enjoy a bit of rest. Now that things are done with school, I long to just enjoy an hour or two just chillaxing on the balcony on my lawn chair snoozing with The Furry One. Let’s bow our heads and cross our fingers that it happens this weekend.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Lessons Learned, Post Placement

May 1, 2014

About Last Night

By AdoptiveBlackMom

Last night I just lost it. Last week, our pattern broke and there was no downturn in moods or behaviors. That was super awesome. But this week has been an exercise in challenges day after day, moment after moment. We had a tech blackout for couple of days, there were hours where she was sent to her room. The defiance, the yelling, the anger, the lying…oh the lying. By last night I was over it, so over it. So I went to bed.

After a back and forth related to a couple of what should’ve been minor issues, I just threw up my hands and said something that seems unthinkable. It was a mixture of truth and a lie all rolled into one.

I said, “I don’t care.”

I’m sure in one of the dozens of books I’ve read that I’m not supposed to say that. Ever.  And of course I do care, but I consciously just threw up my hands and told her that I didn’t care how long she stayed up, didn’t care that she wouldn’t do her chores, didn’t care that she found the need to retwist her hair last night inconvenient, I didn’t care that she got nasty with a teacher requiring a phone call from the school and I just didn’t care what she did last night.

I went to my room. Did a couple of work emails, twisted my hair, showered and went to bed at 9pm. Lights out and everything. For a few minutes I lay in the dark thinking, “This is so absurd. I know this is a mistake. I know there must be some other kind of way to deal with all of this.” But I just couldn’t will myself to get up and deal with one more minute of any of it last night.

I woke up a couple of hours later and the house was dark. I thought of all the things in our routine that I do to make sure she is ready for bed. The hair twisting, the water bottle filling, setting the alarm, closing the blinds, making sure the closet door is closed, fluffing her pillow, fluffing her bedding when I tuck her in, kissing her forehead, clicking the light, asking her to tell me “when” as I draw the door closed and putting up the doggie gate so The Furry One doesn’t go wandering.

I didn’t do any of it last night. It bothered me; I’m sure it bothered her. I missed kissing her forehead most of all.

I got the petitions from my attorney yesterday to finalize my adoption yesterday. Coincidence? Probably not. Of course I’ve already signed them; I need to drop them off at FedEx later today. I’m so excited about this next step. I didn’t even hesitate to sign the papers; mailing them seems to be another story. There’s just a lot of emotions and it all boils down to less than 10 sheets of paper and a check to my attorney.

Ten sheets of paper and there’s a 12 year old in my house. That’s so crazy.

Seeing that paperwork just has me…wondering what the hell I’m doing. Oh I’m not backing out; I’m all in, but it’s kind of like buying your first house or car and you love it and it’s so exciting, but you harbor questions about whether you can really handle this even though you’ve run the numbers a million times. Even though you are handling it.  You just wonder what the heck are you doing and how the heck did you end up here.

I’ve read that this emotional hiccup is normal and passes, but ugh. I can see, in the light of day, how my brain and heart just needed to shut down.  For some reason it was just too much.

This morning I had to deal with a scared kid who looked like Don King. I sent Hope to school rocking her first puff today. #irockroughandtuff

Her thoughts?

“I’m going to get picked on today.”

Hey, I did decorate her puff with a lovely flower. But yeah, I’ve got to do hair tonight.

Over breakfast, I prayed for peace over this house and I silently prayed for peace in my heart and patience…dump trucks of patience.

13 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Post Placement, Tween Parenting

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