Ownership and responsibilities.

I'd been thinking about writing about this particular topic for a while and to be frank, I've hesitated as I really didn't want to offend anyone.  But it crept up again this week, and today, so I'm going to come out with it.

The only thing I have found different about having a biological child and an adoptive child, is that when "issues" creep up with the adoptive child, I tackle them straight on without hesitation or embarrassment, but with full ownership of suppling a correction.  

I first noticed this when I started seeking Early Intervention help for the Little Man.  I went into the process seeking help with speech and anything else they saw that I might have missed or not known about.  When we started therapy, I met with all the therapist and wanted to understand what they were going to do and how it all worked.  When they gave progress reports, I also gave them progress reports from my end of what had changed in his abilities/behaviours, and what I thought was not where it should be.  They were always a bit paused when they I told them what I still didn't think was moving along as much as I hoped.

Recently, with the state funded therapy, one of our therapist, the physical therapist, left the agency we are working with and the new therapist wanted to give me her assessment.  She did hesitantly, and when I agreed that the Little Man is still lacking significantly in stomach and upper body muscle tone, she commented that often parents became offended when she raised this particular issue.  I told her everything I see and what I want to concur with him.  She is on board.

I also saw this when my sitter had to take the Little Man to therapy for the first time.  She didn't tell the other sitters, although I'm totally open about the amount of therapy he's undergoing.  None of the therapy is life-long stuff in my opinion.  It all is about catching him up to the 'Norm' and giving him any tools he need that he may have missed at the appropriate age/development stage.  She came back from that first session telling me that there were three other sitters there with kids she knew but didn't know any of them were receiving therapy.

So, I go for what he needs.  I talk about it and I don't hide it at all.  In fact I've suggested therapy to others that hadn't even wanted to consider the need.  But since I blame it on lack of stimulation/opportunity to explore the appropriate development milestones at the age most kids hit, I take little ownership to the cause of his delays.  I take full ownership of finding the tools to correct the delays.

The outcome of this, is the surprise for me.  The Big Boy, although 5, and now wanting to write his name, which he mostly does really well, does not memorize as quickly/well.  He knows the difference between numbers and letters, but he doesn't recognize all the letters 1-9, and cannot recite the alphabet.  I wish he could.  I work with him to try and make numbers and letters fun.  But I have felt bad on occasion that I'm not doing enough.  But with the issues with the Little Man, I have no personal concerns about whether I'm doing enough, I just do what I can.

So far, this is the one difference I find.  Ownership of the shortfalls.  And you know what, the reality of the adoption, is teaching me that I shouldn't take ownership of the cause of any disappointments I have with the Big Boy, but that I should just continue to find the tools to help them grow, not focus on the delay itself.

A friend is adopting; what do you say?

Today I was chatting with someone about the friends we "lost" via choosing to adopt. I can't share her story, but I'll share mine. I lost a friend, didn't even know it would happen, and yet, we are still friends. She just doesn't know that I don't fully share with her anymore and no longer trust her on her impression on the events in my life. Which begs the question, are we really friends? Well, Yes, and no.

When we were in the process of adopting, our friends and acquaintances were generally very supportive. A few friends honestly told me they really couldn't muster any interest in pursuing adoption for themselves; this I didn't mind at the time and still appreciate. These were people who just weren't up to the task and were honest enough to know it. They didn't discourage me, they just weren't up for it themselves. Then there were friends who said they had thought about it, but just hadn't been in the right situation or time for them to make a move on that. These friends were generally supportive, and really remain so. But, there were a few who just blurted out comments that surprised me. Along the lines of, "so and so adopted and their kids are f*@#% up".

At the time, I just dismissed the comments and thought nothing of it. But as time has passed and I've had "adjustment" issues, adjustments to; being the mom of two, being the mom of a two year old without language, to economic changes in our life, to changes in my work life, to incorporating a foreign culture into mine and my boys life, and finally changes in my outlook of how I want to live. The problem is, with my friend who thinks adoption=problems, or =problem children, I don't trust her to understand that I'm chatting about life and/or my woes and not "adoption" issues, Not problems due to the fact my son is adopted but due to the fact I'm not a perfect mom and trying to be.

These friends have been reduced from close friends to a good time buddies that may overhear real conversations with real friends, but the bond is broken. The love remains, because I care about them and their lives. I just don't trust them with mine. Because of this I now think more about how spoken I am on my opinions are with my friends. I'm sure I've said things that could and did offend. I'm thankful that my friends are in my life. I think I will hit a point where I trust some of my one-sided friendships again. All is not lost.

Sensitivities

This weekend we gathered with a group of families from the greater NY area that had adopted boys from China! It was fascinating to see the boys, as my eyes have become so accustomed to all the girls we routinely meet.

It was also fascinating to see as parents, and yes, adoptive parents we have so many hidden "hot" buttons. One mom was curious as to the "rudest, or least diplomatic" way that others have expressed with us about getting a boy. While I don't really mind the question, it is the answer that I typically have a hard time formulating. Yes, boys are rarer in Chinese adoptions because of their economic value in society. And our guy, pretty much was available due to a physical deformity. While his parents were unlikely able to treat his cl/cp, frankly they also faced great discrimination for it as well. I tend to believe it is the discrimination that lead to his availability to us more than the lack of ability to treat.

Another mom, with two boys, wished to call them "medical needs" not "special needs" adoptions. This one is a nuance, but let me explain. In the adoption world there is "special needs" or the "normal" non-special needs. However, in the world of adoption, "special needs" does not mean intelligence/developmental/IQ disability like it does in American society. It means any "not normal" adoption. Special needs may include, missing fingers/toes, extra fingers/toes, heart issues, small size, cleft lip/palette, physical deformities, to a variety of diagnosable birth defects, any child over the age of 2 and yes, all the intimidating intelligence/developmental/IQ issues. Sometimes I joke that we got our little man on the "scratch & dent" sale, meaning, nothing really wrong, just needs a bit of love and care. However, my joke didn't fly with this group. Here, special needs was not our children. Frankly, I call our process a special needs adoption and am happy to explain it anytime. Too many are afraid of it.

Another hot button was maternal age, as in adoptive mom, not birth mom. I find a lot of adoptive moms are older. These are women who chose this path, some like me, just by choice, but some after other options (husband, fertility, life mate) have failed. So they join motherhood a bit late. Its a tough subject. Adopting at 50, you need to feel confident you'll be healthy at 70. However, even only at 41 I know I'm not as strong, active, energized as I was at 25. However, I am smarter!

Finally, my favorite hot button; God's path. I think all kids need a home. If the home is religious, I don't mind. But my poor husband; he really HATES organized religion. Don't get me wrong, he's spiritual, whether he knows it or not he tries to live by all the basic religious principles (mostly, be kind, love one another, bring no harm). But he gets stuck in silly traditions and arcane religious rules which the average believer ignores. I'm not Godless, I'm not religious, but I do believe in Karma and an all loving God. So while God didn't "call me to this child", I'm still an adoptive mom by choice, which means, who knows why I made the choice? Really, I wonder almost daily.

Finally, there was an odd element, my beautiful blond baby was the only blond sibling along. There were siblings, some from previous adoptions, but nothing stuck out like my big guy. He is highly social, loves to play with the bigger boys. But they didn't want to include him. Was he a year or two too young? Or did the older boys get the opportunity was to bond with "kids like themselves" and just dismiss DS1? I don't know. The reason I noticed, was that after trying to get in the game with the big boys, DS1 helped DS2 out on the playground where he was more in parallel play than interacting. He loves his brother, knew we were there for him and came along although he was lamenting going to a new "play group". But I know the big kids won't be able to leave him out for long. This last week when we were out and a woman gave me an odd look for telling him, "Grab your brother's hand and let's go". DS1 noticed the woman looked at us a little funny and he walked right up to her with his brother and said defiantly, clearly, and loudly, "He's my BROTHER, he's from China." Nothing snide, or mean, just the truth loud and clear. I still have so much to learn!

It was a good group of families. I can't wait for the next meeting. But as parents, sometimes I think we are all just too thin skinned. I've said it before, parenting sucks.

Stroller vs. walker

I've always been amazed at how few people will hold the door open for me when I have the stroller. Sometimes I will have the door open with my foot and people will sneak through saying thank you to me without noticing I have a stroller with me and am angling to get it through the door.

This weekend I went to a party as an old woman with a walker, which was a different experience. People held doors open, when they accidentally kick or bump the walker, they apologize quickly. But, they do not look you in the eye. Getting around a crowded room was awkward as I had to say excuse me a lot, but then people move back away and are not necessarily friendly, and again not necessarily looking at me. Those that did bother to actually look at me, got that I was in costume and laughed. I noticed that to get to the lady's toilet, was upstairs and no easy alternative was close.

This last week being out with DS2 I've noticed more looks. Many more looks from the Asian communities than the non-Asian communities. Mostly friendly, few willing to approach and do anything more than smile and "high five" the boys. But as I was walking around as an old lady, frankly walking upright and quickly with the walker, but still leaning on it, I was aware that the last time I felt so out of water was when I first started walking around with both the boys at once at home.

So, I will hold more doors open, I will smile at more strangers, and occasionally I might kick a walker.

the mirror

The Series: The last couple days I've been thinking about how all my boys each on their own terms and timing hold me, my life, my actions, my choices up to microscopic inspection, hand me a mirror on my own actions, or hold me captive as an observer without the ability to control an event. These are all scary, real thoughts/moments, but not necessarily good or bad, just life with kids.

The mirror: I think seeing my actions reflect in my children's faces is far scarier than standing in front of a full length mirror naked. And I'm no beauty. They, the kids, do what we do. They may also do what their friends do, but they do that in front of us and then look for a reaction. Back to the mirror concept, this is a unique relationship I think we have as parents. I don't expect DH to start behaving like me. I don't expect my best friends to start picking up my idiosyncrasies. But the kids do. And when they do, I find it startling.

It is fascinating to me to see his face when he observes the discipline of saying "that's enough". DS2 is the button pusher in big ways; he kicks when I'm trying to put on a diaper, he bites me after I say not to, then when he gets pissed and he starts blowing snot out his nose until it is running down his face. So I've instituted a rule in the house. If DS2 starts blowing his nose in anger, no one is to wipe it. Again, the kid is amazing, and when he calms down he gets a tissue and wipes his own nose. But there are times when he wants to really push it, show me he is defiant (which may be a mirror) and hang out for sometime without wiping his nose. This is hardest on DS1 and the sitter. They both desperately want to help him. When I say no, I see a mirror being held up saying, "you are mean". I don't want to be mean. But I am the grown up and I am charged with helping them grow up. I don't just get to set the rules, I have an obligation to set the rules. Parenting sucks.

But it works, the rule setting. As I watched DS1 explain to DS2 why he was being given a time out the other day. This was an interesting mirror to be handed. But DS1 was saying, "we love you, but throwing the cars is not allowed". I'd like to believe this means he is getting the value of saying no, better behaviour, but who knows?

DS2 offers plenty of mirror moments even in his non-verbal state. He likes to match me on actions and vocal tone. If I treat something as if it is precious, he'll play that game and do the same. If I lose my temper and snatch something out of his hand, i.e., his dull dinner knife, after I've told him 10 times to eat with the fork not the knife, he gets pissed and tries to snatch it back. If I whisper to him, he tends to stare. If I talk to him, he talks back. If I yell, he yells. So yes, it is DS2 that is teaching me to not yell at the kids because he yells back and I get tired of all the yelling between us.

Both of them make me examine my actions/words more than any relationship I've ever been in. Poor DH may be disheartened to read that, but he doesn't read the blog. I know that what I do and how I say things affects the boys in profound ways and they are here, in my life, entwined in my life for many, many years to come. I don't want to have a bad relationship. The mirror from the kids is definitely teaching me ways to improve me.

The microscope

The last couple days I've been thinking about how all my boys each on their own terms and timing hold me, my life, my actions, my choices up to microscopic inspection, hand me a mirror on my own actions or hold me captive as an observer without the ability to control an event. These are all scary, real thoughts/moments, but not necessarily good or bad, just life with kids.

As a microscope, I see the boys pointing out to me that it is the tiny things that matter not the big stuff. For example, the doctor is twenty minutes behind. The boys don't care, they need to have fun now. The big picture doesn't matter; the boys don't care that we are late, that they'll be hungry/tired by the time the doctor gets to us, nope, they just want me to focus on this tiny moment, be with them and command the ability to ignore the big picture. Yeah, it is ok to tear more paper off the roll for the examining table and to have paper ball fights. Yes, I can fold a boat. Yes, we can make a tent. Yes, we can have fun anywhere. Yes, I don't care if the doctor cares.

But there is also the microscope negatives, the melt down because I gave DS1 a pat on the head but not DS2, or DS2 got into the stroller before DS1. The raw frightening emotion that comes from the boys when a minor, but big in the microscope, indiscretion occurs. My recent favorite was the fight to see who could touch more of my body while they both sat on either side of me, but neither allowed on my lap, while we read a book.

Then there is the microscope on the road. At home, no toys on the dinner table. At a friends' house, their kids had toys at the table. My boys pointed it out that it was "breaking the rules" but then cried because they didn't have a toy at the table. Do I give in, do I not?

But the microscope is really in my head, my inspection of the every decision I make and try to understand;

• is it necessary - brushing teeth, yes; combing hair, no
• is it important - learning decent manners, yes; being able to read at 4, no
• is it appropriate - learning to share, at 4 yes, at 2 "forgetaboutit"
• is it safe - jumping on the couch, ok; jumping off chairs, no way
• is it a control issue - clothes, other than warmth, do I really care which shirt it is?
• is it time - DH wants DS1 to learn a musical instrument, I think its too early
• is it me - am I taking their hyper energy in getting bathed/dressed personally
  
• is it them - DS1 has to be dressed first, DS2 must not put on his hat till outside

Does any of this personal inspection of my life matter? That might be the big question, how much introspection and scrutiny of all these tiny decisions is helping us be a better family, create strong healthy boys, better contribution to the world? How much of this introspection is useless? I generally have a reason for most of my actions. I have a plan on how to raise the boys. I don't mind the microscope for the most part, I may do a better parenting job if I'm willing to examine my actions, but the outcome is a science experiment, not in my control.

Race Awareness

I've drafted this entry a few times and never come up with a complete group of thoughts that make sense. However two things happened today that made me want to revisit the topic; a comment from DS2 and an article on Michelle Obama.

First, the boys and I were watching their night time before bed cartoon, and it showed fireworks. It wasn't the first time DS2 saw fireworks, but it was the first time he saw them represented in a cartoon, so he asked what they were. I, "they are fireworks, they were made from gun powder and other things, they were invented by the Chinese. Do you know anyone Chinese?" DS2 looked at me and shook his head no. I pointed at DS1 and DS2 blurted out, "DS2 invented fireworks?" Not the connection I was totally shooting for, but it was funny that DS2 doesn't see DS1 as Chinese.

Second, I was reading an article on Michelle Obama which cited a comment she made along the lines of she didn't really feel Black until she went to college. The point was, she grew up surrounded by Blacks, and not in a white neighborhood, so race was in the back ground, not in the forefront, and she didn't really feel the impact of being "seen" as Black on a day in-day out basis until college.

I like visiting Chinatown in NYC. It is a little off the grid system, a little off the grid. There are streets that twist and turn and suddenly end. The region blends into other parts of the city, like little Italy and city hall. The temples are open and easy to spot. The restaurants are plentiful and the fruits and veggies always fresh. In NYC, there are people who live in Chinatown, that never leave it and never learn English. But, that doesn’t keep the gringos out. We still wander in. And generally I find people friendly even though it is obvious I may be viewing them a bit like I view a museum or zoo. They view me shopping in their stores, either with or without the boys and also view me a bit like I walked in from the wilderness and I'm different. But I never really feel uncomfortable. We are on equal ground, in that we both know I'm the intruder but I'm there because of something great; food, atmosphere, product, etc.

I don’t feel as comfortable in Harlem or Spanish Harlem. I feel like the relationship is not as authentic. And on occasion I do have the opportunity to wander through these hoods as well. There are shops I like and things I wish to see. However, while life may be as economically challenged as Chinatown, as ethnically alone and not integrated, I find the atmosphere is less friendly. In Spanish Harlem I blend. But I feel like an impostor. I look the role, but I don't share the same common experience (there are few Puerto Ricans raised in Idaho) and my biggest personal disappointment I don't really share the language. My appearance is a cover that I feel is insincere.

In Harlem, I don’t blend. I feel it is a more hostile environment. There are frankly less reasons for me to be there as Harlem is not known for being friendly. I am completely aware that I am in the minority there. But there I feel like I'm more likely to be viewed as white, as I'm light skinned, but I'm uncomfortable with that. In my mind, I am Hispanic/Latina. In both Harlem's, I stay alert and head where I'm going and don't wander into too many of the shops.

I don’t know where this entry really wants to go, but I'd like to note that I love living in a city where I can feel like and insider and jump on the train and then feel like an outsider. And maybe I feel both because of my own historical context. Which is where the mind starts to wander.... in which neighborhoods will my boys feel like insiders and where will they feel like outsiders? Could I change that perception if we spent more time out and about the city?

I think it is also good to be able to visit one another on each cultures' own turf. Books are great, but seeing is believing. There is something to be said for the sight, sound, smell and electricity of a location. In books it is interpreted by others, in a visit it is interpreted by you, but colored by your experience and your historical context. On visit with multiple people on the trip will be remembered and processed in a multitude of ways.

It is amazing how many cultures live together in NYC without being able to speak to one another, off the top of my head I can think of at least 5-6 different cultures I like to visit on occasion; Chinatown, Little Italy, Korean Town, Indian, Spanish Harlem, Brighton Beach (Russian), let alone those cultures between like lower west or lower east side. I hate that we segregate and don’t visit one another more often. But I also love that we segregate and maintain the individual cultures. Without the cultural distinctions, would I want to visit/learn?

Is this about the boys. Yeah, I’m willing to drag them anywhere. They pick up the vibe and get as involved as a situation allows them. It is fun to see DS1 introduce his brother to the Chinese clerks as " this is my brother but he doesn't talk much yet". It is interesting that both boys hold tight to my hand in some neighborhoods. It is funny that DS1 and DS2 understand Spanish but presume those around us speaking it don't understand English. I like the look of surprise on their faces when the person switches languages and addresses them.

I don’t like when people pay too much attention to the boys due to the color of their skin. I don’t know what people think when they see us running around. And to the white men of the world, you should know the guys that give us a seat on the bus or the subway are always the men of color. But hey, its good to start to address the multiplicity of this crazy world together. I hope the world keeps changing. I hope I will feel more comfortable being a minority in more places. I hope the boys never stop exploring. And yeah, no matter what our neighborhood, our office, our community, we need to continue to mix it up. But I will wonder for years, and I'm not sure I'll ever know the answers; will the boys blend/fit anywhere, where will they not, and will they actually care?

Foster Care

I've said this before, I will say it again, but there are so many things we will never know about DS2's history. Today I received unexpected, unsought news that is mind blowing. DS2 was in foster care for some time before joining us.

I had written to the yahoo group of DS2's orphanage in search of another little boy that was DS2' roommate. I have photos and wanted to share them with the other mom. I was not sure how long they had been roommates, but they look cute together in their matching dresses (yes, we need to donate more boy clothes). In the email I also used DS2's Chinese name and adoption timing.

This morning unexpectedly, another woman wrote to the sight that she knew the mom, but she also though my son had been in foster care. I contacted one of the coordinators of the foster care program, and yes, DS2 was in foster care. I don't have the details, but a few reports from that time are now on their way to me. I'm hoping there are a few photos as well. I so far have an idea of when he went to live with the foster family, but not of when he came back to the orphanage to join us. It is common for the families to return the children a couple weeks before the adoptive parents come to pick up. It could have been as long as seven months.

Wow! This might explain the real mourning that occurred when he joined us. This might explain why he attached to our family quickly (although me first and for most). It might explain why he doesn't like it when we all put our coats on and he has to be assured he is coming with us.
Also, there is a family out there that may have had him in their lives longer than we have so far; wild.

The emotions are complex. DH is pissed. He can't believe the Chinese adoption authorities told us nothing about this. I am amazed our adoption agency new nothing about this. I am glad he had time outside of the orphanage. But it also is a hole in the information they provided us that is glaring. Was he well cared for? I assume they took the best care of him they could, but he was skinny when we got him and in the midst of a bizarre viral infection. Was he loved? We'll never know.

He is a bright, loving child that has a stubbornness and opinion all his own. These are his traits and everything he has experienced till now has assisted in shaping him. So yes, if there is more to learn about the early years, I want to learn it. But my frustration is the same, that the two years of precious time before he joined us is time which I have no control over what occurred, no understanding of circumstance, and will never really have the full information. I look forward to learning more next week. I need to start building a scrap book for him and put all the information in time frame so he has it if he wants it. I have no idea what this information will mean to him in time. Or what it will mean to me.

Sometimes the emotions are so much more complex then the words I have at my disposal to express them. Let alone actually knowing/labeling how I feel.

Cooking Together

I love to cook. Or more directly, I like the prep work and cooking. I'm not a fine-cuisine chef, but I'm not afraid to tackle a complex recipe. I like hanging in the kitchen focusing intently on something non-work/non-family related. I also like the the opposite, standing there and just mindlessly chopping stuff in preparation.

My boys now love to cook. This has changed things. I still love to cook, but now it takes much more patience when "cooking together". However, as they both show their skills and interest, let alone pride in a job well done, I can accept having to use greater patience. I also never used to drink (wine/cocktail) until the food was served, but now I will drink once all the knife activity is complete; which explains the classic baker's burn I gained making cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve.

In the midst of the holidays, I had a wonderful and rare opportunity. The mother of a former colleague of mine was visiting. They are Indian, from North India. My friend and her mom came over, after sending me a list of ingredients, to cook an amazing traditional dinner from scratch. While these were all ingredients I've used in the past, we used them in ways I'm not accustomed. The opportunity to learn was much welcomed. Surprisingly, the experience itself was also educational.

My friend is in her young 20s and doesn't cook much; or as DS1 says, " is not a cooker". Her mother was a traditional style, very good, skilled cook. My four year old can not be kept out of the kitchen when I'm cooking. First, it was clear the mother really wanted her daughter to learn. Second, it was clear the mom was not accustomed to having children in the kitchen. Third, it was clear that DS1 was not interested in watching, but was totally there to participate. Fourth, it was clear I would have to use all my senses to learn something while my brain was preoccupied with finding task for the four year old that didn't offend the mother while she aimed the teaching at her daughter, who really wanted to learn this valuable skill. I will also say, I didn't mind be a secondary student, as I have significant experience in the kitchen, I had a much greater framework in which to stick the new information and could easily learn while in a secondary role.

Watching older women in the kitchen, not elderly but like my mom's age, just older, is interesting. A while ago when my mother was visiting she commented how patient I was with DS1, which amazed me as it was truly not one of my better days. But I think I was in the kitchen with her? I remember cooking in junior high, but I'm not sure when it started. Older women tend to give my son a suspicious look and then give him things to do which bore him and keep him clean.

With younger women in the kitchen, even some of my favorite fellow moms, they seem a bit shocked at DS1's interest. However, they let him try everything! Even the stuff I'm not sure he should be doing. Interestingly, most of my girlfriends that cook are smart enough to keep their toddlers out of the kitchen.

Back to the story... I kept DS1 involved, even though the mother was suspicious and watching him. He crushed and peeled garlic. He mixes and can even cut some non-tough things now. The kicker was when we were making a bread and the mother gave my girlfriend an egg to break. I had seen nothing like it, she managed to shoot egg all over the kitchen. While cleaning up I asked do we need one or two. Two, of course. I just handed the bowl to DS1, with an egg and told him to put the shell in the hanging garbage bag after he broke it; I handed it to him out of habit; the kid is good with eggs. DS1 had watched my girlfriends performance, so I secretly suspect he knew what he was doing. He did a classic beautiful egg break on the edge of the bowl, dumped the contents, put the shell in the bag and then turned and smiled at us. Yes, this bought him entry, everyone now accepted him in the kitchen.

This weekend, I had a young cousin and his girlfriend in town. Another young 20-something soul. Well, without a job I'm trying to save a bit, so we ate in and had them over for brunch and dinner. DS1 and DS2 decided it was most important that they work with me the whole time. While DS1 can actually help, DS2 sits in a high chair, taking up half the counter space, playing with all the tools in a drawer. This of course requires that the sharp tools are taken out of reach, and that anything spillable is also moved out of reach. DS1 insists on really helping, so he gets 25% of the counter. Remind you I have a small NYC kitchen, so the 25% of the counter I'm left with holds all spillable items and sharp things as well as my work space, which is now down to the size of a decent cutting board!

But what amazed me this weekend is how into the routine the boys became. They see me reach for my apron (yeah, pathetic but I wear one), and they both go diving for theirs (more pathetic I do have kid sized aprons). I tie their aprons, get out the stepping stool for DS1 and the high chair for DS2 and we start. And they are so excited to get out their aprons, roll up their sleeves and get to work; it just cracks me up.

Unfortunately, during the week the boys eat around 5:30 pm. DH doesn't come home until 7 pm, by which time I've got the boys in the tub. The boys get snack, video and story time then to bed hopefully between 8 and 8:30 pm. This of course implies that cooking dinner for the two of us occurs as DH is reading the stories. Why this detail? Well, tonight we had complete melt down as the boys decided they would sneak out for one more mommie kiss, to find her contently cooking in the kitchen without them. There was a dash for the aprons; which turned into apron dash interruptus and tantrums as I returned them back to the bedroom. It made me sad, but it also made me proud. They like to cook, they like to cook with me.

Adoption on Vacation - part 2

DS1 had a complete melt down at breakfast, that was really beyond belief; three neighboring tables commented on it.  So bad that I cancelled our zip-lining for the day.  Of course this general stress put DS2 in a stressed way which means, every time he got near me he pulled my hair, bit or tried to scratch me, in his attempt to make sure... I don't know what.... I still love him?  

Then we are on a beach, and a very nice woman in the umbrella beside us starts asking questions.  Yes, adoption questions.  Part of this is my husband beams to anyone in ear shot that we recently adopted.  I'm totally polite, but I'm having a rough day.  Then we go to lunch, up in the beach restaurant, where both boys are just bad. Hitting each other, throwing sand.  I get back to the chair, with fussy toddler.  I wash the sand off, wrap him in a towel, and hold him till he falls asleep, which is about 5 minutes as he is now two hours past his nap time.  

The neighbor lady say to me, "So how's it going? Has it worked out like you thought?"  Sometimes people really don't know what they are asking, who they are asking it of and/or what appropriate timing is.  I turned to her, a bit like the little girl in the exorcist, and said, "This is f---ing hell.  I don't know what I was thinking.  I'm sure it will get better, but it really sucks and I'm not sure I can wait till he starts speaking before losing my mind."  This surprisingly, didn't bring forth the usual "bless you" or smile.  However, the lady was kind and was supportive.  We chatted for a while.  Then she asked why I adopted.  

Usual story, no need, wanted to give a kid a home and thought I had the home and heart to offer.   Then I  told her about the "god bless you"s and that I didn't do it to do a good deed.  That I'm shocked at what we are into, but we are still in the early stages and adding a toddler to a family with a toddler isn't easy.  We chatted about the lack of physical development in DS2 that I believe we have already started to overcome, that I think he is really smart, but just lazy in the language department, because (1) he's expressive without language and (2) I'm in-tune with him enough to anticipate 95% of the requests.  But its the last 5% that causes the tantrums and the frustration.  She then told me she understood why I didn't like the "God bless you"s and that I'm right, this is like the frustration raising kids, adopted or not.  I asked if she was religious, and she said, "Honey, I'm a minister." OUCH!  

Then she told me I should write about this experience, because people need to know its not simple, easy, or love at first sight for everyone.  So, if I can face a minister head on with my diatribes and not offend, then I feel a bit better about this blog.  

Adoption on Vacation

While we are at home, people look, some ask questions, all our friends and family know; DS2 is adopted.  But on vacation it seems funny, in the funny odd way, that it comes up.  So far so good, just funny. But I guess this too is a sign that DS2 is starting to become less "Chinese" looking to me, just "kid" looking.

First, we have a place we go to every year for our beach toys.  This year we came in and the store guy was totally attracted to DS2.  He asked if he was Chinese, Korean or Vietnamese.  This made me pause, because clearly he was saying the big three Asian adoption locals.  It turned out his sister runs an agency that helps people adopt from Vietnam.  He was excited to meet DS2, who only wanted to hit me with the beach shovel and keep everyone at bay with the rake.  When I mentioned he had cleft lip/palette, he said "I'd noticed".  This was  a first for me.  Most people don't notice, but he knew what he was looking for.  Overall a positive experience. 

Yesterday we were on a small boat out to an island.  And a woman was trying to figure out how old DS1 was.  I said he's almost 4 and the little guy is 2.  She asked, "are they both yours?"  I said, yes.  She said, "interesting."  It was odd, but she was French, with a thick accent, so I decided something might have been lost in translation. 

Today we were on a known to be kid-friendly beach.  Even if you walk out about 100 yards, it is still only 3 feet deep.  A bigger family group joined us, sitting in the seats by us.  They kept looking at me and DS2 (DS1 and DH were way, way out in the water jumping off a raft).  Finally they started talking to us.  Very nice people from Tennessee.  But it became clear I was doing a "good Christian" thing.  This always catches me off guard.  I don't mind people saying "God bless you"; I will take all the blessing I get, from any one or being.  What I find interesting is that this one act, having DS2 in my life makes me bless-able.  I mean hey, there are people who adopted in a less transparent manner than me.  And isn't just trying to raise a kid, any kid including the biologically derived type worthy of being blessed.  Finally, I was raised Christian, but I'm still a sinner in so many ways, and no longer willing to associate my spirituality with any organized religion, is my adoption choice really a "good Christian" act.  I am raising him to be a heathen.  If they knew more would I be un-blessed?  

Anyway,  the boys are having fun.  DS1 is out in the water, bouncing, jumping, swimming with too little fear for me to be comfortable.  DS2 likes sitting on the beach and digging.  When I get him to dig down at the surf line, he gets really mad at the waves.  It makes me laugh.  DS1 is too charged to nap until the end of the day, in the car. Typically out before the end of the parking lot. DS2 crashes after food and a poop, fairly reliably. Up playing one minute, out stone cold the next.  I've always thought beach naps are the best, all that fresh salt air coming being breathed deeply in.

Yesterday, everyone was grumpy, today was great.  There is something about the surf I find so soothing, that work/real life has to fight to stay in my mind. This may be a good thing for a few days. On to tomorrow.

Fibbing

I noticed this weekend that I've been lying to the kids to get my way.  First, I decided it was time to cut DS2's hair.  It is finally growing!!  Which is his body finally surrendering to all the nutrition we've been pumping in.  At first I was worried about the lack of hair growth, but I figured it was pretty low on the physical priority scale of how calories are used.  In the last 3 plus months, he has grown 1 inch and gained about 4 lbs.  That's a 25% gain in body weight in one month.  Ok, if he was my size that would be horrendous, but in him, at his size, with his history, it just tells us the state of nutrition he was in before joining us.

On to lying, I turned to DS1 and said, I'd like you to sit on the stool, I'm going to pretend to cut your hair, but I'm not actually going to cut it.  DH was sitting in the kitchen at the time and shot me his now patented look that seems to say, "you are crazy, but I'm too afraid of you to tell you that".  DS1 was in on the game.  I told him, I wanted to cut DS2's hair but I knew he'd want to do it if I did him first.  Of course, DS1 actually doesn't like to have his hair cut, but was totally willing as long as I didn't actually cut his hair.  Well, about a good long 4 minutes into pretending, DS2 was begging to get his done.  The next day, today, I used DS2's bravery as the reason DS1 should let me cut his hair.  Unexpectedly, that worked too.   

Tonight, both of the boys' skin was looking a bit dry.  DS2 is totally cool with lotions and moisturizers, but DS1 screams and cries as if I was trying to fillet him.  Also with sun tan lotion, which always makes me feel like a bad mommie at the beach when he starts screaming, "stop your hurting me" and people sneer. But this summer I found the spray on sun screens, which change the dynamic greatly.  Now, as he's running and screaming "your hurting me", while I chase him with spray in hand, spraying everywhere.  I waste a lot of sun screen, but now the prying eyes tend to laugh at us.

Well tonight, I told him his skin was dry and we need to put moisturizer on it.  He started crying and pushing, etc, you get the scene. Then I said, how about olive oil from the kitchen, "because I here that not only helps your skin but makes your muscles grow".  This worked.  Both boys naked and a bottle of olive oil going everywhere.  Get the pajamas on was hard!

The other lie I'm routinely guilty of, "oh, honey, I don't know where that toys is.  I haven't seen it for ages."  After something annoyed me and found its way to the trash shoot.  Just thought of another, someday someone will catch us eating "rabbit poop" or blueberries.  Maybe that one is just fibbing, because I don't think they believe me.

So over all, I'm not lying about big stuff.  They've been told where babies come from.  DS1 was a cesarean, so I followed his prompting to have a discussion about how big the knife was.  DS2 knows he's adopted and from China, and part of our family, as does DS1 understand the relevant details.  And the boys have been told I'll be working from home more often - I'll be working, just now sure when the pay check is coming.  

But it is funny, I don't lie much.  Which means I don't lie well.  When it comes to the boys I seem to be a bit super sensitive about telling them lies.  But in general, I really don't like to lie and don't bother to try.  But I am sticking with the fact that I am a super hero (and can beat up all the bad guys), there is a Santa (as well as a man in the sky that turns the sun off at the end of the day, and tiny elves that live in the tops of the trees that come down at night and move the pumpkins from the field to the store - I didn't start this one, but I'm supporting DH in his folly) and my super power is imagination.  I wonder what they will feel comfortable lying about?

Complexity of Caring for a family

The parenting stuff is so much more complex than I can handle at times, that I just have to ignore some issues.  

I'm working on integrating the family, getting us all in school/work routine.  This meant getting some of the family's non-emergency care just had to wait.  For example, I'm just starting the Early Intervention Program.  This is the state funded program that helps any child with significant delays in speech, physical or cognitive delays under the age of 3.  As it is state funded, the child has to be evaluated and qualify by their approved people, then the state selects the amount of therapy, type of therapy and therapist (well, for the most part).  The good thing is it's a free evaluation, free therapy, and the therapy is supposed to happen at your house.

From the first request by a parent to final decision on therapy, is mandated to be no more than 45 days, but my process is slowly grinding moving forward. Which makes me feel a bit bad about taking so long to get started.  First, the lady whose job it is to tell me about the program upon my request was sick for a week.  Then, I am requesting  speech help, but they are requiring full developmental evaluation.  That is a nice precaution, but it requires another meeting which is tough on a working mom.  The program is supposed to evaluate the kid in your home, but since DS2 only heard Mandarin until 3 months ago, they decided he has to have a bilingual evaluation, which means we have to take him to a site in Chinatown, for both evaluations. I've already got the pediatrician sending in paper work.  But hey, I'm still waiting to get his hearing tested, so that throws a wrinkle into the evaluation problem I'm just not going to deal with (I actually think his hearing is fine, but the hearing test "should" be a priority due to the common hearing issues associated cleft palate).

Next, poor DH.  In the first month home I probably asked him to move out half a dozen times.  I don't know why he didn't go, and there is no need now.  He has been the last priority in this "adjustment" window.  And as other items get check off the "to do" list, he has risen in my priorities.  What "adjustment" as in adjustment time; reality is our life as we knew it is over.  There has been a structural change.  There is no going back.  But hey, we don't really know what lies ahead.  But I'm sure it is more "adjustments".

I don't even want to go into the job, where I'm excited about a few projects I'm working on but still have not moved them forward as quickly as I wanted to because of, time out for preschool (next post), time out for Halloween, time out for lunch with girls (read mental health), and other work stuff that sneaks up in priority.  

No great conclusion tonight, just admitting its all complex. 

Ode to Average

It's not like I want to set the bar low, but what is wrong with average?

Recently I've noticed everyone is striving to be exceptional, that's cool. Everyone is trying to give their kids the very best, that's cool. But when it comes to talking about life, admitting that you, or your spouse, or the kids, are not exceptional, its almost a crime.

I'm good at my job, I try to be exceptional, but not really. I know to be exceptional at my day job requires such a time commitment, that I wouldn't be a good mother or wife, or even happy person. I try to be a good mother, I would love to be exceptional at it, but reality is I'm still getting my arms around it all. And as I get one thing down, the kids mature so I'm behind again.

When it comes to the kids, I want them to be exceptional. But I also want them to be kids. DS1 is in preschool, but he still has trouble counting to five, he doesn't know his alphabet, and he doesn't know how to tie a bow. But you know what, he laughs when I make DS2's hair in a mohawk, he loves to have us read books, and loves cooking. He can break eggs, mix anything and even scoop ingredients into the bowl on his own. Yeah, I know how to brag, but exceptional? Nope, just wonderful and I love him.

DS2 is social, babbling constantly and now going to sleep on his own in a big boy bed! But still no real words, he still melts down/bites/hits when mad, and needs to be held when not in familiar territory. He's not exceptional, he's doing wonderful, is a good kid, And I love him.

So when my friends brag, I get jealous. Yes, there is a four year old in our crowd that is writing his name and can count to 20. Yes, there is a two year old in our crowd that challenges my vocabulary. Even the men are not immune to the competition; their game is the height and weight stats. All trying to be off the scale, "my kid is in the 105 percentile on height" but hey, this is one where exceptional can be scary.

But when I try not to compete, wow, its hard. I want the best for my kids, but this doesn't mean I want my kids to be the best, well at everything. And people/acquaintances generally don't want to hear your tale of woe, they want you to inspire them to do better. Just look at me. I'm into doing what I can, mostly what I enjoy and doing the best I can, but exceptional I am not. All my friends inspire me to do "something" better, which again clearly reminds me how not exceptional my talents are. But they are my friends, and they are the best at listening to me rant about the sudden disappearance of all things average. But hey, if I wasn't average, then how would everyone else know how to measure themselves?

bumbs and scrapes, Dentist

So an update on scrapes, bumps, teeth and DS2's dental appointment.

On DS1, his bandage is now starting to come off. The bump was a good inch and a half, and I love the super glue they use at the ER.  If the wound is not in a highly flexible joint, i.e., hand, elbow, knee, I totally recommend asking for "the glue" rather than stitches.  The thing is that stitches on a preschooler's head never work, the kid just kicks and screams.  But with the glue four people hold him down and then they put the glue, pull the skin close, then glue the bandage right on top.  This was bandage really only starts to come off as the skin grows, shedding the outer layers.  As the bandage gets loose, I trim around the edges, but leave the rest in tact.  

Ok, yes this morning I laid him down, put my legs over him and pinned him to the ground to trim half the bandage off before it got ripped off by a sweater or jacket at preschool.  I think this means I'm as strong as four people in the emergency room department!  Years ago I had a kitty that had to have stitches removed.  That was easier, I wrapped her in a towel, shoved her in a cowboy boot and removed the stitches from the exposed part.  Done in 30 seconds and one short howl. Quick.  With a toddler there's the whole "this isn't going to hurt" chat first.  But last time I had to take stitches out of DH, we had to have that chat along with alcohol and him turning his head as well.  But they all have survived. 

I have two boys, really three if you include DH.  I anticipate going to the ER every six months and feel comfortable with the minor stuff.  I figure at some point we'll have a broken limb in the household, as well as one of them will eventually catch the couch on fire.  I'm the one who will eventually light a pan on fire. When it was confirmed with the pregnancy of DS1 that he was a boy, these are the things I just came to assume.  If I had girls, I don't know, I don't have girls.

I am constantly amazed at the placebo, or more specifically, the power of kisses.  Tears, tears, streaming down the cheeks.  Scraps, bumps, falls, all leading to tears.  However, a couple kisses and they are good to go.  If only that continued through adulthood!

On to dental, DS2 had his first dental appointment. Yes, 3 months into our new lives and I'm just getting to this stuff.  It didn't seem fair to freak him out with sorts of different doctor appointments up front.  As DH said, he hasn't likely seen a dentist so no loss on a month or two now.  Anyway... no problem.  He liked the office, the dentist, the staff, and cried when it was time to go.  They didn't even put him in the chair, he just played on the floor, ran around and when he came by DH the dentist would peek into his mouth.  After a couple peeks, he let the dentist poke around.  He is missing one tooth on the top, by count.  We think it is the one in the cleft, but there is no break in actual teeth; he has a full bite, an under bite.  We'll have to do x-rays down the road to see if the missing tooth is coming in;  in the wrong place, or at all.  

The dentist did a "fluoride treatment".  This goes in the nod your head and say , "yeah, right" category in my book.  He brushed some stuff on his teeth, that I have no doubt DS2 licked off within 30 seconds.  Anyway, the boys are good about brushing their teeth.  Honestly, I was having a tough time getting DS1 to brush his teeth.  But the first time I handed DS2 a toothbrush, he knew what it was for and put it right in his mouth, no complaints.  This was observed by DS2 and he stopped complaining.  Now they both brush their teeth, or as I say "tickle all their teeth" in the bath tub each night.  Ok, I wasn't a stickler about actually using toothpaste.  I was happy they were brushing.  But now 2 months into brushing, the dentist introduced flavored toothpaste with a cartoon character on the tube, which makes it all that more effective.

So anyway, when did you start seeing a dentist?  I really thought about this the other night.  I don't have many childhood memories.  I moved when I was 9 years old from Indiana to Idaho, so I know which memories are pre-nine years old.  I don't remember seeing a dentist before I was nine.  I was thinking about this because I let the boys brush my teeth if they want, after I finish off brushing their teeth.  DS1 asked why I had so much gold in my mouth. Aha, mommie had sooooooo many cavities.  She had three root canals before age 15.  Yeah, you can guess my flossing habits.  And no, I don't remember having tons of candy or juice, so I think weak teeth are a genetic thing.

Again, anyway, my early memories was that when I had a loose baby tooth, my dad pulled it with the pliers.   This wasn't done in haste or anger, but just the way we did it.  We weren't really poor, that was later,  I think it was just the way we did it.  Other kids bit apples, or carmel candy.  I hope to NEVER pull my kids teeth with the pliers.  However, if push comes to shove, I know how to do it.  

So their you go, deep thoughts on bumps, placebos, teeth and dentists.

The "Look"

Today has been a whirlwind; there is so much I want to share. However I'm still processing thoughts. First this weekend we connected with another family that adopted one of DS2's friends from the orphanage, amazing! Then this morning DS1 fell down the stairs at school and had to go to the emergency room (he is fine, just another "personality/character" scar) where he shouted certain things at the doctors that I've been teaching him to use for bullies. Tonight I have to explain this to DH. But, I need to process the thoughts a bit and write about them tomorrow, or the next day.

But in the midst of calling the school, the doctor, DH, the sitter, and getting everyone where they needed to be, specifically the Emergency Room, I missed my usual Monday work out. Totally not an issue. But, not wanting to give up on the "new me", I chose to go to a different class rather than skip the work out today. My option was a jump rope cardio class.

I haven't jumped a rope since I was ten. Actually now that I think about it I did win a 3rd place ribbon in a jump rope contest at a bi-centennial celebration in 1976. And if I remember right, I'm not making this up, there were only 3 kids in the contest and I pretty much gave up shortly into the contest. I've always felt bad about that. I wasn't quite the fighter then, that I am now, but maybe this is part of the turning point. Hey, I wasn't even 10 years old yet in 1976!

Anyway, I really enjoyed the class, but Wow! what a work out. It started with a 5 minute general warm up, then on to the first 10 minute cardio jump, then 5 minutes strength training (i.e., squats with a body bar, push ups, or other self inflicted torture) then 10 more minutes with the jump rope, repeat. When I walked in to the class I noticed it was fewer people than all the others I take, and these people were really in shape.

I made it through the first 20 minutes, but when we hit the second cardio jumping session, it was clear to me I did not have the skills to keep my heart rate up while trying to jump a rope that was mostly just hitting my head. But, I was having fun. I put the rope on the side of the room, and just faked it. I did everything everyone else was doing, but I wasn't holding a rope. I was happy. I was sweating! The instructor was calling things out, "jog, now feet together, moguls, cross country scissors feet, jumping jacks, heel jacks" etc. He was walking around the room watching people's feet to make sure they were doing the steps correctly. When he got to me, he watched my feet for a second, then I saw "the Look". The glimpse of a smile, a laugh and quick swallow of the expression. He recognized I wasn't using a rope, but wasn't going to call me on it. He just kept walking. My hero.

I saw the Look this weekend too. I was at a grocery store with DS2 and he was clutching hot dogs and wasn't about to give them to the cashier to be rung up. There was a lady behind me that gave me the Look. I thought it was just over our little fight on paying for the hot dogs, but then her 8 year old daughter walked up that was a Asian (not sure if Chinese or Korean, but didn't look a thing like the blond mommie)!

Prior to today, I had interpreted the look to mean, "you are crazy", or "leave that poor woman alone". Maybe I'm feeling better today because now it seems to me the Look is really saying something more along the lines of, "I see that you are faking it, and so am I, and we are get along just fine!"

There are too many idiots on the road!

I have never felt comfortable in the car when my father is driving.  He's not a Terrible driver, but he is a terrible driver. Back when I lived at home, and we are decades ago,  he would yell at the other drivers and there always seemed to be a lot of idiots on the road when he was driving. Maybe he has improved, I don't know.

Tonight I went to a multi-cultural event at DS1's school.  It was billed as being songs, art and pizza, so I took both boys.  I figure we are a multi-cultural group; I'm Hispanic, and kind of look it, DS1 with Blue eyes is learning Spanish, and DS2 is Chinese, trying to learn English, and frankly even my English could use much improvement!  So we went, and it was an unbelievable disappointment.

When we got there I left the stroller on the street, yes, to those of you outside NYC, a stroller on the street in front of school is untouchable. I wouldn't leave in front of a store, but a school or playground, yes.  Well, at the playground I kept in eyesight because the squirrels are aggressive.  The janitor gave my boys big high fives and we all went in happy.  As we walked in and no one greeted us.  I asked a couple organizers if I was in the right place just to make small talk, they looked at me like I had the plague.  There was a gang of older kids, I'd guess 6-8 years old, running and wrestling in the middle of the room, which seemed pretty inappropriate to me.  So my guys and I sat down at the art table, but after we started painting with the glue, we were briskly informed that we were to wait until after the story.  DS1 was a bit crushed, but I told him it was my bad, not his.  

Ok, where's the story?  no story just kids running amuck. 

Finally story time started, which was very cool. They had this artist there who had illustrated a children's book.  While someone read the book, he was drawing on a large drawing pad where the kids could watch.  They were into it.  To my chagrin the book was like 4 pages long, which means this very cool and engaging activity was over in 5 minutes.  The book was about everyone having different type of hair.  I'm not sure DS1 was thrilled to discover DS1 and I had dark hair and he does not.  Additionally, while DS1 was willing to say I had curly hair, he and DS2 had wavy hair.  No conversation could make him change his mind, he was not going to be the only one with wavy hair. We were at the drawings, which everyone else had abandoned, talking about which drawing I looked like vs. DS2 vs. DS1, when one of the organizers asked me which of the boys was mine - yes, at a billed multi-cultural event!

At arts and craft, they were face shapes of different colors, but they looked like pumpkins to me.  Obviously, I said something that the organizers didn't appreciate and I was informed we were making faces, not pumpkins.  DS1 didn't like the tone and melted down to a face hide in my skirt, while DS2 alternated on pulling my hair and scratching me while I tried to keep him out of the glue.  

Next was pizza, which was not there, but "hang in there it should be here in 5 minutes". As the kids resorted to wrestling again, I gathered the boys and headed the hell out of there!  we went to the store, bought the ingredients (the Pilzbury pizza dough is pretty cool and only take 10 minutes in our oven) and made a pizza at home.  Now it is funny to me, but at the time it was not. But now the boys are asleep and I've had a couple glasses of wine. 

I don't think we'll be attending the next multi-cultural event unless I'm hosting it.  Cause there were too many idiots on the road tonight.

Send him back

Photo: I like this one, its about the kids, but for a brief moment the Play Dough is the focus. Kind of like adoption, sometimes it becomes the focus, but it needs to be fleeting, as the time together is really about the kids.

I knew it was coming, I just didn't know when. But last night, I had the boys in the tub and DS1 has been acting out a bit lately, so I brought up the "its not always easy being the older brother" train of thought. And yes, it popped out. "Mommie, can we send him back to the other people?"

It wasn't phrased like, "let's send him back", it was more of general question. I said nope, he's with us now. He also asked, did they have bath tubs at the orphanage?, in the same inquisitive tone, so I don't think the first question was malicious. I said, I thought they did, but DS2 probably didn't get to spend as much time playing in the tub there as he does here, and that is why he doesn't like to come out of the tub.

On the new adoption parenting book, this stuff is good and bad. Its all written by some expert from their own experience. This doesn't mean they have had experience with my kid, but maybe there are patterns among behaviours in kids from the orphanage system? I find parenting pointers I like. Others I ignore. My most recent read is, "Parenting Your Internationally Adopted Child: From Your First Hours Together Through the Teen Years" by Patty Cogen. I kind of like the overall approach. But it is written with a saying it out loud techniques that have an effect on the whole family, not just the adopted child. So far she hasn't addressed the idea that it affects the family.

For example, if DS1 falls to my feet screaming - which is likely to happen almost anytime - I'm to say to him, "I know that at the orphanage you might have had to be very loud and demonstrative to get attention, but you are here with me and part of our family now, so if you want me to pick you up just stand up and lift your arms to me and say "up". Well, I tried this, with this amazingly long, adult verbiage, and DS2 stopped crying, stood up and lifted his arms to be picked up! So next time I did it again and it worked. After a couple times, he's more likely to raise his arms first rather than just crumble to the floor! So I tried the technique - really just saying at the orphanage that may of been how you handled a situation, but as a member of a family this is how we do it, - and it has worked.

The unexpected consequence is that DS1 is asking more questions about "at the orphanage". Yuck! I want the kids to know the truth, but in age appropriate doses. Now I'm getting all sort of questions about the orphanage. I've offered to show DS1 photos, and he says yes, he really wants to see them. But he forgets by the time I've dried the two of them off and gotten them in their PJs. I want all the adoption issues to be open within the family, but wow, I find I'm still digesting the material.

So, check out the book, I like it better than most, but I'm only half way through, so there is time for me to decide I hate it yet. And yes, I'm keeping my boys although I do fantasize about those free and single days!

Good news, Bizarre Times

Good news, we went to visit the surgeon yesterday and DS2 checked out great!

The surgeon thought the lip looked "pretty good", which I wanted to smack him as the lip looks great! But when we tipped DS2 and got into his mouth, the surgeon was totally surprised, I could see the shock on his face, he thought it was an awesome job. He thinks its American technique, whether it was done by the Chinese or Americans (think Smile train), we'll never know. Upshot is no surgeries until he's a bone graft stage, around 8 years old. There is a chance the the back of the palette may need a touch of work at around age 4, but as the little guy is already saying the "b" sounds, we are hopeful to skip this revision.

Now today I start setting appointments with the Speech Pathologist who will lead us tot he speech therapy and early intervention, the orthodontists, and the ENT (Ears, Nose and Throat) doctor to evaluate hearing and look at the need for ear tubes. But the first biggie is off the list!

On my way back to the office the complexity and bizarre events surrounding my daily life really hit me. I had skipped lunch so I was standing in front of my office building waiting in line to buy a fruit smoothie. For those Non-NYer readers, there are lots of vendors in NY that hang out in the business areas to sell quick foods like, hot dogs, felafels, kabobs, fruit smoothies, fancy coffee, and of course donuts. Well, the guy at the fruit smoothie place is cool, Jimmy, we are friendly.
He says, "hey you are late today."
me, "yeah, I had an appointment out this morning"
him, " so how's the market today,up or down?"
me, " I actually don't know, I'm just coming in"
him, " oh, this means you were out for the boys, are they good?"
me, smile, "yes, just came from the doctor and everything looks good."
him, great, "see you tomorrow".
Jimmy is an immigrant from Vietnam. He knows about both my boys and has met the older guy. He was very excited about DS2 and we talk on occasion about keeping the exposure to Chinese language up. He laments to me that his nieces and nephews understand everything he says to them in Vietnamese, but always respond in English. I tell him to just keep talking to them.

Here's the juxtaposition to this scene. While I'm standing there chatting with a member of my daily life, friends/family circle, I'm 40 yards from the New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) watching the protesters, tourist, and riot police dance. Earlier this week three protesters in black suits, white ghost like mask, carrying signs saying "greed kills" started walking up and down the street. I kind of like this trio but, in my opinion they got the expression wrong. On the Street we say, "bulls and bears make money but pigs get slaughtered." Nonetheless, same sentiment.

Yesterday another group of about 4-5 protesters have joined the mix. These folks are wearing suits and cowboy hats and carrying signs protesting the bail out. There were two guys running around with full face mask dressed like Obama and McCain, but they weren't getting much attention without having signs! Now in the middle of this are the riot police - only a handful - just watching and waiting, with their dog. OF course tourist everywhere, it is easy to hear 4-5 languages in the groups passing by. The kicker, was yesterday was also the second day of Rosh Hashanah (a Jewish holiday) and their was an older fellow, dressed traditional garb, coming out onto one of the taller steps and blowing on a large sheep horn for the Holiday every once in a while (I don't know the tradition, but he seemed serious about his blowing).

Every once in a while I sit back and think, wow, NY is CRAZY. But I still love this city.

Judging the Mommie

When you have a biological child, you are judged by others as to how good of a parent you are, but it is done discretely, mostly out of earshot. People tend to keep their opinions to themselves, except for family, and
you don't have much of a say in the process. When you adopt, you are judged by numerous people, that actually have the power to say, "No, you do not get a child", and the process is actually in your face. I find this intimidating.

My hats off to those who have adopted without having the biological experience first, as the judging of mommie is humbling, intimidating and oddly embarrassing, I'm thankful that I have the ability to sit back, look at DS1 and think, "I haven't done a horrendous job, he's ok; well, so far." Let me start at the beginning.

First off, to adopt, you have to qualify to minimum standards of marriage length, age, income and cleanliness for the agency to even consider working with you. Then the governments start, both theirs and ours. There are lengthy legal checks (list every address you have resided in since 1970!), financial checks (including letters from your employer about your employability which they are so happy to give you in this environment, let alone being willing to ask them for the letter), health checks (yes, they asked I be tested for gonorrhea, who knew that was still around? but also they think my life might be more exciting than it really is), with each item including a set of finger prints ($$), that are notarized ($$), as well as application fees ($$) and copy fees ($$). These documents must be certified locally ($), then regionally ($$) and even nationally ($$$).

But the lynch pin of this process is the social worker; the person who works with you to understand why you are adopting (as if you didn't know), what kind of parent you expect to be (obviously, the best on the planet) and represent to both government(s) that you are worthy of adopting. What do you do if you don't click with the almighty social worker? I'll tell you, I fake it. Our social worker is really nice and professional. But she's 30, single, beautiful, and childless. She comes from wealth or sophistication, which you can only tell when you do not, i.e., me. I don't click with her; I really think it is impossible for to truly understand the strains of having children, to judge those that do. She doesn't have children. Is that an unfair statement, not understanding the strains of having children until you have some, no but I think it is true. I didn't get "parenthood" until I was in the thick of it. Frankly, I don't understand the strains of being 30, single, and childless in 2008, its just not my reality.

So the social worker comes into your house after meeting with you several times, to check out how you live, the space you'll provide for the child, and finally to decide if they will recommend to the other parties that you are worthy. This is a lot of authority. But also, I think it is good for DS1 to know in retrospect that yes, we qualify! For DS2 , down the road, he may really wonder what the standard was.

Today our social worker visited for the "post placement" visit. This is one of several to come. I was my usual blunt self, but still being polite. She just didn't get it that I was being honest.
Her, "How was it to meet you child"
me "Emotional, bizarre, like an arranged marriage"
Her, "But how was it those first few days"
me "Like taking care of the neighbor's kid"
Her "What is that like"
me "Have you not baby-sat? Really, like that."
Her, "But it is going well, there is a connection?"
me, "Its going extremely well, he's a good kid, we are connected, but that doesn't mean adjusting to a new routine for everyone in the household isn't' a healthy helping of hell."

After watching the boys jump on me, pull my hair, blow their noses on my body and hit one another, she was good to go. She reminded me that these visits are a requirement; like their going to take DS2 and run? I guess from her view it all looked normal. From my view there are extraordinary events occurring in my household and I'm amazed daily. That she's concerned about the problems and being normal makes me only want to emphasize this is not all that bad, and not all that normal to us.

I'm guessing as much as I dislike being judged, and may resent her a bit for being in the role, I bet she doesn't like having to say anything bad and is really looking for the angle to make me look good to the others in the process. None the less, the stress I place on myself to be a "good" mom, kind patient, fun, energetic, all knowing, all loving, really is more than enough. To know that someone else is also judging me, not knowing their standards, or even their minimum criteria, and that they are putting it on paper and sharing it with others is a huge bucket of cold water on my head. On a hot day I'm good for it, on a cold day it really sucks.