The Race Card

She did it.
My daughter, she played the race card.
I guess I knew it was coming.
And it's not like we haven't had all the usual discussions over the years, comparing skin tones, talking about history and social aspects of racism historically and now, current events etc...
So I was kinda hoping, in my heart of hearts, to get a "bie," a pass, on this particular, barbed, targeted lob.
Oh foolish me.
Because this is part of, a huge part of, transracial adoption.
Some will argue that it shouldn't be, that we should be 'colorblind.'
To which I say, "Baloney."
You can't be colorblind if you have a multiracial family.
You shouldn't be colorblind any way; but you sure better not be if you are raising a family of many hues.
Because if you are a white mom and are raising kids who have skin color that is different: brown, nutmeg, mahogany, ebony, dark, light, pink….whatever…..then you have to deal.

It's easy to deal with when they are little and adorable and just so darn cute.
But, what's so easy to ignore is the looming fact that kids grow up, into the people they are meant to be, and if you have a brown skinned baby, that person is going to be a brown skinned teen and adult.
As they should and will.  
And then you are going to, not might, not could, but you WILL get to deal with a teen that looks different than you.
Overstated, you think?
Think again.
It might seem like nothing, when that teen is still a baby or toddler and looks different than  you.
It might thrillingly radical or like you are making a stand for something, that we are all God's children and such.  Well, yah…….
And might not seem like a big deal since you loooong ago, as a wee one, knit this now teen into your heart and soul and very fiber of your being and she's just your kid who has a messy room and hates math but makes you laugh with the way she shuffles in to say goodnight.
But this teen is gonna be a teen with teen attitudes and fussing and pushing boundaries and all the usual teen standard issue, expected, and even on some levels necessary, drama.
But this teen, she's got a little extra ammunition.
And if you don't know it yet, you will soon enough…but teens, they like to stockpile what they can -ammunition - to lob at you when they are irritated or angry or feel like they are being unjustly asked to do, oh, anything.  Like dishes or homework or chores or ________ (insert request here).

Our kids are savvy.
By which I mean, kids these days, are very savvy and tuned in to the culture at large.
I swear they have a usb port somewhere on their person that is a direct connection to the www.worldOteendom……that feeds them a constant stream of teen and/or early adult content somehow.
This is to say that, no matter how limited and guarded you think you are about keeping your kids sheltered from the pervasive cultural attitudes that float about, from the net, from tv maybe, from MTV, whatever….some of it does drift in, more than you realize.

This teen, she's actually a PREteen.
But she knows enough to know she could play the race card, she could give it a try if she's angry.
So she did.
I asked her to fold her laundry.
I know!
Horrible.
She was so angry that she stomped and shouted at me, "Just because I am black doesn't make me your slave."
"What?" I said.
"You heard me," she said, arms crossed glaring.
"Nice try," I said. And I should'a then just probably repeated, "So, fold your laundry please now," and walked away.
But I"m not that good.
So, I said, instead, "Come with me."
And we went to talk to the cool headed Dad, who never really gets his buttons pushed by the girls (the boys did that, not so much the girls…you can see the fun we have ahead with four teen girls at home now, but I digress).  

I made her repeat her declaration; mumbled this time.
He gazed at her and said, "Nice try."
Then he said, calmly and well, "You are our daughter. Ever. Period. You are the daughter I walked the floors with when you were swaddled.   You are the daughter we have kissed and fed and tickled and hauled to sports and schools and kissed your booboos and wiped your tears.  You are the daughter who is part of the team of this family and who has responsibilities because you are old enough to have them, along with the privileges that go along with that too.  You have brown skin and I have white skin and God gave you to us as our daughter, and us to you as parents."
Now, please go fold your laundry."

And so she did.
The race card.
Prepare for it.
It's gonna happen.
This won't be the last time, I'm quite sure.
Maybe it shouldn't even be, maybe I shouldn't wish for it to be the last time.
I write this post not to show that we did any good job with this fired lob.
I'm sure we could'a should'a handled it better and/or differently.
I write this post because so many families now have adopted transracially, and so many of those families still have only smalls.
It's easy to forget or dismiss the reality that you are charged with raising every child to adulthood, not just into kindergarden and we are charged with teaching them how to navigate this world as a person of color.
And it's not a nothing.
The world is not colorblind.
Not only should we as parents not be so, but we need to remember, always, that our kids are not either.

Mamalita

I was recently sent this book to read and review, go figure, and yeah it surprised me too that they approached me.  I guess they figured that we adoptive mom's can relate...and we can; although we don't always agree of course.
I think I was supposed to pound out this review in a much more timely manner, sorry Ms. O'Dwyer and publicist.  Life got in the way.  As a mom, much less an adoptive mom, I know you understand that.
However, in the spirit of 'better late than never," here it is:

I got the book in the mail, after promptly forgetting that they were sending it to me:
Mamalita, An Adoption Memoir, by Jessica O'Dwyer.

So, when I opened the mailer, it was a happy surprise; who wouldn't be happy with a new book in the mail?  I got the pleasure of anticipating sitting down to read and hopefully savor this book.  Here is the jacket description:

"Mamalita is the true story of an ordinary American woman’s quest to adopt a baby girl against almost insurmountable odds in Guatemala."   

Now, to be honest, I wasn't sure about this book to start.  Obviously, I am an adoptive mom and have adopted here in the states as well as internationally, from Ethiopia.  That makes my family a multiracial, multicultural blended up  mix of people.  It also makes me place adoption and adoption issues pretty high on my personal radar.  All this is to say that I had kind of tangentially followed the roller coaster of the adoption world in Guatemala over the  years, but from afar (no pun intended), and I was a little hesitant to read this memoir.  I feared a skewed perspective or an unfair or romanticized treatment of what was and is still an extremely complicated, layered, and challenging topic.  International adoption is not for the faint of heart, nor is it for the unscrupulous.   You must have hard eyes to see and hold a steady gaze at the roller coaster of process; making sure along the way that your desires are jiving with foundational ethics, preferably those laid out by the Hague Convention.

So, with that disclaimer and mindset, I began.  I found this book honest and compelling.  I didn't find it a read that I wanted to shout to all my friends to go pick up, quick.  Because I was and still am kind of conflicted about it, the whole seamy side of adoption and the pervasiveness of it in Guatemala.  It took me a bit to come to a kind of reading rapport for the author, largely due to my aforementioned guard regarding Guatemalan adoptions.  However, as the story continued I found myself appreciating her honesty and the clear eyes she used to see and describe both the beauty and the hardships in Guatemalan adoption. 

Many of her feelings and lurches and loops are common ground within the adoption world; they mirror my own and most other mom's passion and desperate need for information, control, and the worry as well as the exhilaration.  What I found most compelling was Ms O'Dwyer's choice to move to Guatemala, to stay with her daughter and  make sure the process not only proceeded rather than stalled, but to find the cracks in the process, to get the paperwork done through the ever-changing officials, to track down her daughter's birthmom.

Adoption is a system that can lend towards corruption; it only takes a few greedy unscrupulous souls to get involved.  This book exposes that seamy side and, as well, exposes how near we all can come to it, even unwittingly, if we but close our eyes with fatigue and temptation. O'Dwyer was willing to dump her facilitator, ask hard questions about her daughter's story, and learn how to finish the job through the shifting channels, willing to live in country and care for her daughter as long as it took.  She didn't live completely immersed in the culture, she was part of an oddball subculture of PAP's, potential adoptive parents.  I'm not sure how she, as a white female foreigner, could have done anything different.  It's not possible to blend in,  and O'Dwyer's navigation of these tricky cross cultural waters are some of the most interesting parts of this book.  She came to a depth of appreciation for her daughter's country and culture that few adoptive parents actually do; even as she missed her  home and life in the States and endured frustration and difficulties as a foreign woman, living alone. 

Mamalita is an honest, frank retelling of the Guatemalan adoption process: the good, the bad, the ugly. It is a book that might well engender some controversy in this heated climate of international adoption.  If only because of that, it is worth a read.   It shows us the near precipice where desire, desperation, and truth stand and take stock of each other. I still think about this book because it reveals the complexities of this difficult process, adoption, and it's not a comfortable thing; nor should it be.  O'Dwyer shows us the heart of a mother, in this case, an adoptive mother and how she will literally go the distance and move the map of her home to go get her child.

Little Big Love...

It's the feast of the Little Flower: St. Therese of Liseaux!

Which means it's also my Marti's feast day: Marta Therese (get the connection?).

St Therese is one of the fav's at our house, you all know that.  I've written about her many times, and posted multiple novenas to her here on blog.  But whether you want to talk about her being a Doctor of the Church; known for her solid writing/teaching and doctrinal insight, or whether you want to talk about her humble "Little Way"......St Therese is about Love. 

And wadda ya know...so is our Faith. So is God.  So, should be, myself. 

And I kinda always thought we added "Therese" to our Marta's name because we prayed novena's to this saint on Marta's behalf.  We hit St. Therese up for many prayers to bring our girl home and get her healthy.  St. Therese had TB too.  St. Therese wasn't highly regarded among the other nuns in her convent.  She was thought to be slow or dim, she was often overlooked, she was young, she was small.  She was one of God's "little ones." 
And so is our Marta, to be sure...one of God's "little ones."
If I know anything, I know that.
 
But really....
I am learning, every single blooming day, that I think we were compelled to add "Therese" to Marta's name also because this saint teaches us how to love. 
In the little things. 
Which of course, means that they are the very biggest things. 
Because this saint struggled all her life to die to her self and her pride and her desires so she could love Jesus better. 

And she ultimately was given the grace of real understanding of the biggest simplest secret: that the Love was waiting for her.  She didn't have to scale great heights, or go on far missions, or accomplish amazing feats to prove her love.  All she had to do was lift up her arms(heart) and open herself to Love.  And, um, do it.  Love.  Love in the little things.  Every day.  The next thing, right in front of her.  Do the chore before her without complaint.  Smile at the irritating Sister and bite her tongue.  Not correct the error of someone being catty, but let it roll off her back. 
It wasn't easy for her, she didn't possess any "saintly" or superhuman patience:

"I understood how easy it is to become all wrapped up on self, forgetting entirely the sublime goal of one's calling."

Rather she figured out that:

"...perfection consists in doing God's will, in being what he wills us to be."

and

"We can do no good when we seek our self."

Or, in other terms, to be us, and to love. 
Period.

And yeah, it sounds so simple.  Like stupid simple, right? 
Well, yup, it does.  So why do I fail and kick and fuss and gripe against it every blooming day?
Because it's the hardest most profound thing we can do, any day, any moment. 
And yet, also the most sublime and simplest. 

To bring this ramble back around...and so it is with  my Marta Therese. 
She too, teaches me how to love. Really. 
Really love.
Because it can be so hard with her.  Because she is small and suffers the after-effects of the TB that ravaged her. Because it's still sometimes strange and it's still often hard and it's sometimes ridiculously complicated.  Because I am slow and am ridiculously complicated and strange. Because she has delays and it makes things very slow and often limited. 
But oh, I know, she is aptly named. 
She is one of the small ones. 
And she loves, to the best of her ability. 
And I am called to love her. 
And sometimes that is simply an act of will. 
And sometimes it is with a tired fuss.
And sometimes it is with a stabbing intake of breath, glimpsing her for a moment as God does. 
He sent me one of his special ones, to give me remedial lessons. 
Because I too am slow.
And need so  much to learn to truly really love. 
The little way.  
It's so big.  

So today we celebrate, I am thinking upon, St. Therese of Liseaux, and her intentions: 

 "I ask Jesus to draw me into the flames of his love, to unite me so closely to him that he live and act in me."

And I am asking her for her prayers, for our Marti Therese, my family,  and for me. 
So that I can lift up my arms and  heart, and love better, more truly, all those littles ones given to me.....eight of them. 

See, remedial lessons, lifelong....me. 
Doh. 
And so I can say, "Thank you, here I am Love, lift me up." 

International Adoption Conference this weekend!

This is where I will be this Saturday!
It's local and has some great forums and best of all, my dear pal and social worker, Amanda Heiderich, is the keynote speaker!
Whoohoo!
Not to be missed.
It's called "International Adoption: What to expect when you leave the airport."

The forums are on:
Older Child Adoptions
Trans Racial and Trans Cultural Adoptions
Special Needs
A Parent's Perspective

I know! How am I gonna choose?!  Every one, right up my alley.  Oy....choices choices.
Anyhow, I've arranged the sitters (thank you Olivia and Tom) and I'm going. I'm excited, I'm gonna Tivo the ND game and go to the conference and clap really loud for Amanda too, because everyone else will be doing the same thing.  She is terrific and a great resource for anyone who has interest in these topics.  This should be a great day of info and hopefully hanging out with interesting folks who are standing on the same page....I"m really looking forward to it!


Be there or be square!
{No, that doesn't date me....all the really cool hip people are saying that again!}

American Girl

No, not THAT American Girl...we have had plenty enough of those thank you very much (and I've found less expensive alternatives, fyi...).

Rather, we have an American Girl for one year, today.
Today is the one  year anniversary of our arrival home, in the USA, with our Marti.
Today, one year ago, is the day she became, immediately a US Citizen.
{IR-3 Visa's are cool that way. }

 (ok...a looong trip home and I was sick and we were fried....don't judge)

 This day was long awaited and anticipated and much fought for.
Some of you know how we were delayed and how her visa was held up, due to now revised (again) visa requirements for adopted children overseas.
Suffice it to say, this homecoming was much longed for, for us all.
We needed to get her home, we needed to get home from Ethiopia...because I was so sick and we had littles at home too, plus she just needed to move into this new part of her life instead of being held up so long.

And so, here we are.
One whole year.
American Girl.

She's been lots of new places now.
At first it was all so new and different, even the grocery store simply was mind boggling.
Now, she is used to much of it here...enough to even be able to complain about the hard parts (school vaccination rules + stupid, no fun, ouch).
And that is what we call blessed progress.
We will take it.

It will take a lifetime for Marta to learn about America, and even then she will still be Ethiopian. 
She is a girl of two countries that she will call home and that will shape her.

For tonight, we celebrate this anniversary.
It's marked on the calendar and you know what she's asking for.......that's right:

Cake!

"Can I go with you?"

 

Lately, Gabriel has developed a new intensity.  Some of that is just standard issue three year old boundary testing.   However, it occurred to me, today (because I am a slow study) that part of this intensity is actually different from my other kids when they were three.  There is an undercurrent of intensity to his relentless pursuit to "go."  He wants to go.  Everywhere. Nothing makes him happier or can get a grin and a jig out of him faster than being told, "You bet, let's go."

We've all been thinking that it is just "going" for the minor adventures that are "going" places in our busy days.  But, as I drove today to Sarah's school for a class project (Living museum, very cute), I was stewing about Gabey and his kind of desperate begging to "Go with you."  Especially when it comes to myself and his dad, Gabey is desperate to go.  With us.  Anywhere.  Everywhere. 

Today it finally dawned on me, and you could argue that I'm overstating it, but my gut thinks otherwise.  Knows better.  Gabey IS desperate to "Go." He has a much more intense need to go with us, beyond your standard three year old desire to go and be with their parents.  His is different.  His is, after all, an adoption remnant.  It's very easy to think that he's been  home two years now, and thus he is over all his adjustment.  I know better.  But even so, daily life sweeps a lot of latent stuff off the radar.  That's just how it plays...until it smacks you upside the head or you run into a wall.  {Well, in  my house, that's how it plays...we're a fast moving place.}  

This need has a root. 

Gabriel was left.  

He was left at eleven months. 

It wasn't just being left on the side of the road.  

But he was taken to an orphanage, in a planned relinquishment by his great uncle.  

Goodbyes were said.  

And he was left.  

And he was old enough to not understand. 

Not even a little. 
But old enough to be confused and scared and missing his family.

And I can see in his pictures from that time how closed his face was. 

The immediate shock of that event is submerged by those pics, maybe, but it still shows.  

 

It's so easy to forget that he experienced that. And it imprinted.  And it's deep and it's primal.  A primal scar.  And sometimes, I see a glimpse of it, when he cries out in his sleep, "Don't leave me!" Or, when, now, every day, he clings and grasps and holds on and says, "Can I go with you?"  He will say it twenty times in a row, he does not want to take no for an answer.  Sometimes we have to say no. 

But now, as I realize what is under that relentless questioning desire and need, I am saying more often, "Yes. You betcha."  

And then I get this, the sweetest smile on the sweetest face.  

And my heart swells right up to my own grin.   

 "Yes, my Gabey, you can go with me.  Forever."

Turn-keys: Transitions

 Photo by Danielle, from Domodossola, Italia, from Wikimedia Commons

Ok, so I've written about a couple of turn-keys in adoption adjustment, here, and here, and here. 
There is another key in the process of adjusting in an adoption.  {Now, if you haven't adopted older kids, a lot of this might just be gabble to you...I know.  And I will put up this disclaimer...this will be disjointed due to my hard to pin down thoughts but also due to the assault on my mind from allergies, and my muzzy head which swings back around to my meandering thoughts. Fair warning.  But if you have adopted older child, I think you will probably understand what I'm talking about.}
It's a player in all adoptions but I'd say, in my experience, it is a very BIG player in older child adoption.   And really, you could quite fairly say it's more of a pass key than a turn-key.  But it is a turn-key in that I don't think you get in, make progress, continue to connect, without this:
Transitions.

Another simple term.
Transition.
To go from one state to another, one place to another, a change on some level.
Transitions are hard.
Heck, transitions mean change and change can be hard on all levels, for any or all of us.
Lots of kids have problems with change, transitions, big or small.
How often have you had to give the "five minute warning" that it's gonna be time to go?
Like, every day, right?
Right then, you see what I mean. 

In adoption adjustment, that term comes in all shapes and sizes and forms.
Because adoption is pretty much NOTHING BUT transition.  
It's all transition, all the time.
Whew, no wonder it's hard!
No wonder we are all so tired!

Of course there are all the obvious, literal transitions:
from the past to the future,
from then to now,
from first family to second,
to new ways,
new families,
new language possibly,
new culture,
new city and country,
new place, new people.
With no time out to breath the familiar.

But the transitions that are the turn keys, the ones that open the doors or close them shut, are usually the emotional transitions.  Yeah, swinging emotions and moods. And those, well, those are complicated.

The parent trying to help a newly or recently adopted child, especially an older child, adjust faces a steep and swift learning curve for navigating these emotional transitions.  And there are NO books or articles or experts who can guide  you precisely through them.

But those emotional transitions, the swings, pack a wallop.
And I guess the reason I want to post on it is that it's just SO easy to get blindsided by them.
By which I mean, and this is one of those keys:  Transition comes at a cost.

I think that it is best to know that MOST of the time, it seems, one step forward, or two, or more, will almost always be followed with the two step cha cha back.
Sometimes giant steps backwards, sometimes, if you're lucky, only small ones.
But those steps aren't only simple regressions, they can be emotional spirals of grief or anger or dark deep untouchable mood or acting out.
Because that's how it plays, it seems.

Maybe those steps forward, are just kind of so scary, way deep down where it can't be touched or explained completely, that the only thing that makes sense somehow is to follow the trigger, ride the swing down.
It's primal reaction in a way.
It can't be just halted.
If it could, oh I think, I know,  all of us would.
Halt it.
But it can't.
It seems that it has to be moved through.

And it's in the moving through it, the swinging through it, that the healing comes. 
Hard to remember...but it is.
That's why it's a key.
A passkey AND a turn-key.
Emotional transition.
Without that emotional, moving, transitioning, through it, they can't get beyond it.
It will snag you, them.
It has to be passed through and over and beyond.
But sometimes it has to be done again and again.
Yes, swung through again and again.
Yes, it's exhausting.
For the them, for you, for everyone.

Luckily, a key is made of strong stuff.
And it works to turn those locks, to tumble them...as many times as necessary.

Then, at some point, different for each emotional scar or hard place, for each child, that key finally turns, tumbles open that lock for good.
The swinging can stop.

We aren't there yet on most of these transitions.
We are still swinging.
But I trust, and pray, that sooner or later (hopefully sooner), that key will turn that lock for good.
And my child from hard places can leap out of that swing, flying free from the spiraling hard emotions.

I'll be waiting to catch her and laugh with her at the giddy free air of it.

Until then, I hang on tight to the key, holding her, holding on to the swing.
Waiting for that leap.

Detours

This is a post about detours.

***

And apropos of this theme, I have a detour before I start blathering on about detours:

As I've been stewing about this post, this subject...a great lot of um, stuff (this is a G rated blog, right? right) has hit the fan in the Ethiopian adoption world. And I have a fair bit of thoughts about it rumbling through my brain...but those are for another post(s). {New requirements, across the board, for all families to travel twice - complicated and difficult and possibly good in the long run but a huge hurdle in the short for so many} For the moment, I offer my condolences and my ears to hear and heart to hurt for all of the children and families affected - for the cold slap in the face of worry that this news brings. But again, it's too easy to slide into the tempest of this news and start fretting aloud and repeating everyone else's words, and those who are in it, right now. And I'm not. I don't own those words. So I won't go there, not today. Maybe another day, ya never know! But I will probably also go off on a tangent or two...as I said, this just opens up so much fodder for pondering and processing, for me anyhow, which means, of course, for you!

***
Back to current post:
***

Anyhooo. As I said, I've been stewing about detours. It's hard to write all this because it's close. It carves right under that spot in your chest, right in tight to your heart and lungs. So if you cut too close you kind of gasp and can't breath, and you hold your breath as you talk closer to it, so that you can be really careful. Because you need to protect your own heart and also the hearts and breathing of the ones you love. I don't know, it's hard to make this make sense. I know I'm not making sense, and yet, this disclaimer must be put out first. Because its a raw spot. But it's also a spot that needs to toughen up, heal, move forward and that only happens by bringing it out to the light and looking at it, and thus, this post.

Right. Now that most have clicked away out of confusion and impatience, it's just us friends. Hey there.

So. A few times in my life, parenting life mostly, I have had some detours.
Scratch that: Ok, any life, my life, yours, we all have detours because no life goes as we initially plan it. Then it would be dull and boring and unsatisfying.

But I'm talking about the hard turn detours. The ones that have you ending up somewhere you never dreamed, parenting wise. Others have written beautifully about all this. I don't seem to be able to (again, hence this post). Probably the best known piece on this is here, known as "Welcome to Holland."

So, I've been to Holland, figuratively speaking. And you know, while the place has it has it's beauties, it's still a tough landing. And we have found ourselves detoured there once again, recently. And you know, this "Holland" is a complicated place. And like all control freaks (me), that detour thing?.....it makes you (ok, me) want to kick and fuss and whine.

Because I don't like detours....because they weren't in "THE PLAN." And that PLAN, well, we are, were, supposed to follow it. I mean, I had it all mapped out, you know? Knew where the bumps were, the turns, the scenic spots. Knew the time to get to our destination, and the best roads to follow. Heck, had even traveled it once or twice before. And when you are sent on a detour, even to somewhere with it's own intrinsic beauty, well, we control freaks kind of um, freak out a bit. Maybe we get frantic, or very quiet, or very deeply indigo blue. Maybe we stop trusting. Maybe we question if we ever did. Or do. Maybe we stop looking out, because the view has changed. And we get stuck with the rut of "but." As in, "But it was supposed to be Italy, not Holland." Or, "But, it was supposed to be in the PLAN, page 42."

And maybe it takes some time to realize that those detours are for us.

Those detours are for us.

Those detours are given to us by God himself.
Not as a punishment (because they are challenging, sometimes very hard, so it is easy to mistake them as such).
But as a gift.
A gift.

To call us back to Him.

To love Him better, right now.

To call us out of ourselves.

To save us from ourselves.

Those detours are not to deprive us/me of Italy.
That detour, this Holland, is to break our/my grasp on my own deadly vision: Us. Ok, me.

Finally, I realize that my struggle with this detour is me.
Of course.
Ever.

It has been ever so painfully shown to me (thank you Fr. Luke, ouch) that struggle is in my unwillingness to look....beyond my own miserable me. My plan. My day. My feelings and desires and needs. Those very things are what drag me into the indigo abyss. And that is not where I wanted to be or choose to stay.

And I forgot my prayer.
I - not so long ago - literally prayed this: "Save me from myself, Oh God, send me a child, the one you choose."

I forgot.

And He did what I asked.

Eight times.

Oh, dear, how could I forget that prayer?

This detour is for us. For me.

It all just IS for the child -- They haven't detoured. I have.

And they are waiting, pretty patiently for the most part, for us/me to step off the plane and start walking with them.

Really. Not grudgingly. Not counting the steps.
They are waiting to show me Holland. Again. Or - their Italia.

This blog, this post, helped me realize that it's ok to get frustrated with the detours.

But it's also ok to say the heck with it all, and we can make our own "Italy" right here.

Really?

Whoa.

I knew that, right?

Yeah, on the good days.

But I keep forgetting.

But, you know what?
I want to go to Italy.
I love Italy!

And who says we have to be stuck anywhere.....because detours are all about seeing new places with new eyes.

And I want to create some Viva Italia, starting now.

Is that your final answer?

Yes.

Great minds work together...

....and can accomplish great things.

To that end, I am giving a shout out to the whole adoption community: the families, the parents, the kids (young or grown), the pros, the educators....the ones in the trenches.

photo (c) Writers in the Schools 2007-2010

Brainstorming.
That's what's happening around here.
We want your ideas, requests, wishes.....what do you need, what do you want, what do you wish you could find when you're talking about resources AFTER you come home with your child?

My good friend and fabulous social worker is frustrated with the lack of extended post adoption resources around here, and, really, in general. Not only for the immediate post adoption needs...but the ones that are harder to pin down sometimes, the long term ones too. Because that cute little baby or toddler is gonna grow up into a middle schooler, a preteen, ack, a teen, and eventually an adult!

Please don't slough this off just on the placing agencies...think a minute. Goodness, we all know that post placement visits are mandatory and most all agencies are available for those calls of sheer confusion or just needing to check in...or, the ones of desperation. However, most of us don't make use of that built in resource. If you're like me, you tend to scavenge around on your own, and then wonder why you keep bumping into walls. I do, anyhow, mostly. And I'm kind of crazy resourceful, in general. So when I start beating the bushes and running into walls...you know there is a lack, a need, a gaping hole that needs to be filled.

Post Adoption Resources. It's a hole.

Yes, there are books. That's always a good start.
But I'm talking about someone, a real person or people, who you can connect with on the other end of the line or face to face real life and talk to about any or all questions you might have. Because it's easy to think that most issues or concerns fit into a tidy slot. But you know, when you're talking about families and kids, and specifically adoption issues of some kind...often they don't.
There is no one size fits all.

So, my terrific caring social worker, smart as a whip gal that she is....she wants to build up the resources. She really understands this stuff and it is her passion. As for me, I'm just glad she's got this idea tumbling around and the determination to make it happen.

So, let's help.
Please, in the comment box or my email or any which way you know how to reach me, send me your ideas, your wishes, your wants, your "gee why can't I find this" feelings on what would be great to be able to access in post adoption resources.
It can be anything that strikes you, that's what brainstorming is all about! Newbie parents, babies, toddlers, but also older kids, older child adoptions, school issues, cultural, medical, etc etc.....throw it out. Our list has already begun, and we want to grow it wide to see if that need can be met and how.

Here are few we already have on the list: Post Adoption Services/Resources:
therapy
tutoring
esl, private/group
mentoring (kid, mom, parents, family)
cultural connections, links
groups
advisor to IEP's and spec ed
Referral resources for all of the above as well as providing it, plus referral for medical, theraputic, educational, legal, assessment, translation professionals as well.


Any other ideas?
Any other wishes?
Like what you see/what's on the list now?
Here's your chance, tell us!
Even if it's just to say "yeah, that tutoring thing-I've been looking for that." Please tell us that too; then we can know what is most wanted too. />
Please, leave a comment, let us know, what you would like to see, locally, nationally, in person or online.
Help us start to fill a hole.

That way we can keep on helping each other.

That's really why we are all here anyhow, right?

Bloggy Road Trip

I am doing a guest post today!  Who'da thunk it!?
No kidding.   Yup, surprised me too..but I'm  honored (and shocked and surprised...another mini "Sally Field" moment).
Lisa at "A Bushel and a Peck" asked me to babysit a post day on her blog while she's out of town.
So, I'm no fool, I said "You betcha!"

Now if you all haven't checked out her blog, you should go, right now.  (No, not only to read my post...) You should bookmark it and check it daily, or at least really really often.  She is one of  my daily hits and mom heroes.  She has eleven beautiful kids and is a talented, amazing mom.  She is an inspiration to me; and a great resource both for regular old family stuff, larger family ideas, and also the full spectrum of adoption topics. 

My post today, on her blog, is another about older child adoption and adjustment.  About the dance of older child adjustment.  I've written about the dance of waiting, here.   But now that dance has changed.  It's a very different sort of dance indeed.  Go, read, let me know what you think.  Say hello to Lisa for me and update your blog list if she's not on it.  You'll be glad you did.

The turn-keys: Tears

So, here we are again.  Turn-keys.  Those things that I'm finding to be critical, yeah - Key - to our adjustment with this older child adoption. I've written about a couple already, here, and here.  And now, I want to write about another: Tears.

What? Tears?
How can those be so important?
Well, they are.
Yeah, it surprises me too.

I am learning that those tears are very important, critical, on different levels and in different ways.  Those tears are part of the adjusting, and I am not sure you can really adjust to all the new of an adoption without them.  And those tears are for everyone, of course.  Because each person in the family needs them....to process the intensity of the changes and the building of new relationships. Now I'll spare  you the blathering about the tears of the rest of us: the jealous tears, the overwhelmed, the frazzled, the blue ones (yeah, it's tough on moms too).  Those are fodder for a different post.

With a younger child, toddler or infant adoption, there are also many tears.  They are also critical to the adjustment process.  But they are easier to parse out, to understand.  They are typically more, not completely, but a bit more developmentally tracked and explained.  They are simpler because the child is still slightly simpler.  No less heartbreaking, but easier to console and repair.   The tears of the turn-key I'm talking about here are the tears of the older adopted child.  In this case, our daughter.

It's hard to sort through all this coherently.  But I'll give it a go.
It seems like it wouldn't be complex, I mean, it's crying, right?
Crying is a no brainer.
Kids cry all the time.
They cry, you console.
Done.
Except, not.

When an adjusting older child cries, honestly, at first you kind of brace yourself in dread.  You wonder, and fear a little bit, is this going to slip into something bad?  Is it going to blow in like a hurricane - tank the day? Because you don't know this child so intimately yet. You haven't always seen this before.  And you know the potential.  So, you brace for it.....whatever IT is.  And sometimes, it IS something very hard: rage, deep scarred grief, irrational fear.  Sometimes, it's just overwhelmed or misconception or misunderstanding.  Sometimes, it's just mundane, but ever so powerful, hormones.  Or lack of sleep.  Or an incoming virus.  It's all over the map, crying.  Tears. 

Even so.  It's all good.  Seems counter intuitive.  Our (ok, my) first reaction might, or is, naturally to wish it away, to sigh, to find the fastest way around it all.  But, that's not necessarily the answer either.  Those tears are important.  If this child is grieving the life they left behind, no matter if that seems unlikely as that life might have been very very harsh, then that grieving must be done.  It's valid; that life was what they knew, loved (some parts) and grew to themselves in. 

It's all too easy to think of grief as a 'hanging on' to something.  It is and it isn't.  When done right, it's a 'hanging on' to the good, and letting go of the bad.  It's ok to miss the ones or the place  you loved.  And that can totally jive with learning to love new ones or new places.  But, I don't think it can be done without the tears of it.

Then there are the tears of rage and grief of the hurt - for both old and new hard things.  Those are kind of scary - for everyone.  And it's so hard to know how to help.  And I"m not sure there is any way to really truly help - at least in the overt sense.  You can't fix it.  I can't fix it, or what has happened.  But you/I can BE there.  Just be there.  Hold on to them, sit next to them, let yourself get their tears dripped onto you.

That, that mess, is a fix.  It's the only and best one.  Because you are there, they are not alone, and you're not gonna run away from it.  And so, it gets less scary, for both of you.  But, oh, those tears...they hurt.  Both of you. 

Then there are the new tears.  These are the tears that can be both wonderful and frustrating.  The frustrating ones are the ones that you, and maybe she, doesn't understand.  They just kind of spring up....from a misunderstanding, frazzled nerves, hormones.  From being a teen girl.  From sensory overload in a new country.   From language gap, culture gap....all sorts of gaps. Those too, mostly just need a little time, maybe a little space, maybe a time to hold or sit nearby.  They need to wash away....the weary effort, the bruised feelings.  And they do.  

Way back, oh 85 years or so ago, I learned in science class that water is the universal solvent.  Well, I would say that the water shed in tears, when you are talking about an older child adoption and adjusting, is one of the universal glues.  Can be.  Maybe not always (I'm talking about us, here, always, ever...that's all I know), but oh so often they are.  These tears are bonding.  The happy over the top joyful tears...they are  just fun.  They pull you all in with a grin.  But the other kind....It's hard not to care about a child who is sobbing next to you (even when you wish it weren't so).  For the child to allow you to see them, hold them, at their most vulnerable....that is the beginning of trust.  For you to sit with them, hold them, get soaked by their tears...console them.  That is the beginning of family. 

A few days ago, a sibling moment occurred.  It was a pretty typical moment - if had happened between most of the kids.  However, it was the first between Marta and another.  And it was a a flash.  But, it cut to the quick for her.  It launched one of those tear spilling, walking away times.  It meant the evening would now be redirected.  And it was.  But, it was one of those turn-key times.  Because as I consoled Marta and talked to her about what happened, she slowly sat up in bed and hugged her pillow to her.  Then Bananas came in and flopped on her bed on the other side of the room they share.  And she saw Marta, still crying.  I said, "Has this happened to you?"  And Bananas laughed and said, "Oh yeah!  See, Marta, it's like this....." and she went on to act out the same interaction with the same sib.

And very soon, Marta was laughing with us as she snuffled up her tears, eyes red rimmed.  And I froze the moment in my mind.  These tears were healing.  These tears were bonding.  These tears were typical of any sibling scuffle.  And this image, two sisters laughing about a sib, both on their beds in pj's, while one allowed us to see her snuffling and gulping a bit as she came to calm, the other trying  hard to make her laugh and move on...that's a FAMILY.  That's what happens in families.  So, yeah, these tears: they helped turn a bit closer to family.  And I am grateful for even this tough turn-key.  Another one made of gold.

Turn-keys

So many of the things that are involved with adjusting to an adoption keep crowding into my head. So, I'm processing stuff. Which means I have to post, you know it...its how I process. Bear with me. I wish someone had talked about this stuff when I was researching wondering dreaming about it all. I know, heaps o' books out there, but for my meager mind, I need things categorized a mite differently. Maybe. All those books are so helpful and even now crowding my bookshelves and stacked on my night table. I am still using them and will be for a good long while, maybe ever.

But even so, this is how my mind parses things out:
Turn-keys.
You know how you hear about "Turn key" businesses? Where you can just step in and the biz runs properly, right out of the box?
Well adoption is the exact opposite of that.

But even so, I have decided that there ARE "turn-keys" in the adoption process, the adjustment process. And I think they really are critical to the fine tuning of an adoption, at least for us, me, our family. These are the keys that literally turn and open or close the process of adjustment (at least in my opinion, I'm just a mom, not an expert, so take this for what it is).

Sadly, there is NO ONE key to the whole process; though wouldn't that be fantastic!? But I think these are a number of keys: time, touch, trouble, trust, truth, talk, terror even. I've written about the terror often enough. And time, downtime, that is. And recently about the trouble. But one of the most important keys, a true "turn key," is one of the hardest (of course!).

Trust.
Oh my.
I think this is one of the biggest.
In some ways, it's everything.
Think about it: TRUST.
There has to be so much of that.
But how hard it is to find, to grab, to hold, to create, to hang onto?
If you have it, it seems solid..and you are more fortunate than you may realize.
If you do not, or cannot, then it can be so ephemeral, so heartbreakingly out of reach.

I think it is what we are all searching for, as much or more than happiness, or possibly, love.
Because you cannot trust without love.
Because you cannot be happy without trust.
They flow and feed each other.
So, yeah, its big.
When you have brought an older, hurt, child into your family is it gigantic.
It is everything.

Gee whiz, trust. Sounds like a basic. I have realized I really took it for granted, that foundational unquestioning trust. I trust my kids, beyond those moments of obvious lying or um, borrowing, and run of the mill kid stuff that most kids have to test out. They trust me. Even if they hate me for holding them to curfew or being strict, they still, if push came to shove, would admit that (even if I am "so wrong and clueless") I have the best intentions on their behalf. I trust my husband, I trust how things work. I trust God. Right?

Well, this adoption has taught me that actually, I have MASSIVE trust issues! (It's the curse of the control freak, always) God, husband, kids, new kid, the whole shebang. Not too fun finding that one out! But, really, helpful, because with the entrance of a new, older, child into a home....everyone's level of trust is laid on the line. And you know what? You have to deal with it.

As mom, you have to deal with it yourself and for the others too. I'd love to say that foundational trust is unshakable. And it might just be for Coffeedoc and Buddybug. And thank goodness for that! But for the rest of us? Well, it was shaken some. You can see that shake in the jealousy, the attention seeking of new and old kids, the acting out, the frazzled tempers and moods (yeah, mine too, once or twice. Ahem.). Really, so much of that turmoil stemming from questions of trust, different levels, but still the same bottom line. And for our new sweet girl? Well, its still not there for her either. How can it be?

So, how do you build trust? How do you parent a child who just plumb does not, cannot truly deeply TRUST you? Its much harder than it seems and I think its one of the huge reasons that it can be harder to adjust to older child adoption. When you've raised a child from baby or toddler that trust has a million times over to be proven built tested and reinforced.

A new child, older, coming from a completely different world and ways? Do they have that tested track record with you? No. Do you trust them immediately in the same way as your children already at home? Honestly? You can't. You don't know them well enough yet to know their expressions moods triggers. You don't know when the honeymoon will switch to a meltdown or if it will even. So that takes time to trust and anticipate their actions and reactions. And so, until you build that foundation of trust.... Well, you're flying, um parenting, without a net.
And for the new child? Well, that trust is gonna be a long time coming, deep down. They might well trust that you will feed house and clothe them. But the deep trust, the kind that withstands the misunderstandings, the corrections, the grief the anger the complete discombobulation....that isn't there, not really. And so when they feel like they are drowning in all the change how do they trust you will save them, pull them up and not let go? Well, maybe they don't. Or maybe they are trying, but you have to do your part. Which is: be there, hang on, get over yourself (Now don't get all worked up and think I'm judging, I am totally typing about ME here), and don't let go.

Sounds easy. It's not.

But as you do it, you both are reaching a bit toward each other. Even the silly kinds of trust make such a huge difference. That you can tease and just be a little silly, for fun not hurt. And that really ice cream seems weird but is wonderful, try it. And that if mom says she will come in and kiss you goodnight when she gets home, she will. Heck, even that, just like a small child needs to learn, I always come back.

And just that effort, that repeated reaching, I think {and continue to hope and pray}, brings you (ok, me) all a bit closer, laces your heart to the other....a tiny bit at a time. It may not feel like it at all. And trust is really something that doesn't feel like much except a sort of sureness, an absence of fear. But it is the grounding for the feelings that feel like everything: happiness, love, joy.

So, really, I would love someone to hand me a shiny big ol' turn key to all this, to precisely fit this one critical lock. And then to open the door to a deep firm trust, for all of us. Trust in each other, trust in love, trust in the time and effort, trust in the good, trust without hurt, trust without doubt or question or fret. But I guess this particular turn-key is crafted from the clay of our (OK, my measly) hearts, bodies, and just plain old presence, again and again and again - for the whole family, old and new. But this key, once its made, will be one to treasure tight.

Counter Intuitive Adjustment

There is an odd part of the adoption adjustment process that I want to talk about, to kind of sort it out in my head. I've only really actually been able to see it clearly this time around. I suspect it plays out much more with the adjustment of an older child into the family. I'm talking about that boundary...the one that is so hard to cross the first few times.

I'm talking about trouble. I mean Trouble with a capital "T" (to borrow from "The Music Man"). And I guess I should throw out the caveat that I'm only talking about OUR house and family and experience here. So don't flame me, I know well enough that every single adoption - young or old - is unique and different from every other. However, that said, I have noticed something lately, and it feels important, at least to me/us. Its a whole counter intuitive experience.

Trouble. You all know it. There are different kinds of course. But I'm talking about routine 'trouble,' the kind found in oh, every single family in the world. The usual stuff of squabbling and testing boundaries and annoying behaviors and flat out breaking the rules to see how it plays sort of thing. The sulks, the tantrums, the rudeness, the ignoring.....life with kids. Not all kids, not all the time...but really, most every kid, some of the time.

With the adoption of an older child, ok, this older child, there are phases. You can read about them in the books. The honeymoon phase is the most fun, supposedly, the giddiness of meeting and all the excitement of the new.

All new, all the time.
Frankly, its wonderful and exhausting.

Part of that exhaustion comes from that very newness. Every single thing is new, needs to be explained, or pointed out, or giggled over. Everything is heightened. And it takes a little while, but then you realize that everyone is kind of walking through the day on eggshells. Don't make a false step or the eggs will crack and the mess might spill out. Everyone is on their best behavior because no one is quite sure how it will play when they are not.

But you know, that can't last.

It doesn't. And while it is a whole 'nother kind of exhausting to leave that golden honeymoon phase, it is a relief in it's own way. Because now, it becomes real. Things get rocky, possibly very very fast. It can be ugly. It hurts, there can be tears all around - anger, fury even, snits, snot, names, accusations, hopefully not hits pinches and shoves between the kids (but you know, it's possible).

And, as mom, you know what you have to do. You do it before you've analyzed it and set out a plan. You deal. Ideally, calm cool and collected. But, sometimes you (ok, ok: me) react instead of plan. Because while some moms might be able to only discipline in calm cool collection, according to their calmly evaluated plotline...THIS mom tends to react and maybe even has been known to um, yell, once or twice. (I am not admitting this, I am just saying that there is a possibility that there has been a slip or two over the years.)

What I am saying is: the kid(s) are in Trouble. Capital T.

Now. We are in this new phase now. Our new daughter has been in Trouble. Capital T. And it happened before I knew it. It has now happened a number of times. And, really, I now think it is such a good thing. Let me be clear, the trouble itself is not good. No one digs it. But the ability to be in trouble....priceless.
Let me give you a for instance. On this trip, we went to a swishy restaurant with all the kids - because we are maniacs. (But that is a topic for another post.) I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that not long into the dinner, about halfway through, I got up and took Miss Marti outside.
Yes.
Outside.
In mom code, that's big stuff. Capital T stuff.
And I took her off to the side of the restaurant and told her in no uncertain terms that she was behaving poorly and in Trouble and it was all not ok. She is a stubborn little gal and so this included some back and forth between us, heads shaking, arms crossed, tears...the works. Shortly, we came to terms. More tears. Now hugs. And a long one. Done.

But then, for the second or third time since she's been home Marti looked at me and laughed a small laugh as she said her (Ethiopian) Mom's name. And then pretty much re-enacted our 'discussion." Then she pointed to me and said my name: "Mom."

I smiled and said, "Yeah. She would have said the same thing. Because we are both moms. Your moms. And we love you. So listen!" And then I got a REAL hug and a REAL smile and we walked inside to continue dinner (Waving at the bar patrons whom I had unwittingly provided the evening entertainment. doh!).

And you know, when she went inside she was happy again. Not sulky.
And it felt like things clicked one more notch down toward settled (still a ways to go, but every notch is something).
Because all that - that discipline, anger, apologize, forgive, move on thing?
That's NORMAL.
Normal.
And the other kids feel more normal if they know I will take her out (of the restaurant...c'mon on!) and she can get in the same kind of trouble they can.

It's a comfort, in a totally counter intuitive sort of way.
And it's one notch closer to "Normal."
For all of us.

Adoption Adjustment: Branches

Vincent Van Gogh, Almond Branches in Bloom, c 1890

So we have been home for almost a month now. And while I am sure it is no surprise to you all, it comes as some surprise to me that we are still adjusting, in a big way. We have adopted a teen but we are making toddler baby steps, forward and backward and sideways....occasionally falling flat on our backsides, occasionally grinning wide with surprise.

I can't process it all well enough to post coherently. I haven't come to any great or profound conclusions (as if I ever do, doh!). I am still very much in the "do the next thing" mode. But I am sustained by all your prayers and thoughts and unspeakably grateful for them and beg you, any or all of you, to not quit!

Anyhow, everyone keeps asking, "How it's going?" And, "Is it all settled in now?" and all those sorts of questions. Frankly, at this point in the process, if I think someone is about to ask me that sort of question, I tend to want to turn on my heel and skedaddle as fast as possible. Because I have no good or reliable sentry on my mouth. While I can be discreet for others and their private issues, I tend to just honestly answer anything that most anyone asks me.

This trait makes my husband, dear Coffeedoc, kind of nuts. He always points out that I don't have to answer EVERY question I am asked. And yet, I feel compelled to do so. (Yes, I am aware that some therapist could earn themselves a condo beachside w/ this...thank you.) Now, my lack of desire in answering this sort of question is not because it's too horrible to answer, but just because it's (the whole adjusting process to this new member of our family) still all murky. It's a mixed bag of good, hard, funny, frustrating, strange, and sweet. And that's hard to answer in a short polite social response. But then again, I would have loved to know or read some of this when we were in process, the first half of this process.

So, in no coherent order, here are some notes on the process:
The language thing is still in a ridiculously difficult spot.
I am speaking more Amharic to her (pidgeon amharic, simple poorly constructed baby talk level) than she is speaking english.
But I think her understanding of english is increasing.
She is doing better at Rosetta Stone.
I believe we are in the "silent phase."
But that phase has rapid fire machine gun bursts of amharic from her.
Which is confusing and frustrating for us both.
Marta loves to swim and boat, she has an adventurous spirit.
However she cannot swim at all and has to be watched closely so she doesn't splash and drown in her enthusiasm.
Which is mildly nerve-wracking.
She loves music.
By which I mean: loves loves loves music.
Marta sings along to her ipod just like Buddybug used to when we drove on road trips: meaning loudly and just slightly off key.
She has started piano lessons and is very happy about it, music is the universal language is it not?
I love our piano teacher for being a good sport.
Marta loves sports; like watching sports on tv, especially football and basketball.
This is going to make for a fun football season, go Irish!
Shooting hoops is pretty fun too!
Teen sisters will always have issues juggling a shower and sharing a bathroom.
Girls loves shoes.
Marta will always be a tiny person.
She is picking up knitting amazingly fast, which makes me feel a little guilty for being such a crummy inept knitter.
But it will be nice to have one competent crafter in the family.
Sweet potatoes are disgusting.
Salsa is dangerous.
Ice cream is nothing but wonderful.
Marta is not a night owl.
Neither is her mother.
Marta is an early bird.
So am I.
Marta, still, loves going to Mass.
It is probably her very favorite thing.
This humbles me.
She is learning the rosary.
This amazes me.
I am getting pretty fast with a language dictionary.
Marta is not.
Emergency dental surgery is scary and hard.
Doctor appointments are not fun, and a little scary too.
She is definitely a teen, with the requisite moods and drama.
We have finally made it to the point of feeling safe enough to cry frazzled tears.
We are glad to be there, but it is hard to watch and makes us worry too.
It all still feels a little, or a lot, strange.
We are hoping that ends soon.
I wish we could fast forward the clock many days, to a time many months from now, where we are all used to each other.
The best thing about Marta is her disposition: joy.
Coffeedoc and I think that is simply remarkable.

It's totally dopey, I know. But, it occurred to me today that this adoption process is all very much like a bunch of tied together branches. It's not your normal family tree....some branches are strong, some fragile and tender, some bending and trying not to break. We are branching toward each other, just barely beginning to sprout anew, still raw in places from the grafting. I pray our roots and the seasons will help grow us all together.