my inconceivable family

Everyday Grace

2016-11-16T10:37:00.002-05:00

Earlier this week I found myself driving downtown very early in the morning. I was tired and out of my routine. As I drove towards the sky rises and into heavier traffic I found myself looking inward and focusing on myself. Thoughts about the kids, school work, behavior problems, dinner, budgets, writing tasks and work crowded my mind. Typical working mother multi-tasking. If my brain were a computer I would have 20 tabs open at once. It is no wonder so many of us are just so tired all the time- our brains are always on the move!

I found my way to my destination and, in my typical fashion, circled the block a few times trying to figure out where I should park. As I drove past a well manicured green space something bright blue caught my eye. Foxes! A family of over-sized colorful, movable foxes were peeking out from behind a group of trees. Last weekend my family and I wandered into a group of over-sized and colorful snails hiding out in the downtown library courtyard. We then saw similar birds in another part of the city. The foxes made me smile, remembering the fun surprise happening across the snails had been for my boys. "These animals must be all over the city!", I thought to myself. For just a moment, those computer tabs in my brain shut down and a warm feeling crept in.

I remained confused as to where to park and so I pulled in to a small lot. The attendant stopped me and I assumed he was going to take my payment so I began rooting around for my wallet, barely making eye contact with the bundled up gentleman at my window. "Good morning!". He greeted me happily. His smile beamed at me. Warmth crept in a little more. After taking the time to ask me why I was downtown he suggested another parking garage just down the street that would better suit my needs for the day, and that was less expensive. He lost business in his little parking lot because he was doing the right thing for me. Warm. Warm. Oh so warm!

As I pulled in to the parking garage down the street the attendant flung open his window. Again, my expectations for whatever interaction we were about to have were low. "Good morning!". Here was another human being smiling at me again. After telling me to have a "most amazing day" he waved me on. so.much.warmth.

Everywhere I went that day my interactions were the same. Police officers, city workers, cafeteria employees and fellow citizens were going out of their way to show kindness and respect to one another. Smiles were waiting down the hall as I turned the corner. Doors were held. "Please" and "Thank You" were repeatedly offered. And with every pleasant interaction any frustration I had carried with me into the city that day melted away. Sometimes our fuse is just ready, isn't it? There are times that one frustration after another pile up and before we know it we are primed to explode at whatever the next frustration might be, regardless of how small. Like many people, I am no stranger to the short fuse. Often, for seemingly no reason at all, I am ready to explode, anger living just below the surface.All the time, it seems. I am two inches from an angry outburst all.the.time. But on this day, pleasant interaction after pleasant interaction slowly extinguished that fuse. Just think how much we could all move forward along whatever path we are individually on if we all treated each other this way. One big train of warm fuzzy feelings, winding through our families and communities.

I was driving home that evening when the sunset painted the sky. I am usually inside the house during this time of day, especially during the colder months, when the sun sets earlier. I am rushing to finish my work day and then rushing downstairs to start dinner and homework, and then rushing out to after school practices and scout meetings. Sunsets are not usually on my radar. But on this day I had no choice but to enjoy the beauty. And it was spectacular.

The grace of God is in the ordinary. In the every day. We know this, of course. In theory, we understand this and we have been told this many times in our lives. We see this ordinary grace in literature, we hear it in songs on the radio and our ministers share it with us over and over again. But I think we tend to forget. We tend to ignore the mundane and focus on the wait for the Big Sign.

But what if that big sign doesn't come? What if we spend our entire lives waiting? What a tragedy that would be, to miss the every day grace. To miss a brief but tender moment with a child because we are rushing out the door. Grace lost. To lose focus on a conversation with a loved one because we are so focused on getting to our destination on time and so instead are thinking about the traffic that surrounds us. Grace lost. To miss sharing large, colorful animal statues with my boys, because I was annoyed at the change in my routine that brought me downtown in the first place. Grace lost for sure.

There is a bigger picture, though, than the simple fact that God is in the details. He is also in the pain and suffering and even the little frustrations we face every day. What if these hard moments are God's way of saying "Pay attention!". "Open your eyes and LOOK!". How many of those moments have I missed?

"Pay attention! Your child's behavior is trying to tell you something!"

"Look at your husband, right now! Watch this gentle moment he is having with his son!"

"Open your eyes! Your coworker is hurting."

Hard moments are tough. They can be physically and emotionally draining. They can sometimes feel like huge setbacks, or bring big feelings of disappointment. But they are also the times we so often remember. The moments that live in our hearts, whispering to us to make a change. Maybe it's an adoptive mother who will never forget the look in the sunken eyes of the children at the orphanage where her child once lived. That hard memory of having to walk away from all of those little ones, leaving them behind, knowing they don't understand why there is no love, yet, for them, might lead to a heart whisper that leads to a lifetime of working for orphans. That call from a friend announcing the death of her marriage might lead to a heart whisper of thankfulness in a relationship and a desire to work harder to sustain a marriage. That hard moment of seeing another mother fall apart at the set backs of a special needs child, yet again, may lead to a heart whisper to get involved, to become a part of someone else's village. Yes, hard moments are tough. But they are needed. They are wake up calls from God to do something. To notice something. To stop running and just be, if only for a moment.

Grace in the ordinary and hard moments bring His love for us alive. Maybe it's a warm feeling brought on by the goodness of others, a fox statue or a colorful sunset viewed from the windshield of your car in rush hour traffic. Or maybe it's a big push found in the heart whisper we hear as we sit in the ruins of yet another disappointment or set back. They are easy to ignore, the warmth and the whispers. Open your eyes! Look! The moments are everywhere, aren't they?

What warmth have you felt, or what heart whisper have you heard today? Share your comment below.

Adopted Children Are Not Merchandise- Using Appropriate Adoption Language

2016-11-10T12:15:00.002-05:00

It is common knowledge among anyone not living under a rock that no one likes to be labeled. Schools go out of their way to not saddle a young child with a label that will follow them their entire academic career. Stay at home moms push back against their label, while working outside the home moms often hate their moniker as well. Labels are, by definition, a way to classify a group, to set apart. And labels are notoriously not all inclusive. You can like a particular rock band, for instance, and be labeled a member of their "army" but that doesn't mean you don't also like many other forms of musical expression. Labels are often so offensive that groups of like minded people go out of their way to choose their own defining labels; we know we can't escape them and just be labeled "human", so we find ones we are comfortable living within. Obviously, being labeled a fan of a particular musical group is not really all that damaging. But you see my point.

There are two sides to the label discussion, and both are passionate. On the one hand, what someone else says about you, how they categorize you, really speaks more to the state of their heart than yours. Our worth is certainly not found in a label, even though many strive, at great cost, to achieve their most prized label, whether that be "Mom", "CEO", or "Mr. President". But on the other side of that argument stand many, many people who have been harmed by the labels others have placed on them.

The labels we use to describe others is such a big problem that many organizations have created glossaries of "preferred language". GLAAD provides a Media Reference Guide of terms to avoid on their website. Many adoption advocacy organizations do the same. And for good reason. A person who has never walked a path outside of the traditional may not know how much damage a casually thrown out comment, (read: label), can do. If that describes you, then pay attention.

In the wake of the 2016 Presidential elections emotions are high. In sharing a well written Huffington Post article, (Read it here.), on why some internationally adopted children have been scared by the anti immigration rhetoric that has polluted this election cycle the following comment was made:

"there are millions of kids in the foster care system..maybe you should have looked into the citizens of the US before you imported brand new kids from another country."

While there are so many things wrong with this short comment, so much hatred and contempt and ignorance, I want to focus on the label. Do you see it? Imported. Children are not items to be bought, sold and imported. (As in, "How much did he cost?") And when language like this is used, it degrades the person being labeled. Even if that is not the intention, this type of language slowly wears down a person, demeaning them yet again, showing them, yet again, that there are people out there in their world who think less of them. Who think they are less deserving than others, simply because of where they were born. And it's not just adoptees who face this feeling of being less than. Anyone walking their own unique, spectacular and brave journey has faced this type of judgement. Words are amazing. They let us share, feel, think, escape. And they also hurt.

It is important for adopted children to feel grounded. To truly trust in who they are. This is an extremely difficult task on a god day. Questions of "Why" and "What if" are always floating just beneath the surface. Finding their place in a world where they are not connected on that primal level with their most loved family members is not easy. Adoption, just like walking any other beautiful non traditional path is an amazing gift, but it doesn't come without loss. Truly knowing who we are is hard. To be labeled as merchandise that can be bought and sold and imported makes it so much harder.

When an adoptee does not feel grounded big problems can occur. In little ones this shows up as low self esteem, focus and learning deficits, and often severe behavior problems. In older teens and adults it can lead to drug and alcohol abuse, mental illness and even incarceration. Feeling comfortable in our own skin, knowing who we are and who stands with us is vital to a healthy sense of self. Hearing words like "bought" or "imported" are not just insensitive. They can be incredibly damaging.

What does all of this mean to you? It means we all need to think before we speak. Those words that we feel are funny or harmless might be like daggers to the heart of the person on the receiving end. Some would argue that we are all just too sensitive, and they might be right. We all want to raise compassionate children who are self aware enough to withstand the labels. But as we work towards that shared goal, let's not make it any harder on adoptees than it need be.

If you would like more information on appropriate adoption language to use with your friends and family, consider this list of suggested language from the Adoption Council: Accurate Adoption Language. For more information on how labels can be damaging to our children, please see this article from Psychology Today.

If you are an adoptive parent, or the friend or family of an adoptive parent, please consider sharing this on your social media sites.

So different, yet kind of the same

2016-11-09T11:16:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I think that hermit crabs are the smartest creatures on earth. They hang out in their shells, away from the world. Like the Grinch. Up there, on top of his mountain, surrounded by piles of garbage. Like going off the grid alone, just me and family. Alone. No news of the horrible things that go on in this world. But let's face it, that is not the world we live in. Even the Grinch had his dog, Max. This life was meant to be shared, and there is no hiding from it. Besides, I am a leader, of sorts. We all are, aren't we? Every single one of us has at least one someone looking up at us, watching us, taking it all in. I have two. And because I am leading those two young people, I have to fight the urge to go into hiding.

This morning I sat down on my oldest son's bed and gently explained to him the outcome of the presidential election. And while it is the topic that is on the lips of our entire nation today, it is not the first time I have sat down on that bed to have a tough conversation. We have covered racism. Bullying. Adoption. Loss. Pain, both physical and emotional. And I know that I am not alone. These conversations were happening across the country, in bedrooms, at kitchen tables, in the car on the way to school. Solidarity, parents just trying to hold it all together and find the right path for your family. I want to fist bump every single one of you. We've got this.

I'm not all that worried about my family. Or yours, for that matter. Like I said, we've got this. What I am concerned about , what kept me awake last night as I processed this most recent attack on decency, were those other families. What are the young people of the other side being taught? What are those kiddos hearing during those bedroom, kitchen table or carpool chats? Which got me thinking. Are they really hearing anything that much different? Some of them may be hearing hate speech, sure. But I am thinking that many of them are hearing words very similar to what I said this morning. Many of them are probably just like me. A little tired. Drinking cold coffee. Wondering how that window blind came all the way unrolled, again. Moving stuffed animals to find a spot to sit down while absent mindedly rubbing the dog's ears. And then sharing their beliefs. Do I agree with those beliefs? Sometimes. yes, and often no. But what I know for sure is that I cannot change those other parent's beliefs any more than I could change my own. Are there people out there warning their kiddos against people like me? Like you? I can, and should, protect my family from hate. I will always be vigilant to what my little loves are subjected to. But I am not a monster that other parents should warn their children about. And neither are many of those people who hold beliefs different from mine.

Before you shout at me, listen. Think. Ask your friend, your neighbor, your relative holding a different view to share their reasoning. Don't ask this to change their mind. And don't ask it to change your own. Ask it to begin to build a way to a stronger relationship, a stronger family, or a stronger neighborhood. I have friends, neighbors and yes, even family members who I genuinely like and trust around my family yet we are miles apart politically. Or miles apart in how we choose to spend our money, or how we choose to raise our families. Frankly, I am not all that exciting of a person. I like to read and do quiet activities. If everyone I surrounded myself with was just like me, not only would we be the most boring group of people on the planet but no one would grow. And we all know what happens when we stop growing.

We spend so much time telling our children that change comes from within. That they cannot change anyone else except themselves. That they need to lead by example and do what needs done in their world. And that is what we talked about this morning, on that bed, in that dark room with the world waking up around us. We talked about how we didn't change. What we believe hasn't changed. About how we can't expect to change others. About how we can't just talk about it all. We must do. Do. We talked about what we can do, right now. Today. Tomorrow. And we made a plan. Ask a teacher about how her day is going. Be brave and say hello to a neighbor when out walking the dog. Smile more. Slow down. Imagine what, or who, we can see if we stop running everywhere?

When we walked out of that bedroom this morning the sun was beginning to light the rain covered street. The puppy hopped down off her favorite spot on my son's chair, picked up her new blue stuffed monster toy and follow us down the hall. We were met at the bottom of the stairs by the youngest member of our family, wrapped up in his large fuzzy brown blanket, asking for breakfast. Things are currently more black and white in his world and breakfast comes every day at this same time. Instead of shouldering past him or stepping on the edge of the blanket in an attempt to trip his little brother, I watched my oldest child smile at him, tell him he was hungry too, and step aside to let him get to the breakfast table first. Slow down. Smile. Stop running. And breath.

New beginnings

2016-11-09T11:15:00.000-05:00

Welcome back. It's been a while, hasn't it? Two years, to be exact. It's been two long, busy, fun, aggravating, hopeless and hopeful years since I have sat down to pour out my thoughts. Time stopped for a while, as I worked towards accepting and then figuring out who I was, where I fit in, and how to be the type of mom and wife I really never thought I'd need to be. Don't celebrate just yet- I am still a work in progress. My return might be slow. It might be somewhat scattered and of absolutely no interest to anyone.

Things around here will be changing a little. To a community, of sorts. I invite you to stick around. And if you have a map for life, that'd be great, bring it along. No, on second thought, don't. Your life map won't guide me. Plus, I suck at reading maps. Thank God for GPS, am I right? So let's see. Ditch the map and bring instead your humor, your compassion, and some really strong coffee. Let's all be thankful today for new beginnings, funny things that make us laugh, and drinking coffee while it's still hot.

Why I am trying to become even MORE of a helicopter parent

2014-11-06T16:57:00.000-05:00

And so it begins. Last week I attended yet another school meeting to discuss my little RADish. I came prepared with an official letter asking for my son to be re-evaluated in an attempt to reopen his IEP. I brought two short teaching articles to pass out to the team, because I know that despite the many combined years of experience in the room this particular group of educators doesn't have a lot of experience with the unique cocktail of anxiety and behaviors my youngest presents daily in the classroom. I have made many attempts to educate the school team on early life trauma and its effects on a developing brain. I have given tips on managing behaviors and preventing sensory overload. And because of the challenges my youngest son faces in a peer setting, I have shared, in detail, the story of his adoption.

As most adoptive parents will tell you, these stories are sacred. You can ask me how I feel about the adoption movement currently sweeping through churches, and I will tell you. You can ask me generic adoption questions, and, if I am able, I will answer. But if you ask me a personal detail of my sons' adoption stories, my lips will be sealed.

"Was he abandoned? I hear that the babies are just left by hotels and police stations. Where was (insert child's name here), found?"

"Did his real mother do drugs? Is that why he is 'the way he is'?". (I shudder at this one. I am his REAL mother. And the WAY HE IS is perfectly made by God, thank you very much.)

So you can ask, but unless you have a valid reason, you will not hear the details of their early days from me. Everyone in our world is on a need to know basis, and most people do not need to know.

I felt that the school team held that golden ticket to the entire story. I have found that many of the resources we come in contact with, from therapists to church caregivers to school teachers do not have a clue what havoc early life trauma can wreak on a young child. So I take a deep breath, say a little prayer that this time I will not cry, and share.

All of that to say this: this school team knows my baby's background. So imagine my surprise when I ask the innocent question, "What is a social story?". I was informed that my son was having these social stories read to him daily, and I had never heard that term, so I asked. And the team very proudly showed me a binder with a photo copied story about keeping our hands and our feet to ourselves. Very appropriate, right? After all, we have one of these at home, that I made for my son two years ago. Seems I was ahead of the game. And then I read the story. And then I quietly explained that they were not to read this to my son again, not without changing a few things, and that I needed to see every social story they were sharing with him. And here's why.

"If you hit and kick, no one will want to be around you. No one will want you around,"

Um, can we say unfriendly adoption language? Seems while I was fighting for an understanding of my son's specific needs I dropped the adoption ball. I assumed that the school understood the adoption and abandonment part of my son's story. The light bulbs going off in the surprised eyes around the room told me otherwise.

November is National Adoption Month. A month to bring attention to the beauty of adoption. A month to spotlight the plight of orphans around the world. And I love adoption, of course. I do not, however, believe that adoption is the right choice for every family, and so I am careful about the way I advocate. So for this special month I want to bring a different aspect of adoption to light- the fight that many adoptive parents are fighting every day for safe adoption language. In their kids' schools. In their kids' television shows. In the movie theaters. Adoption adds a whole other layer to the media and conversations our children are exposed to. We scour the Internet for movie reviews before we allow our young ones to attend a movie field trip with their day care class. (Bet you didn't know that adoption themes run unchecked throughout popular childrens' movies.) We stop relatives from making yet another "Everything that is made is China is cheap" remark while our innocent little ones are unwrapping Christmas presents. (And yes, that actually has happened to my family, twice.) We arm our elementary age kiddos with the ammunition to answer intrusive questions from peers at school. We help create "All About Me" posters that have no baby pictures and offer to visit classrooms to explain the Chinese New Year and Autumn Moon holidays.

I have done all of that. And I will continue to do it for as long as my boys need me to. What I didn't do, what I didn't even think I needed to do, was oversee every single aspect of their school careers. But those two sentences in my son's social story? They could have been setting him up for failure every time they read to him.

I am not a helicopter parent. Or at least I try not to be. I let my oldest son wander off in stores, knowing that he knows his boundaries and rules. I no longer keep my youngest within arm's reach on play dates, fearful that he will bop his new friend on the head with the heaviest toy he can find. A few weekends ago I sat on a park bench chatting with my sister in law while my boys ran around with their cousins. At one point they were no where to be seen, having wandered into the woods. I could hear them, so I knew they were still close. Every day I walk that fine line between letting them be boys and explore their worlds and wanting to keep them wrapped in bubble wrap and in my line of vision at all times.

But last week I learned that I need to become even more of a helicopter parent when it comes to the adoption messages my boys hear. I know that I may come across as over protective and slightly unstable to my non adoptive parent friends. But I vow to no longer let that bother me. While I looked around that meeting room last week and saw those light bulbs go off in the eyes of my son's school team, I have to say that I had a light bulb moment as well. I cannot expect my sons' school to use appropriate adoption language. So it's up to me. I have already rewritten a few pieces of the social stories being used with my son. I have already let both of their teachers know that I am available to talk about appropriate adoption language with them, if they ever have a question. My Special Needs Mom cape has been firmly attached for a while now. But my Adoptive Mom cape had quietly fallen off. Think how high I'll be able to fly now that I am wearing both!

My Christmas Planner

2014-11-05T12:28:00.000-05:00

The Christmas season is upon us and, as usual, I am super excited. Like, super excited. I have always loved the holiday season but people, it is so much more fun with the little guys around. So. Much. More. Fun.

Which is why I have already pulled out my Christmas planner. I have been using the same planner for a few years now, which is great for a few reasons. First of all, this planner was created from a hard covered wire bound notebook. I chose one with two dividers. For my planning needs I require five separate sections:

To Do
Gift List
Holiday Activities
Giving (time, monetary, donations)
Recipes & Table Decor (meal planning)

Because my notebook only has three sections I added the extra ones I needed by using red metallic holiday tape. Simply add the tape to the edge of the page and fold over to the back and voila - holiday inspired tabs!

Every year I just tear out the old pages and start fresh. Reason number one why this planner is great- no need to buy a new one every year. I am going on year number three with this one, and I anticipate I will get at least a few more years out of it. Very cost effective. Now I don't know about you, but I am all about keeping costs down during the Christmas season!

The second reason why I like using the same planner year after year is this: memories. This morning, while the boys were eating breakfast before school, I sat at the table with them, my coffee, and my Christmas planner. Before I tore out last year's pages I took a little walk down memory lane. Last year's notes, to do list, recipe ideas, (Oh those reindeer cookies were NOT a good idea!)... There's the snowman sticker my youngest son stuck on the cover last year. And there's the homemade gift ideas the boys and I created last year. Remembering Christmas past- always a good thing.

I don't know about you, but I need my lists. There is always something popping up, stealing my time and energy. This week alone I have found myself adding a birthday party invite for my oldest son, (on a school night!), a music therapy consult, and about a thousand telephone calls to my already busy To Do List. So if I don't plan, I find myself seeing the world pass me by. And passing my boys by as well. There are television shows I want to share with them. There are tree lighting ceremonies to attend and Christmas lights to drive by. There are handmade gifts to make, cookies to bake, and fire stations to deliver those cookies to. And there are budgets to stick to, am I right? And what about all those great ideas you find while scrolling through Pinterest? (Wait, what? You don't stalk Pinterest while watching TV at night? I swear there are days that I have some sort of attention deficit. I cannot simply sit still on the sofa and watch a show. But that's a post for another day...)

I keep the To Do List in the first section, so that it is the first page I see when I open the planner. Every time I think of something that needs done I simply jot it down on the running To Do list. All those little things, like asking the teachers what school supplies their classroom needs so we can send in a gift, and getting the dog groomed before any holiday gatherings in our home find their place here. I use the Franklin Planner method of tracking progress, marking my tasks as either "in progress", completed, or delegated to others.

In the Gift section I keep track of store sales and websites where I might be able to find the best deals. This way, I don't have to pull in my sweet husband on every little detail. I make it a point to sit down with him a few times over the gift buying season to show him a particular website or store ad so that we can discuss gifts, costs, and logistics, such as online ordering versus driving all over town. I do the same with our home decorating. My sweet husband really doesn't care what decorations I choose each year, including what I choose to re-purpose or what needs to be purchased. He just needs to know the bottom line- how much is all of this going to cost. And I have to say that by using my planner wisely, that cost is much lower than it would be without it. Knowing what we have on hand, knowing what hand made items I would like to try, and knowing where to get the best deal on decorations that need purchased prevents me from impulse buying or duplicating what we already have in storage here at home.

Every Holiday season we are just bombarded by philanthropic requests. We want to help everyone, don't we? But honestly, we can't. We can, of course, keep all those needs in our prayers, which we do. But I need my boys to see how we determine where we spend our money. And I need our boys to see us giving of ourselves. But I am human, and I will forget all of those needs. And I am OK with admitting it - my brain is like a sieve.

My boys are learning from my Christmas planner as well. They are seeing me plan and prepare. They are hearing about budgets and they are helping me to plan our donations and service. They are active participants in planning gifts for others and they always have something to look forward to when they check out the Holiday Activities section.

The only rule to my planner? The boys know that they are not allowed to open it or look at it unless I am with them. I wouldn't want them to read about the gift ideas we have for them. I remember the days when I didn't have to worry about this - but now the oldest can read to the youngest. I swear, teaching them to read has not always been helpful! (Calm down, no haters please, I am just kidding. But seriously, do they have to read EVERY sign they see out the car window?)

My love of organization and my love of Christmas, married. What could be better?

Traditions

2014-10-31T10:55:00.000-04:00

Last night, as my husband and I were snuggled up in the basement family room, me reading on my phone and petting the puppy, my husband watching Lebron bring basketball back to Cleveland, it hit me. "Tomorrow is Halloween!", I exclaimed, sitting up abruptly and accidentally pushing Marley Pup to the floor. "The Great Pumpkin needs to come tonight!". My husband visibly rolled his eyes. And I agree- it might seem silly to rush around and set out little trinkets for every holiday. Maybe. But to me, it's a memory. It's excitement. It's a tradition I started when my oldest son first joined our family. His first American holiday with his new family was the Fourth of July. He was so pleased with his little flag and star spangled stuffed bear. And I was pleased with his sweet smiley reaction. A tradition was born.

As the years have passed I have witnessed my oldest son sharing his excitement about this holiday tradition with his little brother. I know it won't be long before I will have to navigate the maze of one kid starting to question how these trinkets show up every holiday while one little one still full on believes. But for now, for a short while longer, I can enjoy sneaking around the kitchen late at night, setting out whatever little gift I found. Placing it on the kitchen table, at each boy's seat. The lights low, the hour late, it almost feels as though the warmth in the house is brought out exclusively by the fuzzy feelings of love these family traditions bring on. This glow follows me upstairs as I sneak in to each boy's room, checking on them, pulling blankets up, (on the oldest), and down off the face, ( of the youngest). It sticks with me as I wash my face and climb into bed. I fall asleep amid memories of past holiday mornings. The St. Patrick's Day when my oldest found a small watercolor set waiting for him. The Valentine's Day that both boys found new heart themed plates and cups waiting on the table for breakfast. The July Fourth that brought blinking star sunglasses.

And those memories are amazing, sure. But it is what is underneath those little gifts that bring the true power of family traditions. The memory of sitting at the kitchen table painting with my son. Those heart themed plates? We still use them. And they still make me smile.

Family Meeting Night. Chinese Tea Parties. Apple picking. Christmas lights viewing. New Christmas books to read at bedtime. Bedrooms filled with birthday balloons. And little inexpensive gifts for holidays, always waiting on the kitchen table, ready to greet my boys as they bound down the steps in the morning. Family traditions are important. I already knew they were important to me. And every holiday, as I listen to my boys talk about the "Great Pumpkin", or the mysterious Valentine's Day gift giver, I begin to understand more and more how very important holiday traditions are to my boys as well. This morning, while my oldest son slept, his little brother ran to his place at the table, exclaiming at the spider covered drinking cup and puffy Halloween stickers. As I was sitting down to join him, gently cradling my mug of steaming coffee, the lights low and the house quiet except for my son's giggles, I smiled at my sweet husband. The skeptical one. The roller of the eyes.

"You know, when I was a kid, I only had Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy visit my home. You are a very lucky boy.", my husband said, as he picked up the cup to get a closer look at the spooky spiders. I nodded my head in agreement, knowing that he understood why this tradition was so important to me. These two sweet boys had nothing. They came to us malnourished, scared, with no understanding of family or love. I want to give them the world. And I know that giving them the world really means giving them pieces of me to carry with them as they grow.

Family traditions. Tonight my boys will bounce into the house after school, ready to throw on their costumes and rush out into the damp rainy evening collecting candy from our new neighbors. But not before they eat a delicious dinner of meatball mummies with "bloody" tomato dipping sauce. (I am the mom of boys, after all!) This weekend we will cut out colorful construction paper leaves to write our "thankful thoughts" on. And throughout November, as I move about the kitchen, preparing meals, washing dishes, packing lunches, I will read and re-read each of those leaves, reminding myself of our many blessings. Big, like Forever Families, and small, like Coffee. Big to my boys, like Winning the Football Championship and small, like Crunching Leaves Under Our Feet as We Walk the Dog.

Creating these thankful thoughts won't be easy for my boys. Tracing the leaves, cutting them out- that they can do. But thinking thankful thoughts, reminding yourself to enjoy the small bits of life in between the big stuff- that is something that must be modeled and taught. Another positive result of family traditions, teaching stuff our kids need to know but don't always pick up on their own.

And after that we will move on to our next family tradition, marking the change in seasons and the growth in my family, as little trinkets go from matchbox cars to football cards, to God only knows what a teenage boy would find fun. Giving little gifts is fun for me, sure. Building memories, establishing a strong sense of family, teaching my boys to appreciate the little joys in life, and sharing with them the joys of anticipation, that is what creating family traditions is really about. Family traditions help to define our lives. They can provide a strong sense of safety and can ground us in this confusing world.

So this one has passed. And I am already dreaming of turkey shaped erasers and heart covered pencils, (in blue, for my boys, of course!).

If I Can Remember That...

2014-09-09T15:07:00.001-04:00

Every time I turn around you are there. If I leave a room you find me. If you are forced to go up to bed without me you scream my name as you are carried away. There are days that I think you are over this fear, days that I believe that you finally understand that I will always be here for you. There are days that I can actually walk to the bathroom, go inside, close the door, and enjoy a few minutes of privacy without you trying to break in. I can hear you out there, you know. I hear you asking "Where is Mommy?" and then I hear you walking towards the closed bathroom door. Your footsteps unmistakable, I double check that the door is locked and then call out to you. "I'm right here, baby. Give me a few minutes. I'll be right out." You don't give me a few minutes. You turn the knob, testing it. You stick your fingers under the door. You talk to me as though I am not in the bathroom, as though you have no concept of privacy.

There are days that I can now be in the kitchen while you are in the family room. You wander in every so often, ask for a hug, get a drink, and wander back out. I watch you still, you know, even when you are in the next room. I value my time alone, but I watch you nonetheless, your past behavior having instilled in me a type of hyper vigilance of my own. I always need to know what you are doing, where you are. So in a way, I get it.

Sometimes I can get too comfortable with you. Sometimes I think you are "over it". That maybe, just maybe, we have accomplished something here, you and I, and you have finally learned to trust.

The other night you and I were alone. Your dad had collected your older brother from the tree out front and took him off to run errands, leaving you and I alone. I pulled out the fruit for the frozen fruit salad you wanted to make, and gave you a big bowl. You were so calm and thoughtful. You poured the cans of fruit into the bowl, adding the frozen strawberries that you and your brother had picked earlier in the summer. You chopped bananas with your kid knife and mixed everything perfectly. You gathered the plastic containers and carefully spooned the fruit mixture into each bowl, snapping the lids on proudly. You were calm, thoughtful, and 100% focused.

As you stood on your little stool at the counter I moved around behind you, cleaning up the kitchen. We chatted about the day we picked the strawberries. We talked about how long it might take for the fruit salad to freeze. I moved from the kitchen to the laundry room, putting towels in the washer and hanging up a stray set of car keys I had found on the kitchen counter. I was gone maybe 20 seconds. As I turned around I nearly tripped over you. You stood in the hallway, your hands sticky, still holding the spoon you were using to fill the bowls. "Where are you going?", you ask me. "'I'm not going anywhere.", I respond. "I heard the keys.", you say. I explain that I was just hanging them up. You look up at them, eying them suspiciously. "You and I are home alone, kiddo. I can't go anywhere without you!", I remind you.

You stand there, in the hallway, sticky fingers and dripping spoon, until I finish what I am doing and move back into the kitchen. For the next hour, until your daddy comes home, you stick right by my side. And then, at bedtime, I decide not to leave the house, and you scream my name as Daddy carries you up the stairs. My heart breaks, again.

Here I was, starting to relax. Here I was, thinking that you were having a great night. Calm, thoughtful, focused. You were having fun, cooking and spending one on one time with Mommy. But there it was. Your hyper vigilance. There it was, just hanging out there right under the surface, where it must always be. The moments of calm trick me into thinking that you have finally caught on, that you truly understand that we are a family. And maybe you do, but you are still that same scared little boy I held close to my heart in that hot orphanage, day after day.

A few days later I mentioned your hyper vigilant key moment to my husband. "That is so sad.", he said. And it is, sad. But it is also a good reminder to me. A reminder that you are not yet there, not yet ready to be pulled away from me. You get on the school bus happily each morning, following your older brother up the steps and sitting in your assigned seat. But then, on most days, you cause havoc in your kindergarten room. You settle down and go to bed easily if I am not in the house, but if you know I am home you scream and carry on as though you may never see me again. What are you thinking? What goes through your mind when you act out in school? What are you thinking when you are being carried off to bed? I cannot fill you up, despite how much time I give you. I give you all I can, giving until I feel depleted. You are literally stalking me, and there are days that I just want to hide from you. There are days that I actually do hide from you. (shhhh...) But when that happens, I simply need to remember that day in the laundry room, with the keys. I need to remember that look in your eyes when you thought I was leaving the house. I need to remember how you can go from calm and focused to scared in a heart beat. I need to remember that you have two years of hyper vigilance practice on me. I have only been doing this dance with you for three years. You have been doing it your entire life. I need to remember that even a simple activity like cooking together in the kitchen can end in a reminder of your abandonment fears. If I remember that, then I can get up tomorrow, early early, when you wake me up at the crack of dawn, and I can hug you tight. If I remember that I can take a deep breath the next time you rattle the locked bathroom door, your questions continuing even though I am not even in front of you any longer. If I remember that I can smile as I talk to your principal on the phone, listening to notes from your school day. If I remember that I can take each moment as it comes, which, it seems, is what you do. If I remember that, I can stop and love you where you are. Wherever you are, every day.

Ignore and Celebrate

2014-08-28T13:45:00.001-04:00

School started last week. We are now a two kids in school family. We have been a two kids in school practice family for a few years, while our youngest was in preschool. Turns out, just as I had suspected, preschool was not so much a trial run for the real thing. Turns out, the real thing is much, much harder. So we have a two weeks under our belts. Two weeks of packing two lunches, signing two homework folders, reviewing behavior charts and reminding two boys to put those backpacks away. I swear, between the shoes, the dog and the backpack, I am going to break my ankle.

And while it has been two weeks of school schedules and strict bedtimes and balancing football practice and homework, it has also been a week of utter emotional chaos. People, I have cried every day. Every single school day has brought me to tears. And to cheers, as I work hard to find the good and to celebrate even the tiniest of victories. We are midway through week two of the school year and I am ready to stop.the.rollercoaster. Please. I just want off.

But I can't hop off. I can't just raise the bar that is holding me in, hop out, and run over to the calmer merry go round my oldest son is riding through life. I watch him, with awe and jealousy, as he rides his horse up to the highs and down to the lows. Lows that aren't really all that low and that have a safety net- a floor between his horse and rock bottom. He hangs on to his horse as he travels around his world, going up and down, smiling. Sometimes I get to ride on that fun and peaceful ride with him, and I love it. I know sometimes it may seem tame to him, but I would love to ride the merry go round with him forever, until the day he hops off and runs for that rollercoaster of his own. Sigh.

Parents of kids with special needs have the added burden of educating yet another round of teachers and administrators about their child's specific brand of specialness. A by product of this is something I refer to as the "alphabet algorithm". SPD, RAD, PTSD, FAS... oh my goodness my son has an alphabet soup of diagnosis. You would think that all of those letters would mean that we would know exactly what is going on with my son. But I haven't a clue. It's a huge mathmatical equation. Is this (insert odd behavior here), casued by the RAD? Is it a sensory issue? Is it a flashback induced PTSD problem? Is he just being a typical five year old? Is it the color of the kitchen walls? Does he hate his socks? Does he hate me? Does he hate America? My head is going to explode.

I can't think of my son as an alphabet. He is a boy. He does not like changes to his routine. He does not like to go to bed when the rest of the family is still up. He does like to sing and dance, but only when he is alone with his immediate family. He loves to cook and clean and he is extremely attached to a stuffed dog. When in the right mood he can be funny, sweet, and thoughtful. Not that anyone else gets to see any of that. He has this deep yearning in him that I can't seem to fill. He can't seem to get enough of me, so much so that when I am with him I am torn between intense love and feeling as though I have been kidnapped, Is it love? Is it a need he has that has yet to be filled? Is is a RAD behavior? Is he trying to control me? Ack!

So as we wrap up week two of school I am ready to roll up my sleeves and get to work. Again. And I know this is only the beginning. I am staring down the barrel of 12 plus years of educating new teachers, advocating for my son, restraining myself, and, I hope, occasionally being totally amazed at the kind heartedness of others. I know along the way we will pick up other members of my son's village- a therapist here, a new friend with an understanding mom there. (Yes, I saw my son lick your doorknob. Nope, don't know why. I was hoping you didn't notice that he just jumped off your beautiful sofa and landed in the middle of your living room so hard that your sweet family photo tipped over on the side table over there...)

Near the door of our home that we use most often we have a white board hanging on the wall. This board proudly displays the words "We can do hard things". I have listed things like showing compassion, math, keeping our hands to ourselves. I think there is one more thing to add- life. I can do this hard thing called life. And so can you. We can advocate. We can let go. We can forget the alphabet soup of diagnosis. We can meet with teachers, state, restate, and then, calmly, state again the needs of our child. We can weigh one school over the other. We can ignore behavior and we can celebrate awesomeness. You and me, we can do hard things. I am not so sure that I believed this last week, but this week, I get it. I can do this- not alone, of course. My husband, family, church, teachers, friends... God- we've all got this.

So to all you special needs parents out there, the ones who have been fighting for their child for years and the ones, like me, who are just stepping into this world, cheers to you. I am in awe of you. Go on, you amazing people- make it a great school year!

Sharp Sticks at the Breakfast Table

2014-08-19T13:29:00.000-04:00

School has started! Oh my goodness, people, can I tell you how excited I am that this summer.is.finally.over. OVER! I know, I know, we had a great time these past three months. We managed to complete nearly every activity on our Summer Bucket List. Swimming, family roadtrip to the beach, biking, hiking, ice cream, fire flies- oh yes, we did it all. My boys went to a NASCAR race and to museums. We definitely made the most of our summer. (Planning, people! It is all about the planning! Stay tuned, our Fall Bucket List is coming soon!)

But in between the ice cream and the swimming were a lot of moments of chaos. Normal, for us. Raising kids can be chaotic for every family. And I swear that raising boys is just louder and dirtier. So raising two boys, one of who is a little RADish, is all chaos, all the time. You get used to it.

But now, at least until the school starts calling with concerns over the RADish, now is MY time. I get my quiet house back. My peaceful work day. My ability to think and to use the bathroom on my own. Heaven, people. Seriously, this is how low I have sunk. I think being able to walk to the bathroom without having to sneak and not having my heart stopped five times a day by a five year old running at my office door in an attempt to break in is heaven. H-E-A-V-E-N.

So today was the first day of school. By the end of last school year my oldest son had regressed to eating sugary cereal and cheese and crackers every morning for breakfast. Getting protein into this kid is not easy. This year, I have planned. I prepared ahead of time. I have searched and searched for interesting, healthy, protein packed breakfasts. I know I won't be able to stave off the Lucky Charms forever, but one day at a time, right?

Today we ate our breakfasts off skewers. That's right, sharp sticks at the breakfast table. Tomorrow? Maybe fire...

This morning's skewers held together strawberries, grapes, waffles, and scrambled eggs. I cooked the eggs in mini muffin tins, in the oven at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. They pop out as cute little scrambled egg muffins, which are super easy to pop on a skewer. Add a little ketchup and syrup for dipping and a great breakfast was had by all!

What did you have for breakfast on your first day back to school?

breakfast success!

simply "Do the next thing"

2014-07-30T10:38:00.000-04:00

Part Three in the "Extended Family Beach Vacation" series. You can read part one here. And part two here.

Today is Wednesday. We leave on Saturday morning for our big family trip to Florida. You know I am more than a little worried about pretty much every facet of this trip. Actually, I think the word "worried" is an understatement. Let's review the facts:

We have never been on a trip longer than two days since we became a family of four. That's three years of weekend trips only. Three years of mostly unsuccessful weekend trips.
Our little RADish thrives on routines. And even then the chaos is lurking right around the corner.
Both of the boys pretty much have absolutely no ability to entertain themselves in any way.
I am really really tired of riding in the front seat while my body is twisted around tot he back so that I can hold on to one kid to stop him from hurting the other kid. I am seriously too old for that.
We have never successfully navigated a night at a hotel as a family of four. Although I have a friend who was just mentioning some sort of "noise violation" she may have received on a recent hotel stay, thanks to her kids, so maybe our overnights haven't been so bad...
We seem to travel with an entire zoo of stuffed animals. This is not really a problem, I just find it really really annoying.

So we have planned, and then planned again, and then threw out the plan and started over with all the planning. We have thought through every possible scenario. "What if a zombie apocalypse comes and we can't get the youngest on board with running away as fast as we can?" Oh yeah, we have a plan for that.

Which brings me back to today. It is now Wednesday. We leave on Saturday. My desire to take this trip rises and falls with the moods and behaviors of my youngest son. Earlier in the week? Dreading the trip. Last night I deposited my beloved children into their father's hands while I got my hair done and shopped for beach toys. Alone. So today the dread is lifting. Excitement is starting to build. Maybe we can do this. After all, we have:

rented a car with three rows, so that the RADish can freak out all he wants without being able to actually touch anyone.
loaded two iPads with games and movies and thrown out all rules about electronics in the car. these iPads will be turned on before we even leave the driveway.
also thrown out all rules about eating in the car. snacks, snacks, and more snacks. if he is eating, maybe he won't be screaming.
purchased large, round, totally dangerous longer lasting suckers. hopefully these will serve a dual purpose- both in keeping mouths quiet and in providing the sucking motion that helps my youngest regain regulation. unfortunately, once he is dis regulated it is very hard to bring him back, and he refuses to take the needed "sensory breaks" to keep his system regulated. I'm hoping to trick him into this with the suckers.
put a plan in place for bedtime in the hotel, on our way to Florida and back. a cocktail for me in the hotel lobby while I play games with my oldest son and wait for the "he's asleep" text to arrive from my sweet husband.
thrown out all my planning for fun on the way. I have given up and not purchased little treats to be lovingly handed out at certain points of the trip- 50 miles, when we count 10 red cars... these games, while fun, always end badly and my husband has pleaded with me to not put too much planning into making this trip fun. our new motto?

"Let's just get through this!"

I am confident that once we get to our destination we will encounter a whole new set of challenges. And we will take it one day, one hour, one minute at a time. We will simply do the next thing. A very good friend of mine recently used that phrase when describing a difficult time in her life. And I agree. We will make memories that will last a lifetime, and my little guy will have so much fun. He will dig in the sand, swim in the ocean, ride on a boat, eat ice cream.... Hopefully spending an entire week with his extended family will allow the love we all have for him to seep into his battered little soul.

Yesterday I watched my youngest son wind himself up while the dishwasher repairman was in our kitchen. He was hyper active with excitement, jumping around and generally getting in the way. After a few comments from the repairman my momma bear kicked in and I found myself fiercely protecting this child of mine. This same child who drives me to the edge of sanity on a regular basis. This same child who forces me out of the house every single night at bedtime. Who at times rages so hard he lashes out at me, physically. Who, when angry, follows me around the house, purposely trying to upset me so that I turn on him, proving to him that he is right about love and filling the room with the negativity he is so comfortable around. I can cry, scream at my husband, wake up in the middle of the night worrying, leave my bed to join him in his, because while he is sleeping I have the rare opportunity to just "be" with him, without him getting so hyper he pulls away. Yes, I have earned the right to all of these actions and feelings. But no one outside of our small circle has those rights. And especially not a repairman passing through our kitchen.

Every time I feel these protective feelings kick in I am flooded with peace and the knowledge that I can do this. I can get through today. I can get us all through two days on the road. I can enjoy a week with family on a beautiful beach. I can do it, one day, one hour, one minute at a time. I can just do the next thing.

Road Trippin' With The RADish

2014-07-11T15:35:00.001-04:00

Part Two in the "Extended Family Beach Vacation" series. You can read part one here.

Tomorrow we will be loading up the car, delivering the puppy to her "hotel", and driving to Pittsburgh for a family wedding. We will be gone just two days, dragging ourselves home Sunday evening. A trial run, so to speak, for our upcoming week long beach vacation.

We have traveled as a family before, on these small weekend trips, and every time a few things go right and a lot of things go wrong. We are slowly putting together our "tool kit" for life on the road with our youngest son. Anxiety, RAD, and sensory issues swim together in a pool of normal five year old boy mischief, which sits in the backseat next to a seven year old who can never turn off his brain and who is, and I quote, "always in need of technology or (his) head hurts!". I ask you, what can go wrong?

We have tried sticker charts and behavior rewards. Charts have been ripped and rewards thrown back in my face. But we must keep trying, right? I am not the one who is operating from a place of fear, so I am the one who must figure this out.

Tomorrow when we hit the road each boy will have a "good times" book, where we, or they, can write or draw pictures of the good stuff. No stickers, no goals, just compliments and praises. My boys are competitive, so this just might work. And if it doesn't, then so be it. If it is ruined in a tantrum I will survive. I am much stronger about this sort of thing than I used to be!

My MZW LOVES all things USA so his good times book should bring a smile to his face!

Each of us, Daddy and Mommy included, will have a visor clip as well. One thing I have noticed on these long drives is that all of us tend to lose it. We each have our own behaviors and we each have moments that we wish we could get back. And all of us, every single one us, needs to be held accountable. I want my boys to see that I struggle as well, and that I am not above reproach just because I can drive the car or buy wine. (mmm, wine...)

They are not fancy, because they might not last. I'm OK with that!

If behaviors ratchet up the clip is removed. If atonement is made, the clip goes back up. Everyone who has a clip on the visor when the car stops for a break gets a treat. Easy peasy. And visual, something very important for my little RADish.

Normally these types of rewards and consequences do not work for attachment challenged children. And we have seen our share of techniques not working. But my little guy is slowly coming around, and while he still frequently cannot be forward thinking enough to learn from his mistakes, he is starting to respond. Starting. A little glimmer of hope. We hang on to what we can, don't we?

So we are ready. This trip includes a large family wedding, loud reception, lots of car time and an overnight stay in an unfamiliar hotel. All of these could easily set off my youngest, so the Sensory Bag is also packed.

Sensory brush
Squishy bumpy light up hand held ball
Play-Doh with beads buried inside and tweezers
Essential Oils
Matchbox cars (because they are quiet, small, and let's face it, fun to drive over well decorated wedding reception tables)
Chewy necklaces
Brain Works app for sensory break ideas
Melatonin (because I am no fool)
Beyond Consequences book
Parenting the Hurt Child book

Wish us luck- we are off!

The Extended Family Vacation- part one

2014-07-01T11:18:00.000-04:00

This post is the first in a short series on taking our little RADish on an extended family vacation. A two day road trip, a large house full of kids, a dangerous ocean.... what could go wrong?

Next month we are heading to the beach. Me and the boys will be loading up the car and starting out on the longest car trip we have attempted since our youngest joined our family. Both boys have been campaigning heavily to fly, and they might be on to something. But we are going to drive it. A real family vacation, a road trip.

And when we get to the beach, we will find ourselves smack in the middle of my husband's large family. That's right, we are taking our chaos, trauma and behaviors to a large beach house and rolling out the circus for the family. I am seriously considering just packing beach towels and alcohol.

The list of things that we cannot do as a family of trauma has gotten smaller over the past three years. This summer we have gone strawberry picking. My husband took the boys to a loud, hot, crowded NASCAR race. We have been swimming in the crowded pool in our new neighborhood. We have accomplished longer car trips and not lost anyone at large playgrounds. We made it through a cousin's birthday party. We have rolled with the punches too- scrambling to find a full time summer sitter when my little RADish got himself kicked out of daycare and taking lots of deep breaths when behaviors ratchet up. But nothing we have managed to accomplish so far this summer will hold a candle to what we will face come the first week of August.

The extended family vacation.

When I tell people that we are heading to the beach, five families, seven kids between the ages of two and eleven, with a high schooler and college kid thrown in to round out the mix, I get a smiling response. "Oh, that will be so much fun!". "What a wonderful opportunity!". And I agree. It should be fun. And it is a nice opportunity, in theory. These well meaning people? They have no idea.

After two days on the road we will emerge from the car, toys and books falling out as we open the doors. We will gather the trash- I'm thinking it will mainly be ripped pages of books and broken happy meal toys we will be filling that trash bag with- the garbage of the traumatized. A month of planning and preparing for those two days will still have us dragging ourselves out of the car, two exhausted parents, one cluelessly happy seven year and a sullen five year old with a settle to score.

We will then spend the next week in a state of hyper vigilance. While our relatives drink ice tea and spend time making memories, relaxing as their children play, we will be following our youngest son around, working hard to stay one step ahead of him. He will be smiling and happy and we will feel stupid as we keep a watchful eye over absolutely everything he does. We will drag him away from his cousins and his fun before something goes wrong, attempting to offer him sensory breaks, which he will refuse. We will flounder, unsure of our parenting skills on a good day, let alone with so many eyes upon us. We will question- should we let him go back and play? Should we force the break? Eventually my husband and I will let the frustration get the best of us and we will argue.

Another time we will forego the sensory break, letting our youngest son continue to play with his cousins. Someone will get hit, or something will get broken. "Boys will be boys", we will hear. "All kids act like that, you should have seen what my son did at his age!".

We will spend a lot of time alone, just the four of us, on this trip. It will be great, quality time, fun and maybe, just maybe, a little relaxing. This hiding will come with a price though. Even if it is not happening we will still feel judged. Relatives will try to include us. They will not understand that it is better for our little family to spend some time alone. That we are OK with this. We will feel as though we are letting someone down during most every moment of this trip. Spend too much time with the large group and we may not be doing what is best for our son. Keep him secluded and we may be helping his anxiety, but also appear as though we have something to hide. I am exhausted just thinking about it, and it is still a month away!

And then there is the parenting style that we have adopted. So far in this life of ours we have adopted two kids, a puppy, two guinea pigs, a fish or two, and about a million parenting styles. Parenting a child of trauma with attachment issues requires a specific set of skills that we are just beginning to learn. Skills that are not in the arsenal of main stream parents. Techniques that find us not punishing as others might think we should. "Why are they letting him get away with that?". Why indeed.

So why are we going? Why spend a week of precious vacation time, time we need to reserve for doctor's appointments, therapy intensives, self care? With two kids, one with a cleft palate and one with attachment issues, we are booked solid with appointments, all requiring one of us to take time off work. Why drive for two days, amid fighting, while dodging shoes and toys thrown at us from the backseat? Why spend a week in hyper vigilant mode, attempting to anticipate our youngest son's next move? Why take our circus on the road to the beach, adding an ocean of dangerous water to our live circus show?

I'll tell you why. Because my oldest son deserves to spend time with his extended family, and he radiates sadness if we don't do things as a family. Because my youngest son loves to play in the sand, and is just beginning to enjoy swimming. Because despite how hard this will be it is a great opportunity to show him, once again, what a family is. How a family feels. How a family acts. Because I will experience moments of absolute joy as I play in the sand with my son, or as I watch him have a sweet moment with his aunt. Because at the end of the day I hope to be able to tally up more good moments than bad. Because I am not going to make excuses for my son. I will explain reasons but not give excuses. Because he has a right to share these experiences with his family. Because this is who we are, and there is no reason we can't do this. I might be crazy and over optimistic, but I really think we can do this. Bring on the sun!

Stay tuned for more posts in the "Extended Family Beach Vacation" series. Topics to include sharing details of our story with family, preparing my RADish for our road trip, and taking essential oils on the road.

My Dreams Are Pinned to a Shiny Red Bicycle

2014-06-30T11:40:00.003-04:00

I am pinning all my hopes and dreams on a small red children's bicycle. OK, that might be a little too dramatic. But it is totally true to say I am pinning a lot of hope onto this shiny new bike. My youngest son's shiny new bike. I have prayed for a breakthrough like this. Yes, I have prayed for the power of a bicycle to come and rescue my son. To some my bike prayers may seem silly. To me, it's just another day.

My youngest son has RAD. Reactive Attachment Disorder. This is the latest in an alphabet soup of diagnosis. ADHD, (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). SPD, (Sensory Processing Disorder). PTSD, (Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome). Possible FAS, (Fetal Alcohol Syndrome). Toss in anxiety and you have an alphabet soup no parent would wish to serve their child. I have come to learn that the diagnosis doesn't matter as much as the treatment. And I have learned that it is not one size fits all when it comes to treatment.

OK, now it's test time. Let's practice that alphabet. The SPD my son displays is a direct result of his FAS and RAD. One of the treatments for this is to teach him to take what we call "sensory breaks". We want him to take these breaks to break the cycle of hyperactivity, brought on by anxiety and PTSD. He doesn't want to take these breaks because he likes the way he feels when hyperactivity sets in. Plus this hyperactivity causes chaos in the household, which keeps him in control, something he is seeking thanks to his RAD. Got it?

The types of activities he needs to complete for these sensory breaks does not always make sense to someone not well versed in how the brain works. Which is me. With my oldest son, if I want him to calm down, I simply tell him to stop whatever activity is winding him up and offer a quiet one, such as an art project, a walk, or a TV show. When I want my alphabet soup son to calm down I need to offer him activities such as jumping, bouncing, swinging, push ups, and bike riding. And it usually goes something like this:

Me: "Let's take a sensory break!"
Son: "NO!"

And this goes on for a while. And then goes on some more. He'll try an activity and then discard it 30 seconds later. He doesn't want to change, and he cannot process why this would be good for him. As he winds up tighter and tighter his older brother watches and decides he wants to join in the fun. While he will listen when I tell him to stop, he cannot fully process they "why" part of my request either. And I wind up feeling like the mean mom who never lets her kids have any fun. I can't win, because if I let the fun and hyperactivity continue it will literally take hours for the youngest to wind down. He simply cannot play like other kids. Confused? Me too. Imagine how difficult this is to explain to a 7 year old!

So, back to bike riding. After years of refusing to pedal a bike my youngest has finally joined the party. And we celebrated by getting him his very own bike yesterday. He was beyond thrilled. After trying it out last night he asked if he could ride it some more this morning. (Notice I said he asked. He didn't demand. He didn't just run outside and do it himself. He asked! Progress. Slow, but it is there.)

He likes to ride his bike. Maybe, just maybe, he will occasionally accept this as a sensory break. Maybe he will do this activity for longer than 30 seconds at a time. Maybe he can complete this activity with his older brother without it going south and ending up in hurt feelings and tattling. Maybe I can actually do something else, every once in a while, instead of standing over him administrating a sensory break.

I have learned that there are no quick fixes here. It will take years to bring my youngest son back from the edge of early life trauma. So I celebrate this tiny victory that has been won in the form of a shiny red bicycle. We celebrate the small stuff around here, the every day, the mundane. There is always something worth celebrating- that alphabet soup of diagnosis? They keep our young family on a constant roller coaster of emotions, so we look for the small victories. And today that victory comes on a bike. A shiny, red, big kids bike. And I could not be more proud.

I see you

2014-06-23T15:02:00.000-04:00

I see you over there. Yes, there are 30 little five year olds running around the parking lot and 30 adults- moms, grandmothers, dads, all trying to keep their young charges from running past the orange traffic cones meant to corral the safety towners until the gates open. Yes, it is loud, with babies crying, kids laughing, cars trying to park. Yes, I am just as distracted as the other moms, watching my oldest son hop around the parking lot, chatting with the older brothers and sisters of the safety towners. This kid of mine, he knows everyone. I watch him smile and wave to his friends, totally confident and sure of himself. To be honest, he is a little jealous. His little brother's safety town has permanent structures and a great little town to drive around. My youngest son is wrapped around my leg, hiding from the noise and people. Sure, if I encouraged him he would run off with his older brother. He would laugh and hop and race around in circles like the other little ones. I don't encourage this, though, because, unlike the other children waiting in the parking lot he will not be able to calm down when it is time for class to start. In our world there is a time and a place for "free play", and this is not it. I pick up my youngest. He wraps his fingers through my hair and pets my head as he pops his thumb into his mouth. I whisper into his ear. "I am so proud of you! You are doing great with safety town!" He vacillates between agreeing with me and saying "No, I'm not doing good." We have some self esteem issues to work on with this one.

There is a lot going on, here in this parking lot, but I still see you. I see your son smile at my youngest, the light of recognition in his eyes. I wonder- day care? Pre school? Church? I bend down to my son, questions on my lips, ready to point out his friend and ask where he knows him from. Your son takes a step forward and then I see it. You pull him back. I watch you tell your son "No." "Don't go talk to him."

My oldest appears back by my side at the exact moment that I turn away from you. I heard about you. My sweet husband told me that you had refused to let your son say hi to our youngest the day before, that you acted as though you knew our family from somewhere. My oldest confirms my fears. You do know our family. From church. From daycare. Daycare. Sigh.

I take a breath. I have a choice here. I can be mad. I can tell you how thankful you must be that you have typical, cookie cutter children who never have behavior issues. I can tell you how thankful I am that your children have obviously never suffered at the hands of someone they expected to be able to trust. I could ignore. But this is just the beginning. If we have found ourselves at the same daycare and at the same church, then we very well might find ourselves in the same school class. I know your kids go to our school; your older son was in my oldest son's first grade class. Our kids are friends, and I am not about to allow my oldest son to lose a friend over your narrow mindedness. What happened at that daycare was nothing. A blip on our radar screen that we have already forgotten about. Frankly, it wasn't even the worst behavior we have seen from our sweet boy. Please. You have no idea. My life is busy. Job. Therapy. Doctor's appointments. Kids' activities. Time with my husband. Family fun. House. Managing the household. Errands. Relationships to maintain. I don't have time to educate the world on what can go wrong when babies aren't loved. Or even worse, when babies are starved or abused. I don't have time to educate you. But I know I have to push past all that. My oldest son deserves to have a chance at maintaining his friendship with your oldest son. And my youngest son deserves something too. Understanding.

Yes, this is uncomfortable for me. Yes, I would prefer to not have to step outside of my comfort zone. I want to turn away from you, folding my son into my arms. But I know that this is just the beginning. There will be more moms like you. Moms who need a little education. And I can't run from them all.

No, I can't run. I can use each incident as a teaching opportunity for my boys. As learning opportunities for myself. I can refuse to be narrow minded. I can refuse to allow my oldest to be embarrassed by his little brother. I can refuse to allow my youngest to think he is any less than. I can refuse to hide. This week we are at Safety Town. We will be at Sunday school. We will be at the family wedding. We will be at the bowling alley and the amusement park and the restaurant. We will be at the beach. So yes, I see you. I see your looks and I feel your judgement. I don't care. Bring it on because we are only getting stronger every day.

My Life as a Parent

2014-06-13T10:33:00.001-04:00

Note: This letter was written by members of the Attachment & Trauma Network (ATN) as an example of how to talk about your own personal experiences and share your family’s struggles with people who may want to, but don’t, understand. Feel free to use any parts of this document as you edit this story to make it your own. NOTE: This letter has been adapted by Beth Wilkison to reflect her journey with her son. The original text can be found here.

–Julie Beem, Executive Director, ATN (www.attachtrama.org )

My Life as a Parent of a Traumatized, Attachment-Disordered Child

I’m giving you this letter because you have expressed an interest in my experience as a parent of a traumatized, attachment-disordered child. It is not a story I relate to you lightly. My child has some very special needs and because of this, so do I. I need people to understand what our family faces, not just judge us as incompetent. It isn’t fair what happened to my child or to me. But it is what we are both facing, and we face it together everyday.

First, I’d like you to know that this letter was not written just by me. Parents from all over the country are using it to tell a uniquely tragic story. This letter isn’t the ranting of one isolated, overwhelmed, and oversensitive adult. I did not "do" this to my child. My child came to me this way. Chances are he would be struggling with these same behaviors and emotions in any family. My child's problems are not the result of poor parenting by me. In fact, parents of traumatized children are some of the most courageous, committed, resourceful, insightful, misunderstood and stressed-out parents around. We are not just bellyachers. We are in fact, front-line troops in the battle for civilization itself. If you think that’s somehow overinflated, consider the statistics that most of today’s prison population was abused and/or neglected and many have attachment-related emotional problems.

So here is what happened—when my child was a little baby, at the time he was most vulnerable, he did not get his basic needs met. Perhaps, he was not picked up when crying, not fed when hungry, left alone for hours, or left with various strangers for days. Perhaps he was beaten, shaken, or otherwise physically or sexually abused. Perhaps he had chronic or unmitigated pain due to medical procedures and had no way of communicating his distress. I might guess at these details of my child’s trauma, but I will never likely know the full truth. Because of this neglect and abuse, my child became traumatized and was convinced that he was going to die. He learned that he could not trust anyone to meet his needs. And every day since, when my child wakes up in the morning, this deep-seated anxiety gets reloaded. In order to survive, he has become unconsciously committed to never, ever being vulnerable again. He uses all of his basic survival intelligence to control an outside world he feels he cannot trust. All his existential energy is focused on keeping people far enough away so he won’t get hurt again, but close enough that they won’t leave him either. Unfortunately, he is never really satisfied with either proximity and is therefore constantly in a “push them away/pull them close” dilemma. As his adoptive parent, I live every day in this no man’s land of damaged intimacy. I’ve been emotionally wounded from the many times I’ve tried to break through my child’s formidable defenses. Those who don’t need to get as close—teachers, relatives, neighbors, etc.—won’t experience the full intensity of these primal defenses. So if you are lucky enough to see him withdraw or witness one of his rages, you are probably getting close—so good for you! But if this does happen, please remember that you are witnessing a child stuck in a desperate fight for survival—he has become once again that scared, traumatized baby, absolutely convinced he has to control you and everything in the world in order to be safe. It can’t get more primal than that.

As his parent, I am dedicated to helping him realize that I am not his enemy. It is that stark, I’m afraid. But not hopeless. My child has made great progress and has come so far. During these past three years I have tried many approaches to parenting my special child. The standard, traditional disciplinary approaches used by my parents were obviously tried first and were an instant failure.

His response is more primal, more subconscious, and has little to do with a situation or possessions involved. It has to do with the fear that’s triggered, the trust that was broken, the chaos he feels. It’s like he is having emotional seizure, as cascading brain chemistry takes him over. He doesn’t choose this – I don’t choose this—it just happens. So our days are often filled with emotional explosions and uneasy calms between the storms. When it does get quiet, I’m nervous about when the next bomb will hit. Each day is filled with anxiety, fear, guilt, and shame for us both. It is like we’re living on an emotional minefield, and the mines keep regenerating, exploding again and again.

What I face daily is, that despite my best efforts to be a loving caregiver, my child’s early developmental trauma has created a discord that is a true paradox. For example, I may try to gently calm my upset child, but this is not experienced as soothing to him. So his trauma is triggered and he may withdraw, shut down or lash out. This causes me to get stressed as my child reacts counter to my intention. Now my stressful reaction starts to feel familiar, even “safe”, to him, so he works (often subconsciously) to expand this, and we descend into deeper and deeper dysfunction and chaos. To my child’s trauma-injured brain, this dysregulated feeling, which feels painful to healthy people, actually feels normal to him. And I’m left feeling stressed, angry, and emotionally spent.

Absolute total consistency (at home and at school) helps tremendously. Parenting traumatized children is nothing like parenting emotionally healthy children. The responses you receive can be very unrewarding and punishing, since moments of closeness and intimacy can be rare and can trigger a trauma reaction. My beloved special child is often willing to do for others (even complete strangers) what he is not willing to do for me (this is another behavior common with attachment disorder). To be honest, this drives me crazy.

The damage done due to early childhood trauma and not being able to safely attach to a trusted caregiver has left my child with the emotional development of a toddler or infant. But the big difference is that my child is not a toddler. He’s five years old now. Imagine the terrible-twos lasting for years and years, escalating in intensity and effect— suddenly I’m the parent of a 100+ pound, physically coordinated, verbally adept, emotionally trigger-happy baby. This is what I worry about happening. And what I am working so hard to prevent.

Imposing limits isn’t enough. My child must be helped to accept these limits and internalize the self-regulation, self-soothing, and self-control required to do so. Rewards and punishments focus on the outside, observable behaviors, not the internal underlying process that creates these behaviors. At the same time, he does not need us to lower our expectations for either his behavior or his academic performance. What he needs is help in accepting and reacting to these expectations with flexibility and self-control. He needs to restart the developmental process and move beyond an emotional toddler. He needs to move out of this developmental disarray toward a more civilized, balanced inner process.

Our family needs support, education and understanding. We did not expect that this would be our daily reality, and it isn’t easy. Although it is much easier than it was, still, at times, I may seem stressed, fearful or angry. I am occasionally overwhelmed. I am making significant sacrifices so that my child can rise above the chaos of his trauma and find true hope and healing. We all have amazing abilities to adapt, as adversity can deepen us and perhaps this will be so for my child as he confronts deeply sealed wounds and transgressions. But we must go beyond intellectual definitions of “normal” and “cured” and think of it in another way: Can someone’s affliction, which has shut off various levels of meaning from his life, be mitigated enough to possibly reopen some of those channels? Or put another way, if left alone without special effort, will these kids descend into more and more chaos? Clearly, the answer to both questions is yes. Therefore, the effort and sacrifice I’m making in my life for him, and the help you are now hopefully willing to give me, is of great value. Help me help my child realize the true blessing life can be.

Thank you for reading this.

Saving Santa's Soul

2014-06-09T10:00:00.000-04:00

I have no doubt that my oldest son is brilliant. His teachers have all told me. He fits the gifted profile for kids his age. He never.stops.learning. And I am thrilled about this. It will take him far in this life. But if I am being totally honest, it is exhausting. Thank God for Google.

My family and I found ourselves driving home the other night at dusk. As the boys made their usual amount of noise in the backseat I looked up just in time to see a deer crossing in front of our car. I watched it trot past my passenger window as I very calmly stated, "Deer." My husband slammed on the brakes, looked around, and kept moving.

"Did you see that, boys?", I call out to the backseat. "Use your eagle eyes to look out for deer, one just ran in front of our car."

"Alex, you look out your window and I will look out mine.", instructs Matthew.

"Maffew, you look out your window and I will look at the sky because sometimes reindeer fly."

"Reindeer DO NOT fly!", says Matthew. I hold my breath. Surely he still believes in the magic of Santa? Surely he is not going to shatter his little brother's love of all things Ho Ho?

"Reindeers do not fly this time of year!", he repeats. I let out the breath I was holding.

An argument ensues. The youngest is fighting hard for year round flying reindeer. The oldest is simply sure that the reindeer would be on summer vacation.

"I am sure that Santa and the reindeer are on vacation right now.", I offer.

"No!", shouts Alex. Seems he feels very strongly about this. And I may not always understand my youngest son but one thing I do know is not to mess with him when he feels this strongly about something.

"OK, maybe the baby reindeers and the new elves are at the North Pole in training classes right now, and the experienced reindeer are at the beach with Santa.", I toss out a compromise.

"There are new elves? Is there a lot of elf turnover? What's going on up there?", asks my sweet husband.

"It's a very stressful job.", I remind him.

"They are stressed? How about trying to remember to move that damn elf every night? That is stressful!", he whispers.

"Mom, if Santa is flying around the world every Christmas Eve then when does he go to church?", asks my always thinking oldest son.

"I don't know, honey. Maybe he goes the day before."

"You don't always have to be in church, because God is everywhere, but you should go anyways.", he tells us.

"Mom, does Santa believe in God?" My oldest son delivers the final blow. I am stumped. Wow, that escalated quickly.

He then goes on to remind us that Santa travels all over the world, and not everyone all over the world believes in "our God". So is Santa a Buddhist? Is he Catholic? Does he believe in more than one God? And if he does believe in more than one god, then he won't go to heaven.

"Wait. Mom? How old is Santa? When will he die?", asks Matthew.

OK, amid all the other worries this momma has now I have to field questions about saving Santa Claus' soul. Just another typical car ride in my often crazy world.

Happy Family Day!

2014-06-03T12:19:00.001-04:00

Six years ago today we met you, our amazing oldest son. In a glaringly modern room full of black and red patterned furniture and overstuffed pillows you toddled in, over an hour late. Just like so many other times in those first 15 months of your life you had an obstacle to overcome that day. A flat tire on the bus bringing you to us. Not your first obstacle, and certainly not your last.

As we wandered around Shamian Island in Guangzhou with you strapped to my hip we were stopped countless times by interested locals, often overstepping our "American" boundaries of personal space. "A boy! You are lucky!". Yes, yes we were lucky, and we still are.

Once back on American soil that lucky sentiment became somewhat mangled. "He is SO lucky!", we heard all the time. No, he's healthy. He's loved. He's happy, we think. If you must assign luck, assign it to us, please. Americans, always thinking that our way is the best way.

Now that you are a strapping and active seven year old, we don't hear those lucky sentiments very often anymore. And, thankfully, we don't hear the invasive adoption questions much anymore either. We do hear questions about your relationship to your brother, but that is a story for another day.

Until your little brother joined our family we really didn't fully understand the loss of adoption. We do now. You have lost so much. You are starting to ask questions, questions that we can only speculate the answers to. Questions that probably will never be answered, not to your satisfaction, at least.

Did my birth mother love me like you do?

Where was I was found?

Why? Why? Why?

You are seven and just beginning to question. As you get older I know you will have more questions. Sadly, I won't have any more answers. So bear with me, sweetheart.

And in the meantime, I will love you, support you, give you every opportunity I can. And in return, you will continue to give me so much.

Your tight hugs. Your bright crooked smiles. Your wild dreams and engineering mind. Your thirst for knowledge. Your entrepreneural attitude. You have one foot in the world of big kids, with your football and your desire to go off and explore the world. And one foot still in your early childhood, with 15 stuffed animals on your bed and your fright of loud noises.

You are just the best big brother, getting your little sibling to listen, play, calm down. The patience you show with him is astounding. You are a teacher. A leader. A role model. I can't wait to see where this crazy life of ours takes us!

Six years ago I sat on a very hard brightly colored sofa, waiting for you to arrive. My Guangzhou delivery room. You were late to arrive, as so many babies are. You took my finger and held on tight. And I pray that you never let it go.

Slipping Through My Fingers

2014-05-12T10:34:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago I allowed my oldest son to walk to a new friend's home to play. Even though he was in our neighborhood and I was watching him from the upstairs window the whole time, he did have to cross two streets. I watched him skip off, stooping down to check out a rock or pick up a leaf, looking first right, then left, then right again before running across the street. He arrived in his friend's driveway and I watched his friend's mother smile at my son, taking over my watch.

Last month my oldest son arrived in the kitchen after exiting the bus all a twitter with the news that he and a few friends from the bus were forming a singing group. He spent the next few days writing songs, the bulk of which was actually pretty good. Two weeks ago he was working with a different group of friends to clean up the playground for Earth Day. He made flyers, created a list of what needed done and recruited helpers. I have no clue if he actually picked up any trash. But he looked good on paper!

He can ride his bike without me standing in the driveway,watching. He isn't allowed to cross the street or go all the way around the block, and he has to come back and check in every so often, but he is out there, alone. And I am in here, totally freaked out. I hover in the kitchen, hoping to catch a glimpse of his bike helmet over our back fence. I pace to the front door, watching for him to ride past the house. I pray. "Please keep him safe. Please help him to make smart choices when he is out there without me."

There are times now, in just the right circumstances, that I will let my Soaring Seven Year Old go to the bathroom by himself in public. Not everywhere. (Not at, say, Walmart. NEVER at Walmart.) I have taught him how to speak to a server and order his own meal. We have given him lessons in manners and purposely provided him with opportunities to use his newly acquired skills. We have modeled and praised and gently corrected. Yes, we are raising a super smart, very inquisitive, straight A student, but raising a man, raising a person of substance, is what is really important to me.

Last night my husband's extended family got together at a nice restaurant for a Mother's Day dinner. My Soaring Seven Year Old sat at the other end of a very long table, laughing with his cousins. I sat with my sweet husband and sisters and brothers in law, with my newly minted and very sleepy five year old on my lap. It took every ounce of strength I had to stay in my seat and not hop up to make sure all was well down there. He sat in his seat, wearing a bright yellow golf shirt and khaki shorts, his black hair somewhat spiky and his dark brown eyes sparkling. I watched him chatting with his cousins, all around his age, give or take a few years, all boys. I watched him order his drink, and then read the menu, ordering his own meal. I wanted to ask if he had said "please" and "thank you", but I stayed quiet. I wanted to leap up and move his cup of chocolate milk away from the edge of the table, but I didn't. And the cup stayed in place. I watched him eating a fruit salad and then pizza. I wanted to jump up and cut his pizza, reminding him that the plate would be very hot. But I didn't. And he was fine. He waited for his food to cool and then he did just fine pulling the pieces apart. He laughed with his cousins and grandfather. He stayed in his seat. He came over to me to ask if he could use the restroom and, once, just for a hug. (dear sweet boy, he missed me!)

The server complimented us all on our well mannered boys. This is what it can be like, I thought to myself. This is where our future is going. And it was nice. I was able to eat without the weight of his seven year old body pressing into me. I was able to talk to other adults. But as nice as it was, and as proud as I was of my oldest son, a part of me was sad. I am watching my baby boy slip through my fingers, as he grows into the man I had prayed he would be. I held on to my youngest, my tiny Frustratingly Fantastic Five Year Old. He will not go so easily into independence. He will need more guidance, a watchful eye for much longer. It is exhausting to think about, really. But last night, as I watched my oldest son navigate his world without me, I held on a little tighter to my youngest. Before I know it, he will be slipping through my fingers as well.

Chopped Liver, My Name is Mom

2014-04-30T13:49:00.002-04:00

Switching schools mid year can be tough. From day one at his new school my seven year old has been super excited about his school's version of Star of the Week. Top Dog, it's called in his classroom. He has been patiently waiting for his turn to finally roll around, and here it is- his Top Dog Week!

He spent the weekend creating his poster and deciding what special items he would bring into school.

Notice how he is wishing for a pigeon. Keep wishing, kiddo, not gonna happen.

He has been talking about me, his mother, coming in to read to his class during his special week. Non stop. For months he has been planning for this, and now it is finally here. He spent the weekend reviewing his book choices. This morning he bounced down the steps yelling, "Today is the day you are reading to my class!", which prompted him to trip and fall the last few stairs. He popped right back up. "I'm OK! And you are READING TO MY CLASS TODAY!"

As he hopped up the bus steps he looked at me over his shoulder, calling out, "See you at school- I can't wait!"

I arrive at his classroom and stand in the doorway, listening to 19 students sitting at their desks reciting a poem, in unison. My son spots me and a huge smile breaks out on his beautiful face. His eyes sparkle and he can hardly contain his excitement. Finally, the poem is complete and his teacher asks my son to please come to the front of the room and introduce his special friend.

I stand next to my son, who has wrapped his arms around me, giddy. My child is giddy. My heart fills and I am so happy that I made the choice to be here, right now, in this moment, with my oldest son.

"Tell us who you have brought today, Matthew". his teacher asks.

"This is my mother."

"And tell us why you chose your mother to be your special guest today?"

I smile down at the thick dark hair on my child's head. He is twisting his fingers together, standing there in front of his peers. He is being brave, his nervousness at standing in front of so many people seeping out through his constantly moving fingers and they twist around each other. My sweet angel. This child who has been inexplicably connected to my heart from the moment he was placed in my arms. More so than with my youngest son, who is often a mystery to me, I know this child's heart. I feel him. I know what is thinking, feeling. I know him like I know myself. My heart fills again with joy at this moment. I am his favorite person! I am his special guest!

"And tell us why you chose your mother to be your special guest today?"

"Because my daddy works an hour away."

I smile, ready to accept his sweet accolades. Wait, what did he just say? His daddy?

This is the child who fights to sit next to me on the sofa. Who pouts if he has to sit next to his father when eating out. Who always wants to ride in my car and not Daddy's. Who whines if he doesn't get to sit next to me at our dining room table. We actually have to rotate who sits next to me so that both boys get what they want. This is the child who is physically attached to me at all times. He complains if I run errands without him. He acts as though I am his everything.

Turns out, I am his second choice. Bummer.

"Tell us what you like about your mother. What does your mother do for you?"

"I like her cooking."

OK, we are back on top! I relax a little. Cooking, this I know a little something about. Daddy doesn't cook. Daddy only shops if I give him the list. Daddy doesn't have this all sewn up.

"What does your mom cook for you that you like?"

"Chicken nuggets."

Dang nab it. Dang.nab.it. I plan healthy and creative meals. I shop. I cook. And yes, occasionally, I make chicken nuggets. Frozen, throw on a cookie sheet and pop in the oven, not the best nutrition chicken nuggets. And now everyone knows. Thanks, son.

"What else does your mother do with you that you like?"

"I like it when she takes me to the grocery store."

Uh sure. To buy chicken nuggets.

Obviously, I was quite the hit at school today. If you need me, I'll just be under the bed. My sweet husband, the one who works too far away to be brought to school- he can be in charge. Just turn on the oven to 425 and toss the nuggets in. You'll be famous...

Do Your Clipboard!

2014-04-24T15:23:00.000-04:00

we keep our clipboards on the dryer- within easy reach of both boys

I am a busy working mom. Just like so many of you out there. Whether you work outside the home, or telecommute, whether you are a stay at home mom, (who WORK the hardest, in my opinion), you are busy. Busy busy busy. I have a great daily schedule, and believe me, I know how very lucky I am. My youngest son gets up with me in the morning and has breakfast with my sweet husband and I. The quiet of morning is usually the best time of day for my little guy's moods, so this calm and sleepy breakfast date is something I treasure. After my husband leaves for work my youngest and I head upstairs to get dressed for school. And this is where his clipboard makes it's first appearance of the day.

If you are a follower of this blog, you have heard about these clipboards. If you have spent any time with me in the past few months you have heard about these clipboards. I am always talking about these clipboards!

The first item on my youngest son's morning clipboard is "get dressed on your own". I make sure that he has clothes ready to go in his tomorrow drawer, and he needs to go to his room and get himself dressed. This is a child who wants me to physically take off his pajamas and help him step into his undies- and while I love our time together, I don't always have time to be holding undies while my perfectly capable almost 5 year old steps into them like a little prince.

After he gets dressed he tidies up his bed. He doesn't make his bed, because he sleeps on top of the bedspread and because he just isn't ready to be making beds. So he pulls up his blanket and arranges his stuffed animals in a tidy little row. He then moves on to brushing his teeth. He brings me his toothbrush and toothpaste and I get him all set up and send him back to his bathroom, where he completes the job. All of this responsibility on his part allows me time to get myself dressed and ready for the day. Because here's the thing- I can't get up ahead of my kid. All the books tell you to wake up before your children so you can be all ready for your day when your little bundles of joy hop out of bed. Um, no thank you. I could get myself out of bed at 4am and somehow my youngest would know. And he would be by my side, with his "Hey Mommy!"

And the day progresses from there. Each child has a clipboard in the morning and evening. They check off each item as they complete it. If they complete their entire list and put the clipboard back where they live, in a basket on the dryer, they will find a little treat attached the next time they grab it. So if my youngest son completes all of his morning tasks he will have a little treat waiting for him when he comes home from school.

This system grew from lots of trial and error on my part. I have tried many chore systems and just could not find one that didn't take a huge amount of effort on my part to complete. Each boy has a small clipboard of their own. I have created a Morning, Evening, Sunday Church, and No School Day list. I slipped the lists into a plastic sheet cover so that each child can simply check off their tasks with a dry erase marker. I keep the morning and evening lists back to back in the page protector, so all I need to do is flip the chart over in the middle of the day. Easy peasy!

The tasks my boys have on their lists are the jobs I found myself hounding them about every.sing.day. Getting shoes on for school. Helping to set the dinner table. Putting backpacks and coats away. Getting through the morning without a time out. You know, whatever the kid needs. That's the great thing about this system- it is very easy to add a task or to change up the list. If I have additional chores that need done, which I try to assign to each child at least 4 times a week, I simply add it to their clipboard. Two minutes of planning on my part every day and I get all those chores done that I need help with. Well, usually. Like any system, it doesn't always work. But I have found that 90% of the time the stuff I need done gets done, and I am not longer driving myself crazy and repeating myself a thousand times. Plus, with two kids on the system, if one gets a treat and the other doesn't, things can get ugly, which means the next time? Clipboard done.

Now that we have been using the system for a few months all I need to do is say "Clipboards!" or "Do your clipboard!" and I leave it at that. Because let's face it- if our children don't do what we ask them to, all those jobs still need done, right? So if they neglect their clipboard, I do what needs done, because I would have to do it anyways. But they don't get their treat. And they feel that pain, believe me.

Before I had children I was one of those people who would say crazy stupid things like, "I will never pay my kids to do chores. They will do them because they are a part of the family!" Um, nope. So I get it, I know it may sound crazy to reward my child for doing things like getting dressed and putting on his shoes. And yes, I agree. But my youngest child has sensory and trauma issues and needs routine, lists, and rewards. If it costs me a cookie or a quarter to have a calm morning, I will gladly cough it up. Don't tell my kids, but I would gladly cough up way more than that!

While many of the tasks on their clipboards are routine chores or daily "musts", such as brushing teeth, I have also included other important work that I feel is a must for my family. My oldest straight A student son has "Do Your Homework, No Complaining!" on his evening list. He also has "Read or Do Oneline Math For 15 Minutes" on his evening list, because I was fighting with him about this every night. No more. Prayers, devotions, behaving in the car, taking much needed sensory breaks, sharing what was learned in Sunday School- it's all there.

The treats that my boys receive range from candy, dollars, quarters, small toys or stickers. Usually the treat is something very small, but every so often I surprise them with a larger treat, such as a dollar or a big cookie. Again, my sanity is worth the price of the treat. Plus, the boys are saving their money, which is a good lesson to learn. Do you think they'll use any of their hard earned money to buy their momma an awesome Mother's Day gift?

Hey Mommy

2014-04-23T22:29:00.000-04:00

It was a long day, and I was tired. Your older brother had ignored his chores and his homework, and I was frustrated. You were running around the playground when I got to daycare to pick you up. You ran into my arms, smiling. You started chattering the moment you saw me. I smiled at you, nodded my head. You chattered through putting your back pack on and as we walked to the car. You chattered as you helped me to buckle your car seat and as I wearily got into the car. You chattered as I drove the quarter mile home. I turned on the radio in an attempt to unwind, just a little. My day starts when you show up at my bedside, with your first "Hey Mommy" of the day. A million "Hey Mommy"s later I just needed a break. So I turned on the radio. Your older brother understands that I am frustrated with his choices. He wisely chose to read a book on the short drive home. I turn off the radio. It cannot compete for space in my brain, not with your chattering.

"Hey Mommy. Hey Mommy. I am awake now. I am not going back to sleep. Can I have your phone?"

We pull into the driveway just as Daddy gets home. I open you car door and help you unbuckle but I wander away before you hop out. I turn on the oven, robotically moving into making dinner. My boys, all of you, vibrate, file, and trail in. A trail of backpacks, shoes, coats and mail depict your travels around the kitchen. Another school day, another 200 papers to sort through.

You run to your clipboard to check your treat. Your brother had told you that there was a "super cool" treat on your clipboard and you couldn't wait to check it out. Maybe the build up was too much, I don't know. You looked at the matchbox car attached to your clipboard and the melt down began. I took the car out of your hands before you threw it at one of us. Without a word I set it on the counter, ignored your screaming, and turned back to the task at hand- dinner. You stand in the doorway, crying for your car. And the dance begins. The car is given back to you. You throw it. It is taken away. You scream. We dance this way for a while, until I snap. The car is put up in a cupboard and you are sent to your room. You don't go though. You never do. I take a deep breath and sweep you up into my arms, kissing your sweaty little head. I move us into the family room and attempt a "time in". In theory you should be able to calm yourself down during this quiet time with Mommy. In real life, however, you continue to scream and kick at me. Sometimes we make it and sometimes we don't. This time we don't. I let the tension flow from my arms as I let you slide to the floor. Daddy scoops you up and half carries, half drags you to your room. Your screaming permeates the house. My heart melts into a puddle as you scream my name. I turn away from your brother as I work hard to concentrate on dinner and not on how my heart is breaking,. Hearing your child scream for you as though he feels he might never see you again is heartbreaking.

You are told you can come back downstairs when you are ready. The rest of your family sits down to dinner. A quiet dinner, each of us caught up in our own thoughts. Tasteless, sad, quiet, your empty chair sitting there, mocking me. If I am to be totally honest, this is not the family I dreamed of. At least not tonight.

"Hey Mommy. MykneehurtsandIneedanotherbandaiddidyouhangupthatpictureIpaintedwhyareyoudoingthatHeyMommyHeyMommyicancountto29Mommy..."

That was last night. This morning you appeared at my bedside at the crack of dawn, chattering away. If you remember last night you don't speak of it. I am amazed at how we can fight, you and I, and you don't seem to remember it the next day. No grudges, no lingering anger. Not on your part at least. I remember it all. Every kick. Every scream. Every tearful cry of "Mommy". It is etched on my heart forever.

You are not easy, my son. I feel as though every single thing we do is a struggle. Getting dressed, eating breakfast, getting out to the bus stop. You hop up the bus stairs as the bus driver greets you with his usual "Hi Smiley!". At least once a week he asks me, "Is he always this happy?" My answer today might have been a little harsh, but dude, you drive the bus to the special needs preschool. You should know. Things are not always as they seem.

After I get both you and your brother on your school buses I head out to the registrars office to sign you up for kindergarten. I sit in the hallway facing the open window while the school registrar reviews your paperwork and walks me through kindergarten. My mind wanders. You don't talk, you whine. You sing to yourself in the bathroom. You melt down on a pretty regular basis. You occasionally hurt your friends. Who am I kidding? You don't have any friends. You occasionally hurt other children who happen to be hanging out around you. You have, inexplicably, wet your pants three times over the past three weeks, all while on your way to the bathroom. You don't sleep, at least not enough. You take hours to eat, or you refuse to eat. You wander away from the dinner table. You have odd behaviors. I love you, and I will always love you, no matter how many times you rearrange the silverware or repeat the number "3" over and over to yourself. But others, out there in the world, they might not be so understanding. What I see simply as "Alex" others might label "weird". I am drained by the time I get back home. The thought of sending you to school terrifies me.

"Hey Mommy. I was playing with the other kids today and they made fun of me. Mommy, Hey Mommy, why?"

Daddy picks you up from daycare tonight and you show up in the kitchen, all smiles and sweetness. You eat your dinner as though you haven't eaten for days, sitting quietly in your chair and asking to be excused. You watch a little of your favorite movie, Hop, before I take you up to bed. We read books. We talk about your brain. We celebrate your smart choices. I relax as I lay on your bed next to you. I give you a goodnight kiss and walk to the door. You are on your feet already. And we dance again. I put you back to bed, cover you up. You kick off the covers and demand I cover you up again. Well hello crazy blanket game. We haven't seen you in a while.

"Hey Mommy cover me up!" "Hey Mommy I need covered up!"

When your Daddy and brother return home from running an errand they find us back downstairs. Daddy takes you to bed, again. You scream, again. My heart shatters a little, again. My sensitive seven year old at first questions why his little brother is still up, annoyed at the unfairness of it all. My answer, "I don't know. I just can't.", must speak to him. He stops complaining about his brother's late bedtime and chooses to hug me instead.

I think sometimes that your particular brand of trauma is tricky, because you will have so many good days. Sure, your good days would make that Super Nanny woman from TV cringe, but in comparison to the chaos, your good days are awesome. And then the issues pop up and we are blindsided, again. I understand a little of what your mind is doing to you. After three years of living with you I am a little gun shy too. I feel as though I am always on edge, waiting for that other shoe to drop. So I get it, how you feel.

You have had a rough few days. You will cycle back up, I hope, as you usually do. You have more doctors to see and treatments to try. You have a lot to do this summer. Between therapy and doctors and kindergarten prep we will be busy. But right now I have to go to bed, because it is getting late, and you will be chattering your "Hey Mommy" into my sleeping brain before I know it.

I want to be like them when I grow up!

2014-04-14T11:24:00.000-04:00

Over the past few weeks my sweet husband and I have been working on completing admission paperwork to the Attachment and Bonding Center of Ohio. This extensive process has us creating narratives of our entire journey with our persevering preschooler. Starting at the beginning, in that dated hotel room in Russia, we began to lay out every step. Every step forward, every step backwards, every misstep.

These narratives include mainly our concerns and issues, and very little of our successes. Which we have done purposely, because we know our little guy needs help and we want him to get it. We know our entire family needs help. Despite our leaps and bounds we still have a long way to go.

And so we have been remembering the chaos, the sad, the am I the only parent who feels this way questions. Not fun, for sure. But because of this forced trip down memory lane we have also found ourselves pointing out how far we have all come since those fateful days in that musty Russian hotel room. And I do mean how far we have all come, because this journey does not just belong to our youngest son. We have all been on the rocky road, sometimes together, sometimes standing alone.

My sweet husband keeps saying things like, "Remember that next time Alex flips out."

And I do remember. This weekend alone my sweet baby worked through so many of his issues and emerged triumphant on Sunday evening. He did manage to get himself, his brother, and his grandparents thrown out of a childrens' museum, but really, that is nothing for my little guy.

He handled a busy weekend - a large Easter egg hunt filled with bustling children, competition, and, of course, candy. Attendance at a church he is unfamiliar with and where he spent time in both the sanctuary and the childrens' area. Again, more bustling children, which is one of his triggers. He cheered his older brother on at the first Spring flag football game of the season. He spent two nights with his grandparents, without his usual bedtime rituals. He was an amazing Sensory and Trauma success! And yes, I am ignoring the Great Childrens' Museum Incident of 2014. His misdeed occurred during free play with other children, one of his biggest triggers. My sweet husband and I learned that lesson the hard way, and now so have the in-laws.

Late last week my persevering preschooler and I were reading a book that his bus aide gave him. (I know, right? What a sweet woman this aide is!) The main character in this book was a blanket, and the story was about how the little boy was never going to leave the blanket. Just like Mommy will never leave Alex. After we read the book my young son asked why he didn't have a blanket. Now before you get all upset that my sweet little baby doesn't have a blanket, let me put your mind at ease. He does have blankets. LOTS of blankets. But he really doesn't have a small one that can travel with him. He did, but he never used them, and now Lord only knows where they are. Still packed in a box, probably. But now, now he wants a blanket. "Like my brother's", he tells me.

His brother overheard this request. "He can have one of my Brown's blankets, because I have two." Wow. Just WOW.

The conversation ended and the boys went to Grandma's for the weekend. Frankly, I forgot about this simple request. But my smart seven year old didn't forget. This morning my oldest son showed up in the living room much earlier than needed, trailing his pillow, stuffed animals, and two Brown's blankets. I watched as he handed one over to his little brother. "Are you sure?", I whispered to my brave son. "I have two. And he wants one."

There was a time when my oldest son would never had dreamed of sharing any of his precious belongings, especially not with his demanding and confusing little brother. There was a time when his younger brother's antics would make him angry and frustrated. There was a time when he couldn't see the positive changes in his growing brother.

So we still have little to no eye contact. We still have stilted conversations and lots of melt downs. We still have refusal to learn, well, anything from me. We still have oh so many issues. But we also have more smiles from our youngest than blank stares. More joy. More participation in family. More understanding. And more brotherly love. My boys, they are right on track. They are getting it right. And I am in awe of them. I want to be like them when I grow up!

Don't let Him Get Hit in the Head With Any Balls!

2014-04-08T20:43:00.000-04:00

My oldest son just left to go to a baseball game with my husband. The last thing I said to them as they walked out the door was, "Don't let him get hit in the head with any balls!" And I wasn't kidding. I swear, if this child loses any brain cells he will melt into one huge hot mess. An even bigger mess than he already is, I mean.

Thanks to my youngest, anxious, sensory seeking son, our lives revolve around lists and regimen. Our boys have daily tasks listed on their individual clipboards, for which they are rewarded for completing. I know. I can hear you cringing now. I never thought I would bribe my kids to do "what needs to be done" either. I got over it, and so should you. For the peace of my family and to salvage what sanity I have left, we moved to doling out treats and small coins just to get my boys to brush.their.teeth. For the love of God boys, just put your shoes in the closet and hang up your coats!

Now we use clipboards, which they LOVE. And by LOVE, I mean they run to them first thing in the morning and first thing after school, and right before bed, to read their lists and mark off their tasks. They compare treats and my youngest little non reader is even sounding out the first letter of the words on his list, so that he can be sure to check off the right task. Beds are made and stuffed animals are picked up off the bedroom floor. Sure, it looks like a monkey did the job, but I don't care. Shoes, coats and backpacks find their way into the closet and, usually, I don't have to beg someone to set the table for dinner. The dinner dishes are miraculously cleared and the dog is fed twice a day. And I do very little to assure all that magic happens.

So we live and breath lists. My super smart 7 year old reads his list and completes his tasks.

1. Do your homework without complaining- to him this means lots of procrastination and sighing, and sometimes, even a little arguing. It also means leave your homework papers on the kitchen counter, dining room table, and bathroom. (These are all places I found homework this morning alone.)
2. Help clean up dinner- he reads this and hears leave all the place mats out, put the ketchup in the fridge only if it is a Monday, drop food on the floor and leave napkins out, which, basically means put the paper napkins directly into the dog's mouth.
3. Throw snack trash away- or just simply toss it in the vicinity of the trash can. Which translates to "place directly into the dog's mouth".
4. Brush your teeth- that's right folks, I am rewarding my son for brushing his teeth. I do hope the Mother of the Year people will be able to find me at my new address.

He means well, and he tries so hard. But Lord this kid is clueless sometimes! He walks into the kitchen and just stands there. He runs upstairs to get something for me and comes down empty handed. He leaves everything he owns scattered throughout the house. My precious boy- so smart, but no sense. His straight A homework is crumpled and battered. The only time he misses a question on his work is when he is working so fast that he literally misses answering the question. He can't remember to turn in homework or write his name on a test, but he has the wherewith all to collect telephone numbers from friends on the bus so I can set up play dates. Which, by the way, he no longer refers to as play dates. Just pull the knife out already!

Some parents worry that their kids will grow up and one day leave them behind to pursue their dreams. I worry that I will have to rent the dorm room next to my son's and dole out M&Ms to get him through the day!

repairing the broken

2014-03-20T17:05:00.001-04:00

It has been nearly three years since I stepped off that plane with a tiny 24 month old strapped to my hip. I will remember that moment for the rest of my life. Tired, I mean bone tired. Awake for two days straight, emotionally and physically battered kind of tired. Cranky, too. That tiny 24 month old had quickly proven to be quite a handful. After hours of holding his smooth forehead away from my body to stop him from biting me, after trying to soothe his screaming and comfort his angry little body, I was cranky. Worried, for sure. This tiny little life had already attached himself to my heart, as well as to my body. He hadn't let me out of his sight in two weeks. He had held my finger while I showered, not minding the water splashing over him as he stood there, patiently waiting for me to finish. He had held my hand through the slats in the crib, refusing to allow his tired body to sleep. He had broken the old white wooden crib the hotel had placed in our room with his near constant full body tantrums. Even if I held him until he fell asleep his body would jolt awake when I gently placed him in the crib, his tears already falling as he started to scream, again. Worried if I would ever sleep again. Worried about the collateral damage my new son had delivered on our Russian hotel room. Will be always be destructive? Will he always be angry? Will he hurt my then four year old son? Monumental worry. A bundle of nerves, tired, cranky and worried, walking off a plane at the end of a two day journey across the world. With a tiny angry baby strapped to my hip.

I have learned a lot these past three years. I have learned that repairing the broken is not easy. I have learned that it can take years to overcome neglect and trauma, if it happens at all. I have learned that love is not always enough. Patience. Forgiveness. Education. Advocacy. Energy. An endless supply of energy.

Three years in and that boy can still drive me wild. Wild with love and pride for him and his accomplishments. Wild with frustration. Wild with worry over his future. Will he be able to make it through a one hour Sunday school class? (He can, now.) Will he ever stop purposely breaking things that are important to others? (He has, mostly.) Will he ever just go to his room when asked, to give himself, and me, a time away? (Not yet.) Will he stop hitting his daddy and I out of anger? (He has, most of the time.) Will he continue to have multiple breakdowns and screaming fits daily? (No.) Weekly? (Yes.) Will he ever be able to step outside of his state constant vigilance to be able to learn? (Yes, slowly.) Will he ever be calm enough to sleep through the night? (Yes.) Will he ever sleep through the night without an herbal assist? (Yes, mostly). Will he be able to attend a family function without eventually getting so wound up that he hits a cousin? (Not yet.)

So many worries. And for the bulk of the past three years these worries have all been about him. Will he...? Can he...? Should he...? But then it hit me. This repairing the broken is not about fixing him. It's about helping him, yes. Helping him find the strategies he will need to cope in this world. Helping him to be successful in whatever educational setting works for him. Helping him to make friends and sustain relationships. Helping him. But not fixing him. There is no repairing going on here. Not on his end, at least.

The repairing comes in on my end. Repairing the hole in my dreams that began as a tiny little tear way back in that hotel room in Russia. The tear that grew a little with each swing he took at me and each shoe he winged at my head from the backseat of the car. The rip that became a gash with each argument between my husband and myself, for raising a child of trauma is not easy and maintaining a team spirit is difficult at best and downright impossible at times. The gash that opened further with each second guess and sleepless night. The second hole that appeared the day I watched my young son's entire special needs preschool class stand up and sing a song, sans my son, because he couldn't process what was happening and he couldn't stand still long enough to participate. That was the day I learned exactly how much time my son was spending walking around his preschool with the aid, due to his disruptiveness in class. That was the day I put my boys in the car in the preschool parking lot, drove them to a drive through smoothie place, parked the car, and cried, quietly, in the front seat as they chattered and fought and giggled and drank their smoothies in the backseat. The rip really grew that day.

Every day that tiny tear either grows or is repaired in some way. There are days when I think the tear is close to sealing shut forever, that the problem is lessening and the solutions are close. And then I am blind sided by a new behavior, a new fear, a new outburst of some kind. And I fall again, taking my young son down with me.

But there is more to the repairing that rewriting the story of my dreams. There is the repairing of my parenting. What comes easily with my oldest is a struggle with my youngest. It is easy to understand the concept of "parenting the child you have, not the child you wish you had." It is not so easy to actually parent the child you have, when the child you have is frequently physically and mentally incapable of molding to your ways. So I have had to repair my parenting techniques. I have had to reach out for help. I have had to advocate on behalf of my son, on behalf of my family. I have had to educate family and friends on our needs. I have had to justify my parenting to many who should not have a say in how I raise my children. I have had to explain why we don't want him to play organized sports, at least not right now. Why we watch him like a hawk during family events. Why we remove him from "fun" before he even shows signs of going over the edge. Why we don't want to hear that he is simply "being a boy". That, yes, early life trauma is a real thing. And no, it is not always reversible. I have had to parent in a fishbowl, instead of the privacy of my home, because much of my son's anxiety issues show up in public, masked as hyperactivity and disobedience. I have had to repair my thin skin.

I have learned grace. To give grace to others, especially to my boys. And to give grace to myself.

These past three years have taught me that "normal" isn't always better, and that repairing the broken doesn't always mean fixing the child. These past three years have broken me in ways I am just beginning to understand. But something that is broken can still be useful. Broken can still be beautiful. Broken can be made whole again. I have chosen to advocate for and support my son. I have chosen to help him learn the skills to get through life. I have chosen to forgive myself when I break, yet again and when frustration gets the best of me. I understand that sometimes adoption is about repairing the broken. But now I know that I am the one who was broken. My son? He is perfect in his own way.