Suddenly: Last Summer

We are here.
The last real summer.
And it's a doozy.

I am talking about this last summer with my Booboo, my Jon (I can still call him that, mom privilege).
He is a graduate now, all 18 and big and prepping to head off to college.
And while you might think, "Oh, there she goes again, being all maudlin and melodramatic," and you would be right to a degree.........
This summer is different.
It is rare and precious.

And, kinda excruciating.
And, kinda exhilarating.

Yes, he will be home again, on breaks and next summer too.  But it will be forever different, changed in tone, tempo, tenor.  Some of those changes are great steps forward, and important, necessary and even welcomed by us all.  But even so, change is hard, and even when he comes home for extended weeks in the summer it will be different.  It's irrevocable.  That's part of the process.  I know it. He knows it.  We all know it, and can feel it pressing on the edges.
It's there, rushing toward us - too too fast.
But also, on those hard angry fussy hurting days, in it's own way it's too slow.
Especially too slow for my son, who is simply twitching right out of his skin to break loose and head off into his own life.
But, maybe, just maybe some days, also a little tiny bit too fast for my son...who loves summer and needs a bit of time to prepare himself for this big change....then again, that might just be ME.  (Oh, right.)

He needs us still, and will.
But he doesn't, and shouldn't as much, also.
Besides, there is work to be done; work that IS being done.
It is important work, but oh, it is the hardest work there is.

(Yup, I look just like that, feather-version.....yup yup...ahem.  

Maybe some of those hard days tho, we both do.)

Separation.

The unconscious prep to start into a new life, and the classic process of parting those ties a bit: it's textbook.  But, often the process finds itself played out in the short fuses and loud or hard arguments over often stupid things or stupid misinterpretations.
My husband asks me, "Why do you let him push your buttons? Just shrug and hold the line." But it's not so easy for me.
One, because I stink at doing that.  I am like one of those phones for toddlers or elderly where the buttons are enormous, to aid in their ease of pushing.  That's me, easy buttons to push all over.  Especially here, I guess.  Tom/Coffeedoc's right, of course.
Two, because often it's me pushing my son's buttons to a degree, having expectations that might not be utterly fair.  (Ok, I'm just saying, it took a lot to admit that.....ouch).  
This work is being done mostly by Jon and me, the family and dad too a little,  but the hard work...it's the two of us.
We have to ease out of this tightly knit together life we have into a new stitch of knitting.
A looser stitch, no less strong, but even so, it has to be unraveled a bit to retie it anew.
Not far.
Just a bit, and with a new pattern.
Stronger even.

But right now, those unforeseen, loud or angry and/or frustrated misunderstandings are very hard.

This summer, suddenly, is about time together that is so good that it takes my breath with wonder at this great young kid/man who is smart and funny and good, deeply good.
Then, we both turn around and we are simply aggravating each other and stepping on land mines that blow up in our faces.  Ouch.
The swings and shifts are hard.
And that is so typical, it seems...of a mom and her boy, who is heading off to college, out of the house, into the world.

Suddenly...it's the last summer.

"Acoustic Flood:" Song for a Friday

Ok, it's late, but still worth a listen.

My son Jon, Booboo, wrote and played and recorded this for me for Mother's Day.

It's a song: "Acoustic Flood," but I rather prefer the title, "Mom's Song."  Just for me.  It's acoustic guitar, one of my favs....and it's tailored to me, for me, because I fuss at him to play "something nice."  Jon is very creative and loves to spend every waking moment a good bit of time fiddling with his music stuff.  Often however he asks me to listen to his latest creation or some music that he and his friends were making and that he recorded.  Often that music is, um, LOUD, and ELECTRONIC, or RAP and just too hard for my old stodgy ears, I guess. That's when I fuss and say, "Good...but, oh, play me something nice."  He usually rolls his eyes and says, "I am!"  And around we go, but with a smile.

So for Mother's Day this year, he did it. Jon played me "something nice." He made me smile, and he made me start to cry.  Because THIS sound is my son, my Booboo, and his playing makes my heart kinda burst.

Have a listen, it's a treat {h/t to Marc}:

Radio, oh, oh! Updated w/ link

Well, sometimes life throws you a curveball. Sometimes it's a crazy or hard one, and sometimes it's a crazy or fun one! Today I just caught a curve ball...but this one is fun!

Yup, who'da thunk it?
I'm gonna be on the radio today!
Now it's just a small, quick flash....maybe a minute or two, but even that has me very much a little bit nervous and excited both.
So who'd want to talk to me? Well, apparently Catholic Charities New York on Sirius/XM radio does, for a brief moment!
The weekly interview show, "Just Love" with Monsignor Kevin Sullivan has a brief bit in the beginning of lighter topics and they asked me to talk with the very nice Marianna Macri a bit about the whole "mom blog" thing.  I guess, I'm Catholic, I've got a blog, and I"m a mom - fits the ticket! And well you all know me, I will always talk if someone asks me to! So I said yes, and now I pray I don't sound like a dolt.  Besides, I love Catholic Charities, they all do such great work and so I'm always on board for pretty much whatever they ask!

So, if you're interested, it's around 1:10-15 or so, eastern time.  Sirius Radio channel 159, or XM 117 or online.  It'll either be good, or a really great way for God to make sure I never get too prideful, eh? Throw a prayer my way if you are of the mind to, so that I at least speak in intelligible sentences.  Whoa.

Msgr Kevin Sullivan, on "Just Love".

UPDATED: I did it! It was great fun and they were so nice! I blathered a bit as I tend to do....sorry! But maybe the best part was that my mom called me IMMEDIATELY afterward, and she told me she listened to the whole thing (to my great surprise) and that she thought I did great.  Aw, what a good mom, but she MADE MY DAY.  Because I am still six.  Even so, I love my mom and this was fun.  

Here's the link, I come on the show around ten minutes in, but the whole show is worth a listen of course.  Catholic Charities folks are always a good bet for a great conversation!

Stepping Out

"Weeping Nude" painting by Edvard Munch, 1913

I have hesitated to post this.  

But, finally.  I am.

See that woman, in the painting?  That was me, minus the long thick tresses and youth.  

No longer.

But I was there.

This post is a stepping out.

I have hesitated, hemmed and hawed about writing this.  

I have a knot of fear in my gut doing it.

But I hope, maybe that if I do...then others will see that you can move on.  

Others will maybe realize that it is ok if they get snared.  

And so that I can be true.  To me.  To this record, my blog, my virtual journal.

So that it's "out there."

This post is about that dark secret: things can kinda fall apart for awhile after an adoption.
It can be to varying degrees, but it can also be a form of Post Adoption Depression.

Yup.

Been there. 

Done that.
It maybe wasn't only official Post Adoption Depression, but it was a huge squeezing tangle of that and just generally being overwhelmed by changes and hard differences. 

And it scared the life out of  me. 

It froze me.

And I feared to let anyone know that I was a mess, outside of a trusted two or three {and, oh bless you, you know who you are}....because no one really wants to be known as the big fat phony that they really are.  

Well.   

Hello to you all.

That would be me. 

Bit fat phony.

Hypocrite extraordinaire.
Me.

Writer of old blog posts extolling the truth and joy of adopting and love and the swift sure glide into same, if only you embrace it fully, unreservedly.  
I extolled the utter beauty of adoption.
I still do, if not more so...but for the first time after four previous adoptions, I had hit a wall.

Let me emphasize, tho I felt during all this like a fake, looking out from the mire of last summer...
now, I still hold to those writings.  
I did write all those. They were not, are not, lies.  Still.  

Even now, still, I believe them to be true...and I see them more clearly.

But I also know, from my own shocked broken self, found too many times on the bathroom floor weeping in gulping panic, that sometimes....those feelings are out of reach.
And that it doesn't even have much or anything to do with the particular child, it's just the, um, whole "muchness" of it.

Those feelings of confidence, love and surety are grasped for, mutely screamed for...and they are out of reach.  

And the sharp cold piercing icepick of fear and despair stabs just under your ribs and you gasp in shock.

And you weep.  

Or, more accurately, I wept.
Then.  Last summer. Yes, then.

I wept at night after dinner, after bedtime until I couldn't breath and my eyes were swollen shut. 

I woke looking like a bullfrog and could barely get out of bed.  

Only the pull of my toddler Gabey, prying open my eyes and telling me he wanted milk pulled me out into the world again...that and the clank and clamor of the early morning sounds of a house with many children.

The house won't wait for despair.  

The children can't understand, nor should they have to, the indigo binding cloths of bleak.
So you muddle along, faking it, trying to breathe even as you are a little bit frozen.

I tried the last fibers of poor Tom's patience and endurance to be sure; him befuddled by my gulping sobs and shaking head.

I tried to pray, and grasped for words, instead groaning soundlessly.

Finally, stumbling through the first weeks and month home, last summer,  yes then....Tom finally, gently, said with a sad hug "You are hurting you and her and them.  You are not finding your way. Call your doc. Get  help." 

It's kind of like having a colossal migraine (I get those)...you think you can keep muddling along, dropping things and shunning interaction because it hurts too much, physically, and finally someone says, um, "Look, for pity's sake, do what it takes to make this stop: lie down, turn off the light, drink some water, rest, take the med,...you'll feel a lot better and at least be able to get through the rest of the day."
Tom said that to me, in essence, but this time not about a migraine.
Shocked that he said it out loud, I did.  

I got help.  

And it humiliates me to type this, even as I know it shouldn't.  
The getting help doesn't humiliate me.
But the shock and confusion of finding myself overcome on the floor...yeah, those are not my proudest moments. 
But I am vain. 

I am full of pride.

But I am a phony.  And I know it.

So, I brace now for the embarrassment; but truthfully I have long ago flogged myself for it.

But here is the key, and why I am stepping out: IT HELPED.

It helped.

I thought that I was just a failure.  

I failed at my own words.
I failed at loving well.
I failed at persevering.

I failed at mom-ing. 

But getting some help, by which I mean admitting I was a mess, not making it.  
By which I mean, talking with close friends, family.
By which I mean, stepping forward blindly, soundlessly maybe, but trying to trust in prayer (because yeah this was kind of a spiritual crisis too).
By which I  mean, giving myself permission to be a mess and not a supermom.
By which I  mean, zoloft, for a few months...well it helped. 

IT ALL HELPED.

I stopped crying at night on my bathroom floor.

I calmed and was able to be present for my kids again, fully. 
I looked to the wider picture.

Nothing changed on the outside of that picture.

The hards were still hard.

The lack of communication and slow building of bonds were still there.

But, with help, I stopped only seeing the disconnects.

I breathed.

I slowed. 
I stopped crying. 

I was able to look further, by which I mean, beyond my own panic.

So, did I fail?

Um, yeah.

And I do still.  Every. Day.
That's not new, that's not even new with this adoption...old old news, that one.

But again, I know I can live with it. 

I knew it before, but then, couldn't see past it.

I really think, it was a good jolt of Post Adoption Depression (and let me say the acronym, "PADS" is simply dreadful..maybe that's apropos...hmmm).

It's real.

It's kind of a post stress syndrome thing.   

Maybe lot of it, for me,  might have been unmet, unrealistic expectations.
Maybe it was an impatient, controlling thing.
Maybe, I don't know...

It might very well be a "failed superwoman" thing.  

Because I can very easily get the "big head" and think I can take it on, as a mom.  

Well, now I know better, to be sure.
A lot of it was a spiritual "trust" issue, cause apparently I am really bad at that.
Ouch, and "surprise!"

I've been humbled to the utmost (well, maybe NOW upon posting I have..ahem). 

I will NEVER think I am "all that" as a mom, ever again.  

Not that I did so much...but maybe a little, and maybe a lot more than I ever will again. 

Anyhow, that first month last summer....it did me in.  

Kicked my right back on my fanny.  Or the bathroom floor, whatever...you get the idea.  

Yes, I was sicker than ever in my life (can you say 'swine flu in Africa?" I can!).   
That surely didn't help a bit.

But also, this adoption was just somehow so different than any one before.  

Just like every birth is different, and every child is different, so, of course, every adoption is different.  Doh.  

Like I didn't know.  

But.  I didn't KNOW....because I hadn't lived it to this degree. Or lived this one, maybe. 

I could go on.  You don't want to hear more.  

But hear this:

I gave up Zoloft for Lent.

Yup.  I know, goofy maybe.  

But OH so hard...scary mostly.  

I feared falling under that dark shroud again.  I feared it.  

But I didn't.  

And now, NOW, it is EASTER! 

{Yes, it is STILL Easter! The season of Easter, I mean...Isn't that just the coolest thing?}

And with Easter comes the light.

So, I'm posting about this. 

I kinda think I must.

Because it is the gift of Easter - we are given back our very selves.

I've been given back my very self. 

It was time for me to move forward, all these facets (the friends, the bolstering support, the prayer and prayers on my behalf, and too the brief stint on zoloft) helped me walk out of it, that dark spot.

I am back to the me of me, out in the light.  I've stepped out.  

And it's bright here.  

It's also still the old standard me moody and louder and has the same ol' land mines, but they are familiar turf.  The hards are still hard.  But they don't make me crumple.  They might make me tired and cranky or loud too.  But I can withstand them.  Before, last summer, I could not.  Now, with this time, I can.  And do.

 (This is my fake "I am mama, hear me roar" pose! 

Too goofy this shot, but perfect for this post where I'm already at my worst.)

But for any of you out there in the blogoverse, if you have adopted and feel like you are under a stuffy shroud of hard and can't breath...stop beating yourself up, think about help.
You're not alone, even Melissa Fay Greene has written about this, multiple times, go check.
There are many kinds of help to pull you up from the panic: time, friends, talk, prayer, and yeah, maybe a med for a few months.
Maybe the most important help is to know it happens, to any one of us.
So, give yourself a break.
Help; different shapes and forms and ways.

It can help. 

It's ok.  You are not alone.  

You might feel like you have to hide, that you're alone...it's isolating in a horrible way.
But you're not.
You're not alone.
Remember, been there, done that. 

And it will pass.  It can pass. 

Read that again, it can pass.  

Life isn't gonna be what it was.  

It's going to be different. 

But it's going to be richer, not necessarily easier, but still oh so good.  

Not everything now is perfect or all adjusted or a dreamy soft focus portrait here in my newly grown family. 

It's not gonna be.
And, truthfully, it wasn't even close before.  

But, I want to step out.  I don't want to be a hypocrite or phony even if you rightly want to call me so.
  

 I am just me, in this forum: this mom full of scars and cracks, bad hair and sweet tooth but trying her best.

Not holding her breath anymore. 
Step and exhale.....

Old Dog, new tricks: potty training 107

New  underwear is so much fun.

Ok, I have to say it.  We've been potty training.  I wasn't gonna post on it, because it's just one of those things, right?  Well, I thought so. I mean, I've done this SEVEN times, right?  (Hence, the 107 in the title...erk) Right. 

But this time is different.  Not only because Gabey is a brilliant sweet charming talented child, and no I'm not biased, thank you for asking.  But it's different because, for the first time ever, it's been a snap.

Now, I hate potty training.  Because my nature is a lazy slug.  And potty training, it's messy.  And inconvenient.  Just contemplating it makes me want to go lie down.  And there are thousands of books on "how-to" and "Secrets-of" and advice out the wazoo.  I think somewhere on my shelves I own at least fifty of them. 

But, little did I know...there really IS a secret to potty training.  Ok, two.  The first one is not so much a secret: timing.  Ya gotta wait until the kid is ready.  I did have a go at it once or twice w/ Gabey over the summer.  Clueless.  Hopeless.  NOT ready.  We bailed.  And ya can't wait TOOO long (that was my mistake w/ oh, most of the others - except Miss M.  She did it on her own and told me after, I swear. At two. Brilliant girl.).  But, it's been cold and snowy and we've been hunkered down in the house and he just turned three.  Plus he's in a phase where he refuses to wear clothes.  So, apparently, it's time. Now.  Whoohoo!

{Yes, my house is a mess, it's that shedding clothes thing, what can I say?}

But here is the "new trick" for this "old dog."  And before I say it, I will point out that I realize it's one of those ridiculous  "everyone knows it but you" kind of things.  And I would also like to point out that I will - evenutally - overcome my resentment towards my friends failing to let me in on this.  And I might, someday, overcome the  humiliation of NOT knowing this.  I long ago accepted I was no "super-mom." This confirms it.  No matter how many kids I have.

So, here it is: BACKWARDS.

Backwards.  DOH! You put the kid on the toilet backwards!! Why didn't someone tell me? Ahem -Jean? Toni? All of you bloggy gals?  You can't presume I know ANYTHING.  I'm a dolt.  I had no idea!  Forget the tiny messy potties and the slippery seats and holding them up on the seat getting a cramp in your back from lifting them....let them climb on backwards, facing the tank!

GENIUS!

WHO KNEW??!!!

Ok, apparently, everyone!  This was a light bulb moment for me.
Thank you, finally, Jean.   
Maybe it's a southern thing?
Feel free to sound off here and let me know if its regional so I don't feel like a total dolt (tho I've lived in the south long enough to train a few and no one told me.  Not that I"m holding a grudge, Jean......).  Did you moms know about this?? Sheesh.  Well, I didn't.  But it totally was a light switch for my Gabey.  Ok, and me.  Hey, he can climb up on  his own, check everything out, feel secure.  Very empowering.  Done deal.  He's trained for daytime and almost for night.  In less than a week.  AMAZING!

So, for those of  you who share my prior lack of knowledge, I"m sharing.
For those of you who presumed we all know, you're wrong.
For me, I'm just celebrating.  Whew.