Tag Archives: Parenting Teens

August 28, 2015

Being Productive

By AdoptiveBlackMom

For some reason I’ve been pondering my “things to do” lists excessively this week. It’s been busy at work and at home. Band camp is wrapping up, and Hope and I will be sliding into the last week of summer “vacation” this weekend. I’ve got some R&R sans Hope overnight on Saturday and have really tried to keep the rest of the weekend unplanned.

With each week of my life with Hope, I develop a greater appreciation for how hard parenting is and especially how hard single parenting is. In exchange for being the sole decision maker, I am the sole decision maker and sometimes, when big ish is happening, that sucks. Sometimes it’s not even about being a decision maker…sometimes I really just wish someone else was here to listen to Hope drone on about something I find coma-inducing. It’s hard.

I’m blessed, but this blessing has a rough side of the mountain.

Sometimes I feel like I accomplish nothing all day, every day, but I know that’s not true. Just look what I’ve managed this week:

Google Searches

  • Why does my dog eat poop?
  • How prevalent are heartworms in my area?
  • Should I take my poop eating dog to the vet?
  • Is clutter a reflection of emotional state (It can be)?
  • Can you still buy Calgon Bath Beads (you can, for a ridiculous $12!)?
  • Was the Louis Lester Band real? (Currently watching Dancing on the Edge on Netflix.)
  • Hope’s new high school’s colors

Pinterest Searches

  • Oreo balls (you need these in your life.)
  • Punctuation cheat sheets
  • Corn chowder recipes
  • Crockpot recipes
  • Cocktail recipes
  • Grammar worksheets
  • Natural hair tips
  • Other miscellaneous, random stuff.

Scheduling

  • Renewed Hope’s library book (failed to pay existing $9 for other late books)
  • Called Absurdly Hot Therapist a day early to reschedule appointment due to band related conflict only to find we missed the appointment which was really scheduled for yesterday. #fail
  • Volunteered to participate in several band parent related functions in hopes of logging my hours early so I don’t feel guilty for ditching them later in the semester.
  • Studied the fall calendar to see of Elihu and I could jet off to the Bahamas for a few days.
  • I called ahead to Costco for this week’s pizza order and got there right in time to get a chicken fresh off the rotisserie.
  • Made my iced coffee the night before three days this week.

Fitness & Self Care

  • Hit my fitbit fitness goal every day and generously exceeded it on most days.
  • Used my new faux Pilates toning bar thingy with the stretchy bands.
  • I fantasized about spiking my slurpees but didn’t.
  • Had a slurpee everyday
  • Only 3 glasses of wine this week, and they weren’t even tumbler sized.
  • I cooked every day.
  • I took walks at work every day.
  • I took Yappy to the dog park 3 days this week (he’s so fun to watch that I count this as fitness and self-care).

House Stuff

  • The AC in the living room is finally being repaired.
  • I painted the door to Hope’s room; still needs another coat.
  • I have picked up and tidied Hope’s room a little each morning because I realize that she simply can’t manage it this week.
  • After 2 weeks I tackled Yappy’s lair under my bed; the things I found under there are unspeakable.
  • I found Hope’s latest food hoarding stash.
  • We have nearly finished school shopping.
  • I wrote the band director a nasty gram about his comments about Hope’s hair not fitting under the band cap.
  • I only deleted 3 of the mazillion band parent emails.
  • I vacuumed and mopped.
  • I made desserts for the band camp finale dinner.
  • I put a fresh bottle of pinot gris in the fridge for Friday night.

I’m tired, a wee bit grumpy and looking forward to a lazy weekend. We are all way more productive than we probably think we are.

Life is hard. Parenting is hard. We all probably should give ourselves a bit of a break, right?

5 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

August 18, 2015

Tuesday

By AdoptiveBlackMom

5am: Alarm rings. I swear and mumble something like, “It CANNOT be 5am already.”

5:05am: Wake up Hope who never correctly sets her alarm clock. I implore her to get into the shower after clicking on the ceiling light.

5:07am: Lunch prep for the day.

5:15am: Crockpot and breakfast prep.

5:20am: Knock on Hope’s door again to encourage her to move.

5:25am: Get last night’s laundry out of the dryer. Look for something to wear.

5:26am: Open Hope’s door to find her back in bed with covers over her head. I feel no sympathy since she didn’t go to bed until after 11pm. I try not to screech when telling her to get into the shower NOW!

5:30am: Take Yappy out for morning walk.

5:40am: Run into Hope in the hallway coming out of the shower; remind her to make her bed.

5:43am: Shower.

5:50am: Get dressed.

5:55am: Start makeup and hair.

6:05am: Take my vitamins.

6:03am: Fill Yappy’s water and food dishes.

6:05am: Fill Hope’s thermos for band camp.

6:10am: Put permission slips and necessary checks on the table for Hope to turn in today.

6:12am: Trip over Yappy.

6:15am: Put buttered bread in the oven.

6:17am: Put bacon in the microwave.

6:20am: Start blending the fruit and veggie smoothie.

6:25am: Start putting the breakfast on the table.

6:26am: Retrieve something inedible from Yappy’s mouth.

6:27am: Call Hope for breakfast; ask if she made her bed to which she sharply replies, “Yeah.”

6:35am: Hope finally shows up for breakfast.

6:36am: I gobble down my breakfast.

6:40am: I get my iced coffee ready to go; put my lunch in my briefcase.

6:43am: I do a sweep of the house for major issues. I leave a note for the housekeeper since today is “magic Tuesday.” I pop Yappy in the bathroom for the day with some toys.

6:45am: I stand at the front door keys in hand. Hope is still on her first piece of toast, leisurely trying to tell me about the upperclassmen she met yesterday at band camp.

6:46am: I realize a new crush is brewing.

6:47am: I try not to sound impatient as I tell Hope to hurry up because we’re supposed to already be in the car at this point.

6:52am: Hope thinks she might finally be ready to go.

6:53am: Nope, she’s not.

6:54am: Nope, still not ready. My head is about to explode. I gnaw on my cheek and continue to stand at the front door with my keys and briefcase waiting, guzzling iced coffee.

6:55am: Finally, Hope meets me at the front door, babbling about some boy who looks like Jetpuff marshmallow crème.

6:57am: We are finally in the car, headed to a destination that is 13 minutes away, but we’re supposed to be there in 3 minutes.

Welcome to Tuesday.

3 Comments   |  tags: , | posted in Finalization Life

August 17, 2015

Style Evolution

By AdoptiveBlackMom

I am a girlie girl.  I wear mostly dresses or skirts. I love make up and usually put at least a little on every day.  I have a nice collection of jewelry, costume and good stuff.  I like shoes.  I doing my hair; well, it’s short again, but I enjoy the process of ensuring that it flatters my features.

I love being a woman, and I love being girlie.

Hope revels in being a bit of a tomboy.

I realized this weekend that the tomboy thing kinda bugs me.  Not really sure why, maybe because I was hoping she’d want to emulate me?  Not really, but maybe; I dunno.  I guess it could be that I never really thought about having a girl before Hope came along. Like many waiting parents, birth and adoptive, I just *knew* what I was going to get!!! A boy!! I swore I was going to adopt a boy.

And then Hope came into my life, and I couldn’t believe that I ever thought I would have had a boy.  I suppose it was then that the fantasy of manis and pedis with ruffles and sparkly feathers took up residence in my mind’s eye.

But alas, there are no ruffles and there are no sparkles to be seen anywhere.

I realized as we were school shopping during the last couple of weeks that Hope and I aren’t even in the same hemisphere when it comes to fashion.

Hope is still the round the way girl that I met almost two years ago. She can typically be found in jeans, a t-shirt, men’s high tops and not a stitch of jewelry, except maybe a name necklace Aunt M gave her earlier this summer.  She has a couple of dresses and reserves them for special occasions.  I finally convinced her to get a pair of black flats earlier this year. For the most part, she stays right in that fashion zone of non-fussy jeans and tees. I suppose I should be happier about that.  At least I’m not throwing clothes at her to put on, amirite?

Hope will be starting high school in a few weeks, and we’ve been out at the stores for two weekends in a row.  I find myself wandering through the stores, fantasizing about the cool outfits that Hope would look so fantastic in—seriously, she has a body most of us would kill for!  She hovers between a 4 and an 8 depending on the store.  The waist is a loose 4 while the hips are a comfy 6/8, so I occasionally have to have her jeans altered.  She’s tall and lanky with the body of a model and I desperately want to dress her.

And invariably, my daughter goes to items—colors, fabrics, prints, designs–that make me recoil. Like…Wha?  You actually want to wear that?  Outside?  With other people who can actually see you? With no invisibility cloak?????

I’ve taken to rarely offering much commentary because we quickly devolve into bickering.  Also, I found myself considering offering some comments this weekend based on whether or not the outfit would make her look cute for new potential crushes—and I totally put the brakes on that comment flying out of my mouth.  Since when did I, a devout feminista, have thoughts of encouraging my daughter to dress to make her look cute for the teen boys at her school.

What in the entire hell is happening to me??? Am I really that desperate for a style evolution that I will just throw my principles out the window for a cute pair of low heels and a flirty skirt?

(For the record, she would’ve really looked cute in the ensemble…if she had just given it a chance.)

Younger cousins counsel me that Hope is likely on the precipice of a style evolution, what with starting a new school and all. I hope so. But I also hope that we’ll be able to have fun shopping. Shopping is sooooo no fun.  I don’t want to earn mommy stripes by bickering about clothes or anxiously chewing on my cheek because I. CANNOT. BELIEVE. WHAT. SHE. IS PICKING. OUT.

And I suppose when I really think back I don’t have much room to talk.  I vaguely remember some jeans that had a bright aqua panel of lace down the sides of the legs and on the pockets. And, um, there *may* have been a matching jacket…I honestly can’t remember if I got the jacket or not.  My gentle sensibilities might’ve thought it was too much, what with all the neon aqua and all.

<eyeball roll at my own foolery>

In the midst of all of this, I think about how much things have changed in Hope’s “style” over 20 months.  At the time of placement there was a sweatshirt that I practically had to steal from her every few days to ensure that it was included in the laundry.  The outfits underneath were the always the same (jeans and tees), but everything was covered up by that sweatshirt.  She often wouldn’t even wear a coat; just the sweatshirt. It represented security and the past, things she knew, things she lost…that shirt meant and continues to mean a lot to her even though she hasn’t worn it in probably close to a year.

One day, I just looked up and noticed that she wasn’t wearing it anymore.  She didn’t need it anymore. She let it go. I don’t ever expect it to land in the Goodwill box, but she rarely even pulls it out anymore.

So, I guess Hope will continue to evolve, and I will have to just sit with it and be patient. And I suppose I should just accept it if she’s just a jeans and tee kinda  chick and never evolves past this style choice. Nothing wrong with that I guess. I do hope that at least we can switch to women’s fit t-shirts…they at least look nicer.

I’m going online now to browse something blingy, since I’m also guessing this leaves a little more budget for my own girlie purchases.

12 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , | posted in Finalization Life, Lessons Learned

August 7, 2015

Tortured Teen Years

By AdoptiveBlackMom

On my recent trip (because remember it was *not* a vacation), Sister K and I spent hours fondly reminiscing about our formative years. We laughed about all kinds of things. So much of what we thought was so serious back then serves as slapstick humorous now. It’s amazing what being an adult and gaining a lot of maturity can do for you.

Since adopting Hope I spend a lot of time pondering my adolescent years and the dumb things I did. The few times I snuck out. The boyfriends and crushes. Football and basketball games that were followed by an after party at the nearby McDonalds. The *ahem* underage drinking—I had a particular fondness for the blue curacao in Blue Motorcycles at a local dive bar where a friend’s older sister worked, and the occasional “puff, puff, pass.”. Dates and dances. Asymmetrical haircuts with a lot of crimping…man the late 80s and early 90s were something!

I remember rarely talking to my parents about my life during those years. I bumped heads with my mom a lot, and looking back, my dad and I are so much alike that I think it just made us repel like two magnets. In any case, I wouldn’t dream of talking to them the way that Hope talks to me.

I am amazed weekly by our little confabs and what she wants to share with me. It’s so crazy cool and at times terrifying since it can be shocking and I know it’s the edited version. Now, I won’t lie sometimes I have to fight hard to pay attention because the topics can be blindingly boring to me and there is a high, high risk for me glazing over and putting the following on a loop:

“Uh huh. You don’t say? Really? Noooooooo! Yeah? Hmmmm. Shut UP!”

One night this week we were up late talking about her crush life. It was so serious. I mean, really in her mind we are talking about her entire future!!! In my mind we are talking about maybe a week and a half from now…at most.

It’s kind of hard to stifle my internal chuckles, but I manage.

Our chat this week was really fun despite her tortured soul status. I was so moved by our girl talk that after she retired to her room for the night, I went to my sacred shelf and fetched one of my journals from high school.

I have all of my journals since high school. I keep them on a shelf. Before this week they were tied together with some twine with a note to give of one of my dearest friends in case something happened to me (it’s also in my will—just saying you gotta plan for that kinds stuff! Do you want it falling into just anybody’s hands??). I undid the twine and opened this book for the first time in at least 20 years. I started at the beginning; when I was going steady with the boy I spent most of my teen years obsessing over. I had reached my own love pinnacle by going steady with Bob*. About 10ish pages later he had broken up with me—unclear why—and the next 50+ pages I mourned the demise of the short lived relationship. You would have thought I lost a blood relative. (Side note: I ran into Bob a few years ago at a grocery store in Florida; he had dreads that started in the back of his head….#dodgedabullet)

I had other serious crushes throughout those pages, but they were all measured against Bob*. My writing was full of angst, anger, sadness, episodic joy (like when I got my wisdom teeth out before prom and dropped more than 10lbs!!!), and just teen messiness.

I documented a LOT of my teen life. Sometimes I think this is a lost art, what with social media. It is interesting to go back and look at my life when I was close to Hope’s age. It gives me perspective on her struggles and emotional turmoil. I suppose I could be a bit more sympathetic to her plight.

It’s easy to look back almost 30 years and think all of the shenanigans were silly and as a result be callous about Hope’s feelings now.

Reading my own words reminded me how hard it was and how I probably was miserable more than I was not during some of my teen years. I imagine that things are probably really hard for Hope given all the extra stuff she’s had to deal with before these moments.

I wish I could make it easier for her.

I suppose I can by just loving her harder and realizing when I need to listen and when I need to shut up and give her some space.

In the meantime, I’ll keep reading my old journal, hoping for more insights.

*Not his real name.

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Dealing with the Past, Lessons Learned

August 2, 2015

Natural Consequences

By AdoptiveBlackMom

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

I am a nag.

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

I nag Hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And on and on, until the break of dawn.

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

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

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

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

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

12 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Lessons Learned, Teen parenting

June 1, 2015

Finding a House

By AdoptiveBlackMom

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

It gave me a little time to breathe.

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

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

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

And so then we didn’t go back.

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

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

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

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

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

I breathed, and I smiled again.

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

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

missjay

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Um, yeah, sure!

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

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

Yeah! #fistpump

11 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Finalization Life, Other Stuff, Teen parenting

May 25, 2015

Weekend of Respite

By AdoptiveBlackMom

As planned I booked the sitter and a hotel room less than 5 miles from the house and fled for some much needed respite this weekend. In fact by 8:30pm each night, I was sitting in my jammies, swigging wine from a bottle in my room, contemplating my bedtime.

I slept about 10 hours the first night. I walked 3 miles the next morning while shopping. I slept 3 hours this afternoon—like back in the bed, under the covers, knocked out napping. I hit the elliptical for 45 minutes that evening. I ate carry out from Whole Paycheck [Foods], and, yes, drank wine straight from the bottle.

Gosh I needed that. I called Grammy the first evening and when she heard I napped she exclaimed, “That’s not even in your nature? You don’t nap.”

Yeah, I know. I’m exhausted.

I’ve noticed a few things while on this mini getaway.

I eat horribly when I’m stressed and exhausted. No wonder I’m at my highest weight ever. Ugh! I actually listened to my twisted mind tell myself I deserved a bunch of fatty foods (tasted good though). Today I started the Couch to 5K program. Let’s go.

My carpal tunnel has progressed to the point where I need to seriously consider surgery. How did I ignore the weakening of my hand? I mean, it’s really, really bad! Calling my doc this week.

I am really tired, like really tired. Must go to bed earlier.

The moment I get away from Hope, I actually miss her. Not enough to run home, mind you, but I do miss her, and I miss Yappy too.

I miss her but I know she was fine. I know because she texted me like 18 times and called me once. She was irritated because I could not resolve her minor problem, and she sat in silence on the phone furious when she realized that I was not going to hurry home to find the key for the bike lock. Nope, Hope, not gonna do it.

I was proud of myself that I did not buy her anything while out shopping. Admittedly, I saw a bunch of stuff I wanted to scoop up for her. I mean, the 8th grade prom is coming up! But nope didn’t buy her one thing.

I took care of me this weekend. I need to do this more often. I really do.

I see how parents get so run down; parenting, working, and running a household is exhausting. I like to think I keep up with a lot of stuff, but I forget all kinds of things—like Hope’s sports physical this past week. It didn’t make the master calendar and thus in my mind did not exist.

Cooking, cleaning, running errands, paying bills, packing lunches, emailing teachers, figuring out birth family stuff, figuring out adoption stuff, therapy appointments, medication management appointments, puppy school, band concerts, and oh yeah, my job!

I swear I don’t know how it all gets done because this isn’t even close to being an exhaustive (ironic) list. I often think it probably isn’t that much easier with a partner, but it seems like it certainly would help.

It’s hard to believe I did a better job of having respite last year than I have done this year. I can only say it’s the curse of being post-finalization and having some belief that things are “fine” now.

They aren’t.

Weekly, when I’m mindful, I see the evidence of Hope’s challenges, and although we have come a long way; there is so much further we must go.

I’m going to have to take a better care of myself if I’m going to help her face her challenges.

Two broken wheels on a bike never makes sense.

So, I’m hoping to really care for myself this summer. I’m going to try.

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

May 19, 2015

Recognizing Progress

By AdoptiveBlackMom

So, this past weekend I hit the wall. Hard. A dirty food container sent me careening off the cliff of parental crazy.

Totally lost my ish. Parenting swagger went right out the window. It was terrible. And I kinda felt bad about it; note that I only said “kinda.” I did not totally feel bad about it.

I have been incredibly patient with a bunch of crazy ish that Hope and I have endured lately. I kinda knew there was risk of me totally going off. It was epic, kinda like the New Year’s meltdown during which I damaged my vocal cords so badly I could hardly talk for a week.

At one point Hope threw her reliable taunt, her trump card: “I wish I never moved here,” Girl, whatever. I replied “I love you but some days I wish that too.” #boom #didIsaythatoutloud #notmyinsidevoice

Credit: giphy.com

Credit: giphy.com

Yeah, that’s how we got down on Saturday. Ugh. I did yell this time, not as much though. #improvement And I took 2 hours to cool off before going to talk to her calmly about the issues. Then I left the house for another two hours to go do some shopping and run errands.

This was not how I planned to spend my weekend. I’m pretty sure it is not how Hope intended to spend her weekend either. I prepped dinner and well, what’s the rule? Don’t go to bed angry? #thatscute

Yeah, eff that. Saturday I realized I gave all I had to give; there was nothing left in the tank but reptilian brain functionality. In other words I was only capable of being pissed. Instead of yelling I just went into Elsa mode.

Um, yeah, she had to be

Um, yeah, she had to be “color corrected.”
Credit is embedded.

Minimal speaking and the provision of basic necessities. I signed progress reports, prepared meals, visited a new church (including acting like Hope actually belonged to me, which was a serious effort in grace and charity, since I *literally* wanted to drop her off at the local Goodwill).

Sunday was still frigid.

Monday, I was still frosty, and Hope was running so late that she didn’t have time for breakfast so she picked up the lunch I prepped for her and we said nothing more than good bye, have a good day. I cooked burgers for dinner and hid my nose in the latest US Weekly while poor Hope tried several times to initiate conversation.

“Would you like to see my new band T-shirt?” Nope. “Sure.” Looks at shirt, nods.

“Ms. D says I’m distracted in math because I and sitting next to [her crush du jour].” “So change seats if you know this is a problem.”

“(Very dramatically) I’m sooooooo tired. I mean, I’m exhausted. I think my head feels hot.” “You should go to bed early; SOL testing starts tomorrow.”

And she did. In bed at 8pm. Not sure if she cried, but I know she was sad and the slightly recovering parts of my scattered mind thought to console her and warm my heart. But my reptilian brain convinced me I was fine and she was fine. I made sure her alarm was set, and I fetched myself a glass of pinot and the remote to watch Love and Hip Hop: ATL.

I ain’t checking for Hope.

And as other brain functions return, I know I should feel some kind of way about that, but don’t bother guilting me about icing my daughter out. As I sit here 4 days later, I still am having a difficult time turning on the functional systems necessary to be warmer. I simply do not have the capacity for more than minimal interaction or base level care-taking.

I am empty.

I remind myself a lot of Hope when she first moved in and was so overwhelmed. I simply cannot tolerate more. The thought of attempting a meaningful conversation has me reaching for the Ativan to stave off a panic attack.

I begged the sitter service for a sitter for this weekend. They found me one. So I’m booking me a hotel, and I’m flying the coop for two nights. I did not even invite Elihu because I don’t want to consider another human being’s needs for these two nights.

So, while I’m down for the count, I get a call from a new parent with my agency. She’s a little more than 3 weeks in. She’s still at the stage where you’re counting the days, minutes, seconds. She’s still at the stage (for us singles at least) where you take your calls in the furthest bathroom in the house, in the shower, kind of whispering because you are convinced that your new child has super power hearing and the punishment of finding out that you are talking about her is too great to even consider.

Credit: http://www.thedodo.com

She’s sleep deprived, teary and just deep, deep in the throes of a new child figuring out how to function in her new surroundings with the rudimentary skills she has.

We talked for an hour, about all kinds of stuff. I pulled out my best parenting swagger guidance. I pep rallied. I encouraged her to adopt my devious/creative parenting philosophies. #getgullywithit

I admitted that nearly 18 months after placement I wasn’t white knuckling it this week. I had actually dropped off the face of the cliff.

Admitting it was liberating for me, even if it is an uneasy admission that all’s not well in the kingdom. Time heals; it really does. But this ish is really hard. Teen issues are hard. Adoption issues are hard. These jokers together, overlapped and conflating is sheer madness.

But, I’m not hiding in my shower anymore. #PraisetheHolyHomeboy #wonthedoit And I know that there is life over the edge. I’ll be ok. Hope will be ok. We’ve actually survived way worse. Hell, we’ve survived nearly 18 months. Sometimes the Holy Homeboy sends you someone who mirrors your previous struggle just to remind you of how far you’ve progressed in that struggle.

This hiccup will pass. Of course it will pass with me in a hotel with luxurious bedding and room service while binge watching Vikings this weekend. I love Hope but I still need to get away from her for a few days. I think I’ll also treat myself to some new jammies, luxe of course!

9 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | posted in Finalization Life, Hard Stuff

May 16, 2015

A Journal

By AdoptiveBlackMom

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

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

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

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

So, I got a new journal.

20150516_191048

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

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

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

Sigh.

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

It really is exhausting; she is exhausting me.

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

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

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

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

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in Finalization Life, Hard Stuff, Teen parenting

May 9, 2015

The Band Clique

By AdoptiveBlackMom

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

Your hormones really kick in.

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

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

Cartoonish attempts at applying makeup abounds.

Sexuality is questioned.

There is a constant need to fit in and standout.

And it’s all misery inducing.

Ugh.

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

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

Talk about intersecting identities…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Literally.

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

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

I am so in!

OMG!

Literally.

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

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

Where do I belong? What am I doing?

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

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

That would be, like, so not cool.

Like, literally not cool at all.

5 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Finalization Life, Teen parenting

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