Tag Archives: parenting

June 18, 2012

Today is The Day

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

So… today, this happened:

We added a new pair of shoes to the blog.

This sentence is meaningless to most people, but to us, it means that today is The Day We Have Been Waiting For, for three years. Today we became the proud parents of a bouncing baby boy!

Actually, a bouncing toddler boy, and I really must emphasize the bouncing… lots and lots of bouncing from our little live wire!

Today we brought the boy home. We filled drawers with tiny shirts and pants, unpacked baby snacks and plastic bottles, played a rousing family game of mini-hockey, and waited for it to finally sink in.

There is no one waiting for him to come back at the end of the day. No more schedules and no more handoffs and no more shared parenting. Only friendship and occasional visits with those who have carried him this far and are an important part of his story.

But this is his home now. The boy is ours. And we are his.

Because forever family goes both ways.

This January, I joined the One Word project, choosing one word to pursue for the year (a sort of abbreviated new years resolution). My word for 2012: DREAM.

I expected I would be finding a new dream for my life, since adoption was so clearly not working out. I expected soul-searching and Plan B’s and making the best of things. I expected less… less than I wanted and less than I hoped for.

Instead, I get everything I dreamt of and more. Instead, I get wrestling matches and grass stains and 2 am wake up calls and sticky hugs. Instead, I am overwhelmed with the depth and width of this dream come true – our very own boy.

So here’s me, tired and nervous… and so very grateful to God and foster family and everyone who gave us today!

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in adoption

May 31, 2012

Temporary Sports Fan

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Today I am a sports fan.

This is not a sentence I anticipated writing in this blog. Unless it was some kind of punchline or something. My new fandom: Grade Six High Jump. It’s a highly underrated spectator sport.

Generally, I consider sports Glen’s department. Not because I’m sexist, because I just don’t like them. At all. Though, I think C looks pretty adorable in her little cleats and shin pads. But I’m not allowed to say that out loud.

Glen is quite happy to preside over soccer season. On wet January mornings he downgrades from “happy” to “determined-to-set-a-good-example-by-not-bitching-in-front-of-the-children-and-focusing-on-the-resorative-power-of-Tim-Horton’s-hot-chocolate.” Which is still pretty impressive in my book.

Likewise, Special Olympics is his gig. It is his special Daddy-daughter time and as a reward, he got to march in the BC Games opening parade with B last year. He basked in the reflected glory of her adorableness. Walking around waving at the crowd is DEFINITELY her event.

I drive to dance, spackle on the stage makeup and cement hair into a bun. I attend therapy sessions and play enunciating games until my “SSSSSSSS” is down right creepy. I dress up in costume, drill memory verses and teach sunday school.

I do not do sports.

Our division of labour has worked well for us. But today I was the only one who could attend L’s very first track meet. I wasn’t sure I could pull “Fan Mom” off.

Glen tells misty-eyed stories about a team mom and her infamous cowbell. She would bring it to their 6:why-the-hell-is-anyone-up-at-this-hour o’clock hockey games. Apparently, the unholy racket she created inspired them all to greatness. It seems that to the prepubescent boy annoyingly-loud-and-obnoxious is equated with a vast reservoir of maternal love.

I don’t do cow bells.

My alternative strategy: Capture The Moment. I was determined to get a great shot of her sailing over the bar. Sadly, I am a terrible photographer. Also, not a pressure player. So I totally fumbled the ball.

Bam! There’s two sports analogies in one paragraph – totally rocking this sports fan thing!

I did manage to get a picture of my own finger and a video of myself fiddling with the iPhone.

Jiggle, jiggle. Grimace. “Oh shoot, I missed it. Good job L!” It’s a memento she will no doubt cherish forever.

I fear my inner cheer of “Don’t be the worst, Don’t be the worst” MAY not have been Fan Mom worthy. But she did make it to the second round, so it must’ve worked. She knew she could/should have done better. She just wanted a ribbon, but she wasn’t utterly devastated.

I’m not sure if my Pep Talk was up to snuff. “I’m proud of you for being here. It’s hard to perform when people are watching. You’ll do even better next year… yadda, yadda, yadda.. Also, I don’t think your Dad ever made it over the bar…like… ever. So you are totally the best in our family.”

Maybe I’ll make her a Family Champion ribbon to hang on her wall, along with the picture of my finger.

She was thrilled when her friend won second place. She was glad to have made the team. She was simply content to be part of the day.

I’m not terribly concerned about whether she can get her 11-year-old butt over a plastic pole, but that’s something I’m cheering about. She’s a good sport and a team player. That’s a win too!

So here’s me, Fan Mom of the year. L! L! She’s our girl! If she can’t do it, that’s just as well!

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May 28, 2012

Obnoxious, Thy Name is Mommy

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’m pretty sure it’s time for me to start meeting new people. Oh, there’s nothing wrong with the ones I know, but most likely I’m getting on their nerves. Or very soon will.

The problem is, they’ve seen them. The pictures of my son. More than once. But I can’t help but think they should want to see again. We aren’t allowed to post them online so we are forced to disseminate these amazing images the old-fashioned way.

I showed the waitress at Red Robin.

I showed every staff member at school.

I whipped out my iPhone at church, at school, in waiting rooms, the dance show and even the grocery store.

“Have you ever seen a more adorable child than this… my new son?”

I can’t help it. I’m excited! After all, I am an expectant mom!

Unfortunately, that cute belly is just last nights Habanero and Lime Tortilla chips (far too delicious for my good). And I would rather you didn’t rub it, thank you very much. The glow = a new moisturizer I picked up for the summer (SPF 15, tinted for fair skin). The emotional outbursts… well, I can’t blame hormones (much), but it certainly seems to be part of the process.

Does this need I have to show him off demonstrate an unhealthy narcissism?

Possibly. I’m often embarrassed by the attention. Yet I still feel the need to talk about him, read and reread every document in his file, relive every minute with him, and show him off to the world.

Perhaps it’s a way of coping with a very sudden and somewhat unnatural family addition. We missed all of it: the pregnancy, the birth day, the cooing over a sweet newborn… We’re trying to catch up on missed years.

Most of all, it is a way to claim him as my own. Every time I say it out loud I confirm to the world, and myself, that he belongs with us: MY son. I’m trying to stop acting like the world, and the foster family, and the social workers are doing me a favour by letting me have him. I AM his Mom, and I am entitled to be.

I spend a lot of time feeling insecure and awkward, something I haven’t associated with parenting since that very first solo bath with my eldest child.

It’s difficult to “visit” my own child; to try to get to know him as he eyes me warily from across the room. So I try too hard and I fumble my way through familiar stories and every song or finger play seems SO very important and I probably am doing just fine but I question myself at every step and I hate to leave and I’m worried about stupid things and I’m kind of a neurotic mess… But then he gives me that huge grin and it seems like nothing.

And he loves his Daddy already! Reaching out for him, snuggling on his lap, following him down the hallway and waiting outside the bathroom door until he’s done. The feeling is quite mutual, and the two of them just laugh at nanny and foster mom and I for getting all teary and sappy about it.

Already with the eye rolling. “Girls…” Daddy shrugs. He’s just glad to finally have a compadre.

Don’t worry, I took some pictures. And a video. If you see me on the street I’ll be happy to show it to you. And to the neighbors. And the speech therapist. And for the first time I look forward to the J.W.’s knocking on our door.

So, thank you world for confirming it to me. That he is adorable (he really is). That he is precious. That he is mine.

So here’s me, and apparently my new catch phrase is “awww!” Hoping to bring him home for good in a couple of weeks…

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in adoption, parenting

May 24, 2012

P.S. Did I Mention…

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I have a terrible sense of direction. Even in familiar situations, I can get completely turned around. I can handle “Left” and “Right”, but if you try to tell me “East” or “West” it makes me laugh.

You may as well be speaking Mermish.

Once I picked a friend up from the train, got distracted talking, and turned the wrong way onto the highway. In my defense, it had been a long time since I’d seen him and we were having a Great Discussion. After 1 1/2 hours I realized that we should have been home by now; we had to turn around and didn’t get home until 3 hours later.

I’ve adapted. I am quick to ask for directions. I leave a little extra “getting lost” time when I go to a new place. I don’t panic, just calmly turn around again, and again, and again, until I finally get where I’m going. Or call Glen in tears, cursing the creators of GPS and the idiots at Mapquest, when I’m mostly just mad at myself.

We all have abilities AND disabilities. Some are more obvious than others, but everyone has both. There is no perfect human specimen (and if there was, who would want to be around such an obnoxious know-it-all?). We all try to maximize our strengths and struggle through our weaknesses. And often it is our struggles which form the Very Best Part of who we are. God likes to use our DISabilities most of all.

Our children are the same. We love them for Who They Are, not What They Can Do. In fact, their disabilities are part of their unique make up. And while we wish life were easier, we love even those parts too.

All our children have Special Needs.

L needs to be reminded to let things go, to take risks and to quit bugging her sister.

C needs help to regulate her emotions, to behave selflessly and to not let her sister bug her.

B takes longer to learn new things, has low muscle tone and a speech delay (aka – Down Syndrome).

S was born 3 months early, he has a rare genetic syndrome and a moderate hearing loss.

The truth is, we don’t know the extent of our new son’s special needs, but he does have them. We haven’t spoken about them to many people, because, to us, they are beside the point.

Oh, I know they will very much affect our lives. We have researched and continue to do so. He is doing AMAZINGLY WELL so far; his developmental assessments use words like “surprising” and “remarkable”, especially about his cognitive abilities. But he will have learning disabilities his whole life. He will take a longer to catch up in milestones. He may never be “just like everyone else.”

But so what?

He is our son and that is the most SPECIAL thing about him.

If you are person who prays, please pray for our boy tomorrow. He is having surgery on his skull. They assure us that this is a fairly common procedure with quick recovery time, but it is still upsetting. Especially since we can’t be there with him every step of the way. He needs familiar people around him and, as much as we love him already, we are strangers.

So here’s me, praying.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in adoption, special needs

May 22, 2012

Oh Happy Day!

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

It’s never taken me this long to figure out what to say. Ask anyone who knows me: I am rarely at a loss for words. Possibly never… until today.

There are no words. Just love, love, love…

Seeing my best friend at the end of the aisle.

Hearing my daughter’s cry for the first time.

Watching the new big sister put a gentle kiss on the baby’s head.

Celebrating those very first steps after years of physical therapy.

Holding my son in my arms for the first time!

We come bearing gifts. Not just for S, but for his 6-year-old foster-sister. They wave to us from the window. Be cool. Be cool. It’s a bizarre blind date. Please, please God make him like me!

We hug foster mom and then meet his nanny, a lovely woman who has been with him all his life. We sit around the living room while he hides his face in her neck, peeking out at us with a little grin.

He is leery of us at first, especially the noisy little girl who seems determined to hog the spotlight. He pulls out the book we had given him last week, the one with pictures of our house and each one of us. I wonder if he recognizes us?

Small talk, trying not to stare like a creepy stalker, getting to know the sweet family who was raising my son and keeping my hands to myself. Be cool. Be cool.

I will be content with the smiles. I will be content from a distance. I will not overwhelm this shy little man.

We play a game of ball – rolling it between all the sisters and parents – new and old. A strange kind of family. There is nothing natural about this situation, but it is not as awkward as I expected. We all love him. We all want what is best. And they are so welcoming to us. Even when B starts up with the tantrums.

Oh no! Not today, of all days! But that is the reason, I’m sure. She knows that changes are afoot. We have pictures of him everywhere. We set up his room yesterday. We talk about the new baby brother daily. And now we bring her into this strange situation, so many new people, each of us keyed up and excited. About someone else. Unacceptable to the one we sometimes tease is “Queen of the Universe.”

As the afternoon wears on, the kids begin to play more freely, talking amongst themselves, wandering from room to room. B and S have a few very sweet moments. We even catch some on film. And our little guy pushes the stroller all around the room, beaming at everyone. He has a smile that lights up the room.

He literally throws himself across the room, looking to all the world as if he is going to pitch right over, but miraculously staying upright. He moves faster than he should, an unsteady, almost drunken gait, each step fueled by pure determination. He buzzes around like a happy little bumble bee, checking in with his Foster Mom from time to time, touching her face, sitting on her lap, then back into the fray.

He chatters constantly. Occasionally there is a word we can understand – usually “ball.” He reminds me of the Swedish chef from the Muppets. So much to say. Such a happy boy.

But he doesn’t have ANY trouble making himself understood. B helped L make banana muffins this morning and they are a big hit. He eats everything put in front of him and demands more. After three picky eaters, this is a revelation. I can live like this.

Naturally, B says “No” to every question, insisting she does NOT want to eat, but clearly dying to. Sometimes her words express her feelings and not her wishes. At one point I end up taking her to a room on her own. We listen to some music, play just the two of us… the lovely nanny steps in to play with her so I can join the rest. Attention is attention. She is happy again.

Foster-sister has “helped” S make a picture for me. It has my name and several x’s and o’s. Some may see a scribble on a scrap of cardboard, but it looks like a masterpiece to me! I’m pretty fond of that kid too! I think we’ll adopt the lot of them.

All the kids find their way to the bedroom, bouncing a balloon between them. S plays with each of the girls. He lets C pick him up and carry him around. He holds L’s hand. When it is time to go, he joins the crowd by the front door.

I’m pretty sure the puddles and the Great Outdoors are the biggest draw, but we’ll take it. He lets Glen pick him up and hold him for pictures, while we get our shoes on. I am closest to the door. He leans over and jumps into my arms.

I was going to be content with smiles. I was going to be content just to see him. So holding him is such a gift!

He stays quite happily in my arms while we put his coat on and make our way outside. When we put him down he grabs my hand and we walk around the garden, splashing in puddles along the way.

It is so hard to say goodbye.

But I get to see him again tomorrow. So, I’ll reset my countdown clock right now.

This gospel song has been looping through my head today. Celebration. Grace. A gift we can never earn, but can’t live without. It seems appropriate.

So here’s me, happy.

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in adoption

May 15, 2012

Painting the Pink Room Green

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

She had her sulky face on. This is how it started. Petulant frown – check. Furrowed brow – check. Disgusted sneer – check.

Don’t ask me how she manages to sneer AND frown at the same time. It’s a natural talent. Thanks so much hereditary traits (yes, Glen, I’m looking at you).

“But it’s too crowded already…”

“We’re MUCH too busy…”

“But that is MY room…” (nevermind that she has been living in her NEW room for almost a year)

Then the kicker:

“Riley says that little brothers are a pain.”

And what do I know compared with Riley? Nine-year-old wisdom is unassailable… to other nine-year-olds, anyway. At the end of each conversation, she would grudgingly concede that maybe, just maybe mind you, it might be okay to have a little brother. She was willing to tolerate the situation, but wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.

Different words, different excuses, but each one a tentacle of the same monster. The I-Don’t-Like-Change-a-Saurus has been stalking our family for many years.

How We Feel About Change

She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t want it. And she sure as heck is not going to enjoy it.

Five-plus years after our move, her face still morphs into a mulish expression when we discuss the topic. It doesn’t matter that she LOVES her new room. Regardless of the fact that her BFF lives only 3 houses down. Completely overlooking the huge backyard and playroom. “I liked my old house. I don’t know why we had to move.”

She cried for weeks when we bought a new van (I did too, but mine were tears of joy and relief).

She orders exactly the same thing each time at the restaurants we frequent. Kraft Dinner at White Spot, really?! I can barely stand to allow it. But she likes what she likes, and frankly, it’s not worth the fight.

I knew this adoption would be hard for her to accept. Even a good change, but especially a challenging one is a hard pill for her to swallow. I knew, because she comes by it honestly. She is cut from the same cloth as her Dad, though he orders the burger platter with a ceasar salad. And, I’m not going to lie, I’m part of the club too (orange beef stir-fry, in case you were wondering).

She inherited a double dose of stuck-in-a-rut-itis. It’s hard to explain the angst and discomfort of change to you who fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, taking life as it comes with a smile of your face. You may wonder, “Why would he fish those raggedy old boxers out of the trash?” or “How come she chooses to stay home and sort laundry instead of joining an impromptu dinner party?”

Because there is nothing as comfortable as what we know. And what we expect. And what we’ve done a thousand times before.

That shiny new thing may be better: more fun, more interesting, more tasty, less drafty, even more life-affirming, but it is NEW, and there is nothing scarier than that.

What Made All the Difference

So, how did we turn it around? What was the twist that unlocked her sense of adventure? How did we get to the place where she is now: proudly displaying pictures of her new brother to everyone she meets, pestering us to find out when we can finally meet him and scrounging through the toy box to find the perfect stuffed monkey?

CONTROL

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. If change is frightening, control is soothing. She needed to be in charge of something, so this change would be HER choice, HER endeavor, and suddenly, HER adventure.

When Glen left on business a few weeks ago, he told us that we should paint the pink room. At the time it was a step of faith, trusting that this adoption would continue to move forward. Inching our way toward bringing him home.

I decided to turn the project over to the girls. A friend took B for the day and we set out on our mission. They were calling the shots.

First step: suss out the situation. I introduced them to a little obsession I like to call “Pintrest”. Before long, I had two opinionated interior designers debating the merits of blue vs. green. We discussed the concept of neutrals, but they discarded that ridiculous idea immediately (apparently it is not a concept that either 9 or 11-year-old girls embrace readily). They nodded their heads sagely as we discussed the need to decorate in increments – let him come home to a simple, uncluttered space and we will add to it over time.

We read through every e-mail from Foster Mom. He is a busy boy; he loves to climb and is into everything. He loves nature walks and playing outside in the dirt. And so, the concept of a jungle room was born.

When our little neighbour, the third member of their 3 Musketeers, came over with a dossier of ideas she had printed up, the ball really got rolling. Seeing how excited her friend was worked wonders for C’s enthusiasm.

Before I knew it, I found myself in an empty room with a full can of paint and three eager, though inexperienced, helpers. I’m not usually one to hand a loaded paint roller over to a 9-year-old (not even one with 10 and 11-year-old cheerleaders to advise her). But this was IMPORTANT. It was their first act as big sisters.

I wrote this in my journal that night:

Dear Little Brother

Your sisters painted the pink room green today. They looked at every single paint chip in Home Depot and picked this colour especially for you. They sorted through all the stuffies we own to find “jungle animals” for you to play with. And they set aside a few special ones that they knew you just HAD to have. Because all the babies in our family have had them.

They painted your room themselves, with help from our neighbour-friend P (who spends so much time with us she’s part of the family too). There were a few spills. There are more than a few touch-ups needed. And it doesn’t look exactly perfect.

Except it is. Because they did it for you. They were so careful. And they worked hard all day long. Your big sisters love you already and they can’t wait to show you your new room!

So here’s me, pretty sure that this blotchy green paint job is the best one I’ve ever seen.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in adoption, parenting

May 10, 2012

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Today I hid behind a rack of ugly drapes in the thrift store and wept. Not because I found a brand new Gap rain coat in L’s size for only $5.99. Well, not only that.

Today I saw a picture of my son for the first time.

It was a beautiful sight!

Obviously, this is not one of the actual pictures of S.
We are adopting through foster care
and are unable to post any pictures online.

My Little Possibility is coming home next month! He is 1 1/2 years old. And he is the one we’ve been waiting for.

Clearly, he will fit right in. Just like all my other children, he is insanely adorable! It is clear to me why they would NOT let us see a picture until we had finalized our decision. His huge smile and bright eyes are irresistible!

We were open to children of any race and prepared to throw ourselves into the fray of inter-racial politics and soothe the heartache of a child who “looks” adopted. But he looks just like us. He has the same colour hair as his sisters. The same colour eyes as his Dad – his new Dad, that is.

I can’t help but feel relieved that the only time it will be obvious to others that he is adopted will be the innate talents and personality traits that we clearly can’t take credit for (for example, great mechanical skill or a love of rap music). It’s just so much easier this way. Another part of me wants to declare to the world that we are part of this confusing, bittersweet, but miraculous world of adoption.

We took the family out for dinner. With plates and real silverware… super fancy for our crowd. They were so excited to see him for the first time, immediately asking to text the picture to friends and get copies to put up in their room. The people in the table behind us were not-so-subtly eavesdropping on our excited discussion, so I made sure to hold the picture up high enough for them to take a peek. It’s pretty exciting – of course the public is interested.

Then, over nachos and hamburgers, we discussed the name issue.

Long ago we decided to leave our adopted child’s name as it was. I totally understand why some people do not, but we felt that it is just one more change for a toddler who has established their identity. Also, it is one of the only things birth parents can give to their child and we want to respect that. I was bracing myself for something wretched or bizarre. What if it was “Albert”, like that kid in grade 1 who used to chew erasers and then stick them in people’s ears? Or poorly thought out like “Debree”, which sounds pretty until you realize it is also the word for garbage?

Fortunately, his first name is perfect for our family and we love it!

But we will add to it; so tonight we picked out a middle name. Still honouring his roots with the first name his birth Mom gave him, but claiming him as our own by adding a special family name. His middle name will be the same as Glen’s and his Dad’s; the first name of both my Dad and Glen’s grandfather. There will be no escape – he will be part of us, too. “S. William”

I immediately put his picture in the place of highest honour – the home screen of my iPhone. And I have spent the better part of the day staring at it. And showing everyone I meet.

This is my son.

So here’s me… Happy Mother’s Day to me!

13 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in adoption

May 3, 2012

You Can’t Make Me, But I Might Be Persuaded

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I made a critical parenting error several years ago. I let the hairdresser talk me into restraining B on my lap while she tried to cut her hair. Hmmm… a sharp pair of scissors + screaming, thrashing child = all kinds of stupid. Leaving with one side quite a bit shorter than the other was the best case scenario.

In retrospect, I’m sure the big chair, strange women in smocks and tray of tools on the shelf reminded her of the lab. A frequent flier in the blood test game, she was already pre-disposed to hate doctors, dentists and white leather recliners. Unfortunately, this experience added “Hair Cuts” to the list of things to despise. Her reaction from that day forward involved kicking, screaming and wedging her body in the doorway of every hair salon we tried to take her to.

The next few years, we trimmed as best we could at home. A full hair cut could take weeks to finish – a snip here and a snip there, trying to even it out as quickly as possible, before the crying and head thrashing began. Sitting up with a snack, in the bath… I even found myself sneaking into her bedroom at night with a pair of scissors (yes, after typing that out, I realize how creepy it sounds).

Finally, my hairdresser (and friend) Rhianna came to our rescue. We slowly introduced her to the idea. At first she simply came and watched me get my hair done. Then, watching her sisters and sitting in the chair. Once she sat up and had a clip put in her hair. Each visit ended on a positive note; that was the key. At the first sign of trouble, Rhianna backed off. It was a good experience.

We didn’t push her and one magical day, she sat up and had her bangs trimmed quite happily. And then the next time, the whole enchilada! All that attention from the ladies in the salon and, later, from everyone who appreciates her funky pixie “do” have done wonders. In the space of a year, she became not only cooperative, but THRILLED to get her hair cut.

Until today.

She was singing in the car, SO excited to see Miss Rhianna and telling me how “pitty” her haircut would be. But we hit a speed bump along the way. For some reason, though she has done it several times before, she decided she was NOT going to get her hair washed.

I told her that she had to get her hair washed (or even wet down) so that it could be cut. I made it very clear. She was unwilling to budge. I had chosen my battle.

I’m not opposed to the occasional change of mind as a parent, but I was sure we could get this done. I dug deep into my rather large arsenal of parental manipulation. Every lady in the place (including the one with foils in her hair) offered a suggestion, or 10. We tried it all.

I let her choose – which chair do you want to sit in? which shampoo? who do you want to do the washing? I gave her control – climb up yourself, tell me when you are ready, you hold the shampoo. I set the example – close watching while both sisters had their hair washed, then I stuck my own hair in the sink and even got it wet (I straightened my hair today, so this is one of the greatest examples of maternal love in the modern world). I talked it through – reason, logic, persuasion, outright begging. I offered bribes – chocolate granola bars, a new clip for her hair; I literally held a lollipop over her head to get her to put it back. Rhianna made it a game – lots of counting, tickling, fun things to look at. I played it cool – “it’s up to you, wash and cut or we can just go home,” then tried to look bored and unconcerned. I tried to make it happen – picked her up, put her in the chair and held her head back (for about 2 seconds when she started freaking). I let it go – “okay, let’s go home;” then she would call me back and get close, so very close to actual H2O, and it would all start again.

“I dunno. I dunno. I DON’T KNOW!” – her answer to every other question.

The other answer, her favourite word – “nnnnnnnoooooooo! NOOOOOOOOO! nnnnnnooooo!”

She didn’t want to get her hair wet, but she wanted to get her hair cut so badly.

If we hadn’t come so very close, so many times, I would have given up much sooner. As it was, she left with a wet shirt, 3 clumps of damp hair and a grumpy, grumpy mom. Only B can take 2 hours to NOT get a haircut.

All this on the same day as our IEP meeting with her teachers, where we discussed her recent bathroom strike. After months of staying dry, she now refuses to even try on a regular basis. At home, the bathroom is going well, but tooth brushing has become an epic battle of wills (and ultimately a headlock and quick swish, swish… since dental hygeine is not remotely optional). This is our life.

I try to remember that determination (a much nicer way to say stubborn) can be a strength for a child with special needs. I have no doubt she will need every little bit of it to succeed in this world. And I’m not going to lie, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. We’re pretty sure B’s personal motto is: You Can’t Make Me, But I Might Be Persuaded (also the title of a book by Cynthia Tobias).

If parenting B has taught me anything, it is this: There are certain things you CANNOT force a child to do, no matter how much you want to. There are tricks and techniques, but ultimately you cannot MAKE them eat, pee, blow their nose, sincerely apologize or, apparently, cooperate with the hairdresser.

So here’s me, and this is my inconvenient truth.

Can you think of anything else you cannot force anyone to do? Have you ever tried?

Also, thank you Rhianna, Kristen, Sasha and lady getting the foils in the next chair, for all your help this afternoon!

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May 1, 2012

Best Parenting Advice Ever!

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I have a stock of standard “things to say” when its my turn to sign the card.

Yearbook/Retirement: It was great getting to know you. Have a wonderful summer!

Birthday: I’m glad you were born. I hope you have a wonderful day! (pretty much the long version of “Happy Birthday”, but if you write really big, it takes up a lot more space)

Wedding: Marriage is awesome! Enjoy each other! (yes I realize this one sounds a bit smarmy, but hey, it’s honeymoon time)

Get well: Hang in there friend. We’re praying for you! (I may substitute buddy or kiddo if this is for a child – it’s so versatile)

These hallmark-ish sentiments have saved me time, and let’s face it, valuable brain space. Occasionally I am inspired and write an epistle, but most often, I’m just glad to pass the card on to the next person.

My New Baby comments have evolved over the years as I move through those necessary parenting phases: panicked, smug, overwhelmed, resigned, what-on-earth-is-that-up-your-nose, et cetera. These days I find myself parroting the advice my mom has always given. We’ll call this the “guess-she-sort-of-knew-what-she-was-talking-about-after-all” phase.

Trust your instincts.

It seemed like kind of a cop out to me, you know, back in the day when I knew so much. I mean, I had Formal Training in early childhood education, I had absorbed Scientific Knowledge, I had learned Godly Techniques… surely there was a right way to do every little thing and I was bound and determined to find it.

I have books on breast-feeding, potty training, sleep training, attachment parenting, public schools, homeschooling, un-schooling, sex talks, purity retreats, unplugging, becoming media-wise, healthy food, cheap food, freezing food and even food related crafts. I’ve read everything from Baby Wise to The Baby Whisperer, and a few times through the bible. I have gone to seminars, conferences, and retreats. I have surfed the internet, read blogs and listened to podcasts; WebMD is my home away from home. I’ve even gone back to school and studied Developmental Psychology.

I am constantly learning something new about parenting. Some of it is crap. Some of it works. Some of it just doesn’t feel right, even though it works.

And I find myself coming back to my Mom’s advice again and again. Despite having bottle fed me and put me to sleep ON MY STOMACH (*gasp of shock and horror*), she did a great job! Even without all these Important Resources.

Last week I was asked to give the talk at a church baby shower. I was psyched, because this little person is a long awaited miracle and it’s just so cool that he is here. I was also a little intimidated since my “expert” parenting advice would be presented to a group of friends who might be sitting behind us next week while I hiss cease and desist warnings to my girls who are attempting to irritate each other to death, while B has her finger deeply embedded in her nose, while I wipe breakfast off their faces with my thumb and little bit of spit (they LOVE that)… basically while my family makes it clear to all that I am not really an expert after all.

So I fell back on this, the best parenting advice I have ever gotten.

Trust your instincts.

God entrusted this child to Your care; no one knows them like you do. God gave you instincts, intuition, insights, even slightly less-than-scientific “gut feelings”. And God promises wisdom if you faithfully ask.

If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God,

who gives generously to all without finding fault,

and it will be given to you.

James 1:5

There are some for whom these instincts do not come naturally. Perhaps due to a difficult childhood, or other personal issues. They may need to develop and hone their instincts. You can LEARN to be a responsive parent.

Pray. Talk to other moms. Research. Find out what is healthy and safe. Read, read, read… It all helps. And it is important. But in the end, YOU discern what is best for your family.

Trust your instincts.

There is no such thing as the perfect parent. But there are many amazing, loving, and succesful parents out there, and they do not all fit into the same mold.

Each of my children have different needs. I have my own set of strengths and weaknesses. The circumstances of life change frequently. Our family has distinct values and priorities. We don’t fit into any mold.

Despite the assertions of many parenting systems, there is no single, foolproof method to “Grow Kids God’s Way”. If there were, our faith would be in a person or a formula. Instead, we trust the One who made us and put children in our care, by trusting our instincts.

So here’s me, Growing Kids Christie’s Way. Cause that’s my job.

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in parenting

April 12, 2012

My Little Possibility

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Today you are a possibility.

Not even a probability.

A might.

A maybe.

A hope for what could be.

A month ago, I didn’t see you coming. After almost 3 years of waiting and wondering, we were ready to throw in the towel. I was finally prepared to give you up.

“Time to dream new dreams,” I said. I told myself I was ready to stop treading water. It was time to get on with my life. We considered telling them to count us out entirely. But some small shred of hope said, “what can it hurt?”

But I thought it was done. I grieved for you, my little possibility. There were tears and anger and numb acceptance. Some days I didn’t think of you at all. But every time I thought I had put you behind me, the cycle would start again.

It wasn’t pretty.

I choked on the hurt when mother and infant sat in front of us at church. I forced myself to pack up the baby toys, but I couldn’t give them away. The box is still there on the shelf. I put off meeting with an academic advisor or committing to a major. As much as I am enjoying school, it is not what I want to be doing right now.

I started praying again, like I used to during the dark days. Not out of routine, but because I need to. To get through the day. To keep my emotions in check. To remember how much I have been given. This is one good thing about grief. I am never closer to God than during times like these.

I knew it would take a long time to forget.

Then we got an unexpected email from our social worker. And you appeared on the horizon. But we had been there before and nothing had come of it. We threw our hat in the ring and carried on with life.

Then we heard from YOUR social worker. And the speculation begins… what exactly does “very excited about a possible match” mean? Did she say “very”? What percentage of possible are we talking? We have so many questions.

For the first time you have a name. There is a lot to be done. We have to know and understand and make sure that we are the right family for you. And so do they.

I am trying, desperately trying, to play it cool. Is it possible to be cool if you have to desperately try for it?

Because I want to bring you home. I want snips and snails and puppy dog tails. I want happily ever happy. I even want messy, difficult, overwhelming reality. As long as you can be mine.

So here’s me, praying that our little possibility will someday be our son.

13 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in adoption